The Sea King’s Daughter

by Barbara Michaels

  His insistent courtesy finally won her attention. When she turned those eyes away I felt as if an actual physical restraint had been removed.

  She wasn’t as tall as I had thought. Next to Jim she appeared quite short. She looked up at him with her head tilted. It might have been instinctive coquetry, for, as I had noticed, he was that sort of man. Or it might have been appraisal.

  “Coffee,” she said. “Thank you. You forgive the informality, yes? In this small place we outsiders must be allies.”

  The smile she gave him held a hint of the sexual allure she must have possessed once upon a time. She had lost most of it. Her figure was still good, if you like the Junoesque type, but at close range her face was a sad ruin. The fiery black eyes were her only remaining beauty; her cheeks and forehead were a map of wrinkles. Instead of camouflaging the disaster, her heavy makeup merely emphasized its marks.

  Jim held the chair for her and then seated himself.

  “Allies?” he repeated. “Against what enemy, madame?”

  “Is not the enemy always the same?”

  “I think not.” Jim was watching her curiously. “The age-old struggle between evil and good is eternal, but the definitions vary, depending on which side you happen to be.”

  She laughed. She had a pretty, tinkling laugh.

  “But what an absurd conversation. I do not mean to be so serious. I express only my pleasure to find a breath of the outside world. The world of fashion, newspapers, reason. These people talk only of fish and their foolish superstitions.”

  “What kind of superstitions?” Jim was carrying the conversation. I was still tongue-tied.

  “Every kind. Thera is the home of the vrykolas, the vampire. Sometimes the men do not work the fields because there are ghosts. And you have seen”-she opened her eyes wide-“how they are afraid of me. Perhaps they think I am vrykolas, an old harmless woman like me.”

  “You could never be old, Madame Kore,” Jim said. “And no beautiful woman is ever harmless.”

  “And they say Americans are without gallantry.” She smiled at him. “That, too, I miss. The men of Zoa run from me as if I were a demon. Not that a woman would wish their compliments…”

  “Without offense, madame, may I suggest that you encourage their fear? Even your name…”

  “Kore, the maiden,” she said dreamily. “The mother, in one of her many aspects. Persephone, bride of Hell… But of course it is not my realname! My real name I have forgotten, it is so dull.” She swung on me, so suddenly that I shrank back. “A woman may choose her name to suit herself, is that not true?”

  Before I could answer, Jim intervened again. He was frowning, aware of the strain between us, although he didn’t understand it-any more than I did-and was doing his best to intercept Kore’s verbal thrusts.

  “You chose an ominous name,” he said. “Especially in view of the superstitions you mention. And do you always wear those ornaments?”

  He indicated the bracelets she wore, one on each arm. I hadn’t noticed them before. They were not simple circles around her wrists, but coils of gold that went halfway up her forearms and ended in serpents’ heads. The eyes were tiny rubies.

  “I am fond of jewelry.” She toyed with the chains on her breast. The ruby eyes of the golden serpents flashed.

  A movement in the doorway attracted my attention, and I saw Sir Christopher standing there. I wondered how long he had been watching us. When he caught my eye he came toward us. Jim started to perform introductions.

  “I know Madame,” Sir Christopher said, bowing over her hand.

  “You never mentioned her to me,” Jim said.

  Sir Christopher looked surprised at his belligerent tone.

  “I don’t believe the subject ever came up.”

  “You do not talk of me?” Kore laughed. “How unflattering.”

  “Archaeologists are a dull lot,” Sir Christopher said with a smile. “But I’m sure the subject would have arisen sooner or later. You are a prominent citizen, madame.”

  “So prominent it makes me wonder what you are doing here,” Jim said. “A woman like you burying herself in this remote place.”

  “But you do not know my circumstances.”

  “No,” Jim said encouragingly.

  “Someday I will tell you. When I know you better. How long do you stay on the island?”

  Sir Christopher answered.

  “Another month, perhaps. I have commitments in England.”

  “An Honors List, perhaps?” She smiled at him.

  Sir Christopher became the image of the well-bred Englishman expressing modesty.

  Jim laughed. “There have been rumors,” he said, smiling at his boss.

  “Only rumors,” said Sir Christopher. “Actually, I must prepare for a lecture tour in the States and Canada. It was arranged some time ago.”

  “And you?” She turned to me. “How long do you stay?”

  “I don’t know.” Damn the woman; I was actually stammering. “A few weeks, maybe…”

  “Longer, I think.” She stood up, in a sudden decisive movement that caught Sir Christopher with a half-spoken comment on his lips. “I must go now, I cannot stay,” she said. But she didn’t leave. She stood there looking down at me with the same avid fascination that had marked the first moments of our meeting.

  “The sea king’s daughter,” she said softly. “It is fitting. I came to warn you to go away, but now… Yes, I think you will stay longer than youmeant, Ariadne. Give my greeting to Minos.”

  And away she went.

  “She knows,” Sir Christopher exclaimed, staring after her. “How does she know?”

  “Know what?” Jim demanded.

  Sir Christopher appeared not to hear him. I had never seen the man so shaken. His lean cheeks were flushed with anger or embarrassment.

  “Our old code names,” he said, addressing me. “They were a conceit of Frederick ’s. Taken from Cretan legend. I was Daedalus, Durkheim was Poseidon; and Minos was your-”

  He stopped, shooting Jim a guilty look. I think Jim was beginning to catch on anyway, but that look and halt, as explicit as a hand clapped over the mouth, finished the job. Jim’s face reddened, and I had no doubt as to the emotion that caused the flow of blood to his cheeks.

  “Is your name really Ariadne?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” I mumbled, staring at the tablecloth as if I were trying to memorize its varied stains. “But I never use the name, I hate it. Jim, I want to tell you-”

  “You don’t have to tell me.” Jim’s voice was flat with controlled anger. “If I hadn’t been so damn stupid I would have seen it right away. Who else but the bastard’s daughter would come out here to work for him? What the hell kind of mother do you have that she would let you do it?”

  It was such an absurd question that it would have made me laugh under any other circumstances. Now it served as an excuse to turn my anger into outrage.

  “You leave my mother out of this!” I shouted.

  “Children, children,” Sir Christopher began.

  “Children, hell,” Jim yelled-only he didn’t say “hell.” “You shut up! I’m sorry, Chris, I shouldn’t have said that, but that is really adding insult to injury. You knew, and you didn’t tell me, and now you’ve got the nerve to-”

  “If you were too stupid to figure it out, why should he tell you?” I interrupted. I rose, with my chin in the air. “I apologize, Sir Christopher, for this boorish outburst. You have behaved like a gentleman throughout. Good night.”

  I stalked off into the gathering darkness. My chin was still in the air and I kept stumbling over the cobblestones. It wasn’t until I reached the edge of the plaza that I realized I had succumbed. I had apologized to Sir Christopher.

  II

  Frederick and I had our dinner out of cans after all. I was so upset I didn’t stop to buy food in the village. The long, bumpy walk back to the house gave me time to regret my rudeness to Jim. Remorse demanded a scapegoat, and it wasn’t hard
to find someone toward whom my self-anger could be turned. I burst into the house, slamming doors, and confronted Frederick, who was in his usual chair in the kitchen. He looked up, his eyes widening, as I stormed in.

  “You,” I said, panting with anger. I added a few epithets no nice daughter should apply to a parent. “What kind of game are you playing? How could you drag me into this? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pack my bags tomorrow morning and leave.”

  I had to stop to breathe, and Frederick, who had been waiting for his chance, said coldly,

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what you are raving about. If you will calm yourself and speak coherently, perhaps I can-”

  “Damn coherence!” I shouted-only I didn’t say “damn.”

  Frederick looked severe.

  “Such language is disgusting from a young girl. Sit down and hold your tongue. If you don’t, I will assume you are hysterical and deal with you accordingly.”

  I think he would have slapped me, at that; but it wasn’t fear of the threat that made me subside. My rage had blown itself out. I have a hasty temper, but it is short-lived. I sat down in the nearest chair and glowered at him.

  “That woman,” I said. “Don’t tell me she doesn’t know you. She knows my name. She called me Ariadne. And she sends her greeting to you, Minos. Is that really what you called yourself? If you ask me, it was pretty corny.”

  “So it was Kore,” Frederick said coolly. “She has changed a great deal. I had hoped-”

  “You’d hoped it wasn’t. Why? Who is she? Or rather, what was she-to you?”

  “Nothing that concerns you,” Frederick said. “I knew her for a short time many years ago-yes, in Crete. And yes, we were corny, if that is the word you prefer. We were young. The names seemed appropriate.”

  “Minos, the sea king,” I said. “So that’s why you named me Ariadne. I’m surprised, Frederick. I wouldn’t have expected such a poetic touch from you.”

  “You know nothing about me,” Frederick said, in a queer, flat voice. “But you are ready to judge me. The cruelty and intolerance of youth-”

  “I’m not judging you for what you did. I don’t care about that, it’s over and done with. I question what you are doing now. I’m afraid… No, notafraid; I’m apprehensive, because I don’t understand what is happening. I don’t understand that woman. Is she crazy? She said the strangest things.”

  “What things?”

  I repeated some of Kore’s remarks. Frederick listened with interest.

  “She does sound a bit mad,” he agreed. “She was an ignorant, superstitious peasant girl when I knew her. Astonishingly beautiful, of course, but virtually illiterate. Now her beauty is gone, and although she has acquired a veneer of sophistication, the peasant girl is basically unchanged. Quite understandable. I don’t see why such nonsense should make you apprehensive.”

  “You didn’t hear her. And what was the point of the snake bracelets? Jim seemed to think there was something meaningful about them.”

  “Ah, did he? Interesting.” Frederick got up and began opening cans. It was the first time he had ever offered to do any of the menial chores around the house, but after he had opened a can of peaches and one of tomato paste, I took the can opener away from him and started putting together a halfway balanced meal. Frederick went on talking.

  “Yes, it would be interesting if Kore’s mania has taken that form. The roots of it go quite far back; she called herself Kore when I knew her. It seemed to suit that dark beauty of hers, and the position she had chosen, in defiance of custom and loyalty… Kore, as you know, was one of thenames of Persephone, the daughter of Demeter, who was stolen away by Pluto, king of Hell. The grieving mother, who was goddess of grain and vegetation, refused to fertilize the new crops unless the gods intervened and restored her child. They did so; but Pluto tricked his young bride into eating a pomegranate, and by virtue of its magic she was forced to spend half the year in the Underworld-thus accounting for the drear winter months. In the spring the maiden returns to her mother, and the rejoicing goddess allows the new shoots to appear.”

  He took a big bite of the tuna fish I shoved in front of him.

  I said impatiently, “I know all that, I had to study Greek legends in school. What about the snakes?”

  Frederick put down his fork and looked at me critically.

  “After all I have taught you you ought to know the answer to that. Kore and Demeter are two aspects of the same Cretan goddess, the mother and maiden, mistress of life and death. Surely you have seen the statuettes of the Cretan mother goddess, with the serpents twining around her arms. It appears that Kore, in her mature years, has very properly assumed the role of mother rather than maiden-a title to which she lost the right long before I knew her.”

  I decided to overlook the cattiness in the last sentence.

  “You mean she thinks she’s a snake goddess?” I demanded.

  “The crudity of youth,” Frederick muttered. “Actually, her fantasy seems to be fairly consistent. No doubt she is terrorizing these simple peasants by pretending to have occult powers. Many of them still worship the old gods in their hearts, although they call them by the names of the saints.”

  “Jim said he’d heard someone refer to her as Potnia. That’s a Greek title; at least it appears in the Linear B tablets, which are Greek. I thought you said the goddess was Minoan.”

  “Minoan-Mycenean connections are well known,” Frederick said. “The Myceneans were certainly Greek, but they derived a certain amount of their culture from the Minoans. After Knossos and the other Cretan centers were destroyed by the explosion at Thera, a Mycenean dynasty ruled at Knossos for a time. The last Minos-the word is a title, like the Egyptian Pharaoh, not a name-was Greek. Like his predecessors he worshiped the mother goddess, and his daughter-your namesake-was priestess of the goddess. Your name means ‘Most Holy’; were you aware of that?”

  “No,” I said unenthusiastically.

  “You might read Levy’s study of Stone Age religion and its effect on later religious beliefs,” Frederick went on, in his lecturing voice. “It seems obvious that-”

  “Never mind,” I interrupted. “You’ve already told me more than I wanted to know. How about answering some more important questions? The man in the villa-”

  “His identity is irrelevant,” Frederick said. He rose, closing his book. “If you choose to leave, I can’t prevent you. Assuming, of course, that you have enough money for a return ticket…”

  I stared at him in unwilling admiration.

  “My god, you are an unscrupulous rat,” I said.

  “I’m going to bed,” said Frederick.

  If there had been a rack or thumbscrew handy, I would have considered applying them. Nothing short of torture could make him talk when he didn’t want to. And, knowing Frederick, I suspected even the rack wouldn’t do much good.

  I was awakened in the cold gray dawn by someone shaking me.

  “Hurry, it is getting light,” said Frederick.

  I got up. What can you do with a man like that?

  Chapter 9

  I

  FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS FREDERICK STAYED ON WATCH while I swam. He still hadn’t done anything about a boat, and I didn’t push. The man at the villa was watching me. I had seen him on the cliff top, and once a flash of reflected light indicated he was using binoculars. I was pretty sure he had not noticed Frederick, who always chose a perch where he could not be seen from the villa. There seemed to be no objection to my presence, but I was afraid that if I brought a boat or dinghy to the bay, the watcher would suspect that I was not swimming for pleasure.

  Why was I going on with a pursuit I considered both dangerous and futile? I can see now that the answer is a lot more complicated than I realized at the time. For one thing, I didn’t really believe it was all that dangerous. I was young enough then to have a child’s faith in my own invulnerability. As for my feelings about Frederick -well, psychiatrists use the word ambivalent. That’s p
utting it mildly. I was never conscious of it at the time, but what I really wanted was to find his treasure for him single-handed. Then I could walk away, free. I suppose it sounds silly, but that’s how I felt.

  However, I had a more practical reason for continuing. I had found a pot.

  You might think, from the way I have been sneering at pots, that this would not be an exciting discovery. This wasn’t an ordinary pot, though. It was an amphora, a whole one, and it was a beauty.

  I found it on Tuesday, almost as soon as I got into the water. It was half sunk in the sand at the base of the cliff. My friend Alice the fish actually found it. He and I had become quite matey. In fact, he was a nuisance; I had to push him out of the way when I investigated objects on the bottom, and he was waiting for me every morning when I went in. That morning-Tuesday-he nudged me and flipped away as if he wanted to play tag. I went after him and there it was-a symmetrical black hole, too round to be anything but man-made. It was the mouth of the amphora.

  I scraped the sand away with my hands. In the translucent water the painted designs stood out as if they had been freshly retouched-spirals and bands of orange and black, and a row of nautilus shells circling the shoulder of the pot. Two of the handles were still intact.

  I had a coil of nylon line with me, but I didn’t dare use it for fear that any strain on the handles might snap them off. Nor could I empty the pot; there might be something inside, buried under the sand that had drifted in. I just about killed myself lifting it. Frederick came running to help when I neared the shore. He was incoherent with excitement. This was not an ordinary storage vessel, but a luxury item, one that might have been used in a nobleman’s home.

  For the next two days I found nothing, but the infection had seized me. I would have spent all day in the water if I could.

  I think it was Thursday afternoon when I went to the village again. I was getting sick of canned food. At least that’s what I told myself. Actually, I was hoping to see Jim.

  I hung around the plaza for a while, but he was nowhere in sight. The shops were just reopening from the long siesta. I bought fish and tomatoes and lentils and onions and olives, and then I bought a straw bag to put everything in, since the newspapers in which my purchases were wrapped were getting soggy. I bought some postcards, too-and then realized there was nobody I could send them to.