Poul Anderson - The Dancer from Atlantis

“What is, my lord?” Reid asked.

“To plow, sow, reap, build, hunt, sail, make war, make love, make a strong home for his kin and an honored name for his descendants. And for us who are kings, also to raise up and defend the kingdom.”

A horse shied. Theseus needed a minute with reins and whip to bring the team under control. Afterward he drove two-handed, eyes straight before him, talking in a monotone that blew back over his shoulder:

“Let me tell you the story. It’s no secret. Some fifty years ago the Kalydonians and certain allies launched an expedition which fell on southern Crete and sacked a number of towns, harrying so well that these have not since been rebuilt. They could do this because of secret preparations and because three weak, pleasure-loving Minoses in a row had neglected the navy. Crete’s been well logged by now, you see, so ship timber must be imported as you guessed, at the expense of luxuries.

“But a new admiral got command. Next year he whipped the Kalydonians with what vessels he had. A new Minos came to the throne soon after and helped this Admiral Rheakles strengthen the fleet. They decided between them to bring under control all Achaeans who had seaports and hence might threaten the Thalassocracy. This they did, partly by outright conquest, partly by playing us off against each other.

“Well, seven and twenty years ago, my father Aegeus sought to end his vassalage and unite Attica. He revolted. It was put down. The Minos let him remain as underking, to avoid a protracted war that might have spread, but laid harsh terms on him. Among other conditions, every nine years, seven youths and seven maidens of our noblest families must go to Knossos, living as hostages till the next lot arrives.”

“What?” Reid asked. “They’re not ... sacrificed to the Minotaur?”

Theseus cast him a glance. “What’re you talking about? The Minotaur is the sacrifice. Don’t you see the cunning of the scheme? The hostages leave here at their most impressionable age. They come home grown, ready to join our most important councils and continue our most powerful houses—but dyed for life in Cretan colors.

“Well. Even that far back, Diores was a shrewd adviser. Without him we’d have gotten worse peace terms than we did. Now my father had no living sons, and my uncle’s were among the first hostages chosen, of course. Diores urged my father to go to Troezen, at the end of the Argolis peninsula. Its king was his kinsman and an old ally. He agreed to the plan, that my father should secretly beget an heir on a daughter of his. I was that heir.”

It wouldn’t be impossible to keep such an operation confidential, Reid reflected, in this world of tenuous communications between realms often separated by trackless wildernesses.

“I was raised in Troezen,” Theseus said. “It also was tributary to Crete, but being poor, it rarely saw a Cretan.—Poor? In manhood we were rich. Before the first beard bloomed on my cheeks I was helping clear bandits and roving beasts out of the hinterlands.

“Diores often came visiting. Five years back he brought me to Athens. I claimed the heirship; my Cretan-loving cousins denied me it; my party’d kept their swords loose in the scabbards; and afterward the Minos could do nothing.”

Or would do nothing, Reid thought. Does an empire mainly interested in keeping peace along its borders and trade lanes ever pay close attention to dynastic quarrels among the tribes it’s holding in check ... until the day when, too late, it wishes it had done so?

“What are your plans, my lord?” he felt he might ask.

Heavy shoulders rose and fell beneath the tossing cloak. “To do what seems best. I’ll tell you this, Duncan: I’m not ignorant of what goes on in the Thalassocracy. I’ve been there. And not only as a royal visitor, fed buttered words and shown what the courtiers want me to see. No, I’ve fared under different names as trader or deckhand. I’ve looked, listened, met people, learned.”

Again Theseus turned to regard Reid with those disturb—_ ing eyes. “Mind you,” he said, “I’ve spoken no dangerous word today. They know in Knossos we’re restless on the mainland. They know, too, as long as their warships outnumber those that they let all the Achaeans together keep, they’re safe. So they don’t mind if we grumble. They’ll even throw us a bone now and then, since we do provide them trade and tribute and a buffer against the mountaineers. I’ve told you nothing that the Cretan resident and his clerk in the palace haven’t often heard—nothing I didn’t say to the Minos’ own first minister, that time I paid my official visit to Knossos.”

“I’d not denounce you, surely, my lord,” Reid answered, wishing he were more of a diplomat.

“You’re something new in the game,” Theseus growled. “Your powers, your knowledge, whatever destiny hovers above you—who knows? At least I want you to have the truth.”

The truth as you see it, Reid thought. Which is not the truth Erissa sees. Me, I’m still a blind man.

“I fret over what your Cretan leman may whisper to you,” Theseus said. “Or do to you by her arts. Diores warns me she’s a weird creature, closer than most to the All-Mother.”

“I ... did not know ... you worshipped her Goddess, my lord.”

Like sundown in a desert, the hardheaded statecraft dropped from Theseus, primitive dread fell upon him, and he whispered, “She is very mighty, very old. Could I but find an oracle to tell me She’s only the wife of Father Zeus—Hoy!” he yelled to his horses, and cracked the whip across them. “Get going there!” The chariot rocked.

The chance to talk privately came three days afterward, when Diores brought Oleg and Uldin back to Athens. They had been days of total fascination for Reid, a torrent of sights, sounds, smells, songs, stories, sudden explosive realizations of what this myth or that line of poetry really signified. And the nights—by tacit agreement, he and Erissa put no word about their fate into their whisperings at night. For the time being, anxiety, culture shock, even homesickness were largely anesthetized in him.

The Russian and the Hun had been still better off. Oleg bubbled about the chances he saw to make innovations, especially in shipbuilding and metallurgy, and thus to make a fortune. In his dour fashion. Uldin registered enthusiasms of his own. Attica held an abundance of swift, spirited horses at the right age for breaking to the saddle and of young men interested in experimenting with cavalry. Give him a few years, he said, and he’d have a troop that nothing could stand against when they rode off a-conquering.

This was related in the hall before Aegeus, Theseus, Diores, and the leading guardsmen.

Reid cleared his throat. “You suppose we can never return to, our countries, don’t you?” he said.

“How can we?” Uldin retorted.

“It must be talked over.” Reid braced himself “My lord king, we four have much to decide between us, not least how we can try to show you our gratitude. It won’t be easy to reach agreement, as unlike as I fear it would be impossible in the hustle and bustle of this establishment. You won’t think ill of us, will you, my lord, if we go off alone?”

Aegeus hesitated. Theseus frowned. Diores smiled and said smoothly, “Zeus thunder me, no! Tell you what I’ll do. Tomorrow I’ll have a wagon ready, nice comfortable seats, a stock o’ food and drink, and a trusty warrior to drive her wherever you like.” He lifted his palm. “No, don’t deny me, friends. I insist. Nothing’s too good for shipmates o’ mine. Wouldn’t be sensible to leave with a good-looking woman and just two o’ you who can handle a blade.”

And that, Reid thought grimly, was that. They would never be allowed to talk in private.