So I was glad that Daidalos wasn't there, although evidence of his work lay scattered everywhere. I picked up a small, hollow, bronze cow, but its staring eyes made me shudder and I put it down hastily. The model of a mechanism for building what appeared to be a pyramid, such as the Aegyptians are said to bury their dead kings in, stood next to small blocks of stone; elsewhere, metal gears lay locked in complicated patterns, and a waterwheel stood ready to turn when the channel under it was filled with a miniature river. A small figure of a man, carved from ivory and with wonderfully cunning joints that stayed in place except when I moved them, stretched out his arms, to which were attached white doves' feathers, making him look like a winged god. I would borrow this for Asterion, I thought. Nobody would notice it missing in all that clutter, and losing it would serve Daidalos right for killing my brother's toymaker. Besides, I'll return it someday, I thought as I pushed it into my pouch, despite the likelihood that Asterion would break it into tiny pieces.
I was examining a seashell with a hole bored in its tip when a voice behind me, familiar yet strange, exclaimed, "Why, it's my rescuer!" The shell hit the stone floor with a crack. I should have realized that bringing me refreshment was something between an honor and a chore and that the task would have been delegated to the wife-to-be of the Minos.
The young woman I had removed from Asterion's chamber stood in the doorway, a cup in her hand. I could tell from how she held it, with her fingertips around its top edge, that it contained something hot. I turned to clear a spot and also to give myself time to regain my composure. I piled up a wax tablet, a pair of scissors, and a round piece of crystal polished to transparency that made everything under it look big, and motioned to her to place the cup on the table. She did so with the same grace I had noticed the morning before. Her brown hair was now bound up under a white head covering. No longer wife-to-be, but wife. The Minos had not wasted any time.
I wondered if I should tell the Athenian woman about what I had seen pass over her face at our last meeting—the shadow of some horrible destiny. No, best not. It could have been merely the result of my disturbed night and not a real warning, and in any case, a warning of what? How could I tell her to be cautious if I didn't know what was threatening her? So I remained silent.
She straightened, watching as I sipped at the steaming cup. It was a simple herb tea, such as my mother and Korkyna often made, and its familiar taste was soothing.
I expected the girl to leave, but she sat down on a cushion. She fingered her necklace of pearls alternating with beads of deep blue lapis. The Minos must treasure her indeed to give her such an extravagant bride gift.
"When the Minos told me to tend to his sister," the Athenian woman said, "I expected a gray-haired old woman with a walking stick. Instead I find you! You can't be any older than I am." She looked me up and down in much the same way that Theseus had. "Younger, I would say." I felt myself blushing. I was so thin, I knew that in different clothes, I could be mistaken for a boy. "I must have misunderstood him. You are his niece or his sister-in-law, not his sister."
"I am his sister," I said, wishing my voice held the self-confidence that I heard in hers. "And his niece."
Silence. "You're his sister," she finally said, "and his niece?"
"We have the same Mother. Goddess is our Mother."
"I thought your goddess was everyone's mother."
"No, She really is our Mother. We were born of Her, although at different times, and when she was in different bodies. And our father is Velchanos." She didn't say anything for so long that I thought she hadn't understood, so I tried to explain. "You call him Zeus, I think."
"Oh, you are the girl they call—what is it?"
I swallowed. "I am She-Who-Will-Be-Goddess." For only the second time in my life, it sounded strange.
"I didn't know." She looked at me differently now, as I knew she would, but not with fear—with curiosity, it appeared. "Yesterday, I thought you—well, your dress was stained, and your hair was disarranged, and I thought you were one of the servants." I said nothing. I hoped that the fact that I hadn't looked my best wasn't the only reason she had behaved in such a familiar fashion with me. Now that she knew who I was, would she turn cold and silent? She patted the cushion next to hers. Was she really inviting me to sit with her?
I evidently hesitated too long, because now it was her turn to blush. "I'm sorry," she said, rising to her feet. "I don't know how I'm supposed to treat you—as my sister-in-law or as my husband's niece or as a goddess. Is it wrong for me to sit in your presence?" Instead of answering, I sat on the cushion and motioned to her to resume her seat.
"I know it's hard to understand," I said. I took a breath, trying to remember how I had heard Damia explaining it to another one of the Minos's wives, a girl with skin like ebony who had come from Aethiopia far to the south and who had died just a few months later.
"The body that carried my mother and also carried the Minos," I said carefully, "was my grandmother, She-Who-Is-Goddess before my mother." I looked at her, and she nodded in comprehension. "That means he is my uncle, since my grandmother bore him. But at the time that my mother was conceived, and also when the Minos was conceived, that body was being used by Karia, whom we call Goddess out of respect, and the body of their earthly father was being used by Velchanos."
She nodded again but looked a little less certain.
"Karia and Velchanos are brother and sister. Your Artemis and Apollo are the same as Karia and Velchanos, just as this bowl is a bowl, no matter what you call it in Athens."
"We also call it a bowl in Athens," she said, and I laughed.
"Then, when I was conceived," I continued, "Goddess was inhabiting my mother's body, and that spring, Velchanos had chosen to occupy the body of a man named Kilix. So, really, Goddess and Velchanos are my mother and father, just as they are Asterion's, and they are your husband's mother and father, so that means that your husband is my brother and Asterion's, too."
I saw that she was no longer listening and that her pretty face was wrinkled in pain.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Nothing much. Just a bellyache. I always suffer with my monthly flow." So she must be younger than she looked if her flow wasn't yet tuned to the full moon. It wasn't right of the Minos to marry such a young girl; I wondered if my mother knew.
She gave me a brilliant smile. She hugged her knees up to her chest and said, "It will pass soon. Now, tell me all about yourself." At first I was shy, but soon I found myself talking about my life in the palace, about learning the rituals, about how everyone treated me differently since I had become She-Who-Will-Be-Goddess, and how despite my mother's reassur-ances that one day it would all seem natural and I would treasure my privacy, I still missed having friends and companions.
I had been talking without cease for so long that my throat was dry. I gulped the rest of my herb tea, which was now as cold as river water. "And now tell me about you," I said.
"There's not much to tell."
"You're from Athens," I prompted. She nodded. "And what is Athens like?"
"Large. Grand."
"Larger and grander than Knossos?" The city that sprawled around the palace was all I knew, yet I had heard travelers remark on its size and beauty.
"Different." She leaned back on her elbows and looked up at me with a quick smile. "Every place is different from Knossos."
We talked for a long time. Prokris (I found out that the Athenians had no fear of having their names misused) was older than I had thought. In Athens, women's cycles do not always run with the full moon, and she was surprised that they did on Krete. I managed to forget that I was supposed to be meeting with the priestesses, and I even banished the Ordeal of the Snakes from my mind. Whatever it was, it couldn't be so dreadful, or my mother would never let me do it. She did it at the Planting Festival and came out whole, year after year. The Minos was just being overprotective, as always.
As that day stretched into afternoon and evening a
nd my new friend and I sat together and then walked arm in arm through the courtyard in the cooling air, I didn't think about anything except that I had someone to talk to again.
That must be why I still didn't tell her about my vision. I didn't want to frighten her, to give her cause to avoid me. Would it have made any difference if I had? I like to think not, for that way I can sleep at night, comforted by the idea that Fate or Goddess or Moera Krataia had long ago determined what would be the end for me, for Asterion, for my new friend, even for Theseus, and I could do nothing to change it.
But on the nights when I awaken under a full moon and see my mother's cold white eye staring down at me accusingly, I know that I was mistaken. I should have told my mother and the Minos, and then all would have been different.
Chapter 20
IT SEEMED that whenever I visited the Minos's quarters, I found Prokris seated at his feet, his hand resting on her soft brown hair while she talked and laughed or sang him a song. He adored her, and even the Minos's other wives doted on her. She quickly learned who outranked whom, who liked soft bread and who the crust, which were friends and which loathed each other. The children followed her the way the big dog followed Theseus. Whenever a little one fell or was stung by a bee or stubbed a toe, it was Prokris the child sobbed for and Prokris who could make the hurt go away.
Anytime I could escape from the priestesses' lessons, I fled to the Minos's quarters. I neglected Asterion, visiting him only hastily and infrequently. He was so happy to see me that I felt guilty when I left him looking after me with his huge eyes, and I always swore I would come back and tell him long stories the next day, but I never did.
I had little time at my disposal, in any case, as I often found myself being tutored until night fell. On those days, I imagined Prokris talking and laughing with someone else, and I prayed selfishly that she would not become good friends with one of the Minos's other wives.
Compared with my new friend, the priestesses were dull companions. I had known them my whole life. Priestesses are so powerful that it is allowed to pronounce their names. In addition to the sour Damia and the pleasant but dull Perialla, my mother's attendants were Athis, Meira, Marpessa, Zita, Orthia, Kynthia, Harmonia, Pero, and Kylissa. All were well born. Pero and Kylissa were sisters, born to my mother's mother when she was not Goddess. Orthia and Kynthia too were sisters, and Orthia was the Minos's first wife. She was even older than the Minos, and her mind had turned back into a child's mind, but the ways of Goddess had worn themselves so deeply into her being that she still performed Her rituals flawlessly. Athis had been born to my mother when she was not Goddess and looked very much like her—and like me, I had heard people say.
None of the priestesses were openly unkind to me, but I resented the smile of satisfaction that crossed Damia's shriveled face every time I made a mistake, just as I resented the way Kynthia would roll her eyes and grimace, impatient at my slowness, whenever I had to repeat an action or a prayer.
I loved to make Prokris laugh by telling her about the priestesses. One day, we shared a meal in the shade of the fig tree in the courtyard. Cook had discovered how much Prokris loved squid and octopus. As I hurried through the corridor on my way to meet her, I heard the wet sploosh-sploosh of one of Cook's boys slapping a dead octopus over and over against the hard rock outside the kitchen door to break up its tough fibers before Cook stewed it with vegetables and herbs. I hoped the boy kept at it a long time; I wasn't fond of the dish, but I could eat it if it wasn't too chewy.
I had to wait until the Minos settled down for his afternoon nap, as he didn't like Prokris to spend much time away from him. By the time she arrived, I was so hungry that I didn't care if she served me octopus as tough as seaweed.
It was tender enough, though, and there were also cheese and bread, and olives that had come from Athens with the tribute. I liked their foreign taste. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine I was on a beach in Attika, with its brilliant yellow sands. I wrapped a few in a vine leaf and tucked them into my pouch to take to Asterion later; he loved olives, and he would enjoy this new flavor.
After lunch, we stretched out on cushions next to the western wall, where a little shade fell in the afternoon. It was warm for early spring, but Prokris always preferred to be outside, even dressed in the finery that the Minos lavished on her. On another woman, the heavily embroidered dress and collar after jeweled collar might have looked garish, but Prokris carried them with such grace that even the stiff cloth of her overskirt seemed supple. We each had a cup of wine, well watered as was proper for young ladies, and chatted as we lay back on the grass. We fell silent, and I was drifting off to sleep when Prokris spoke.
"What has Damia been teaching you lately?" Prokris knew Damia well; the old priestess constantly came to the Minos's quarters and told the younger wives how to behave.
I cast about for something amusing. "How to dress. She thinks I don't take enough care. She's constantly pulling at my clothes and telling me to wear tighter skirts. When I said that I couldn't birth babies in a tight skirt, she told me that my mother has never had any trouble and I shouldn't either. So, I told her that I can't run in a tight skirt."
I looked at Prokris out of the corner of my eye. She lay on her back, her cup of wine balanced on her belly.
"And then she said, 'Run? She-Who-Will-Be-Goddess must move with dignity!'" I squawked in imitation of Damia. Prokris giggled, and the cup of wine danced. Emboldened, I went on, "And all the while, I can see the bit of food between her teeth and the way her bottom sticks out when she walks as she's telling me how I'm supposed to move with dignity!" I hopped up and mimicked Damia, my hips waggling, my face screwed up in her sour scowl. Prokris burst into a merry laugh, and I felt rewarded.
Then another sound made me trip and almost fall. This was a man's laugh, something that should not be heard in the Minos's quarters, unless it came from the Minos himself, and it was too youthful to be his. I looked everywhere. No one. I couldn't have imagined it, but whoever it was was invisible. I was about to call out, when Prokris leaped up, spilling her wine, and clapped her hand over my mouth.
"Look!" She pointed at the wall above my head. I spun and saw Theseus. He must have been standing on a ladder or on the shoulders of a very tall companion, because his face was at the top of the wall, and he watched us with obvious enjoyment.
"But he—but we—the Minos..." I spluttered. I took a deep breath. "Don't you know what the Minos will do to him?" She shook her head without concern. I didn't know either, but if Theseus were found here, there would be a great deal of blood and a great deal of pain with that blood.
Prokris held a finger to her lips and slipped behind me, to the door that led from the courtyard to the outer fields. I had not seen that door opened in a long time, and in fact hadn't used it since I had sneaked through it to go to the house of a friend shortly after my womanhood ceremony. The furious scolding I had received when I was found at his farmhouse had been severe, but it was nothing compared to his punishment. No one told me what they had done to him, but he never spoke to me again, and a few months later he shipped out on a trading ship, and I had not seen or even heard of him since.
So I was not eager to repeat the experiment, yet Prokris pulled the door open with the ease of much practice. I must have looked surprised, because she laughed again and said, "What, did you think that the wives spent all their time locked up in here?" I did, but I held my tongue.
Even as I stepped through the door, I regretted it. Nobody would kill or strike She-Who-Will-Be-Goddess, but even the pretty young wife of the Minos— especially the pretty young wife of the Minos—would have no such protection. To meet with a man not her brother without her husband's permission was unthinkable. At least her death would be quick; I didn't know what they would do to Theseus, and I didn't want to know.
No such thoughts appeared to trouble my companions. Theseus, his large white dog at his side, pulled Prokris into the shelter of a large olive tree that was
just beginning to bud. In their places, I would have quaked with terror. He beckoned to me to join them, but I stayed where I was and rested a hand on a rung of the gardener's ladder leaning against the wall.
The dog had sat down at her master's side and fixed her intelligent eyes on me. Theseus said, "You needn't fear that Artemis will bite you again." He stroked her head with his brown hand. "She was merely playing."
It was odd to hear an animal referred to by one of the names of Goddess, but it was not an insult. Dogs are holy to Goddess; she is a hunter, after all, and once, when the evil Aktaion attempted to violate her, taking advantage of her weaponless state as she bathed in a forest pool, his own dogs turned on him in horror and tore him to pieces. We honor dogs for that reason.
I looked around. The last time I'd been outdoors was the day the ships had pulled into the harbor, bearing Prokris and Theseus. Spring had come, and the fields were covered in tiny purple and white blossoms, and the air smelled of new grass and clean earth. Birds quarreled in the trees, and a light breeze brought the scent of herbs, crushed under my feet, to my nostrils. The city almost surrounded the palace, but on this side, where the Festivals were held, the fields sloped down toward the sea. I saw farmers preparing their land for planting, turning the earth with plows pulled by huge oxen, or by a lone donkey in the smaller holdings. Some were already planting early seeds. But I couldn't enjoy any of it while sickened by the thought of the danger we were in, meeting out here.
"We have to go back," I said to Prokris, trying not to look at Theseus, who had stood and was stretching. "If they catch you—"
Dark of the Moon Page 10
