His thoughts turned to his father, his brother, Gelanor, his sister, Bateia. What of Iros, his child-wife? Had those lethal poison clouds of fire reached Mycenae? He and Menoetius were prisoners of this destruction. How long would it be before they could find out what had happened elsewhere?
In one night, the invincible country of Crete was rendered weak and vulnerable; grief and shock seemed to have numbed the rulers into listless apathy.
He half-hoped the kingdoms of Argolis had suffered as much damage to their ships and harbors, for if they hadn’t, they would soon arrive to take advantage of this newly helpless land.
“What is out there, beyond our sight?” Chrysaleon muttered. “Isy. Kos. Rhodes. Does anything live, anywhere?”
“Truly, Goddess Athene’s anger is terrible, that she would destroy her own faithful lands.” Menoetius made the sign against evil.
“What caused this anger? What did these people do?”
“Some say you brought it.”
Chrysaleon faced his brother. “Why?” He’d felt the growing chill directed toward him, glimpsed it in averted faces.
“You’ve heard the rumors. Their oracle claims one of us desecrated the shrine on Callisti. She says this man raped and murdered the holy priestess. You and I are the same to them, barbarians who give allegiance to Poseidon, not Athene.”
“If Lady Athene did not want me as Iphiboë’s consort, why did I win the Games? Aridela’s father was a warrior of Gla. He was heaped with honor and glory. Why did they not kill me, instead of Iphiboë, if they think I am the reason for all this?”
Shrugging, Menoetius said, “I merely repeat the gossip. I have no answers. The people are afraid, and want to blame someone. Anyone.”
“I must diffuse this suspicion.”
“How?”
“I will find a way.”
Survivors from the eastern provinces claimed they walked through ash so deep it covered their anklebones. Fire and the heave of the earth obliterated Elasa, the palace-temple in the northeast, and Phaistos in the south.
Messengers from the western provinces, however, offered brighter news. Only a smattering of ash fell west of the Ida mountains, and no one saw any poison clouds. The ground suffered nothing more than minor quivers as the Earth Bull cleared his throat. Crops in the west might survive, unless this unseasonable frost continued.
A lethargic Helice followed the admonishments of the council and relocated her court while repairs commenced on Labyrinthos and the port of Amnisos. After hearing from every precinct, she chose an inconspicuous hamlet in the southwest province as her temporary refuge. Even though it lay on the coast, the murderous waves ravaged only its harbor and ships; the village, tucked into the cliffs and hills, suffered no damage.
Though death and injury had diminished her entourage, the royal train still stretched in a seemingly endless serpentine line. Aridela, reclining in a litter just behind Helice’s, peered backward at refugees, litters, oxen, carts, donkeys and goats, and wondered how a negligible spot like Natho could possibly feed and shelter them all. Not only would this influx of people need to be fed, but food and other essentials must also be found and sent back to those who worked in the ruined areas. Her mother should have picked Kydonia, a major city center in the northwest that also escaped the worst of the destruction, but Helice confessed to a shrinking horror of the entire northern coast, and wanted to be as far from it as possible.
Ash polluted the snowfall on the eastern slopes of Mount Ida. All the way through the pass, bouts of thunder and lightning threatened; cold darkness made day and night nearly indistinguishable and the earth shuddered as though recoiling from a mortal wound. Every time thunder muttered or a blood-red moon rose in the heavens, Aridela recoiled too, and fought off streams of fear, guilt, memories, and grief.
Yet as the procession emerged onto the west side of the mountain, sunlight pierced the clouds, glinting against drifts of pure snow. There was no discernable ash. The air was clean and fresh. The land continued to improve the farther south and west they traveled. Dusty green olive groves stretched across the foothills. Cypresses remained tall, unbent. It felt as though the queen’s court had abandoned Kaphtor altogether and journeyed to a distant, undisturbed country.
The people of Natho emerged in welcome, yet none cheered or threw flowers as they would have normally. They kept their heads lowered; swollen-eyed women offered sympathy as the royal family passed, and touched the edges of Helice’s litter. Aridela heard the words our beloved queen repeated until it merged into a sorrowful chant.
Chrysaleon, wearing the king’s crown, along with the fact that he and Menoetius were the only ones riding horses, made it easy for the people to identify him as the mysterious foreign bull-king.
No one here knew Iphiboë had dreaded taking him as consort, or that Chrysaleon and Aridela were lovers. They didn’t know the affectionate title of ‘Gold Lion’ used on the mainland, nor had they heard any gossip suggesting he might be the cause of the destruction. They believed him an honorable king, cheated through no fault of his own out of his kingdom, queen, and country, and generously extended their sympathy.
Do you think I haven’t seen how you look at each other? An ox could see.
Tears welled, blurring Aridela’s first glimpse of her new home. Iphiboë had blessed Aridela’s union with Chrysaleon. She’d never made accusations, never suggested he might have secret motives when he lay with Aridela or sought to win the kingship.
We go about our lives in ignorance, but the Goddess has every shade and texture perfectly woven into a magnificent tapestry.
Iphiboë knew, perhaps for years, how she would die. Yet she never said a word. She’d embraced her death with faith and courage, while shrinking at the thought of coupling with a man. While Aridela complained about her own small dissatisfactions, Iphiboë carried this heavy secret. How long had Aridela felt superior to her sister, only to discover, when it was too late, that her sister was not what she seemed.
The road made sharp switchbacks through the village and up a steep hill. At the summit, the travelers beheld the sea, sparkling and cobalt blue as always, peaceful, as though its open-jawed hunger for destruction and death was nothing more than a bad dream. Only distant piles of trash and the lack of ships in the harbor below offered any suggestion of harm.
Their guides brought them to a spacious villa overlooking the sea, offered for their use by the merchant who built it.
Aridela drew in a deep breath.
She felt isolated and alone in a land of strangers.
Once, in happier times, Aridela and Iphiboë whisked a visiting emissary’s daughter away from her nurses. An unruly Aridela conceived the prank and bullied her sister into going along. They took the five-year-old to a waterfall where they often swam, and talked her into jumping off the cliff to the pool beneath. Through Athene’s grace, the child came to no harm. When Helice and her guest discovered his daughter missing and the Cretan nurses came crying about losing the princesses, an alarm was called. Searchers found the three girls beside the pond. Aridela had placed a crown of moss and leaves on the naked child’s brow and was teaching her to commune with the water spirits. Helice’s daughters were sent to their chambers with nothing to eat but stale bread for three days, and forced to apologize to the foreigner for their bad manners.
Eight days after the move to Natho, Aridela dreamed of that event, but this time it was Iphiboë who leaped from the top of the waterfall. The grassy hill transformed into the sharp murderous cliffs over the sea. The face she lifted toward Aridela as she dropped to her death was filled with accusation. Rocks at the bottom shattered her body and silenced her screams.
“Where is our prince this morning?” Helice murmured. “It grows late. I fear Lycus may come and there will be more unpleasantness.”
Neither the Destruction nor the passage of time had cooled Lycus’s hatred for the foreign prince from Mycenae. Since the night Chrysaleon nearly killed him in the labyrinth as they fought
for kingship, Lycus’s rage had only escalated.
The petulance in her mother’s voice startled Aridela back to the present, to the airy chamber where they were having breakfast.
“Then why invite him?” Selene asked. “It only aggravates Lycus’s jealousy.”
Aridela looked down at her untouched figs and barley bread. A maid poured her a cup of goat’s milk, once a favorite. Now the smell of it gave her a headache.
“I feel as Lycus does,” Selene said. “Look what came of a barbarian winning the Games. It would be better for Kaphtor if he leaves on the first ship strong enough to carry him home.”
“Would you send Menoetius away so easily?” Aridela asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
Selene’s gaze faltered.
Helice dismissed the tension with an impatient sigh. “We must find a way for these western precincts to feed the entire island,” she said. “Surplus stores from the palaces will help. But the workers tell me most of the grain and honey jars at Labyrinthos were crushed. Aridela, I am meeting today with local farmers. Go with me. Put your mind to work—brooding helps nothing.” She leaned over to touch her daughter’s hand. “I worry about you.”
Aridela avoided her mother’s tender gaze. She couldn’t confess the depth of her grief and guilt to Helice, who remained ignorant of all that had transpired between her daughter and the foreign prince. Aridela felt closer to Chrysaleon than ever. His actions during the cataclysm had replaced her girlish infatuation with admiration and trust. He’d offered his body in defense of hers, when rifts in the earth sought to swallow them. It must have been agonizing for him when she’d climbed up his chest and over his injuries. He’d stretched his arm over her head and shoulders in an effort to protect her during the blaze of wind-fire, and later, at Phaistos, he tried to shelter her from the horrors. He never left her side except when he descended into the underground to rescue survivors and to search for water.
She didn’t want to add to her mother’s despair, either. Helice was no longer the proud, invincible queen of legend and bard song. Iphiboë’s death had completed the ruin of that monarch, much like the poison gases, ashfall, and earthshakings ruined Kaphtor. The queen had little interest in anything now, and spent most of every day in her darkened bedchamber, alone with her grief.
“Don’t worry about me, Mother,” she said. “I’m just tired.”
Themiste’s visionary recounting of the barbarian overthrow on Callisti hadn’t dampened Aridela’s yearning for the prince from Mycenae. Thankfully, Helice disagreed that Chrysaleon should be held to blame for the actions of other men simply because they hailed from his area of the world.
When Helice’s expression remained distressed, she added, “I dream of Iphiboë… often.”
“Messengers from Labyrinthos tell us there have been no convulsions of the earth since her sacrifice,” Selene said. “They say the sky is beginning to clear. Her intercession has softened the Lady’s anger, I know it. Iphiboë proved herself worthy and courageous, yet, Aridela, even so, you know taking the throne would have been difficult for her.”
The Natho merchant’s ubiquitous servants opened the far doors, saving Aridela from finding a reply. They bowed as Chrysaleon and his guard entered the room. Silence fell as people throughout the chamber nudged each other.
The prince was clean-shaven. The sight of his bare young face resurrected in startling detail Aridela’s dream on Mount Juktas.
For longer than you can imagine, I will be with you, in you, of you. Together, we bring forth a new world. Nothing can ever part us.
She’d nearly forgotten that warm, honeyed night and seductive voice. Thinking of it now left her aching for lost sunny days, when she had nothing to do but plot a romance with Lycus, dream of golden gods, bicker with Iphiboë, and complain about tutors she thought were too strict.
He approached the queen’s table and bowed.
“My lady,” he said.
Helice stood, inclining her head as formally as he. “What has happened to your beard, my lord?”
“Kaphtor is my home now,” he replied. “I want to adopt her customs and traditions.”
“You show us great honor. I can only apologize to you for the poor showing you’ve been given so far.” She paused then briskly gestured to the cushions beside her. “I haven’t yet had a chance to ask after your father. All Kaphtor joins me in hope that your country escaped these troubles. Sit here with me. Have something to eat.”
“First, my lady, I crave your indulgence.” Chrysaleon’s voice carried through the room.
Silence, thickened by curiosity, infused the chamber.
“All we possess is yours, Zagreus,” Helice said, inclining her head again.
“Yes, I am Zagreus, bull-king of Kaphtor. I performed every rite you asked of me and was chosen to win by Lady Athene. But it is a title without meaning. I am unaccustomed to such idleness, my lady, and have given the dilemma much consideration. Since I can never be consort to Iphiboë, I propose that you join Princess Aridela to me in her stead.”
Helice stared, clearly shocked. The rest of the room echoed with the lively, scandalized whispering of those who overheard.
“I won the Games,” he continued. “I strengthened my claim through the killing of the Zagreus. I am here, ready to make the thirteen sacrifices and fulfill my obligation. I want to lead our people back to Athene’s grace.”
An odd ringing in Aridela’s ears almost drowned out his voice. She clenched her hands to stop their quivering. No, not now, she thought. Not yet. You belittle Iphiboë with this haste.
Chrysaleon cut through the rising wave of gossip. “Queen Helice,” he said, “I offer myself without condition, though more than a month of my rightful time as consort has been stolen from me—”
“You go too far, barbarian.”
Lycus, assisted by two women, entered just in time to hear the last part of Chrysaleon’s speech.
Helice sighed and nodded to her guards; they advanced, one on either side of Lycus, and seized his arms, pushing the women away.
He struggled, staring with white-rimmed eyes from Chrysaleon to Helice to Aridela. “You restrain me? He’s the one. He fools you all. Are you thick-headed, or blind?”
“Take him to his chamber,” Helice said. “He needs rest.” Her lips tightened as the guards dragged Lycus from the room. She motioned to a handmaid. “Send Rhené to him,” she said in a low voice, “with poppy.” Turning back to Chrysaleon, she smiled and bowed. “Patience, my lord. As you know, Lycus has not yet recovered from his wounds.”
His angry frown smoothed. “I understand the suspicion your people feel,” he said. “I am a foreigner, a barbarian, as some say. But, Queen Helice, I ask you to understand what prompts me to make this offer.” He paused, half-turning as if to include the onlookers in his speech. “Never in my life have I known any woman comparable to the royal daughters of Kaphtor. Iphiboë possessed the courage of the wild lions that rule my homeland’s mountains. I see the same courage in her sister. I saw it when she stepped into the ring to meet the bull, and again the night Phaistos burned. The acceptance Lady Aridela has shown me, a foreigner, recalls my mother, whose nobility never failed her in any circumstance. She was famed throughout Argolis for her spirit and generosity.” He paused again, meeting Helice’s gaze, and added, his voice betraying nothing but steady confidence, “Love for the princess of Kaphtor has overtaken all other ambition. I offer my life in her service. Surely Lady Athene herself instilled this desire in me.”
The carved ivory disks and onyx beads hanging from the circlet around Helice’s head trembled. So did her voice, just slightly, as she replied. “Prince Chrysaleon, you show us great honor. My daughter feels as I do.”
Aridela nodded, but she knew by Helice’s set mouth, shuttered eyes, and the deliberate use of his real name, what she was thinking. It’s too soon. Menoetius, standing to the side, scowled as though he, too, disagreed with Chrysaleon’s rash actions. If only she were still frien
ds with the man she had known as Carmanor. She could advise him and he could in turn advise his master. Tears filled her eyes. She seemed incapable of finishing half a day without self-indulgent tears spouting over one thing or another.
“These matters cannot be undertaken lightly,” Helice continued. “They deserve the most serious consideration.”
Chrysaleon nodded.
“You have in truth won the Games. You made the great sacrifice, as our traditions demand. You have honored every requirement set before the man who would be consort and bull-king. Your worth is beyond question.”
He sent a quick glance toward Aridela.
“I must discuss your request with my council. Nothing is as it was, my lord.”
“I await your decision,” he said.
With unreadable eyes and an impassive face, Helice motioned to Aridela to accompany her, and left the chamber.
Themiste could not be found, so Helice’s twelve advisors convened without her. Oneaea, the queen’s sister and chief counselor, drummed her fingers on the table and leveled a narrowed glare upon Aridela. “Did you have knowledge of this beforehand?”
“No.” Aridela spoke the truth, yet her lover’s character should have warned her. He wasn’t a man to wait for things to happen. He was a man who made things happen. The fact that his life would end in one year if he remained on Kaphtor as bull-king must have spurred him to disregard the inauspicious timing and make this preemptive move. What brought beads of sweat to her scalp and uncomfortable heat to her face now was the fear of his actions leading to their secret being exposed. The humiliation and scorn would be worse than any physical punishment.
“It is most grave,” Oneaea continued. “There is much to be decided and the path we tread is dangerous. But I tell you: I will never condone such a union, even if we were to put aside Themiste’s choice for your future. An Achaean—the same breed as Callisti’s destroyer. Everyone knows by now of the Minos’s vision. All the mainland clans are cursed. If we allow any collaboration with them, I have no doubt we will suffer the consequences. Were it up to me, I would banish the prince and all his men to some out-of-the-way corner until a ship can carry them away.” Oneaea sent the queen a stern, openly blaming gaze.
The Thinara King (The Child of the Erinyes) Page 6
