In the world above us, Minos was conducting a frantic search. Androgeus and my other brothers had to leave. Their absence would have caused too many questions. It was bad enough that I had disappeared, let alone Phaedra, but most of the King’s children? Too much of a coincidence.
Even she had to leave eventually. The King had been asking about her. Once she saw I was going to recover, her fear lessoned and she left me under the care of Icarus. Daedalus continued to work in his workshop above us to allay suspicion. Guards had already searched the place, leaving disappointed.
On the second day, I began to feel stronger. Icarus fed me broth and made me drink prodigious amounts of water, thinking the water would help flush the poison from my body. Who was I to argue?
Later, I was strong enough to rise and dress. That done, I started to consider my options. They were depressingly few.
“What are you going to do?” asked Icarus.
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “My mother told me I would have to leave the island sooner or later.” I shrugged helplessly. “I suppose I hoped it would be later.” I had delayed my departure too long, and now I was paying the price for my indecision.
“You have no choice but to flee,” said Icarus. “Even if this place is never discovered, Minos will find you eventually. You can’t stay here forever.”
Icarus was right. I knew he was right, but I still dragged my heels.
We discussed options. Eventually, our conversation moved on to the wings nestled in the corner of the underground workshop. They intrigued me.
“Did your father make these?” I asked, standing and moving across the room to examine them more closely. There were two separate wings, feathers fixed on brackets of wood. On closer inspection, the feathers had been attached using wax. There were straps where presumably the wings were attached to the body of whoever was brave enough to try them.
“No,” said Icarus quietly. “I did.” I could tell from his tone that he was proud of his achievement. He was never boastful. This was about as close as he got to anything resembling arrogance.
“Have you tried them?” I asked, full of wonder.
“Not yet,” said Icarus. “Father doesn’t want me to risk them yet. He wants to help me make some changes. I know they will work though. I’m certain of it.”
I knew the answer before I asked the question. I would’ve seen or heard something if he had. It did surprise me though. Icarus, although quiet and thoughtful, was also willful and sometimes rash, often doing the opposite of what his father told him. There must have been another reason why he hadn’t tried them out. Then I knew. He was afraid. I didn’t blame him. Just looking at them made me afraid. But then again, lots of things scared me, foremost among them heights.
Icarus looked me up and down, calculating. “I never designed them for someone of your weight, but it might just work.”
“What!” I exclaimed. “You can’t be serious. Even if I did get into the air, do you really think they will get me to the mainland?”
“Maybe,” said Icarus. “With the right wind behind you. What other choice have you got?”
“I could get a fisherman to take me?” I asked hopefully.
Icarus shook his head. “What fisherman around here would defy the King? Would they really risk it for you—someone who clearly hasn’t got the favor of the gods? Even if they did decide to take you, they’d probably huddle in fear the whole voyage, waiting for a lightning bolt hurled from the gods.”
“I could steal a boat?” I suggested.
“Can you sail then?” asked Icarus, raising one eyebrow at me. He knew just as well as I that I didn’t know the first thing about boats.
It was hopeless. We spent the next few hours suggesting and then abandoning various ideas.
It must have been after midnight when Phaedra and Androgeus returned. Unfortunately with bad news. Androgeus had a large sack slung over his shoulder.
“Our father knows you’re here, somewhere,” exclaimed Phaedra, breathless.
“How?” I asked but it was unnecessary. I knew.
“It must have been Ariadne and Glaucus,” said Androgeus. “They know you spend your free time here. They probably saw us carry you. We were careful, but Ariadne is not stupid. Now that our father is getting desperate, she has finally played her hand in order to reap the greatest reward.”
Already, I could hear the tramp of heavy feet above us. The King’s guards had arrived. They would tear the place apart, eventually finding the secret trapdoor. I didn’t have long and all I could do was wait. They wouldn’t get me without a fight though. I started looking around for a useful weapon, hastily pulling items away from the wall, frantically searching.
“No need for that,” said Icarus. “My father planned well. There’s another way out.”
And indeed there was. A hidden access way in one of the walls opened to reveal a rock passageway.
“You go on,” said Icarus. “I’ll catch up.”
I was about to protest but Androgeus took my arm, forcing me into the narrow rock passage. He passed me a burning torch liberated from one of the sconces to light the way. It was a tight fit for someone of my size. Claustrophobic. I still wasn’t fully recovered from the poison, and my body poured sweat, which leaked into my eyes, obscuring my vision.
I could hear Androgeus and Phaedra shuffling behind me. They weren’t breathing nearly as hard as I.
It seemed like we were in the passage for hours, but it must have been less than one. Eventually, the passageway sloped upward. The flickering light from the torch revealed a dead end above me. It was stone. I immediately started to despair but then logic—logic painstakingly drilled into me by Daedalus—kicked in. He wouldn’t have built an escape tunnel without a way out. Experimentally, I gave the stone a push. It rose easily, revealing a dark, cloudless sky punctuated by stars.
I squeezed myself out and reached down to help Androgeus and Phaedra. Not that they needed my help. If anyone needed help, it was probably me. Phaedra closed the stone hatch. It really was a piece of clever engineering. Designed to look like any other stone, it would go unnoticed. The field around us was littered with similar rocks. On closer inspection, I discovered that Daedalus had attached a lever that made lifting and closing easy enough for a child to manage.
We stood together, saying nothing. I quickly got my bearings. We were facing toward the north. The passage had somehow taken us to the cliff tops outside the palace grounds. The Cretan sea spread out below us, a vast never-ending expanse of water that glittered in the starlight. I would’ve thought it was beautiful had it not been for our predicament.
“Now what?” I asked eventually.
Androgeus set his sack down and leant over the cliff face. “I see a path,” he declared. “Not much of one. Probably used by goats but we should be able to get down to the beach.”
“And then what?” I asked. “Am I meant to swim?”
“No,” said Phaedra, a grim smile on her face. “I’ve seen you swim. It’s not a pretty sight.”
“After that?” I asked, my voice rising. Conscious of being heard, I asked again, this time in a whisper.
“I organized a boat,” said Phaedra. “I gave a fisherman that I know some of my jewelry. He won’t take us himself, but I know enough to manage. He should be here.” She joined Androgeus at the cliff face, her face contorting into a worried frown.
“What’s this about ‘we?’” I asked. “You’re not coming with me. It’s too dangerous.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “You don’t know the first thing about boats. You’ll drown before you even lose sight of this island.” I felt relieved and slightly selfish. She was right—I couldn’t handle a boat by myself. But equally, I didn’t want Phaedra to give up her life for me. She had it good here. The King loved her in his own strange way. She’d be married off soon and have a life where she wanted for nothing. But, as usual, Phaedra had her own ideas.
“Well,”
I asked, wisely choosing not to argue further. “Where’s this boat then?” It still hadn’t appeared. The sea below us was devoid of anything floating.
“It’s not coming,” said a voice behind us.
We turned as one to see Icarus forcing himself through the concealed entrance. He knelt down behind him and began dragging something out. Anything else I was about to say dried up immediately when I saw what it was.
Ω
“All set?” asked Androgeus. He tried to smile reassuringly at me, but I could tell it was forced. He was as worried as I was.
He and Icarus had helped me don the wings. There was a lot of adjustment necessary, given that they had been originally designed for Icarus himself, but eventually we got there. I flapped them experimentally. They felt light and flimsy. I was having some serious misgivings about this whole thing, tempted to tear them off and give up.
“This is ridiculous,” said Phaedra. She sat on the ground nearby, refusing to help with such a misguided venture. “I’ll find us another boat.”
“I doubt that,” said Androgeus. Icarus had already told them that any fishing boats, or in fact anything floating, were now guarded by the King’s men. He’d overheard the guards talking as he made his escape through the tunnel.
“I still think he’s going to wind up dead,” said Phaedra. She rose to her feet and faced me. She was so close I could smell the sweet scent of her perfume. I desperately wanted to gather her into my arms, but that was now almost impossible. Not to mention awkward.
“Don’t do it,” she pleaded. “We’ll think of something else. We can hide together, you and I. We’ll find a way off the island.”
“There’s no other option,” I said. “I have to do this.”
Androgeus was staring back toward the palace. “Someone’s coming,” he declared.
I turned to look. I could see the light of several torches in the distance. They looked to be heading in our direction.
“It’s the King’s guard,” said Icarus. “They probably found the tunnel but I collapsed it behind me. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to be able to guess where it came out though.”
“It’s now or never,” said Androgeus. He moved Phaedra aside and embraced me. “Good luck, brother. I’ll see you again. I know it.”
I nodded mutely, clumsily trying to return the embrace, hampered by my wings. He tucked the sack into my belt. I already knew what it contained, and it was much lighter now than it was before. Icarus had insisted that the less weight, the better. Food was the first thing to be removed, followed by some items of clothing, a short stabbing sword, and some other sundry items deemed to be unnecessary.
Only a small purse of money, a flask of water, and a fishing line remained. Androgeus had had the foresight to bring my helm. It was too cumbersome to put in the sack, so he set it on my head instead, strapping it into place but leaving the faceplate undone.
Icarus approached and grasped my hand in a clumsy warriors grip. It was an awkward gesture given that he was no warrior, but he tried and that was enough.
“Thank you,” I managed. “For everything.”
“Just remember you have to tell me all about it,” said Icarus. “Don’t forget to tilt the wings for more lift.”
“How am I meant to steer?” I asked belatedly. It was a bit late for that, but the thought had only just occurred to me.
“Use your legs,” he replied mysteriously.
I didn’t have a chance to question him further. Phaedra was in my arms, weeping softly. “Don’t go,” she said one more time. “I want us to be together.”
I enfolded her in my winged arms. “I have to. You know I do. I will return one day. I’ll come for you. Will you and the others be all right without me? Minos … ”
“Don’t worry about us,” she said. “Our father won’t dare punish Androgeus. He’ll be King one day. I’ll bat my eyes prettily at him and say it was all my idea. That’ll get Icarus off the hook. You just worry about yourself.”
“If you don’t go now, you won’t be going anywhere,” said Androgeus, a note of worry in his voice. “They’re almost here.”
He was right. I could see the bronze glint beneath the torches. The King’s guard was almost upon us.
I kissed Phaedra softly, and then gently pushed her away and moved to stand on the edge of the cliff. I looked back at the three of them, trying to burn their images in my mind. It might be the last time I saw them. My gaze lingered on Phaedra. She looked so beautiful and so sad. With an effort, I tore my eyes from her and took stock of the task at hand.
“Look for me in Athens,” said the voice of my brother. “I’ll be at the games in three months. Poseidon be with you and watch over you.”
I certainly hoped so. I needed every bit of help I could get. I sucked in a huge breath, flexed my thick legs, and jumped. It really was one of the stupidest things I have ever done. In hindsight, I should’ve listened to Phaedra.
Ω
“You flew then!” asked Ovid, his eyes wide.
“You will have to wait and see,” said Ast patiently. “I think this is a good time to have a break. You certainly look like you could use one.”
It was true. Ovid was suffering. When he’d awoken, simply raising his head off the pillow had been an effort. His head had swam, and he’d felt a little nauseous. He’d put his head back on the pillow and tried to go back to sleep, but it was hopeless. Outside the tiny uncovered window, the sun had already risen. The bright light had done nothing for Ovid’s hangover or his already irritable temperament.
Accustomed to overindulgence, Ovid knew he had a remarkable capacity for wine. Many had commented over it. Indeed, few men could match his ability to consume it. Like any true alcoholic, Ovid rarely suffered from debilitating hangovers. He got them, sure, but only mild versions. They were never like this. This was something special.
He really had overdone it the previous night. So engrossed had he been by the story, he’d hardly noticed that he’d emptied two full skins of wine.
“Perhaps a little fresh air would clear my head,” he admitted grumpily. Ast accompanied him as he stumbled outside.
When he had first awoken, he had been a little disorientated. After finally levering himself out of bed, the enormity of where he was and who he was with threatened to overwhelm him. Sitting down on the bed again, he had slowly become aware of his surroundings.
The windowsill had a delicate little pot sitting on it. Inside were white flowers. Ovid, a poet and scholar in the truest sense of the word, always interested in the details that would give a sense of reality to his writing, knew they were sea daffodils.
Strange, he’d thought. In his experience, men who lived alone rarely adorned their homes with such, well, feminine things. Now a confirmed bachelor with three broken marriages behind him, he could say he was almost an expert. When he’d lived with his wives, often the home they shared would be decorated with flowers and the like. Since then, he couldn’t remember a time that flowers had ever graced his windowsill.
“Are you sure you live alone?” he asked, breathing deeply.
Ast eyed him strangely. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
Ovid shrugged. “The flowers in your bedroom. Don’t see that very often in a man’s home. Almost suspected you were hiding someone from me for a moment there.”
Ast allowed the remark to pass without comment.
Ovid sucked in a few more deep breaths. There was a large ceramic pot outside the door filled with fresh water. He dunked his head in until he could hold his breath no longer and then surfaced, spraying water in every direction. Drying himself with a cloth provided by Ast and feeling a little better for his efforts, he declared himself almost human and fit to continue.
They resumed their seats at the table.
“A few questions,” said Ovid. “How did Daedalus know what poison it was?”
“He didn’t,” said Ast. “He guessed. Daedalus wasn’t just a master c
raftsman. His knowledge was extremely broad. I have never met anyone more knowledgeable. He travelled widely and, as I mentioned, had seen similar effects before. It didn’t really matter what poison was used though. The effect was important. I was very lucky I didn’t die.”
“Did you see Phaedra again?”
Ast nodded. “I did, but I will come to that part of my story in due course.”
“Not really helping me a whole lot here,” grumbled Ovid. “What about the helmet? It does, I confess, intrigue me. Why didn’t you use it more often? Do you still have it? Can I see it?”
“I will answer all your questions eventually, but you will have to be patient,” rumbled Ast.
Ovid could see that his large companion was losing patience, but Ovid’s curiosity was getting the better of him. Despite his initial misgivings, he was really starting to see Ast as the fabled Minotaur of legend. Could it be true? It was an unbelievable story but somehow it had the ring of truth to it. Not only that, but Ast oozed sincerity. He was a hard man not to believe.
Being a little drunk seemed to help swallow such an unlikely tale. Maybe more wine? Hair of the dog that bit you and all that. He was confident that a few goblets of wine would get rid of his lingering hangover and his doubts.
He poured himself one as Ast resumed his story.
Chapter 8
In hindsight, I was just a boy, ignorant, naïve, stupid. Boys have a tendency to act before thinking. Consequences are rarely considered. Stupid boys do stupid things. Despite my fear, I thought it would work. It didn’t really occur to me that it wouldn’t. Like Icarus, I had thought of flight. His design seemed sound to me. He was far smarter than I, and so I had the greatest confidence in him.
Unfortunately, the wings had never been tested. Certainly not on someone of my weight and size. Icarus got many things wrong, things he corrected later on in life to his ultimate loss. His later success cost him his life, as you probably know.
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