Poul Anderson - The Dancer from Atlantis

The lamp was almost out. She rose, cat-cautious, and replenished it. The room was warm, thick with odors of oil, smoke, flesh, and musky breath. Outside the door curtain were darkness and silence.

Erissa leaned over him. “Peneleos,” she said, word by soft and measured word, “you know I am your woman who wants only to serve you. But you know I also serve the Goddess.”

“Yes,” he responded, toneless as always before.

“Hear me, Peneleos. The Goddess has revealed to me that the divine plan, Hers and Zeus’, for the union of our two peoples is imperiled. If that be done which is forbidden, the everlasting curse will fall upon them. Tell me what is intended so I may warn against wrongness.”

She held her breath till he responded. Her hope pivoted on the likelihood that Diores had confided in him. Surely more men than the prince and admiral would have to know the real scheme if it differed from the announced one. Peneleos, while young, was not indiscreet; and information would enable him to keep sharper watch on whatever his leman might be doing or learning.

The answers she drew forth clenched her sense of fate. Winter-long plotting between Theseus, Lydra, and those whom Lydra’s agents had discovered or planted in Knossos; story of the future drawn from a too trusting Duncan Reid; reinterpretation of the Periboean oracle to mean that the Goddess Herself desired the triumph of Athens; scheme to seize the queen city and command the whole fleet to turn about and fall on Keft; safety margin, that no hostile move need be made if disaster did not grab the Labyrinth when it was supposed to; everything kept secret from the Minos; Duncan left behind under guard on some pretext.

She didn’t pause for bitterness. Much of this she had suspected for weeks.

“Hark,” she said. “You remember that you have fretted about possible trouble from the man Uldin. Know now that Poseidon is angered at misuse of the horse—that his sacred animal should be ridden like a donkey—and will bring ruin on the expedition unless the sacrilege ceases for good. Uldin must be slain in expiation; but, secretly, for if the reason were given out, messengers would leave for Crete.”

She took her time, repeating, elaborating, until she felt she had engraved belief on the ill-defended mind. Moonset and sunrise drew nearer with each breath, but she knew she would see Duncan again. In the end, she left Peneleos on the bed, in the dark, while she went “to fetch your lord Diores so we can plan what to do.”

The rush-strewn passage was cold under her bare feet. Shadows jumped around the streaming lampflame. Uldin’s room was’ a few doors down. She entered. He lay snoring beside a new slave girl, his first being too heavy with child. (I will not have another by Duncan, went through Erissa’s thoughts like a bat that flies forth every twilight.

I seem to have become barren since the last one Dagonas gave me. Welladay, I could not have done what I have done here were matters otherwise; let the memory of Deukalion comfort me. Unless, after this strife is over, Rhea will grant—) The Hun had kept to, his shaven head, three tufts of hair, and barbaric earrings. The scarred coarse visage was hideous to her. But where else was help?

She shook him. He came immediately awake. She laid a hand across his mouth, stopped, and whispered: “Rise at once. I’ve laid the Sleep on Peneleos and learned something terrible.”

He nodded and followed her, unclad but gripping his iron blade.

Early in winter, still dwelling alone and remembering Duncan much too well, she had recalled a thing he told her. In future centuries Dorian tribesmen from the north were to overrun the Achaeans because their iron weapons were cheap enough that any man could bear them, whereas a full bronze panoply was only for a nobleman. So later she asked Peneleos: “Are your leaders wise to let Uldin create the horse archers he speaks of? Once that usage spreads, will it not spell the end of the war chariot, even of the whole state founded on charioteer lords?” At intervals she strengthened the suggestion while he lay in the Sleep.

Her act had seemed nothing but a minor wedge she might drive. However, it took effect. Peneleos repeated the idea to Diores, Theseus, and others, who grew thoughtful. They did not outright forbid Uldin to carry on, but they found pretexts to gradually withdraw support until they should fully have reconsidered. In the end he sat about idle and smoldering.

Tonight, from a Peneleos who thought he was Diores, the Hun learned of a scheme to kill him. He did not learn that Erissa had anything to do with those words aside from extracting them. Peneleos had been ordered to forget that; and Uldin’s acquaintance with shaman arts was limited.

“Ungh,” he grunted. After a moment, he shot her a glance from a countenance otherwise gone motionless. “Why do you warn me?”

“I’ve also learned of a plot to fall on Crete when it lies racked and broken,” she said. “The warning we bore was never allowed to reach the Minos. Those are my people. I want to save them. I can’t get there alone.”

“I’d wondered about that Tyrrhenian expedition.”

“And think, Uldin!” Erissa seized his arm. “The mainland does have reason to fear your kind of soldier. That’s why they’ve delayed and hampered you here. Crete. guarded by the sea, never would. Rather, they should welcomed a cavalry to help control that mainland. The more so when you come as their deliverer?’

He snapped to decision. “Very well. You may be deadly wrong, but if you’re right, we’re fools to linger here. And a man dies when the gods will.” Somehow, for the moment it flashed, his grin took away his ugliness. “Besides, this gives me less sea voyaging to do.”

“Go make yourself ready,” Erissa said.

When he was gone, she bent again over Peneleos. “Sleep now, my love,” she whispered. “All has been done. All is well.” With moth gentleness she closed his eyes. “Sleep late. Forget what we have spoken of. The gods and prudence alike forbid that more than your lord Diores know. Sleep. Wake refreshed. Do not seek after me. I will only be away on an errand. Sleep deeply, Peneleos.”

His breathing became still more regular. On an impulse she did not quite understand, she kissed him. Then she grew busy gathering clothes, blankets, jewelry and utensils and weapons to wrap in them.

Uldin returned, clad in his old foul-smelling outfit. He pointed at the bed. “Shall I stick him?” he asked. “No!” Erissa realized she had answered too loudly. “No, that could start the hue and cry after us hours before it need happen. Follow me.”

They had no trouble leaving palace or city. Since Athens was choked with king’s men, no one saw reason to post guards. The moon was still up, approaching the full. (When that happens during Asterion’s feast, the Keftiu believe it bodes an, especially, good year, Erissa thought; and her feeling of being an embodied purpose could not keep the sting from her eyes.) The road to the Piraeus stretched gray and empty, between silvery fields and silver-tipped shadowy trees. Stars were few. The air was cool and still, so that their footfalls crunched noisy and they lowered voices as they made what scanty plans they could.

“Walking!” Uldin spat once in disgust.

Sentries were awake at the beach, where boats and the cargoes of ships lay valuable. Uldin let Erissa pick the craft she thought best: a fifteen-footer with mast and sail. Their vessel should not be too big for him to do, some rowing or sculling at need, yet sufficiently big to make Atlantis in reasonable safety. For the most part they would depend on the wind, and entirely on her, navigation.

He had to bluster before he succeeded in commandeering the boat and a few provisions. But he was good at that; and as far as the warriors knew, he was still well up in royal favor. Erissa stood aside, unrecognized in a male tunic and cowled cloak of Peneleos’. The story of a secret and urgent mission that she had concocted was finally believed without sending a runner back to ask Diores. She was not surprised at that, nor at the favorable breeze they caught beyond the roadstead. For she remembered how these same planks bore her and Dagonas toward Troy.