RCG-I Seasonal Salon

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Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

When Destiny Walked the Labrynth

Chapter 6: Opening Feast

By late afternoon, Knossos had ignited into frenzied festivity. Cloth banners snapped in the gusty breeze, their brilliant blues, greens, reds and yellows exciting the spirit as much as the eye. Everywhere people blazed about dressed in the brightest of frippery, for the Kritins loved color. Voices crackled in the air, rising and falling as the afternoon turned toward evening. Ansel, poking aside the thin hide window covering and peering down at the meadow adjacent the Center, recognized clan and guild garb from Gournia, Mallia, Zakros and even Phaistos, across the high southern mountains. Boats brought in revelers from prosperous Heria and the other Cycliades islands to the north, and she heard tell there were visitors from as far away as Egypt, Anatolia, Libya and Athena on the mainland, all many days sail away. Felt trading tents spotted the flat, rocky meadow next to the Agronos; within, the traders undoubtedly were setting out all manner of wonderful and rare items to touch and taste, smell or wear. Ansel bounced with anticipation. Meter gave her several silver rings to purchase a special Kore gift for herself. She could hardly wait to trade them for something truly exotic.

A gong clanged; the warning chime for the opening feast! This was an invitation-only event, attended by the elite of Knossos and their families and friends. For the rest of the populace, the Festival would begin in the morn, though of course traders could often be enticed to give a preview of their wares even into the late evening of the night before if one proffered suitable reward. This was the first time Ansel and Geneera were considered old enough to attend the feast, as both girls bled their first bloods this past turn. Ansel wore a new garment for the event; it was the most adult gown she’d ever worn. A shade of blue that rivaled the sea herself, the many skirts over-laid themselves from thigh to ankle. An apron of a lighter blue was knotted smartly around her small waist. It was reminiscent of the style made popular by the Priesera, though of course, her breasts were concealed beneath a vermillion bodice. Only Priesera displayed the power of their breasts.

After the dancers were done with practice, Gen had returned to the apartment they shared. She bathed then donned a muted garment as was her wont; a long, simple linen tunic of white, sleeves drawn up to her elbows, and a knotted blue rope about her waist that matched the deep sea blue of Ansel’s gown. This garment was provided by Phoebe, Ansel’s meter, who understood Gen’s more sedate tastes. In it, she looked slim and tall compared to Ansel’s more curvaceous appearance. Gen was only recently back in the good graces of her friend, for Ansel had felt hurt at being left alone on the practice field.

“You just disappeared with Carea, holding her arm like she was your long-lost sister. Only a few days past, you despised the girl!”

“I am truly sorry, Ansel. I did not think of anything except speaking with the coach. Carea wanted to be there with me when I accepted the position….” Gen’s voice held a trace of bewilderment at Ansel’s distress, and soon Ansel herself wondered why she was so upset. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know how to get back to the apartment without Gen.

She shrugged. “Let us forget it then, Gen. I was only…only…uncomfortable and to be honest, I do not truly know why,” Ansel conceded.

Ansel and Geneera entered the central courtyard for the feast with their arms entwined. The courtyard was a rectangle many foot-lengths long, the floor inlaid with slabs of veined marble and other pretty stone outlined with a vermillion grout which gave the overall effect of an intricate mosaic.

Lining the periphery, huge, finely painted ceramic pots of miniature flowering plants and fruiting trees served as decoration; olive, pomegranate, citron, fig and even a date palm imported from Egypt. The largest tree, a myrtle, was in the center of the courtyard and offered cool shade even on the hottest afternoons. Though normally there were marble benches beneath the myrtle for sitting and enjoying the delicious cool of the shade, tonight a huge, long wooden table and many individual chairs replaced the benches. Each chair was ornately carved and held a soft cushion. The fragrances of jasmine and honeysuckle interwove with delicious foods smells. Ansel’s mouth watered.

The gong clanged a second time, signaling the beginning of the feast, and the guests who had been talking in groups began taking their seats. Ansel and Geneera found themselves led to a smaller round table situated next to the rectangular one where, it seemed, the rest of the guests were being escorted. “This is the table reserved for young people. You will have much more fun here, Mistress Ansel,” the servant explained when Ansel began to protest. Geneera nudged her and pointed. “Look! The Bulldancers!”

In the far corner of the courtyard, the entire Bulldancer troupe lined up. They were escorted to the same table as the girls. Satisfied, Ansel and Gen took their seats. A blur out of the corner of her eye informed Ansel that the chair next to her (on the other side from Gen) was abruptly occupied. Ansel turned and saw Garin sitting next to her with a broad grin on his face.

“Greetings, Ansel. What great chance that I am seated next to you.”

“Chance!” laughed a small, swarthy boy seating himself across the table. “You dove for that seat and we all saw you!” Garin’s face turned red and he shrugged his broad shoulders sheepishly. “I knew I had better move quickly. Luckily, I am an athlete.”

“Ho ha, that is a matter of opinion,” retorted the other boy with a grin playing across his face.

Ansel smiled at the banter, then glanced toward the other table to see her Meter being seated just a few chairs away from Vasilea, toward the head of the table. Phoebe looked particularly beautiful tonight with her black hair pinned up into tight curls and her lips rouged the vivid red of pomegranate seeds. Her gown was a vibrant blue and the neckline played her décolletage to lovely advantage.

To Phoebe’s right sat a young man who looked as if he belonged at the round table with her and Gen. He was good looking in a girlish way. His sleepy eyes rested upon Phoebe’s manicured hand as if he might offer to worship it at any moment. Meta has worked her magic on him, she thought, chuckling. Phoebe caught her eye and winked; Ansel couldn’t help but grin. The young man looked at her, too, but didn’t smile. His large, solemn eyes looked like he had a foot in the Underworld; positively haunted. What a strange boy. I wonder who he is.

“Ansel, are you lost at sea?” Garin touched her arm jarring her out of her musings.

“Uh, no, no, just people watching. This is the first opening feast I have been allowed to attend, and I want to see who is here tonight. I recognize the Priesera from their open robes and hats, of course, and I recognize the faces of some of the administrators of Agronos Knossos, but there are so many people here I do not know.”

“Oh, many are administrators from the other Agronos. I hear they came especially for the all-citizenry meeting. I was talking to some folks from Delos earlier who came by to watch us practice after you left. Hoy, is it not wonderful about Geneera joining the troupe?”

“Ai, wonderful,” she said, trying to mask the sour edge that threatened to creep into her voice. She looked tentatively over her shoulder, but Gen’s back was turned to her as Gen talked animatedly with a whole group of dancers. Lowering her voice and leaning in closer to Garin so as not to be overheard, Ansel whispered, “Her Meter will be angrier than a swarm of bees. Priesera Vasilea never forgave the Bulldancer coach after Jerid died a few turns back. Jerid was Gen’s brother, you know.”

“Was he?” Garius matched her whisper. “I did not know. I was not a member of the troupe then, but I heard about it, of course.” He paused, his face growing thoughtful. “They say it was not anyone’s fault. The bull just went mad, and Jerid was gored. That happens sometimes. I mean, we raise them by hand from the time they are little calves, but they are still unpredictable.”

“Neither Gen nor her Meter ever really recovered. Jerid was Gen’s only sibling. She loved him wildly.”

“I can understand why her Meter would not care for Gen joining us, though it is such an honor. I never heard of two members of the same family accepted into the troupe before.”

A large triton was blown, its soft, clear tone echoing through the courtyard, and all of the guests were beckoned to rise. Straining to see through the throng of guests, Ansel caught sight of First Elder Thesmas and her consort, Xeronos, parading into the courtyard from the entrance by the domestic apartments, followed by the seven other members of the Council of Elders.

Geneera, who had stopped talking at the sound of the triton, poked Ansel and nodded toward Xeronos. He was wearing huge, ceremonial bull horns; the symbol of the Consort. Actually, Ansel thought, he looks pretty good in them. “Of the land,” Meter would say. She glanced toward Phoebe, whose eyes followed Xeronos. The strange boy next to Meter watched him too, his jaw moving as if he chewed something over.

With dignity, the council members took their places behind vacant chairs near the head of the long table. Thesmas stood at the head with Xeronos to her right. She nodded, and everyone sat.

Thesmas raised an ornate chalice filled with wine and gestured to the rest of the people seated. “Honored guests,” she began, “the Consort and I welcome you to the opening of this turn’s Festival.” She paused while the guests applauded. The young Bulldancers cheered and whistled.

“Thank you,” she continued. “This being a seven-turn’s Fest, Knossos is honored with the presence of many distinguished guests. I would especially like to introduce our visitors from Athena. Helen Demetria . . .” Thesmas gestured toward a robed and heavily jeweled woman seated in a place of honor next to the Elder Council. The Athenian queen’s face was carefully made-up, but her neck bore a swath of wrinkles bespeaking advanced years. She did not stand, instead bestowing a grimace that she may have meant as a smile and a wave of her hand.

“ . . . and her Royal Consort, Theseus.” Thesmas indicated someone toward the middle of the table. Why, Ansel thought, it is the young man who sits next to Meta. But he seems so young to be Consort. Surely he cannot be a member of the Athenian Council. Oh, but Athena does not have a Council like we do, does it? She struggled to remember the governmental structure of Athena that Vasilea taught several turns back. So, then, he advises Helen Demetria? I wonder. Perhaps he functions only as companion?

All of the young people at Ansel’s table except Gen and herself suddenly stood as a group and waved while the adults applauded loudly. Ansel heard Thesmas say, “Be sure to see the Bulldancer exhibition this Fest. Then, at Festival’s closing, upon the eve of Cronetide, we celebrate the Kore, the ritual of blossoming womanhood, in which, I am proud to say, my very own grandaughter, Ansel, will participate.”

Ansel felt her ears grow hot. Garin urged her to stand. She grabbed Geneera’s hand and pulled her up, too. Thesmas added quickly, “As will her best friend and Priesera Vasilea’s daughter, Geneera.” Ansel tried to squelch her embarrassment at being the enter of attention, squeezed Gen’s hand and plastered a smile on her lips as the adults all applauded. The Bulldancers cheered merrily.

Finally, Thesmas finished talking and the food was served. Servants scurried about the tables offering dishes of grilled fish, squid and shrimp tossed with olives, lamb chunks mixed with milk gravy and rice, and stuffed gamebird, as well as olive oil and aromatic herb-marinated aubergines and other vegetables, mild goat cheeses, grains and a crusty, rusk bread that was an island specialty. The thick Kritin wine flowed freely, but Ansel, having imbibed wine with meals from the time she was a little maid, drank as much spring water as spirits; she did not wish to risk making a fool of herself in front of the Bulldancers. Dried and honey-soaked sweets laden with figs, dates, citron and pistachios completed the meal.

“Ansel,” Garin asked, “are you coming to the dancer exhibition? If you come early, you can sit in front, and I could sit with you between events.”

“To be honest, I have not thought very much about it before now. Gen will certainly want to attend, and I suppose I will come with her.”

“I will perform my best vaults just for you.” He leaned toward her, smelling of amber and sea, placing a large, warm hand on her arm, his eyes promising more than vaulting exhibitions.

His attentions made Ansel feel both nervous and flattered. He perhaps thinks it would be a great tale to bed the First Elder’s granddaughter for her Kore Festival. Perhaps I am some prize to be won and bragged about and he doesn’t even really like me. It wouldn’t be the first time people pretended to like me but really just wanted to be seen with me. It is so hard to tell.

“I will come,” she promised.

We shall see, she added to herself.

The rectangular table was polished to a high gleam and was made of cedar wood imported from far to the east, Phoebe knew. The wood had arrived by boat as planks and still gave off a faintly exotic odor. While she nibbled at some bread and assessed her dining companions, she pondered how people’s lives could be affected by objects and events so far away. For example, the man who traded in the poppy essense, mekoi, was one who affected untold lives indirectly. Alekki was undoubtedly one of the ugliest men she had ever set eyes upon and yet she found him a fascination. His rubbery lips appeared the texture of octopus, and the red of his nose told tale of many nights upon open sea with perhaps only the resin wine, retsina, for company. Just then, Alekki paused in his conversation with Demetria, glanced at Phoebe and winked as if he and she were co-conspirators. Phoebe shuddered internally and redirected her attentions toward her work; Alekki had been invited to this feast for the sole purpose of pleasing Demetria. He, at least, was a known entity.

Not so Nikolas, an official from the Agronos of Phaistos. He sat across the table and two seats to the left of Phoebe. Presently, he was deeply engaged in conversation with Priesera Vasilea who sat next to him. Phoebe looked down at her plate and pretended interest in her grilled squid. She gathered her focus and soon could discern the voices of Nikolas and Vasilea from the general clamor around her.

“They say, Priesera, that Mount Herilia rumbles now day and night, or so I heard last I spoke to my brother on Heria.” Nikolas said. “He tells me She sometimes spits smoke, too. If one looks upon the northern horizon, does not the air look murky, as if cluttered with dust? I see this even as far south as Phaistos. And the colorful dusks make me feel considerable unease, though they be remarkably beautiful.”

“Indeed, Kourete Nikolas. Everyone in Knossos and at the University knows of Herilia’s unrest. Also you must have heard that just a third of a turn ago, our port village Amnisos was devastated with another wave, this one bigger than any before in memory. This is why the ships were rerouted west to dock. We are all uneasy.”

“Then, with all due respect, Priesera, what are the Sisters doing about this?”

“The Sisterhood is doing all we can. We have Priesera praying, dancing, and working spells all night and all day. We sought the seers of our community, but the answers they provide are unclear. It is as if they too must read the signs through murky air. But the problems are also political, I think. Perhaps the answer lies instead with our Council. What are they doing to end the abhorrence happening all over the world?”

“Bah! Praying, dancing, magic and even the seers are not sufficient. No, Priesera, the deities want more, is this not obvious? Our pleas are no longer sufficient.”

“Well, is this not what I am saying? The Council must do something to change the blasphemy occurring in this region. The heretics who offer up the Sun over His Meter must be stopped.”

One sidelong glance told Phoebe that Demetria was far too involved in her flirtation with Alekki to overhear the conversation between Vasilea and Nikolas. Phoebe exhaled quietly in relief. Vasilea had no sense of how offensive she could be to others. After all, one of the “regions” she so despised was Athena. Had they not recently elevated their God, Zeus, to the same status as their namesake Goddess, Athena?

Nor did Theseus appear aware of Vasilea’s indelicacy. Perhaps this was because his grasp of the Kritin language was poor. Since she had strung a thread to him already, he was easy to tune in to. She briefly checked his emotional state, reading boredom mixed with a longing to be elsewhere. When he glanced at her, sexual energy flared. She felt faintly sorry for the boy; though the food itself was somewhat entertaining, he likely would not understand nor even care to understand much of the conversation of strangers taking place about him. He would perhaps have been happier sitting over at the young people’s table with my Ansel. She speaks Greek fluently. But I could not possibly sit there, too. I shall need to direct more attention toward him.

But Nikolas was saying, “Is it not possible, Sister, that what is really needed is a direct appeasement? I hear that in the East, they offer the very best they have to give when the Gods are displeased, even up to and including their own citizens.”

“In the East, they worship bloodthirsty Gods.” Basilea replied dryly.

“And Great Meter is not proving equally bloodthirsty? Does She not take untold lives on Her own when perhaps She could be appeased with only a few?”

“Blasphemy!” Vasilea snorted, her face turning red.

Phoebe knew she couldn’t stay silent any longer lest Vasilea feel it was her solemn duty to share her opinions with the entire rest of the table. She stopped toying with her food and looked directly at Nikolas.

“Sacrifice, Nikolas?” she asked, pitching her voice tone to one of subtle command. “Are you truly proposing that the Great Goddess, She who gives birth, would ask us to kill Her children to appease Her? Why? It makes no sense. Many of us do not wholly approve of even the occasional sacrifice of the bull.”

“Pardon me,” Nikolas said, his face flushing as he struggled against her vocal light control spell, “but I hardly think we should disdain out of hand what works for others. What is one life in return for the lives of all of us here on Kriti, not to mention the rest of the region? After all, these other nations are not without their most learned and holy religious leaders, Mistress Phoebe.”

The way his harsh voice emphasized “Mistress” set Phoebe’s teeth on edge. Is he that much of a fool not to know I am also Priesera? Or does he realize I am in no position to rebuke him here in public? Her hands tightened into fists underneath the table, crinkling her blue linen table napkin into a ball.

“Kourete Nikolas, you are quite mistaken,” broke in a voice from somewhere farther up the table. “Sacrifice is only practiced in nations where their deities demand it as a matter of course. Our Goddess would be offended by a sacrifice of Her children. Mistress Phoebe is quite knowledgeable about the practices in foreign areas. I would listen to her if I were you.”

Phoebe glanced up to see Priesera Allunea staring at Nikolas in a penetrating manner, her black eyes fixing him with their uncomfortably intense gaze. Blessings on Allunea, Phoebe thought.

Nikolas murmured something unintelligible, then said, “Of course Priesera, I would not presume to imply Mistress Phoebe does not know where of she speaks. Nevertheless, many of us at Phaistos are concerned.”

“As are we all, Kourete Nikolas,” Allunea said returning her attention to her plate. Sweets were being served, and the conversation turned to less controversial topics. Phoebe turned to Theseus, engaging him in small talk over honeyed figs and hot beverages.

A crash, then raucous laughter erupted. Demetria stood holding her substantial, double-handled wine cup aloft, her heavy wooden chair having tipped over in her abrupt rising. Like magic, a servant appeared to right it for her. “To Kriti!” she announced. “May the Goddess of all rule here forever!”

What is she doing? She cannot possibly be drunk; she barely touched her retsina. With a fluid motion, Phoebe grasped her cup and held it aloft to acknowledge Demetria’s toast. She glanced toward Trader Alekki who wore a broad grin and was looking up at Demetria, his arms folded across his chest. In the flurry of servants who rushed to refill empty glasses, only Phoebe caught Demetria’s cynical raised eyebrow and her sly nod toward Alekki.

Old sow, she is doing this for effect!

When Thesmas rose, cutting short whatever additional pronouncement Demetria was about to make, Phoebe revised her assessment. Not for fun, but to end the feast and get back to her mekoi. She must have had only a little of the poppy essence to be able to make this appearance or she would not be able to keep her head off the table. Ai, and this selfish ruler is the sovereign ruler of Athena.

“Thank you, everyone, for your attendance,” Thesmas said, “and you, Helen Demetria, for your kind words. There will be entertainment and dancing in the main hall shortly. Please join us if you so desire.” She nodded at Xeronos, who donned his horns with only a little help from a nearby servant. They nodded and waved as they slowly walked together from the table and back into a private chamber of the Agronos. The members of the Elder Council stood next and walked in file from the table.

Phoebe turned to Theseus and said, “Are you interested in the entertainment tonight, Consort Theseus? Helen Demetria, it seems, is likely to retire early and will need you not.” She held his gaze and it promised more entertainment than dancing. Theseus smiled deeply and nodded. Together, they rose from the table.

“A moment please, Mistress Phoebe?” Alekki stood looking at her expectantly. Nodding, Phoebe turned to Theseus and said, “If you will excuse me, Consort Theseus, I will meet you at the east door.” She pointed across the courtyard to the door closest her private apartment.

She turned to Alekki, who smiled crookedly at her. “Helen Demetria knows how to break apart a party, does she not?”

“Indeed, although I suspect it was more calculated than impulsive.”

“Ah, you are as perceptive as your reputation and even more lovely. Would that you would escort me sometime.”

Phoebe curtsied.

Alekki chuckled and continued, “The Trader’s Code states that a trader should give aid to one who has been of assistance to them. I will make a fine profit from Helen Demetria, and I know it was you who decided upon the invitation list. So, you have aided me, albeit inadvertently. In return, I offer information that I believe you will find interesting.”

Phoebe inclined her head. “Information, Trader Alekki?”

“Yes. Kouretes Nikolas, he is well traveled and asks interesting questions. He is deeply involved in a new religion popping up on this island and others, one that involves gaining favor of the Gods through blood. He is a leader in the movement and deserves your special attention. Also, it would be wise to take note of who is interested in buying weapons of iron at the marketplace. Perhaps their motives are good, but, too, it is the symbol of choice for the new religion.”

Phoebe caught his eye and stared at him deeply. “How do you know so much, Alekki?”

Smiling, Alekki broke away from her thrall spell with as much ease as snapping a thread. “Traders learn to keep their ears open. You may wish to feign ignorance, Mistress, but your true vocation is not a mystery to me. I wish you good evening.” With unexpected grace, he turned his back to her and strode away.

Not many can break contact, Phoebe thought. Interesting man. She shrugged, made a mental note to give both the proffered information and the interesting dispenser of it more thought when she had time, then walked across the courtyard to meet the awaiting Theseus.