The King Must Die: A Novel

5

ABOUT SEVEN DAYS LATER, a ship touched at Troizen bound for Athens.

The Palace steward had taken my passage and seen to everything. But never having been on the open sea, I could not wait till sailing-time to see her, and walked down to the harbor. There she was, moored to the spit they call the Beard of Troizen: a dark-sailed ship, her sides painted with long serpents, her prow ornament an eagle with back-swept wings and a bull’s head; a ship of Crete.

Cretan ships seldom came to us, except at tribute-time. The Beard was in a stir, and the people had set a market up. The potter and the smith, the weaving-woman and the carver, the farm people with cheeses and chicken and fruit and honeypots, sat on the cobbles with their wares about them; even the jeweller, who as a rule only brought his cheap stuff to the harbor, was showing gold. The Beard was full of Cretans, doing business and seeing the sights.

The small dark seamen were working naked, except for the leather codpiece Cretans wear. They keep it on under their kilts, making a show which a Hellene finds somewhat laughable; much cry and little wool, as the saying goes. Some of those strolling round the market you might have taken for girls. At first sight, the company seemed all youths and graybeards. It was a custom in Troizen, as in most Hellene towns, if a man had done something very disgraceful, to shave half his face, lest he forget too quickly. The sight of men who on purpose had taken their beards off was something I could scarcely credit, even when I saw it. I was always feeling after mine; but it was too fair to show.

They picked their way daintily about, their waists nipped in like wasps’, their kilts embroidered; some had found fresh flowers to stick in their long hair. From their wrists hung carved seals on bracelets of gold or beads; and the scents they wore were strange and heady.

I went through the market, greeting the craftsmen and the farmers. Though the Cretans could not well have taken me for a son of the village, they heeded me no more than a passing dog, except for a few who stared. I saw, as I looked round, that they were treating the place as if tumblers and mimes were putting on a show for them, pointing at people or at the goods, calling out to each other or giggling with heads together. One man had filled his cloak with radishes and onions; going up to the potter, he said in his mincing Cretan Greek, “I want a crock to keep these in. That one will do.” When the potter said it was his best piece, meant for the table, he only said, “Oh, it will do, it will do,” and paid the price without question, and tossed his vegetables in.

Just then I heard a woman call out in anger. It was the oilman’s young wife, who sold in the market while her husband worked the press. A Cretan was thrusting money on her, and clearly not for her oil jars, for he was grabbing at her breast. Some village men were coming up, and there were the makings of a brawl; so I tapped the Cretan’s shoulder. “Listen, stranger; I don’t know what your customs are at home, but these are decent wives here. If you want a woman, the house is over there, with the painted doorway.”

He turned and looked at me; a sallow creature, wearing a necklace of fake gold, which was peeling from the glass below. Then he winked. “And what do you get out of it, eh, my lad?”

I could not speak at first. Something seemed to give him pause, and he jumped back. But he was beneath a lesson, so I only said, “Thank your gods you are a guest of the land; and get out of my sight.”

As he went, an older man with a beard came up and said, “Sir, I ask your pardon for that low fellow. A nobody who can’t tell a gentleman when he sees one.” I said, “It seems he can’t even tell a whore,” and walked away. I could see, behind his civility, that he was pleased at having been gracious to someone below him. None of us was of consequence to these people. I remembered my grandfather’s words; he had understood it.

I was going, but paused as a loud voice began to speak. It was the shipmaster, standing up on a stone bollard. “Anyone for Athens?” he was saying. “Now’s your chance, good people; now’s the time, while the weather holds. If you’ve never crossed the sea, don’t be afraid, Sea Eagle will get you there smooth as milk and safe as houses. No need to risk your necks on the Isthmus Road and get your throats slit by robbers. You’ll meet no pirates on this run; that’s what you pay taxes to King Minos for, so come and get the worth of it. Sail in Sea Eagle, for speed and ease. And if you can’t judge of a ship for yourselves, let me tell you this: your King’s own grandson is booked with us this trip.”

So far I listened, standing behind the crowd. Then I said, “Oh, no.”

It was the people of Troizen, all turning round, that brought him up short. He said, “And who may you be?” and looked again and said, “Sir?”

“I’m King Pittheus’ grandson,” I said, “and I’ve changed my mind. Your ship won’t do; I’m used to better.” At this all the Troizenians cheered. You might have supposed that they believed it.

The master looked at me, put out. “Well, my lord, that’s for you to say. But you won’t do better for a ship than this, any nearer than Corinth. They don’t call at these small ports.” I was getting angry, but would not make a show of myself before the people. I was at pains to keep my voice down, but somewhat surprised to find it saying, “I shan’t need one. I am going overland, by the Isthmus Road.”

I turned on my heel, hearing behind me the people clucking and the chattering of the Cretans. As I went, I had a glimpse of the fellow with the necklace, who had taken me for a pimp. I was sorry to leave him with a whole skin; and then for many years forgot him. Yet I see, when I look back, that he let flow the blood of as many men as if he had been some great War Leader; the blood of chiefs and princes, and the blood of a king. It may be that if all were known, palaces and kingdoms have fallen by such men. But they go to their unmarked graves, and never know it.