“Where is this Island of Fantasy?”
Crispin looked up with a quick smile.
“Oh, he told you the name Justinian calls it! The Island of Fantasy in imagination, and Melnos in reality, is situated in the southern portion of the Ægean Sea, beyond Paros, beyond Amorgos, nay, even beyond Anapli. As a matter of fact, it is a little-known island, hidden, to speak exactly, in the Cretan Sea, between Telos and Crete.”
“I thought I was rather good at geography, but I never heard of the Island of Melnos before. Has it anything to do with the Island of Melos?”
“No; that is more to the north. But I do not wonder at your ignorance, as Melnos is known only to the sailors and shepherds who are thoroughly acquainted with that portion of the Archipelago.”
“What kind of an island is it?”
“A mountain—a volcanic mountain, extinct of course for the present, though I would not be surprised if it blew up one day and sent Justinian flying in the air with all his subjects.”
“Is this Justinian a king, that you talk about his subjects?”
“Well, a kind of minor king, such as Odysseus might have been. I know him very well.”
“And Helena?”