Snakehead Page 9

  I thought of Andromeda, who wasn’t here. I felt I was looking at the world through her eyes: seeing human life like a game you’ve forgotten how to play.

  We had the opening ceremony. Holy Mother and the sisters retired to their incense-smoky alcove at the back. Dicty made the first speech, and kept it short. “The king, my brother, has invited my daughter’s son, Perseus, to a celebration of his wedding plans. Apparently, he is courting a Mainland princess, of a very respectable family. It sounds like a good match, and a useful alliance for our island. As you know, Polydectes has been a suitor to the lady Danae, and this has caused some strain. He wishes his new plans to mark a return to more cordial relations. I believe that Perseus should accept the invitation, but I felt you should have a say in the matter, dear people.”

  Murmur, murmur, murmur, then a share-fisherman stood up, a modest fellow with a small stake in a fishing-boat co-op. “I’m glad to hear this news, Papa Dicty, and I’m sure you’re right. We should always let bygones be bygones when someone wants to make up. Do you agree, dear people? And if so, whom should we send with lady Danae’s son? He can’t go up there alone; that would look very poor and shabby.”

  That set the ball rolling. Balba the great weaver rose majestically (she was not fat, but massive), and folded her brawny arms. “After all these years,” she said, “suddenly young Dectes is behaving the way a king ought, involving us in his business. It’s about time. I agree, a company should go with Perseus. But can we trust the king?”

  A farmer from one of the villages cried out, forgetting the proper forms. “He takes our children! We’ve lost two sons, and our only daughter. I know they’re still alive, but they are as if dead to us. How can I forgive that? How can you be taken in by this so-called invitation? Are you insane? He’s a monster. I say turn him down!”

  There was a swell of voices agreeing with him, a tide washing in the opposite direction: Don’t talk like that! He does what has to be done! He’s the king! The Seatown butcher, a huge dark-bearded man with a twisted leg, who used to scare me to death when I was a child, thumped on the floor with his stick. “Quiet down! Quiet down!”

  Dicty stood up again. “Clearly, our feelings are divided. I think that’s to be expected, but there is a deciding factor. Please listen to what Perseus has to say.”

  So I stood up to make my maiden speech. “I’m going to tell you why I think we can trust the king. I had a strange dream. I think it was a vision, which foretold every detail about the invitation before it arrived.”

  The boss wanted them to know what had happened to me, and I could see the justice of that. I’d been wideawake on board a yacht that didn’t exist in this world, but strange dream seemed the right description, something they would understand.

  Murmur, murmur murmur. “Have you told your dream to the sisters, Perseus?” demanded the pastry cook who supplied our breakfast fancies.

  “The sisters know the difference between a common dream and a vision,” called someone else. “There are signs. Did they think it meant we should trust the king?”

  “If it’s important, he should take this to Holy Mother!”

  “Perseus can’t have had a vision, he’s not the type. He’s a bruiser.”

  “A big hulking lad like that, look at him!”

  The pastry cook had made herself known. The hecklers just yelled without standing up. Of course, normal people who had strange dreams brought them to the Enclosure to be interpreted. It hadn’t even crossed my mind….

  “It wasn’t like that. Er, it wasn’t hard to understand. It was very straightforward. I just know that the marriage party is safe, and kidnapping is not on the king’s mind.”

  I floundered, wondering what it would have meant to one of them, my friends and neighbors, if they’d met great Zeus. Would they have survived?

  Balba came to my rescue. She surged to her feet again, and glared them all into silence. “May I speak? Some of us here are devout, some of us aren’t. Some of us believe in the Supernaturals, some of us stick by the old ways. But whatever we think about it, Perseus and his mother are god-touched. And not in an unlucky way, or they’d have drowned like kittens when the lady’s father (she bowed toward my mother) threw them in the sea in a box. I believe that settles the question. The boy’s dream can be trusted.”

  The townsfolk muttered god-touched to each other, and quieted, mysteriously satisfied. Sometimes when people said god-touched, they simply meant “he’s crazy.” I thought of the mark on my forehead, and a nest of whirling vipers.

  “Well, that’s about all I have to say.” I sat down quickly.

  “Never mind,” murmured the boss. “You’ll do better next time.”

  There was a pause. Then they plunged, with relief, into the practical issues. I should go, but I shouldn’t go alone. The boss had not been invited, nor had my mother. The meeting couldn’t decide if this showed a lack of respect, or tact. But our matriarchs and other substantial citizens were certain it meant they couldn’t go. They couldn’t sit down at the table with Polydectes, and without Papa Dicty!

  Humbler members of the older generation said they didn’t feel they were up to it. So it was agreed it would be appropriate to send unmarried young people, but then nobody wanted their own sons or daughters to be in the party. Suppose my “strange dream” was one of those tricky oracles, meaning the opposite of what it seemed to mean? The young men (the few of them qualified to be at the meeting) were keen, but felt the girls should stay at home, for safety. The young women had exactly the opposite opinion. Someone suggested drawing lots. Someone else (I think it was the butcher) said drawing lots was invariably a recipe for disaster, quarrels and blood feuds lasting hundreds of years. And so on, and so on.

  The Holy Sisters sat at the back, drinking tea and quietly chatting. Their only contribution was when Holy Mother strongly suggested we ought to walk up to the High Place. We didn’t have horses, and mules would create a poor impression. Donkeys would be worse. We might make an offering at the ruined hilltop shrine—that would be proper. Some flowers and choice fruit, nicely arranged; maybe a dance, and a hymn or two …

  It’s not that the sisters are greedy for food offerings. They’re rich. They give all the offerings they get to the poor. They just love the thought of a procession: it makes their day. But she was right about the mules.

  At last, they hit on the idea of asking the Yacht Club kids to escort me. The off-islanders who hung around that waterfront bar were in no danger from our king. Many of them were very well connected; Polydectes wouldn’t dare to touch them. A messenger was immediately sent to sound them out. Of course they agreed. They were party animals, and the spice of danger didn’t put them off at all.

  It was all settled in about four hours, not bad going for a Town Meeting.

  Seatown got into a ferment of excitement. People came to the taverna to congratulate Dicty on happier times ahead. They praised the wise way my mother had dealt with Polydectes’ unwanted advances; as if the new marriage was Moumi’s idea. Matriarchs brought out heirloom finery for the wedding-shower guests to wear. The Yacht Club kids were auditioned (which they thought was hilarious) by Seatown’s dance teacher; crowds came to watch the rehearsals in the Enclosure. The best flowers and fruits that could be found were earmarked by a committee, for our garlands and for the offering. Competition between the gardeners was cut-throat.

  The restaurant was very quiet, even more so than usual, though trade was always slow after midsummer. “I see how it’ll be,” said the boss. “Perseus will bring back his grisly trophy, I’ll become secondary king, and nobody will eat here. They’ll be embarrassed to have the king’s brother cooking for them, and I’ll go bankrupt!”

  There was so much I wanted to ask him. What did great Zeus really want with me? What if we went up to the citadel, and Polydectes did ask me to fetch him the Medusa? What then? But we’d never talked about those issues. I didn’t know how to start, and the boss gave me no help. He was in a strange mood: som
etimes more irritable than I’d ever known him, or else muttering hopefully about his brother. “Polydectes may still repent,” he’d say to Moumi. “He may come to his senses.”

  My mother would nod, but say nothing. She’d withdrawn into herself, not talking much to anyone, since I’d told them about meeting my father.

  Palikari would miss the party. But everyone took it for granted that the two young women of Dicty’s household would be in the chosen band. I had no say in the matter, apparently. I made an idiot of myself trying to convince Anthe that she ought to have her parents’ permission—which she couldn’t have got hold of in time, because they lived on Milos. She rolled her eyes. “Oooh, Perseus! You told the Town Meeting there was no danger at all. You didn’t tell a lie in Meeting, did you? And how d’you think it’s going to look if you turn up with the Princess Andromeda on your arm, and no chaperone?”

  “I don’t think that’s funny,” I said.

  “You’re right. This is not funny at all. I love you both, and if anything goes wrong, I’m going to be by your side.”

  I decided I’d better frisk her party frock for that fish-gutting knife.

  I told Andromeda she had no reason to get involved in this dangerous “party.” She just asked me what I thought she should wear. “My own clothes are for traveling, and Anthe’s things don’t fit me, but I’ve been offered some lovely dresses.”

  “Wear what you wore when I met you, on the dock at Naxos.”

  She laughed at that idea, and we went to review her wardrobe, taking a jug of cool watered wine, and a fistful of almonds and dried apricots. On the white roof, in the rich sun of late afternoon, we spread out a glowing array of heirloom robes. We talked; I don’t know what we said. I know it was nothing about how I felt, or how she felt. But I was wrapped in a dream where we were lovers who hadn’t yet said the word, and I thought she was dreaming with me.

  I told her how glad I was that I knew her name. She said, You always knew my name. I told you my name on the Afroditi, the night we met. It’s S’bw’r. I couldn’t say it; she made me keep trying….

  S’bw’r.

  S’bw’r.

  She’d been like someone returned to life since she’d told us she was bound to die. But summer would end, the wind would change and my fate might descend on me this very night. We would never speak what was in our eyes; we would never touch each other, because there was no time. All we could do was smile, and tease each other, and say things that were secret messages—until our family called us to come downstairs.

  Twenty of us walked up the hill, ten boys and ten girls, wreathed and garlanded, dressed in our best: slightly salt-stained Mainland finery from the Yacht kids’ sea chests, and the treasured robes loaned by our weavers. Frothy white skirts banded in red and gold, fringed scarves woven with cherries and apples, tunics blazoned with sunbursts and dolphins; brooches and pins, heavy old bracelets and necklets from ancient dowries. The matriarchs had been determined we were going to make a good show.

  I wore white, with a purple stripe. Anthe had a new dress in her favorite saffron yellow, with a pattern of green leaves. Andromeda’s antique tunic was the color of damsons; a laced bodice went with it, with little flames woven around the neckline. The girls had chosen her to carry their offering, and given her a wreath of white sea lilies; her black hair fell in shining, natural ringlets. She walked beside the lad who’d been given the job by the boys’ side, carrying her fruit basket, smiling and laughing.

  She looked like a sacrifice.

  There was nothing left of the shrine but its foundations. We made our offering among the tumbled stones. We danced and sang, and prayed aloud for the health and fortune of the prospective happy couple. What kind of wishes for the king anyone had under their breath, I leave to Great Mother.

  The gates of the citadel were open, but the guards were out in force, drawn up in double ranks, in full armor. I was proud of us as we strolled between them, discussing cheerfully whether we should sing another hymn to edify the king, or should we save it for later. Not a sign of nerves, not even when the heavy gates had snarled shut, and we were trustingly helpless in the tyrant’s camp.

  The High Place didn’t look all that impressive, oddly enough. I’d never been inside a fortress before, but I could tell that’s what this place was, plain and simple. There were no shops, no restaurants, no markets, no streets: just the spaces between the barracks, ranks of storehouses, and a great wall of timber, stone and thorns all around. The only significant buildings, apart from Polydectes’ stone-built house, were the new temples, and they looked raw and poorly finished to my eyes. No trees or gardens around them. No colored paint or whitewash on the walls. It seemed the High Place folk didn’t bother with decoration of any kind—either that or they didn’t know how to do it. You’re not so fine, I thought. What we have is better than this. But I tried not to look around too curiously. I didn’t want to be spotted behaving like a spy.

  The banqueting hall was more impressive. It was a big, imposing room, rather dark but lit by many hanging lamps. We filed in and got announced by the steward. I watched the man adjust his condescending attitude as the Yacht Club kids gave their names to be shouted out. He’d been expecting the lower orders. We had our hands and feet washed; we tried to look relaxed. There were no women present, apart from the girls in our party, but that wasn’t a danger sign. The king had no wife, no mother, no sisters. There was no ladies’ court at the High Place.

  Some of my company were Achaeans, or from well-off families on other islands; some were from farther afield. They all knew what to do at a private feast. Anthe and I relied on our restaurant training. We sat together; Andromeda had a place at a higher table. She’d given her name as “Kore of Africa, a traveler,” but she’d been treated like someone of rank.

  At least, I could watch her. She was safe, between her partner from the offering ceremony and another Yacht Club lad: two handsome young men from the Twelve Islands who called themselves Gliko and Niki. They seemed to be looking after her all right. They were making my girl laugh.

  Which upset me, stupidly.

  The courses came thick and fast: I counted fifteen (too many for good taste). I couldn’t fault the baked and grilled meats, but the rest was dismal. The wines were poorly kept, the honey was stale and the mixing water was not spring water, or iced either; but there you go. I hadn’t expected the cuisine to compete with Dicty’s. Polydectes, having made sure I was given a lowly seat, had not so much as looked my way. He sat in his big-armed chair at the table on the dais, looking down on us all, and talked to his friends.

  I had never seen the king before, except at a distance. I tried to judge him as if he was an opponent in a boxing match. The tyrant who’d been a shadow over my life was not much taller than his brother. But he had presence, and plenty of hard muscle. He was about ten years younger than Dicty, as I knew. His hair and his well-clipped beard were dark, untouched by gray. His eyes were hazel-brown; they caught the light.

  Finally, dessert was brought in: butter, cheeses, cakes and nuts, fresh fruit and dried, and sweet wines. I saw a stir of expectation at the high table.

  The show was about to begin.

  Polydectes rose, and held out his cup to be filled. I saw him shake his head fussily as the steward tried to give him a liqueur. He was an abstemious man. I’d noticed that he’d eaten sparingly, and taken his wines with plenty of water.

  “My lords!” he began in a strong voice: he didn’t need a herald to repeat his words. “My friends, my guests. Especially the charming ladies, whom we welcome. Although up here we follow modern fashion, and think ladies should stay at home …”

  He was looking at Andromeda. She paid no attention; she went on eating a piece of cheese, looking bored. I’d seen him glance her way often, with curiosity and calculation. Was he thinking of the reward he could get for delivering her back to Haifa? I was grateful to the innards readers, if they’d told him he mustn’t touch.

  “I thank yo
u all for joining me, to celebrate my marriage plans.” (Cheers and whoops: some of the “nobles” were completely tipsy, and the Yacht Club kids too.) “But as you know”—he bared his teeth in a grin—“a wedding isn’t all pleasure, it’s a business negotiation. A man has to haggle with a fine young lady’s parents, same as if he was buying a round of succulent cheese in the marketplace.”

  His courtiers roared with laughter, and banged their cups.

  “How would he know?” muttered Anthe. “He’s never paid a bill in his life. These cheeses are stolen, I bet. Like everything else in here.”

  “Shhh.”

  “Now, since the lady I desire is Hippodameia, daughter of the great king of Olympias, I’d better make my bride-gift a hefty present of horses!” More roars. Hippodameia was a Greek name meaning something like “horse tamer.” I bet she looks like a horse, I thought. And she’s being sold like one. “I know you’re going to help me out. I expect a horse from each of you! Imported bloodstock, if you please, no nags. What do you say? Is that too much to ask, my noble vassals?”

  This has been rehearsed, I thought. Everyone knows the lines.

  And so do I …

  One by one the tyrant’s followers got up. Each of them said he would give a horse, and not just any horse. We got the name of the stud farm, the sire and dam, the color of the animal’s hide, its conformation, top speed, the honors it had won, the trainer’s name and reputation. A seriously expensive wedding list of mighty chests, firm hocks, short backs, round eyes, proud crests—which got harder to believe as we passed down the pecking order. I’d drunk as little as I could get away with, and I have an iron head, but I felt very strange. I was watching from the outside, I knew all this.