Poul Anderson - The Dancer from Atlantis

“But for a single stupid wench—”

“Go back if you’re afraid,” Dagonas said scornfully. “No, no, I come."

“If she’s important to Theseus, she must be important to our side,” Tylisson said. “Or at least we may kill a few Achaeans.”

They continued their stealthy progress. Reid went in the van beside Erissa. He saw her only as a shadow and a spearhead; but bending close, touching the rough wool tunic, breathing a hint of her amidst fumes and cinders, he thought: She’s here. She is. She’s not the girl she was, but she’s the woman that the girl became.

“Should we go through with this?” he whispered. “We did,” she replied.

“Did we? In just this way?”

“Yes. I know now what really happened tonight. If we fail our duty—why, maybe I’ll never meet you again, Duncan. Maybe we’ll never have had those moments that were ours.”

“What about the risk to our friends?”

“They fight in their own people’s cause. This hour is for more than you and me. Tylisson spoke well. Think. Why did Theseus want that girl so badly? Because she’s full of strangeness; she’s fated to return to herself He—and Lydra, I suppose—dare not let an enemy of such unknown powers go loose. But having taken her, will they not use her? She’s only a girl, Duncan. She can be broken to their will.

“The free Keftiu on the lesser islands could be overrun. But, if this Chosen One escapes him, Theseus will be daunted. He’ll stay his hand, rest content with uniting Attica, leave the Aegean Sea in peace.” For an instant, malice spat: “Yes, he’ll become so shy of the Goddess’ faith that he’ll not dare use it for his statecraft as he now plans to He’ll set the Ariadne off where she can do no more harm.”

“Hsh,” cautioned Uldin.

Down on their bellies, they crawled along garden walks. Through leaves, Reid saw the nearest of the campfires. It cast its glimmer around a courtyard, on a fallen pillar and a row of huge storage jars lined along the masonry. Two Achaeans sat drinking. A royal slave scuttled to keep their beakers full; for him life hadn’t changed much. A third man must be on duty, because he was fully equipped and on his feet. The light flowed off his bronze. He laughed and jested with his companions, though. Reid caught a snatch: “—When the ships come tomorrow or next day, when we’ve ample men, that’s when the roundup really begins and maybe you’ll find that girl who got away, Hippomenes—In a corner lay what the, American thought were two asleep. He stole sufficiently close to discover that they were Cretans. Festival wreaths were withering on their temples, above blank eyes and cut throats. Their blood had pooled widely before it clotted.

Hugging the wall, Erissa led her group to an unwatched side entrance. The first several yards of corridor beyond were tomb black. Then they emerged in another at right angles, where lamps burned at intervals. Between doorways romped a mural of bulls, dolphins, bees, gulls, blossoms, youths, maidens, everything that was glad. Erissa nodded. “I expected those lights,” she said. “The Ariadne. if no one else, would direct the laying down of such a thread so the, conquerors can find their way along the main halls.”

Shadows bulked and slunk, demon-shaped; but the air was blessedly cool and clean. They moved toward that section Erissa believed was their likeliest goal. Flow full of life these corridors, these rooms must have been, one day ago. The passage wasn’t straight, it wound, wildly intersected.

A voice beyond a corner stabbed at Reid. Theseus! “Well, that’s done. I wasn’t sure I could.”

Lydra: “I told you my presence would ward you.”

“Yes. I was listening to your prayers the whole while. Was I wrong to enjoy it? I did. More than I expected.”

“You will not again, will you? Here I am.”

“Enough.”

Reid risked a peek. Yards off was a door where two full-equipped warriors stood guard, spears grounded, swords at waist, shields ashine in the lamplight. Theseus and Ariadne were departing in the opposite direction. The prince wore only a tunic and glaive; his yellow mane seemed brighter than the bronze, and he walked with the gait of one who has taken more than a kingdom. Lydra, in Cretan priestess garb, clung to his arm.

What’s going on? Reid wondered icily.

“Hurry, we can kill them,” Ashkel breathed.

“No, that’s Theseus himself,” Erissa answered. “More men are sure to be in call.”

To the killing Theseus—” Rhizon’s blade lifted.

“Hold. We’re here to save the maiden, Dagonas answered. “Let him take the soldiers waiting for him out of earshot.”

They stood. Hearts thuttered.

“Go.” Erissa commanded.

Reid led the charge around the corner. An Achaean yelled and cast his spear. Ilaras took it in the stomach. He fell, spouting blood, fighting not to scream. Reid glimpsed the gray beardless face and thought—events seemed to be happening very slowly; there was ample time to think—Merciful. A major artery was cut, I guess. Otherwise he’d have had to die of peritonitis, by stages.

The second man prodded with his pike. Reid wielded hiss own clumsily, like a club, trying to knock aside the point that lunged at him. Wood clattered. Erissa caught the shaft and hung on. The Athenian let go and drew his sword. Tylisson rushed. With a slight movement of shield, the Athenian sent the Cretan blade gliding off it. His own thrust over the top. Tylisson staggered back, clutching a lacerated arm. “Help! To aid, to aid!” the sentries were bawling.

Uldin attacked one. His saber whined and belled. When the, bronze stabbed at him, he wasn’t there; he bounced from side to side. Fighting, he screamed. The noise clawed. Rhizon dodged in and flung both arms around the shield, pulling it down. Uldin laughed and swung. The Achaean’s head bounced free. It lay there staring at its body. Blood soaked its long hair. Probably some woman and children at home were going to miss it.

Dagonas had been keeping the other man busy. Now Uldin, Ashkel, and Rhizon could join him. The Achaean backed off, working with shield and sword. Metal clashed; lungs rasped. The door was undefended.

Reid tried it. The latch had been left off. Opening, he stepped into a chamber that must be a shrine. Life-size in ivory, gold, and silver, the Goddess held out her snakes who were the beloved dead. Behind her was painted the sun bull Asterion, to right the octopus which meant admiralty, to left the wheat sheaf which meant peace and harvest. A single lamp burned before the altar. Young Erissa knelt nearby; but she faced away, sagging, countenance hidden by the loose dark hair. Beneath her was the full skirt of festival, torn off by the hands which later bruised her breasts.

“Erissa.” Reid lurched toward the shape.

Her older self brushed past him, bent down, laid arms around the girl. In the young face next to the half-aged one, Reid saw the same emptiness which had been in his men after Atlantis was whelmed. She stared and did not know him.

“What’s happened?” he begged.

The woman said: “What do you think? Her destiny was supposed to lie with you. Her consecration lay in her being a maiden. Theseus feared them both. So he took them away. I daresay Lydra counseled him to it. We know she helped.”

Reid thought dully: Sure, her first son was fathered by a tall blond man.

A yell and clangor outside spelled the end of combat. Erissa held Erissa and, said most gently, “Come, let’s be gone. I can heal part of your hurt, child.” More noise broke loose. The garrison elsewhere had heard the fighting.

Reid glanced out. The second sentry lay slain across the body of Haras. But down the hall came a dozen warriors; and none of his party had armor, and Tylisson was disabled.