whose back is made to hold a rider, but she was
willing enough to suffer me. She would even go where I bade her, and stop, mostly,
when I asked. She was a quite reasonable mount, when it came to it.”
“Until the priestesses caught you,” Naukrates said. “Gods
and goddess, how they carried on! It’s a wonder they didn’t demand your living
heart torn from your breast.”
“No; only my living body to dance the bull.” Iphikleia shut
her mouth with a snap. This, her manner said, touched on things not fit for
strangers to hear.
But Naukrates was not minded to spare her. “Yes, they laid
on you a hard sentence. But you danced the bull with the Lady’s blessing. Then
there was nothing for it but to make you one of her own, to keep the rest of
her cattle safe from your ambition.”
Iphikleia set her lips together. She had no lightness of
spirit, Kemni could see, and least of all when it came to herself. And yet in
childhood she must have been all lightness, all air and wickedness. It was
rather a pity that she had grown out of it, and so completely.
In the night again he dreamed of her, a slender minnow of a
girl with her breasts scarce budded, riding a milk-white heifer. It was a
chaste dream, as his others had not been, and yet when he woke he was aching
with desire. He gave himself such relief as he could, and swore an oath in the
dim closeness of his cabin: when he came to land, he would—oh, yes, by the gods
he would—find himself a willing woman, and love her till she cried for mercy.
~~~
They were five days at sea, and four nights of dreams that
Kemni would sooner not remember. As the fifth day rose toward noon, with a
brisk wind blowing and the sailors stepping lively, singing and dancing amid
the ordered clutter of the ship, the cry rang out: “Land! Land ho!”
It was only a shadow, a cloud on the horizon. But it grew as
the day unfolded and the sun climbed; then as the sun began to sink, even a
stranger’s eye could see the shape of the great island. Rocky promontories
crowned with green, and scattered among them the gleam of white: cities of men,
and palaces, and white temples set high on sheer cliffs. The first one of those
that Kemni saw, he thought it must be the place they were seeking, the sacred
palace, the house of the Double Axe, the Labyrinth of the king of Crete.
But it was a temple—to a god of the sky, Iphikleia said. The
house of the Double Axe lay inland, round the far side of the island. They were
days from landfall after all, must sail full round that mountain in the sea,
before they came to the harbor of Knossos and began their ascent to the
Labyrinth.
“Take pleasure in it,” she said at Kemni’s visible dismay.
“We’ll sail by day, rest by night in villages. Crete will give us its warmest
welcome, with no haste to lessen it.”
Kemni bit his lip and kept silent. Iphikleia knew what he
was thinking: her painted brow arched. But she too held her peace.
~~~
Kemni did his best to do as she had advised him. The days
were brisk with breezes and pungent with salt. The green ascents and rocky
summits of the island drifted past, wafting toward them a rich scent of earth,
so very different from that of the sea. At night, as she had said, they drew up
on shore—blessed land, however stony underfoot. Slender brown people came,
brought food, drink, music and song. Kemni went to sleep to the sound of waves
and the voices of these strangers singing.
They came to Knossos at last on a fair day, with a fair wind
blowing them toward the harbor, and the sun just coming to its zenith over the
steep crags of the island. In sight of her own city, even cold Iphikleia had
warmed a little: eyes wide and bright, red lips parted, yearning slightly
forward where she stood on the deck.
This to her, to them all, was home as Egypt was home to
Kemni. He found it very strange, so stony and yet so green, and cool—almost
cold to his Egyptian blood, like Iphikleia herself. The Cretans were well
willing enough to suffer me. She would even go where I bade her, and stop, mostly,
when I asked. She was a quite reasonable mount, when it came to it.”
“Until the priestesses caught you,” Naukrates said. “Gods
and goddess, how they carried on! It’s a wonder they didn’t demand your living
heart torn from your breast.”
“No; only my living body to dance the bull.” Iphikleia shut
her mouth with a snap. This, her manner said, touched on things not fit for
strangers to hear.
But Naukrates was not minded to spare her. “Yes, they laid
on you a hard sentence. But you danced the bull with the Lady’s blessing. Then
there was nothing for it but to make you one of her own, to keep the rest of
her cattle safe from your ambition.”
Iphikleia set her lips together. She had no lightness of
spirit, Kemni could see, and least of all when it came to herself. And yet in
childhood she must have been all lightness, all air and wickedness. It was
rather a pity that she had grown out of it, and so completely.
In the night again he dreamed of her, a slender minnow of a
girl with her breasts scarce budded, riding a milk-white heifer. It was a
chaste dream, as his others had not been, and yet when he woke he was aching
with desire. He gave himself such relief as he could, and swore an oath in the
dim closeness of his cabin: when he came to land, he would—oh, yes, by the gods
he would—find himself a willing woman, and love her till she cried for mercy.
~~~
They were five days at sea, and four nights of dreams that
Kemni would sooner not remember. As the fifth day rose toward noon, with a
brisk wind blowing and the sailors stepping lively, singing and dancing amid
the ordered clutter of the ship, the cry rang out: “Land! Land ho!”
It was only a shadow, a cloud on the horizon. But it grew as
the day unfolded and the sun climbed; then as the sun began to sink, even a
stranger’s eye could see the shape of the great island. Rocky promontories
crowned with green, and scattered among them the gleam of white: cities of men,
and palaces, and white temples set high on sheer cliffs. The first one of those
that Kemni saw, he thought it must be the place they were seeking, the sacred
palace, the house of the Double Axe, the Labyrinth of the king of Crete.
But it was a temple—to a god of the sky, Iphikleia said. The
house of the Double Axe lay inland, round the far side of the island. They were
days from landfall after all, must sail full round that mountain in the sea,
before they came to the harbor of Knossos and began their ascent to the
Labyrinth.
“Take pleasure in it,” she said at Kemni’s visible dismay.
“We’ll sail by day, rest by night in villages. Crete will give us its warmest
welcome, with no haste to lessen it.”
Kemni bit his lip and kept silent. Iphikleia knew what he
was thinking: her painted brow arched. But she too held her peace.
~~~
Kemni did his best to do as she had advised him. The days
were brisk with breezes and pungent with salt. The green ascents and rocky
summits of the island drifted past, wafting toward them a rich scent of earth,
so very different from that of the sea. At night, as she had said, they drew up
on shore—blessed land, however stony underfoot. Slender brown people came,
brought food, drink, music and song. Kemni went to sleep to the sound of waves
and the voices of these strangers singing.
They came to Knossos at last on a fair day, with a fair wind
blowing them toward the harbor, and the sun just coming to its zenith over the
steep crags of the island. In sight of her own city, even cold Iphikleia had
warmed a little: eyes wide and bright, red lips parted, yearning slightly
forward where she stood on the deck.
This to her, to them all, was home as Egypt was home to
Kemni. He found it very strange, so stony and yet so green, and cool—almost
cold to his Egyptian blood, like Iphikleia herself. The Cretans were well
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