“And think, Uldin!” Erissa seized his arm. “The mainland does have reason to fear your kind of soldier. That’s why they’ve delayed and hampered you here. Crete. guarded by the sea, never would. Rather, they should welcomed a cavalry to help control that mainland. The more so when you come as their deliverer?’
He snapped to decision. “Very well. You may be deadly wrong, but if you’re right, we’re fools to linger here. And a man dies when the gods will.” Somehow, for the moment it flashed, his grin took away his ugliness. “Besides, this gives me less sea voyaging to do.”
“Go make yourself ready,” Erissa said.
When he was gone, she bent again over Peneleos. “Sleep now, my love,” she whispered. “All has been done. All is well.” With moth gentleness she closed his eyes. “Sleep late. Forget what we have spoken of. The gods and prudence alike forbid that more than your lord Diores know. Sleep. Wake refreshed. Do not seek after me. I will only be away on an errand. Sleep deeply, Peneleos.”
His breathing became still more regular. On an impulse she did not quite understand, she kissed him. Then she grew busy gathering clothes, blankets, jewelry and utensils and weapons to wrap in them.
Uldin returned, clad in his old foul-smelling outfit. He pointed at the bed. “Shall I stick him?” he asked. “No!” Erissa realized she had answered too loudly. “No, that could start the hue and cry after us hours before it need happen. Follow me.”
They had no trouble leaving palace or city. Since Athens was choked with king’s men, no one saw reason to post guards. The moon was still up, approaching the full. (When that happens during Asterion’s feast, the Keftiu believe it bodes an, especially, good year, Erissa thought; and her feeling of being an embodied purpose could not keep the sting from her eyes.) The road to the Piraeus stretched gray and empty, between silvery fields and silver-tipped shadowy trees. Stars were few. The air was cool and still, so that their footfalls crunched noisy and they lowered voices as they made what scanty plans they could.
“Walking!” Uldin spat once in disgust.
Sentries were awake at the beach, where boats and the cargoes of ships lay valuable. Uldin let Erissa pick the craft she thought best: a fifteen-footer with mast and sail. Their vessel should not be too big for him to do, some rowing or sculling at need, yet sufficiently big to make Atlantis in reasonable safety. For the most part they would depend on the wind, and entirely on her, navigation.
He had to bluster before he succeeded in commandeering the boat and a few provisions. But he was good at that; and as far as the warriors knew, he was still well up in royal favor. Erissa stood aside, unrecognized in a male tunic and cowled cloak of Peneleos’. The story of a secret and urgent mission that she had concocted was finally believed without sending a runner back to ask Diores. She was not surprised at that, nor at the favorable breeze they caught beyond the roadstead. For she remembered how these same planks bore her and Dagonas toward Troy.
Wind faded out at dawn. The boat lay becalmed in a nearly flat sea, which glittered across its dark blue to the rosy-clouded luminance in the east. Westward, Argolis rose in mountains and shadowy woodlands—Troezen, where Theseus was born. Attica was low on the after horizon.
Elsewhere a few islands were strewn, white and green. Erissa shipped the now useless steering oar and doffed her cloak, for the, dawn was fast warming.
“Best we eat,” she said. “We’ll be busy later.”
“Or idle,” Uldin growled by the mast. “We can’t get far on strength alone. When’ll it blow again?”
“Before long, I expect. Then we can await noontide calms, brisk afternoons and evenings, little or nothing throughout most nights.”
“Ungh. And the fleet due to start forth tomorrow. They’ll have rowers to overtake us, and whoever sees us may well think we’re worth a closer look.”
“I said we would go around behind the islands, taking cover at need. We can see a galley before it can, spy us.”
“Days at best, then, traveling.” Uldin scratched under his shirt, caught a louse, and cracked it between his teeth. “Death along the way, not unlikely?’
“If I am to meet Duncan again, as I told you long ago I would—”
“You never said I’d be there.” Suddenly her heart wavered. He drew his dagger and wagged the point at her. “See here. You’re an eldritch one. More so, I think, than the lover you’re taking us to. I’m none too sure you didn’t trick or bewitch me into coming along. And you’d cast me aside like a worn-out pair of breeches if you’d no further use for me.”
“Uldin, no ... I—”
“Keep quiet, I can take my chances with you, or I can turn around, give you to Theseus for killing after they’ve wrung what you know from you, and take my chances with him. Which is it to be?”
She rallied her courage. She knew, she did, she knew. With clamped fists and quick breath: “Me. You must.”
“I must not do one befouled thing I’m not bound to do, and I’m not bound to you.” Uldin’s scowl eased. “Here’s what I want. Blood brotherhood sworn between us. Faithfulness to death, you for me and I for you, by all our gods, demons, ancestors, hope of descendants, and blood of our veins that we mingle. Then I’ll know I can trust you. I’ve never heard of its being done between man and woman, but you’re different.”
Relief weakened her. “Of course, Uldin. Gladly.”
He grinned. “You’re not that much different, however. Don’t fear. I’ll not stand between you and the man you’re after, when you’ve found him. We can put that in the oath too, if you like. But meanwhile we’ll be by ourselves for days, apt to get killed on any of them, and plenty of free times like now. Keep me happy.”
She stared at him. “Oh, no,” she pleaded.
He shrugged. “That’s the price of my oath. You’re setting a price on yours, you know.”
She tried to recall the maiden who danced with bulls and fell in love with a god. But she couldn’t. The road back was too long.
Well, she thought, Oleg was right about this much: Wherever a road may lead, you walk it a step at a time. “As you will, then,” she said.
XVI
They didn’t treat Reid disrespectfully. Lydra explained to the guards that he had been afflicted by visions which she recognized as false and unlucky. He was forbidden to utter a word about them and was to be gagged if he tried. But otherwise he was simply confined to quarters. After her return she would lift the curse off him.
In fact, since no other male guests remained, he had the freedom of that wing. Escorted, he was allowed to walk through the gardens. From there he watched the ships depart for Knossos.
The Ariadne’s galley went first, long and wide, the Horns on its prow, the Pillar amidships, the Labrys on the sternpost. He saw the maidens crowded eager on deck and tried to make out Erissa—she’d be the quiet, disappointed one—but the distance was too great for middle-aged eyes. Behind came two escorting warcraft, then a line of ships and boats belonging to those lay folk who could afford the trip. All were bright with paint and pennons: wreaths hung at every rail; a breeze carried snatches of song as well as coxswains’ chants. The colors were the more brilliant against the black mountain behind.
He was surprised that his rammer wasn’t in the party. Then he realized Lydra would have forbidden it, and no doubt its crew, to go, on some pretext or other. Too many questions might have gotten asked; or it might even have managed to stand off the Achaean fleet.
So we’re both left behind, Dagonas, he thought.
The fleet marched through the channel and out of Reid’s sight. That was the first of the ten festival days.
On the second, what priestesses had stayed behind were rowed to town and conducted ceremonies. Reid saw that this involved the fisher craft. After those were blessed they put to sea, turned around, and came back to an elaborate reception. That must be more or less simultaneous with Erissa’s arrival at Knossos.