by Linda Talbot
I was standing, lashed by the Meltemi on a lush hill where white lilies rocked on a cloth of crocus gold. Swallows wheeled. Below, the wind wilfully plucked the sea.
I looked onto an imposing city. From the main street, men, some wearing helmets, made apparently from tusks and carrying spears and shields of animal skins, swarmed towards the sea. Women milled helplessly behind.
I saw ships heading for the shore. The city men ran to elegant long craft beached nearby and set out to meet the oncoming boats. They clashed. Daggers drawn, the aggressors leapt aboard the long ships.
The combat persisted, but the city men were superior. The invaders drowned and their boats were towed ashore. The women, with long flounced skirts lilting in the wind, ran to meet their men.
I descended and walked between the houses to the shore. Initially, in the confusion, no one noticed me. Then a woman, her face darkly agitated, stopped tending her man and stared. Suddenly everyone was watching me. I still wore a simple white dress. My hair was gathered high in a scarf. I towered above these small, olive-skinned people, who approached me now with inherent grace. Some men wore long robes, others tunics or kilts. The women were bare-breasted in tiered skirts, also tied over tunics.
A bearded man, whom I had seen lead the defence, stepped towards me. I did not recognise the words he spoke, yet I understood, as though they had been simultaneously translated.
"Who are you?"
I mustered a smile. His face was composed, despite the recent engagement.
"I don't know." Uncannily he understood my words, but was confused.
"Laerces. Captain of Akrotiri's fleet." He introduced himself.
Akrotiri. A name from some future, I felt, yet could not grasp.
"Where are you from?" he asked. Others, listening, came close. I was dumb. I could not remember. He probably thought I was a spy.
"Come."
He took my arm and steered me through the wind and sun towards the town. Speculation murmured in my wake.
We passed by stone built houses of two and three storeys. Inside one that was exceptionally large, I saw two artists painting the freshly plastered walls with a woman walking with a necklace in her left hand towards a girl who appeared to have wounded her foot. I was impressed by the paintings' spontaneity.
"What year is this?" I asked Laerces. He viewed me quizzically. Tentatively, he touched the tip of my blue head scarf. He registered respect, then awe.
"You have been sent to us?" he asked. I was baffled. How and why had I come?
"What land is this?" I persisted.
"Strongyle, as you must know."
He paused, stood back. We had reached a square and the townspeople encircled me. Suddenly Laerces kneeled and everyone followed suit. I heard the murmur, "Goddess," move like a wave among them.
"No!" I recoiled, appalled. Laerces smiled and gestured that I should follow. We entered a large house, climbing stairs to an upper storey. He indicated I should sit in one corner and from the shadows a young woman, whose hair was beginning to grow after apparently having been shaved, brought me figs, pears and meat that tasted like venison. A dry white wine followed. All was served from clay utensils.
After the meal, I was led to a bed; a wooden frame stretched with an animal skin. Before lying down, I asked Laerces, "Who were you fighting today?"
"Men who came to plunder. Fortunately, the Mycenaean mercenaries on their way to Egypt, were breaking their voyage here and helped us."
"Why are they going to Egypt?"
"To help the Thebans oust the Hykos. But you must know this."
"I must be suffering from amnesia," I said, "I remember nothing."
"Sleep now," he said.
But I lay awake, listening to the night sounds of Akrotiri. The wind worried the empty streets. From the hills I heard unfamiliar cries. Then the ground beneath my bed shuddered. An earth tremor. I heard voices outside. Then silence. I tried to sleep. Footsteps. A man's breathing. I recognised Laerces's hands as he bent to touch me.
"I know I should not," he said, but leaned nonetheless to brush my face with his. "The earth is angry because of the men we killed today," he said.
"No. It was an earth tremor. Volcanic, "I assured him. While I could not recall who I was or why I was here, I spontaneously offered this knowledge of the earth. Laerces gently withdrew, in awe again.
"But WHY should it move?"
"Molten earth pushes through the earth's crust," I explained. "It's a warning. It may come again, more violently. You should be prepared."
"It has happened before. We left before the worst disruption. We've only been back a short time."
I recalled now the signs of hasty repair I had noticed in the town. Again, I experienced a half-grasped knowledge of some catastrophe related to the earth....
Laerces left. Fitfully, I slept.
Soon after dawn, I rose and went downstairs. Already artists had started work on a wall. They were depicting yesterday's sea battle, eliminating the bloodshed with a few of the defeated thrust overboard, while life in Akrotiri proceeded unperturbed. Outside people knelt as I passed.
"Please!" I indicated they should rise.
Laerces was conversing with the Mycenaeans. These men were war-like. They did not kneel as I approached. Laerces appeared embarrassed. The Mycenaeans stared candidly at me.
"Come." Laerces indicated I should leave with him.
"What is your race called?" I asked.
"We are the Sea People. Our king is Minos of Crete. And you were sent to save us."
"No - please, you are mistaken. Heed the earth and if it moves again, leave. Is there a safe place you can go?"
Laerces looked dismayed. "We could go to Crete, but our destiny is in your hands." There seemed no way of dissuading him.
"I would like to leave if the earth moves,” I told him. At last he seemed disconcerted.
We parted at the end of the main way. "I shall walk for a while," I said and started for the hills. I met four young men coaxing a netted bull along a track towards the town. I climbed among crocuses and herbs. The land was laced with steep terraces bearing olives, figs and vines. Briefly, I glimpsed what might have been an ibex. Long grasses cowered beneath the Meltemi. The sun sowed diamonds on the sea.
Then, from a hill near the island's centre, I saw a wisp of smoke. A volcano. It seemed otherwise somnolent. Yet I shivered in the sun.
On my return, Laerces was waiting on the outskirts of Akrotiri. He indicated I should follow and led me to a house where he carefully unfolded a loose robe. He approached me like a supplicant, holding wide the robe. Apprehensively I let him drape it on my shoulders.
Throughout the day, an air of expectation pervaded the town. I ate, slept and was introduced to those who were clearly high in the hierarchy. Women appeared to be in charge.
Outside, spring was elevating and brought with it, I sensed, more than a simple renewal of nature. The people were in preparation, moving with alacrity among numerous tasks, some of which were mysterious and performed out of sight.
My memory stirred. I thought of annual fertility rites performed by the ancients and wondered if some similar ceremony was underway.
The next day I was taken to the great house where the artists were painting the wounded girl. Now they were depicting others gathering crocuses. The painting ceased as we entered. Laerces took me to an upper storey and seated me on a dais. He left. There was little light, but below I glimpsed young women, their heads shaved and dyed blue except for a piece of hair drawn high from the top of their heads. They seemed apprehensive, bunched in a corner, each reverently holding two small objects.
They moved into a line, hushed now, their slim bodies barely beyond puberty, their eyes warily wandering to stairs that descended at the end of the room. I could see only part of what lay beyond. I suspected it was an altar.
As though instructed, the six young women proceeded slowly towards the steps. The tension was almost tangible. One by one they moved down. The first t
o reach the inner sanctum gave a strangled cry. Forcibly I felt her fear. The next, perhaps prepared, was silent but emerged shaken. The third, carrying crocuses and a vase, paused, a long thorn, held high in one hand. Crouching, she ripped her right foot until it bled. I remembered the girl in the wall painting. As she set her face against the pain, the other women turned away, then walked, in turn, down the steps. After several minutes the girl emerged without the flowers and limped to join those who had already been below.
Now they climbed the stairs to where I sat. Solemnly, still overcome by their awesome experience, they approached me, holding out their second gifts. These they lay at my feet. None raised her eyes to look at me.
I wanted to speak, to reassure them and learn about the ritual. I felt absurd, a charlatan. Had I been younger, I would rather have been in their place. They passed on. I waited. Could I now leave? Laerces appeared and gestured that I might descend.
He explained later that the earth must be annually appeased and that, as I suspected, the girls were obliged to undergo initiation into womanhood. I wanted to ask about sacrifice. Was there an altar in the inner sanctum where it was carried out? But some instinct checked me.
Laerces took Zaphaea, the young woman who had cut open her foot, to live with him.
In the evening, after eating, they joined me and Laerces told me of King Minos, who had sent citizens from Crete to settle Strongyle.
That night the earth moved again. The tremor was more pronounced and prolonged.
