With three hours afloat, I decided to investigate more of my mother’s Book of Dreams. There was a beautiful sketch of a fresco across the top of the next page. Lots of ancient ships and dolphins. I started reading.
*
My handmaid retired to her room next to mine. In my royal bedchamber, light and dark shifted mysteriously in the loose shadows of one guttering candle. I lay on the bed, thinking about the festival tomorrow and the awful event it will lead to.
So much horror filled my mind that sleep was impossible. I longed to hold my child. Not wanting to wake Eurydice, I slipped into a robe and tiptoed out of my bedchamber.
In Oia’s room, the bed was empty!
Every moment spent with my daughter had become crushingly precious, so little time left, so much I wanted to say. I rushed along the grand palace corridors, my heart thudding, the sense of urgency growing with each vacant room. Where was Oia? Soon it would be dawn! I entered the West House and pulled up, gasping with relief.
‘Oia, I was looking for you. Why are you here in the middle of the night?’
My daughter peered up at the freshly painted frieze depicting the River Festival. The room glowed in the light of oil lamps. I glanced around. The artisans had accomplished a magnificent work, far exceeding my expectation. A complete story of life in Atlantis surrounded us in the magnificent frescoes.
Oia bowed. ‘My Queen, forgive me, I could not sleep. I was so excited about the festival tomorrow.’ She raised a hand towards the frieze. ‘This is beautiful. If you are not too tired, please tell me the story.’
My heart slowed. ‘Dearest child, of course.’ I slipped my arm around her shoulders and turned her towards a corner. ‘We start here with our greatest naval triumph. See the naked men drowning in the sea, and the ship with a broken bowsprit at the bottom of the fresco?’ I stroked Oia’s hair as I told her the story of the attempted Libyan invasion. How nobly her father, my husband the great king, had fought until a javelin through his heart had ended his life. What cruel fate had pathed our lives to suffer so much?
‘You will look amazing tomorrow.’
‘I wish my father could see me at the River Festival.’
‘His spirit will be here, Oia, of this I am sure. He’ll be as proud as a king can be.’ I indicated the last fresco. ‘Look at this painting – the artisans have already placed us both in the picture. I am on the balcony with the horns of sacrifice, and you are with me.’ I stopped, unable to speak for a moment.
Oia peered up at me. ‘Are you all right, my Queen?’
I nod, take a breath, and continue. ‘See here, the noble women watch from balconies behind us as the finest young men march along the shore. The sea is beautifully painted, blue and yellow dolphins leaping into the air around our great fleet of ships. Oh, and look, Oia, we appear again on the royal flagship with the nobles.’ I raise my hand, indicating the most detailed ship with flags strung from bow to stern.
‘I am not sure of the protocol for tomorrow, my Queen. Do I bow to the kings as before?’
‘My child, now you are a maiden, you are superior to all except me. The kings will bow to you.’
‘That will feel strange.’
I smile and raise my hand to the fresco again. ‘Look, a griffin with its wings raised, pursuing an antelope through papyri and palms on the edge of the marches. And there, a wild cat hunting a pheasant along the river’s edge. The picture explains that the river, which springs from the marches, is our source of life. See how it travels from the beginning of the wall to the end, where it feeds the sea? This also displays the relationship between predator and prey; the strongest always conquer or rule the weak. Through life, we have to remain strong no matter how hard our burden, for in the end we must all reach the sea, our destiny.’
‘Poseidon . . . I wonder what he’s like? Do you think the statue in the temple is a true likeness? Have you ever seen him, my Queen? Will I?’
I could not take my eyes off her. She was so beautiful and innocent, and she had hardly lived.
‘One day, I promise you will see him, but enough questions now, we have a big day tomorrow. Come and sleep with me tonight and then we shall prepare for the festival together at sunrise.’
Oia slipped her arms around me and I found it difficult not to cry out with the pain in my heart.
‘I love you so much, my Queen,’ she whispered.
Drifting in and out of sleep, I held my precious daughter through the night. I recalled every moment of Oia’s life: the unique perfume of the baby in my arms, the young princess with the infectious smile, and now the beautiful girl on the threshold of womanhood. But her life in Atlantis would end soon, replaced by eternity as Poseidon’s queen.
The dawn of the day on which I was destined to sacrifice my daughter to Poseidon came too quickly. I woke with tears in my eyes, Oia shaking me gently.
‘Don’t cry, please. Wake up now,’ she said. ‘Don’t cry . . .’
*
I did not want to read any more of my mother’s book. They were only accounts of my mother’s dreams, but just reading those few lines, I completely understood the queen’s love of her daughter. Also, the binding commitment to keep her people safe, and the dread she felt for what the future held. My stomach was so tight I felt sick. I closed the book and slipped it under the others. One day I would open it again, but not while my own mother was so terribly poorly.
I wondered why she never explained what she was going through. Perhaps she had trought that I wouldn’t have believed her, that I would have dismissed her dreams as madness – but surely when I was old enough, she could have discussed these things with me, at least tried to help me understand why she sent me away.
Did my mother actually think she might kill me? Was I cheated out of a proper family life by some historical nonsense? Angry, and frustrated that she couldn’t answer my questions, I wanted to hug her and yell, all at the same time.
Through those lonely years, all that time, she was missing me like I missed her.
In the depths of my mind, the confusion and disappointment of my past life would not budge. I slumped in the chair, lost in the bleakness of it all.
On the horizon, a landmass loomed into view. We were approaching Crete, where Mam was already settled in her hospital bed. The scene through the window seemed symbolic. As the island became clearer, so did my hope. Here they had the power to look inside my mother’s head and analyse the extent of her injuries. The experts would realise that Bridget McGuire’s brain was starting to repair itself. If only I could look into her mind in that same way, see the past – see the scars – understand everything.
The cost of the air ambulance had wiped out my engagement-ring money and most of my holiday pay, and although I’d managed to raise the limit on my credit card, it wouldn’t last long. Just thinking about my financial situation made me feel ill. All my hopes were with the MRI scan. If my mother could be saved, then any debt was worth it.
CHAPTER 15
BRIDGET
Santorini, 29 years ago.
SWEATING AND SHAKING, I stumbled out of bed and staggered onto the patio. As my pregnancy advanced, so had the intensity of the dreams. They sucked me into another life, another world so real that I feared one day I would not, could not, return. Forever trapped in the body of Queen Thira, living her terrible destiny.
Later that day, when we lay side by side at siesta time I told Tommy, ‘I know they’re only dreams, but they feel so real.’
‘I know, but darling girl, you have to remember that they’re not.’ He turned onto his side and rested his hand on my belly, hoping to feel our baby move. ‘I think she’s sleeping,’ he whispered propping himself on an elbow and smiling. ‘Let’s hope she keeps it up later, and we still manage a siesta every day.’ He rolled onto his back again. ‘Do you think she can hear us talking?’
I hadn’t thought about it. ‘I don’t know. I hope she doesn’t share my dreams. Wouldn’t that be awful?’
‘It
depends. Are they always bad?’
‘Lately they’re all pretty scary. In last night’s dream, I knew I was going to kill my daughter, and I even justified it. Although it broke my heart, I was convinced the sacrifice had to take place. Isn’t that terrible? Why would I even imagine something like that?’
Inside our mosquito-net wigwam, we stared at the ceiling. His hand took mine as he spoke. ‘It sounds too horrible to contemplate. Must be terrifying for you, poor girl.’ He turned again and watched me as I answered.
‘In the dream, it’s because my daughter was born to be the bride of Poseidon. I was simply the vessel that gave birth to her. But from the start, I love her as any mother loves her child. That she ultimately doesn’t belong to me makes no difference.
Poseidon is causing earthquakes and threatening the volcano’s eruption because my daughter has come of age and he is demanding that she be given to him. There’s no doubt in my mind, in the dream, that this is true and the entire population is destined to be destroyed if Poseidon’s wishes are not met.’
‘Astonishing. Is there anything in Greek mythology to substantiate this story?’
‘It’s difficult to research. The nearest thing I’ve come across is the story of Polyxena, daughter of Agamemnon. She was sacrificed and, like many Greek stories, the event is depicted on an ancient vase.
‘During the Trojan War, Polyxena and her brother were captured, and he was killed. However, Polyxena, a young virgin, said she would rather die as a sacrifice to Achilles than live as a slave. She refused to beg for her life or be treated in any other way than a princess. She met her fate bravely. Before the son of Achilles slit her throat, she arranged her clothes so that she was modestly covered. But there is nothing about Polyxena’s mother, how she felt, or if she tried to save her daughter from this terrible finale.’
Tommy shuddered. ‘Perhaps the story played on your mind and influenced your nightmares, Bridget. Do you think?’
I shook my head. ‘I only discovered it recently.’
‘Then you must talk to the doctor. Go and see Kiriaki. Perhaps she can prescribe something to help you sleep. Don’t worry about the money, Bridget, your health is far more important.’
‘You’re right. Anyway, Kiriaki never charges us and the prescriptions cost next to nothing. It’s not the money, Tommy.’
‘Then what is it, darling girl? Tell me.’
I sighed, reluctant to voice my fears. ‘I know it sounds dramatic, but sometimes I’m afraid I’m going mad. Do you think I’m having a breakdown of some sort?’ I turned and looked into his face, knowing I would see the truth, but there was only kindness and concern in his eyes.
‘No, of course not. You’re worrying too much. In the end, they’re only dreams. I’m sure you’ll make the perfect mother. I’ve every confidence in you, Mrs McGuire.’ He brushed my hair away from my damp face. ‘Now, no more worrying.’
*
In the surgery the next morning, Kiriaki listened to my problems. She was a well-respected doctor in her early fifties, slim and dark, with a soothing manner that patients remembered her for. She held surgery in the mornings, worked at the hospital in the afternoons, and visited patients in the early evening. A twelve-hour day, five days per week. She dropped the morning’s prescriptions off at the chemist to save the elderly or sick having to wait. Yianni-One-Arm, who had had an unfortunate accident in the olive factory when he was fifteen, delivered the medication to her patients. Grateful, they handed over fifty lepta to Yianni for the service, knowing it was his only form of income.
She examined me, and tried to assure me that everything was normal.
‘But the nightmares, Doctor – why are they happening?’
‘You’re going through a period of uncertainty, Bridget. Expectant mothers often dream that their lives, or the lives of their babies, might be endangered, especially when it’s their first child. Increased hormone production is the most probable cause.’ She smiled softly. ‘Hormones affect our emotions and anxiety, and they may change the way our brain processes information. Sometimes this causes more vivid dreams, even nightmares, especially during the third trimester. They can be very intense and quite frightening, and may continue for a short while after the baby is born. Eight hours sleep is a thing of the past. You’ll be getting up to feed the baby and attending to its cries all hours of the day and night. You’ll find yourself confused, depressed, even angry on occasion, and have many other emotions and feelings.’
‘Is there anything I can do about it?’
‘Sleep whenever you can. Relax. Take one day at a time and try not to worry.’
‘Sometimes I think I’m going crazy.’
Kiriaki shook her head. ‘No, Bridget, you’re perfectly normal. Both you and your baby girl are coming on fine. Stop worrying.’
*
Despite the doctor’s reassurances, I continued to fret about my nightmares.
‘Keep writing them down,’ Tommy suggested. ‘We can analyse them and talk them through.’
Later that afternoon, I walked around to the small supermarket and bought another simple exercise book. Everyone asked about Tommy, how he was. Nobody mentioned the baby, although their smiles said everything. I understood this was Greek superstition. My friends did not want to tempt the devil, or put a jinx on me or the baby by confirming our happiness.
While Tommy proofread my latest article, I closed my eyes and recalled last night’s dream, taking myself back to the night before the River Festival. With a start, I had woken from my dream of that other life. Or was this the dream, and my other existence the reality? I lay there, lost in my bed, suspended somewhere between past and future.
*
On the fateful morning of the River Festival I wake again, still holding my daughter. I shake her gently and beckon, ‘Arise, my child. Today you will take your place beside me. You are Princess of Atlantis now and all the land will see your beauty, know your wisdom, and pay homage. First, we meet with the kings, and after, we dress for the jubilee and enjoy the day.
‘You will join me in council and help to secure the future of our land. And as Princess of Atlantis, you will learn all there is to know of Poseidon’s great power when you are inaugurated with the title of Poseidon’s Empress.’
Oia gasps, and although she maintains her regal composure, I sense my daughter is ecstatic.
‘My Queen, our country means as much to me as your love, and not even the great lord Poseidon can know how honoured I am to take my place beside you. I hope to learn from your wisdom and sense of justice.’
‘You can dismiss your handmaidens today, Oia. I shall prepare you for the River Festival myself.’
‘My Queen, such protocol is unheard of!’
‘Until now, Oia. That’s the beauty of being Goddess of the Marches: I make the rules. Come, let us prepare.’ I lead Oia to her own chambers, where Eurydice pumps water from the hot springs into the stone bath. I bathe my daughter using my bare hands and the softest sea sponges, knowing I will never have the opportunity again.
‘You know that I love you more than anyone in this world or the next, Oia, don’t you? You are the greatest gift your father ever gave me and I’ve always been proud of you.’
Oia ran her hand down my cheek. ‘You seem sad today, dear Queen.’
‘My child has gone, Oia. Every mother feels the same when her daughter becomes a woman.’
I reach behind my neck and unclasp the sacred dragonfly necklace, only ever worn by the Goddess of the Marches. ‘With this sacred necklace, I consecrate you Princess of Atlantis and bride of Poseidon.’ I fasten the necklace around Oia’s neck, allowing my fingers to follow the line of the filigree insects until they rest on her breastbone, beneath which I can feel the beat of her heart. The very heart that I was bound to pierce with the sacrificial knife.
Oia sighed. ‘I think this is the greatest day of my life. I can’t imagine anything better, except for the day when I hold my own daughter.’
Her word
s pierce me so violently, I fall to my knees and break into tears.
Alarmed, Oia rushes to my side and flings her arms around my neck. ‘My Queen, please don’t cry!’
*
I woke with a terrible shock. The dragonfly necklace! I tried to remember if I had seen it in my dreams before. Had it really hung around the neck of Queen Thira? Was the jewellery that Tommy pulled out of the earth an artefact of unimaginable importance? What had I done? I had to tell Tommy, confess that I had let it go in order to save his life. He would never forgive me, I knew that. Perhaps the news would not only destroy our marriage – it could also bring on another heart attack. I would not let that happen.
After slipping out of bed, I realised I was unable write down the dream. Tommy would read it, recall the day he found the necklace and later collapsed. I had to remember every detail of the dream, store it in my head in case it contained information that I needed to know. My body and mind seemed full of turbulence. I could neither sit or stand. Hastily, I pulled my clothes on, let myself out of the house, and marched through the empty town as dawn broke. I stormed along street after street, going nowhere. Foraging cats froze on the top of the green garbage-bins and stared at me. Donkeys, in the red livery of the town council, clattered to a halt on the cobbled steps and nodded, their backs loaded with rubbish bags. I marched with such vigour I was soon breathless, and my anxiety abated a little.
Shopkeepers appeared as the light gathered, unlocking their doors and preparing for the tourists. I caught sight of my reflection in a window. Hair, sleep tangled; face, white as death. I returned home.
Later that morning, the dream still nagging at the back of my mind, I worked in the ruins next to Poseidon’s temple. After brushing pumice dust away from the fresco, I gazed upon its fine artwork.
For over a decade, Tommy and I had excavated thirty metres into the volcanic ash of Santorini. The fruit of our work lay exposed to daylight for the first time in almost four thousand years.
Secrets of Santorini Page 14
