The Dancer from Atlantis by Poul Anderson Page A

several industries were carried
     on by men. Through open sheddoors, Reid glimpsed in action a smithy, a ropewalk, a tannery, a potter’s wheel, a carpenter shop.
    ‘Are these all slaves, my lord?’ he asked.
    ‘Not all,’ Theseus said. ‘Particularly, it’s not wise to keep many unfree males about. We hire them, mostly Athenians, a few
     skilled foreigners.’ He grinned, his grin that never seemed to reach deeper than his teeth. ‘They’re encouraged to breed brats
     on our bondwomen. Thus everyone’s happy.’
    Except maybe the bondwomen, Reid thought, the more so when their boys are sold away.
    Theseus scowled. ‘We have to keep a Cretan clerk. No need; we’ve men who can write, aye, men whose forebears taught the Cretans
     to write! But the Minos requires it of us.’
    To keep track of income and outgo, Reid deduced, partly for purposes of assessing tribute, partly for indications of what
     the Athenians may be up to. Say, what’s this about the Achaeans being literate before the Minoans were? That doesn’t make
     sense.
    Theseus halted his complaint before he should grow indiscreet. ‘I thought we’d drive out to my own farmstead,’ he suggested.
     You can see a good bit on the way, and for myself I want to make sure the threshing and storing are well in hand.’
    ‘I’d enjoy that, my lord.’
    The stable was the sole stone building, no doubt because horses were too valuable and loved to risk to fire. Not as big as
     their twentieth-century counterparts, they nevertheless were mettlesome animals which whickered softly and nuzzled Theseus’
     palm when he stroked them. ‘Hitch Stamper and Long-tail to the everyday chariot,’ he ordered the head groom. ‘No, don’t summon
     a driver. I’ll take ’em.’
    Two men could stand on the flat bed of the car, behind a bronze front and sides decorated with bas-reliefs. In war Theseus,
     armored, would have kept his place behind a near-naked youth who had the reins, himself wielding spear and sword against enemy
     infantry. Reid decided that was a skill which could only be acquired by training from babyhood. He had everything he could
     do just hanging on in the unsprung conveyance.
    Theseus flicked whip over the horses and they clattered out. The twin wheels squeaked and rumbled. Even lacking ball bearings,
     it didn’t seem like much of a load for a pair of animalsto draw. Then Reid noticed the choking chest-strap harness. What if Oleg made a horse collar?
    Athens clustered nearly to the top of steep, rocky Acropolis Hill. It was a fair-sized city by present-day standards; Reid
     guessed at twenty or thirty thousand inhabitants, though a floating population from the hinterland and foreign parts might
     raise that figure. (He asked Theseus and got a quizzical stare. The Achaeans kept close track of many things, but counting
     people had not occurred to them.) Much of the settled area lay outside the defensive walls, indicating rapid growth. Buildings
     were adobe, flat-roofed, often three or four stories high, jammed along narrow, unpaved, crazily twisting streets. In those
     lanes Reid did see hogs, competing with mongrels, mice, roaches, and clouds of flies for the offal tossed from houses.
    ‘Make way!’ Theseus trumpeted. ‘Make way!’
    They parted for him, the warriors, craftsmen, merchants, mariners, innkeepers, shopkeepers, scribes, laborers, prostitutes,
     housewives, children, hierophants, and Lord knew what whose movement and babble brought the city to life. Glimpses remained
     with Reid: A woman, one hand supporting a water jug on her head, one lifting her skirts above the muck. A gaunt donkey, overburdened
     with faggots, lashed forward by its countryman owner. A booth where a sandalmaker sat crying his wares. Another booth where
     a typically intricate bargain had just been struck, payment to be made partly in kind and partly in an agreed-on weight of
     metal. A coppersmith at work, shutting the whole world out of his head except for his