“Forget it,” I said. “I gather that Frederick isn’t too popular with his colleagues. Or do you have a more personal reason for disliking him?”

“Oh, no. My boss knows him pretty well; I guess he’s prejudiced me. Look, why do we have to talk about that old-sorry, I keep forgetting he’s your boss. Is there any reason why we can’t be friends? Just because our employers don’t see eye to eye-”

“No reason at all,” I said cheerfully. “I’m a great believer in friendly relations.”

“Then start out by having dinner with me.”

“I don’t know… I’m cook and bottle washerat the dig. And Frederick wasn’t feeling so hot when I left today. We went for a swim this morning, and he overdid it.”

I threw this comment out to see whether Jim would say anything about a ban on diving. His response was more than satisfactory-no suspicion, and considerable interest.

“I’m glad you aren’t swimming alone. Don’t do it, will you?”

I laughed lightly. “Listen, chum, I live in Florida. I grew up in the water.”

“Then you know how stupid it is to take chances. If he can’t go with you, how about me?”

“You?” I repeated, in innocent surprise.

“Sure. I don’t work twenty-four hours a day. We could set up a time-every day, if you want to.”

I considered this handsome offer. And, I mean, it was handsome. It was also impractical. Obviously I couldn’t carry out my explorations in the little bay of the villa with Jim hovering around. But it might not be a bad idea to meet him now and then for some casual swimming in another place.

“I couldn’t do it every day,” I said. “I could let you know. Where are you staying?”

“The hotel.”

“Geez,” I said. Everything I had seen about the hotel, from the greasy tabletop to the waiter’s apron, made me thankful I wasn’t staying there. At least I could keep the house clean.

“That expresses it pretty well,” Jim agreed. “Fortunately I have a cast-iron stomach and all my shots are up to date. Those qualities, plus a bottle of disinfectant, have kept me healthy so far.”

“Are you all staying there?” I asked.

There was a pause. It didn’t last very long, but with the intuitive sympathy I felt for this man, I sensed that it was meaningful. Finally Jim said,

“There are just the two of us. Me and Sir Christopher. A couple of the islanders are semi-trained; they worked with Marinatos at Akrotiri, where the first Minoan houses were found.”

Another pause followed.

“That’s a coincidence,” I said. “There’s just the two of us, too. Me and Frederick. That’s why I ought to go back. I mean, if he is sick-”

“No, don’t leave. The food here isn’t that bad, if you like olive oil. And you ought to see the procession. It will interest you, in light of what we said about the survival of old religious practices.”

“Procession?”

“They carry the saint’s image around town and up the hill. It blesses the houses and the fields, and visits a little cave-shrine farther up, which may have been a sacred spot since the Bronze Age.”

“Oh, well,” I said, abandoning the call of duty. “If it’s an educational experience, I owe it to myself to stay.”

We sat for a while in a comfortable silence, watching the people moving around the plaza. Some of the women were wearing gorgeous peasant costumes-only these weren’t costumes, they were the finery that was saved for special occasions, handed down from mother to daughter. Yards of handmade lace trimmed the aprons and tall white caps. The bodices were embroidered in bright colors, and there were lots of gold coins in evidence, made into necklaces and earrings and heavy collars, hanging in festoons across the women’s foreheads.

The sun was down behind the mountains to the west, and a queer hazy light suffused the plaza. It was still light enough to see clearly, though. I saw the woman as soon as she appeared. She was striking enough to attract anyone’s attention; her clothing alone would have made her stand out in that crowd, where the women were wearing either rusty black or the local peasant finery. This woman’s dress had never come from Thera, or even from Athens. It looked like Paris -a long, mauvey pinky-blue chiffon, heavily trimmed in gold, with little glitters like rhinestones-only the sparks were rainbow fire, brilliant as no imitation diamond can be. Out of the floating folds of chiffon her throat and head rose superbly. The heavy dark hair was wound into an intricate coiffure, held by gold bands. I could see that she was rather stoutly built, from the way the breeze molded the soft fabric against her heavy breasts and thighs. She moved slowly, and as she moved, so did the crowd. It fell back before her, opening a path down which she advanced straight toward the straggly tree in the center of the plaza. There she stopped. She was half turned away from us, and I could see a fine profile, classic in its straight brow-nose line. The funny thing was that she paid no attention to anyone, neither speaking nor nodding; and although they made room for her, none of the crowd appeared to see her.

“Who’s that?” I asked. “Wow, what a gorgeous dress!”

“Too flamboyant for my taste. But she’s a flamboyant creature, isn’t she? She lives in that villa on the other side of town-the big white one on the cliff.”

“I saw it this morning. You mean she owns that place?”

“Not exactly.” Jim was silent for a second or two; then he abandoned himself to the joys of gossip. Men are worse gossips than women, actually. I noticed that years ago.

“She doesn’t live there alone,” Jim went on. “She’s either the wife or the mistress of a peculiar old guy who hardly ever leaves the villa. I’ve seen him once or twice; he rides horseback. Has two or three magnificent horses that look as out of place on this island as his girl friend does. Who and what he is I don’t know. He never comes to town.”

“You don’t know much,” I said critically. “If I talked Greek the way you do, I’d have found out lots more. You don’t even know whether she’s his wife or his mistress?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not his wife.”

“Pretty sure! Don’t tell me the men in this town don’t gossip about her.”

“Oddly enough, they don’t.” Jim gestured at the woman, who stood stock-still in the center of the plaza, gazing off into space. “Notice that there’s quite a crowd around the outskirts, but not a soul within ten feet of her. Nobody talks to her. And nobody talks about her. I admit I’m just as nosy as the next guy. The first time I saw her she fascinated me; she was wearing slacks and some kind of fancy blouse, with loads of jewelry. The outfit was absolutely ridiculous in this little place. So I naturally asked who she was. Everybody clammed up. I finally pried out the information I’ve just given you, but it took me days. They don’t want to talk about her. It’s as if she didn’t exist.”

“What’s her name?”

“They don’t call her anything. I keep telling you, they don’t talk about her. I overheard a sentence or two, one time, that I’m pretty sure referred to her, and they mentioned the word ‘Potnia.’ That’s not a name, though. It’s a title.”

The word was vaguely familiar. Then I remembered where I had seen it. Jim didn’t pronounce it as I would have expected.

“But that’s the old word for the Minoan goddess,” I said. “It means ‘the Lady,’ or ‘the Mistress.’ Not that kind of mistress…”

“No. Not that kind.”

I looked again at the motionless figure in the plaza. The eerie light of dusk was gathering, dimming the outlines of her face and body. The evening breeze lifted the fragile folds of fabric so that their edges blended with the shadows. A little shiver ran through me. Jim’s hand tightened over mine.

“Are you cold?”

“No.” I shook myself mentally. I was getting fey, and I didn’t like the feeling. It reminded me of the moments in the museum at Herakleion. Greece was an eerie place, there were too many old traditions lingering. I forced a pragmatic tone into my voice.