Dark Horse

Twelve

The demon yawned, stretched and, had it been a cat, it would have purred. Like a leech, it had grown fat on the blood upon which it hadfeasted last night, but blood was this island's birthright. Why should it not be the demon's, also?

Of all the islands in the Adriatic, Cressia's history was the darkest. Inextricably linked with one of the most famous exploits of all time, that of Jason and the Golden Fleece, it was here, at the head of the Adriatic, that the Argo had dropped her anchor all those years ago.

Opinion on the Fleece itself was divided. One school of thought had Jason sailing through the Hellespont and round the Black Sea until he reached the land of Colchis on its south-west shores. The hypothesis was sound. Alluvial gold washed down from the Caucasus was still collected today by laying fleeces along the river bed in spring. Therefore to scholars in this camp, the Golden Fleece was exactly what it purported to be. A fleece of pure gold.

Colchis, others claimed, was Greek for Kolikis, a stronghold of the Liburnian tribes on the mainland north of Cressia and once an important station along the amber route which, in those days, ran pretty much in a straight line from the Baltic to the Aegean. This suggested Jason was more trader than raider, and that the Golden Fleece was that ultimate status symbol of wealth: a sheepskin cloak studded with thousands of tiny beads of amber.

But whether Jason was a gold-digger or an amber merchant was irrelevant to the demon. Cressia's dark history wasn't about Jason. It revolved round a woman.

Medea.

Voluptuous, beautiful, she was a princess of Colchis. She seduced Jason, stole from her people, double-crossed her own father, murdered her brother, dismembered his corpse and threw his body parts into these very waters.

Perhaps the old Greek historians were right in that the goddess Athena refused to allow Medea to leave with her brother's blood on her hands. Then again, perhaps the Argo's crew simply refused to take her on board without her repenting. Either way, before Medea could sail with Jason, she was forced to seek purification on this island, the Island of the Dawn, where Circe the enchantress dwelt in a sumptuous palace.

Except Medea did not repent. Her wickedness was never expunged. History records how she went on first to kill King Pelias, before butchering the king of Corinth and then how, when Jason wanted to divorce her, Medea burned her love rival alive and later went on to poison her own children. What made this story particularly interesting was the poison she'd used. Colchicum. The bulb of Colchis. From whom could she have learned such a skill? The demon knew the answer full well. Circe was the King of Colchis's sister, whose powers as a sorceress were well documented. She could tame wild beasts, turn men into hogs, conjure up the winds with her spells. And the bulb of Colchis flourishes all over this island.

The demon saw a very different scenario to the theory about Medea needing repentence. It saw this as a smokescreen, whereby she could engineer a call on the aunt who had been exiled by her father, the king. It saw two like minds, plotting and scheming far into the night. Medea, we know, sailed away with new skills, but Circe? What became of the king's sister?

The demon knew the answer to that conundrum, as well.

After Medea sailed away with her Jason, the Trojan hero Odysseus had been so captivated by the enchantress's beauty that he stayed seven years as her consort. She had borne him three sons and with each generation, that knowledge had been passed down. Fresh. Undiluted. Pure in its wickedness and guile.

For much of the time, the evil remained dormant. But every now and again the dark demon stirred.

Bulis had been a good start.