The long-dead Greeklander Tisaminas now stood up, braced against the heaving sea by clutching hard with both hands at Rubobostes’ left arm, an arm already under strain as the Dacian used brute strength to hang on to the ropes that held the sail. ‘When Odysseus sailed on a similar journey, after the sack of Troy, he too reached home,’ he reminded his companions as sea-spray whipped at his beard. ‘But his home had to be reclaimed. Twenty years lost! That man had been adrift for twenty years. And in twenty years much changes. Men were looting his land. What he had lost he had to fight to claim back for himself and his family. If we are sailing for home, we must expect a fight.’
Urtha shouted through the gale, ‘Home is always a struggle! It’s a cauldron whose fire must be constantly watched. But home is the only cauldron that matters. Cauldrons have always been important to us. The Good God, Dagda, knows this, which is why he carries his own! What you put into the cauldron is what you take out of it. In goes flesh, out comes stew. In goes death, out comes life. Everything the same, everything different. Whatever the hardship, whatever the struggle, the important thing is to get there. We can do nothing but brace ourselves against the waves until we get there.’
‘Home is where the heart is,’ Hylas laughed, quoting from the sheaves of doggerel that Heracles, his one-time master and lover, had written with amazing energy between his adventures.
Home is where the gates are, I thought to myself, as this conversation of encouragement and courage went on. I could remember all too well so many gates closed against me as I’d wandered along the long Path around the world.
Niiv’s voice cut through the stormy air like a scolding mother’s. ‘If I might beg your attention: we’re about to run aground!’
An island of spectacular beauty had suddenly loomed before us. Jason’s skill and Rubobostes’ strength allowed us to miss the rocks and drop our sea anchor in the shallows, close to a cove where an arch of shining, translucent stone spanned the gap between the cliffs.
A boy, dressed in a tunic of white cloth embroidered with the earthy green of tarnished bronze, stood on a narrow ledge, hands on his hips as if impatient; as if he had been waiting. His long, dark hair was tied back and he wore thick-soled sandals. The surging sea blew spray against him, but he stood impassive, smiling; and, catching my eye, he beckoned me to the shore, then turned and jumped from rock to rock, below the arch and out of sight.
Argo whispered through her incumbent: Follow him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Iron Grail
I swam to the beach, my clothes wrapped in oilskin. Dressed again, and unarmed, I clambered over the rocks that bordered the cove and passed below the strange marble bridge. Almost at once I was hailed.
‘Antiokus! Antiokus! Come and see what I’ve built!’
Kinos waited for me at a distance. Then, just as I slipped and skidded on the wet marble, he turned and ran further through the cove; I followed. His own wet tracks led through the wooded path to a meadow, bright with flowers, heady with the scent of summer. Cloud shadow chased across the field. The boy raised his hands as he faced me, a smile of delight on his face. He was sea-crusted and ragged in his torn, white tunic, I saw now, but the child shone from the guileless eyes. He was only six or seven years old, salty hair tied into a tight top-knot, as had been the fashion in Iolkos seven hundred years ago.
‘You are just as I remember you, Antiokus. You’ve changed nothing but your clothes. Older in the eye. Otherwise the same.’
‘And you are just as I remember you. Little Dreamer. A little taller perhaps? But then, perhaps not. I’m not sure. Less dreamy in the eye? I’m not sure of that either.’
‘I dream! I dream!’ the child cried to me excitedly. ‘I can make such wonderful things. You must come and see what I’ve built. My father will come and find me soon. I know he will. I’ve built a place in which he can sit and feast. Come and see! Come and see!’
He turned again and ran quickly through the summer woods, following a path lined with briar rose and hawthorn, a boy bursting with excitement. When a rock face loomed before us, he laughed out loud, clapping his hands. There was a shallow cave below the overhang, almost buried in thorn. He had painted the gaping mouth with squares and triangles in green and red. Inside, he had laid skins and mats of woven grass to make a warm and comfortable floor. He had built low stools out of shaved and polished wood, and two of them sat on either side of a wide, narrow table carved from olive. In the middle of the table was a pottery bowl, crudely made, intricately detailed. In the bowl he had placed two pieces of fruit.
‘They rot quite quickly. I have to keep replacing them. But when he comes, they’ll be fresh. One for each of us. My father is sailing. He’s away, gathering more golden trophies. The quest is to the north, I expect. Among savages and beasts beyond imagination. He’s lost at the moment, but all winds can change. He told me that. Some winds change for the better, some bring storms. My father is wise, though; he knows the sea. He can smell which of Boreas’s children is gusting up in anger. I think he must be wounded, though. That’s why he is coming home so slowly.’
‘Is this the Father Calling Place?’
‘It is! It is!’
‘You played in a place like this with a boy called Kymon, the son of a king.’
‘Yes! I remember him. And his sister. He was a fighter too. He used to tell me what he would do to the enemies of his father when they became his slaves. His world was a muddy fortress, and it meant the world to him.’
‘Where is Munda now? Where is his sister?’
Kinos looked edgy, then shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Look, Antiokus! Everything that is important is here.’
He showed me ten small dolls, each made of wicker and grass, each clothed in strips of black hide or grey pelt that were cut to look like armour. I was immediately intrigued by them. Was it possible that the kolossoi were hidden among them? There were tiny ships, fashioned from wood and clay, and they were arranged as if in a fleet, sailing across the mat and animal-skin floor of this cave. One model stood apart, the symbol of Iolkos, Jason’s city, crudely painted on the dried leaf that acted as a sail.
‘Everything is here. Everything is here. All my father’s stories. Look. This is Phineus. Phineus was the best bit of the story of the golden ram…’
He picked up a small, tattered figurine and waved it at me, grinning. His other hand was behind his back. When he brought it out he was holding a dead bat, its wings stretched and held in place by twigs and twine. The creature’s belly had erupted with decay. It made swooping motions on to the figure of Phineus. Harpies attacking the blind man, he explained, though I had already made the connection.
‘Gnash, gnash, gnash,’ he growled as the dead bat savaged the wicker doll.
‘Phineus was blind and half mad,’ He said suddenly, pausing in the attacking movements. ‘But he still knew enough to know what was to come. He guided my father onwards. Sometimes you don’t need eyes to see. Sometimes you just need to dream…’
His own eyes glowed with excitement. Again he made the bat swoop on the straw figure, then he placed them down, lay down himself beside the ships, and touched each one with a finger, just enough to move it along a fraction.
‘Here they go. Here they go. Do you see, Antiokus? Seeking. Seeking. Blow wind blow! Up sail!’ he cried as he played. ‘Ship oars, and shit over the side. Quickly, quickly, while you have the chance. The gods alone know what might be down there watching. The wind might drop. Catch the breeze. Jason sails the great unknown. My mother waits. My mother waits. Over here, Antiokus, in Hydraland. Do you see?’
A woman’s effigy in straw draped in black moleskin stood on a lump of red granite. ‘Boiling up her strange brew. Making the smoke that gives you dreams. Ready for rescue from the warped king who keeps her prisoner.’
He sang a little song.
‘Mother’s charms, and father’s arms,
Hold me tight, through each long night.
Charms that sing,
/> Arms that ring.
Time will tell.
All must be well.’
He seemed very happy as he played with his toys. I asked him if he had seen the ship in the bay and he shrugged.
‘I see many ships.’
‘Didn’t you recognise this one?’
‘No. Why should I? I recognised you, though.’
Had he seen his father? Would he even have recognised the man? I asked him carefully whether he had noticed anything strange about the rest of the crew, peering over the sides of the vessel.
‘Just ghosts,’ he said. ‘The sea here is full of ghosts.’ He sat up suddenly. ‘Let’s eat the fruit. I have plenty. And I can always get more for my father when he comes. And then I have something else to show you. A wild rose,’ he added with a little laugh. ‘Here you are…’ and he tossed one of the plump plums towards me, stuffing the other into his mouth with a great burst of crimson juice, laughing through the mashing of the pulp.
I was about to pursue the subject of Munda when, unexpectedly, Niiv appeared on the path, calling to me. Kinos was at once annoyed.
‘Who’s she? I didn’t invite her here!’
‘She’s a friend. She means no harm,’ I assured him.
But he rushed to a basket in the corner of the cave, fetched out two ripe plums from his hidden store and flung them at the Pohjolan woman. One struck her on the face and she screeched with shock and anger, but stood her ground. Kinos threw a tantrum. ‘I don’t know you,’ he shouted at Niiv, and then looking at me through tear-filled eyes. ‘Why did you bring her? I wanted to show you this place alone. This is my special place. This is the Father Calling Place, Antiokus. You told me you had lost your own father when you were young. I thought you were my special friend. It was only for your eyes.’
And with that moment of astonishingly disappointed outrage, he ran from the cave, fleet as a hound, and was lost among the whispering trees.
Niiv wiped the juice from her face, picked up the broken plum and ate it. ‘Who was that little brat?’ she asked. She seemed more interested in her meal than in the question.
‘Jason’s son. Little Dreamer.’
‘What? Not old enough. He’d be a man by now.’
‘I know. What are you doing here?’
‘He can’t have been Jason’s son,’ she repeated. ‘The other son was only slightly older than this one, and when we saw him he was a grown and angry man.’
‘I know. We’re in a world of phantoms. What are you doing here?’
‘I was worried about you.’ She was transparently lying. She was intrigued by what I might have been discovering. I let it pass.
On impulse, I went back into the shallow cave and picked up the woven-grass figure of Phineus. I put it back, but gathered up the effigies of the argonauts. I stole them all. They felt like desiccated grass and dried skin, but they might have been hiding the kolossoi of my old friends.
Without my old wits I couldn’t tell, so reason suggested that I should leave nothing to chance.
My belt stuffed with crumbling dolls, Niiv and I went back to the cove, where Argo waited. The boy followed us, lurking in the undergrowth, but he neither revealed himself nor railed against the theft.
Later, Mielikki whispered to me: She says they are not the souls you seek.
* * *
Once aboard, Argo cast off and found deeper water, following the line of the cliffs. I expected Jason to ask me about the boy, but he was implacable and dark. Urtha, looking relaxed at his oar, a king who had cast off his cloak of royalty, whispered, ‘Who was he? That lad?’
‘The image of Jason’s second son.’
‘I thought as much. There is a smell of Greek Land in this place. And Jason knows what he saw, he simply doesn’t accept it. He referred to the boy as a ghost. He knows he’s searching for a man. Was he a ghost?’
‘No.’
‘But not the son.’
I didn’t answer the question. I didn’t know how to at that moment. Yes, it was the son. Everything was the son. Everything was Little Dreamer. The crushed dolls in my waistband seemed to pinch at my flesh. Perhaps I had stolen them as much because I didn’t want to leave this island as to see if they were my friends’ kolossoi. There was more to learn on this intriguing sea-fortress.
I had no doubt that I’d set foot on the Island of the Wicker Men.
The wind gusted and Argo shifted on the swelling sea. The cliffs rode dramatically past, light flashing from polished marble high up among the dense trees that crowded the edges. And after a while, another bay came into sight. A youth, sitting astride a small white horse, waited there. The young man was wearing a green tunic with black edges. He wore a Greeklander helmet tipped back on his head to show his face; the helmet’s crest flowed proudly down his back, a wild horse’s mane of red. His legs, gripping the animal’s flanks, shone where they were encased in silver greaves.
As Argo dropped anchor again this young warrior turned on the beach, marking a pattern in the sand before kicking his way towards the narrow defile leading inland and disappearing from view.
I looked at Jason. He had seen everything I had seen, but he had not responded. His face was a scowl, but as he gripped the rail his hands were white.
‘Do you think that might have been your grail?’ I asked the man, using a word fashionable among warrior-mercenaries.
‘My what?’
‘Your small copper bowl of hope.’
‘The small copper bowl of hope and desire,’ he corrected. ‘Apollo’s krater, emptied of wine, filled with dreams. You mean Little Dreamer, of course.’
‘Was that your son?’
‘No,’ was Jason’s blunt reply. ‘Not him. Not that one. I’ll know him when I see him; he’ll know me.’ He gave me a searching look. ‘But I have the feeling that we’ll not sail on until you’ve been ashore. Are you learning something from this place?’
‘I am,’ I confirmed.
‘Then go ashore.’
I waded to the white sand of the cove and had hardly set foot on dry land before Niiv slipped over the side of the ship and followed.
The rider clattered back to the entrance of the defile and grinned at me, helmet now held in his hand. He had long hair and engaging eyes, a young man at ease, delighted with this new company.
‘Antiokus, as I live, laugh and cry! It’s you. Again. Years have passed, but you don’t change! Read what I marked in the sand … then come and see what I’ve built. Come and see what I’ve built! Who’s that?’ He craned forward over his steed’s nape, face glowing with curiosity as Niiv, naked, stepped on to the sand and dropped her dry robe over her head.
‘A friend of mine,’ I told the youth.
‘Hah!’ Niiv exclaimed behind me. Kinos was puzzled for a moment, then laughed.
‘You wild rover! She’s young. I think I understand. But if I don’t, who cares anyway? Come and see what I’ve built. Both of you.’
Niiv raced past me and held on to the horse’s tail as Kinos led us to his new and strange domain. Niiv was fluent in his language, and whispered to him as he rode, but Little Dreamer had ears only for my own progress through a difficult terrain, ensuring my safety; though he had eyes for the woman, eyes that shone.
Only once did our path bring us back in view of the sea and the strand. I glanced down again at the face of Medusa, roughly stamped out by the hooves of the horse. Kinos saw me looking. ‘My mother’s mark!’ he called back. ‘I don’t understand it; but it comforts me to make it. She liked snakes; and their venom; and strange herbs, potent herbs. My mother protected me at a time of great danger. She protected me often, my brother too. She gave us drinks that took us to the stars, Antiokus! I have journeyed to the stars with my mother’s help.’
‘Where is your mother now?’ I challenged him as we continued along the path.
‘Long dead, bless her heart. But she saved my life. My brother’s too. A man disguised himself as my father and tried to kill us. This was a long time ago, in t
he great city of Iolkos, when we were children.’ He turned on the thin saddle to look at me, riding in awkward fashion, but with ease. ‘Mother hid us carefully. My brother decided to leave this hiding place; I agreed to stay, to wait for Jason. I know he’ll come and find me. I’ve been calling for him. You were my father’s friend. Come and see what I’ve built for him.’
He turned back to a proper riding position, kicked the horse and cantered ahead, Niiv stumbling behind him. As she realised the animal might kick her, she let go of the poor beast. I caught up with her and she clung to me. ‘Where are we going?’
I had no words nor time to reassure her. I said only, ‘Step by step into a darker place than even the realm where Persephone rules.’
‘I don’t understand. Who’s Persephone?’
‘Never mind. Just watch and listen; you may see things that pass me by.’
‘What are you two chattering about?’ the brash young man called back. It was a question addressed in a mild manner. I replied that we were breathless with the pace. He grinned, slowed to a walk and led us through an olive wood, away from the sea.
After a while he swung down from the horse and tossed his helmet aside, watching us with obvious pleasure. He seemed to notice at once that Niiv’s black hair was falsely coloured, but was clearly excited by the pale tint of her eyes.
‘We have to be careful here,’ he cautioned. ‘We’re entering a dangerous valley. Keep as quiet as possible. You’ll hear the sound of a forge. Ignore it. I should have ignored it, but alas I didn’t, and there are some unpleasant creatures hunting the woods and gullies.’
As we walked along the narrow path, we were aware that we were being followed. Our pursuers were furtive. Occasionally, a gleaming gaping metal maw would peer out through the underbrush, some bright, some tarnished a dull green. Though we didn’t hear the sound of a forge as we journeyed, I caught the whiff of smelting, the occasional warm draught from a furnace somewhere close. And although the sounds from the crowded woodland were animal and hoarse, Niiv whispered to me: ‘Some of them sound as if they’re calling his name.’
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