Poul Anderson - The Dancer from Atlantis

Of course, by,the standards of Reid’s milieu, even the well-to-do here lived austerely. But how much genuine well-being lay in a glut of gadgets? Given a fertile sea in a gentle climate, surrounded by natural beauty, free of war or the threat of it, who needed more?

When the Minoan worked, he worked hard, often dangerously. But his basic needs were soon taken care of; the government, drawing its income from tariffs, tribute, and royal properties, made no demands on him; how much extra toil he put in depended on how big a share of available luxuries he desired. He always left himself ample time for loafing, swimming, sport fishing, partying, lovemaking, worship, joy Reid had gotten the distinct impression that Keftiu, 1400 B.C., had more leisure and probably more individual liberty than Americans, 1970 A.D.

The harbormaster resembled Gathon but wore typically Cretan garb; a tightly wound white loincloth which doubled as padding for a bronze girdle; boots and puttees; wraparound headgear; jewelry at neck, wrists, and ankles. He carried a staff of office topped with the double ax, and a peacock plume in his turban. His fellow males were clad likewise, though less elaborately. Most went bareheaded, some had a small cap, some chose shoes or sandals or nothing on the feet, the loincloths might be in gaudy patterns, the belts were oftener leather than metal. Both sexes wore those cinctures; they could be seen around otherwise naked children, constricting the waist to that narrowness admired by the Keftiu; only the elderly gave their bellies room to relax.

Diores nudged Reid. “I must admit, mate, Cretish girls put on a brave show,” he leered. “Eh? And it’s not hard finding a wench who’ll tumble, either, after a bit o’ fast talk, maybe a stoup o’ wine or a bauble. I wouldn’t let my daughters run loose like that, but it does make fun for a sailorman, right?”

Most women were dressed merely in ankle-length skirts; they were commoners, bearing groceries or laundry or water jugs or babies. But some more fashionable types had crinolines elaborately flounced; and embroidered bodices with or without a gauzy chemise, that upheld but did not cover the breasts, and stone-studded copper, tin, bronze, silver, gold, amber ornamentation; and saucy little sandals; and as wide a variety of hats as ever along Reid’s Champs Elysees; and makeup of talc and rouge for more areas than the face. When the Achaean crew shouted lusty greetings, the younger girls were apt to giggle and wave handkerchiefs in reply.

Diores and Reid explained to the harbormaster that they had official business with the Ariadne. He bowed. “Of course, sirs,” he said. “I’ll dispatch a courier boat at once, and you’ll doubtless be received tomorrow morning.” He rested a bright glance on Reid, obviously curious as to what manner of foreigner this might be. “Meanwhile, will you not honor my house?”

“I thank you,” Reid said, Diores was less pleased, having looked forward to a rowdy evening in a waterfront inn, but was forced to accept too.

The streets lacked sidewalks; closely packed buildings hemmed them in between walls or booths. But they were wide, reasonably straight, paved with well-dressed stone. A market square displayed a stunning mosaic of octopus and lilies; at its center splashed a fountain, where children played under the eyes of mothers or nurses. The outdoor cleanliness was due to a sophisticated drainage and refuse disposal system. The workaday bustle recalled that of Athens but was somehow more orderly, easygoing, and happy. And it included sights unknown among those Achaeans who had not adopted Cretan civilization—shops offering wares from as far as Britain, Spain, Ethiopia, or India; public scribes; an architect sketching on papyrus his rendering of a proposed house; a school letting out, boys and girls together carrying styluses and waxed tablets for their homework and not appearing to be exclusively children of the rich, either; a blind lyrist playing and singing, his bowl at his feet for donations of food

“Like rainstorms on an autumn sea, Sun-stabbed by spears of brazen light, Your whirlwind love nigh capsized me. Like rainstorms on an autumn sea, You’ve left a gentle memory.

Come back and whip the billows white Like rainstorms on an autumn sea, Sun-stabbed by spears of brazen light!”

The harbormaster’s house was large enough to require two patios for ventilation. Its rooms were decorated with ..escos of animals, plants; waves in the lively and naturalistic Cretan style. Floors were pebbled cement covered by mats; you removed footgear before entering. Pamela would have admired the furniture: wooden chests, bedsteads, and chairs; round-topped stone tables; lamps, jars, braziers of different sizes and shapes. The workmanship was exquisite, the colors pleasing. A niche held a terra-cotta image of the Goddess in Her aspect of Rhea the Mother. The entire family washed themselves, knelt, and asked Her blessing before dinner.

After Aegeus’ board, Reid rejoiced in well-prepared seafood, vegetables, wheat bread, goat cheese, honeycake for dessert, an excellent wine. The conversation was that of a civilized host, especially interested in astronomy and natural history, who didn’t mind letting his wife and their offspring join in. No one got drunk and no slave girls waited in the guest chambers. (In fact, while slaves were common elsewhere in the Thalassocracy, they were forbidden to be brought to holy Atlantis. There a servant was usually the daughter of poor parents, paid in food, lodging, and an eventual dowry.)

Lying in a bed too small, Reid wondered how the Kefiiu, preservers of law and peace, carriers of a trade that brought prosperity to every realm it touched, clean, friendly, mannerly, learned, gifted, totally human, would come to be remembered for a man-devouring monster in horrible corridors. Well, he thought, the victors write the chonicles, eventually the legends.

He opened his eyes. For the sake of fresh air, he’d left the door to the adjoining courtyard open. The night was clear, murmurous, frosted with stars. But up across them reared the black mass of the volcano; and it had begun to smoke.

Lydra, the Ariadne of Atlantis, touched Reid’s brow. “In the name of the Goddess and Asterion, blessings.” Her formal words were flattened out by the wariness that looked from her eyes.

He bowed. “Forgive an outlander, my lady, if he does not know what is proper behavior,” he said awkwardly.

Silence fell and continued in that long dim room. At its southern end, the door giving on a light well was closed against rain. Opposite gaped darkness, a hallway leading deeper into the maze of the palace-temple. A mural on the south side showed Her three aspects together, Maiden, Mother,, and Hag. On the north side, human figures who had the heads and wings of eagles escorted the dead to judgment. The pictures had all the Cretan realism, none of the Cretan joyfulness. By flickering lamplight, they seemed to stir. Smoke from bronze braziers curled before them, sweetened by sandalwood but stinging nostrils in this bleak air.

“Well.” The high priestess, sought her cushioned marble throne. “Be seated if you wish.”

Reid took a stool beneath her. What next? he wondered. Yesterday he and Diores had been received with ritual courtesy. Afterward a pair of consecrates gave the American a guided tour of the publicly showable areas while the Athenian and the Ariadne were closeted alone for hours. That evening, back at the harbormaster’s house, Diores was evasive: “—Oh, she wanted the gossip from our parts. And I had orders to ask about getting the Temple’s help toward liberalizing the treaty—like letting us keep more watercraft for protecting our interests in the Euxine where the Cretans don’t patrol—you know. She’ll see you in private tomorrow. Now have another cupful, if our host’ll be that kind, and simmer down.”