“No, my son. Your father is a much greater man than Minos. In fact, much greater than any man. He’s not even really a man. Your father is a god.”
“What?” I exclaimed, jerking to my feet in shock.
“Your father is Poseidon, god of the sea.”
I stood there, a mass of turbulent emotion, unable to speak, my mouth open like a dullard. My father a god? Was it true? Of course it was. I felt the truth of it. And why would my mother lie to me? She never had before.
“But how?” I exclaimed when I recovered my wits, sinking slowly back onto my stool.
“Poseidon appeared to Minos as a white bull, a bull he was meant to sacrifice to him as a sign of his loyalty and respect. Your father, being who is he, decided not to. Poseidon punished him by seducing me. Not that there was much seduction going on. A god is hard to resist.” My mother looked wistful for a moment, remembering the events of long ago.
“One moment he was a bull, the next, a beautiful man. I didn’t even count it as a betrayal. I knew Minos was having affairs with other women, so why couldn’t I? At least I didn’t lower myself to sleep with common villagers.”
A thought suddenly occurred to me. A happy thought. “That means that Phaedra isn’t my sister,” I said, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief flood through my body. I’d often thought my feelings for her were inappropriate. It was a joyous thought to discover that we weren’t related.
“No,” said my mother. “She is the product of your father’s amorous affections on giggling, dim witted, large breasted village girls. Your other brothers and sisters are still related of course. They are merely your half siblings.”
I felt relieved by that too. The thought that Androgeus was not my brother would’ve saddened me.
“But,” said Pasiphae, “this knowledge comes with a warning. You are the son of a god, and you’ll be a target for others as such. Not just mortals either. You will also have to be careful with your power. You will find that you are stronger than other men. This is not to say you are superior. Digest this knowledge humbly.”
“What about my horns?” I asked.
Pasiphae smiled. “That was to remind Minos of his arrogance. You will always be around to remind him. That is why he hates you so. One day soon, you must leave this place before his hatred manifests into something more. I know him. I know how the knowledge of my betrayal gnaws at his heart. Soon, it will be too much for him to bear, and he will have no choice but to remove that reminder.”
“Leave this place?” I said, aghast. “But this is my home.”
My mother placed a gentle hand on my arm. “It will always be your home but still you must leave. Not now, but soon. This will give you time for you to become acquainted with your heritage, to achieve mighty deeds. Then and only then, will you be free from the rage of Minos.”
I nodded slowly, digesting the facts, knowing my mother was right. I still remembered the look on Minos’s face after he’d struck me. I had never known someone so cold before.
“When shall I go?” I asked. “Where?”
“You will know the time,” she said, smiling gently at me. “Perhaps the gods will send you a sign. Maybe even your father himself. As for where, that is for you to decide. Come,” she said. “Give your mother another embrace.”
I did so, hugging her more tightly than I’d ever hugged anyone. So tightly that I felt like I’d crush her. I didn’t want to release her, now that I knew my time with her was limited.
Eventually, she pushed away and looked me full in the face. “Know one more thing, my son. No matter what happens, no matter what you do, no matter what anyone says, I will always love you. You are my son. My precious boy. You will always be my precious boy.”
Chapter 5
I have always felt more comfortable alone than in the presence of others. Even though I welcomed the companionship offered by Phaedra and most of my brothers, I often preferred solitude. Perhaps it was because of my horns. They always made me feel different. I often felt self-conscious of them, and being with others made me only too aware of how different I was.
Sometimes, on rare occasions when I wasn’t obliged to train or study, I would sit in an isolated spot under one of the trees in the palace gardens, completely alone with my thoughts. Occasionally, I would take some food—perhaps some bread or fruit—which I would munch on distractedly, often sharing it with the birds.
I must’ve been around fourteen when I encountered the first of my two animal friends.
It was a mangy dog, half-starved with a dirty dull brown coat. I don’t know how he managed to get into the gardens without being chased away by one of the gardeners or guards, but there he was.
At first, I thought I had imagined him and started slightly as I suddenly became aware of his presence. He stood nervously less than a stone’s throw away from where I sat. I could tell he was ready to bolt at any moment.
I have always felt an affinity toward animals, perhaps because of my supposed links to the bull. They, in turn, have sensed that about me, which has enabled me to get closer to wild animals than most people. This is probably the reason why I easily befriended this dog.
Careful not to make any sudden moves, I gently extended one hand containing a small chunk of bread and made soothing noises. The dog didn’t approach for long moments, sniffing the air cautiously. Eventually, he must have realized that I was no threat and moved toward me warily, his eyes never leaving the bread held in my hand.
He stopped several arm lengths away from me but approached no further. Realizing that he wasn’t going to take the offered food from my hand, I threw it gently at his feet.
Most dogs in his condition would have gobbled the food hastily. Not this one. He sniffed it before taking small, gentle bites. This immediately endeared him to me.
I named him Kyon, which means dog in Greek. I’m not sure why I gave him such an uninspiring name. It was a spur of the moment thing and once named, it stuck. I could’ve given him any number of heroic names and often thought about it but never did. Odysseus, for instance, named his dog Argos, meaning “fleet-footed.” I guess Kyon was none of these things. He wasn’t fast; he wasn’t large or strong. He was just a dog.
He was also my friend.
After that day, I went as often as I could to the same spot in the hope that I would see Kyon again. I didn’t see him for a few days and feared the worst. But my heart surged with relief when he suddenly appeared again. I saw him nearly every day after that.
I fed him. He still wouldn’t take the food from my hand, but each day he got closer and closer. Eventually, on a day I still remember with great fondness, he took the food gently from my hand. That marked a new aspect in our relationship, and he began to tolerate my touch, even though he would often flinch and growl. After a while, he stopped doing that too. I suspected that he had been beaten, which had made him understandably wary around humans.
In the weeks that followed, I was able to stroke him, and he would nuzzle my hand affectionately. We played together, Kyon excitedly fetching sticks that I would throw into the gardens. I inspected his coat and found evidence of several scars, some still scabbed over. I did my best to clean them even though he growled.
I knew I would not be allowed to have him in the palace, so I didn’t even try. I feared my father’s displeasure. I have no idea where he slept, but he was often waiting for me in the gardens. If he wasn’t there, I would whistle and he would soon appear.
He filled out substantially. His ribs disappeared under a layer of healthy fat and many of the scabs on his skin flaked off. I managed to bathe him once and discovered that his coat was not brown at all. It was a luxurious golden color. I don’t know why I bothered because he just rolled in the dirt straight afterward. He learnt from the experience, however. Never again was I able to corner him to give him another one. He had a sixth sense in this regard.
Occasionally, Phaedra and I would make the two-hour journey to Nirou Khan
i that served as the official port of Knossos. Kyon would sometimes accompany us, but I could tell that he, like I, was not always comfortable in the presence of other humans. He was extremely protective of me and only tolerated Phaedra despite her best efforts to win him over with food. He didn’t accept her at first, and often growled, but eventually he realized that she was no threat. She was never able to touch him, however.
Months later, that distrust of others brought disastrous consequences.
We were playing together, Kyon and me, in our usual spot in the palace gardens. It was a beautiful day, and I was enjoying the simple pleasure of our companionship.
That pleasure was brought to a sudden halt by an unwelcome presence.
“Dogs are not allowed in the gardens,” snipped an acidic voice that I knew only too well.
I turned to see Ariadne and Glaucus standing nearby, watching. Kyon began to growl, a low menacing sound deep in his throat.
“That’s true,” chimed in Glaucus. “If Father finds out, say goodbye to your little friend.”
I thought of several responses, but I really didn’t want to antagonize either of them. “Please don’t tell him,” I said, trying not to sound too desperate. I could’ve threatened them, I suppose, but that would have resulted in an even worse punishment.
“Why not?” asked Ariadne with a sneer. “What will you do for us?” Ariadne must have been around twelve at the time, Glaucus one year her junior. Both of them had quickly learned how to manipulate people for their own benefit.
I thought desperately. I didn’t really have any leverage over them. “I will let you play with him, too. You can throw sticks for him,” I said hopefully.
“Why not?” agreed Ariadne. “It looks like fun. Glaucus, get me a stick.” I thought nothing of it at the time, taking what she had said at face value. I thought perhaps Ariadne was making an effort to be nice for a change.
Glaucus, like the sniveling obsequious boy that he was, dutifully got his older sister a stick. She held it out for Kyon.
Kyon understood the game by now. He knew what was required of him. He edged closer, his nervousness around others forgotten for a moment by his desire to play. Ariadne made to throw the stick. But she didn’t throw it. She hit Kyon with it instead.
He gave a yelp of pain that quickly turned into an angry growl. He lurched at Ariadne. Glaucus, displaying bravery I didn’t know he possessed, kicked Kyon.
The result was predictable. Kyon bit him. Hard. Glaucus cried out in pain and tried to thrust Kyon off his leg, but Kyon was having none of it. Ariadne, I noticed, didn’t try to help at all.
“Kyon!” I shouted. “That’s enough.” With one last jerk of his head, Kyon released his grip on Glaucus’s leg and returned to my side, still growling. The boy fell to the ground and started crying.
“That’s a vicious dog you have there,” said Ariadne, smiling grimly. “It’s not safe to have such a dog around the palace. Something will have to be done.”
“Please,” I pleaded. “Please don’t say anything. Phaedra will look at the wound on Glaucus’s leg. Nobody else has to know. It was an accident. Kyon wouldn’t have bit anyone if you hadn’t treated him like that.”
“Are you saying this is all our fault now?” sneered Ariadne. “Plead all you want, it will make no difference.”
“Kill it,” sniveled Glaucus. “Kill the stupid dog.”
“Now that,” said Ariadne coldly, “is a good idea.”
Ω
I knew I had no other choice. If Ariadne and Glaucus got their way, Kyon would be killed. I did the only thing I could do.
I ran away.
After Ariadne and Glaucus had slunk back to the palace, I told Kyon to wait and followed them. Entering my room, I loaded a few items of clothing into a satchel and tucked a purse with a few coins into my loincloth.
I risked one final detour. I went to the kitchens and threw in as much food as my satchel would hold. I tossed it over my shoulder and returned to the gardens as swiftly as I could.
I had feared the worst. I thought perhaps that Kyon would run off, never to be seen again. He’d already had many bad encounters with humans, this was one too many. I thought perhaps his trust in me was broken. I also worried that maybe Ariadne and Glaucus would call out the guards immediately and have him killed.
You can imagine my relief then when I saw Kyon waiting patiently for me under our tree. I could tell from his posture that he knew something was wrong, but dogs have limited ways of expressing themselves. His tail wagged nervously.
“Come on,” I said.
I led him out of the palace gardens. The guards had seen him many times before by now, often in my company, so our presence went unremarked. I had no idea where we were going, only that Kyon and I had to leave. If we stayed, Kyon would surely die.
We headed for the coast. In my innocence, I thought perhaps I could get work in one of the villages. Maybe I could become a mercenary and take ship for some foreign parts? Of course, everyone knew me for who I was. My horns and size marked me as the King’s son.
As night fell, a farmer and his wife took pity on me and allowed Kyon and I to sleep in one of their out buildings used for storing grain. Kyon and I cuddled together to keep warm, and eventually I slept, although it was a restless sleep filled with disturbing images of Kyon lying dead at my feet. Around midnight, a low rumble awoke me. It was a tremor, something most Cretans were accustomed to, and I thought little of it at the time. The granary shifted around me but thankfully didn’t collapse, and I finally went back to sleep.
Kyon’s barking woke me again at dawn. Before I could get to my feet, several guards burst into the granary and seized me. Kyon did his best to fight them off but was clubbed ruthlessly into submission.
Both I and my dog were bound. Kyon was carried on a stout pole, much like a wild pig captured during a hunt. I was forced to march in front of him with guards at my back to ensure I didn’t run off again.
To my surprise, we weren’t taken back to the palace. Instead, we met another group of palace guards on horseback.
I was hoisted into a saddle and tied on. This was fortunate as I didn’t know how to ride and would’ve fallen off otherwise. Two other guards carried Kyon suspended between them on their horses.
The journey took all day. Finally, as night fell, saddle sore and exhausted, we arrived at our destination. It was Monastiraki. I had heard of the place but had never had an opportunity to visit up to this point. I knew the place was home to a small village and a temple where sacrifices to the gods were often performed.
I felt a sudden surge of hope. Although it was hard to tell with his covering of dirt, Kyon had a golden coat—and golden dogs were sacred to the goddess Diktynna. Many of them guarded her temples throughout Crete. I thought perhaps Kyon was going to be one of these dogs, living out his life in relative comfort. Even though I wouldn’t get to see him often, I thought he would be safe here.
I was helped down from my saddle and guided to the temple. Two guards brought Kyon, still trussed and bound. The temple was filled with people. Most of them seemed to be simple villagers but three figures, sitting in a place of honor, caught my eye.
King Minos was flanked on either side by his son and daughter. Ariadne and Glaucus. If they were here, I knew something was very wrong. I was brought to the front of the temple, just before the altar, and made to kneel. The altar, I knew, was used to appease the gods in the form of sacrifices. Sacrifices that often took place after events like earthquakes.
At first, I thought Minos was planning to sacrifice me, and I was filled with sudden terror. Suddenly, I caught Ariadne’s eye and knew that her revenge was altogether more subtle. Glaucus was smirking. I would’ve spat at him if the spittle had any chance of reaching him. As it was, he was well out of harm’s way.
Kyon was carried up to the altar, growling and yelping piteously. My heart went out to him. If I could’ve switched places with him, I would’
ve. I said nothing, my mouth dry. I knew it wouldn’t make the slightest difference if I protested.
They released him from the pole but kept all four paws bound. Even so, he struggled mightily and tried to bite. I only wished he had succeeded. Two acolytes held him down.
I could do nothing, bound as I was with two guards standing over me. A cowled priest approached the altar and loomed above the squirming dog.
He went through the normal rituals and formalities. I tried to rise to my feet but was held down by the guards. The priest, having finished the preliminaries, produced a long knife. He held it high in the air and I, unable to watch, lowered my eyes.
Minos was having none of it. He barked a command, and the guards raised my head, forcing me to watch the horrible scene unfolding before me. The knife thrust down in a glittering arc. Kyon yelped once, a high-pitched bark of pain, and then there was silence. Just like that, my friend Kyon was dead.
Minos nodded once, stood, and left the temple accompanied by his children. Ariadne and Glaucus looked back once and were rewarded by seeing the tears streaming down my face.
Ω
“Why … why that’s monstrous!” exclaimed Ovid, slurring drunkenly. “Your brother and sister were monsters.”
Ast nodded sadly. “Yes, I’m afraid they were much like their father. They had his same basic desires for petty revenge. Thankfully, not all of my mother’s children were like him. Most inherited her kind nature.”
It was well after midnight. Ovid knew he would have to stop soon. Even fuelled by constant alcohol, his energy reserves were waning. His writing hand shook, and his eyes stung, but it was hard to stop. He wanted—no, he needed—to hear more. If it was true, the things this poor misunderstood man—yes man, not beast—had gone through was more than anyone should have to bear. And Ovid suspected he had only heard the start of it.
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