Chapter 1 - The BLACK SAIL

 

A clatter of pottery bells broke the calm of a hot, pine-scented afternoon as the mop-haired, bare-footed peasant boy in ragged linen kilt appeared over the rise to hesitate for a moment against a boundless blue sky. Swishing his stick, he called out to urge his small herd of bleating goats down the so familiar path. To him the fates had allotted the tracks, the fields and the pinewoods as compass of his days. Seldom did he find an opportunity to venture outside a world bounded by the labours of each day. Yet when darkness came, even this might become a forbidden realm.

Through clustered pine trees he now and then glimpsed the sea, a cauldron of liquid metal above which hovered a lowering sun. Some way past the point where his path turned inland the ground sloped away gently toward the southern end of a wide bay. The boy stopped, not to rest, though his long day was coming to an end, but to gaze out across the water with a hand raised to protect his eyes from the harsh glare. Greeted by a welcoming sea breeze he remained a while longer, imagining what wonders might be found beyond a distant horizon that was for him a place of wild and youthful dreams.

He would have continued on his way except that below the horizon, almost lost amidst the water's dazzle, something moved as an insect crawling on beaten silver. It was not, of course, the first vessel the boy had seen. Fishing boats plied the waters daily, as did the larger boats from distant places; lands of hearsay, lands people in the city talked about, lands he could never hope to know.

To his keen eye there was something different about this boat, though what it was he could not be certain. Perhaps it was her steady progress - the progress of a larger vessel. One thing he could be quite sure of, however; the now deserted bay across which he gazed was her destination. He was also sure that the sun would be kissing the horizon before she arrived at the meagre straggle of irregular stone buildings that clung to the edge of the bay to form the small port of Phaleron. Uppermost in his mind was the belief he and everyone in Athens and hereabouts shared, that some day a ship would arrive bearing news of great importance. An occasional comment overheard in the marketplace on those rare visits to the city as well as remarks from the mouths of his own parents; these had convinced him that this long-awaited vessel would eventually arrive. His curiosity was much aroused. Could this be the one?

As he watched, a veil of cloud drifted across to haze the sun, so enabling him to make out the ship in more detail. The boy peered harder into the distance then letting out a whistle he threw aside his stick, gathered up his kilt and started in haste along the path. The goats pranced then scattered aside to a cacophony of bleating as he rushed headlong through their midst calling out, 'I'll be first to tell them! Yes, I will! I'll be the first!'

The journey would take him some time, bounding over rough, open pastures toward the woodlands where the broader path leading from the harbour to Athens' western gate crossed open ground. His shadow dancing eagerly ahead, he would follow this well-trodden route to the city. He would not reach the gate before the sun went down but he would deliver his message before the boat arrived in the harbour even though the wind at present looked to be in her favour. But if she did not have a skilled Athenian crew, if she was one of those deep-keeled Cretan vessels that could not easily be beached or would need to be moored at the jetty in the dead of night, she might stand out in the bay until dawn for safety's sake, sheltered by the headland to her south. And what of the reward? Yes, they had spoken of a reward for the one who brought first news of the vessel. And it had to be the right vessel because the boy had abandoned his flock and would otherwise be punished. It had to be the right vessel.

Approaching the city, he hurried on with shortening breath, passing by vineyards, olive groves and orchards. On he went toward the massive double gate, on toward the frowning stone tower of coarse Cyclopean blocks that it seemed only the time-shrouded giants of old could have laboured to construct. Citizens and traders were passing to and fro about their business, ignoring the wretched beggars who squatted in the shadows. Oxen, asses and men hauled farm produce and oil jars packed in straw to safety within the city wall, though on this occasion there was little sign of the armed guards who were so often in evidence. On he hurried through white-plastered timber dwellings that pressed upon narrow, crowded streets, through the tantalising odour of cooking, through the acrid smoke of forges until reaching the rough-hewn stairs carved into the rock wall that wound upward to the acropolis.

The boy stopped long enough to calm his breathing then clambered nimbly, but was again quite breathless by the time he reached the top. There he rested to gaze across the open courtyard where arose the royal residence. This was the palace of Aegeus the king, an imposing three storey, stone and timber building topped by a palisade of stone-carved bulls' horns. Glancing about, anxious in case someone else should hurry past him to deliver the message first, he trotted across the courtyard then scrambled awkwardly up the steps leading to the great, bronze-clad doors of the main entrance. Almost there he was challenged by a brusque, 'Oi - where d'you think you're off to?'

'I bring news for our great King Aegeus!' he yelled as the pair of burly, surly guards with bronze-tipped spears and boiled hide corselets closed in to bar his progress. The guards had found little to do that day other than pass time in idle conversation. Here was something to break the monotony. Something trivial but perhaps enough to offer modest entertainment.

'What's this news you've got, then?' one of the guards demanded, eyeing the bedraggled intruder with an exaggerated frown that changed to a bristled, broken-toothed grin as the boy peered up wide-eyed. 'Well - what's an urchin like you got to say that could possibly interest Lord Aegeus?'

'There's a ship entering the bay,' he blurted. 'It's a fine ship - not a fishing boat - not a trader. It's got a royal symbol on its sail.'

That was in part true. There had been a device of some kind on the sail, but the vessel had been too far out for even his keen eye to resolve it in detail. There was something else, however - something the boy would not divulge to the guards in case they dismissed him then themselves carried the news to the king.

'What d'we do with 'im?' asked the second man, bringing his face close to the boy's in mock intimidation. 'Chase the little bugger off do we? The king might be takin' 'is rest this time of the day.'

'Better not,' replied the first. 'We've all 'eard about this ship people are supposed to be lookin' out for. Aegeus won't thank us if it turns out the kid's spotted somethin' important.'

'Nor will 'e if it turns out we wasted 'is precious time,' leered the other as they continued to stare down at him. 'If 'e's having us on then 'e'll get my boot up his arse. Aye and 'e'll leave 'ere a lot quicker than 'e arrived!'

Jumping up and down with youthful impatience, the boy was tempted to dash by them. At last, giving in to his urgently repeated pleas, they ushered him to the top of the stairs then to the twin-columned portico, through the stout, copper-banded timber doors and into a small, colonnaded courtyard from which other dimly lit, frescoed passages led. As they crossed this, his enthusiasm began to wane. Already daunted by the surroundings, he wondered how and by whom he would be received. He was, after all, a humble, begrimed goatherd who, never having entered this imposing structure, had only stood before it with the common people to observe the occasional royal ceremony. Perhaps his sighting of the ship would prove of no importance, perhaps his tale would be disbelieved. He might face ridicule, or worse, a beating by the guards.

At the far side of the courtyard they passed into a gloomy antechamber lit only by small lamps supported on slender metal stands. About the walls marched frescoed warriors and beneath these stood tall, baked clay jars. For a fleeting moment, the boy wished he could sneak away unseen, climb into one of the jars and hide until the guards were gone. Now the strumming of a lyre reached his ear, now the sound of voices. It was too late to run.

He had heard people speak of the megaron, the great hall, where Aegeus entertained and held council, though no one he had met ever claimed to have entered it in person. But no amount of hearsay could have prepared him for a sight that so cowed, that so overwhelmed as he was conducted inside. He trembled with fear, wishing only to be back in the fields with the goats he had so recklessly abandoned. Before him were gathered more people than he could have reckoned three times over on his grubby fingers; men, women, children, seated or standing in conversation about the hall. At its centre lay a raised circular hearth inset with small, multi-coloured tiles and almost as wide across as two men. Within it, bright flames danced to cast wavering shadows about walls and ceiling. They were shadows that lived - shadows of unearthly beings. Mingling with the smoke was an odour of incense not at all to his liking. Afraid as the boy was, this moment would remain in his mind forever.

An alabaster throne with tall, scalloped back stood at the far side of the hearth. On it, cushioned by a lamb's wool fleece, sat a gaunt faced man with well-trimmed moustache and beard. His long fair hair was held in place by a headband of gold-studded leather, his stooped form clothed in a belted white tunic of finely embroidered linen. In his hand rested a goblet of beaten gold, newly replenished by one of the female slaves who ladled from the wine jar carried awkwardly between two of her male children.

The boy knew he was in the presence of King Aegeus, the man who ruled his land.

Seated or standing close by were the king's richly attired kinsmen and companions, likewise attended by female slaves, whilst at the far side of the hearth sat chattering the red-lipped noblewomen, their faces white-glazed beneath long, elaborately crinkled hair. Adorned in narrow-waisted, long, flounced dresses with short-sleeved bodice cut away to leave their rouged breasts exposed, they were bejewelled in a manner the boy found incomprehensible.

First to notice him enter with the two guards had been three courtly-dressed children who stood chattering among themselves close by. They made no effort to convey their observation to anyone else but continued as before with frequent glances at the newcomer who felt utterly crushed in the presence of such opulence. The strumming continued and he saw that it came from the hands of a grey-haired, almost toothless, long-bearded old man in blue tunic who sat to the king's left and whose attention he held. From time to time the player raised a hand from the lyre in order to recite in deep, sonorous tones the verses of some ancient epic whose meaning was totally lost on the boy. Perhaps nobody would acknowledge his presence until the bard had finished.

Staring about the hall, he was awed by the upward tapering, russet-painted columns that supported a heavily beamed ceiling, this latter blackened by years of rising smoke. About the walls, alternating with bronze-tipped spears, hung boiled-hide, metal-edged shields, some light and circular, hardly an arm's length across, others almost as tall as a man. All were gilded, all elaborately decorated. Here was something the boy found reassuringly familiar. Much plainer versions of these shields he had seen borne by men passing to and from the city on those occasions when the drums of war caused him and his family to gather their livestock and retreat within the sanctuary of Athens' defensive wall or to the more distant rural sanctuary of their kinfolk.

It was the lyre player who next noticed the boy. Finishing his verse, he laid aside his instrument and indicated to Aegeus that a stranger awaited his attention. The king and those about him turned aside as one of the guards stepped forward, bowed and announced above a descending silence, 'Lord Aegeus, we beg forgiveness at our intrusion, but this boy says 'e's observed a ship. He says it's got a royal device on its sail.'

'Does he indeed,' replied Aegeus, rising slowly from his throne to approach the boy.

Shaking visibly, the goatherd fell to his knees, stared hard at the floor and stammered, 'N-noble king, I saw - saw it - yes. A ship with - with -.'

Aegeus peered down at him to ask solemnly, 'It bore a device, you say - what device? And what else? Did you see the colour of the sail?'

'I did, mightiness, yes,' replied the boy at last summoning enough courage to look upward into the king's eyes; eyes that spoke of more than just weariness. 'I saw it clearly, sire. The device was a - a -.'

'A double axe?' interjected the king.

'Yes, lord, that's what it was - a double axe.' This statement was a guess but probably, or so he hoped, not a bad one. As for the second there was no doubt at all as he exclaimed, 'And the sail, master - the sail was black!'

Aegeus did not at first respond, though several of those close to him nodded their heads glumly then fixed their gaze upon the stone floor. The silence, growing more profound, was broken by wood spitting from the fire then by one of the children coughing. Tension grew as Aegeus continued to stare down at the boy, who in turn began to fidget uncontrollably.

When the king at last spoke, his voice was bland in the manner of one whose emotions, whilst kindled, must at all costs conceal his true feelings, though his expression was clouded with pain. 'A black sail. Very well. When what you tell us is confirmed, you shall have the promised reward. No doubt it will change your life as your message is to change mine.' Bidding the boy rise, he turned to the gathering then declared, 'Our entertainment is ended. There are other matters to which I must attend.'

Their heads bowed, people began to leave, glancing at Aegeus in sympathy or not looking at him at all. Saying nothing to him or to one another. Some of the women wept as they followed the men. As he, too, was ushered from the hall, the boy turned to see Aegeus in the act of instructing a young slave boy who, no doubt, would run to the headland then report back to him over the ship. The king, stooped as if carrying an invisible burden about his shoulders then walked slowly, accompanied by his aged lyre player, toward a door at the far side where both vanished into darkness. The boy was taken to wait in the anteroom.

The great hall was deserted. In the fire within the circle, logs settled, life breathed. In the embers eyes watched. In the smoke whispers gathered. Emerging from gaps in the floor close by the hearth, black beetles stole about the deity of heat that was the centre of a realm they could for a time claim as their own.

***

Oil lamps on stands of twisted bronze cast a feeble light over the stone walls. Aegeus sat in pensive quiet. The air hung close and oppressive. Nearby waited the old man, his lyre propped by the side of his chair. When the king at last spoke, his was a voice of sad resignation.

'Haemon, my dear friend, we need not await confirmation of the sail. A simple goatherd would not make such a statement if it were false since he would not know its meaning. Theseus, my son, did not survive the ordeal. Those hopes I held for our future are scattered as chaff to the wind.'

The old man said nothing as Aegeus continued. 'He was the staunchest champion of our land. He shone as the brightest star in our heavens. Now, that light is extinguished, and we are condemned to darkness as are the blind.'

'He should never have sailed to Crete,' muttered the lyre player. 'I should have tried to persuade him. I failed you in not doing so.'

'Ah,' sighed Aegeus, 'I doubt the gods themselves could have prevented his making the journey there - I certainly could not. He would often listen to you when he dismissed the advice of others as a passing breeze but this time he was beyond persuasion. Perhaps he saw glory in that venture though no man could ever claim he was tainted by vanity or greed.'

'He was burdened by neither,' agreed Haemon. 'But I say again, had I tried to stop him joining the rest when the envoys came, perhaps he would be here with us now.'

Aegeus rose up and turned to face the window, saying, 'No, had he stayed when others were sent out to confront unknown danger, he could never have lived with himself. Now the people look at me in anger for allowing him to go on that final voyage. The anger of some will turn to hatred when they learn he has shared the fate of those young people of ours who sailed to Crete before him. Yet I thought that he of all people might have - no, the will of the gods has prevailed. And still my so-called brother Pallas waits in the south and will not rest until Athens writhes defeated in his grasp. My son would have stood against him. By the light of his valour Theseus would have driven back the shadows cast by Pallas. Once news of the ship reaches Pallas' ears, he will uncover the chalice of poison he has been fermenting.' Turning once more to Haemon he declared, 'It is a poison for which we have no antidote, my friend. There are no strong allies on whom we can call. There is no man in the city who might rally the people sufficiently to prevail against our enemy. Metion, the captain of my palace guard would gather his men to Athens' cause but great a warrior though he is, he does not possess those other skills needed to capture the hearts of the people. He is at the forefront in battle but sets himself aside in times of peace.'

'Lord Aegeus!' responded the old man, standing up quickly despite his aching bones. 'Why do we not send over the water to Troizen? King Pittheus surely would cross the gulf to stand with us. He has every reason to despise Pallas.'

'Pittheus,' sighed the king, 'is too busy watching his own back. He will not dare leave Troizen, not until matters are settled there. Pallas controls the supply of silver from the mines at Laurion and together with Cretan gold uses it now to fund intrigues at Troizen just as he has in the past here in Athens.'

Aegeus relapsed into pensive silence.

Eventually Haemon asked, 'Shall I call for wine?'

'No - no more wine,' breathed Aegeus. 'My grief would sail large even on a sea of wine.' Aegeus sighed, pressed hands to his face then fixed his gaze on the window whose leather blind was held rolled up above. The sky was darkening. 'Just now, my friend, I would prefer to be alone.'

Haemon got up, stepped to the door but turned briefly with a tear in his eye as Aegeus added, 'Whatever happens, never doubt that any man could have a truer friend than you have been to your king.'

The old man left but crossing the great hall in near darkness to the echo of his own footsteps he hesitated as if about to retrace his steps, shook his head, then continued on.

Aegeus sat in silence. The first stars would soon begin to appear as he gazed out at the sky, and with those stars would return memories of the long life he had lived and his term of kingship in Athens.