At first view the overlay of life was unspectacular. The word that crossed Reid’s mind was “charming.” Fields, autumnally ocher, were tucked into pockets of soil; but most agriculture was orchards, olive, fig, apple, or vineyards which now glowed red and purple. Still more of the steep land was left in grass, pungent shrubs, scattered oak or cy-press made into bonsai by thin earth and salt winds. Reid was surprised to see that it pastured not the elsewhere omnipresent goats, but large red-and-white cattle; then he remembered that this was the holy place of the Keftiu and Erissa (today, today!) danced with those huge-horned bulls.
Farmsteads lay well apart. Their houses were similar to those in Greece or throughout the Mediterranean countries, squarish flat-roofed adobes. Many had exterior staircases, but few windows faced outward; a home surrounded a courtyard whereon the family’s existence was centered. However, the Keftiu were distinctive in their use of pastel stucco and vivid mural patterns.
Fisher boats were busy across the waters; otherwise no vessels moved except Diores’. A cloud mass on the southern horizon betokened Crete.
Reid drew his cloak tighter about him against the chill. Was Atlantis no more than this?
The ship rowed past a lesser island which, between abrupt cliffs, guarded the mouth of a miles-wide lagoon. Reid saw that the great volcano stood in the middle of that bay. He saw, too, that here was indeed a place legend would never forget.
Off the starboard bow, a city covered the hills that rose from the water. It was at least as big as Athens, more carefully laid out, delightful to the eye in its manifold colors, and it needed no wall for defense. Its docks were mostly vacant, the majority of ships drawn ashore for winter. Reid noticed several hulls being scraped and painted on an artificially widened beach some distance farther off; others were already at rest in the sheds behind. A couple of warcraft, fishtailed and eagle-prowed, were moored at readiness, reminders of the sea king’s, might.
Here in the sheltering heart of the island, water sparkled blue and quiet, the air was warm and the breezes soft. A number of small boats cruised around under sail. Their gay trim, the women and children among their passengers, marked them as pleasure craft.
Diores pointed to the Gatewarden isle. “Yonder’s where we’ll go,” he said. “But first we tie up at town and get leave to come see the Ariadne.”
Reid nodded. You wouldn’t let just anybody onto your sanctum. The isle was superbly landscaped; terraces bore gardens which had yet some flowerbeds to vie with arbors turning bronze and gold. On its crest spread a complex of buildings, only two stories high but impressively wide, made from cyclopean blocks of stone. These were painted white, and across that background went a mural frieze: humans, bulls. octopuses, peacocks, monkeys, chimeras, a procession dancing from either side of the main gate to the pillars which flanked it. They were bright red, those pillars; Erissa had told Reid the column was a sacred symbol. Another sign was inset in gold over the linteclass="underline" the double ax, the Labrys. The third emblem curved on the roof above, a pair of great gilded horns.
“Will we have a long wait?” he asked. A part of him marveled rather sadly at how, no matter what adventure or what contortions of destiny, most time got eaten up by ordinariness. However taciturn his forebodings had made him on the voyage here, he had not been spared hours of prosaic chatter. (And no serious talk. Diores had skillfully avoided letting that develop.)
“Not us,” the Athenian said, “after she hears we’re from Prince Theseus.”
That mention of heir rather than king hauled Reid’s attention to the sharp gray-bearded face before him. “Are they close friends, then?” he flung out.
Diores squirted a stream of saliva leisurely over the side. “Well,” he said when he had finished, “they’ve met now and again. You know how the prince has traveled about. Naturally he’d look in on the Ariadne. Be rude not to, wouldn’t it? And she’s less of a snob about us Achaeans than you might look for, which could be helpful. Got a bit of Kalydonian blood in her, in fact, though born in Knossos. Ye-e-es, I expect we’ll be well received.”
The unseasonal arrival of a ship drew a crowd to the wharf They were a carefree lot. Teeth flashed in bronzed faces, hands flew in gestures, words and laughter spilled forth. There was no evidence of poverty; Atlantis must wax rich off the pilgrimage trade as well as its mundane industries; yet the Greeks had spoken to Reid, with considerable envy, about a similar prosperity throughout the realm of the Minos.
Of course, by,the standards of Reid’s milieu, even the well-to-do here lived austerely. But how much genuine well-being lay in a glut of gadgets? Given a fertile sea in a gentle climate, surrounded by natural beauty, free of war or the threat of it, who needed more?
When the Minoan worked, he worked hard, often dangerously. But his basic needs were soon taken care of; the government, drawing its income from tariffs, tribute, and royal properties, made no demands on him; how much extra toil he put in depended on how big a share of available luxuries he desired. He always left himself ample time for loafing, swimming, sport fishing, partying, lovemaking, worship, joy Reid had gotten the distinct impression that Keftiu, 1400 B.C., had more leisure and probably more individual liberty than Americans, 1970 A.D.
The harbormaster resembled Gathon but wore typically Cretan garb; a tightly wound white loincloth which doubled as padding for a bronze girdle; boots and puttees; wraparound headgear; jewelry at neck, wrists, and ankles. He carried a staff of office topped with the double ax, and a peacock plume in his turban. His fellow males were clad likewise, though less elaborately. Most went bareheaded, some had a small cap, some chose shoes or sandals or nothing on the feet, the loincloths might be in gaudy patterns, the belts were oftener leather than metal. Both sexes wore those cinctures; they could be seen around otherwise naked children, constricting the waist to that narrowness admired by the Keftiu; only the elderly gave their bellies room to relax.
Diores nudged Reid. “I must admit, mate, Cretish girls put on a brave show,” he leered. “Eh? And it’s not hard finding a wench who’ll tumble, either, after a bit o’ fast talk, maybe a stoup o’ wine or a bauble. I wouldn’t let my daughters run loose like that, but it does make fun for a sailorman, right?”
Most women were dressed merely in ankle-length skirts; they were commoners, bearing groceries or laundry or water jugs or babies. But some more fashionable types had crinolines elaborately flounced; and embroidered bodices with or without a gauzy chemise, that upheld but did not cover the breasts, and stone-studded copper, tin, bronze, silver, gold, amber ornamentation; and saucy little sandals; and as wide a variety of hats as ever along Reid’s Champs Elysees; and makeup of talc and rouge for more areas than the face. When the Achaean crew shouted lusty greetings, the younger girls were apt to giggle and wave handkerchiefs in reply.
Diores and Reid explained to the harbormaster that they had official business with the Ariadne. He bowed. “Of course, sirs,” he said. “I’ll dispatch a courier boat at once, and you’ll doubtless be received tomorrow morning.” He rested a bright glance on Reid, obviously curious as to what manner of foreigner this might be. “Meanwhile, will you not honor my house?”
“I thank you,” Reid said, Diores was less pleased, having looked forward to a rowdy evening in a waterfront inn, but was forced to accept too.