Eventually he happened upon the Bull Pen, where my brother lives. In the extremity of his terror, the madman attacked my brother with a knife. The Athenians did nothing, of course, except to run like so many squawking chickens. When the soldiers came, Asterius was snorting with rage, trampling about the enclosure with blood and foam speckling his arms and chest. The poor fool lay dead, his neck broken.
I could not prevent myself from thinking of this now. What if—what if Glaucus had gone to see our brother Asterius? What if Glaucus had teased Asterius, pulled on his tail, tormented him in some way? Surely Asterius would not—
My heart beating uncomfortably in my chest, I nearly ran to the Bull Pen. It could not have happened, it ought not to have happened, with those servants present. Yet no one knew better than I that servants are not always to be relied upon. I could not believe that all thirteen of the Athenians would stand by while their charge tore a seven-year-old child of royal blood to pieces, but still my feet paced faster and faster as I ran deeper and deeper into the maze.
In the Bull Pen, all seemed much the same as on my earlier visit, except that Asterius was asleep amid piles of hay. The servants arose and saluted me.
"He is not here, my lady," said one immediately. "The little prince is not here. The king, he came and asked and we said, 'No, no little boy came here.'" If my father himself had come looking for Glaucus, then the situation was indeed grave.
I looked about for signs that they were lying, but saw none. There was no indication of a struggle, no terrible patch of blood, nothingto suggest that anything but eating and drinking and gambling had gone on here. If Asterius had been involved in anything like what I dreaded, I knew that he would not now be sleeping but still rampaging about, bellowing and pawing at the dirt floor.
Asterius awoke and came to me. Disappointed that I had brought him no gifts of food, he felt inside my pockets and shook his heavy head mournfully. It occurred to me that I had not taken him outside lately—he must be bored.
It was growing ever more difficult to allow my brother the freedom of being outside, away from the Labyrinth. My father claimed, especially after the incident with the fool, that he was likely to kill someone. I had no such fears, but I was not sure I still had the ability to restrain him if he took it into his head to bolt.
Never mind. Once this fuss over Glaucus was over, Id take Asterius out and see to it that he exerted his limbs to some purpose. I would bring his attendants and—here was an idea—I would ask Icarus to accompany us. I stroked my brother briefly and kissed his broad forehead in farewell.
I debated with myself what I should do next. Many of those now searching would themselves be lost in the Labyrinth by nightfall. I could see no purpose in adding a missing princess to the miseries of the day. I had grown up within these walls, yes; I had played here all my life, but even I might lose myself in the maze. Every day, it seemed, new rooms were erected. No one could possibly keep track, except perhaps Daedalus, Icarus's father.
I have heard Icarus say that in Athens they believe that Daedalus built the Labyrinth, as though one man could ever have conceived of it, let alone laid stone on stone to erect such an edifice. They wish to believe it, of course, because Daedalus is partly of their blood and they may thus lay a sort of claim to the most remarkable building on earth.
It's laughable, really. Ariadne says that Aegeus, King of Athens, lives in a crude hall of no more than three or four large rooms, a humbler dwelling than we would think proper for one of our impoverished upcountry farmers.
The Labyrinth has been slowly building, rising tier upon tier, colonnade upon colonnade, corridor upon corridor, room upon room, for more than a thousand years. However clever Daedalus may be (and he is very clever indeed), he is only a man, with a man's normal span of years. He is, however, the overseer of new construction and in charge of redecorating some of the suites of rooms, which may be how the story came to be told in Athens. Icarus claims that his father carries the plan of the whole Labyrinth in his head, which is certainly more than I could do.
I therefore determined to seek further news before extending my search. Perhaps Glaucus had already been found and a feast in celebration was even now being prepared. I hurried away to the public rooms, where I might hope to hear tidings of him.
As I descended the grand staircase in the eastern wing I heard voices on the landing below. They were the voices of the two people most likely to be able to give me the information I craved—my mother and father. The news did not appear to be good.
"Well, Pasiphae, are you satisfied?" said my father. I had been about to call out to them, demanding news, but the tone of my father's words checked my steps as well as my voice. I dropped to my knees and so caught a glimpse of them through the turn of the stairs.
"How can you torment me so?" said my mother, her voice cracked and broken. "Can you not see that I am desperate?"
The grand staircase lies open to the sky, in one of the light wells that bring daylight into the deepest places in the Labyrinth. It was therefore easy to see that my mother was indeed desperate. Her usually perfectly arranged hair hung in black snakes down her back, and the kohl lining her eyes was smeared. Her dress was dirty and torn at the hem—she had been down on her hands and knees on the stone floor looking for her child under beds, in trunks, and behind wall hangings. To my dismay, she looked old. She was forty years old, I knew, and had borne fifteen children and raised ten. She had ruled a mighty empire for twenty years. At this moment she looked to be an old, old woman.
My father was, to the uninformed eye, more composed. His plumed headdress and painted robes were in no disarray; the thick black lines painted around his eyes were sharp and unstreaked. But yet there was a whiteness around his mouth and nose that frightened me, his daughter.
"Your grief is your own doing," he said.
"How dare you speak to me so?" My mother drew in a long, shuddering breath. "You who abandoned my Androgeus among the savages, to be butchered by a wild bull! You! You might as well have murdered him yourself."
I longed to hear what had happened to Glaucus, but my father seemed willing to be distracted by this long-ago grief rather than grappling with the fears of today.
"What should I have done, woman?" he demanded. "Would you have had me take Androgeus to war with me? I am the Lawagetas. Where the navy goes, I must go. You know that I was obliged to go and settle the dispute on Pylos. How should I have known Aegeus would prove the traitor?"
"You ought never to have taken Androgeus with you in the first place." My mother's voice had dropped; passion seemed to have drained out of her.
"The boy was of an age to go." my father said, obviously repeating what had been said before, often and often, over the years since Androgeus's death. "He wanted to go. He said he would leap into the sea and follow the ship until he drowned if I did not take him."
"You men," whispered my mother, venom returning to her voice. "You are all alike, all of you, from the day you first grow hair between your legs. Androgeus must prove himself a man by going into danger and you must take him there. Then he must prove he is a man by fighting a wild bull because that double-crossing Aegeus dared him to and because you left him behind while you sailed ofF to war. Oh!" she groaned aloud. "Why should a mother love her sons when they are so anxious to seek their own deaths? I cannot bear it."
There was a silence, save for my mother's weeping. I prayed to the Lady that my parents would be kind to each other rather than inflict more pain. But no, my mother went on.
"And now my Glaucus! It was the fault of that Bas, whom you chose to care for the child."
"No, Pasiphae." My father's voice was cold. "This time it is you who bears the responsibility. The servant Bas shall be put to death, and the Athenian servants as well. But it was your monster who killed my son, and you cannot tell me otherwise."
I drew a sharp breath.
"Asterius is not a monster," said my mother. "He is my son just as Glaucus is my son. And he did
not kill Glaucus."
"Then where is Glaucus?"
"In any of a hundred thousand places. Have you forgotten, Minos, the nature of the palace in which you live? He may yet be alive. Why do you not do something besides making up lies about Asterius? I know how you hate him, but you shall not deprive me of yet another son through your spite and jealousy. What have the seers to say? What hasPolyidus said? He is a great diviner. He found my dragonfly necklace when no one else could. What has he said?"
I gathered up my courage to descend the stairs and speak. However angry it made my father, I must speak up for Asterius. I knew he had not harmed Glaucus.
Before I could move, however, there came an interruption.
"My lady! My queen! I came as quickly as I could!"
There came a sound of labored breathing and the jingling and clanking of many gold ornaments. It sounded as though Polyidus had indeed run all the way.
"My friend, Polyidus!" cried my mother. "You have come to tell me where to find my boy. You have come to return my son to me, safe and sound!"
"I am sure I shall, my lady." said Polyidus, preening himself.
My father's mouth twisted with distaste. He disliked Polyidus, I knew. I did not blame him. Polyidus was a great diviner, but I thought him a creeping, crawling slug of a man. So, I believe, did my mother in her heart, but at the moment she would have been gracious to anyone who could give her hope.
"I must go and get my accouterments, my dear queen," Polyidus said. "The tools of my trade, you know. And then I assure you it will be but a few moments until we find the child, quite unharmed. Will you not repair to the throne room and wait for me there?"
"No. Can't you—can't you just make do with what is here?" my mother said, abruptly moving out of the range of my sight. I descended a few steps to see that she had gone out into the courtyard. "Here is sand that you could use, or pebbles, or water," she said, gesturing about her. "I beg of you, hurry."
"Well." This set Polyidus back on his heels. He liked to have a great deal of ritual and formality while he was working. "I don't know—"
"The Goddess abides in me, as her priestess," my mother reminded him. "You may draw on her strength through me."
As there was no help for it, Polyidus gave in. "As my queen commands," he said plaintively, following her outside into the open air.
I crept down the stairs and joined a group of courtiers and servants who had gathered around to witness the divination. My mother and Polyidus stood by a pool of water with scarlet fish swimming in it. Polyidus was looking about himself, at a loss. "Now, I suppose I could—" he began doubtfully.
My mother cried out.
A large, golden honeybee had lighted on the first finger of her right hand.
"It is a sign," Polyidus said quickly, before anyone else could give voice to the obvious. "They are holy creatures."
At this, the bee flew away into the palace.
"Follow her!" commanded Polyidus, as though we needed to be told.
Down many halls we walked. As our queer procession moved forward, we gradually picked up more and more people in our train. Hushed, tense, we followed the honeybee, which paused here and there upon a wall, allowing us to catch up, then flew onward in what appeared to be a purposeful manner.
We were nearing some of the humbler portions of the palace. We walked into a kitchen, shocking the cook nearly senseless. She dropped to her knees, her wooden spoon clattering to the floor beside her, as the queen, leading a parade of great ladies and lords, passed through her lowly domain. "Your Majesty! My lord!" the cook moaned, prostrating herself before us. My mother stepped briskly over her, her eyes fixed on the bee. The rest of the party followed suit. In the hall outside the kitchen, the bee stopped in its flight and landed on the floor. We halted and stared at the tiny animal.
"What does it mean?" my mother whispered.
Then we saw. The bee was crawling on an iron ring. It had landed on a trapdoor leading to one of the storage rooms.
"Oh, quickly, quickly," moaned my mother.
The trapdoor was flung open, and several servants jumped down inside. The bee flew straight to one of the great pithoi, storage jars higher than a tall man's head and broader than his out-flung arms. On the pithos the bee rested.
"In there," said Polyidus triumphantly.
When at length the massive jar was tipped on its side and the contents poured out on the floor, they proved to be three in number: an enormous quantity of honey, a dead mouse, and my brother Glaucus, likewise dead, drowned in a vat of golden sweetness.
CHAPTER FOUR
AND RETURNED
I TURNED MY HEAD AWAY, HALF FAINTING WITH HORROR.
The crush of people pushing forward to see nearly knocked me off my feet—I would surely have fallen if not for a hand that reached out from the crowd and steadied me with a firm grip.
I looked up to see Icarus's anxious eyes on mine.
"Come away, my lady," he said. "You ought not to be here."
I looked back and saw my wild-eyed mother and my stone-faced father standing motionless, staring down at the body of my little brother as it lay in a pool of honey at the bottom of the storage room.
"My parents," I said. "I must—"
"You are better elsewhere, Princess."
I shook my head. "My mother may want me," I said, resisting as he tugged on my hand. "I will not fall," I assured him, and, indeed, I did not believe that I would. There was a sickness at the pit of my stomach, but that was nothing.
He nodded and turned his attention back to my parents, who were now descending the ladder into the lower room. In the lamplight poor Glaucus glistened all over, like a statue washed with liquid gold.
The bee, which had been forgotten, now flew out of a dark corner and settled on the little boy's cheek. Startled, my parents drew back, loath to disturb the servant of the Goddess.
Then my mother cried out. "It—it is feeding on the honey."
My father roared, like an animal, like a wounded bull. He snatched at the bee to crush it between his fingers, but it flew away, up and out of the storage room, down the crowded hallway (all there flinched and muttered charms of protection when its flight swooped near), and into the outer air at last.
When the bee had gone my mother fell to her knees in the little storeroom by my brother's body. She raised up her voice unto the Goddess, demanding to know why the Great Mother should see fit to take this child.
"Have I not been a fitting representative for you here on earth? Am I not a dutiful daughter?" We of the royal house of Kefti were direct descendents of the Goddess—my mother therefore addressed her remote ancestor. "If I have displeased you in any way," she said, her voice choked with rage and grief "I had rather you took my life than those of my innocent children."
The crowd shifted uneasily as their queen railed at the Goddess.
Finally my mother ceased her reproaches. Her head drooped and she began to weep. She wailed aloud in her pain: "Oh, my boy! My little boy!" She bent to embrace Glaucus. She took him up in her arms, but he slipped from her grasp because of the honey. She wailed again, and my father could not look at her but buried his face in his hands.
"My lady! My queen! This must not be!"
It was old Graia, my nurse, pushing through the crowd. Graia was so very old that she had been my mother's nurse as well, back when Graia was little more than a child herself.
"Move, can't you?" she demanded, prodding several people in the back with a rather sharp-looking pair of scissors, which she must have carried away with her in this emergency. "Someone help me down this ladder to my lady."
Graia's face was very red, I noticed, and she looked angry and loving all at the same time.
"Oh, Graia," my mother said, "Glaucus is dead."
"I know, my darling," said Graia, "And it's a shame and a pity. But you must come back with me to your apartments to wash away the honey. It isn't right that you should be here like this. Come with your old nurse and I'll take
care of you. my dear."
"But Graia. how shall I leave him here alone? I must stay," said my mother.
"Come, child," said Graia. "Others will care for the little prince. Come with me now."
"Graia—"
"Come!"
And my mother came. Never before had I seen anyone make my mother do something she did not wish to do. With only a few backward looks, my mother climbed the ladder and meekly followed her old nurse through the crowd and off to her chambers.
I felt suddenly desolate, watching her walk away. I turned to look at Icarus, longing for reassurance of his concern. But I could see that I was no longer present in his thoughts. He stood with his head to one side, gazing curiously down at my brother's face, as if he sought to surprise the secrets of death.
My father, who seemed to have hardened to rock during the late exchanges, erupted into life again. He swung himself up the ladder with such energetic ferocity that it creaked and groaned under his weight.
"Polyidus!" he called out in a voice like a great clanging gong.
There was an uncomfortable silence, then: "Ah, yes, Sire? If there is any way I could assist...?" Nervously wringing his hands, Polyidus made himself evident at the edge of the crowd.
"You said, did you not, that we would find Glaucus alive and well?"
"I said—I said that I thought so, your Majesty. Goddess knows I certainly hoped to find him alive and well."
"Your powers are at fault, seer. You led my wife to believe her son would be returned to her."
"Well, and so he has," Polyidus said, gesturing feebly at the dead child. Then, recognizing that this would not be well received, he stammered, "Th-that is, my king—"
"But dead! Drowned!" roared my father with such force that Polyidus staggered backward as though from a physical blow. Terrified, the seer attempted to fall back into the crowd, but my father was upon him in an instant.
Though more than forty years of age, my father was yet a powerful, active man. He seized poor Polyidus as though the man were made of straw and flung him bodily down into the storage room. Before the seer could scramble to his feet again, my father withdrew the ladder.
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