Ungodly Wealth

By Thomas Boyd

Only once in the span of uncounted lifetimes does the world change so utterly. But more than three thousand years ago, lost in the dim centuries of Greece's prehistoric past, an angry island god is about to unleash terror. This is the Bronze Age, a time when the rich culture of Minoan Crete casts its spell over the eastern Mediterranean and in Greece itself the age-old way of life is on the brink of change.

 

Rapi, a naïve young man from a small coastal village, has never known much in the way of adventure and excitement. Here in the Aegean world of 1608 BC, his narrow world is about to change when his wily sea-trader uncle, Aitol, enlists him to serve as a deck hand. He has no idea that his uncle's vessel carries a hidden cargo of immense value. The timing couldn't be worse—when they set course for the island of Atlantis they have no idea that it is fated to be destroyed. After surviving the destruction Rapi finds himself tracked by a murderous Achaian warrior who will stop at nothing to seize his uncle's valuable cargo. After forging an unlikely friendship with a Cretan fresco painter, the two of them find themselves in a life-threatening confrontation with the Achaian and his countrymen. Having infiltrated Rapi's homeland, they bring the worship of new gods, ones with strange names like Athena and Poseidon, and Apollo and Aphrodite. Rapi's world is about to change in more ways than one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Boyd
• Release date: Feb 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393526582

Book preview

Ungodly Wealth

A tale of the Aegean Bronze Age

Thomas Boyd

The Halia Cycle, Book 2

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, incidents and public or private entities either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Thomas Boyd

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the author’s written permission.

But afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea.

—Plato, Timaeus

Prologue

New evidence for Atlantis eruption

Amalgamated News Syndicate

Philip Meade, ANS Mediterranean Bureau – Mon Sep 8

SANTORINI, GREECE – According to a new study, the volcanic eruption thought to underlie the myth of Atlantis was much larger than previously believed.

The massive event occurred more than 3500 years ago and obliterated much of the Greek island of Santorini, located in the Aegean Sea about 125 miles southeast of Athens.

A joint Greek-American research team recently completed a seismic survey of the area and now estimates that the volcano released an astonishing 12 cubic miles of magma.

The resulting tsunami would have been far greater than that following 2011 disaster in Japan, said Vincent Powell, a spokesman for the research team. The impact around the Aegean must have been devastating.

In the 1960s Greek archaeologists began excavating a Bronze Age town buried in volcanic ash and pumice at Akrotiri near the south coast of Santorini. Its discovery has fed speculation that the massive eruption is at the root of Plato’s description of Atlantis.

Chapter 1

1608 BC

Rapi, younger son of Esat of Halia, would forever remember the string of events set in motion that hot, muggy afternoon. Throughout all his remaining years he wondered if the riches his uncle gained that fateful day caught the notice of the gods. Did that breathtaking windfall in some way trigger unimaginable consequences, terrible enough to stagger the imagination of any ordinary person? After all, people liked to say that the gods could be jealous when a man enjoyed inordinate success and cared not a thing for mere mortals caught in the wake of their anger.

It all began with a high-stakes exchange by barter on a small trading vessel tied up alongside a wooden jetty on the northernmost shores of the Pelasgian Sea. By then the better part of a half a moon had passed since the launch of Rapi’s brief career as a sailor. Along with his cousin Peot, he’d departed the familiar confines of the village of Halia on the well-maintained trading vessel built, owned and captained by Aitol, Rapi’s uncle and a veteran of the sea.

Twenty years of age, hard work in his father’s fields outside the village made Rapi a good candidate for the rigors of a season at sea. Lean and solidly built, his shaggy hair was the color of the mud bricks used to build the dwellings in his village, and his skin was nut brown from having spent much of his life outdoors. Even so, life aboard his uncle’s vessel couldn’t have been more different. A strict taskmaster, Aitol was determined to teach Rapi everything necessary to become a useful hand. Then there was Peot, a year older and well-accustomed to a life at sea. In his taciturn way he tolerated his younger cousin well enough, but never tired of demonstrating his superiority in all things having to do with boats and the sea.

Aitol’s intended destination, a large trading ground known in the local tongue as Pir Brenis, sat at the mouth of a shallow river that emptied into the northern reaches of the Pelasgian Sea. All but deserted in winter, the place came alive when spring returned and the tents and make-shift huts of people who gathered from all across the vastness of the north country sprang up along the broad, grassy riverbanks. No trading ground anywhere around the Pelasgian Sea rivaled the place for its size. People came from the fiercely guarded mountainous lands to the north and west, and they came from the broad plains that stretched far to the east. By custom, the influx began each year with the fifth full cycle of the moon. The event brought all types, too, from simple, honest men to brazen thieves and wily cheats.

Sea traders came to Pir Brenis, too, including men like Aitol of Halia. Flying Fish, his modest but stout trading vessel, carried a cargo that he was confident would bring him ample returns to repay so long a voyage. An experienced sailor, he prided himself on being shrewd trader, one who possessed a well-honed understanding of the path that led to satisfying profits. He knew as well as anyone that carefully selected items acquired in one port could be turned over in another where their scarcity brought gains that more than offset the labor that went into building a seaworthy vessel and assuming the risks that came with sailing it.

Because I like to see what I’ll find at the end of a voyage, Aitol replied when his nephew asked him why he chose the life of a sea trader.

People say you’ve been everywhere, Rapi said. Don’t you already know what you’ll find?

It’s not the places, nephew—it’s the people I meet. Aitol nudged the long steering oar at the rear of his vessel to make a course correction. You’ll meet no one new if you spend your life standing on some hillside watching over your sheep.

As it later turned out, Rapi could hardly blame his uncle for pursuing temptation of the sort that made this year’s visit to Pir Brenis so memorable. Every voyage Aitol had ever undertaken in half a lifetime as a sea trader entailed a degree of risk: storms arose, ships leaked, thieves lurked on land and pirates patiently waited along the sea routes. Added to these perils were sickness and injury which the uncaring gods seemed to send at the most inopportune time. And in the midst of all this the fickle spirit of fortune delighted in dangling opportunity in front of the daring and the quick-witted. But of all the risks Aitol had ever taken, never had the rewards been more exhilarating than on this particular visit to the northern shores of the Pelasgian Sea.

For the most part, the voyage from the village of Halia had been uneventful. Upon arrival Aitol turned his crew loose to explore and to see for themselves all the entertainment and diversions that a place like Pir Brenis had to offer. The second day saw Rapi and Peot under Aitol’s orders to spend time on the mundane tasks necessary to maintain their vessel. Aitol, meanwhile, scouted the trading grounds, studying and mentally calculating whatever opportunities might be found. Then everything changed on the third day. Aitol returned to Flying Fish with two men who had expressed an interest in his cargo. One of them was a short, balding man of middle years whose face seemed permanently locked in a distinctive squint. The other, despite the heat, wore a cloak that carried the remains of fur trimming. But it was the manner in which their legs were wrapped that caught Rapi’s attention.

Look at that, he whispered to his cousin from the relative protection of the boat. Why are they wearing something tied around their legs like that? To a young Pelasgian who had seldom travelled more than a day’s trek beyond his village, their visitors’ garb looked outlandish. If his comment carried a hint of disdain, he made certain he couldn’t be overheard.

They’re probably from the northern mountains, Peot replied, directing disdain of his own at his cousin who lacked the advantage of lore gathered from years spent visiting distant ports. They wrap their legs because there’s snow on the ground half the year up there.

It’s summer, Rapi objected. There can’t be snow on the ground now, can there? But as was often the case, his cousin chose not to explain further.

Although he didn’t say so, Rapi detected a vaguely sinister air about the visitors. Yes, every trader who came to a place like Pir Brenis was out to turn every opportunity to his own advantage, but in some indefinable way this pair didn’t seem to fit that mold. There was something else that struck him, too: from the moment Aitol arrived back at the jetty with the two men, both parties seemed anxious. His uncle always seemed to know what he was doing, and so he reminded himself of the fact.

Unable to make out everything Aitol and the squint-eyed man were saying, Rapi tried to be casual about edging closer. He took one step down into Flying Fish’s belly but got no further.

Out of the way, nephew, Aitol ordered while stepping off the jetty and into the boat. He beckoned the squint-eyed man to follow but when the man’s companion made to do likewise, Aitol held up a hand to block his way. No! Only one of you at a time.

Snarling something in an unfamiliar tongue, the man immediately pulled out a dagger and sprang into a crouch.

Aitol barely flinched. Tell your friend he’s not coming aboard, he said to the squint-eyed man. Peot, who knew exactly how to act in tense situations, slowly eased himself into a position where he could quickly cast off their lines if necessary. The man with the dagger spun in Peot’s direction.

Do you want to make a trade or not? Aitol snapped. The squint-eyed man shot a torrent of words at his companion, but the man with the dagger growled a reply and held his position. Squint-eyes gave Aitol a forced smile as if to reassure him, then jumped back onto the jetty. A tense parley ensued in a language neither Aitol nor any of his crew understood, but in the end the armed man reluctantly put away his weapon.

The little crisis averted for the time being, Squint-eyes climbed back into the boat to face Aitol. Now we trade, he said.

Rapi, Aitol ordered as he ushered the man toward the stern of his vessel, stay up by the bow for now. Peot, get down here and find the basket with the glass from Kanaan.

Without a word Peot turned to the task at hand. He lifted the basket and set it within the protection of a coil of heavy rope to keep it steady, then dutifully stepped back and out of the way.

Squatting down beside it, Aitol took the heavily wrapped bundle within and opened it, fold by fold, to reveal the first of eight objects, each of them individually protected in its own wrapping of cloth. He picked one at random and peeled it open to reveal a spindle-shaped vial of shimmering blue and yellow glass, not quite a hand span from base to rim. Holding it up, he slowly turned it to let the sunlight sparkle and play over its surface for the benefit of his visitor. Aitol then let Squint-eyes take it to examine it for himself. Meanwhile, the man’s companion watched intently from the side of the boat. Before Aitol could object, the man with the dagger reached out and took the delicate piece to inspect it for himself.

Aitol rose to his feet. Your friend needs to be careful with that, he said. Glass is easily broken.

Squint-eyes ignored him while his companion tapped on it with a fingernail. Rapi, watching closely, saw his uncle wince. Once the vial was safely back in Aitol’s hands his visitor gestured to the rest of the cloth-wrapped objects. Aitol obligingly opened each in turn to allow them to be checked.

Good, Squint-eyes announced at length. We take. Now show more.

After Peot handed up the next item, another basket which also contained a cloth-wrapped bundle. He unwrapped several layers of coarse sacking to reveal grayish-white clumps of fleece matted around the true contents: a tall, elegant vase of highly polished alabaster, pale greenish-yellow in color, set off with contrasting dark striations. From Crete, Aitol said, displaying his best trader’s smile. I’ll wager you’ve never seen a finer piece than this.

We take, Squint-eyes said as soon as he finished inspecting it and displaying it to his companion. Once again he demanded more in the way of goods from Flying Fish’s belly.

Now the weapons, Aitol ordered, and Peot ducked down to retrieve a heavy sack which he hoisted up to his father. Aitol opened it to reveal an assortment of bronze knives, daggers, spearheads, and a single, long-bladed sword missing the wooden grips that had once been part the weapon’s handle. There were no great prizes here, but most of the contents of the sack were at least serviceable. Those that weren’t still had value as scrap bronze, items that could be melted down and cast anew. In addition, a smaller bundle inside the larger one contained several handfuls of bronze arrowheads. The squint-eyed man hurriedly pawed through the entire collection before indicating lukewarm acceptance, then once more beckoned to see more of Aitol’s cargo.

Bring up one of those hides, Aitol said, and Peot stepped back down into the belly of the vessel. A metallic scraping sound ensued, and then Peot, muscles straining, lifted a thick slab of copper by two of its four protruding handles. Flying Fish rocked to one side with the weight as he adjusted his stance so Aitol could grip it by its other two handles and display it to Squint-eyes. ‘Hide’ referred to the characteristic shape of the ingots. They vaguely resembled the skin of a headless sheep, its four legs splayed out to serve as handles. While each weighed a full talent, they were not so heavy that a grown man couldn’t lift one unassisted.

A hide of copper—see the strike mark at the edge there? he said and pointed to the curious symbol that had been struck into the side of the ingot. Genuine Alashiyan copper, he said and stood back to allow his prospective buyer the opportunity to inspect the hide and see if any nicks or shavings had been removed, reducing its worth. None had.

How you get this? Squint-eyes asked, his expression betraying skepticism.

I trade in many things, Aitol replied with a lazy shrug. If Squint-eyes had doubts about this offering from a small, independent trader, his suspicion was well placed. The trade in bulk copper around the Pelasgian Sea was generally a closely guarded business controlled by the ruling elite.

Squint-eyes looked from Aitol to the large, flat ingot and back to Aitol. After a moment’s pause he, too, shrugged. We take, he said. Now show more.

Rapi watched his uncle’s reaction in silence: Aitol sighed and said nothing, put his hands on his hips and looked down at the goods he’d presented so far—things of considerable value—and then gazed into the distance as if to question whether all this was worth his time. The unspoken part of the language of haggling included a rich array of postures and gestures, and of facial expressions intended to convey degrees of disbelief, skepticism, impatience, insult or, when the situation called for it, condescension.

A moment later Aitol acceded to the demand. All right, he said to his son, and made a lazy gesture as if to suggest that an entire hide of copper was of only so much consequence. Haul up the other hide.

Strange, Rapi thought. So far, he hadn’t seen his uncle make decisions this quickly when trading. This little turn of events seemed to signal that Aitol was a little too eager to acquire whatever it was these men had to offer in return.

Aitol allowed the second hide to be inspected and then carefully stacked it on top of the first. He straightened up and glared at Squint-eyes. Eight vials made of the finest Kanaanite glass, he declared, the most beautiful alabaster vase either of you will ever see, and an entire sack of weapons. And now two talents of pure Alashiyan copper. Two! he added, and held up a pair of fingers as if to emphasize the significance of so much of the valuable metal.

Squint-eyes, however, voiced his dissatisfaction, and the contest resumed. In response, Aitol stepped back and postured his way through another chapter of his haggler’s repertoire. It was a game of timing as much as anything else. A moment later, when Aitol agreed to produce more goods, Rapi sensed that his uncle’s skills weren’t serving him particularly well that afternoon. And now he could hardly wait to see what these men had in their possession that had made his uncle so uncharacteristically eager.

While the bartering continued Rapi and Peot did what was expected of them at such a time: help with the cargo when told to, but otherwise stand back and utter not so much as a whisper. As often happened, too, a few onlookers gathered a short distance away to observe, and another trader’s vessel slowly paddled by on the other side of the jetty, its crew craning their necks to see what goods Flying Fish carried and what her master had put into play.

Before long, in addition to the best of his cargo, Aitol now offered four bronze feasting pans, each almost three hand spans across, and a pair of wide leather belts heavily studded with silver ornaments. As far as Rapi knew, they carried nothing else on board their vessel that had any great value. Aitol would be left with only a small quantity of unremarkable trade items like simple stone jewelry, a few pieces of plain pottery, and some ordinary cloth—items they carried in order to barter for water, food and other supplies while on a long voyage.

But when Squint-eyes still demanded more, Aitol gave the man the sort of smile he might give a child. Everything I’ve laid out here is fit for a wealthy man, he said. There are no blankets or common pots here. There isn’t a chieftain in all the north country who would turn away from prizes like these.

Squint-eyes turned and squatted at the side of the boat where he and his waiting companion could discuss the offer in whispers. When they were done he rose and faced Aitol. No. Show more.

Aitol balked, fuming inside. He had always prided himself on maintaining the upper hand when bartering. But this was different. These rough-edged barbarians had offered him the sort of trade he wouldn’t stumble across again in a thousand voyages across the Pelasgian Sea. And so just when it seemed that the whole affair would collapse, he relented. He climbed forward and surprised both Rapi and Peot by producing one last item that he’d carefully hidden up under Flying Fish’s bow: an eight-sided jewelry box fashioned of ivory over a golden frame and having a hinged lid. Its soft whiteness glowing in the sunlight made it a marvelous thing to behold. Fierce lions with raised claws faced spear-wielding hunters, all carved in high relief around its circumference, and a strange and monstrous creature with its wings spread wide occupied the surface of its lid. In Aitol’s mind its worth should have equaled at least a hide of copper, or its own weight in gold several times over. Whatever his two visitors thought of it, they finally indicated their satisfaction and acceptance once the jewelry box was added to the pile.

A deal had been struck, and with it much of the tension in the atmosphere dissolved. Squint-eyes took Aitol with him to collect the mysterious prize while his silent companion stayed behind to watch over this accumulation of newfound wealth. Rapi and Peot ignored him and sat dangling their feet over the far side of the boat.

I’ve never seen Uncle so eager, Rapi said to his cousin in a voice hardly above a whisper. What’s your guess? Gold? He got only a shrug in reply. Well then, what do you think it could be?

I don’t know, Peot replied with a hint of impatience. But if it was just gold, I don’t think he would have given up our cargo so easily.

They didn’t have to wait long before Aitol returned accompanied by Squint-eyes leading a pair of donkeys. One of the animals had been loaded with an object wrapped in a coarse woolen blanket. Rapi observed a nervous haste on the part of Squint-eyes as he unloaded it and handed it over the side of the vessel to Aitol who immediately took it below to check on the prize he had given up so much to acquire. Meanwhile, Squint-eyes beckoned to his companion to help load up their pack animals with their own newly gained possessions.

Aitol, who seemed visibly relieved that the transaction was now complete, growled a terse order. Get ready to cast off, and be quick about it!

A gentle off-shore breeze carried Flying Fish away from Pir Brenis that afternoon, but not quickly enough to satisfy Aitol who ordered his crew to take up their oars. Both Rapi and Peot pressed him about the contents of the bundle, but Aitol remained tight-lipped. From their vantage point amidships, however, they caught a glimpse of a low, wooden crate when Aitol went below and bound it tightly with heavy cord. It measured the length of a man’s arm from elbow to fingertips on each side and not quite half that in height.

Keep your hands off this, understand? he warned over his shoulder. I don’t want to see either of you anywhere near it!

Chapter 2

Sweat poured from Rapi’s brow and stung his eyes. The sun god had just risen above a thick cloudbank hanging low on the eastern horizon and now burned fiercely through the still, humid air of early morning. Wisps of steam floated up from the dew-covered surfaces of Flying Fish where the heat of a new day began to warm her planks and her furled sail.

Aitol stood at the steering oar, fretting at the sight of a small shape on the horizon behind them. Pull on those oars! he urged his crew, for the wind spirit had not yet awoken, leaving Flying Fish to loll in a maddeningly calm sea.

Rapi and his cousin did as they were told. That was what he and Peot were here for: to row when necessary, to load and unload cargo and supplies, to raise and lower the vessel’s square sail on its cypresswood yard, to bail the seawater that slowly and incessantly seeped into the bilge, and to jump to anything else that Aitol demanded.

He glanced at Peot and tried to read his face. As usual, nothing, no sign of the apprehension that he himself felt. His uncle had