I nodded. “That would be … good,” I finished lamely. I didn’t actually relish the opportunity to spend more time with Icarus—I’d rather use what free time I had with Phaedra—but I could hardly say no. It must’ve been hard for him. He had no friends to speak of and was probably lonelier than I. At least I had Phaedra, Androgeus, and my mother.
It was an awkward moment, but fortunately for me, Phaedra saved me, grabbing my arm. “Come on,” she said. “I’m starving.”
“Do you want to join us?” I asked Icarus, blurting it out without thinking. It wasn’t my place to ask him. He was, after all, the son of a servant. Daedalus, for all his standing, was still an employee of my father. Normally, Icarus and Daedalus ate with the other senior servants in the palace. Servants didn’t eat with the sons and daughters of the King. I’d probably get in trouble but I didn’t care. It felt like it was the right thing to say.
Icarus’s lip quirked. It was only then, with that expression, that I could see the resemblance to his father. “No,” he said hastily looking quickly in the direction of Daedalus. “Father wouldn’t approve.”
I nodded. It was probably for the best. I had overstepped my authority in any case.
Phaedra led me away. “That was nice,” she said. “Not very clever, but nice.”
“Not clever?” I asked, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you had no right to ask him to join us. Father would hear of it. Do you really want that?”
I shook my head slowly, raising my finger to trace the scars on my check. They had healed well, but I would always bear the mark of my father’s displeasure. “I just thought he could do with some friends.”
“There are plenty of children our age in the palace that aren’t royalty. He can be friends with them. Besides, did you see the look he gave Daedalus? I’d imagine he’d get in trouble with his father if he joined us.”
Phaedra was right. As usual. She was much wiser than I.
Chapter 4
Now that we were getting older, our daily lives were much more structured. We had routines. Failure to comply meant instant punishment. I, already having been on the receiving end of such punishment, did everything I could to obey both the letter—if not the spirit—of the instructions given by our tutors.
Our day started at dawn with an hour’s run. Glaucus struggled with this of course, and I often saw him sneaking away or taking short cuts. After that was five hours of unbroken tutelage at the hands of Daedalus. He taught us all manner of things, but his special interests lay in mathematics, physics, philosophy, and history, which suited me fine. Although I was not much of an orator, I excelled in these subjects. Daedalus was particularly interested in the practical applications of mathematics and physics. He had a large workshop in an outlying building not far from the palace, and I loved to watch him work. When I had the time, that is, which wasn’t nearly as often as I would’ve liked.
After lunch, the boys and girls were separated. Much to Phaedra’s disgust, she and Ariadne retired to my mother’s quarters, learning how to manage and run a household and perfect other skills required to serve our father, and later, their husbands. Skills such as cooking, knitting, and weaving. My mother, Pasiphae, was also an accomplished healer, and she taught the girls much of what she knew. Phaedra, I knew, enjoyed this aspect of her education almost as much as Ariadne hated it. Both my mother and Phaedra even passed on some of their healing knowledge to me.
Although she enjoyed the healing arts, Phaedra would have much preferred to spend the afternoons training with me and my brothers, but my father had other plans. As much as he loved Phaedra and Ariadne (or as much as a man like him could love), his two daughters were valuable commodities to be sold or traded off to the highest bidder in Greece or to one of the rulers of the many islands scattered amongst the sparkling Aegean.
In this, Ariadne confused me. She made no protests at all regarding this type of education. Phaedra told me that Ariadne enjoyed all domestic tasks, approaching them with vigor and enthusiasm—traits Phaedra lacked. It seemed that Ariadne’s great goal in life was to be married off to some powerful ruler’s son and then manipulate him for her own ends and ultimate satisfaction.
As for us boys, the afternoons were a mixture of pain, excitement, triumph, and the occasional humiliation. For Glaucus, it was mostly the latter. He approached our training sessions in the gymnasium with the same amount of enthusiasm he used for our early morning run. That is to say—precisely none. He was constantly derided and criticized by our tutors, and it made him even more bitter and petty than he was already. Icarus was excused from such activity, his life already being mapped out as a scholar.
For Androgeus, myself, Catreus, and Deucalion, our sessions in the gymnasium were mostly thrilling, times we’d look forward to with some anticipation. Make no mistake; it was not easy, but for me especially, it was easier than most.
Our tutors drilled us in wrestling, boxing, and the use of the shield, spear, and sword. Androgeus, who’d had a few years head start by the time our younger brothers and I entered the gymnasium, was already well accomplished in all these pursuits.
By the time I was twelve, I was almost man sized, with the strength to match. Because of this, Androgeus and I were often paired up—when he wasn’t training with the men. I was as tall as him by now but much broader through the hip and chest, with arms and legs to match. Androgeus was slimmer, graceful, and much more agile.
The differences were clearly apparent in the heat of the midafternoon sun. We were naked to the waist, our torsos covered in sweat, our lower halves concealed by simple kilts.
Our weapons tutor was a man known as Paris. Not the same Paris that later abducted Helen of Troy starting the Trojan War, but a different Paris. This Paris was a grizzled man with a graying beard in his late middle age. He was still hale and hearty with muscles like corded oak, a veteran of hundreds of battles across mainland Greece and Northern Africa. He was a hard taskmaster but fair.
“Asterion. Stop gathering wool. Concentrate. You won’t block anything that way.” He marched up to me, clipped me smartly on the head with his bare hand, adjusted my shield grip, and then stepped back. Androgeus and I looked at him expectantly.
“Well!” he roared. “Don’t just stand there. Fight for Zeus’s sake!”
Androgeus and I went at it with a will. The shields were real enough but our swords were only wood. When Androgeus trained with the men, they trained with bronze weapons. Androgeus had the scars to show for it.
Although I enjoyed physical exercise, I never felt comfortable hurting anyone. I had a gentle disposition and rarely got angry. Paris despaired of ever turning me into a warrior. I lacked the ferociousness and passion of a truly great fighter.
I warded off a blow from Androgeus. It clattered harmlessly off my bronze embossed shield, sliding down. I took advantage of the fact that he was momentarily off balance and swung wildly at his head. I missed. In fact, I wasn’t even close. Androgeus didn’t bother to raise his shield; my blow was that clumsy. With agility that was quite mesmerizing, Androgeus blocked my shield with his and then slid under it, poking the wooden point of his sword right where my heart was.
“Asterion!” shouted Paris. “You son of a motherless goat. That was useless. Not only that, you’re dead.”
Androgeus grinned at me. “You almost had me then,” he said encouragingly.
“Don’t tell lies, Androgeus,” growled Paris. “You’ll only give him a false sense of confidence, which will kill him on the battlefield. And there’s nothing worse than a man whose confidence outweighs his ability.” He shook his head, grabbed my shield, and yanked it away from my numb fingers. “Put your sword down, we’ll try something different.”
I did what Paris ordered. “I don’t think the sword and shield suit you,” continued Paris. “You’re big and strong, and you’ll get more so with time. But slow with it. I think we’ll give you a weapon to match.” He thought
for a moment and then marched over to the weapons rack, selecting a wooden club.
He threw it to me. I almost missed it, which would’ve been incredibly embarrassing. My reflexes were not like those of Androgeus. As it was, I just managed to grasp the handle of the club before it hit me in the head.
Like me, it was a clumsy thing, large and unwieldy, as long as my arm, and thick at one end, tapering down to a size that I could just grasp. It felt good in my hand though, almost like it belonged there. I’d heard rumors lately of a hero using a weapon like this. Heracles. On the mainland, he’d reportedly accomplished great and heroic deeds with such a weapon.
“Now try again,” commanded Paris. “And this time, Asterion, try and show some spark.”
Androgeus moved in instantly for the kill. He knew my abilities by now, only too aware that I was much slower than him. He did, however, sometimes forget about my strength, which seemed to grow daily. Not only that, but he appeared a little confused by the club. He was used to facing me shield to shield, sword to sword. Normally, he’d use his usual tactics, blocking my shield and using his superior speed to strike like a snake.
This time he had no shield to block.
He thrust his shield forward. I knew what it was. A decoy. He thought I would attempt to block his shield thrust with my club, and then he would strike with his sword while I was distracted. This, I realized, would once again end in defeat. Instinct kicked in then. I did what came naturally. Holding the club in both hands, I swung mightily at his shield. A bestial roar emerged from my throat. I wasn’t angry—it just seemed like the right thing to do.
Nobody in the gymnasium that day expected to see what happened next.
By rights, the shield should’ve stopped my blow, at the very least deflect it. Instead, the club smashed into the shield with enough force to shatter it, blasting Androgeus off his feet. He lay before me stunned, looking up at me with what might have been fear. I felt confused. I wasn’t even sure what had happened. I had just channeled all my strength—strength I’d never properly used—into that one blow. I knew I was strong; I just didn’t know how strong.
I felt elated, invincible, powerful, but also I regretted that I’d possibly humiliated and angered Androgeus. Quickly, I dropped the club and extended a hand to my brother. He took it gratefully with a wry grin, and I let out a long breath of relief. He grasped my bicep with his other hand. It didn’t even cover a third of it.
“My, we are getting strong, aren’t we?” he said, clapping me on the back. All movement had ceased within the gymnasium. Glaucus, training with the son of a noble from a nearby city, Catreus, Deucalion, and some other sons of senior servants—all had frozen.
I blushed, lowering my head to conceal the rosy glow. The movement almost caused Androgeus to lose an eye to one of my horns. He released his grip, hastily moving backward.
“Good,” said Paris. It was the highest praise I’d ever heard spill from his mouth. “I think we’ve found you your weapon.”
We continued to train throughout the rest of the afternoon. Androgeus left to continue his training with the men. I was paired with Glaucus, who eyed me nervously. He was no match for me physically. In fact, Glaucus was no match for anyone physically. Both Ariadne and Phaedra consistently beat him in impromptu wrestling matches held in the gardens of the palace, much to his embarrassment.
Paris got us all to lay down our weapons, and we boxed and wrestled for the rest of the day. It wasn’t much of a workout, and it was quite unpleasant to lay hands on his flabby flesh. Even though I took it easy and wasn’t trying to hurt him, I somehow managed to blacken one of Glaucus’s eyes. I think I cracked one of his ribs too by throwing him gently to the ground. He protested hotly to Paris, who looked on unsympathetically.
“My father will hear of this,” he declared, glaring at me.
“Don’t you mean our father?” I asked.
“I meant what I said,” he shouted. “Haven’t you been listening to palace gossip? You’re illegitimate. Our mother fornicated with a bull. You’re no son of my father.”
I took a menacing step forward and was pleased to see Glaucus cower before me. Like him, I’d heard the rumors. It didn’t mean I liked them though. I’m not sure what I would’ve done then but for the intervention of Paris. Probably nothing pleasant.
“That’s enough,” said Paris, stepping between us. “Control your anger,” he said to me. “A warrior who loses his temper, loses his head.”
Behind him, I could see Glaucus smirking. Almost like he had eyes in the back of his head, Paris whirled on him. “Glaucus, close your stupid, fat mouth. If your father does hear of this, I’ll tell him the truth. That you fought badly, put no effort in whatsoever, used poor tactics, and generally complained like a child. In short, you’re a dog’s behind.”
That put Glaucus in his place. I tried not to grin, but catching the eye of Catreus and Deucalion, I couldn’t help it.
Glaucus saw. “You’ll regret this,” he spat at me. My grin widened, but I suddenly felt a little uneasy. No doubt he and Ariadne would plot some petty revenge. I’d have to be on my guard.
He stalked off, regardless of the fact that we still had at least another hour of training time left.
Paris strolled over. “Looks like we’ll have to find you another training partner,” he said and then burst out laughing.
Ω
Before supper, we all had to spend some time practicing with the lyre and flute. It was all part of becoming a well-rounded member of the ruling class. A leader who could write, spell, complete mathematical sums, fight, orate, and play musical instruments. Although why exactly that last one was important was beyond me. It was the only part of the day I truly detested.
My large fingers, fingers that felt comfortable and deft on the grip of my club, were incredibly clumsy—more so than usual. The others would laugh at my inept attempts to coerce something resembling music from my instrument. The discordant sounds were reminiscent more of animals fighting or mating than actual music. I even caught Phaedra laughing on occasions, unable to stop herself. I didn’t blame her. In her position, I probably would’ve reacted in the same way.
Ariadne and Phaedra were of course both quite excellent, the skill being more important for them apparently. They were forced to practice during their afternoon sessions in addition to learning how to be a dutiful housewife. Phaedra informed me that she would have to play for her husband’s guests once she was married.
Catreus and Deucalion played with passable skill, while Androgeus played both instruments with his usual competence. Glaucus was a surprise. His chubby fingers were quite agile as they danced over the strings of the lyre. But, it was Icarus who was the true revelation. He played the flute like someone born to it. He began to surpass even the skills of his tutor and became largely self-taught. When he played for us, I watched him carefully. He would close his eyes, completely lost in the music. Only when he finished would he become aware of his audience, shaking his head like a dog clearing a vivid dream from his head. I discovered a newfound respect for him.
It was later that same evening, long after our evening meal, when I was summoned before my mother. Even though I sought out opportunities to see her, our daily routines were so busy that I didn’t get to see her with the same frequency as I had when I was young. I missed her.
Every time I saw her, however, she seemed to age. It was almost like having her children around her kept her young. Now that they didn’t need her as much, she seemed to shrink and collapse within herself. Not that she still wasn’t beautiful and vibrant, but she had become less so, which saddened me.
“You wanted to see me, Mother,” I said, lightly brushing my lips against her check, careful not to let one of my horns graze her face.
“Asterion, my beloved son,” she said, holding me close. “I don’t get to see you nearly enough these days.”
“I know, Mother,” I replied. “Our tutors keep us busy.”
“I heard about you and Androgeus today. I also heard about you and Glaucus. It seems you’re becoming a man.”
I nodded, unwilling to meet her gaze. I didn’t exactly feel good knowing I’d harmed or potentially harmed her other sons. My brothers.
“And a man has a right to know who his father is. His true father.”
My heart skipped a beat. My breathing suddenly quickened, like I’d just been running. This was the knowledge promised me, the knowledge that Phaedra had hinted at. Knowledge that I wasn’t sure I wanted. I desperately wanted to fit in with my other brothers and sisters. If a new revelation served to make me different, then I’d probably rather not know.
I had long ignored palace rumor and gossip as the work of idle mouths. Yes, my horns were an oddity but no more so than someone born with an extra finger or toe. They were just more obvious. There was no way I could be the son of a bull. That was absolutely ridiculous.
“My father is the King,” I said. “Minos.”
Pasiphae pursed her lips. “Is that what you want to believe? That your father is that man? The same man who beat you because of an accident? The same man who shuns his wife in favor of harlots he finds in nearby villages?”
I didn’t know what to say to that. My mother had always had a tongue much better suited to oration and debate than I.
Pasiphae saw the confusion clearly etched on my face. “If your concern is that your father is the white bull, then wipe that from your mind. Can you imagine me mating with a bull? Even with the assistance of Daedalus, the act would’ve been impossible.”
I knew she was right. Oddly, the white bull had disappeared not long after my birth. One of my regrets is that I never got to see it for myself. I presumed my father had dealt with it to disperse persistent rumors.
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