With its out-sized sail of red wool, and wave-cutting hull design, there was nothing on the water that could touch the yacht for speed. The commander ordered the yacht towed behind the ship. It would slow them, but he could never allow the king’s boat to fall into enemy hands.
Dusk was settling. The wise course would be to torch the other vessels, but the commander hesitated. Every Minoan ship was precious. By the time he had reluctantly decided to destroy the ships, it was too late.
Someone yelled and pointed to the hill overlooking the harbor. A light crested the ridge. Then another and another. The lights flowed down the road leading to the harbor, moving back and forth along the steep switchbacks.
The commander ordered the captain to get underway. The crew cast off the dock lines and unfurled the sail. The pursuers swarmed along the quay. A hail of arrows from shore fell short of the departing vessel. In the light of the gathering torches, the commander saw a man wearing a plumed headdress. In his confusion, the commander thought that the king had succeeded in winning over the people.
Then the man removed the feathered crown to reveal his shaved blue scalp. The priestess stepped up beside her brother. The commander couldn’t see her features in the waning light but he could sense her anger.
As soon as the ship cleared the harbor, the commander found a cabin for the king’s daughter and her nanny. The girl threw a fit of anger when the commander said that the king was busy and would come later in another ship. The noisy tirade was short, thankfully, and she soon fell asleep.
The commander curled up under a cloak on the stern deck. He awoke at first light, rose to his feet, and cursed himself for not moving faster to torch the other ships.
Two sails followed in their wake.
Minoan ship designers had sacrificed the space needed to quarter a crew of rowers to gain more cargo room. The great ships relied on a highly efficient sail that allowed the ship to run close to the wind, but it was still slower than a fully rowed vessel with sail.
The captain suggested cutting the yacht loose. The commander told him to wait.
The pursuers had halved the distance by the end of the day. The captain estimated that they would catch up the following morning. With their superior maneuverability, the smaller ships would run rings around them. Archers posted on the fighting towers could keep them at bay, but only for a while.
The commander’s jaw hardened in determination. The priestess would assume that he planned to seek safe haven in Egypt, long a friendly port of call for Minoan ships. Again, he would do the opposite of her expectations. As soon as darkness had fallen, he told the captain to change course.
The captain relayed the order to the helmsman. The ship swung around, and the bird figurehead pointed its beak toward the place where the sun had set. When the sun rose the next morning there wasn’t a sail in sight. The commander brought out the vellum scroll the king had given him and dutifully summarized the flight from the island. Over the next several days he kept a running log of the voyage to the western end of the Mediterranean and around the coast of what one day would be a country known as Spain. The commander wanted to put distance between his ship and Crete.
They might have escaped if the wind hadn’t died. With no rowing capacity, the ship lay almost motionless in the water. By the time the wind freshened, it was too late. A sail was sighted behind them. The high priestess must have figured out that the commander had detoured. She would have sent one ship to Egypt while the other headed west. Powered by a full crew of rowers, her ship grew closer.
The commander ordered his men to take defensive positions, but they could do little as the smaller, faster boat dashed in and shot off a barrage of fiery arrows. With its sail ablaze, the great ship came to a halt. The smaller vessel drew closer in preparation for boarding.
The cargo vessel’s captain rushed up to the commander, and said, “You must take the girl and abandon ship.”
The suggestion went against every molecule in the commander’s body. “I can’t leave you or my men.”
“You must. We will stay and fight. The king ordered you to keep his daughter safe.”
A second flight of arrows landed on the deck and the ardent flames quickly spread. The ship was doomed. The commander dashed below, scooped up the girl in his arms, and told the nanny to follow him back onto the deck. The captain was at the stern, where his men had hauled the yacht alongside. The commander climbed down a rope ladder into the yacht. The girl was tossed down to him. Then the nanny followed.
He cast off, raised the sail and took the tiller. The fast yacht was well away when the commander looked back and saw that the attacking ship had edged close to the flames. Both ships were enveloped in a billowing black cloud. A puff of wind cleared the air for a second or two, and in that brief instant the commander saw the high priestess at the rail.
Her mouth was open wide in an inaudible scream. Her clenched fists were raised high in the air, held in the same position he had seen when she did the serpent dance. The demonic expression on her face was seared into his memory. He turned his eyes away and looked at the girl in the arms of the nanny. Keep her from harm’s way, the king had pleaded, but she wouldn’t be completely safe until she was beyond the clutches of the priestess forever.
He took a final look back and saw only a thick curtain of smoke. Then he brought the yacht’s sharp bow around and sailed toward the unknown.
CHAPTER ONE
Professor Howard Robsham rooted through the stacks of paper on his desk, like the foraging badger he resembled. He found the packet containing his train and ship tickets, and was stuffing it into a bulging briefcase when the doorbell’s ring interrupted his labors.
“What the deuce,” he muttered.
A visitor was the bloody last thing he needed. He snapped the briefcase shut, carried it out to the vestibule and set it down next to a couple of well-worn leather suitcases.
The doorbell rang a second time. Robsham scurried to the entrance of his King’s Road townhouse and threw open the door, prepared to send the unwelcome caller on his way. Light from inside the house illuminated the face of the firm-jawed man in his thirties who stood on the landing.
“Michael!” Robsham said, the frown leaving his lips. “What a wonderful surprise.”
“Sorry to be a bother.” The man hoisted the portfolio case in his hand. “I know it’s late, but this couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
“Dear me! I’m about to depart for a conference of the World Philological Society in Athens. Leaving momentarily for Victoria Station to catch a sleeper heading to Venice, then onto a steamship bound for Piraeus. Didn’t you get my note?”
The man looked crestfallen. “I haven’t opened correspondence for weeks. I’ve been cloistered like a monk with my work.”
“Designing a new building project?”
“I’m afraid my architectural career has suffered from my other preoccupations.”
“Well… come in, come in. I’m all packed as you can see. A cab is due in twenty minutes. I’ll pour us a quick brandy and we’ll have a short but proper chinwag.”
“Quite all right, Professor. That’s all the time I need.”