"Asterius? What is it?" I demanded of my brother. I stood and hastened toward him, for I could tell that he was angry.
I heard a giggle behind a nearby tree and my heart leapt up into my mouth. Asterius heard it likewise and lowered his head.
"No! Asterius, no!"
He charged the tree as I ran toward him. A gasp of terror, then I saw bright dark eyes and a pair of naked arms and legs shinning up the tree. Asterius's left horn missed the child's right foot by a finger's breadth.
This was not a child of Glaucus's age, who knew no better. This was a boy of ten at least, gangling and skinny as a colt. He had attracted my brother's attention by throwing stones at him and was preparing to do so again.
"Stop!" I shouted, as loudly as I could. "Throw no more stones!"
It was too late. My brother had been hit in the eye. He clapped a hand over the injured area and roared. The child quaked in the tree and tossed another pebble in Asterius's direction.
His shape rendering him incapable of climbing the tree, Asterius instead began tearing it to shreds with his bare hands. He reared up on his hind legs and wrenched large limbs off the tree, snapping them off at the base. The boy shrank away and tried to crawl higher.
"Go," I shouted to Icarus. "Go and get his attendants to help me."
"I cannot leave you in such jeopardy, Princess. Let me try to distract him."
"He will pay you no heed. Go!"
Sometimes in play I would ride upon my brother's back, like the athletes in the bull games. He never seemed to mind, though I could tell it seemed a strange sensation to him. Never, however, had I attempted to mount his back when he was in a passion.
I now took a firm grip of his lashing tail and pulled as hard as I could in the direction of a large boulder that could be used as a mounting block. His forefeet dropped to the ground and he turned to see who had him by the tail. I was not fool enough to believe that in this mood Asterius would know me. I scrambled up onto the rock, trying not to think how his horns would feel, cleaving my flesh. Re-leasing his tail, I jumped.
I landed on his broad back with a painful thump that knocked the breath from my lungs. I gripped my arms around his waist and my legs around the barrel of his bull's body. Asterius forgot the boy in this new, unexpected situation; he bucked and kicked furiously. As the world heaved and lurched beneath me, I caught a glimpse of Icarus, his jaw slack in amazement. Madly, I found myself wanting to laugh.
A sudden plunge caused me to bite my lip, and all urge to hilarity left me.
"Go!" I shouted, but I could see that the Athenians, alerted by our cries, had drawn near of their own accord.
Asterius tore my hands from him and flung them away like the frailest of cobwebs. I slipped perilously to one side, clawing at his flank with my fingers. One shrewd twist and I would go sliding to my death under those plunging hooves. By great good luck he suddenly lurched to a halt, apparently overcome by the need to express his rage. He pounded his chest with his clenched fists and bellowed until the woods echoed.
Grasping handfuls of his hide and squirming, wormlike, upward, I managed to pull and push myself onto his back once more.
"Asterius, my brother!" I called to him. "Do not murder me, I beg of you. It is I, Xenodice!"
He snorted, as if derisively, and began to gallop at tremendous speed around the clearing. He did not attempt to penetrate the dense brush nearby or descend the mountain—the path was steep and rocky. I believe also that the clearing reminded him of his home in the Bull Pen.
The boy, I saw, was still up in the tree, held captive by fear.
Asterius was beginning to tire. He breathed enormously, his sides heaved, his whole body was slick with sweat. His eye was still wild and there was foam on his lips, yet I thought I might tame him. I spoke to him again, my voice firmer this time.
"All is well, Lord Asterius," I said. "We must be calm so that we may travel down the mountain and seek medical attention for your eye." He slowed his pace a little; he was listening. "All is well," I crooned, "all is well."
Gradually he came to a halt. His head swiveled around and he saw me. He shook himself all over, as if to throw off his angry mood, nearly dislodging me as well. I clung to him, however, and even risked loosening my death clasp around his waist to pat him cautiously.
At this moment, the boy in the tree chose to loose his last stone at my brother.
"I'll kill the little beast myself ifl ever get the opportunity" was my last coherent thought as we reared into the air and I clamped my arms and legs about Asterius again.
Icarus and the attendants now reappeared—I realized I had not seen them for a time. I later learned that they had withdrawn from sight behind trees, disliking to interfere while I had him under some sort of control. Now there was nothing to be lost by their presence and everything to be gained. They closed in and flung a net—brought along for just such an emergency—over us both.
Asterius fought against the confining net for some time, until every tooth in my head felt as though it had been jarred loose and the muscles of my arms and thighs were on fire and my wrist, which had been damaged in the struggle, became a torment to me.
At last, at last, he groaned and sank to his knees. Moving swiftly as thought, Icarus sliced a long slit in the net and tried to pull me through it. I had held my position so long, however, that it was difficult to unclench myself Icarus had to pry my frozen fingers loose and gently drag me away, ever in mortal dread of Asterius's swinging horns.
Icarus tried to carry me away from Asterius, but I protested. In a weak voice I directed him. "No, let him see me. It may help. We have yet to get him down the mountainside."
Icarus therefore laid me down near Asterius, where I could reach out a hand, still rigidly curled into a hawk's talons, and rest it on his flank. Asterius was ashamed, I could tell. He would not look at me, but hung his head mournfully and lowed like a cow.
I scolded him in a soft voice while Icarus examined my wrist.
"It is beyond my knowledge, Princess," Icarus said. "I do not believe it is broken, but there are many small bones in the wrist, any one of which may be shattered without the fact being obvious. We will have the doctor Asclepius look at it when we return. He is said to be the best in the world, and I know him to be kind and gentle."
At length I thought to ask about the boy in the tree.
"He is gone, my lady," said one of the Athenians, a woman. The servants were squatting on the ground in a circle about us, still panting a bit with their own late exertions. "I looked to see, but he was off and gone by the time I did."
"That boy should be fed to the lion in the Queen's Menagerie," observed another of the servants.
"I nearly agree with you," I said in a shaky voice.
"Certainly I would have left the little whelp to his own fate and then said nothing more about it," said Icarus.
"No, you would not," I said.
"No, perhaps not," he concurred. "But now there can be no attempt at hushing this up. Even if," he glanced at the Athenians, "even if we could all be trusted to hold our tongues, there is your wrist. It must be tended and you will not be able to use it for a time. That will cause comment."
I had not got that far in my thoughts yet. Icarus was right. The tale would undoubtedly spread and gain color and volume as it did so. People—most especially my father—would be convinced that Asterius was a wild and untamable beast.
"Could we not—" My eyes traveled around the ring of Athenians and I knew it would not do. They were sympathetic now, but they would not hold their tongues, all the same.
I stood up straight, cradling my wrist, and addressed the Athenians. "We who were here today know what happened. The boy hid behind a tree and threw stones at the Lord Asterius. Only when the Lord Asterius was injured did he seek to harm the boy. I charge you, tell the tale that way. Do not let people believe that my brother attacked an innocent child. As it is," I turned and looked at my brother. "I fear I will not be able to take him
outside the Labyrinth again for a very longtime, if ever."
The Athenians nodded and made obeisance to me. Icarus made sure of their word by discreetly passing a few coins about the circle. Soon I stood and flexed my muscles, preparing for the long journey down the mountain. As I moved cautiously about, I guessed that I would be most dreadfully sore when I woke next morning, but save for my wrist, there did not seem any serious damage.
Icarus, who had been watching me, called out, loud and clear: "Hail, Bull Rider!" It was the salute given to those who have successfully ridden the bull in the bull games without falling off or being gored.
The Athenians saluted me likewise, crying in unison: "Hail, Bull Rider!"
Traitorous tears started without warning from my eyes, and my cheeks burned like fire. I bowed briefly, as the bull dancers do, more to hide my face than for any other reason, and then quickly turned to look out to sea.
There was a black speck among the dancing sea lights. It was still so far away that I could not make it out.
"Icarus," I said, and pointed.
His eyes were sharper than mine. "It is the black sail," he said. "My Lord Asterius's new servants come."
Behind me, I heard the Athenians give a soft, sighing cry.
CHAPTER SIX
THE PRESENTATION
"YOU BREAK YOUR WORD OF HONOR TO ME, YOUR DAUGHTER and heir, for that posturing ninny?"
I stared at Ariadne, fascinated. I had never seen her so angry. Every drop of blood seemed to have drained from her face. The very hair on her head was alive and waving with fury. Her fists were balled, as though she would strike our mother as she sat on her throne.
"That "posturing ninny" restored your brother Glaucus to life," Mother remarked calmly, leaning back and studying her daughter. "He deserves a reward. Several rewards, in fact. I value all my children, not my daughters alone."
"Then give him a reward, by all means. Give him land, a house, a ship, whatever he desires, but don't give him my Athenian."
Mother's eyes grew cold. "None of the Athenians are yours, daughter. They are mine, to dispose of as I see fit."
"You promised!" Ariadne was now nearly spitting with rage.
I wished I were closer to Ariadne so that I might kick her ankle or deliver a warning pinch to her arm. She was going too far. Ours was a loving mother, but she did not allow disobedience or disrespect from any of her children. As things were, I was too far away, sitting on the floor in a corner of the throne room nursing my damaged arm and playing quietly with Phaedra and baby Molus. The servants who normally cared for them were busy, preparing a feast to mark yesterday's arrival of the new Athenians. Ariadne paid my worried glances no heed.
"I said that you might be allowed to keep one of the Athenians if nothing further came up. Something further has come up. The last Athenian will go to Polyidus." Mother made an abrupt gesture of dismissal. "You may go now, daughter."
Stony-faced, Ariadne executed a sketchy salute that barely escaped insolence in its brevity. She turned and moved stiffly toward the door.
"By the bye, Ariadne," my mother said softly, "you are not my heir. Acalle is my oldest daughter."
Ariadne halted, as though a rock had struck her squarely between the shoulder blades.
I closed my eyes and prayed that my sister would keep silent and go.
Praise the Lady, my prayer was heard. Ariadne stood still for a long moment. Then she walked away without a word.
I regarded my mother with some surprise. She had not the look of a woman who believed her oldest daughter dead or beyond recall; she was smiling a little, unmindful of my eyes upon her.
But where could Acalle be? Had my mother recent tidings of her, that she smiled so? Why not then announce them? Perhaps she had known all along where Acalle was. What if Acalle were absent at her request and conniving? My mother had not wept a tear when this oldest, most precious daughter had disappeared.
"Speak no more about it. She is gone."
That is all she ever said on the subject, in my hearing at least, from that day to this. When one considered the many years of mourning and the vengeance exacted against the Athenians for the death of Androgeus, who was only a boy and could therefore never sit upon the throne, that fact was remarkable.
There were as many opinions on the subject as there were inhabitants of Knossos. Some said that Acalle, like many a royal heir, had grown querulous and discontented, tired of waiting for the day when she would be given some measure of real power, and had therefore been sent away to learn humility elsewhere. Some said she had died of a dreadful disease and been quietly buried. Others said that Acalle had fled south across the sea without her mother's consent.
For several months before she disappeared, the young king of Libya had been visiting Knossos to negotiate a trade agreement. All could see how my proud sister grew red and white by turns whenever he came near. Libya was a poor and desert land. Acalle would never have received permission to marry the ruler of Libya.
But why, if any of these things were true, would we not have heard after all these months?
I myself believed that our mother in her wisdom had discovered a spell aimed at her daughter and heir by some malignant magician and had therefore sent Acalle secretly away to a place of concealment until the spell was counteracted or the magician was discovered and destroyed.
But then, what would happen when Acalle returned? What a whirlwind that would bring!
I found myself hoping that Acalle was happily married, a queen in her husband's land, without designs on the throne of Kefti. I wished her well, but far away. She too was my sister, but, being so much older and the acknowleged heir, we had never been on terms of intimacy. It was Ariadnes happiness that most affected mine.
Ariadne would not be able to bear the loss of the throne. She had not the temper to accept having high estate snatched away from her. Even this loss of the Athenian slave was a bitter fruit she could not easily swallow.
The keeper of the granaries now entered with a complaint about the way the records were kept, and I decided to remove myself and the children. The need to understand proper accounting practices for all the great store of treasure and goods hidden in the bowels of the Labyrinth was one of the many reasons I would not wish to be the next queen. And besides, my wrist had begun to throb, although the doctor Asclepius had given me poppy juice in wine to ease it. Like Icarus, he did not believe that it was broken, only that the small muscles were torn and bruised.
We had been lucky. The arrival of the new Athenians meant that much less attention had been paid to our mishap than might otherwise have been the case. The servants who had been present on the mountaintop would now be dispersed to many households and have other things to think about. And the boy's parents would not speak of it. The child had escaped injury, and Lord Asterius was the queen's son.
So I comforted myself, and so I believed.
"Phaedra, Molus," I said quietly, "let us go to the kitchens and see if they will give us some dates to eat before the Presentation of the Athenians."
"Figs in honey." proposed Phaedra instead.
I shuddered, remembering Glaucus in his thick coating of honey. "No," I said. I picked the baby up with my uninjured arm, and Phaedra and I bowed to our mother and retired. She nodded and went back to listening to the keeper of the granaries speaking in a high, indignant voice about sixteen missing sacks of barley.
We the Keftiu are a people who enjoy celebration. There are many holidays, both major and minor, festive and grave, throughout the year. The Presentation of the Athenians is a modern rite, begun only twelve years ago. Since it is followed so soon after by the Festival of the Bulls, one of the great holidays of the year, it has over the years tended to flow into that celebration. The ritual is a solemn one, being in commemoration of the death of my brother Androgeus.
All of the attending populace wore their best mourning costumes as they gathered in the Bull Court, that central courtyard at the heart of the Labyrinth where
most public occasions took place. Years ago, there had perhaps been a little more real grief as well as a good deal less jewelry displayed, but twelve years had come and gone since Androgeus had died in foreign lands, and people could not help but look forward to the festivities of the morrow with a cheerful face.
It might seem odd, this lengthy mourning for the death of a male child, but sons are always useful, and my parents had loved Androgeus dearly. I believe that much of the joy vanished from their lives when he did.
Today, however, both of my parents looked well content. The restoration of Glaucus almost on the anniversary of Androgeus's death seemed to have made gloom impossible. I wondered if this would be the beginning of forgetting for them both.
My mother wore her traditional mourning garments, but like many in the crowd she had decked herself with jewelry, and her eyes shone behind the mask of the Grieving Mother with a brightness not due to tears. My father, I noticed, bent down his head to speak with her, and she lowered her mask and smiled up at him. I could not catch the words, but the tone seemed unguarded and cheerful, as if they were exchanging family pleasantries. My spirits rose and I rocked the whimpering Molus on my knee to quiet him.
The musicians began to play a sorrowful dirge as a sign that the ceremony was about to begin. The crowd, recognizing its cue, groaned and cried and bewailed the death of Androgeus. Those who most hoped for royal favor tore at their elegant costumes. Some fell down on the ground and rubbed dirt into their faces and hair.
The new Athenians entered the Bull Court under guard.
Remembering what Icarus had said, I wondered what this must be like for them. If they believed that they were victims to be sacrificed to some dreadful beast, they would be terrified indeed. All were young, of about my age or a little older. I watched one. a girl with brown hair and small, delicate hands and feet. At first glimpse, I saw no signs of fear, but then as I studied her I realized that she had traveled far beyond fear, into that country where death comes as a welcome friend. I pitied her, and blamed the captain of the ship for not telling these wretched people their true fate. How long and sorrowful the journey must have been!
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