Knossos

by Laura Gill

  Once he did as commanded, the priestesses threw a cloak of the finest blue linen over his shoulders and escorted him from the chamber, down the staircase, and down further. Keos again considered escape, only now a heightened dread, a sense that the gods were watching, compelled him to continue. He shivered in his thin raiment. Why were they headed into the earth? Surely Ariadne’s bedchamber was on an upper level. What was below, except for the Labyrinth’s storerooms or a pillar crypt? His father’s house lacked the latter, but he knew from listening to others that all mansions and sanctuaries owned their own underworlds for the propitiation of the chthonic spirits.

  His head was becoming fuzzy, his steps uncertain. If Helike had explained that it was the season for pleasure, for spilling seed in the furrows and not shedding blood, then why was she escorting him into the underworld?

  In the lowermost level, the corridors had no pattern or reason. Doorways were haphazard. Griffins and demons haunted the wall frescoes; their eyes seemed to follow him. A lantern burned at the end of the passageway.

  “Here he is, Mistress Myrna.” Helike’s voice carried along the corridor. Keos’s eyes stung as the old woman thrust the lantern in his face. Spots of color suddenly swam behind his eyelids.

  Next thing he knew, someone took hold of his wrist to guide him, and Helike was murmuring instructions in his ear. “Go with the lady’s nurse, Keos.” Something hot and moist suddenly swiped his earlobe; it took him a moment to realize she had licked him there. “Be mindful of our instructions.”

  Then he was alone with the nurse, and the priestesses were retreating down the corridor. As he blinked, trying to clear both his vision and head, Myrna led him through a pair of doors into a hall bright with lamps. Colorful spirals and rosette motifs framed doorways. Dancing women cavorted across the frescoed walls, while flesh-and-blood women with familiar faces congregated around a pair of braziers with their spinning. “This is not the pillar crypt?”

  “Pillar crypt?” the nurse exclaimed. “These are the high priestess’s apartments, in the womb of the earth that is sacred to both—”

  “Keos!” A girlish shriek assaulted his ears, making his hair stand on end. Then Ariadne herself, all scrawny limbs and flying dark hair, bounded into his arms. “Oh, you came, you came!” She smothered him with kisses. “Kiss me, my love, dear Keos!”

  That he did not reciprocate her kisses did not matter to Ariadne because she never noticed. She reached for his kilt to undress him right there before all her women. All he could do was stand there helplessly, mortified, until Myrna rescued the situation by suggesting that Ariadne take him to her bedchamber.

  Ariadne’s private chamber was as gloomy as a cave. Keos had scant opportunity to survey his surroundings before she, displaying a strength born of her fervor, pushed him onto the fleeces and straddled him. Though he shut his eyes to mitigate the shame of being uncovered, he could not deafen himself to her squealing, sing-song voice blathering on about bull-man guardians, frescoed goddesses that bestowed kisses, and walls that breathed.

  The fingers that grasped his member squeezed and pulled his flesh to make him erect. Ariadne laughed in delight. She called him Velchanos, when she knew he was not. A sob constricted his chest. He did not want to become aroused, not with her, the ugly imbecile, but he could not help it. She was a woman, he was a man. She was moist, and he was hard. Nothing else mattered.

  “Come serve me, sacred one,” she breathed against his neck. “Let us worship each other.” Yet she did not lie down beside him so that he might mount her, but guided him into her warmth with her own hands. He responded, thrusting, and spilling seed even though his innermost soul recoiled from the act.

  Afterward, she bathed him, and tucked herself into bed with him as though he were a stuffed doll to give comfort in the night. “We will be safe together,” she assured him. “The demons only come when I am alone.” Would the bitch never shut up? Keos did not utter a word, not even to ask when—or even if—he could go home, because he instinctively knew Ariadne would not release him. He was her plaything now, her sacred talisman, and her sacrificial offering.

  *~*~*~*

  “They will steal our positions, that is what I am hearing.” Amphidaitas clenched a gnarled fist atop his knee. Her father was not speaking of himself, Alaia understood, for he had relinquished his post as Registrar of Deaths some years ago, but of her brothers, who sat with Wedaneus on one side of the hearth while the women prepared the afternoon meal in the courtyard.

  Wedaneus stroked his clean-shaven chin. “High Priest Aktaios’s announcement was clear. The scribes were only evicted from their living quarters in the Labyrinth, not dismissed from their posts. They are still employed at their regular wages. There have been too many protests, and not enough common sense. Priest-Architect Daikantos—”

  “And do you always believe everything the Minos’s puppets tell you?” Amphidaitas talked right over his soft-spoken son-in-law. “Six months from now, the Minos will cut those posts by half. Forty unemployed scribes from the Labyrinth, best of the best, and where will they go? Whose posts will they try to usurp, eh?” Without otherwise acknowledging his daughter, he thrust out his cup for a refill. “You had better start taking precautions, all of you.”

  “Our family has held the post of Registrar of Deaths for generations,” his elder son Itamos observed.

  Younger son Lachos heaved a shrug. “Who knows what might change?” Though his words were directed toward their father and brother, his pointed tone and sidelong gaze were meant for his sister Alaia.

  She found an excuse to escape the main room when the wine jug was empty. In the courtyard, her mother, her twelve-year-old daughter Merope, and her sisters-in-law were preparing to serve supper. A large terracotta pot filled with pieces of a whole goat, herbs, lentils, and other vegetables had been cooking all day, and now its savory aroma pervaded the entire house and court. The sisters-in-law kept shooing away the nieces and nephews trying to filch pastries from the covered platter. Merope had been shouldered with the responsibility of watching her younger cousins, but, having also been conscripted to keep her elder kinsmen supplied with bread and olive paste, she struggled. That was just like the girl’s aunts, Alaia reflected sourly, to take the best for themselves while burdening others with the most onerous tasks.

  Once a month for as long as Alaia could remember, her kinsmen had come together to share news, gossip, and a meal. This month was her and Wedaneus’s turn to play host, an obligation which she had dreaded for weeks. Ever since the Minos had started summoning her to his bed, gatherings with her side of the family had become tedious, and there was little Alaia could do.

  Her mother raised an eyebrow as she replenished the wine jug from the krater. “More wine so soon? Obviously you are not mixing it well enough, as one can see from your son’s current state.” The stolid, gray-haired woman nodded toward the edge of the courtyard where Keos drunkenly sprawled on a bench set against the wall. “Such an embarrassment to the family.”

  Mnasa had been cursed with a complaining tongue. Alaia’s tactic was to bear her mother’s criticisms as best she could while shielding her children. “The wine is not the problem,” she said, “and you know that. Keos has been thrust into a hard situation and is unhappy.”

  “Your father would have far less to worry about if you would strive harder for the betterment of the family.”

  Alaia held her breath. Her mother had been harping the same tired tune for fifteen months: why had her daughter not secured any gifts of land and livestock, or any positions at court for her kinsmen? Why was she not loaded with jewels and expensive raiment like a favored mistress? Alaia did not have the nerve to try to explain the difference between a mistress and a mere concubine, or to reveal that the Minos thought his crude groping and thrusting and alcoholic slobbering was gift enough. “Mother, you know this subject is too delicate for—”

  A sudden crash of pottery mixed with profanity dashed her response from her head. Gods, no.
Keos had started drinking early. Alaia had hoped that he would at least remain harmlessly out of the way for the family’s sake. Now his grandmother, aunts, and younger cousins were staring at him, wondering who this surly drunkard was who had replaced their congenial kinsman.

  Mnasa started to open her mouth, most likely to chastise Alaia for raising such a nuisance, but Alaia cut her short. “Let me deal with the matter, while you take the wine to Father.” Before Mnasa could answer, much less make an objection, Alaia marched over to her son to mitigate the damage.

  In the last two months, ever since the excursion, Keos had become withdrawn. The terrible oaths of secrecy he had sworn made it impossible for him to divulge what Ariadne demanded of him during his frequent visits to the Labyrinth, but Alaia, who understood his situation better than most, could guess.

  Alaia prodded his leg with her foot. “Clean yourself up,” she hissed, “and pay your respects to your grandfather.”

  “Don’t you know?” he belched. “We’re celebrating. The most holy lady’s womb is stuffed with child.” He raised the handle of the wine jug as if in toast. His arm was drenched with liquid; the rest of the jug lay shattered beside him. “The woman’s milked my cock dry, she’s—”

  “That’s enough.”

  Then Wedaneus, having overheard the disturbance, was there. Seizing Keos with an unexpected show of strength, he hauled the wayward youth to the krater, where took the water jug and emptied the contents over his son’s head. “Apologize to your mother’s kinsmen,” he ordered. By now, all the men were outside, frowning and shaking their heads.

  Sputtering, shaking the droplets from his head, Keos wrenched himself free and, barreling past the men, vanished into the house.

  Mnasa was the first to speak. “If you but taught the boy some basic manners, this embarrassment would not—”

  “Keos has manners,” Wedaneus countered sharply. “But he has been possessed by a demon.”

  “Then have him exorcised,” Amphidaitas grumbled, “or keep him from the sight of company.”

  Mnasa huffed. “Keos has become the most honored of youths through his association with the Labyrinth. Apparently he has sired a sacred child. Why, he will bring us a great fortune! Yet all he can do is drink wine and slouch about like an unruly boy? For shame, Daughter! You and your husband obviously have not schooled—”

  Wedaneus turned on her. “Is that all you can think about—what you will acquire by this?” Mnasa’s eyes widened, and she fluttered her hands about her face in protest. Amphidaitas, meanwhile, stood both immovable and unreadable. Alaia regretted the confrontation, however much her kinsmen deserved the scolding. “You will gain nothing. Minos Argurios is not going to shower us with gifts or promotions, and neither will the Labyrinth. The priestesses keep the ancient laws when it comes to their children. They never name their consorts. Keos has received a few trinkets, some new clothes, but there will be no celebrations in his honor, no prestigious post at court, and no gifts of land or livestock.” Wedaneus raised a finger as Itamos started to interrupt. “And before you say anything, it is not his fault or my wife’s. We have not gained because there is nothing to gain. You are trying to milk a stone.”

  “You have said quite enough on the subject, Scribe Wedaneus.” Amphidaitas stepped forward to take his wife’s arm. “Perhaps we should excuse ourselves, since our presence obviously—”

  “Did I say you should leave?” Wedaneus moderated his tenor for his father-in-law. Alaia breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted was to have to choose between her husband and kinsmen. “This matter of gain has been worn into the ground. Let us eat and discuss our trades, as we have always done.” Nodding to his in-laws and wife, he headed indoors again.

  Alaia needed several moments longer to recover her composure, then she followed. Within, her father and brothers talked business, which consisted of who had died recently, of what cause, and what he or she had bequeathed to their family—while pointedly excluding Wedaneus. How ungrateful they were! Alaia thought. How heedless of the laws of hospitality! Wedaneus had bought the goat yesterday morning at considerable expense, and was providing the wine.

  Wedaneus clung to his manners to preserve the peace and did not further call out his impertinent in-laws. Rather, he countered by ignoring them in turn, and directing his conversation toward his own children. He seated Merope beside him, and questioned ten-year-old Kassandros, who showed signs of remarkable scribal aptitude, on minute aspects of the wool trade.

  Alaia wished she could retreat upstairs like Keos, but, well aware of her hostess obligations, she forced herself to take a bowl of stew and accept the place her husband and children made for her. She much preferred gatherings with her husband’s family. The wool trade was not as morbid as the counting of the dead, and Wedaneus’s mother did not pass judgment on her association with the Minos, a reprieve she felt certain had come through Wedaneus’s tactful intervention with his parents.

  When at last her family, helping themselves to the bulk of the leftovers without consulting her, did her the favor of leaving, Alaia went straight to her husband. “That was terrible. I thought they would never leave.”

  Now that they were alone together, Wedaneus let his strain show. “Why did you not keep Keos away from the wine and upstairs as we agreed?” His tone became harsh and reproving. “Now the entire neighborhood knows our business.”

  “And they could not guess before, with the Minos’s men and priests from the Labyrinth constantly turning up at our door?” she shot back. Noticing Philomena lingering, she banished the nosy woman with a wave. “I have no control over him nowadays, and you know it. You could have dumped water on his head and sent him upstairs before company arrived.”

  Merope and Kassandros, helping with the clearing away and sweeping, looked lost. Wedaneus looked at them. “Go and finish your work,” he said. “Your mother and I are not arguing.”

  Were that only the truth. Nevertheless, Alaia did not gainsay him. For her children’s sakes, she wanted the calm household of earlier days, before her encounter with the Minos, and when Lady Ariadne was but a half-forgotten sapling in some dusty corner of the Labyrinth.

  She waited a moment to speak. “Keos needs to be sent away for his own good. Talk to Boukolion again about fostering him.” She lowered her voice lest Philomena hear them through the wall. “Now that the girl has conceived, she will no longer need him.”

  Wedaneus did not look hopeful. “That did not prevent her from calling for him last night.” A quick glance at the door reminded her that it was the hour when servants of the Labyrinth usually came for Keos. Would they come knocking tonight, or would Keos have a reprieve?

  “He knows full well this is the busiest time of year in the counting house,” Wedaneus continued. “The fleece has to be inventoried, assigned to the spinners and weavers, and delivered. Keos knows how important this is. Our entire family depends on it. Because if Anaxoitas finds himself short-handed, he will dismiss Keos and have me take another boy on as an apprentice. Or he will dismiss me also and hire a scribe from the Labyrinth.”

  Hearing the strain in his voice, Alaia went over to him and touched his arm. “I had no idea you thought this way, Husband. Has Anaxoitas said he would dismiss you?”

  “Of course not. He will wait until the tallies are taken and the wool distributed, then deliver the news.” Wedaneus’s body through his clothes was taut with tension. He would not sleep that night unless Alaia persuaded him to take some chamomile tea with honey. “I must offer to the household gods, to urge them to favor my cause.” He started to raise his voice. “And, by Diwios, Keos had better come down and join me. He has neglected the hearth long enough.”

  “I will see to it. In the meantime, if the counting house needs an extra hand, take Kassandros with you. Show him the business. Anaxoitas has often spoken well of the boy.”

  Alaia left her children and servant to their work, and prepared leftovers to take upstairs. In the room her sons shared,
she found a naked Keos bent double over the night jar. From the stench, Alaia could tell he had been retching for a while. Setting down the tray, she said, “That should be a lesson to you that the gift of Dionysus can also be a curse.”

  Keos clutched his head. “It dulls the real pain.”

  Alaia went over to him. He smelled not only of vomit but also of rancid sweat; he needed a proper bath and a good night’s rest, if he could manage it. Kassandros no longer wanted to share a room with him, because on nights when he was home Keos was restless, tossing and turning. And sometimes, believing his younger brother asleep, he sobbed into the fleeces. What had Ariadne done to unman him so? Alaia would have liked to get the girl alone for ten minutes to beat the truth out of her.

  “You insulted me and your kinsmen before, young man.” Respecting wishes voiced weeks earlier, she did not touch him. “Your father is displeased.”

  Keos shook his head as if to say he did not remember what had happened earlier. Alaia decided to let Wedaneus lecture him once he was sober. “Are you well enough to come downstairs and honor the household gods?”

  “I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. “Everything hurts.”

  “I will give you an hour, then you will come down and make an offering. It has been days since you last paid your reverences,” she told him. “In the meantime, your father is going to speak to your Uncle Boukolion about your staying with him in the country for a few months. You need the fresh air and exercise. Besides, the young lady will not want you now that she is with child. She will be sick and miserable.”

  “She’s not sick at all, except in the head. It’s bad enough that she...” Then he checked himself. “No, no, I can’t tell you.” Wincing, he retched into the jar again, but nothing came forth.