Safe Haven
A terrible storm came down, not long before we reached Danassos. All the gods of heaven and sea poured out their wrath upon us. We had sailed too far from land, chasing the lure of our lord’s ambition, and the price for our arrogance had come due.
I remember waves like mountains. One of the other galleys upended, sliding down a long slope into chaos, a few men desperately clinging to it. Then it was gone.
Odysseus howled defiance into the storm, shouting the orders that kept us to our tasks. Pyrrhos used his bull strength to save three of the men from washing overboard when our own ship nearly capsized. I lashed myself to the steering oar and tried to outguess the sea for our lives.
The storm left us behind sometime in the night. We collapsed into an exhausted slumber. Before daybreak, the wind turned to come out of the north, our battered ship riding quietly before it. Our sail was tattered, water surged among the benches, but the hull still seemed seaworthy. Slowly, we dragged ourselves up to look about us.
We were alone on the face of the waters. Two other galleys had entered the storm with us, but both had vanished as if they had never been. Someone shouted, pointing to a dim shadow of land to the northwest.
As usual, Odysseus knew what must be done. “On your feet, heroes,” he shouted, slapping the bench beside him with an open palm. “There’s land not far off, but it’ll take some honest sweat to reach it.”
With such encouragement, he got the others onto their benches and the oars in motion. Our ship turned into the breeze, seeking the unknown land before us.
Stretching cramped muscles, I detached myself from the steering oar and allowed another man to take it. I went forward, to sit by the king where he began to beat time with a drum.
“What land do you think that is, Nikolaos?” he asked me.
I tossed my head. “We’re far from any waters I know, and I lost my bearings in the storm.”
“I’ll wager that is Sikania.”
“Done. When we return home, my choice of one from among your horses if it’s the Italian coast. You may take your choice from my own herd if it’s Sikania.”
He snorted in derision. “My herds are better than yours.”
“A king can afford to be generous.”
He smiled, a wanton grin to spite the gods. “Done, by heaven! This wager is no better than robbery.”
You shouldn’t object to robbery, I thought. Even from one of your own vassals. You’ve engaged in it often enough.
Better not to arouse his fragile sense of honor. I smiled in return and kept my thoughts to myself.
Just as well that I did. As we learned an hour later, our landfall was the east coast of Sikania. Sometimes to lose gracefully to a king is the better part of wisdom.
The next day, directed by fishermen we met, we made harbor at Danassos.
It astonished us, to find such a place out in the barbarian wilderness. Just off the shore of Sikania stood an island, stretching perhaps nine stadia from north to south. We saw dense settlement at the north end of the island, houses with red-tile roofs and gleaming white walls, a small palace, and an open marketplace. There were two fine harbors, both of them dotted with fishing boats, although there were no warships on guard.
“A considerable town,” Odysseus concluded.
I nodded in agreement. “There may be five thousand people here.”
“More,” said the king. “Notice something else. No walls.”
He was right: no acropolis, no fortifications at all. The city sprawled freely, unconstrained by walls or gates. “The rumors must be true. This place is at peace, and it has been for as long as anyone can remember.”
Odysseus made a wolf’s smile. “Pass the word to the men. We will be as gentle as lambs here.”
I hastened to obey, knowing what my lord had in mind.
We sailed into the greater harbor, tucked behind the island, away from the vagaries of wind and wave. A crowd waited for us when we touched the beach. Odysseus leaped down as soon as it was safe, striding forward to meet them. I was afraid for a moment, tempted to call him back, but soon I saw that he faced no weapons. Apparently, we were welcome.
The people reminded me of old stories, tales of Krete before we Akhaians came. They tended to be dark, short, slender but athletic. Most of them had deep brown eyes, and long falls of curly black hair. Many of the men were clean-shaven. Men wore a wrap around their hips, leaving their upper bodies bare to the sun and sea air. Women wore flounced skirts and jackets that laced tight around their waists, leaving breasts exposed or covered only by sheer linen.
I could see the women would be trouble. Many were as beautiful as they were immodest. They carried themselves like men, bold-eyed and proud. Best of all, they looked clean and civilized. Our men had been away from home for weeks, at sea or housed with filthy fisher-women who spoke not a word of Akhaian.
A ribald comment from behind me confirmed my fears.
“Be silent,” I ordered. “Some of them may speak our language. Follow the king’s lead.”
Indeed, he appeared to take no special notice of the women. He met the people as if he was a kinsman returning home. “I am Odysseus, son of Laertes. King of Ithaka, counselor of the High King at Mykenai, traveler and beloved of the gods.”
He had left out some of his epithets. Sacker of Cities is not a good way to introduce yourself to strangers, if you wish to seem gentle as a lamb.
An older woman stepped forth to stand before him, carrying herself like a queen. Her dress was elaborate and rich, her hair streaked with gray, and her Akhaian soft and strangely accented. “Be welcome, Odysseus, you and your men. I am the Ariadne.”
“Do you rule here?”
She smiled tolerantly. “No one man or woman rules here. I lead the college of priestesses.”
“I see.” Odysseus gestured in our direction. “My friends. Nikolaos, once a lord of Thebai, now my most trusted vassal.”
I bowed to acknowledge his praise. Suddenly I heard a voice in the crowd, and a burly man pushed others aside to come forward.
“Niko?” demanded the voice. “Is that you?”
I could hardly believe my eyes. The voice belonged to a tall man, his hair long since gone silver, with eyes like the sky before a storm. He looked happy and fit, wearing only a wrap around his waist like the other Danassan men. I recognized a kinsman of my father’s generation, a man I had not seen in many years.
I ran forward to embrace him. “Philippos! The gods favor me, to grant that I see you again.”
“Your vassal has friends here,” remarked the Ariadne.
“Indeed,” said Odysseus, a hint of displeasure showing through his bright smile. As if nothing had happened, he turned to introduce the rest of our party.
“You’ve grown,” said Philippos to me. “Come guest in my house this evening. We’ve years of catching up to do.”
I nodded. “I will, and gladly, if my lord will give his permission.”
Odysseus heard me, of course. The cloud vanished from his brow, and he nodded with a glance that I understood perfectly. Observe and report, it meant.
My kinsman’s house proved to be small, with no great hall for vassals or storeroom for wealth, but clean and comfortable. He gestured widely as we entered, making it my home as well.
Two Danassan women appeared. The older was short and rather plump, bearing a bowl of wine. The younger was tall and slender, her hair and skin lighter, a definite look of Philippos about her. I knew at once who they must be.
In the homeland, no Akhaian in command of his household would have paraded his women before a guest. Living in Danassos had changed Philippos greatly. I fell silent, unsure of the proper courtesies.
“This is my young cousin, Nikolaos,” said my host. “I may have spoken to you about him.”
“Be welcome,” said the older woman.
“This is Agave, my wife. The other shameless wench is Dione, our daughter.” He smiled warmly, to take the sting from his words, and the girl grinned in response.
I found my voice. “I am honored.”
The girl laughed, and spoke in rapid Akhaian, her accent so thick as to be incomprehensible.
“Dione,” her mother rebuked. “Be courteous.”
Dione nodded, only nominally contrite. “Apologies, kinsman,” she told me, now speaking more clearly. “You looked so astonished at us.”
I gave her a cautious smile. “I am the one who should apologize, my lady. Our customs are different, as your father will have told you. Yet I’ve always held that when one is in a foreign land, one should live as one’s hosts do.”
Agave smiled and extended the bowl to me. “In our land, it is the custom for a host to refresh her guest.”
Again, I hesitated, reluctant to incur the bonds of hospitality with these people. Yet I had no desire to insult them. I took the bowl and sipped the wine, which was sweet and very good.
They led me to the formal room of the house, decorated in the Kretan style. The walls bore frescoes, a hunting scene, with gazelles running from a band of javelin-carrying men. There were couches, and a table laden with food. Soon we were enjoying a meal in comfort.
“Have you seen many lands?” Dione asked eagerly, her parents listening.
“I have, since I’ve been in the service of Odysseus.” I smiled. “He is a mighty traveler.”
“Tell me about them! I’ve never been far from the city.”
I realized my mistake. When Odysseus traveled, his usual purpose was to carry off goods or women, tear down walls, or topple kings. Not a proper subject for polite company. Philippos and Agave watched me, ready to see through any pretense, and so I decided to avoid the subject. “Perhaps another time. I’m eager to learn of your country. At home, it’s a place of rumor and fable. Strange to find a civilized land so far west.”
They fell silent, and the older ones exchanged a glance.
“The first Ariadne began it,” Philippos said at last.
I remembered old tales my grandfather had told me. “The Kretan sorceress? I thought she died when Perseus led his men to the sack of Knossos.”
“No, she escaped from him.” He cleared his throat, shifting uneasily on his couch. “You can guess that the Perseid name is not held in high esteem in Danassos. His great-grandson Alkaios visited here once, but he found little welcome.”
“In any case, the Ariadne was no sorceress,” said Agave. “She was an oracle, a woman who spoke for the gods. One Goddess in particular, who became our patron.”
Dione picked up the thread, as if she repeated a tale she had been told many times as a child. “After Perseus burned the palaces and scattered the people, our Goddess spoke to the Ariadne. She gathered as many as she could, leading them to a hidden harbor where the Akhaians had never come. There they found ships and set sail for the west.”
“They came here,” I concluded. “Women and children as well? It was difficult enough for our band to make it this far, and we are hardy men who know the sea.”
“Women and children as well,” said Agave. “These seas were not unknown to Krete, and our ancestors had divine protection on their journey. They suffered many hardships, but almost all arrived safe. They built the first settlement here, planted crops, and made friends among the Sikanian tribes.”
“That doesn’t explain how Akhaians came here,” I pointed out.
“Ever since rumor of Danassos made its way back to the homeland, ships have made their way here,” Philippos explained. “Only a few ever come at a time. A dozen might arrive one year, no one the next, a single man and his family the year after that. It’s a little easier to make the journey, knowing that a safe haven waits at your destination.”
“That leaves only one question. Why?”
“That should be obvious enough. The homeland is doomed, Niko.”
I almost objected, but I kept silent. Perhaps I heard the truth in it.
“Perseus is remembered as a hero in the Argolid, but as a wild beast here. He began as a landless man, with nothing to his name but ambition. I suppose that’s no sin. Our remote ancestors were such men, coming out of the distant east to build cities in the wilderness. The sin of Perseus was that he chose a different path to slake his ambition.” Philippos gestured in disgust. “He betrayed his given word, he turned Akhaians against one other, and he burned cities instead of building them. Ever since, our people have followed him into chaos.”
“There is no chaos at home,” I protested.
“Isn’t there?” Philippos leaned forward to drive the point home. “Once our family were lords in Thebai, second only to the kings. Then came the civil wars, and the seven gates fell. How many other Akhaian cities have been sacked, in your lifetime alone?”
I frowned. I had helped sack one or two cities myself. The memories were very bitter.
“Now, here is Odysseus, whom you serve. He’s taking great care to show a mild face! He who broke the walls at Ilion and let loose the slaughter. With you at his side.”
For a moment, I felt a presence in the room, some god robbing me of wit. Agave watched me gravely, Dione with wide and frightened eyes. I forced myself to chuckle. “You know, do you? I assume all the city’s leaders do as well.”
Philippos nodded. “We had archers posted out of sight, waiting for a signal, when we met you on the beach. If you had chosen to fight, you would never have reached the city alive. We know what Odysseus must be thinking when he looks around him.”
“What do you plan for us?”
“We have no plans for you,” said Agave. “You are free to stay as long as you like, and go when you wish.”
“You can see, I think,” said Philippos. “In Danassos, we are doing what our people at home have forgotten how to do. We have won peace in the wilderness, building prosperity in its wake.”
More silence.
“Please,” Dione begged at last. “Let’s not quarrel over dinner.”
Her father smiled. “Of course. Come what may, you are our kinsman. This is a happy occasion.”
We ate and drank and found other subjects for our talk. Eventually, we were able to laugh.
The next day, I wandered about the town with Dione. It surprised me, that Philippos would trust me alone with his daughter. Perhaps he had already read my spirit.
The girl proved to be a wise and charming guide. She showed me the harbors, the central marketplace, the temple, and the gathering-place where the people made law. We ate fresh fruit from a vendor’s stall, clapped to help a circle of dancing women keep time, and left offerings at an altar strangely empty of any cult-image.
Silently I counted armed men, appraised the quality of weapons and armor, and reckoned up the city’s defenses. Such as they were. If Odysseus returned here with as few as ten war galleys, Danassos would be his.
Somehow, I was less pleased with this conclusion than I might have been a few days before.
After a time, I began noticing things other than the city’s readiness for war. There was no king, only a council of elders. There was no squadron of noble charioteers, only a militia of those townsmen wealthy enough to own bronze weapons. There were no serfs, only the Sikanian tribesmen, as free as any other citizens. I met no slaves.
Then, of course, there were the women.
I knew that Danassos had been founded by a Kretan diaspora. It did not surprise me to see women going about the city without male escort. Women managed shops without male guidance. Women maintained most of the shrines. Women held their own in public discussion. A few women drilled with weapons. So it had been among the Kretans of old, before we came to rule over them and impose our own customs.
Akhaian women have become compliant creatures. The management of a house, the raising of children, a few religious rites of their own, these are enough for our wives. Not so in Danassos, where the women are cultured, forceful with their opinions, demanding of respect. They were strange to me, but also very compelling. Even Dione, young as she was, attracted my attention as no woman had ever done at home.
About mid-afternoon, I left her at her father’s house. For a moment I thought she wanted to be kissed, but I decided not to take any liberties. I smiled at her and turned away, going in search of Odysseus.
At first, I didn’t find the king. Instead, the sound of angry voices drew me down a side street. Danassans turned to watch, some of them coming out into the street in case they were needed.
One of the voices shouted in hoarse Akhaian. I hurried.
As I might have known, the trouble was at a wine-shop. I ducked inside to find five men from our ship, petty warriors, men who brought no one but themselves to the king’s muster. Pyrrhos led them, an arrogant and violent man, exiled from Mykenai for manslaughter.
Pyrrhos had his sword out, glaring at a Danassan man armed only with a bronze dagger. A woman stood behind the Danassan, dressed in a simple wrap and skirt. She watched Pyrrhos with very little fear.
“Step aside,” growled Pyrrhos.
“She refused you, Akhaian,” said the Danassan. “Best leave it at that and enjoy some more wine.”
“I’ve had enough wine,” Pyrrhos murmured, and stepped forward.
I decided it was past time to intervene. “Stand where you are!”
Pyrrhos turned. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Danassan relaxing slightly, his eyes never leaving the burly man before him.
“Stay out of this, Nikolaos,” said Pyrrhos.
“Put away your sword,” I insisted. “If you cause trouble, Odysseus will have your head.”
“No need for any trouble. I don’t want anything this wench doesn’t have in plenty. She’s given it out before, I’ll wager, as free and easy as they are here.”
I remembered him at the sack of Ilion, a wild beast rather than a man. Then I remembered some of the things I had done at Ilion. Some god prompted me to take two more steps, placing myself between Pyrrhos and the Danassans.
“Put away your sword,” I repeated. Only then did I recall that I was still unarmed.
“You would stand with them against your own people?”
“If I must.”
He stared for a moment, then lowered his sword and began to turn away.
The Danassan shouted a warning.
Fortunately, I had seen Pyrrhos use that trick before. I relaxed one leg and dodged aside from his sword-point. He was a trifle slow in the recovery, his reactions blurred by drink.
“Here!” shouted one of the other Akhaians, a man named Agelaos. He tossed something in my direction.
I snatched the hilt of a sword out of the air and managed to beat my enemy’s blade aside. His blocky left fist grazed my shoulder as I twisted away.
As I spun, the Danassan watched like a cat, his dagger still out. The woman had moved away from the danger area, but she stayed as well.
Pyrrhos howled in rage and hurled himself at me, the point of his sword stabbing. He was much stronger than I, but not as fast, and drink and rage meant that he would fight stupidly. I turned each blow, realizing that nothing short of a death would satisfy him. I resolved to give him one.
He stepped too close to a bench. I spotted an opportunity and eased back, to pull him along. His right foot caught and stumbled. His sword hand swung wide automatically, to catch his fall. I lunged and ran him through.
The Akhaians shouted in delight at such a clean kill. Once Pyrrhos lay still, Agelaos came forward to reclaim his blade. “I always knew Pyrrhos would die in a wine-shop,” he said, grinning.
“You men knew the king’s orders,” I told him. “He didn’t have to die at all.”
“Of course he did. But better you earn blood-feud with his family than me.”
I sighed and turned to the Danassan. “I am Nikolaos, son of Melanion of Thebai. You have my apologies.”
“Accepted,” said the Danassan, putting his dagger away and extending his hand. “I’m glad some of your people have manners. I am Telamon.”
“Can we consider this matter closed?”
Significantly, he glanced at the woman, who had still said nothing. She nodded. “Of course,” said Telamon. “Your friend has paid in full for any offense. No more need be said.”
“He was no friend of mine,” I muttered.
The others were already seeing to the corpse, wrapping it in its cloak and carrying it out into the street. I followed.
I caught up with Odysseus on the shore near our ship, as he walked and looked out to sea. He listened in silence as I reported what had happened. Then he laughed.
“You did right, Niko,” he said. “Pyrrhos was a pig, he deserved a good sticking. Besides, it may bring our hosts to look more kindly on us.”
“I didn’t do it out of spite, or as a stratagem.”
“Of course not. Earnest Niko. So, what do you think of this place?”
I told him what I had seen that day, without elaboration, and kept my opinions to myself. When I had finished, he nodded and resumed his stroll along the beach. I followed at his side.
“I’ve spent a day with the elders,” he told me as we walked. “They were honest with me. Danassos is wealthy. The seas beyond Sikania touch on many lands unknown to us. The Danassans sometimes send ships west, to trade for copper or tin.”
“Plenty of bronze. No wonder so many of them carry it.”
“They grow olives here, grapes, barley and wheat. They herd sheep, goats, and other cattle. They trade with the mainland tribes for horses. Everything they need.”
I nodded, waiting for the next step. He didn’t disappoint me.
“It would be an easy conquest, Niko,” he said at last.
“True,” I admitted, keeping my voice colorless.
“You don’t approve?”
I shrugged.
“Furies take you,” he cursed, turning to stare at me. “Why do you always shield your thoughts behind that bland face? Give them to me.”
“All right.” I took a deep breath. “I’m not sure it would be right to conquer this place.”
“Not right?”
“I think this city is sacred.”
“To whom?” he demanded.
“I don’t know. Perhaps to this goddess of theirs, the one without an image. They certainly don’t live like any other people I know.”
“Nonsense. If she doesn’t have an image, she can’t be of any importance.”
“Are you sure? Isn’t it astonishing, that a few Kretans managed to leave their homeland so soon after the great sack? How could they have come safely across the sea, unless they had divine protection? How could they have built all they have, without divine support?”
He stood silent, considering.
“Everything I’ve seen here has convinced me of it. Something brought these people out of danger to a safe haven. If we come to sack this city, we’ll be accursed.”
“I don’t mean to damage the place,” he said mildly. “Only to rule it.”
I stopped and watched him.
“I speak the truth. Do you think you’re the only one who sees what’s been happening back home? The gods have been turning away from our people since before I was born. Long past time for us to make a fresh start.”
I understood. Odysseus saw himself in the mold of our ancestors, coming to carve out a kingdom among barbarians. All the better if the kingdom already existed, lacking only a king.
A kindly god put words in my mouth. “Who are you going to bring with you? To establish your realm, you’ll need warriors. More than you suspect, I think. The Danassan in the wine-shop stood with a dagger against a swordsman twice his size. There was no fear in him.”
“It doesn’t matter. The Kretans of old were good warriors. Their descendants are doubtless the same, but they simply don’t have enough to defend this place. There will be men, once the word of our purpose spreads.”
“Oh, to be sure,” I drawled, not quite mocking him. “Pyrrhos has a thousand brothers back home, and they’ll all come running. How much of a realm will you have left to rule when they’re finished? You didn’t mean to damage Ilion, either. Yet when we were done, we left nothing but ashes.”
He turned and stalked away from me. “Are you my vassal or not?” he threw over his shoulder.
“I am your vassal,” I told him, wondering if it was still true. “My oath gives you my service. But you swore an oath to me as well. As my king and my friend, you owe me respect and a proper hearing.”
“I owe you nothing. Begone.”
He left me standing still on the beach, as if the Thunderer had struck me. Rage ran in my veins, that he would dismiss me like a slave. Because I tried to behave like a civilized man, even Odysseus would take me lightly?
Just as well that I still wasn’t wearing my sword. My palm itched for its hilt.
I turned away. The king may have looked back. I did not.
Angry as I was, I had no desire to see other Akhaians. Nor did I wish to inflict my company on Philippos or his family. Instead, as evening approached, I sought out the temple.
It was an imposing pile, low and sprawling, with red-painted columns in the old Kretan style. A young priestess met me in the open doorway, nodded seriously, and motioned that I should wait. I obeyed.
The sun had almost set when the acolyte returned, another woman behind her. To my surprise, I recognized the Ariadne.
“Rejoice,” she greeted me. “How may we serve you?”
I hesitated. “Does this temple house an oracle of your goddess?”
“Sometimes. When one of our priestesses has the gift. At present we are not so blessed.”
“Even so, I wish to make an offering and pray.”
She looked at me sharply. “You killed a man earlier today.”
“Yes,” I confessed.
“You may not enter the main sanctuary until you have been purified. There is an altar in the Lion Court which you may use.”
I nodded in acceptance and followed.
The Lion Court stood open to the sky, named after the stone lions that guarded its entrance. The shrine was beautiful in its simplicity, with a bare stone slab for an altar, and no cult-image of wood or stone. For a moment, I wondered how the Danassans envisioned their goddess.
Sunset was very close. Not the right time for a sacrifice. Even so, I faced the altar at the Ariadne’s direction. It felt awkward, praying to an empty space, but I forced myself into the proper frame of mind. I raised my arms and my eyes, looking up into the clear sky.
“By whatever name you wish to be called, please aid me. I have no desire to bring harm to your people. Yet I am oath-bound to Odysseus, who will come as a conqueror if he can. Show me what I must do.”
Silence answered me, and fading light. I lowered my arms, waiting, but nothing more came. I stole a glance at the Ariadne, who stood motionless at the entrance to the shrine, her eyes closed. After a moment, she opened them to watch me.
“Did any answer come to you?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“Give it time, Nikolaos. Consider for yourself what you must do.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t tried to persuade me to turn against Odysseus.”
She smiled, giving me a glimpse of what she must have been like as a young woman. “No need for that. We trust in the Goddess to protect us.”
“I envy you that,” I told her, and turned to go.
I felt a sharp dilemma. I liked and respected Odysseus, owing him my loyalty. Yet I already began to love the Danassans. I could strike down my king and be hounded by the Furies to an oath-breaker’s death. Or I could obey him, attack Danassos, and be cursed by its goddess. It’s a terrible thing, to find the gods standing against you no matter which course you choose.
When I reached the temple’s front gates, I stopped. The gates faced west across the great harbor, and I found myself staring into a magnificent sunset. The sky blazed, reminding me of Ilion on the last day of its existence. A bad omen for Danassos, or so I thought at first.
Then I saw how I had been answered.
In the dark of night, I left my sheltered corner and walked out onto the beach. Philippos followed me, and Telamon, and the other men we had gathered. Three of them were Akhaians from the king’s crew. I was not the only man suffering pangs of conscience.
The moon was nearly full, and there were plenty of stars. We needed no light to lead us to the king’s galley, the largest ship in the harbor. The tide was high, and we all had plenty of practice in ship-launching. We shifted the galley easily, pushing it out into the water. Once it was well underway, Philippos and I clambered aboard, each of us carrying a heavy load. I had recovered my sword, and it clanked against the hull as we boarded.
“There’s a slight current in the harbor,” he murmured. “It won’t take us long to be far out from shore.”
“Good,” I said, and drew my sword.
Philippos and I brought out heavy skins, which I sliced open with my sword. The scent of fine oil rose to my nostrils. We began to spread the contents liberally around the ship, taking special care to soak the tattered sails.
Soon we finished. Philippos peered at me, the flash of his teeth white in the darkness. “First the libation. Now the burnt offering.”
For a moment I laughed at his jest. Then my eye caught the glint of my sword lying on a bench, and my mirth died. I picked up the sword and stood still for a moment to examine it. Bronze glimmered in the moonlight, and it astonished me that the weapon should be so clean.
“What do you plan to do with that?” asked Philippos.
I didn’t answer him. Instead, I turned and hurled the blade out across the harbor. It made almost no sound as it fell into the depths. The scabbard followed.
“That was the same sword I carried at Ilion,” I told him.
He stepped close and put a hand on my shoulder. “Danassos needs men who can wield a blade.”
“I’ll find one that isn’t accursed. Let’s finish.”
His hand squeezed my shoulder, and then released me. He opened the clay firepot he had been carrying, exposing the glowing coals within. Soon flames leaped up in the belly of the ship, reaching for the sails. We leaped over the side together and set out for the shoreline.
By the time we emerged from the water, holocaust lit the bowl of Danassos harbor from edge to edge.
A small crowd had gathered on the shore. Most of the people were Danassans, but a knot of our galley’s crew stood off to one side. Between the two groups, Odysseus stood alone. His face was impassive as he watched his ship burn.
I moved forward to greet him. “My lord.”
His fist lashed out, catching me across the jaw. I saw lights and had to take a step back, then another. His sword was out, pointed at me, although he had not yet leaped to the attack. Trust Odysseus to keep his wits about him under provocation. It was one of the reasons I loved him.
Suddenly, I became aware that a few of my friends were moving up behind me. A few of his moved up behind him. Some of the Danassans produced short bows and knives. For a moment it looked like battle.
“No weapons!” I shouted to all. “This is between the king and me.”
Perhaps some god helped me. Everyone stopped. I turned back to Odysseus.
“I should kill you,” he said.
“Yes, perhaps you should.”
“That’s all you can say to me? You betray my trust, burn my ship, strand me on the edge of the known world, and that’s all?”
“It’s all.” I sighed. “It’s enough. I’ve stopped you, without raising a hand against you. If even that brings a curse down on me, if you kill me in exchange, so be it.”
“You haven’t stopped me.” The sword lowered a fraction. “I’ll steal a ship, if the Danassans won’t give me one. I’ll build one myself if I must.”
“I know. That will take time. How many of us will be ready to go home with you when the day comes?”
“I will go home, even if I must go alone.” The sword fell, and he turned his back on me.
So it was. When the king left Danassos, early in the next year, only five men went with him. The rest of us stayed behind. A few had died, like Pyrrhos. Most had settled into the life of the city, like me. On that spring day, I stood on the shore to watch them go, Dione by my side.
Since then we’ve heard little from the homeland, fragments of news brought by the few migrants who make the journey. The stories are terrible, telling of cities going down in fire and blood. Odysseus is gone, killed by raiders on the shores of Ithaka. At least he reached home once more before he died.
Few kings are left. Those who remain have no ambition beyond what they can see from their own hilltops. The common opinion in Danassos is that we have nothing to fear anymore.
I think the common opinion is wrong. There will always be kings. Someday one of them will rise high enough to reach for us here. The Goddess may have a plan in mind for that day, but I say we mortals must remain on our guard.
Still, for now, we have peace and a safe haven. Be thankful for it.
Author’s Note
“Safe Haven” is actually one of my oldest short stories. I wrote the first version of it well over twenty years ago, not long after finishing my first book for Steve Jackson Games (GURPS Greece).
Even then, I had already conceived of a bit of alternate-historical fantasy: the idea of Danassos, a gender-egalitarian survival of ancient Minoan civilization on the site of the city our world calls Syracuse.
“Safe Haven” has made the rounds of the pro markets on a couple of occasions, without much success. The current version can be thought of as a distant sequel to my novelette “Harmony’s Choice” (available from Kindle Direct Publishing). Nikolaos is probably a distant descendant of Megara’s family, driven into exile after the wars of the Seven against Thebes and the Epigoni.
It’s still on my mind to write some more stories like this one, set in the late pre-Hellenic Bronze Age . . . or to go back to Danassos and finish developing a novel or three in that setting. As always, there are more ideas than I ever seem to have time to develop them.
“Safe Haven” © 2020 by John Alleyn (Jon F. Zeigler). All rights reserved.