The wine was too sweet, but it was potent. Kore kept refilling my glass and urging me to drink up. She continued to talk, at first about Greeks and Romans and antiquities; but then the topic changed. As I listened, I was reminded of some of the nature freaks I had known back at school. I believe in a lot of that sort of thing, actually: the unity of living creatures, the great underlying life force, life and death as part of an unending circle. For what is death but reabsorption into the universe? And if the body is absorbed, what happens to the soul-the spark of life that animates the body and makes it something more than a collection of molecules?

I had heard it all before, from different people. The Hare Krishnas and the back-to-nature types, and my roommate, who was reading Sybil Leek and studying to be a witch-you name it, you can find it on a college campus. I knew about reincarnation, too. That was what Kore was talking about, although she didn’t use the word, but kept referring to rebirth. When I was young I used to think the idea made a lot of sense. It explains so many things-the seeming waste of life, only a few short years of enjoyment before you get old and senile and sick; the queer memories of things you couldn’t have experienced in your present life; the sudden, unreasoning antipathies and affections you feel for people and food and other things. It’s an old, old idea; a lot of people have believed in it.

“I had a boyfriend once, named Joe,” I said.

“Yes?” Kore said softly.

“He believed in reincarnation. He used to tell me we had been lovers in medieval Italy.” I giggled. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”

“But why not?”

“He used to quote me things,” I went on dreamily. “From Nietzsche and other people who believed in it too. He made me read that book about Bridey Murphy. I didn’t really believe it, but I’ve had some queer experiences. A couple of weeks ago when I was in Crete…”

I stopped. The room was getting hazy as the sun sank lower. Broad streaks of light lay across the floor like a carpet of gold.

“I’m getting drunk,” I said distinctly. “What’s in this wine?”

“You are not drunk,” Kore murmured. “What happened in Crete?”

“Funny,” I said. “Funny dreams, about the Minotaur and Theseus. I was there, watching them. And when I went to Knossos… They callit déjà vu. I’ve read about it. Scientists can explain it-”

“Scientists know nothing,” Kore said scornfully. “You know Knossos? What is so strange about that? You have lived before, you will live again. Many lives. One of them in ancient Crete. You were Greek, like me. Perhaps we know each other, then. I feel this.”

“Ariadne wasn’t Greek,” I said grumpily. “She was a Minoan, Cretan.”

“No. She lived in the last great days of the palace, after the destruction, after the Greeks came from the mainland and made a new palace and new dynasty in the ruins. What you see now in Knossos is the remains of this dynasty-all Greek. It is the Greek Minos who has subjugated Athens; to him are sent the boys and girls for the sacrifice; it is his daughter who loves the stranger prince. Only now are scientists learning this is true. You read, in the books-it is true! But I have known. Always I have known. Why do you shiver? It is not cold here.”

“It was horrible,” I said. “That slimy, dark, stinking hole… Why did I let him go? Hecouldn’t have found the way if I hadn’t helped him.”

I had not been aware that Kore had risen, but she was now standing beside me. Her hand was on my forehead.

“The sin,” she whispered. “It haunts you, all these years, yes? You must expiate the sin. Soon-”

The door opened with a sound that echoed like a pistol shot. I jumped halfway out of the chair. Kore stepped back.

Keller stood in the doorway. His eyes moved from me to Kore.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“She is not feeling well,” said Kore calmly. “I have told you, it was not wise for her to come down.”

Keller crossed the room with long, angry-looking strides. He reached for my wineglass.

“Why do you give her this? No wonder the child is sick.” He turned to a tall cabinet and came back with a glassful of clear liquid. “Drink this.”

I drank it. It tasted foul. As soon as I had emptied the glass, Keller dragged me roughly to my feet.

“Come to the window. You need air.”

The window was of the French type. It stood half ajar. Keller kicked it open and pulled me out into the courtyard. I was feeling better, but I was still staggering. We stood by the fountain, his hand tight on my arm.

“Breathe,” he said harshly. “Deeply. Again. That is-”

The sound-a blend of crack and whine and crash-cut through the last word. The crash was that of broken glass from the window behind us. Keller went down, dragging me with him. I thought he was hit, and tried to get to my knees; his hand slammed into my back, knocking me down behind the low parapet of the fountain. A fusillade of shots rang out, but these, unlike the first, came from the house. Turning, I saw Kore standing amid a sparkle of broken glass. She was holding a rifle.

Keller shouted at her.

“I cover you,” she shouted back. “But I think he has gone.”

“Stay here,” Keller said to me. He stood up and ran a zigzag course toward the gate on the south wall. My skin crawled, but nothing happened.

I stayed there. Kore stood in the doorway, the rifle at her shoulder. After a few minutes the gate opened again and Keller came back.

“No one,” he said.

I stood up, very, very slowly. Kore dropped the gun with a clatter and ran to Keller.

“He has hit you!”

“It is only a scratch,” said Keller.

We went back in the house. Keller seemed unconcerned about the reddening slash that had slit his shirt sleeve; he waved Kore away impatiently when she tried to fuss over him. She was as white as a dark-skinned woman can be.

“I kill him,” she muttered.

“How do you know it was a man?” Keller asked dryly. “I am not so popular that a woman might not try to shoot at me. Kore, sit down and drink some wine. It is not the first time.”

“You mean people go around shooting at you all the time?” I asked curiously. The excitement had cleared my brain; I felt quite alert and inquisitive.

Keller shrugged. “When I first came here, there were a few incidents.”

“But not for years,” Kore said. “I thought…”

“You thought you had learned how to deal with these people,” Keller said. “It seems you were mistaken.”

“No,” Kore said slowly. “I think I was not mistaken.”

At Keller’s suggestion we had brandy all around. I barely sipped mine, figuring I needed to keep my head clear. And I was right. The fun and games weren’t over.

We hadn’t been sitting for long when there was a loud knock at the front door. Keller and Kore exchanged startled looks, and Kore reached for the rifle that was leaning hazardously against her chair.

Keller clucked disapprovingly. “You must not be so nervous,” he said. “Put the gun away. It was foolish, what you did. You might have been killed, standing in the open.”

The knock was repeated. I heard footsteps in the hall as one of the servants went to answer it, and then the sound of voices. I almost dropped my glass. I recognized one of the voices-the louder of the two. Keller stood up, but made no move to go to the door. It was opened by the young Greek girl who had served the wine. She was flushed and distraught. Twisting her hands nervously, she started to speak. Someone pushed her out of the way.

“She did try to keep me out,” Frederick said. “I take it you do not encourage visitors.”

He looked at each of us in turn, his face registering no particular emotion. I waited curiously to hear what he would say to these ghosts out of his past. In a movie it would have been something like, “So, Herr Kapitan, we meet again!” But Frederick, as I ought to have learned, never wasted his breath on meaningless speeches. Instead, he spoke to me.