The Elementals (10 page)
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
“It never hurts to be cautious,” the vendor urged. “Only last year, at Phaistos ⦔
“Yes, yes, I remember.” Meriones quickly selected a sprig of mint from the man's tray and added his offering to the heap, though he was embarrassed to see how small one sprig looked amid the piles of gaudy, more expensive flowers. The vendor was looking at him with contempt, like Tulipa. He pressed a coin into the man's hand, whistled to the dog, and hurried away.
The sunbaked road broadened into the Royal Avenue as it led into the valley that sheltered the palace of The Minos from the greedy gaze of sea pirates. Not that there was any real danger of invasion, not anymore. For several centuries Crete had ruled secure and unchallenged at the heart of the world's seaways.
And sometimes the god who ruled those seas reminded man of his ultimate power by shaking the earth.
With the white hound at his heels, Meriones crossed the stone bridge that spanned the stream east of the palace. The House of the Double Axes, called Labrys in the court language, spread out before him as if a bag of jewels had been spilled from a giant's hand, tumbling down the valley in gay profusion.
No huge perimeter wall protected Labrys. Its guardian was the power of the sea's mightiest fleet, defending not only Kn
sos but the other cities of the Cretan sea kings. Instead of a fortress, the palace of The Minos consisted of a number of elegant villas surrounding a central core of chambers and halls. Some of these villas, which served as homes for the vast array of officials and functionaries required by The Minos, rivaled the king's own quarters in splendor. But none could compete with the royal residence in terms of sheer size.
sos but the other cities of the Cretan sea kings. Instead of a fortress, the palace of The Minos consisted of a number of elegant villas surrounding a central core of chambers and halls. Some of these villas, which served as homes for the vast array of officials and functionaries required by The Minos, rivaled the king's own quarters in splendor. But none could compete with the royal residence in terms of sheer size.“There it is,” Meriones said to the dog. “I spend every day of my life thereâexcept feast days, of course. The palace is a city in itself, you know. There's a maze of passages and storerooms and
private chambers inside. It took me years to learn my way, but I did,” he added with shy pride.
private chambers inside. It took me years to learn my way, but I did,” he added with shy pride.
The dog wagged its tail and grinned up at Meriones.
Labrys had been built from the heart outward, as a tree grows, until it sprawled in giant tiers like a child's blocks. The heart itself was the Great Central Court through and around which all life flowed. Four main gates led into the complex. The westernmost, called the Bull Gate, was the ceremonial entryway, with a pillared portico fronting on a broad paved courtyard. The south gate was the Zeus Gate, facing the mountains. To the north was the Sea Gate. Meriones approached by the eastern Sun Gate, following a walkway through flowered gardens. He wove his way among increasing crowds of gaily dressed men and women in animated conversation, hands fluttering, voices trilling. In addition to the customary courtiers there was the usual scattering of long-haired folk from Boeotia and Attica and Euboea, travelers from Pylos and Lerna, even a few flint-eyed warriors from Mycenae and Tiryns.
Everyone came to the House of the Double Axes.
Meriones, like most citizens of Kn
sos, was fluent in several languages. He smiled from time to time at some overheard witticism, and translated for the dog's benefit.
sos, was fluent in several languages. He smiled from time to time at some overheard witticism, and translated for the dog's benefit.As he climbed the broad stone steps that led to the Sun Gate itself, the giant Nubian warrior at the top of the stairs looked down at him. His usually impassive face cracked into a smile.
“Not another dog, musician?”
Meriones glanced ruefully at his companion. “I'm afraid so. They follow me and I can't help encouraging them. I would like to have a dog of my own but my wife says they make her sneeze.” He gave the white hound a last fond pat, then handed it over to the Nubian, who held it by the scruff of the neck until Meriones disappeared inside the palace, and then gave it a shove, not unkindly, and sent it on its way.
Meriones made his way through the corridors and service rooms that lay between the Sun Gate and the residential quarter. Like all public areas of Labrys, the royal apartments featured spacious open rooms, often divided by the same dark red columns that were used to support the exterior porticoes. The columns tapered downward in the distinctive Cretan style, and were as integral a part of palace
design as the painted frescoes glowing on every wall. The famous Grand Staircase was renowned throughout the Mediterranean world for its scenes of cavorting sea creatures, blooming lilies, and elegant court life. Numerous light wells provided adequate illumination for the appreciation of such beauty, even in the inner recesses of Labrys.
design as the painted frescoes glowing on every wall. The famous Grand Staircase was renowned throughout the Mediterranean world for its scenes of cavorting sea creatures, blooming lilies, and elegant court life. Numerous light wells provided adequate illumination for the appreciation of such beauty, even in the inner recesses of Labrys.
But Meriones did not reach the Grand Staircase. His progress was interrupted by Santhos, Master of Musicians. “You have a new assignment,” the round-faced Santhos announced. “You won't be playing in the royal apartments for a while. The queen is very dissatisfied with the quality of work being done by the goldsmiths these days, and wants a musician sent to play in their workrooms and inspire them.”
Meriones' erect posture slumped. The workrooms of the royal craftsmen were in the northeast quarter of the palace, a comparatively dreary place where a musician himself might despair of inspiration. But there was no point in arguing.
Meriones forced a smile, straightened his spine and saluted Santhos. He strode off jauntily, springing upward from the balls of his feet, looking as if the prospect of days spent in gloomy workrooms was the thing he most desired.
Watching him go, Santhos said to himself, “Thank Zeus for men like Meriones. Musicians are so temperamental. Most would have refused.”
The craftsmens' workrooms were on the ground floor beneath the Great Eastern Hall. In separate cubicles, men fashioned furniture, fabrics, tableware, jewelry, the myriad items required by the huge community above them. The chamber of the goldsmiths was in a favored position, with a light well and freshly painted walls, but Meriones' heart sank when he entered. It was hot and cramped and utilitarian rather than elegant. Tulipa would be angry if she learned of this.
Half a dozen men were working at benches and tables. They all looked up as he entered.
“I am a musician of The Minos,” he began formally. His words dropped like stones into a sudden silence. “I have been sent to make music for you while you work. Is there, ah, a bench, a stool ⦠?”
They stared at him unresponsively. Meriones felt his ears reddening. Why couldn't someone else have been sent? Why did these things always happen to him?
Then one of the goldsmiths, a ruddy, thickset man with bloodshot eyes and an uncut mane of sandy hair, stepped forward and guided Meriones to a stool. “Here, musician, perch on this. And play quietly, don't distract us.”
The man's voice was harsh with the accents of distant Thrace, but Meriones felt a sudden warmth toward him and smiled gratefully. “I'm called Meriones,” he offered.
“Hmmm.” The other turned back to his table. Then he said “Hokar” over his shoulder as an afterthought before forgetting Meriones entirely and returning to his work.
Meriones sat on the edge of the stool, trying simultaneously to be inspiring and inconspicuous. He was a success at one of the two, for the goldsmiths paid no further attention to him.
In mid-afternoon two slaves arrived, bringing watered wine and a tray of bread and cheese. Hokar put down the gold plate he was working on and stood up, stretching. “I need to walk,” he said casually to Meriones. “Do you know your way around this place?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Come, then.” Hokar headed for the door, massaging the muscles of his shoulder with one hand. Glad of the break, Meriones followed him.
“Working with gold is like working with the sun, isn't it?” he said, to make conversation. “I mean, molten gold looks like liquid sunlight, doesn't it? I envy you, really. It must be wonderful to be able to make beautiful things ⦔ His voice trailed off. Hokar did not appear to be listening.
They sauntered along hallways that wound a baffling route toward the Great Central Court. Once, when Hokar was about to make a turn that would take him into a warren of storerooms, Meriones corrected him with a gentle hand on his arm. Nothing more was said until they reached the colonnaded walkway overlooking the Court. There they stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the constant crowd swirling across the mosaic tiles.
“I've never known a day so hot,” Hokar remarked. Sweat was pouring down his face.
“It is hot,” Meriones agreed, “hotter than usual. And so still.” That seemed to exhaust the fund of conversation. The two men were quiet for a time.
Then Meriones volunteered, “The women of Kn
sos are the most beautiful in the world, don't you think?”
sos are the most beautiful in the world, don't you think?”“You haven't seen the women of Thrace,” Hokar replied. But his eyes were following a Cretan priestess of the Snake as she minced past. Like all women in the House of the Double Axes she was fashionably pale, her powdered complexion a marked contrast to the glossy black of her hair. Kohl rimmed her dark eyes, accentuating their almond shape. Her slender body was clad in a flounced skirt of multicolored layers that swung beguilingly above her bare feet and dainty rouged toes. A gem-studded belt defined the impossible smallness of her waist. Above it her breasts bloomed, pushed upward by a tight saffron-colored bodice that clung to her shoulders and upper arms but left her bosom bare. Her erect nipples were sprinkled with gold dust.
Meriones saluted the priestess and made flattering gestures with his hands, to which she responded with a few softly lisped syllables.
“You understand her?” Hokar queried.
“Of course. That is the court language, the Old Tongue still favored by the nobility and the priestly class. One could not be long in Labrys without learning at least a few words of it.”
“I'll be the exception. If I have to learn to sound like a dove cooing I prefer to be speechless.”
Meriones chuckled. “It's a difficult language,” he agreed. “You never hear it now, outside of the palace. Crete speaks the New Tongue, the language of the markets. You're quite good at that, I notice, which proves you have a gift for language as well as for creating beautiful objects. I also have a gift for language. I speak several, even one I learned from my grandmother, who spoke the tongue of the Islands of Mist.”
“You talk a lot,” Hokar observed. “all Cretans talk a lot, don't they?”
“We enjoy the arts, including that of conversation.”
“There is a lot to enjoy here,” Hokar remarked. His eyes were now following a graceful woman dressed in a vivid shade of orange, her fingers and toes weighted with jewels, her nipples painted a brilliant blue. She returned his frank stare with an amused smile.
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