The Sea King’s Daughter

I

“SO THAT’SIT,” JIM SAID. “I WONDERED… WHO ELSE knows this?”

“Myself. Kore.” Keller laughed shrilly. “The traitor. Judas, Cain… What I did was badenough. But he-”

“All right, keep calm,” Jim said quickly. “All these years you remained silent. Why?”

“Why should I speak?” Keller’s face was shining with sweat. “At the beginning silence was part of the price I paid for his services. It was war. One does many distasteful things to serve one’s country. Then, after it was over-to whom should I speak? Was it part of my duty to betray this man, as he had betrayed his comrade in arms? Whom could I serve by doing this?”

Jim’s voice cut through the high-pitched monologue.

“And besides, he might have a few secrets to tell about you. I’m sure you did other things, ‘in the course of your duty’ that might have embarrassed you. No”-as Keller made a wild gesture of protest-“never mind, forget it. Let the past die!”

“It won’t die,” I said, breaking the silence shock and horror had induced. “Keller said it this afternoon: the labyrinthine prison of time… Jim, why don’t you ask the important question? What are you afraid of?”

“A mutual pact of silence,” Jim said, gesturing me to be quiet. “And you came here-my God, you came here to protect his find from the man who betrayed him. Was that it?”

Keller nodded eagerly.

“That at least I could do.”

He looked hopefully at Jim, as if expecting approbation. The man was mad, all right, but only part of the time. There was a single flaw in his thinking, and even that had its own bizarre consistency.

“I understand,” Jim said. “So, this year, when it appeared that the secret was known, you tried to stop the work. The avalanche, that day you saw us on the hill, was no accident. You wanted to put Sandy out of action. She was the diver, the one who was looking for the ships. You planted the amphora, with its booby trap, hoping she would be-”

“No!” Keller’s eyes widened. “What do you take me for, that I would harm a young girl? Was I not the one who saved her? She might have died, in the water, if I had not-”

“You didn’t plan to kill her,” Jim interrupted. “Only to immobilize her. I’ll give you that much credit. The mere fact that you were there in time to bring her in is suspicious. How could you have been on the spot unless you expected an accident?”

“Stop it,” I said, as Keller began to protest. “All this is beside the point. We sit here talking, while… You don’t have to protect me, Jim. Iknow who the traitor was. It must have been Frederick.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” Jim said in a strained voice.

“It was your boss or mine,” I said. “Take your pick. Who has the kind of ruthless self-interest for such a filthy action? Why did he volunteer to go out just now? It wasn’t altruism, you can be sure. He’s never done anything that didn’t serve his own interests. What’s he doing out there? Who is he after?”

“My God.” Jim got to his feet. He pointed at Keller. “You were shot at yesterday afternoon. Was that-”

“Nein, aber nein.” Keller’s eyes had a queer shine as he looked sideways at Jim. “I am not such a fool. I have taken precautions. A statement, to be opened at my death. He has the strongest reasons to keep me alive.”

“You stubborn fool, can’t you see the situation has changed?” Jim shouted. “Maybe your precious statement has protected you all these years, but it isn’t doing the job now. He’s going to kill someone-you, Kore, Sandy-I can’t tell, I don’t know all the facts!”

“Let them kill each other,” Keller said listlessly. “What does it matter?”

“You won’t get any more out of him,” I said to Jim. “Why are we standing here playing Sherlock Holmes? We’ve got to stop him.”

Before Jim could answer, a ghastly quavering shriek rang along the dark hall.

“It’s Kore,” I gasped. “Quick, Jim.”

The sound aroused Keller from his apathy. He jumped up and ran out of the room, calling Kore’s name. Jim went after him, as another, fainter cry shivered the air. Jim yelled at me, something about staying where I was; but I couldn’t remain passive while a cry like that one assaulted my ears.

The result would have been the same, whether I remained alone in the room or was alone somewhere else in the house. I made it a little easier for them, that was all. But I didn’t expect that particular kind of danger. A howling outraged mob couldn’t have broken into the house unheard.

When they surrounded me, I was taken by surprise. I got out one scream, but it was quickly stifled by calloused work-hardened hands-a web of hands and arms, wrapping around me like the tentacles of an octopus, dark bodies pinning my arms to my sides. One of the hands thrust something against my nose. The sharp fumes made me sneeze, but not for long. I pitched forward into blackness, and into the eager, waiting arms of the women of Zoa.

II

I awoke to the worst nightmare I had ever had-the worst, because it wasn’t a dream. Yet there was an air of unreality about the scene, and the fact that I was alone made me wonder whether I might not still be dreaming. For a while I wavered back and forth between the two theories.

I had a terrible headache and my stomach felt queasy. I was sitting on the ground; hard pebbles pressed into my posterior. My physical sensations suggested that I must be awake. But when I tried to move, I couldn’t, and immobility is one of the signs of nightmare. It took me a while to figure out that I was tied to a tree. My feet were tied too. The ropes were padded; when I pulled against them I felt no pain, only constriction. I tried to squint at the ropes on my ankles, but I couldn’t see clearly; my eyes took some time to focus, and the shadow of the tree enveloped me.

The immediate source of light was a fire burning in the middle of a wide-open space. The sky overhead was a ghastly unnatural crimson. Without stars I had no sense of direction, but I knew where I was. I recognized it from an earlier nightmare. Low, uneven ridges of ashy rock surrounded a flat space about an acre in area. The worn, stone-paved surface was the one on which my bare feet had bruised themselves, dancing, the night before. A rehearsal, no doubt, for this evening’s performance.

The sickness in my stomach wasn’t solely the result of the drug they had used on me. I would almost have welcomed a band of shrieking maenads; the crimson silence, broken only by the faroff rumblings of the tortured earth, was worse than any human threat. My mind was quite clear-too clear. I was remembering a lot of facts I would rather have forgotten.

Score one for Jim. He had been right, and Kore had been training me for the leading role in her lunatic drama. Even the tree-it wasn’t much of a tree, all gnarled and straggly, but trees and their man-made derivatives, pillars and columns, were sacred to the goddess in ancient Crete. The Minoans sacrificed bulls and let their blood flow onto the pillars. I looked around the little amphitheater. No bulls. No sacrificial animals visible-except one.

I made myself relax. I had been straining uselessly against the bonds, and all I was doing was tiring myself. Whoever had tied me up had been considerate of my comfort, but she had done a thorough job. My hands were free, but my elbows were pinned by the ropes that held me half erect. I couldn’t reach behind me to undo the knots there, and even if I could contort myself into a position where I could touch the ropes on my ankles, untying my feet wouldn’t do me much good.

The emptiness was getting on my nerves. Where were they? Howling along the hillside in pursuit of some other prey? The maenads had done that in ancient Greece, and in the still more ancient homelands from which that particularly gory cult had come. The chase culminated in the diasposmoi, when the young male victim who represented the god was caught. It was amazing that I remembered the word, but I knew why my mind had produced it-I didn’t want to think of the English equivalent. But I couldn’t keep it down. Dismemberment. And worse. Ritual cannibalism, to absorb the qualities of the god.

It is surprising how clever one becomes under pressure. I didn’t want to remember any of this. I couldn’t have remembered it if I had been facing an exam; but now the words stood out in my mind as if I’d just finished reading them. The Orphic rite, the Mysteries of Eleusis, the Sacred Marriage… I wondered if Kore had included that little item in her agenda. Was that what the women were seeking, a mate for the goddess instead of a victim? They couldn’t kill him if they wanted him to be of any use in the former role.

A big choking lump rose to my throat. It was no use trying to keep cool and telling myself horrible black jokes. This was no joke. The worst of it was not knowing what was in store for me-and for others. I told myself that surely Kore wouldn’t carry the dark rites to their bloody conclusion; a goat or a chicken killed, a wild dance and a lot of wine… But I remembered how easily I had beencaught, and I thought of Jim, almost as vulnerable, with his weakened eyesight and bruised body.

A vast network of lightning scored the sky. I cowered against the tree, closing my eyes. When I opened them again, the western sky was a brighter crimson. I knew what the signs meant. Violent electrical storms had accompanied earlier eruptions, and the red glow was the reflection of red-hot lava against the clouds of smoke and ash. In spite of my terror, something in me responded unwillingly to the majestic violence. Kore couldn’t have chosen a more fitting setting for her play. Nor could I entirely blame the village women for seizing any means possible of propitiating outraged nature. This was enough to turn anyone’s mind.

I pulled my feet up and tried to wriggle around so that I could reach the ropes. I had to do something or I would go crazy thinking. I was still trying to stretch my fingers two inches beyond their proper length when another web of lightning blazed out, followed by a crash that made my ears ache. Thunder, or maybe another eruption; I couldn’t tell. The whole world was going insane.

I didn’t hear them coming. There was no music, no wild chanting. No organization, either; they sauntered down the slope in small groups, two or three of them together. One group was larger. In the middle, prodded along by the sheer number of them, was Jim.

They had wound ropes around him, but his legs were free. The women pushed him across the floor and sat him down-they weren’t rough, I’ll say that for them-and then tied his feet. We sat there looking at each other for a while.

“Are you all right?” Jim asked. “They didn’t hurt you?”

“Not yet,” I said. “How did they catch you?”

“Ambushed me, just outside the villa. As soon as we realized you were missing, we started to look-”

“It was stupid of you to separate,” I snapped. “You and Keller together could have fought them off.”

Jim accepted the rebuke without comment; he knew it was prompted by frayed nerves.

“Keller didn’t go. Your father came back while we were searching the house. He went toward the village to look for you.”

“He wouldn’t be much help anyway,” I said bitterly.

Some of the women were piling up stones on the paving to the right of the fire. The structure was long and low-as long as an outstretched human body.

Jim turned on his side, raising himself on one elbow. He started to speak. I cut him short.

“Look!”

The high priestess had arrived.

The flames were burning high and bright; I could see her clearly. She didn’t look very happy. The golden diadem that crowned her black hair was slightly askew, her clothes were rumpled, and I had a feeling that she wouldn’t be there except for the escort that hemmed her in. I recognized one of the brawnier women: Helena, the wife of Angelos, the hotelkeeper.

When Kore caught sight of us, she pushed her guard of honor aside and ran toward us. They made no move to stop her. She dropped down on the ground next to me, her ample bosom heaving with haste and agitation.

“They said they would bring you, but I did not think you would be so stupid to be caught,” she panted.

“Let’s not start out criticizing our behavior,” Jim growled. “This whole thing is your fault. I’m glad you seem to be coming to your senses, but it’s a little late.”

“They are mad,” Kore moaned, clutching at her hair and knocking the diadem even farther askew. “It was a game, a little game… Oh, yes, I pretended to believe, at times I pretended so well I almost did believe. But something has gone wrong, they are not in my control now. Never would I permit such happenings-”

“No sacrifices?” Jim asked.

Kore shrugged.

“A chicken, a goat…” She must have heardmy gasp of released breath; she glanced at me, and grimaced in sympathy. “Ah, the poor children-you did not think…? No, no, there is no danger to you. This is bad, wrong, but it is not what you fear. They wish only to see the Sacred Marriage consummated.”

My head turned stiffly, as if on a pivot, toward the low stone structure the women had built. It was long enough for a human body, certainly-and wide enough for two. The women had spread it with an embroidered cloth and were now decorating the structure with branches and wilted wildflowers.

I turned back to stare at Kore. She was still babbling.

“…then we kill the goats, one for each, and it is over. That is all.”

“I’m not going to sit here and watch them slaughter some poor little goats,” I said. I didn’t dare look at Jim.

“You’re crazy,” he said, in a strangled voice. “Crazier than she is, worrying about goats, when-If you think I am going over there in front of forty staring women and-No way!”

“You’d rather die?” I inquired sweetly. “That’s my line. Only I wouldn’t rather die.”

“Trust a woman to turn any crisis into a personal insult,” Jim said. “That’s not the problem, and you damn well know it.”

“We could pretend,” I said. I was feeling a little giddy now that the danger I had feared seemed to be without foundation.

“Maybe you could,” Jim said.

“No,” I said, watching Helena carefully arranging wilted blossoms across the foot of the stone couch. “I guess I couldn’t. Kore, you’ve got to do something. Talk them out of it.”

“There’s a knife in my pocket,” Jim said urgently. “Cut me loose.”

“You make such fuss,” Kore said petulantly. “Such a little thing! You are lovers, young and strong. Why can you not-”

“Kore!” I said emphatically.

She wasn’t as carefree as she pretended; the firelight reflected from the perspiration that covered her face. With a movement that was half shrug, half shiver, she spread out her flowing skirts and under their cover began to fumble in Jim’s pocket.

The process seemed to take forever. Apparently the high priestess was supposed to do some writhing around; except for a few casual glances, the women paid no attention to us. Kore cut the ropes on Jim’s feet and was reaching for the ones that bound his arms when one of the women called out. She was carrying a load of twigs toward the fire; now she stopped, pointing toward the sky. To my incredulous relief I saw a star.

“Look,” I said. “The air is clearing. Maybe…”

“The wind has changed.” Jim struggled to a sitting position. “What a piece of luck! That should blow the clouds away from the island, out to sea.”

“Tell them the gods have changed their minds,” I said to Kore. “Isn’t that a good omen? Tell them!”

“I try.” Kore got to her feet.

“Damn it, finish this job first,” Jim demanded, squirming.

Kore paid no attention. She was still holding his knife when she raised her arms and called out in a high, shrill voice. The women stopped work to listen. Some of them seemed to be impressed by her arguments. They hesitated, glancing uncertainly at one another. But the general opinion among the hard-core members seemed to be that the evidence was inconclusive.

Kore sat down again and went back to work on the ropes. “They say no,” she reported.

“So I gathered. Hurry up, will you?” Jim’s voice sounded strained. “I have a feeling…”

I had it too-the queasy, quavery shaking of the entrails that was becoming only too familiar. The women had hoped to summon the gods and they had succeeded in arousing the greatest of them all.

The ground began to rock gently. Then the sky to the north caught fire. A column of flame shot up amid a roar of erupting gas. In the livid, unearthly glare every blade of grass, every twig stood out as if outlined in fire.

The women broke. I don’t know whether it was superstition or natural fear that made them flee; most of them had families, and they knew what might follow. Or perhaps they interpreted the spectacular demonstration as a sign that the gods weren’t pleased with the proceedings.

A few of the toughest women lingered. Helena was one of them. A glowing lump of magma struck the ground behind her; she glanced at it and then looked at us. Her expression turned me cold, and in the extremity of the moment it seemed to me that I could read her mind. Maybe the gods were getting impatient because the sacrifice was delayed.

Kore was crawling around on the ground, trying to find the knife, which she had dropped in her terror. Jim was struggling, trying to free himself. Helena was stalking toward us, glaring. Redhot stones were falling. Then, through the chaos, a voice rose, in a bellow whose volume made it impossible to identify the speaker.

“Police!” Kore gasped. “It is the police!”

“It can’t be,” Jim gasped back; he was still struggling. “There aren’t any-Kore!”

But Kore was gone. I had never seen her move so quickly. The few remaining women had dispersed too. We were alone in the clearing. And the rocks were still falling, red-hot coals of magma from the tormented entrails of the volcano. I was struggling too-a senseless action, but I couldn’t help it, it was horrible to be unable to move amid the hail of molten debris. A stone hit the ground six feet away, spattering fragments. One of them stung my leg. I was screaming-I’m not ashamed to admit it-and my eyes were shut tight.

When I opened them again, it was like waking from tormented sleep to the reassurance of reality. The clearing was utterly peaceful. The stars shone down, blurred by lingering dust particles, but serene and steadfast. Then I saw Jim and I knew the nightmare wasn’t over.

His final struggle to free himself had succeeded. His wrists were scraped raw, but his hands were unbound; they rested, lax and empty, on the dusty ground. Dust grayed his hair as he lay face down. There was no sign of the rock that had struck him.

There was no rock, because he had not been hit by a rock.

Slowly, shrinkingly, my eyes moved up from the booted feet of the man who stood beside me-up, all the way, till they reached his face, with its magnificent, spreading moustache.

“So it was you,” I said.

Sir Christopher stuck the gun in his belt. He had been holding it by the barrel.

“I was the police, yes,” he said. “The women were too distraught to realize that the official forces of the island have many other problems on their hands just now.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I said.

“So Keller has broken his silence.” Sir Christopher stood musing for a moment. “I thought he might. How unfortunate for you.”

“But this is so unnecessary,” I groaned. “I thought Frederick was the traitor. If you hadn’t given yourself away by knocking Jim out-”

“You aren’t thinking,” Sir Christopher said reprovingly. “You may have been misled, but you are the only one. You are an undisciplined child; eventually you would accuse your father, and as soon as he learned what really happened thirty years ago, he would have known I had…”

It was strange, how he avoided a direct admission. It wasn’t caution; who could hear him now, except me? Yet he couldn’t bring himself to say the word. He could commit the act and kill to conceal it, but he couldn’t say it.

“You mean,” I said, “ Frederick could prove he was innocent?”

“My dear girl,” Sir Christopher said impatiently, “when there are only two suspects, and one knows he is innocent, he knows who must be guilty! Yes; he could have proved that he was on the other side of the peninsula, in the company of a dozen men, during the crucial period. And he is vicious enough to expose me. He is a cold, unfeeling man. I couldn’t risk that. Even if I were not imprisoned, my career and my family name would be destroyed.”

“Not to mention all those titles you are looking forward to. I suppose it wouldn’t do me any good to promise to keep quiet?”

“I’m afraid not.” Sir Christopher moved behind me and began tugging at the bonds that held me to the tree.

“This is your fault, you know,” he said in a petulant voice. “I tried my best to induce you to leave Thera. Without you, Frederick would have been forced to end his operations and he would never have encountered Keller. It was imperative that I prevented a meeting between them. Keller has become distressingly unstable these last few years, and I feared the sight of Frederick might move him to clear his dirty little conscience. When I learned that Frederick had made plans to come here, I had to move heaven and earth to arrange my own dig. Then that wretched boy wrote asking to join me. I could hardly refuse without appearing small-minded, could I? I had no reason to expect that he would pose a problem; his name was not the same, and he and Keller were unlikely to meet. Had I realized how much he resembles his uncle, I might have acted differently; but frankly I can’t see it myself, I don’t know why Keller… Damn these ropes!They seem to be wire wrapped in cloth. Some ritual invention of Kore, no doubt. Her insane cult has been extremely useful to me. But if it had not existed, I would have discovered other means. The ability to make use of the means at hand is a sign of intelligence.”

“You were the one who staged the accidents,” I said. “The avalanche, the booby trap, even the shot yesterday… That was aimed at me, not at Keller.”

“Stop squirming,” Sir Christopher snapped. “This is difficult enough without your making it harder.”

I started to ask why he was bothering to free me, but I didn’t want to give him any ideas that might hasten the inevitable end. It would have been so simple for him to drop one of those handy chunks of magma on my head. Then I realized that he was as anxious as the women must be to conceal any signs of his activities. If I was found dead under these conditions, there would be an investigation, and someone would be held responsible. An investigation was dangerous; some shrewd policeman might stumble on a hint of Sir Christopher’s activities. But there would be no need for an investigation if I was found some distance away, unbound, and mashed by a fall or avalanche. Keller would keep quiet in order to protect Kore. Jim might be suspicious, but…

I felt as if someone had clamped a giant fist around my ribs. Selfish concern for my own skin had blinded me to Jim’s danger. Had he seen the man who knocked him out? If he had not, and if Sir Christopher could be convinced that Jim didn’t know of his uncle’s betrayal, he might let Jim live. It would double the risk to kill us both.

I thought furiously, so preoccupied that I was only vaguely aware that the wires were loosening. I couldn’t blurt out a flat statement of Jim’s ignorance, that would be as bad as asserting the opposite.

Then I saw something that made me forget my dilemma. The fire was dying down, so the something was only a shadow, visible for a moment above the low ridge that surrounded the ancient amphitheater. It had looked like the shadow of a man.

I used to pride myself on my ability to react quickly in a crisis. But this was a crisis of monumental proportions, and I had only a few seconds to convince Sir Christopher that Jim was unwitting and to distract his attention from the rescuer-if it was a rescuer, and not just a shadow in my mind… I was further handicapped by myweakness, which was apparent as soon as the ropes fell away from my body. I was stiff as a board and my hands had gone numb. When I tried to stand I toppled over sideways, like a rigid statue of a seated woman.

A man jumped over the ridge and landed, knees bent, on the floor of the amphitheater. He was carrying a rifle, one of Keller’s, but he wasn’t Keller. He was my father.

“Stand still, Chris,” he called, raising the weapon to his shoulder. “Drop the gun.”

“You wouldn’t dare shoot.” Sir Christopher’s voice came from the air six feet over my head. “You never were that good a shot, Frederick. Will you risk hitting your daughter?”

“At this range I think I have an excellent chance of missing her,” Frederick answered calmly.

I started beating my hands against the ground, trying to get some life into them. Frederick was quite capable of risking a shot; his monumental ego and his indifference to my welfare would overcome any qualms a normal man might feel. When I remembered the battered condition of his right arm I had even less confidence in his aim. I managed to roll over and raise myself on one elbow.

“I’ll shoot the girl,” Sir Christopher shouted.

“With a bullet that can be shown to come from a gun registered to you?” Frederick gave one of his nasty sneering laughs. “Go ahead.”

Sir Christopher fired-but not at me. He shot at Frederick, and hit him. I saw Frederick stagger. He dropped the rifle, but he kept on walking. Sir Christopher shot again. By this time Frederick was so close I saw the blood spurt. My own was at freezing point; it was terrifying to see him come on, apparently undisturbed by the wounds, like some vampire out of a horror show. Sir Christopher was shaken too; his next shot was a clean miss. The fourth one struck the ground as I hit his ankles with my shoulder. He stumbled forward, off balance, and Frederick fell on him.

The pistol was on the ground not far from me. I tried to pick it up, but my hands were still clumsy. The two men were rolling around on the ground. It was the first time I had ever seen a real honest-to-God fight-not a rough and tumble, but a struggle to the death. It made me sick.

I abandoned the gun. I wouldn’t have fired it anyway; humanitarian considerations aside, I couldn’t risk hitting the wrong man. I started fumbling around for a rock that was big enough to knock Sir Christopher out. Then Jim, whom I had momentarily forgotten, rose up off the ground like Lazarus, and hurled himself into the fight.

He had no trouble separating the combatants; Frederick was flat on the ground, with Sir Christopher kneeling on him and trying to beat his face in. Jim yanked his erstwhile boss to his feet and unleashed the most beautiful right hook I’ve ever seen. Then I reached Frederick.

The first thing I noticed was his right hand, which lay twisted on his chest in the middle of a spreading bloodstain. The fingers were swollen to twice their normal size. I don’t think he could have gotten one of them through the trigger guard, much less squeezed the trigger.

He didn’t move or open his eyes, not even when my tears started splashing down on his face.

III

The Red Cross arrived the next day. Whenever I get discouraged with the human race I remember that time, when people from all over the world pitched in to help. The volcano had subsided; I had seen its last defiant outburst in the amphitheater, but there had been a lot of damage and injury. Huge waves had hit some of the coastal villages.

An efficient Swedish nurse made arrangements for Frederick to be taken off by helicopter. The road to Phira was practically demolished, and he couldn’t have stood any more rough handling. He had been unconscious since dawn, but he had revived, after we brought him back to the villa, to say a few characteristic words.

“I see no reason…to become maudlin,” he had wheezed, when I started thanking him.

“You saved our lives,” Jim said, because I couldn’t talk too plainly. “And deliberately risked your own. Sorry, I’ve got to say it, whether you like it or not; that was a very brave thing. I saw most of it. I was conscious, but it took me a while to get moving.”

Frederick ’s lip curled. “Waste time,” he muttered. “Statement. Chris. Names of men who were with me…”

“It’s unnecessary,” Jim cut in. “Save your breath, sir. Keller has agreed to testify.”

“Good.” Frederick ’s smile was only a shadow of its former self, but it was distinctly malicious. Then he fainted.

In addition to his injured arm, which had not been improved by his activities, he had two bullet wounds, one through the chest and another in his right thigh.

“I can’t see how the hell he kept on moving,” Jim muttered, as we turned away from the bed. “Come on, Sandy. Lie down for a few hours. Kore will sit with him.”

Kore nodded reassuringly at me. She was dressed for the role of angel of mercy in a simple little Dior dress that was probably the plainest outfit she owned; her hair was pulled severely back and she wore almost no makeup. She was wearing her diamonds-there is a limit to the personality change anyone can make-but the golden serpent bracelets were nowhere to be seen. She blinked as she caught my eye, but that was the only sign of embarrassment she showed, then or ever.

She had redeemed herself the previous night; we’d have had a rough time if she hadn’t come sneaking back, stung by a belated attack of conscience, to see what had become of us. Or maybe Keller had acted as her conscience. After hearing her story he had set out at once for the amphitheater. They arrived while Jim was tying up Sir Christopher with the handy ropes that had been used on me, and I was trying to give Frederick first aid. Keller had been a pillar of strength; he had constructed a litter out of branches and the embroidered covering of the sacred couch, and after we got Frederick to the house he had worked over him for almost an hour.

He talked as he worked, his account oddly interspersed with curt directions to Kore, who was acting as his nurse. He talked as if he had thirty years’ stored-up conversation to unload. We heard it all. His admiration for the young men who were fighting for their countries as he would have fought for his, had their circumstances been reversed; his contempt and disgust when Chris had come to him with his offer.

“It is accepted procedure,” he insisted, while his hands moved with quick efficiency over Frederick ’s body. “Your uncle was the leader, Poseidon himself, it was he whom we wanted; and with two of the three out of action, the underground would be severely crippled. I had no choice. Never did I regret the action. I regretted only the necessity for it. And then to find that Poseidon was one whom I knew and admired…”

In the last few hours of his life, Vincent Durkheim had come to trust the man who was about to kill him. The feeling between them couldn’t be called friendship, but in some ways it was more intense than ordinary friendship. Keller’s tormented conscience, their mutual interests, and the need of a dying man for comfort and human warmth… I can’t explain it or understand it, but I believe it happened. The result was that Durkheim told Keller of his discovery on Thera.

“He died bravely,” Keller said. “You cannot comprehend, you young people-it was the last of the popular wars, the war to which we marched with banners flying and patriotic slogans firing our minds. The glamour soon faded; there is no romance in killing or being killed. But there was courage, and he had both kinds-the long, uncomplaining endurance of hardship, and the silent acceptance of his own end. He never knew that one of his friends had betrayed him. I spared him that, at least. His death made an enormous impression on me. I was already questioning some of the orders I had to carry out…”

So Keller came to Thera. And there he remained for years, losing ground slowly but perceptibly in the struggle with his guilt. When he learned of Frederick ’s presence on the island, he interpreted it as an omen. Sir Christopher had been right to fear an encounter between them, for Keller was almost ready to seek out his old enemy and bare his soul. And Frederick would have acted on the information. He would have been delighted at the chance to bring his rival down in disgrace.

He may have had another motive. I’d like to think so. For it was to Frederick, not to Sir Christopher, that Durkheim left his greatest treasure-the dagger blade he had raised from the ocean floor near Thera, wrapped in a scrap of paper that described its discovery. They had all had their moments of depression and foreboding; in one such moment Durkheim had told Frederick where he had hidden the only thing he hoped would survive him, and after the war Frederick had been able to retrieve it. He expected a will or a letter; the true nature of Durkheim’s legacy astounded him so thoroughly that it was years before he could bring himself to investigate it. He didn’t know, until he found Keller living at Thera, that Durkheim had also confided in him. Probably Durkheim had not rated Frederick ’s chances of surviving the war as much higher than his own.

Jim and I pieced most of it together that night, from the things Frederick and Keller said. There was only one thing that still puzzled me, and as we left the room where Frederick lay, I said thoughtfully,

“How did he know Kore? I’ll bet you there was something between them-”

Jim laughed and put his arm around me.

“The eternal gossip. The world is blowing up around you and all you can think of are your father’s premarital indiscretions.”

I stopped at one of the windows and looked out.

“The world has stopped blowing up. How can it look so beautiful, after last night?”

From our vantage point, high on the headland, we could look out over the valley to the rocky coast. There was still volcanic dust in the air; the sunsets around Thera would be spectacular for weeks to come. But the sea lay like silk around the shore, lapping folds of emerald into the narrow inlets, deepening to azure farther out. The squared-off patches of the fields were grayish green, but the crops would survive. It had been a small eruption, nothing to speak of-not to be mentioned in the same breath as that unique cataclysm of the fifteenth century B.C. Probably it would be another twenty thousand years before the baby volcano in the bay had grown big enough to destroy itself again. I wouldn’t be around to see that…

“Lie down for a while,” Jim said. “You must be bushed.”

“No, I’m going down to the village with you.”

“How did you know that’s what I had in mind?”

“I know you. Let’s go down together.”

IV

That was five years ago. When I look back on some of the crazy things I did, I can hardly believe I was that young. I’m a settled suburban housewife now-although Jim would deny that. In fact, he says if I ever turn into one, he’ll leave me. I went back to school, and I’m still working on my degree-no, not in archaeology. In medicine. The things I saw on the island after the earthquake convinced me that I can’t concentrate on anything more abstract than healing broken bodies. There is so much need, especially in the parts of the world where Jim will be working.

Frederick is very contemptuous of my medical studies. I’ve seen him, off and on, since he recovered. It took him a long time and he’s not the man he was. Physically, I mean. His personality hasn’t mellowed a bit. He’s as mean and cantankerous as ever. But he taught me something valuable: that most people are neither good guys nor bad guys, but unpredictable mixtures of both.

Altogether, the summer on Thera was quite educational; it was also one of those rare cases where justice was served in the end. I got what was coming to me, from Mother and Dad, when I returned-and Jim didn’t defend me, he just stood there grinning while they took turns bawling me out. Keller is still on Thera. He won’t live much longer, but he’ll end his days in relative peace of mind-and with Kore. The relationship between those two has something rather touching about it. As for the relationship between Kore and Frederick… I’ve got my suspicions, but Idon’t suppose I’ll ever know for sure.

Sir Christopher got what was coming to him, too. He’s still in prison. The only person who didn’t receive justice has been in his grave for over thirty years. That was the real tragedy, the loss of a young and productive life in the greatest human tragedy, war.

Jim and I have no children. There is time, if we decide we want them, but we’ll probably adopt. There’s a little girl in a village near Olympia, an orphan, whose old grandmother won’t live much longer… And so many others; I’d feel guilty bringing another child into the world when there are so many who are unloved and unwanted already. Wherever she comes from, I’ll give her a nice sensible name, like Jan or Penny or Liz. Not a name that carries echoes of a past too distant.

Because that part of it still bothers me. Not much; I don’t brood about it, I don’t even dream these days. But sometimes, when my hands are busy and my mind is free to wander, I remember those other dreams. Kore’s inefficient meddling had its effect, certainly, and now that I understand myself a little better I can see how the old myths suited my particular hang-ups. They are universal, after all-symbols of human fear and guilt and hatred.

But I dreamed before I ever arrived on Thera. I stood in the courtyard of the palace at Knossos and saw the bull games and smelled the acrid stench of blood and dust. Was it only the result of my mixed-up feelings about my father, colored by the particular setting? Or was it something more?

I can explain all of it in rational terms-except for one thing. It’s a trivial point, and yet it disturbs me.

The first night I spent at the villa, when I fell into a drugged half-sleep, I heard Kore summoning a spirit from out of the past. I heard her and I understood. I can remember the words she used even now.

Only…how did I understand what she was saying? She always spoke English to me; but that night she wasn’t speaking to me. She must have reverted to her native tongue in that incantation. And I don’t understand Greek.

I know; there are ways of rationalizing that, too, and as I said, it’s a trivial thing. And yet…

Who are we, really? Combinations of common chemicals that perform mechanical actions for a few years before crumbling back into the original components? Fresh new souls, drawn at random from some celestial cupboard where God keeps an unending supply?

Or the same soul, immortal and eternal, refurbished and reused through endless lives, by that thrifty Housekeeper? In Her wisdom and benevolence She wipes off the memory slates, as part of the cleaning process, because if we could remember all the things we have experienced in earlier lives, we might object to risking it again.

It’s a terrifying idea in some ways, but it has certain attractions. It would be nice to think that Vincent Durkheim and all the other young men who died before their time would get another chance. As for me-yes, I would risk it. Aside from all the other things that make life interesting, there would always be Jim.