Lost in the Labyrinth

by Patrice Kindl

  And now this great, mourning crowd was hardly a cheerful introduction to their new lives. I for one would be glad when the brief ceremony was over and I did not have to think of their dread any longer.

  The young woman I had been watching was pushed forward by two guards, each carrying a sacred Labrys, the double-bladed ax consecrated to the Goddess. The Labrys is to be found everywhere in the palace, both in reality and in representation. It is carved, over and over again, into the walls of the Labyrinth. That is what the word labyrinth means: "Hall of the Double Ax." The girl stumbled and was steadied by one of the guards. She was made to come and stand before the queen.

  Once before my mother, each guard rapped the Athenian girl smartly with the butt end of his Labrys—not the glittering blade end, but the blunt shaft—first on the back of her neck and then on the back of her knees. The rap on the back of her knees caused her to fall prostrate on the floor. It was a symbolic execution, payment for the death of Androgeus. In prior years my mother had received her tribute in silence, motionless behind her mask. Today she nodded her head, as though to hurry the ritual along.

  The girl lay motionless for a moment until prodded by the guards. She lifted her head slightly and looked warily about, as though awaiting the final stroke of the Labrys, this time with the blade end. One of the guards prodded her again and motioned her to get up. Slowly she climbed to her feet and lifted her eyes to his. He pointed to a place by the wall away from the other prisoners and she fled, half fainting.

  After a few of the Athenians had been thus presented, I thought I could sense a slight lessening of tension among those remaining as they realized that the ones who had gone before had come to no actual harm. They seemed glad enough to cooperate with the guards, to mimic death, since death had passed them by.

  The last Athenian, a man a little older than Icarus, was brought before the queen. As the ceremony was so nearly over I turned my attention to Phaedra. After our fright of three days ago, I was determined not to lose her in the crowd as it dispersed. I was preparing to lead her away when a sudden interruption in the ceremony occurred.

  The young man refused to fall down. He stood erect before my mother and called out something loudly in his own language. It was not. by the tenor of his voice, either a plea for mercy or a threat of violence. Outraged, the two guards struck at him furiously, over and over again, until he fell.

  I took a firm grip of Phaedra's hand and hurried her away, wondering what the man had said. I knew some words of the Hellenic language through listening when Icarus spoke to the Athenians, but these words I did not recognize, and they were pronounced with a mainland accent. He was a great fool if he thought that any words of his would alter his fate, save for the worse. And why. when the others had safely survived the Presentation, did he seek to cause trouble?

  That night at the feast, I sought to have myself placed near the captain of the ship that had brought the Athenians. I should have remained at the high table with the royal family, but no one objected. Compared to Ariadne I was unimportant and therefore allowed greater liberty.

  I had not forgotten Icarus's dreams, you see, and I wished to hear them disproved. He had revealed only one to me. That one was ominous enough, and yet I thought that I disliked even more the other dream, the one that made him smile, and the one he kept secret from me. I thought that if one dream were proved false, that would refute them both.

  The captain was flattered to be sought out and was soon talking about the voyage.

  "No," he said, puzzled. "There was no great storm, Princess Xenodice. The weather is usually untroubled at this time of year. There was a little delay in loading some of the supplies, which made us later than we might have been, but otherwise..."

  Feeling much happier, I then demanded, "And was there a weather witch on board with you?"

  "Well, no. We had the usual charms on bow and stern, of course, as well as several wind catchers on the sail, but no witch. There's not a great deal of space on a ship like mine for passengers. In wintertime, of course, we'd welcome her, but as it was ..."

  "I meant one of the Athenians."

  He shrugged. "Frankly, your Highness, I don't know. I don't speak much of that Hellenic tongue. I've got an oarsman who knows it pretty well, and he translates for me when I have need. They're just cargo to me, you understand: I see to it they're fed and watered and none of them escapes or tries to kill himself or anyone else, and that's the end of my interest in them. I have other duties and little leisure to spare."

  "Then," I said, struck by another thought, "I suppose you don't know what that young man, the last one to be presented to my mother the queen, said? That was strange."

  "Oh, him!" growled the captain in disgust. "I know which one he was. Self-important young rooster! If I hadn't known my own life would be forfeit, I'd have tossed that man overboard and slept easier at night. Always talking, lecturing, arguing. My guess is that he's the son of someone important in Athens. Or somebody they think is important, anyway. They all look the same to me, even that King Aegeus. They call him King,' but he looks more like a dirty, toothless old dog to me."

  "Did you see King Aegeus, then?" I asked, feeling some curiosity about the man who had caused my brother's death and so much misery to my parents.

  "Not this time, my lady. Other years I've gone to collect tribute he's been there, striding up and down on the shore and cursing and shaking his fists at us, as though the whole thing wasn't his own fault to begin with. He doesn't come too close, I notice—my men are armed. No, as I say, this year I never caught sight of him. They seemed more upset this year. They always are, of course, but this year ... I suppose that man you asked about was somebody from one of the landed families and that got everybody more riled up than usual."

  "But then, why would he be chosen to go? I know my mother demands the best beloved children, but surely that is a mere matter of form by now. Would not the wealthiest houses bribe a poor family into sending one of their children?"

  "They choose them by lot, or so I understand. I suppose the rules about cheating are strict. After all, even they must fear the wrath of the Goddess, ignorant savages that they are."

  I nodded.

  "I tell you what, Princess," said the captain, with the cheerful unconcern of one who has successfully handed over a tedious responsibility. "I don't envy the family that ends up with that Theseus as a servant when his year of palace duty is up. Give me a slave who knows his place and how to keep his mouth shut."

  "Theseus?"

  "That's right, my lady. If there is one thing I do know about that man, it's his name. He kept saying it over and over all the way here, along with some other gibberish I couldn't understand. I am Theseus of Athens!' That's what he kept saying: I am Theseus of Athens and Troezen!'"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE FESTIVAL OF THE BULLS

  ONCE, WHEN I WAS A LITTLE GIRL, THE GROUND BENEATH THE Labyrinth shifted. Pots and jars fell to the floor and splintered, the roof of a jeweler's studio on the eastern side of the palace collapsed, and several minor fires blazed up where furniture or cloth had fallen into open fire pits.

  It frightened me, but my nurse, Graia, assured me that it was nothing. "Only a bit of temper, no more," she said, and she told me this story.

  "Deep within the Island of Kefti," she said, "below the deepest caverns, below even that realm where the dead people dwell, down in the darkness and the heat of the earth, there lives a gigantic bull. The Bull in the Earth is the dearly beloved husband of the Lady Potnia, She Who Made All Things.

  "The Lady loves her people, the Keftiu, but she also loves the Bull. These two loves do not always harmonize with each other. The Bull is as large as a mountain, and his breath is a roaring flame hot enough to melt stone. If he were allowed his freedom he would surely kill each and every one of the Keftiu. The Lady therefore keeps the Bull pent up within the earth, where he cannot destroy her people.

  "Often the Lady goes to visit her lord deep in the bo
wels of the earth. This is why the people of Kefti seek to honor their Lady by placing offerings inside any of the thousands of sacred caves that thread their blind paths through the roots of our island. We likewise wish to show reverence to the Bull in the Earth. We love him for his beauty and power and we also fear him, even shut away as he is. For when the Lady does not visit her lord for a time, he becomes restive. He turns in the darkness and tosses his horns, and the ground above him quakes and buckles. Buildings crumple and fall, and the fire of the Bull's breath sweeps through the ruins. Many of our people die when the Bull is angry.

  "When your grandmother was a girl," said Graia, "the Bull in the Earth grew so furious that much of the Palace of Knossos was leveled. Hundreds died in the wreckage of the Labyrinth, and thousands died in the countryside around, and in the towns and palaces of Malia, Zakros, Festos, and Kydonia. The palaces are rebuilt now, grander and larger than before, but we do not forget."

  She explained that since there is little we can do to urge the Lady Potnia to visit her lord if she does not choose it, we perform many ceremonies to appease and entertain the Bull in the Earth, hoping to keep him quiet and amused in the event that his lady should be absent longer than his liking. He is a fierce creature, and his pleasures are likewise fierce. So, several times a year, bulls are sacrificed in his honor amid much ceremony. And once a year, in the early summer, there is the Festival of the Bulls.

  My brother Asterius is the son of the Bull in the Earth. They say that my mother, in her grief over the death of Androgeus, begged the Goddess to help her get revenge against Minos for leaving her son to die in a strange land.

  She Who Made All Things would not lightly refuse such a request from her high priestess. The Lady therefore entered into my mother's body and took possession of it. As one they descended into the Underworld, where the Bull dwells. And in due course my brother was born, half man and half bull.

  That is why my brother appears before the people once a year at the Festival of the Bulls.

  The Bull Festival would be very different from yesterday's brief, sad rite of the Presentation. It was a happy occasion and one of my favorite festivals; I looked forward to it the whole year. Nor was I alone in this: all over Kefti young women and men had been preparing their entire lives for the festival, when they would face the bull before the entire court of Knossos.

  The bull dance is glorious. However often I see it, it makes me want to weep for sheer pleasure. It is everything in life that is beautiful and brave.

  When Icarus and the Athenians hailed me the day before as "Bull Rider," they were being kind. I had performed only the simplest of the feats to be displayed here—that of riding the bull without injury—and I had done so without grace or style. The great bull dancers and those who admire them would have thought little of such an exhibition.

  What a crush of people filled the Bull Court! I sat with my family—except Ariadne, who was preparing to perform the Dance of the Serpents for the opening ceremonies—on a balcony off our living quarters. Servants moved silently about, offering barley water and wine, grape leaves stuffed with spiced meats, delicate pastries, and platters of fruit.

  The array of balconies around the court were crammed to overflowing. Here and there I could see a familiar face—those places were reserved for people of wealth and influence. Up on the roofs and lining the walls of the actual Bull Court were the common people. They would stand in the grilling sun without food or water for hours today Some would faint from heat and thirst and be carried away, allowing others to push forward and take their places. Those in the Bull Court itself were in some danger; the bull occasionally charged the audience. Yet in spite of all this there were always more than could be accommodated. Tomorrow those lucky enough to be present would go home to their villages basking in reflected glory.

  In contrast to yesterday, the throng was a blaze of color and fanciful design. Some of the costumes worn were like old friends—I had seen them year after year—but others were new to me, made especially for this occasion. I scanned the crowd, seeking out past favorites and new creations. I laughed to see a man dressed in gray with the mask of a hippopotamus, and then admired a woman with a headdress fashioned like a grove of trees with little silver birds swinging from the limbs. The men wore their most richly embroidered kilts and robes of many hues today, and any woman who could afford a ceremonial dress had it on.

  I was dressed in ceremonial attire myself for almost the first time. These dresses were different from ordinary clothing in that the bodice was cut down low to the waist to expose the breasts. I had only just made blood sacrifice to celebrate the commencement of my monthly bleeding during the last rainy season, so I was still uncomfortable in women's dress before this great crowd. My breasts were small and pointed, like the teats of a nanny goat. Graia said that they would grow, but that was meager comfort today, feeling that everyone's eyes were upon me.

  The seer Polyidus had been given a seat with my family, I noticed. Neither he nor Glaucus had been improved by their brush with the mysteries of death. Polyidus sat there grinning and bowing and nodding his head at everything that was said, while my little brother capered about, boasting wildly before the servants.

  "Stop, Glaucus," I said, annoyed, as he lurched against me in one of his rough games and nearly tore my dress. "Sit down and be quiet." The monkey Queta—who sat on my lap, securely diapered to prevent her from soiling my clothes—fluffed up her fur and screamed at him.

  Mother drew Glaucus to her. "Darling," she said, stroking his hair.

  The musicians began to play, and slowly the buzzing, rumbling crowd quieted, waiting.

  Ariadne entered first. This was the first Festival of the Bulls without Acalle, and therefore Ariadne's first appearance in her place. She and I had rehearsed and rehearsed her entrance, yet even knowing what to expect I gave a cry of pleasure at the picture she made. From all around me came a roar of delight.

  She was masked and gowned to represent the Goddess and mounted on a chariot drawn by a pair of cheetahs. The chariot was so fashioned that golden wings appeared to be sprouting from the back of each of the big cats. The effect was to make them look like the griffins that attend the Goddess and draw her conveyances.

  The cheetahs were uneasy. I watched anxiously fearing that they would bolt. Cheetahs can run fast, faster than any horse. They did not flee but sat down and clawed at the straps binding them to the chariot. I bit my lip and longed to take charge of the chariot myself.

  Ariadne, however, had everything under control. She bowed to her mother and to the giant sacral horns at one end of the Bull Court, which represented the Bull in the Earth. Then she turned her attention to the cheetahs. She was firm, wielding her little gilded whip to good effect on their backsides. The procession advanced.

  Behind Ariadne and the cheetahs came Lycia of the Queen's Menagerie, keeping a sharp eye on the cheetahs. Then came my brother Asterius, attended by his servants. The gaily colored ribbons tied round his arms and waist and tail were stained with sweat. The crowd cheered loudly on seeing him, and his eyeballs rolled wildly in their sockets. Nervous, he pranced sideways, butting into his attendants. I looked away, not wishing to witness his suffering.

  After him came a group of priestesses wearing over their heads and shoulders masks of many animals: a vulture, a fish, a cow. Behind them were the bull riders and bull dancers, liberally decked with flowers, and finally, the tumblers, jugglers, and clowns who would entertain between events. These last did not walk but rather cartwheeled and somersaulted their way around the bull ring, their trained monkeys, pigs, and dogs cavorting merrily among them.

  Queta, who had been clucking with alarm over the cheetahs, now uttered a loud Hoo! Hoo! on seeing bosom friends and hated enemies from the menagerie in the throng at the tail of the procession. I slipped a cherry into her mouth and she hushed.

  When the parade had completed a full circuit of the arena, Ariadne reined in her cheetahs, who promptly lay down and showed
signs of wanting to roll in the dust. Ariadne dismounted, and Lycia came forward and led the cheetahs and chariot away, followed by the rest of the participants. I sighed with relief.

  Two of the priestesses entered the ring and approached Ariadne, carrying the sacred serpents.

  At that moment my mother stood up.

  "My people," she said aloud.

  As if she had twitched a magic thread, three thousand heads turned to look at her. The audience hastily surged to its feet.

  "My people," she said, "it is many years since I have danced the Dance of the Serpents. I will do so again today."

  A startled silence ensued, then whispers washed back and forth across the whole expanse of the courtyard like waves in a pond. There came a cry, "Hail, O Blessed Queen!" The crowd took it up and shouted in unison, smiting their foreheads with the knuckles of their right hands in salute.

  The queen bent down and kissed Glaucus before descending to the arena. "My son," she murmured, and caressed his cheek.

  I understood. She wished to perform the dance to give thanks to the Goddess and to the serpent who had saved her son. But would Ariadne understand? Or would she take it as an insult?

  Glaucus flung himself into a seat behind me and began steadily kicking at the legs of my chair. I closed my eyes and tried to feel gratitude for his preservation. When I opened them again I saw Ariadne standing motionless, her face as wooden as the mask she held in her hands.

  The priestesses made humble obeisance to their queen. The two carrying the basket with the snakes began to move away from Ariadne and toward our mother, but Ariadne put out her hand to stay them. The crowd fell silent, sensing drama.

  Oh, Ariadne, do not do so, I murmured to myself.

  After a long dragging moment, while my mother and sister stared at each other, Ariadne withdrew her hand. We sat motionless, watching. Slowly she bowed to the queen, handed her the mask, and then turned abruptly and walked out of the arena. The priestesses gently twined the snakes about my mother's arms and waist and throat and then, taking up their torches, positioned themselves for the dance.