“It’s true they came by way of Crete from their northern home. And they are kind. But all human peoples take slaves. Even we have our sea cows to give us milk.”
“Why don’t we swim home?” you asked.
“Because,” I said, “I have hurt my arm.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“You’ve slept all day,” you said. “Eat now, Mama.” “Yes, you must both eat.” The speaker was a young woman who had darkened her eyes with kohl, ruddied her cheeks with the powder of the insect called cochineal, and reddened her hair with the dye of the henna plant. Even her voluminous robe could not conceal her enticing figure. I mistook her for a Philistine courtesan until I saw the sea in her eyes and recognized a considerably altered Alecto.
“Silvergilt, you’ve hidden your wings and dyed your hair! I must call you Scarletgilt.”
“It’s just as well, Honey Hair. Wings mean death or slavery in this land. The Philistines will worship you but lock you in a temple. The Israelites will take you for a demon, since you are too beautiful and the wrong sex to be an angel, and probably stone you.”
The sight of her metamorphosed from a free-living Siren into a human-appearing prostitute saddened me almost out of the gladness of seeing her.
“What shall we do?” I sighed. “Bumblebee and I.” Even a queen, particularly when she has lost her palace and her kingdom, can ask advice.
“What I did. Hide the marks of our race. Become one with this land. Only three months ago I arrived on these shores. Look at my feet”
Her sandals of kidskin revealed toes without webs. “A simple operation with a knife removed them. As you know,” she added with a disconcerting smile, “solitary queens like me have always been expert with cutlery.”
“You live among the Philistines?”
“No. I’ve stayed here on the beach since my arrival. The first day I met a young warrior who had come to net murexes. The cost of purple dye is prohibitive, except to kings,‘ he said. ’Yet Philistine warriors like myself are expected to wear a purple tunic on feast days and a purple plume into battle. I shall make my own dye.‘ At first he mistook me for a daughter of the fish-god, Dagon, and offered, indeed threatened, to carry me to his priest in Gath. I persuaded him to change his mind. When military duties called him back to his garrison, he left me his tent and sent me robes and jewels by way of his friends, who invariably lingered for a night’s refreshment. After him, there have been not only warriors but fishermen, merchants from Phoenicia, and even Israelite shepherds who owe fealty to Philistia.” “All in three weeks?”
“A night with me is worth a year with the best wife in the country.”
“But don’t your lovers die in the act of love?”
“Drones disembowel themselves and of course they die.
But human males are constituted for many acts and, I must add, they seem to improve with practice. Think of it, my dear. Every evening a nuptial flight, and with a practiced male, not a callow drone. When there are no young men- and I do insist upon youth, even though I am, as you know, upwards of a hundred-I work my arts of sorcery for the old. I conjure the dead from Sheol, a region of brackish streams and tongueless ghosts, the place where the Israelites go when they die. The spirits are glad to answer my summons and leave such a dreary region, if only for a look or a few words exchanged with a mate or a friend. Thus, with my two occupations, I can live near the sea and still pass for a native. I was walking along the seashore miles to the south when I heard you call.“
“But I didn’t call.”
“Your spirit did. I knew you needed help. You and Bumblebee there.”
“But my toes,” I hurried to say, “and my wings-”
“I will give you toes like mine. As for your wings, you must simply keep them hidden. They are very small; Israelite robes are very loose and concealing. Even if you intend to become a courtesan like me, you will have no problem. As for myself, I give my lovers a potion of forgetfulness-sea nettles crushed with the inky juice of the squid. Thus they forget my wings but remember me. It’s all in knowing the right dosage. Too much and they’ll forget everything. You may do the same-after I clip between your toes.”
“And Bumblebee?”
“Easier still. At his age, he wont even feel the pain of my knife. And you can teach him never to show his back.”
“It means we can never go home. How can we cross the sea without webbed feet?”
“If you wait till your arm is healed, you can certainly never go home. And what is home anyway with the likes of Goliath skulking about the place?”
“Yes. The Cyclopes. They've probably captured my palace, killed my people, and eaten my sea cows.”
“But Mama, what about the Celestial Vineyard?” you cried. “We’ve left the island of the Goddess. The god of Israel may send us to Sheol.”
“I suspect the Great Mother will still look after us.” It was a doubtful hope; we had angered her once in our northern home and she had sent us wandering to the south. Now, we had left her island for a country where deserts outnumbered forests. But Alecto possessed a genius for survival, and her advice, though unpalatable, was certainly practical.
“Whatever you say, Mama.” You looked, however, with longing at the sea and fingered your stubby wings as if they, like the webs of your feet, must also face the knife.
Alecto smiled at you with sympathy. “I will give you my potion to make you forget the past.”
“Must I forget?”
“Yes, my dear. The memory of Crete, the sea cows and the white bears, would only haunt you in this dismal land. Do you want to stay with me, you and your mother, here by the sea?”
“I think I had better take him inland,” I said quickly. “I rather fancy the Israelites, from what I have heard. I like farmers-men who are close to the earth.”
“I must find you some cloaks before I lose my business. A look at you and your nakedness, Honey Hair, and- well, I would earn silver while you earned gold.”
I had quite forgotten that Bumblebee and I had shed our garments at the start of our swim from Crete.
“Down the beach a way, there’s a camel caravan out of Midian. But first, your toes.”
In Alecto’s tent, I drank of sleep, you of forgetfulness. Awaking, we found the webs removed from our toes. You knew me to be your mother but did not know the past.
“My toes hurt, Mama,” you said, “and I have a pain in my head. Where have we been?”
“You’ve had a fever,” I said. “You walked in your sleep on the beach and stepped on some jagged shells. I ran after you without my sandals.” You did not ask me about the remoter past. It was the power of Alecto’s drink.
She returned at dusk. I thanked her for what she had done to earn the cloaks, the shekels, the provisions for our trip- dates, cheese, bread, waterskins, and a vial of her potion in case I should choose to follow her trade. The cloaks smelled of camel, but they were loose and comfortable against the heat, and our new sandals did not press cruelly between our toes.
We stayed with Alecto for a week. Then, jangling shekels in a money bag, we began our journey to find a home. We traveled by night and rested by day. In seven days we crossed the border into Israel and reached a small village-one of those forgettable and featureless villages of clay and straw-thatched huts clustered around a well-and we lingered in an inn which was little more than a house whose attic was rented to wayfarers. Dressed like the villagers-I in a white ankle-long robe trimmed with malachite-green, with a veil to hide my face; you in a goatskin tunic-we spoke little and seemingly escaped notice. The language of the place was a dialect of the same tongue which was spoken on Crete, in Philistia, and by the Israelites. Daily, at dusk, I visited the village well. On the fifth day a young man arrived on foot, accompanied by a small contingent of soldiers who looked as if they would rather be farmers. Israelites. I could tell from then- pointed beards. In their ill-fitting tunics, they hardly seemed a match for the armored Philistines. But there was earth in their look. They were close to the soil. They were men who could predict the rain by the flight of quail or snow by the thickness of fur on a fox’s back. I liked them, and more than
