They laid Theseus on the bed. He propped himself up on his elbow immediately, his curses never slowing. They pushed him down again. Their contempt was obvious. "He's not from Krete," I wanted to remind them. "He didn't know." But of course they were aware of this, and of course they didn't care, as long as the god performed his duty.
Clearly, I had no chance now of bearing the god's child at the next Birth of the Sun. This was not unusual; my mother, after all, would not have conceived a child this year, if she had lived. Goddess sometimes prefers She-Who-Is-Goddess to wait. It didn't matter. Many years stretched ahead of me to choose a man and then watch him die, choose another man and watch him die too, every year for the rest of my earthly life. This was how it had been since time was time.
The guards didn't bother to gag Theseus. Why should they? As long as he stayed here until the final day of the Festival, there was no danger in what he said to anyone, especially me. The guards knew that Goddess would not be swayed by anything said by the imperfect body that Velchanos had chosen. Of course the mortal part of my husband would fight against dying, would be reluctant to leave the world in its perfect spring, in its promise of many more springs to come. Unless he was a very pious person who accepted his fate with no question, the chosen man would try to persuade me to let him go. This was to be expected, and Goddess, much as She might pity the mortal part of Her husband, would never help him escape.
And even if I wanted to help Theseus, untying him wouldn't accomplish anything. The guards would be relieved by two others before these were tired. The men of Knossos considered it a great honor to keep vigil over the bridal chamber of Goddess and Velchanos, and it was not difficult to find volunteers.
Theseus appeared to grow weary of cursing and lay with his back to me. After a moment, he said quietly, "Would you mind loosening the ropes around my ankles? My feet are going numb."
I felt like I weighed twice what I had that morning, and like I had aged twenty years since then. Wearily, I bent over my husband. The restraints did appear too tight, but my attempts to loosen them were futile. My left hand was still useless, and the rope was thick and hard. "I can't," I said. He didn't answer.
I sat down helplessly, wishing I could do something to ease his pain, both in his body and in his heart. I heard voices and running feet from somewhere far away, in the depths of the palace. I was transported back to a time long ago—no, it had been only the length of a few moons—when my mother and I had walked under Goddess and Her stars, back from the hut where the woman and her tiny babies had died. I swayed as the memory rushed over me. That night, too, hurrying feet and muffled cries had disturbed the darkness.
I raised my head and listened. Theseus appeared not to hear anything out of the ordinary, but then, unlike me, he had not lain awake night after night here, growing to know the sounds of the palace the way a midwife knows the sounds of a woman in labor and can tell by a change in her breathing that something has gone horribly wrong.
Once again, the door opened. I stood, dreading what I would see. Didn't they know that Goddess and Velchanos are to be left alone unless a visitor is summoned, as I had summoned the Minos? Who would dare to disturb us now?
The wrinkled old face of Damia peered around the door, looking like the turtle I had always thought must be her sister. Her lashless eyes blinked, and then she snapped at the guard, "Push the door farther, can't you?" The door swung inward. Like Prokris, she carried a tray on which sat two cups and a flask. She came in, her steps uncertain even with that light weight, and set down her burden. A folded cloth ran along the tray's long end, concealing food, I supposed. I felt that I would never eat again, but I grudgingly acknowledged that it was a kind thought.
"Thank you," I said, "but..." I indicated the nearly full flask of wine already there.
She shrugged and filled her two cups with the wine she had brought. "Open the door," she said loudly. One of the guards did so, and she handed the cups out to them. "Might as well not waste it," she said, ungracious as always, and the two men took the cups with muttered thanks.
"The Minos—Minos-Who-Was, that is—he invaded the sanctuary of the priestesses," she announced without preamble. "He demanded to know what had happened with the Goddess ball." Her beady eyes fixed me with an unblinking stare, making my throat close over my voice. "What did you tell him?"
I shook my head. "N-nothing," I managed. "I started to, but I stopped."
"Whether you stopped or not, he knows."
"No..." I moaned.
"He has questioned us, and Perialla told him everything. Everything," she said emphatically as I tried to protest again. "The priestesses are terrified. It is up to the Minos to decide whether they live or die."
"No! I won't let him. Only Goddess—"
"Goddess's days are over." I put up my hand to ward off the blow, and she seized it, pulling me close. "Listen to me! In the time of She-Who-Is-Goddess who was Pasiphaë's mother, Goddess lost four cities." So that's why my mother wouldn't tell me their names, I thought. I couldn't speak, and the old woman's scratchy voice continued inexorably. "A few years ago, Medea fled for her life from Kolkhis, leaving her Minos dead and the city in an uproar. I doubt that the rituals of Goddess are being observed there now. That makes the fifth. And just a few weeks ago, we received confirmation of a dreadful rumor we had been hearing for some time: She-Who-Is-Goddess of Delphi has been forced by priests of the sun god to serve him and not Goddess." I gasped in horror at this desecration, and again when I realized that I myself had seen the messenger who had brought that news. "That was the sixth city to be lost of the thirteen, and we have learned that her worship on holy Naxos has ceased. If Goddess wanted to stay here on Krete, in Knossos, why did she destroy the ball just a moment before it would have made you She-Who-Is?"
There was a rustle outside the door. Damia cocked her head as if listening, and then went on. "Minos-Who-Was sent me here with wine he preparedfor the guards"—she said those words with an odd emphasis—"and with this." She nodded at the tray where the cloth-swathed bundle still lay. She rose creakily to her feet. "You must hurry." Then she was gone. My mouth was hanging open. I snapped it shut. Hurry? What did she mean?
"Old fool." I had almost forgotten Theseus. "She didn't bring wine for the guards. She brought it for us—for you, anyway—and it was only because we already had some that she gave it to them. And what did she mean that the wine had been prepared by the Minos? How do you prepare wine?"
Something was different. I closed my eyes to think. Then I opened them. The guards—where were they? When Damia had left, they should have been standing in the opening, their spears crossed, but I had seen no sign of them. I opened the door.
The men were there, but they lay on the floor, one of them twitching in sleep, and the other snoring. I picked up the wine flask and put my nose to its opening. A sweet scent rose to my nostrils. Wine may be sweet, and wine may have honey added to it, but this smell was neither sweet wine nor honey. It was extract of poppy, and anyone who drank wine laced with poppy essence would sleep for a long time.
Theseus started to speak. "Hush!" I said, and to my surprise he did. I closed the door softly and opened the bundle on the tray.
In the torchlight, three gold figures on the blade of a short sword blinked coldly.
THESEUS
Chapter 40
WHEN I FEEL the cold metal, I'm sure that Ariadne has decided not to wait for the ceremony but to kill me right here. Then I realize that the blade is not slitting the veins on my wrists but slicing the knot that holds them together.
"What are you—" I start to ask, but once again she orders me to hush, and somewhat to my own surprise, I do.
I sit up and rub my wrists.
"Can you walk?" Ariadne grabs my heel and waggles my foot.
I yelp as the blood burns back into my feet. "Stop! Stop!" I hiss.
She shakes her head. "No time. I don't know when the guards are to be relieved, but it can't be long." She grabs my arm, and w
ith surprising strength, she hauls me to my feet.
Too late. Footsteps are padding down the hall. They're light but moving fast. I take my sword from Ariadne and swing it up as the door flies open, then lower it at the sight of Prokris. She cowers, her arm over her head.
"The old lady, that one who looks like a turtle, she sent me," Prokris says between gulps of air. She drops onto a stool, and her shoulders shake with the effort of catching her breath.
Ariadne isn't listening to her. "I'll get my brother," she says, "while you two go to the ship and make it ready. Then I'll bring him to you and you can leave. I'll—"
"Slow down. Wait a minute," I say. "Get your brother? What are you talking about?"
"Don't you understand?" She turns wild eyes on me. "They'll kill him so that no one will object to Simo being Minos, and they won't be kind about it. He has to go with you. Once you're gone, I'll declare that Simo is My son, and he can do whatever he wants. But you must take Asterion."
"But what about you?" I ask. For the first time, she hesitates, and I take advantage of her indecision. "You can't stay here either. I don't know what the old woman meant about the goddess ball, but it seems to me that she doesn't think you're truly their goddess. Am I right?" Ariadne has gone even paler than usual. "What happens to someone who says she's the goddess when she isn't?"
Even her lips are white now as she falters, "I ... I don't know. It's never happened—at least, I never heard of—"
"Come with us!" She hesitates, and I press my advantage. "I'll help you get your brother to the ship. He likes me; I can make him come. There's little enough to make ready. We'll go to Athens—I have a score to settle with my father—and we can stop at some island on the way and get provisions. I can easily find men at the dock to help me sail her."
"Wait!" I'm afraid Ariadne is going to argue, but instead she throws open the lid of a wooden chest at the foot of the bed. She tosses out one moth-eaten ball of yarn after another until they litter the floor like blue and green and yellow and white rocks.
"What are you doing?"
She pulls out a ball that's as black as squid ink and lumpy with knots. For an instant, she clasps it to her chest, her eyes closed. Her lips move, and just as I'm about to shout that there's no time for prayer, she thrusts it at me. "You'll need this to get him out. Unravel it, or he'll never be able to leave the chamber. I'll find honey or preserves or something to tempt him away."
"And will you come with us?"
"I can't." She stands upright, and despite her small size, she looks strong. "I'm a priestess of Goddess, and I always will be."
"All right." I give up. I don't know what she means, but I don't care, as long as she hurries. "Let's go." We slip out the door and down the corridor. Prokris pries a torch out of its holder as we run past it.
It's quiet, but distant, agitated voices and weeping echo so strangely that I flinch every time we turn a corner, expecting to encounter a guard or at least a servant who will raise the alarm. But we see no one. "They're frightened," Ariadne whispers. "If Perialla has told them about the goddess ball, they will be terrified, and they know that they don't have a Minos." She looks frightened too, and I reach for her hand. I hold it as we approach the stairs. She stops, bringing me up short. "Tell my brother where I've gone, and why. He remembers—I think he remembers about the kitchen. Hurry! And don't forget to unravel the ball as soon as you get there."
I grip the clump of wool and wonder what the boy's reaction will be. Prokris hands me her torch, and the two girls run in the other direction.
Even with the flame, the dark is heavy. The stench and a soft sound coming from Asterion's den make my stomach clench. He's eating something, and the sucking and slobbering make the hair on my arms prickle. He must hear me or see or smell the torch, because I hear his "Ah!" and blessedly, the chewing stops. Another "Ah!" and I round the corner and see him.
He stands with the leg of a lamb or a kid dangling from one hand, while with the other, he points at me, a grin showing his yellow, crooked teeth. Someone must have brought him a portion of the festival food, a kindness even if he's been left alone while everyone else celebrates in company with their families, with music and dancing.
He catches sight of the ball of black wool. He shrieks and flings himself backwards, slipping in the filth and falling, then fleeing from me on his hands and feet, scrabbling like a gigantic crab. "Oooooh!" he wails. "Ama! Ama!"
"It's all right!" I tear at the yarn with my fingernails, then with my teeth. I dig my thumbs into it and grasp an end and yank at it, but the mass knots itself together even tighter. "It's all right, Asterion." I approach him. He whimpers, looking up at me through the curls that fall on his forehead. I reach out a hand, and he flinches.
"Come with me." I raise my voice over his moans. "Your sister—Ariadne is waiting for you up in the kitchen. She has some honey. You like honey, don't you?"
His sobs slow, and he tentatively rises to his knees and then to his feet. I tug his hand, but I might as well be pulling at the rock that had lain on top of my sword and sandals. For an instant, my mind's eye sees the bull with spears projecting from his hump, his eyes glazing as he's brushed by death's wing.
I slice the ball of yarn open with my sword, untwisting the center, and throw it to the ground. I trample it into the urine and feces from the overturned bucket. "See? The magic is broken. It can't hold you here anymore!" The boy gasps and leans toward the door, twisting his body to distance himself from the matted wool, but he doesn't step out of the ring of white paving stones.
"Ama!" he calls. "Ama-a-a-a!" For the first time, I see his resemblance not to a bull but to a calf that has been separated from its mother. His huge eyes, as he glances at me, blaze with confusion and fear.
"Ama!" He stretches his big hand to the door. Then he screams and shrinks back, shuddering, his arms crossed protectively over his naked chest. An instant later, I hear it too: the tramp of feet. Then there's the hot, greasy smell of torches, and three men are suddenly in the doorway. Enops, leaning on a companion, with bandages wrapping his chest, is in the lead. Behind him is Gnipho, the guard who threatened Artemis's life when she bit Ariadne. He is heavily armed, and at his side stands Prokris. She throws me a defiant look. I'm too amazed to wonder what that means or what she is doing with them.
The men do not bear decent swords and spears. Instead they carry an assortment of hooks, branding irons, and barbed implements with narrow points that look like they are intended to enter a body and then be pulled out along with some of what should never be seen. Enops's expression is grim, and as I watch, he sticks the tip of his vicious-looking weapon into the flame until it glows red.
The two men with him look frightened but determined. Behind them, Ariadne and Artemis have appeared. Asterion is weeping. I imagine what will happen if these men work their will on him—his bewilderment, his terror, his prolonged suffering—and I make up my mind. I grip his shoulder, and he turns and wraps his arms around me, burying his face, slimy with tears and snot, in my neck.
Ariadne squirms between the men, who appear frozen. She stops short and claps her hand over her mouth. Then she fixes me with a stare and raises her right hand, the first finger and thumb curled into a semicircle. She holds it above her head as tears spill out of her eyes in an unending stream. Then she nods at me. I hesitate, not sure I understand, and she nods more firmly.
Asterion's large body is between me and the soldiers, and I doubt they can see me pull the sword out of my belt. With my free hand, I stroke Asterion's hair, remembering how Ariadne soothed him that day, his head on her lap while she sang to him. I keep my gaze on Enops, who has narrowed his eyes, wondering what I'm up to. Prokris grabs his arm and leans in to say something in his ear, but he shakes her off.
"Hush, now." I grip the hilt tighter, and Asterion's sobs slow a bit. "Hush, now."
And then it is done.
Chapter 41
ARTEMIS POINTS her nose at the ceiling and howls, long and low.
I ease my burden down gently, even though Asterion is past feeling any hurt. He lies on his back, his restless limbs finally still. One dark eye is open, and it stares at me mildly, without accusation. I close its lid and rest my hand on the boy's damp face.
The men huddle together in horrified silence. Even Enops appears shocked. Behind them, Prokris is bent over, her hands covering her face. Only Ariadne looks at me, her eyes shining with tears. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and steps inside the circle of white stone that used to mark the limits of Asterion's domain. She stoops over her brother's body and smooths the curls off his bumpy forehead while her tears drip onto his face.
Two more figures join the crowd in the doorway. One is the Minos, or Minos-Who-Was, as Ariadne now calls him. His face is as impassive as the bull's mask that he wore a short time ago. With him is the bent-over old woman who brought us the drugged wine—and my sword.
The man glares at Enops. "You!" he spits. "Traitor! And to think that I thought you worthy of being Minos!"
Ariadne wheels on her uncle. "He was your chosen one? I thought that Simo—"
Enops thrusts his chin out at her. "No. He chose me. And now I'm going to be not only the Minos of Knossos, but its king as well." His voice is shaky. "I am Pasiphaë's son as much as he was." He glares at the motionless body inside the circle of white stone. "As much as you are her daughter. Why should I have to risk my life in the bullring? Why am I of no consequence, when a monster is called the son of the god, and Minos-Who-Will-Be?"
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