The Land of Foam

II. THE LAND OF FOAM

I he wind raised clouds of coarse sand as it howled mournfully through the dry bushes. Like a road built by some giants unknown, the ridge ran away eastwards, curving round a broad, green valley. On the seaward side the mountains descended to the water’s edge in a gentle, flower-covered slope, which from a distance gave it the appearance of a huge piece of gold rising out of the shimmering blue of the sea.

Pandion increased his pace. Today he was more homesick than ever for Oeniadae. He remembered that he had been advised not to penetrate into that distant, mountain-encircled part of Crete where the descendants of the Sea People were unkind to strangers.

Pandion had need to hurry. He had already spent five months in various parts of the island that stretched in a chain of mountains rising out of the sea. The young sculptor had seen many strange and marvellous things that the ancients had left in the empty temples and almost unpopulated cities.

He had spent many days in the gigantic Palace of Cnossus, the older parts of which went back to times beyond the memory of man. As he wandered up and down the countless staircases of the palace the youth saw, for the first time in his life, columns of red stone narrowing at the base and he marvelled at the cornices brightly painted with black and white rectangles or decorated with black and light blue whorls resembling a series of moving waves.

Brightly-coloured pictures covered the walls. Pandion gazed in breathless amazement at the pictures of the sacred games with the bulls, the processions of women bearing vessels in their arms, girls dancing within an enclosure outside which stood a crowd of men, unknown, sinuous” animals amongst the mountains and strange plants. Pandion thought the outlines of the figures unnatural and the plants rose up on exceedingly long and almost leafless stems. At the same time he realized that the artists of ancient days had deliberately distorted natural proportions in an effort to express some idea, but the idea was incomprehensible to the youth who had grown up at liberty in the lap of nature, beautiful even when stern.

In Cnossus, Tylissos and Aelira, and in the mysterious ruins of the ancient harbour of the “slate city” whose name had long been forgotten, all the houses were built of slabs of smooth, grey, stratified stone instead of the usual blocks. Pandion saw many female statuettes of ivory, bronze and faience, marvellous vessels and dishes and cups made of an amalgam of gold and silver and covered with the most delicate drawings.

These works of art astounded the young Hellene but they were as little understood by him as the mysterious inscriptions in the forgotten symbols of a dead language that he met amongst the ruins. The magnificent craftsmanship to be seen in the tiniest detail of any of these things did not satisfy Pandion; he wanted something more — he did not want to limit himself to abstract depiction; he strove for an incarnation of the living beauty of the human body he worshipped.

Quite unexpectedly Pandion discovered realistic images of people and animals in the works of art brought from distant Aigyptos.

The people of Cnossus, Tylissos and Aelira, who showed Pandion these things, told him that many more of them were still to be found in the vicinity of Phaestos, where the descendants of the Sea People still lived. Despite warnings of the danger involved, Pandion decided to penetrate the ring of mountains on the southern coast of Crete.

In a few more days he would have seen everything there was to see and would sail back home to Thessa. Pandion was now certain of his own ability. Much as he would have liked to learn from the craftsmen of Aigyptos his love for his own country and for Thessa was stronger, and the oath he had sworn to the girl held him tightly bound.

How wonderful it would be to sail home with the last ship in autumn, to look into the bright, blue eyes of his beloved, to see the reticent joy of Agenor, the teacher who had replaced his father and grandfather.

Pandion screwed up his eyes and gazed out at the boundless expanse of the sea. No, it was not for him; there, ahead of him, lay distant strange lands, Aigyptos, but his own native land was behind him, beyond the mountain ridge. And he was still moving onwards, away from his own country. He had to see the ancient temples of Phaestos of which he had heard so much in the coastal towns. With a sigh he increased his pace until he was almost running. A spur led down from the mountain in broad terraces covered with boulders like tufts of grass, with dark patches of bush between them. Amongst the trees at the foot of the slope he could see the indistinct outlines of the ruins of a huge building, walls half collapsed, the remains of arches and gates still standing in their framework of black and white columns. Silence reigned in the ruins and the curves of the broken walls stretched out towards Pandion like giant hands ready to seize their victim. The surfaces of the walls were furrowed with fresh cracks, the aftermath of a recent earthquake.

The young sculptor trod quietly amongst the ruins, trying not to disturb the silence there, peering into dark corners beneath columns that still stood in their places. Pandion turned a projecting corner and found himself in a rectangular, roofless hall the walls of which were covered with the well-known brightly-coloured frescoes. As ha looked at the black and brown figures that followed each other in quick succession, figures of men carrying shields, swords and bows amongst strange animals and ships, Pandion remembered the tales of his grandfather and realized that before him was a picture of a band of soldiers on a raid into the land of the blacks, situated, according to ancient legend, on the very borders of Oicumene.

Pandion was astounded at this evidence of the tremendous journeys made by the ancients and gazed long at the frescoes until, turning away from them at last, he saw a marble cube standing in the middle of the hall. The cube was ornamented with blue rosettes and whorls of glass and at its base lay heaps of freshly picked flowers.

Somebody had been there! There must be people living amongst those ruins! With bated breath ‘the youth made his way to the exit, a portico overgrown with grass.

The portico, consisting of two square white and two round red columns, stood on the edge of a low cliff that rose just above the dense foliage of the trees. A dusty, well-trodden path led down the cliffside. Descending into the valley, Pandion came to a smooth, metalled road. He made his way eastwards, striving to step silently on the hot stones. The wide leaves of the plane-trees on the right-hand side of the road, scarcely stirring in the hot air, cast a line of shadow. Pandion sighed with relief as he sought refuge from the blazing sun. He had long wanted to drink but in his own country, where water was scarce, he had been taught abstinence. After walking along for some two stadia he saw a long low building at the foot of a hill where the road turned to the north. A number of small rooms, like a row of similar boxes, were open on the side that faced the road and were quite empty. Pandion recognized the building as an old travellers’ rest-house; he had seen many of them in the northern part of the island and hurried into the main entrance, brightly painted and divided into two by a single column. The faint murmur of running water called to the youth, exhausted as he was by the heat and the long journey. Pandion entered the bathhouse where the water ran from a spring, the ground around which was paved with heavy slabs of stone, poured through a wide pipe and then through the rims of three successive basins into a big funnel built into the wall.

Pandion threw off his clothes and sandals, washed himself in the pure cold water, drank his fill and lay down on a stone bench to rest. The, babbling of the running water, the gentle whispering of the leaves had a soothing effect on him and eyes inflamed from the sun and wind in the mountain passes refused to keep open — Pandion slept.

He did — not sleep long; when he awoke the shadow from the column, intersecting the sunlit floor, had scarcely changed its position. He jumped up and hurriedly donned his simple clothing. He felt fresh and rested. He ate some dried cheese, took another drink and made for the doorway; there he came to a sudden halt — from the distance came the sound of voices. He went out on to the road to look round. There could be no doubt about it, from the dense growth of bushes to one side of the road came laughter, snatches of an unknown language and the sounds of stringed instruments.

Pandion’s sensations were mingled joy and fear, his muscles tensed and he involuntarily grasped the hilt of his father’s sword. With a few whispered words of prayer to his patron and ancestor Hyperion, the youth plunged into the thicket, making straight for the voices. It was stifling in the thicket and the strong scents made it difficult for him to breathe.

With the greatest care he made his way round tall bushes with long thorns, slipped between the trunks of the strawberry-trees with their thin, smooth, light grey bark and found his way barred by a grove of myrtles that stood before him in a solid wall.

Bunches of white flowers hung ‘down from the dense foliage. For a second Pandion thought of Thessa — in his country the myrtle-tree was sacred to youthful virginity. The voices now sounded quite close to him — the people were talking in hushed voices for some reason or another and Pandion realized that he had misjudged the distance. The decisive moment had come. Bending low, Pandion dived under the nether branches, carefully pushing them aside with his hands; on a glade covered with young grass an unusual sight met his eyes.

In the centre of the glade lay a snow-white bull with long horns. Little black patches were sprinkled on the beast’s well-groomed flanks and face.

Some distance away in the shade stood a group of youths, girls and elderly people. A tall, straight-backed man with a wavy beard and a gold band on his head, wearing a short tunic encircled by a bronze belt, stepped forward and made a sign. A young girl dressed in a long, heavy mantle immediately left the group. She raised both arms above her head; the movement caused the mantle to fall to the ground, leaving her standing in a loincloth held in place by a wide white belt ornamented with a fluffy black cord. Her blue-black hair hung loose about her shoulders and on both arms she wore narrow gold bangles above the elbow.

With light, rapid steps, almost dancing, she approached the bull, then stopped suddenly and emitted a guttural cry. The bull’s sleepy eyes opened wide and flashed fire, he bent his forelegs under him and began to raise his heavy head. Like an arrow the girl darted forward and pressed herself against the bull. For a second or two the girl and the bull were motionless. A cold shiver ran down Pandion’s back.

The bull straightened his forelegs while his hind-legs still lay on the ground, and lifted his head high. The beast formed a sort of heavy pyramid of menacing muscle. The girl’s swarthy body, pressed close to the steep slope of the animal’s back, formed a sharp contrast to its white skin. With one hand she clung to a horn and the other arm encircled the bull’s tremendous neck. One of the girl’s strong legs was stretched along the back of the monster and the upper part of her body was sprung forward like a drawn bow.

The contrast between the lines of the bull, beautiful but monstrous in their strength and weight, and the graceful human body held Pandion spellbound.

For the fraction of a second he saw the austere face of the girl with its tightly pressed lips. With a dull roar the bull rose to its feet and leaped with a facility astonishing in such a tremendous body. The girl was thrown into the air, pressed her hands into the bull’s mighty withers, threw her legs up and turned a somersault between the high horns. She landed on her feet some three paces from the bull’s head. Stretching out her arms the gir-1 clapped her hands and again emitted a short, sharp cry. The infuriated bull lowered its horns and rushed at her. Pandion was horrified: it seemed that that beautiful and courageous girl must certainly be killed. Throwing all caution to the winds the youth seized his sword and was about to dash on to the glade when the girl, with amazing agility, again sprang towards the bull, escaped the lowered, death-dealing horns, and was once more on the bull’s back. In its fury the beast raced round the glade tearing up the earth with its hoofs and roaring threateningly. The young bullfighter sat calmly on the enraged animal’s back, her knees pressed tightly into its wide flanks, now working like bellows from the animal’s rapid breathing. The bull flew towards the group of people who greeted it with cries of joy. There was a loud handclap as the girl somersaulted backwards and landed on the ground behind the bull. Breathing rapidly in joyous excitement she rejoined the crowd of onlookers.

The bull made a straight run to the edge of the glade, then turned and raced towards the people. Five of them immediately stepped forward, three youths and two girls, and the game began again with even greater speed. The gasping bull turned towards the young people who were calling him on with cries and handclapping and they jumped over him, sprang on to his back, pressed close against his sides for a moment, avoiding the terrible horns with great agility. One of the girls managed to sit directly on the bull’s neck, immediately in front of the hump of his withers. The bull’s eyes popped out of their sockets and foam came from his mouth. With his head lowered, his muzzle almost touching the ground, the bull did his utmost to throw the fearless girl from his back. She leaned backwards, her two hands grasping the withers behind her back and her feet propped firmly against the base of the animal’s ears. She kept her position for a few seconds and then sprang lightly to the ground.

The youths and girls spread out in a single line some distance from each other and played leap-frog over the animal’s back in succession. The game went on for a long time — the bull dashed back and forth with awe-inspiring roars, threatening death, but the gracefully lithesome human figures darted unharmed around him.

The bull’s roar turned to a hoarse groan, his skin became dark with sweat and foam flew from his mouth together with his irregular breath. A few moments more and the bull came to a standstill, lowered his huge head and glared from side to side. The air was filled with the joyous cries of the onlookers. The man with the gold band on his head gave a sign and the youthful participants in the games left the animal in peace. People who had been standing and sitting on the grass drew together, and before Pandion realized what was happening they had disappeared into the bushes.

The bull remained alone on the deserted glade with nothing to show for the recent combat but its stertorous breathing and the trampled grass.

Only then did the excited Pandion realize his great good fortune. He had been a witness of the ancient bull games that, hundreds of years before his time, had been so common on Crete, in Mycenae and other ancient Greek cities.

Agile, enterprising man had conquered in a bloodless battle with a bull, an animal sacred to the peoples of antiquity as the incarnation of martial power, of overpowering, menacing strength. The lightning speed of the animal was counteracted by still greater speed, while precision of movement was the only guarantee of safety for the players. Pandion had been trained in feats of strength and agility since childhood and, therefore, could well imagine what degree of training was required to develop the human body for participation in such dangerous amusements.

He did not risk following the players and returned to the road. He decided that it would be better to seek hospitality from these people in their own homes.

For a distance of several stadia the road continued dead straight and then turned suddenly southwards, to the sea, and the trees along the verge gave way to dusty bushes. By the time Pandion reached the bend in the road his shadow had noticeably lengthened. He heard rustling noises in the bushes and stopped to listen. A bird, he could not say what kind, as the sun was in his eyes, flew up and again dived into the bushes. Pandion’s fears were allayed and he continued on his way, paying no further attention to the sounds. From a distance came the soft, melodious cooing of a wild dove. The call was answered by another two birds and then all was silent again. At the moment Pandion turned the bend in the road the cries of the dove were repeated very near him. The youth stood still, trying to get a glimpse of the bird. Suddenly he heard the beating of wings behind him and a pair of wood-pigeons sailed into the air. Pandion turned round and saw three men with heavy cudgels in their hands.

With deafening cries the three newcomers threw themselves on Pandion. In a second he had unsheathed his sword but received a blow on the head. Everything went dark, and he staggered from the weight of other men jumping on ‘him — another four men had appeared from the bushes behind him. Pandion was almost unconscious, but realized that he was lost. He defended himself desperately, but a blow on his arm caused him to drop his sword. The youth fell on his knees and threw the man who clung to him over his head; a second man fell from a blow of his fist while a third flew away with a groan from a kick of Pandion’s foot.

The attackers, apparently, had no intention of killing the stranger. They dropped their cudgels and again fell on Pandion. Under the weight of five bodies he fell face down in the dust that filled his mouth and nose and irritated his eyes. Panting from the strain Pandion rose on to all fours in an effort to throw off the attackers. They threw themselves under his feet and pressed his neck downwards. Again the bodies writhed in a heap on the ground raising clouds of dust that turned red in the sun’s rays. The attackers realized the unusual strength and endurance of the youth and ceased their shouts — the silence of the deserted road was broken only by the sounds of the struggle, the groans and hoarse breathing of the combatants. Their bodies were covered with dust, their clothing dirty and torn to shreds, but still the struggle went on.

Several times Pandion threw off his assailants and struggled to his feet, but again they fell on him, grasping him by the legs. Suddenly cries of victory rent the air: reinforcements had arrived and another four men joined the struggle. The youth’s arms and legs were bound with strong thongs. More dead than alive from exhaustion and despair, Pandion closed his eyes. His conquerors, speaking in lively tones in an unknown language, lay down in the shade beside him to rest after the strenuous struggle.

When they were rested they made signs to the youth to go with them. Pandion realized the uselessness of further resistance; he decided to reserve his strength for a more, opportune moment and nodded. They unbound his legs and Pandion, surrounded by his enemies, staggered along the road. Soon they came to a group of wretched houses built of undressed stone. The people came out of the houses to meet them — an old man with a bronze band on his head, some women and children. The old man went up to Pandion, looked him over approvingly, felt his muscles and said something to Pandion’s captors in merry tones. The youth was taken to a small house.

The door opened with a piercing shriek — inside there was a small furnace, an anvil with tools thrown down around it and a heap of charcoal. Two large, light wheels hung from the walls. An evil-looking old man of small stature, but with long arms, ordered one of Pandion’s escort to blow up the furnace while he took a metal hoop from a nail in the wall and went over to the captive. The smith struck Pandion roughly under the chin and began measuring the hoop for his neck; he muttered something in dissatisfaction and then went to the far corner of the smithy and with a loud rattle dragged out a metal chain; he put the end link of the chain in the fire — and set about bending the bronze hoop on the anvil, adjusting it to the required size by frequent blows of his hammer.

Only then did the youth realize the full extent of the disaster that had overtaken him. Images of all that was dear to him flashed through his mind one after another. Thessa was waiting there on his native shore, she believed in him, in his love and in his return. In a moment they would fasten the bronze slave’s collar on his neck and he would be riveted to a strong chain without any hope of early deliverance. He had counted the last days of his stay in Crete… Soon he would be able to set sail for the harbour of Calydon whence his fatal journey had begun.

“O Hyperion, my ancestor, and thou, O Aphrodite, send me death or deliverance,” whispered the youth in a low voice.

The smith calmly and methodically continued his work; he measured the hoop a second time, flattened out the ends, bent them over and made holes in them. He had only to rivet the chain to the collar. The old man grunted a brief order and Pandion was seized and told by signs to lie on the ground beside the anvil. The youth mustered all his strength for the last attempt at escape. Blood spattered from under the thongs that bound his elbows but Pandion forgot all pain when he felt his bonds weakening. In another second they had burst.. With his head he butted the chin of the man who was trying to make him lie down and the man fell to the ground. The youth knocked down two more of them and dashed off along the road. With howls of fury his enemies gave chase. The cries of the pursuers brought more men armed with spears, knives and swords; the number of the pursuers continued to grow.

Pandion turned off the road and, leaping over the bushes, made for the sea, his angrily screaming pursuers hot on his heels.

The bushes grew scantier and the ground rose in a short slope. Reaching the top Pandion halted — far below, under a wall of steep cliffs, lay the sea, sparkling in the sunlight. A red ship, sailing along slowly some ten stadia from the shore, could be clearly seen.

The youth ran along the edge of the cliff, trying to find a path leading downwards, but the vertical wall of the cliffs extended far in both directions. There was no way of escape, his pursuers were already clear of the bushes, extending as they ran into a long crescent in order to cut off Pandion on three sides. He looked towards his pursuers and then down at the cliff. “Death is before me and slavery behind,” was the thought that ran through his head. “Forgive me, Thessa, if you ever find out…” No further time was to be lost.

The rock on which Pandion was standing extended beyond the cliff face. Some twenty cubits below him there was another ledge on which a low pine-tree was growing.

Sweeping his beloved sea with a glance of farewell, the youth sprang into the thick branches of the lone tree. For a second the infuriated cries of his enemies reached his ears. Pandion crashed through the tree, breaking its branches and lacerating his body, flew past the rocky ledge on to the soft resilient ground of the lower slope. The youth rolled some twenty cubits farther down the slope and came to rest on a ledge damp from the spray that reached it at high tide. Stunned and still unaware that he had escaped, the youth rose to his knees. The pursuers above him were trying to hit him with stones and javelins. The sea splashed at his feet.

The ship drew nearer as though the mariners were interested in what was happening on shore.

There were noises in Pandion’s head, his whole body ached dreadfully, bringing tears to his eyes. Dimly he realized that when his pursuers brought bows and arrows, he would most certainly be killed. The sea drew him on, the approaching ship seemed like salvation sent by the gods. Pandion forgot that it might be a foreign ship or might belong to his enemies — he felt that his native sea could not deceive him. He stood up on his feet, assured himself that his arms were intact, jumped into the sea and swam for the ship. The waves swept over his head, his battered body did not want to submit to his will, his wounds burned painfully and his throat was parched. The vessel drew nearer to Pandion and those on board gave him cries of encouragement. He could hear the creaking of the oars, the hull of the ship rose over his head and strong hands seized him and pulled him on to the deck. Unconscious and seemingly lifeless, the youth lay stretched out on the warm planks of the deck. They brought him round and gave him water — he drank long and avidly. Pandion felt himself being carried to one side and covered over with something; then he sank into a deep sleep.

The mountains of Crete could be faintly distinguished on the horizon. Pandion stirred, gave an involuntary groan and opened his eyes. He was on board a ship that was nothing like those of his own country, with their low gunwales protected at the sides by wattles of plaited withies and with the oars above the hold. This vessel had high sides, the rowers sat below the deck on either side of a gangway that widened in the depths of the hold. The single sail on the mast in the centre of the ship was higher and narrower than those on the ships of Hellas.

Piles of hides lying on the deck gave off a foul odour. Pandion was lying on the narrow triangular deck in the prow of the vessel. He was approached by a bearded, aquiline-nosed man in thick woollen clothing, who offered him a bowl of warm water mixed with wine and spoke to him in an unknown language with sharp, metallic intonations. Pandion shook his head. The man touched him on the shoulder and with an imperative gesture pointed to the sternsheets of the vessel. Pandion gathered his bloodstained rags around his loins and made his way along the gunwale towards the awning in the stern.

Here sat a thin man, aquiline-nosed, like the one who had brought Pandion. His lips, framed in a stiff beard that stuck out in front of him, parted in a smile. His wind-dried, rapacious face, like a bronze casting, had a cruel look about it.

Pandion gathered that he was on board a Phoenician merchant ship and that the man before him was either the captain or the owner.

He did not understand the first two questions the man asked him. Then the merchant spoke in a broken Ionian dialect that Pandion could understand although there were Carian and Etruscan words mixed in his speech. He asked Pandion about his adventures, learned who he was and where he had come from and, thrusting his eagle-nosed face with its unblinking eyes close to Pandion, said to him;

“I saw your escape — that was a deed of valour worthy of one of the heroes of old. I’m in need of such strong and fearless warriors — in these waters and on the coasts there are many pirates who plunder our merchants. If you serve me faithfully you’ll have an easy life and I shall reward you.”

Pandion shook his head in refusal saying that he must return to his own country as soon as possible and imploring the merchant to put him ashore on the nearest island.

The merchant’s eyes flashed evilly.

“My ship is sailing straight to Tyre there is nothing but sea on that route. I’m king aboard my ship and you’re in my power. I could order you to be killed immediately if I wanted to. Take your choice — either there,” the Phoenician pointed below the deck where the oars moved rhythmically to the plaintive singing of the rowers, “where you’ll be a slave chained to the oars, or join them,” the merchant’s finger swept round and pointed below the awning: there sat five husky, half-naked men with stupid and brutal faces. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

Pandion looked helplessly round him. The vessel was fast drawing away from Crete. The distance between him and his own country was rapidly increasing. There was no help to be expected from anywhere.

Pandion decided that he would have more chance of escape as a soldier. The Phoenician, however, who was well acquainted with the habits of the Hellenes, made him swear three awful oaths of loyalty.

The merchant then treated his wounds with soothing ointments and led him to the group of fighting men, telling them to feed him.

“Keep an eye on him,” he warned them. “Remember that all of you are responsible to me for the actions of each single one.”

The senior soldier laughed approvingly, patted Pandion on the shoulder, felt his muscles and said something to the others. The soldiers roared with laughter. Pandion looked at them in perplexity, for now his deep sorrow made him not as other men.

In the four days that he had spent on board ship Pandion had to some extent accustomed himself to his new position. The wounds and bruises proved but slight and they soon healed. Another two days sailing would bring them to Tyre.

The master of the vessel recognized the intellect and varied knowledge possessed by Pandion, and was very satisfied with him; he had several long talks with Pandion who learned from him that they were following the ancient sea route established by the people of Crete in their journeys to the southern lands of the black people. The route lay along the shores of mighty and hostile Aigyptos and farther along the gigantic deserts as far as the Gates of the Mists. (The Gates of the Mists — the Strait of Gibraltar. The Sea of Mists — the Atlantic Ocean..)

At the Gates of the Mists, where the rocks of north and south drew close together forming a narrow strait, the world ended — beyond them lay the great Sea of Mists.** Here the ships turned south and soon reached the hot shores of the land of the black people, rich in ivory, gold, oils and skins, Pandion knew that the ancient inhabitants of Crete had used this route, for he had seen pictures of such a journey on the day that had proved fatal to him. The Sea People’s ships reached lands farther to the south than any visited by emissaries from Aigyptos.

In Pandion’s time, however, Phoenician ships sailed along the northern and southern shores in search of cheap merchandise and strong slaves, but they rarely passed beyond the Gates of the Mists.

The Phoenician sensed unusual talents in Pandion and wanted to keep him in his service. He tempted the youth with the pleasures of distant journeys, drew for him pictures of his future advancement and prophesied that after ten or fifteen years good service he could himself become a merchant or master of a ship.

Pandion listened with interest to the Phoenician’s stories but he knew full well that the life of a merchant was not for him, that he would never exchange his native land, Thessa and the free life of the artist for wealth in a foreign country.

As the days passed his longing to see Thessa, even if only for a moment, became more and more unbearable as did his desire to hear the mighty noises of the sacred pine grove in which he had spent so many happy hours. Lying beside his snoring companions, Pandion could get no sleep and with difficulty stilled his fast-beating heart and stifled groans of despair.

The ship’s master ordered him to learn the work of helmsman. The time hung heavily, when Pandion stood at the stern oar, calculating the direction of the ship by the movement of the sun or, following the instructions of an experienced helmsman, his way by the stars at night.

So it was on that night. Pandion stood with his hip pressed against the gunwale, his hands firmly grasping the stern oar to overcome the resistance of the rising wind. On the other side of the vessel, which, as was the custom in those days, had a stern oar or rudder on either side, stood a helmsman and a soldier. The stars flitted through gaps in the clouds and then disappeared in the gloom of the threatening sky, and the mournful voice of the wind, growing deeper in tone, rose to an ominous howl.

The vessel was tossed on the waves, the oars slapped dully on the water and the voice of the overseer could be more frequently heard as he drove on the slaves with curses and blows of his whip.

The master, who had been sleeping under the awning, came out on deck. He studied the sea attentively and, obviously troubled, went to the chief helmsman. They talked together for a long time. Then the master awakened the sleeping soldiers and sent them to the stern oars, himself taking his place beside Pandion.

The wind veered sharply round and started beating furiously at the ship, the waves rose higher and higher, sweeping over the deck. The mast had to be unstepped, and as it lay on the piles of hides it projected beyond the bow, striking dully against the ship’s high prow.

The struggle against wind and waves was becoming more and more desperate. The master, muttering either prayers or curses under his breath, ordered the helmsmen to turn the vessel to the south. With the wind behind her the vessel raced forward into the black, unknown sea. The night passed quickly in heavy work at the rudder. In the grey light of dawn the gigantic waves looked even more threatening. The storm had not subsided, the wind, unabated, lashed the frail ship.

Shouts of alarm swept across the deck — all hands called the master’s attention to something to the starboard of the vessel. There, in the dull light of the dawning day, the sea was broken by a long line of foam. The waves slowed down in their mad race as they approached the blue-grey line.

The entire crew of the vessel clustered round the master, even the helmsman handing over his oar to a soldier. Shouts of alarm gave way to rapid, excited speech. Pandion noticed that all eyes were fixed on him, fingers pointed in his direction and fists threatened him. He could understand nothing of what was going on but saw the master making angry gestures of protest. The old helmsman, seizing the master by the arm, spoke to him for a long time, his lips near the master’s ear. The master shook his head in refusal, and shouted some abrupt words but, at last, he apparently had to give way. In an instant the people threw themselves on the astounded youth, binding his hands behind him.

“They say you have brought misfortune upon us,” said the master to Pandion, waving his hands disdainfully in the direction of his crew. “You’re the herald of calamity, it’s your presence on board that has drawn our ship towards Tha-Quem, (Tha-Quem — the Black Land, or simply Quemt, the Black, the name given by the ancient Egyptians to their country.) in your language Aigyptos. To placate the gods you must be killed and thrown overboard — this all my people demand and I cannot protect you.”

Pandion still did not understand and stared hard at the Phoenician.

“You do not know that it means death or slavery to land on the shores of Tha-Quem,” the master muttered despondently. “In days of old there was a war between Tha-Quem and the Sea People. Since then everybody who lands anywhere in that country, except the three ports open to foreigners, is either killed or sent to slavery and his property goes to the King of Tha-Quem. Do you understand now?” The Phoenician broke off abruptly and, turning away from Pandion, gazed at the fast approaching line of foam.

Pandion realized that he was again threatened with death. Ready to fight to the very last minute for a life that was dear to him he cast a helpless glance full of hatred at the infuriated crowd on the deck.

The hopelessness of the situation caused him to take a rapid decision.

“Master!” exclaimed the youth. “Tell your people to release me — I will jump into the sea myself!”

“That’s what I thought,” said the Phoenician, turning towards him. “Let these cowards learn from you!”

In answer to an imperative gesture from the master the crew released Pandion. Without looking at anybody the youth walked towards the ship’s gunwale. The people made way for him in silence as they would for a man going to his death.

Pandion stared fixedly at the line of foam that hid the low shore, instinctively comparing his strength with the speed of the vicious waves. Fragments of thoughts flashed through his mind: the land beyond the foam line, the Land of Foam… Africa…

(Africa — from the Greek aphros — foam. Hence also Aphrodite — the foam-born.)

So this was the dreaded Aigyptos!… And he had vowed to Thessa by all the gods and by his love for her that he would not even think of journeying so far!… O Gods! What game was fate playing with him?… But he would most likely perish and that would be for the best…

Pandion dived head first into the noisy depths and, using his strong arms, swam away from the ship. The waves seized hold of him; it seemed that they took delight in the death of a man, they threw him high on their crests and then cast him down into the troughs, they crushed and battered him, they filled his nose and mouth with water, they slashed his eyes with foaming spray. Pandion no longer thought of anything — he was struggling desperately for his life, for every breath of air, working furiously with his hands and feet. The Hellene, born by the sea, was an excellent swimmer.

Time passed and the waves carried him on and on towards the shore. He did not look back at the ship, he had forgotten its existence in face of almost certain death. The rocking of the waves grew less. They swept on more slowly than before in long rollers that rose and fell in a roaring swirl of seething foam. Every fresh wave carried Pandion a hundred cubits nearer the shore. Sometimes he sank into the trough of a wave; then a terrific weight of water crashed down on him, driving him down and down into the dark depths until his heart was ready to burst.

Thus he swam on for several stadia, much time passed in this struggle against the waves, until at last his strength failed him and he felt that it was becoming impossible for him to continue the struggle against the giant waters that were trying to embrace him. As he grew weaker the will to live died out in him, it became more and more difficult to strain his aching muscles and his desire to continue the struggle weakened. With jerky movements of arms that worked almost outside his will he rose on the crest of a wave, turned his face towards his distant country and shouted at the top of his voice:

“Thessa, Thessa!…”

The name of the one he loved, hurled twice in the face of fate, in the face of the monstrous and indifferent might of the sea, was immediately drowned by the howl of the stormy waves; one of them closed over Pandion’s motionless body, the youth sank down into the water and suddenly struck the seabed in a whirl of churned-up sand.

Two soldiers in short green kilts, an outpost of the Great Green Sea (Great Green Sea was the name given by the Egyptians to the Mediterranean.)coast watchers, leaned on their long spears and stared at the horizon.

“Captain Seneb sent us here for nothing,” said the elder of them in a lazy voice.

“But the Phoenician ship was quite close to the shore,” objected the other. “If the storm hadn’t died down we’d have got easy booty, and right close to the fortress, too.”

“Look over there,” said the elder soldier, pointing along the beach. “May I remain unburied when I die if that isn’t a man from the ship!”

For a long time the two soldiers gazed at the black speck on the beach.

“Let’s go back,” said the younger soldier. “We’ve been trudging through the sand long enough already. Who wants the body of a despised foreigner instead of rich booty — the merchandise and slaves that were on that ship…”

“You talk without thinking,” the elder man interrupted him again. “Those merchants are sometimes richly dressed and wear jewellery. A gold ring wouldn’t do you any harm — why should we report every drowned man to Seneb?…”

The soldiers marched along the damp sand of a beach beaten hard by the storm.

“Where’s your jewellery?” the young soldier asked mockingly. “He’s stark naked.”

The elder man uttered a disgruntled curse.

And, indeed, the man lying face down on the sand was completely unclothed, his arms bent helplessly under his torso and his short curly hair full of sea-sand.

“Look,” exclaimed the elder soldier. “He isn’t a Phoenician. “What a strong and beautiful body! It’s a pity he’s dead, he would have made a fine slave and Seneb would have rewarded us.”

“What country is he from?” asked the younger.

“I don’t know, perhaps he’s a Turusha, or a Kefti, or maybe one of those Sea Peoples, the Hanebu. (Turusha — Etruscan. Kefti or Keftiu — the Egyptian name for Crete and its inhabitants. Hanebu — northerner.) They are rarely to be found in our blessed land and are valued for their endurance, strength and intellect. Three years ago… Wait a minute, he’s alive, praise be to Amon!”

The body lying on the sand twitched almost imperceptibly.

The soldiers threw down their spears, turned the unconscious man over and began massaging his stomach and legs.

Their efforts were successful, the unconscious man-it was Pandion — opened his eyes and coughed painfully. His sound constitution had stood up to the test and before an hour had passed the soldiers led him, supporting him under the arms, to the fortress.

They made frequent halts on their way, but before the hottest part of the day Pandion was brought to a tiny fort standing on one of the countless sleeves of the Nile Delta, to the west of a big lake.

The soldiers gave Pandion water to drink, fed him a few pieces of bread dipped in beer, and laid him down on the floor of a small earthen shed.

The terrific strain had left its mark on Pandion — a sharp pain racked his chest and his heart’s action was weak. An endless procession of waves passed before his closed eyes. As he lay in a heavy torpor he heard someone open the frail door, made from fragments of ship’s timbers. The captain of the outpost, a young man with a sickly and unpleasant face, bent over him. The captain removed the mantle that had been thrown over Pandion’s legs and made a close examination of his captive. Little did Pandion imagine that the decision that was then ripening in the captain’s mind was to bring him further tribulation.

The captain, satisfied with what he had seen, covered Pandion over and left the shed.

“Two rings of copper and a jug of beer each,” ha snapped at the soldiers.

The coast watchers bowed humbly before him but at his back they sent looks that might kill.

“O Mighty Sekhmet, look what price we’re given for such a slave…” whispered the younger soldier as soon as the captain had withdrawn. “You’ll see, he’ll send him to the city and sell him for no less than ten rings of gold…”‘

The captain suddenly turned back. “Hi, Senni!” he shouted. The elder soldier ran obediently to him. “Keep an eye on him. I make you responsible for him. Tell my cook to give him the best of food, but take great care, for this captive is a mighty warrior. Tomorrow make ready the light boat and I’ll send the captive as a gift to the Great House. (The Great House — a euphemism for the King of Egypt whose name it was forbidden to pronounce. (In Egyptian — Per-o, whence the ancient Hebrew, Pharaoh.)

We’ll give him a sleeping-draught in his beer so that there will be no trouble with him.”

… Slowly Pandion raised his heavy eyelids. He had been sleeping so long that he had no conception of time or of his whereabouts. He had vague, fragmentary memories of a bitter struggle in the stormy sea, of being taken somewhere after that and then of lying in some quiet, dark place. He tried to move but felt that his body was bound. Turning his head with difficulty he saw a wall of green reeds topped with starlike brushes. Above him spread the translucent sky; from somewhere nearby, quite close to his ear, came the faint gurgle and splashing of water. It gradually dawned upon Pandion that he was lying, bound hand and foot, in a long, narrow boat. By raising his head he could see the bare legs of the men punting the boat along with long poles. They were well-built men with skin the colour of bronze and they were dressed in white loin-cloths.

“Who are you? Where are you taking me?” shouted Pandion, trying to catch a glimpse of the people standing in the stern of the boat.

One of them, a man with a clean-shaven face, bent over Pandion and said something in rapid tones. The strange language, with its melodious tongue clicks and strongly accented vowels, was quite incomprehensible. Pandion strained all his muscles in an effort to break his bonds, continually repeating the same questions. It gradually sank into the mind of the unfortunate captive that these people could not possibly understand him. Pandion managed to rock the boat but one of his escort immediately brought a bronze dagger close to his eyes. Disgusted with people, with himself and with the world at large, Pandion ceased his attempts at resistance and did not renew them again during his long journey through the labyrinth of swamp rushes. By the time the boat reached a stone wharf the sun had long passed the horizon and the moon hung high in the sky.

Here his legs were unbound and quickly and skilfully massaged to restore circulation. The soldiers lit two torches and made their way to a high rammed earth wall in which was a heavy, bronze-bound door.

After a lengthy altercation with the soldiers of the watch, Pandion’s escort handed a tiny scroll over to a sleepy-eyed, bearded man who had suddenly appeared, and received in return a piece of black leather.

The heavy door groaned on its hinges. Pandion’s hands were unbound and he was thrust into the prison. The warders, armed with spears and bows, pushed back a heavy wooden beam and Pandion found himself in a small square room packed with human bodies lying pell-mell on the floor. The people were breathing heavily and groaning in their unquiet sleep. Pandion, choking from the foul stench that seemed to ooze from the very walls, looked for an empty space on the floor and sat carefully down. He could not sleep; he pondered over the events of the last few — days and his heart grew heavy within him. The hours of his lonely, nocturnal meditation dragged slowly by.

Pandion thought of nothing but liberty although at the moment he could see no way of escape from bondage. He was far in the interior of an absolutely unknown country; alone, an unarmed captive, who knew nothing of the language of the hostile people that surrounded him, he could not undertake anything. He realized that they did not intend to kill him and resolved to wait. Later, when he knew something about the country… but what, then, awaited him in that “later”? As never before Pandion felt the urgent need of a companion who would help him overcome his terrible desolation. He pondered over the fact that there was no worse state for a man to be in — alone amongst strange and hostile people in an unknown and unknowable country, a slave, cut off from the whole world by virtue of his status. Loneliness would be much easier to bear if he were alone with nature — such solitude would strengthen rather than weaken his spirit.

Pandion bowed to his fate and fell into a strange lethargy. He awaited dawn and looked indifferently upon his companions in misfortune, captives from different Asian tribes unknown to him. They were better off than he was, they could talk to one another, they could share their grief, recall the past and discuss the future. The other prisoners cast equally curious glances on the silent Hellene.

The warders threw Pandion a piece of coarse linen for a loin-cloth and then four black-skinned men brought in a big earthen vessel of water, barley cakes and the stalks of some green vegetable.

Pandion was astounded at the sight of absolutely black faces in which the teeth, the whites of the eyes and the brownish-red lips stood out so brightly. He guessed that they were slaves and was surprised at their jolly and kindly countenances. The Negroes laughed, showing their white teeth, made fun of the prisoners and of each other. Was it possible, that, with the passage of time, he, too, would be capable of finding joy in anything, of forgetting the pitiful role of a man deprived of his liberty? Could this constant ache that was gnawing at his heart possibly pass away? And Thessa? O Gods, if Thessa should know where he was! No, Thessa must never know — he would return to her or die, there was no other way…

Pandion’s thoughts were disturbed by a long drawn-out cry. The door opened. Before his eyes sparkled a wide river — his place of imprisonment was quite close to the water’s edge. A strong detachment of soldiers surrounded the captives with a phalanx of spears and drove them into the hold of a big ship. The ship sailed away upstream and the captives were given no opportunity to look round them. It was stiflingly hot in the hold; the sun, standing high in the heavens, scorched the prisoners, and it was difficult to breathe in an atmosphere befouled by their exhalations.

Towards evening it grew cooler, the exhausted captives began to recover and started talking. The vessel sailed on all night, there was a short halt in the morning when the prisoners were fed, and the wearying journey continued. Several days passed in this way but Pandion, stupefied and apathetic, lost count of them.

At last a more lively note could be heard in the voices of the rowers and soldiers and there were sounds of bustle on deck — the long journey was over. The captives were left in the hold all night and in the morning Pandion heard orders given in a loud, drawling voice.

The escort stood in a half-circle, spears thrust out in front of them, on a dusty sun-baked square. The captives left the ship one by one and immediately fell into the hands of two giant soldiers beside whom lay a heap of short ropes. The Egyptians bound the prisoners’ arms so tightly that their shoulders were bent back and their elbows met behind them. The groans and cries of the victims had no effect on the giants who gloried in their own strength and in the helplessness of their victims.

Pandion’s turn came. One of the soldiers seized him by the arm immediately the youth, blinded by the glaring sun, set foot on land. The pain drove away all Pandion’s apathy. He had been trained in fist-fighting and easily escaped the hands of the soldier. He struck him a deadly blow on the ear; the giant fell face down in the dust and the other, momentarily losing his presence of mind, jumped away. Pandion was surrounded by thirty enemy soldiers with their spears pointed at him.

In unspeakable fury the youth leaped forward hoping to die in battle, for death seemed like deliverance to him… He did not, however, know the Egyptians, whose methods of handling recalcitrant slaves were the accumulated result of thousands of years’ experience. The soldiers immediately gave way and closed in behind Pandion who was thus left outside the circle. The bold youth was knocked off his feet and borne to the ground under the weight of several attackers. The end of a spear-shaft caught him a sharp blow in the ribs. The breath was knocked out of him and a fiery-red haze floated before his eyes. In an instant the Egyptians brought his hands together above his head and fastened them to a wooden instrument shaped like a toy boat.

The soldiers then left the youth in peace.

The remaining captives were quickly bound and all of them were driven off along a narrow road between the river and the fields. The young sculptor suffered intense pain: his arms were stretched at full length above his head with the wrists gripped in a wooden clamp that squeezed the bones. This instrument of torture did not permit him to bend his elbows or lower his hands on to his head.

A second party of slaves joined Pandion’s group from a side road; then came a third party until there were altogether two hundred slaves in the group.

All of them were bound in a most cruel manner and a number were wearing stocks like Pandion’s. The captives’ faces were twisted in pain, they were pallid and dripping with perspiration. Pandion walked along in a daze, scarcely taking note of his surroundings.

The country through which they marched was a rich one. The air was clean and fresh, silence reigned on the narrow roads and the mighty river carried its waters slowly towards the Great Green Sea. The palms nodded their heads very slightly in the light breeze from the north and green fields of ripening wheat were interspersed with vineyards and orchards. The entire country was a huge garden, carefully tended for thousands of years.

Pandion could not look from side to side. He stumbled along, his teeth clenched in pain, past the high walls that surrounded the houses of the wealthy. The houses were light and airy two-storied structures with high, narrow windows over the columned entrances. The snow-white walls, decorated with an intricate pattern in pure, bright colours, stood out sharply in the blinding sunlight.

Quite suddenly the captives were confronted by a colossal stone edifice with straight, enormously thick-walls built of huge blocks of stone dressed with amazing skill. The dark and mysterious building seemed to be spread-eagled on the earth which it crushed under its terrific weight. Pandion passed a row of heavy columns, gloomily grey against the bright green background of the gardens that covered the plain. Palms, fig- and other fruit-trees alternated in seemingly endless straight rows. The hills were covered with a dense tangle of grape vines.

In a garden by the river stood a high, light structure painted in the same bright colours as the other buildings of that city. Before the facade, opening on to the river, and beyond wide gates, stood tall mast-like poles with bunches of waving ribbons on top of them. Over the wide entrance was a huge snow-white balcony with two columns supporting a perfectly flat roof. The cornice of the roof was painted with an ornament in which bright blue and gold designs alternated. The bright blue and gold zigzags also ornamented the capitals of the columns.

At the back of the balcony, in the shade cast by carpets and curtains, could be seen people dressed in long white garments of some finely pleated material. The personage seated in the centre inclined over the rail a head heavy with the red and white double crown of the ruler of the two Kingdoms, Upper and Lower Egypt.

The escort, together with the commander, who had marched so importantly at their head, prostrated themselves face downwards on the ground. On a motion of the hand of Pharaoh, the living god and supreme ruler of the land of Tha-Quem, the captives were drawn up in a single line and marched slowly past the balcony. The courtiers who crowded the balcony exchanged whispered remarks and laughed merrily. The beauty of the palace, the opulent raiment of Pharaoh and his courtiers, their haughty, free and easy postures made a sharp contrast to the pain-racked faces of the tormented slaves — and this aroused fierce indignation in Pandion’s heart. He was beside himself from the pain in his arms, his body trembled as though with ague, his badly bitten lips were caked with dried blood, but the youth straightened his back, heaved a deep sigh and turned a wrathful face towards the balcony.

Pharaoh turned and said something to his courtiers and all of them nodded their heads in approval. The procession of slaves moved slowly on. Soon Pandion found himself behind the house, in the shade of a high wall. Gradually the whole party of slaves gathered there, still surrounded by the silent soldiers. From around the corner appeared a corpulent, hook-nosed man carrying a long ebony staff inlaid with gold and accompanied by a scribe carrying a wooden tablet and a roll of papyrus.

The man said something to the commander of the escort in haughty tones, the commander immediately doubled up in a low bow and transmitted the order to his soldiers. Obeying the aristocratic finger the soldiers pushed their way into the crowd of prisoners and brought out those indicated to them. Pandion was one of the first to be selected. Altogether about thirty of the strongest and bravest-looking were chosen and were immediately marched back along the same narrow road to the edge of the garden. From there the soldiers drove their captives along a low wall. The path grew steeper and led to a square of windowless walls standing in a hollow between the wheat-fields. Soldiers armed with bows walked freely up and down thick, brick-built walls some ten cubits in height. On the corners there were shelters of matting.

The entrance was in the wall facing the river and nowhere else were there either doors or windows; the blank, greenish-grey walls breathed fiery heat.

The prisoners were led through the doorway, their escort withdrew rapidly and Pandion found himself in a narrow courtyard between two walls. The second or inner wall was lower than the outer and had only one door, on its right-hand side. A number of crude benches occupied the vacant space in the courtyard although most of it was taken up by a low building with a black hole of an entrance. The group of captives was now surrounded by soldiers with lighter coloured skin than those who had escorted them on their journey. They were all tall, with lithe, well-developed bodies and many of them had blue eyes and reddish hair. Pandion had never seen such people before any more than he had seen the true inhabitants of Aigyptos and did not know that they were Libyans.

Two men came out of the building; one of them carried something made of polished wood and the other, a grey faience pot. The Libyans seized Pandion and turned him round with his back towards the newcomers. The youth felt a slight pricking sensation on his left shoulder blade, on which a polished wooden board, bristling with short needles, had been placed. The man then struck the board sharply with his hand, the blood spurted out and Pandion gave an involuntary cry of pain. The Libyan wiped away the blood and began rubbing the wound with a rag soaked in some liquid from the faience pot; the blood ceased flowing immediately but he dipped the rag in the liquid several times and continued to rub the wound. Only then did Pandion notice the bright red mark — some little figures in an oval frame (The hieroglyphs of Pharaoh’s name were written in an oval frame or cartouche.) — on the left shoulders of the Libyans that surrounded him and realized that he had been branded.

The wooden frame was removed from Pandion’s wrists and he was unable to stifle the groan caused by the pain in his stiffened joints. With the greatest difficulty he lowered his arms. Then, bending low, he entered the doorway in the inner wall and there, in a dusty courtyard, sank exhausted to the ground.

Pandion took a drink of stale water from the huge earthen jar that stood by the door and began to examine the place that was, in the opinion of those in authority, to be his home to the end of his days.

The huge square of land with a side of about two stadia was surrounded by high inaccessible walls guarded by sentries who walked up and down them. The entire right-hand half of the enclosure was occupied by tiny rammed earth cells built one against the other, the rows of them separated by long narrow gangways. There were similar tiny cells in the left-hand corner. The anterior left-hand corner was surrounded by a low wall and a strong smell of ammonia came from there. Vessels for water stood near the door. Here a long strip of ground had been plastered with clay and was swept clean: this was the place allotted for eating, as Pandion learned later.

All the free space in the square was trampled hard and smooth, not a single blade of grass relieved its dusty grey-surface. The air was heavy and stifling, it seemed as though all the fiery heat of the day was poured into that sunken square, cut off by high walls and open to the sky. This was the shehne, the slave compound, one of hundreds scattered throughout the land of Tha-Quem. Slaves of all nations were crowded in these compounds — they constituted the labour power that was the foundation of the wealth and beauty of Aigyptos. The compound was silent and deserted — the slaves were out at work, only a few sick men were left lying listlessly in the shade of the wall. This particular shehne was designed for newly arrived captives who had but recently fallen victims to the land of slavery and had not established families to increase the number of hands toiling in the Black Land.

Pandion had now become a mere, an hereditary slave of Pharaoh, and was one of the eight thousand who served in gardens, canals and buildings of the palace domains.

Other captives from amongst those who had been through the royal inspection with Pandion were distributed amongst the higher officials as sahu — slaves who on the death of their masters would be transferred to the shehne of Pharaoh.

An oppressive silence filled the stifling atmosphere, broken only by occasional sighs and groans from the new slaves driven here together with Pandion. The brand burned like red-hot coals on Pandion’s back. The youth could find no place for himself. The open sea and shady groves on the wave-washed shores of his native land were replaced by a patch of dusty earth hemmed in by high walls. Instead of a free life together with his beloved — slavery in a foreign land infinitely far from all that was near and dear to him.

It was only the hope of liberation that kept the young Hellene from smashing his head against the wall that cut him off from the wide and beautiful world.