Loizos

By Clive Perry

At once tender and savage, LOIZOS is the story of a youthful, blind beggar abducted to Crete together with Prince Theseus and twelve other young Athenians, male and female, to be sacrificed to the feared Bull Fod in Knossos. They survive not only this ordeal but the harrowing journey back to Athens, encountering physical danger, rivalry, friendship, love and above all a biding team spirit under the leadership of the charismatic Theseus. Enmeshed in the tale of Loizos, the legend of Theseus and Ariadne is re-told, in which there are no monsters, only human monsters.

By the same author, FAITH, HOPE AND CHRISTOPHER, THE SECRET LIFE is a gripping fictional account of skullduggery in high places built around FAITH, the first wife of SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN about whom almost nothing is truly known, set against a background of Civil War, Plague, the Great Fire of London and the building of St. Pauls Cathedral. ISBN 978-1-4343-4174-7.

THE LAD FROM SANDAL is a twentieth century saga of involvement in wars, violence and personal conflict. Life is a deadly game of snakes and ladders for Joe, the lad from Sandal on the outskirts of Wakefield, in love with the unattainable Eva and all but wed to a beautiful redhead, Clare. He is independent, adventurous and makes enemies. When tragedy strikes he is helped back to health by loyal friends and family. However, the story doesnt end there ISBN 978-1-4567-7072-3.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477222768

Clive Perry

Clive Perry is a retired teacher who has lived with his wife since 1954 in a small town in North Yorkshire, where he taught art for thirty-six years. He has two daughters and three grandchildren. He has travelled widely and has a passionate interest in architecture, archeology, and history. He also continues with his painting and sculpture, the disciplines for which he trained while at art schools in South London and Wales.

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© 2012 Clive Perry. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 9/21/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2275-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-2276-8 (e)

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CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

A POSTSCRIPT

To Anna

Men are dependent on circumstances,

not circumstances on men.

Herodotus

At once tender and savage, this is the story of a youthful, blind beggar Loizos who tells of his abduction to Crete in a black-sailed ship together with the Prince Theseus and twelve other young Athenians, male and female, all chosen to be sacrificed to the feared Bull God in Knossos. They survive not only this ordeal but the harrowing journey back to Athens, encountering physical danger, rivalry, hatred, friendship, love, and above all a binding team spirit under the leadership of Theseus.

Loizos is a purely fictional character whose life is woven tightly into the lives of the legendary Theseus and Ariadne of Greek mythology. They take second place, but are essential to his experiences. His steadfast love for his companion Evdhokia and her love for him are at the core of his story.

In this version of the classic tale there are no monsters, only human monsters. Two villains stalk the pages of the novel, the vicious Khambis who is vanquished by Theseus in the labyrinth of lanes in Knossos, and the murderous Takis whose jealousy makes life a living nightmare for Loizos and Evdhokia until he too, reaps the reward for his wickedness in the most unlikely manner.

Celebrated in Music and Art, Theseus and Ariadne must rank with Romeo and Juliet amongst the best known tragic love stories of all time, but whereas Romeo and Juliet is an uncomplicated tale of pure young love fatally blighted by feuding families, the story of Theseus and Ariadne is not at all straightforward but no less blighted.

Theseus, a strikingly handsome and charismatic young prince who has offered himself as one of the victims demanded for the sacrificial ritual, is sought out by Ariadne, a Cretan princess of more mature years who at first sight, is smitten with an irrational passion for him.

Flattered by her attention, beauty and influence in the palace, he allows her to think that he too, has fallen in love and persuades her to flee with him to Athens in her ship, together with his companions. On board it appears that he has finally formed a real attachment to her but divided loyalties together with doubt and damaging revelations cause a serious rift between them. Theseus escapes in Ariadne’s ship and leaves her behind on the island of Naxos.

Deserted and in deep despair, Ariadne is seduced by the heady religious practices of the followers of the God Bacchus, and abandons herself to wine and wild revelry.

Theseus returns together with his companions, but the black sail of the Cretan ship that he had promised would never be seen again in Athens is the cause of the death of his anguished father King Aegeus who throws himself off the cliffs of Sounion, thinking that Theseus has perished. As the King of Athens, the young Theseus steps into his new role cheerfully, and without any qualms of conscience blames everything unequivocally on the will of the Gods, including the abandonment of Ariadne and the death of his father.

Happily, the love Loizos and Evdhokia have for each other is of the enduring kind.

ONE

The Tribute

They call me Loizos the Blind. Save your pity stranger and do not apologise, you haven’t offended me. As you said, my limbs are strong and my stomach is hard from much exercise, only someone new to Athens would have had to ask who it is who begs, and why I wear around my neck this token of bad luck that I prize above everything.

My eyes have been put out but my mind still sees. Like a bad dream, my memories will never dim and are impossible to forget. By the shore I hear water washing over the stones, and when it is evening I tap laboriously with my staff along the cool, quiet jetty and imagine that I run, leap, laugh and shout once more with my good friend Vassili who has remained true through all that I have suffered, with Takis whom I despise for his treachery and Theseus… yes, the same Theseus you know who is now the King of Athens. What we are famous for has been called glorious but our deeds, sprung from the seeds of hatred sown long ago by our Cretan enemies were forced upon us.

For most of my eighteen years I’ve lived here in Athens beside the salt waves that I shall never see again. Two years ago, on an evening like this, I attended more to the agonies of the ugly, grunting Takis than to the sound of the water.

Theseus was wrestling with him in a patch of sand beside a pile of crates, bales and clay pithoi, some filled with Athenian wine and some with olive oil. They were standing tall, ready to be put aboard a Cretan ship moored nearby, due to sail the next morning; the last of a flotilla that had already left, laden with the late summer harvest of grain, grapes and olives from the land around Athens, its departure delayed because of a vain Cretan prince, Androgeus, who had accepted an invitation to take part in our games. We were passing the time innocently enough by the water. If you would like to know how the Goddess Athene used us to glorify Athens, I would be pleased to tell you my story.

As I have already said, Theseus and Takis were wrestling. My friend Vassili was dashing an octopus against the flat stones of the quay and the Cretan sailors, older than us, who were left guarding their vessel, were becoming irritated by his persistent thudding and slapping as he tried to kill the creature. Suddenly he stopped to examine the writhing tentacles and the suckers that expanded and contracted like gasping mouths.

There’s a strange noise but I hear no music, he announced loudly.

Aware of a faint clamour from afar I looked back down the long walls at the distant buildings of Athens, still decked out for the games. Being so near the water and its insistent lapping I couldn’t identify the sound either, but whatever it was, Vassili was right, there was no music.

He called out again, this time to Theseus and Takis, Don’t you get sick of pulling each other about? You’ve already been at it for an hour at the wrestling school.

Light from the evening sun gilded his short brown hair, unremarkable face and thin nose. I laughed as Theseus sprung back from Takis. We revere Theseus now but in those days he was a close companion and for many reasons we were filled with nothing but admiration for him.

Come on, come on, he taunted, luring with beckoning arms as he circled; sweaty, blond curls bouncing on his head. Short and strong, he was a quicker mover than any of us, the envy of all for his agreeable face and firm body but he was admired most of all for that tightly curling hair that had been touched by the finger of Apollo. He tried you see, to have us believe we were his equals, but we were not. The son of our King, Theseus was a prince by birth, our leader by temperament and our superior in everything except stature. We felt obliged to defer to him.

Takis pushed his matted, dark hair out of his eyes, then roaring like an animal, flew to the attack. Almost contemptuously Theseus threw him to the ground and pounced upon him, wrenching one arm painfully behind his back. Takis tried to extricate himself but found it impossible to escape the iron grip.

Snap it off and have done, shouted Vassili, waving his octopus.

Leave go, begged Takis, splayed uncomfortably on the sand, his features cast by nature in a miserable mould now even more miserable. Vassili went across, pulling Theseus up with his free hand.

You’re a fool, Takis, to take on such a champion, he said. Theseus is too strong. Besides, he continued, nodding in the direction of a second visiting ship moored beyond the Cretan vessel, he picks up new tricks every day from the Egyptian sailors.

As we sniggered, Theseus frowned. Do you know why they’re good?

They learn it from their women, smirked Takis, but Theseus reproved him loudly.

You’ll never be a wrestler, it’s balance… if you go at it like a brainless bull, all you’ll do is fight yourself.

Takis brushed off the fish scales and sand that clung to his tunic, legs and arms. Painfully he too stood up. He wouldn’t have taken this kind of criticism from anyone else, he was too surly an individual, but like everyone in Athens, he was so much under the spell of Theseus that he might just as well have been paid the most fulsome compliment.

Further along the wall a small procession of sailors bearing a palanquin was approaching and we could see the guards move off their black-sailed ship. Like all Cretan sailors they went unclothed to the waist, sported bead necklaces and arm bands, left their black hair long and wore a bold cod-piece held in place by a cumbersome, cord belt pulled so tightly that their guts were unnaturally compressed. We liked to laugh behind their backs at the womanish, pinched waists, beads and long hair that seemed so out of place with the grotesque pouches that crudely proclaimed their masculinity; but whatever anyone may have thought, none dared to laugh to their faces. We knew these mariners to be fierce and cruel, with the fastest vessels of any people, they were also powerful enough to have taken it upon themselves to extract protection dues, tribute it is called, from states bordering the sea in return for keeping piracy away from the main trading lanes. The cargo on the quay was the last of the tribute from Athens in lieu of blood that King Aegeus was obliged to collect for despatch to Knossos. If you had lived here you would know how everyone hated to part with this tithe, hard won from the soil but to tell the truth, until a few years ago, not many had the nerve of the sailors of Crete to venture in their ships far from the sight of shore and were easy prey for the pirates.

The quay was long, we were now laughing noisily, flinging the octopus to one another, dodging the flailing tentacles as it flew and scooping it up as it slithered over the stones. Our game blocked the progress of the approaching Cretans who lifted down the palanquin in which sat their precious Prince, skinny and supercilious, born some eighteen years before in Knossos. From his neck dangled a gold chain with a bright blue lapis jewel, this very jewel, now tarnished, dull and covered with sea slime that I wear, on which, boldly incised in the spiky Cretan script is his name, Androgeus.

Takis, swinging the octopus, aimed it at Vassili just as a sailor reached forward to move him out of the way. He gripped Takis by the arm as he was in the act of throwing and the octopus, spinning through through the air missed its mark altogether. One or two of the Cretans called out, they could see that it would strike Androgeus, the brother of their King, but he made no attempt to avoid it. He didn’t alter a muscle of his face as it hit him in the chest before sliding down over his thighs and coming to rest in a lumpy blob on the stones below.

The Prince turned his head and looked with disdain from his perch in the palanquin which was covered at the top but had no side curtains. Straightening his jewelled necklet he waved Takis out of the way with a quick flick of his hand, it had obviously been an accident, his composure was complete. Also, he had recognised the blond curls of the son of the King of Athens.

Androgeus had been a guest at the palace and had spent a few days in the Megaron of King Aegeus, living with the other guests. To him the tribute was no more than routine business and because of his youth he had been invited to compete in the games; what is more we gave him a prize. He ought to have had the wit to realise what everyone in Athens knew, that he had been allowed the honour out of politeness but he was too full of conceit and made too much of it.

As always, the common people were smarting at having to provide the tribute, they felt too, that honouring the Cretan was an added insult. From a distance they had watched the visitors coming from the palace and now they began moving towards the quay to see the loading of the last of the cargo with an occasional shouted comment, mouthful of abuse and bitter laughter; but mostly, all that could be heard was the sound of the shuffling of moving feet, the sound we had been unable to identify. A couple of dogs were barking. An ass brayed. Although it was a holiday, the atmosphere was sinister and there was no music. If the Cretans sensed hostility they didn’t show it as they resumed their journey.

The sailor had moved Takis aside firmly and without anger but Takis was humiliated.

Who do you think you’re pushing? he asked loudly.

There was no response from the sailors who carried on walking with the palanquin.

Leave us and get back to Crete, called Vassili, skipping along beside them.

Takis made himself uglier than ever. He spat, contorting his naturally wretched features as he yelled, There it is: skins, oil, wine and more besides. Take your tribute and go. You must think yourselves very lucky after what happened in Sicily. You didn’t win a prize in Sicily, did you?

They called your bluff, didn’t they? Sent you off with your tails between your legs, Cretan dogs! continued Vassili.

Gales of laughter from the men on the wall greeted this remark.

I had remained with Theseus who no doubt for once regretted his choice of friends. Androgeus shouted bitterly to him, Call off your puppies before my Cretan dogs teach them some manners.

Theseus was reluctant to respond. Seeing this Androgeus signalled his sailors.

Bring them, he commanded.

Vassili, imitating the refined voice and elegant gestures of the Cretan Prince, interrupted.

We would hate to trouble Your Highness.

Moving to carry out the order, several Cretans were soon upon them.

Run, called Vassili, struggling to be free.

Get off, cried Takis as he too was held.

Theseus, clearly angry now, his face red and the veins on his neck bulging, shouted, Keep your hands off them.

A stunned silence followed this bellowed command.

You heard what he said. Leave go, responded Takis with a snarl, but to no effect.

Theseus must have decided that things were getting out of hand. Seeing his determined advance, one of the sailors thought it time to stop him while he was still a safe distance from Androgeus but with deceptive ease was pitched to the ground. He was heavier and older than Theseus, landed awkwardly on his back and appealed for someone to come and help. The first to get there suffered similarly, at which the others rushed forward, no longer concerned about holding Takis and Vassili.

With amazing agility Theseus again proved that he was rightly called the Champion of Athens. In twos and threes the sailors fell as he weaved, heaved and dodged, playing them like a juggler. He tripped them, threw them and banged heads together as Takis and Vassili jeered and laughed until tears ran down their faces.

It took several sailors all at once to stop Theseus. When they realised what was afoot they set upon him together, dragged him roaring to the edge of the jetty, tipped him into the sea near their vessel and jumped in too, intending to hold him down and stop him struggling.

I am no lover of violence, a natural spectator, but fearing that Theseus would drown I ran towards them without thinking. All at once a mob of howling men leapt down from the wall and followed me into the water. Fearing for his life, they too had been propelled into action by the sight of his blond hair and soon had hold of us both as they hoisted us over their heads and onto the quay.

This was my brief moment of glory. Theseus clung onto me to steady himself after his rough treatment, spewing up salt water and gasping for breath as scores of Athenians with a vicious anger dreadful to witness closed upon them, squeezing them in the centre of an encircling pack. Their few weapons were useless, there was no room to use them. Terrified, they were pressed and trampled to death by the sheer weight and swiftness of the onslaught.

The noise of men bellowing with hatred and screaming in agony struck fear and dread to the hearts of all of us and numbed our brains, in a state of rage and madness all reason fled. Inevitably a number of Athenians died in the crush but not one Cretan survived, and in the wrecked palanquin the bloody, disfigured body of Androgeus was beyond recognition. He could only be identified by the jewel that lay intact on its golden chain around his broken neck.

Theseus and I stood dripping like those who had lifted us from the harbour. The evening sun had gone from view behind a cloud and in the half light from the reddened sky it was impossible to distinguish between salt water and the seeping blood that formed pools on the quay.

Exhausted and suddenly shocked at what had happened, everyone fell silent. Vassili and Takis ran to Theseus, hugging him, and others came forward to grasp his hands and mine. Someone thrust the jewel of Androgeus into his fingers. As it glinted in the diminishing dusk he looked at it with disgust and made as if to toss it into the sea.

Don’t do that, I pleaded but in reply he flung it away. It landed with a splash beyond the wallowing bodies.

I stared in disbelief at his profligacy, never having owned anything more precious than a wooden flute and thinking that he might have felt that I deserved it; but it was gone, lost already in some deep crevice below the waves, between the rocks where the octopus lurks at the bottom of the harbour.

Quietly and contemptuously, for my ears only he said, I would not give you the bad luck of Androgeus. Then turning away he proclaimed loudly, They won’t be taking the tribute. Share it amongst you.

The tribute!

Once again Theseus had sparked life into everyone around him. The more avaricious moved at once, clambering over the dead to take what they could carry while others hesitated, protesting loudly as they carried corpses out of the water but I gazed fixedly in disappointment at the spot where the jewel had disappeared.

You fools, what are you doing? roared a tall, beared man who came storming at us. Recognising the voice I turned to see Miltos, a sea captain, one of the elders of Athens.

They won’t need their tribute now, Theseus shouted back sharply.

These won’t, retorted Miltos loudly, but others will be back.

We can stand up to them, we no longer have to cringe, added Theseus more respectfully.

They take our property, we hate them, snarled Takis.

They also keep pirates away from our traders, said Miltos flatly through his greying beard.

A trading game; ships, men, tribute…is that all it is? scoffed Vassili.

Robbery! screamed Takis, his face again contorted and ugly.

There are worse things than robbery, growled Miltos.

I shall never forget the way he looked at us. In contrast to the faces of Vassili and Takis, smooth and flushed with anger, the leathery, whiskered cheeks and hoary beard of the sea captain clothed an expression of contemptuous calm. His voice showed no agitation but his eyes were disdainful and cold as he grasped Takis roughly