Minotaur

by Phillip W. Simpson

  “Did they work?” I asked hopefully.

  Phaedra smiled. “Oh yes. It didn’t hurt that they’ve had a lot of volunteers to trial them.”

  “What?” I asked, confused.

  “You’ve asked before how I got the first batch of Athenian tributes off the island. I used the wings. After you escaped the island, Minos had much of Daedalus’s equipment transferred to the tower. Minos, however, left several items behind in Daedalus’s workshop. I had one set of wings to work with. I copied them and used them to free the Athenians.”

  I should have guessed.

  “And they survived?” I asked. I vividly remembered my own flight. How I had almost died but for the assistance of Poseidon.

  “Of course,” said Phaedra smugly. “When I finally managed to see Daedalus in the tower, not only did he tell me of the secrets of the labyrinth, but he also suggested changes to the wings. I arranged for a fishing boat to pick them up once they were safely off the island.”

  A thought occurred to me. I turned to Theseus. “Didn’t you say none of the tributes made it back to Athens?”

  Theseus nodded. “That’s true. We assumed the worst.”

  “That’s because I told them not to go back,” said Phaedra. “If they had, news of their escape would’ve reached Minos’s ears. He would’ve known for certain that there was another way out of the labyrinth. I couldn’t risk it.”

  “So where did they go, then?” I asked.

  Phaedra nodded toward the island looming nearby. Even during the short amount of time we had been at the rail, the ship had closed the distance.

  “Naxos,” said Phaedra.

  Ω

  You’ve no doubt heard the tales of what became of Daedalus and Icarus. Much of that is unfortunately true, and it still pains me to this day that I never got to say goodbye to either of them. Especially Icarus who met his end in the surging waters of the Aegean.

  The legend says that Icarus chose not to heed his father advice and flew too high, thereby melting the wax on his wings. No one, of course, was there to witness exactly what happened, but I did know how willful Icarus could be, so it doesn’t surprise me. Whatever the truth, Icarus did indeed die. Perhaps the wings broke; perhaps Icarus lacked the strength. Who knows? Daedalus flew on without him, and I have never seen the master craftsman since.

  As for Ariadne and Glaucus—in the end they got exactly what they deserved. Phaedra knew it was those two who had betrayed her. And Phaedra told Theseus.

  Theseus, as I might have mentioned, meted out his own special brand of justice. The punishment should fit the crime. If Ariadne and Glaucus thought they might live out their lives in luxury in the palace at Athens, they were much mistaken.

  The ship stopped at Naxos only long enough to pick up the surviving first batch of tributes. And to drop off two passengers. Much to their disgust and accompanied by a great deal of howling, tears, and protests, Ariadne and Glaucus were left on the island.

  Some tales report that Theseus abandoned Ariadne while she slept. Let me assure you—she was very much awake at the time. Even now, I can still recall her screams of hatred, using language that would make a sailor blush. From what I gather, she later became the wife of Dionysius, the Greek god of wine. I don’t know what he saw in her. He was probably drunk when he married her. I do know that she received a fitting end at the hand of Perseus who killed her at Argos. As for Glaucus, I do not know and do not care. He was never much of a brother to me.

  The rest of the journey to Athens passed uneventfully. The winds, perhaps guided by Poseidon’s hand, were in our favor. I spent as much time as I could with my mother, Pasiphae, my brothers, Theseus, and of course, Phaedra.

  I confess that as we neared Athens, a feeling of disquiet started to grow within me. I went below deck often, mostly to avoid the sun and the open sky. After so long underground, I was distinctly uncomfortable exposed to open air. My uneasiness was so great that Phaedra began to worry about me. I didn’t voice my fears because I considered myself weak. I thought it would pass. It did not.

  The bandages came off my head. After being covered by a helmet for so long, my scalp was a mess of scabbed and dried skin. My hair was long and patchy. Phaedra attempted to give me a haircut, but it only served to highlight my already mundane looks and draw attention to the areas of flaky skin. Two patches were different though. Daedalus and Icarus had sawn the horns off at the base. What remained were two glossy spots that looked and felt like bone. Hair never grew over them, which is why I have always worn my hair long.

  It was, however, the greatest relief to no longer have horns. For the first time in my life, I was normal. Well, as normal as someone could be after experiencing the labyrinth.

  We sailed into the Saronic Gulf and edged our way toward the harbor at Piraeus. It was only then that Theseus took me below deck.

  “I have something to show you,” he said.

  Phaedra had told me that Theseus had a surprise for me. Surprising is one word for it. Somewhat disturbing are two others.

  He led the way into the hold. The first thing I noticed was the smell. We had been at sea for a few days—long enough for whatever it was to start rotting.

  In a darkened recess, there was a bundled shape. Theseus unwrapped it from several cloaks and stood back.

  It was a body. Not just a body, but a massive one. And it didn’t have a head.

  Theseus watched me, trying to gauge my reaction. “Well?” he said finally.

  “Well, what?” I said, confused and a little angry. Why on earth would Theseus show me this corpse?

  “Perhaps this will give you a clue,” he said, darting further into the hold and emerging with a much smaller wrapped package.

  He tore off the cloth that bound it. I watched in growing horror and realization.

  It was a bull’s head. A bull’s head wearing my helmet.

  “I went back to the palace before we took ship to Athens. I found this body there,” explained Theseus. “I had to remove the head of course. Then all I had to do was kill a small bull and put its head in your helmet.”

  “This was your idea?” I asked, finally finding my voice.

  “Mine and Phaedra’s. If you’re discovered still alive, then other heroes will find you and try to kill you. This was the only way.”

  I grimaced, feeling a little sick. But I knew they were right. If it was known I was already dead, no one, including my step-father, would ever seek me out. And then there was Theseus’s reputation to consider. I don’t doubt for a second that the plan was mostly of Phaedra’s devising, but Theseus went along with it. Why wouldn’t he? By presenting the body of the Minotaur to the people of Athens, Theseus’s reputation would be further enhanced. The hero returns triumphant, displaying the body of the beast for all to see. It was a simple and highly effective strategy.

  So, now you know the truth. Theseus, of course, never killed me. He was my friend. A headless corpse and a bull’s head enhanced the legend of Minotaur. And who wouldn’t believe that? The people of Athens, in fact all of Greece, wanted to believe that Theseus had killed the monster. Why would he stop them?

  I know Theseus did it for me. He did it to keep me safe. He was an honest and proud man. It wasn’t actually a very heroic thing to do and went against everything he stood for. Phaedra told me later that he did take a considerable amount of convincing. I’m still glad that they didn’t tell me—not that they could, given my unconscious state.

  If they hadn’t done it, I suppose I could’ve lived out my life in Athens as quietly as possible. Even so, it was only a matter of time until someone worked it out. That Minotaur still lived. Not only that, but lived amongst them.

  I guess that was the reason why I did what I did. I knew that despite the precautions that Theseus and Phaedra took, someone would eventually recognize me. My size would always mark me as someone unusual. The stubs of my horns, although disguised under long hair, would inevitably be spotted
. Questions would be asked. Theseus’s reputation would suffer. My presence put everyone I loved in danger.

  I realized that there was only one thing to do. There was only one thing I could do.

  Ω

  “You don’t have to go,” said Phaedra. She was crying.

  “Yes, I do,” I said sadly. “You know I do.”

  We’d been in Athens for two weeks. Two weeks of constant parties. Two weeks where the city celebrated Theseus’s triumphant return. He had killed the Minotaur, freed the tributes, and released Athens from the yoke of Crete. I don’t think Athens had ever bore witness to such celebrations.

  The celebrations were marred in only one way—by the death of Theseus’s father, King Aegeus. Overwhelmed by the excitement caused by his triumphant return to Athens, Theseus had neglected one important detail. More specifically, a task. A task he had promised his father before his departure to Crete. It was this: Theseus was meant to replace the common black sails of the ship with white sails, giving a sign to his father that he had returned alive. Theseus failed to do so, and his failure had tragic consequences.

  As our ship was ushered into dock, we heard a cry of despair and a shape, unmistakably that of a man, had hurtled past us from the cliffs above, shattering on nearby rocks.

  At the time of course, Theseus had no idea it was his father’s body that lay nearby, mangled and lifeless on the rocks. The fact that someone had just fallen to their death wasn’t quite the auspicious return that Theseus had wanted, but he wouldn’t allow the death to interfere with his celebrations.

  He raced off ahead of us, eagerly charging up the stairs to the palace only to be met with grim faced palace officials burdened with the task of relaying the sad tidings to Aegeas’s son.

  The rest of us followed more slowly. At first, I believed that the anguished sound rising out of the palace above me must have been the sound of some animal being sacrificed. Approaching the steps leading directly into the palace, I recognized the huddled form of Theseus.

  As swiftly as I could manage in my weakened state, I hurried to Theseus’s side and embraced him. He responded immediately to my touch, returning the embrace with a painful ferocity. We held each other like that for a long time, and then suddenly Theseus released me and stood.

  “It would seem,” he said calmly to no one in particular, “that I have both a celebration and a funeral to plan.”

  And like that, Theseus overcame his grief. As I may have observed before, Theseus’s passions ran deep and blazed with the intensity of the sun. But he let things go just as easily. I don’t doubt for a second that he loved his father and mourned his death, but, unlike other (or perhaps lesser) men, I believe that one intense outpouring of emotion was enough for Theseus. I often wonder how he would have reacted to news of my demise.

  Besides, now that Theseus was King of Athens, he had many other matters of state to attend to.

  Theseus was so busy I only saw him rarely. He had his problems, and I had mine. I knew I could delay no longer. But there was another consideration. Something that I hadn’t told Phaedra. I found being above ground too disturbing. I stayed indoors as much as possible, but it wasn’t the same. I missed the strength and solidness that only being encased by rock walls could offer. The truth was that I missed the labyrinth. I wanted to go home.

  The series of parties had been too much for me. After my long confinement, I found that I had no desire for constant companionship and conversation. I preferred my own company. That isn’t to say that I didn’t want to be around Phaedra, Theseus, or my family; I … just needed time alone. Time that Athens could not give me.

  “But Minos will never find you here. You will be safe, especially now that Theseus is King,” pleaded Phaedra.

  I shook my head. “People are already starting to look at me strangely. It will only be a matter of time before they discover who or what I am. I put all of you at risk by being here.”

  “People are looking at you strangely because of the way you act,” said Phaedra. It was a mean thing to say, and I knew she immediately regretted it. She ran at me and threw herself into my arms.

  “I’m sorry, Asterion. I didn’t mean it.”

  But I think she did. Even Phaedra couldn’t help noticing how odd I acted when I was outside. I couldn’t help myself though. I suspect I was becoming embarrassing.

  “Come with me,” I asked, not for the first time.

  Phaedra closed her eyes. “You know I cannot, Asterion. Please don’t ask me again.”

  I knew her reasons. Crete was no longer her home. It was in ruins, and she had no desire to return to the labyrinth with me. She also feared for her life, worried that once Minos had dealt with Daedalus, he would return to seek his vengeance on everyone else. I suppose I should have let Theseus kill him. It would’ve been easier.

  I picked up my satchel. “This is it then,” I said, determined not to cry. I pushed her gently away.

  Phaedra nodded her head sadly. “Come back to me when you are ready.”

  I nodded, but something told me I never would be.

  She walked with me to the harbor. Theseus, my mother, Catreus, and Deucalion were waiting for me. The twins were looking somewhat worse for wear. They had already gathered a reputation in Athens for enthusiastic celebrating.

  Theseus embraced me. “Goodbye my friend. I will see you soon. Phaedra and your family will be safe with me. I promise.”

  I thanked him and embraced my mother and brothers in turn. I saved Phaedra for last.

  “Last chance,” I said meeting her eye.

  She lowered her head, and I knew what her final answer would be. I suppose I always knew.

  I walked onto the ship, and we cast off almost immediately.

  I didn’t look back.

  Chapter 20

  True to his word, I did see Theseus again. He came to visit, but I could see he was clearly uncomfortable talking to me in the ruins of the labyrinth. He never came again.

  From what I gather, he was rather busy and found another best friend in the form of Pirithous, Prince of the Lapiths. Together, they had a great time, having adventures and abducting women, although how much of this is true is anyone’s guess. As he grew older, Theseus seemed to particularly enjoy the latter. He stole Helen away—the same Helen who was the cause of the Trojan War. He and Pirithous kidnapped her. Theseus planned to marry her as soon as she was old enough. He left her at the city of Aphidna where another hero rescued her. Helen seemed to attract such behavior.

  Theseus and Pirithous travelled to Tartarus. They spent many months there in darkness. It probably gave Theseus an insight into my own life. Eventually, Heracles rescued him, but Pirithous never escaped. I guess Pirithous suffered a similar fate to myself in the end. Funny how Theseus’s friends had a knack for such things.

  Theseus abducted an Amazon queen named Hippolyta. This instigated a war between the Amazons and the Athenians. He later married her, and she bore him a son.

  But Theseus was always a bit fickle when it came to women. He got rid of Hippolyta in favor of someone else. Someone who for the longest time I couldn’t forgive. He married Phaedra.

  I don’t blame either of them now. That is all in the distant past. I knew Phaedra always loved me, but I had abandoned her. Theseus was King of Athens and was in a position to protect her and keep her safe. I suppose it was inevitable that they would marry.

  I know that Phaedra and Theseus never had children. In fact, her relationship with Theseus was largely platonic.

  She eventually got tired of Theseus and his womanizing—not to mention his hopelessly immature obsession with abducting women—and left. It’s that simple. There was never any love between them. For Phaedra, the marriage was one of convenience.

  As for Theseus, I hope to see him again one day. He met his end in a none too glorious manner. The hero, Lycomedes, threw him off a cliff. Knowing Theseus, he was probably trying to abduct his wife at the time.
/>   I’m sure I will find him in Olympus. If not, I will search for him in Tartarus.

  After all, he is still my friend.

  He will always be my friend.

  Ω

  “What became of your mother and your brothers?” asked Ovid. Now that the tale was almost complete, he was wracked by conflicting emotions. He’d never written so much so quickly before. He was exhausted, on the verge of collapse, relieved that the story was almost at an end. But also a little resentful that he would hear no more. Even though he was bone tired, several questions remained unanswered.

  Night was almost over. The horizon, just visible out the uncovered window, was beginning to glow with the onset of dawn. The ship back to Rome would be leaving in a few hours. Ovid was not looking forward to the journey back to the port, especially on that accursed donkey.

  “They visited several times over the years,” said Ast. “It has been said that my mother was the daughter of the sun god, Helios. She was a demi-goddess and, as such, an immortal. Pasiphae could have chosen to remain on the earth much like I have, but she decided not to. She had suffered much and was tired of life on this mortal plane. She went to Olympus. Perhaps I will see her there again soon.”

  “And your brothers?” prompted Ovid. “What of Catreus and Deucalion?”

  “They were only mortal, despite their parents being descended from gods,” said Ast. “The blood of the gods did not flow as strongly within them. They are long dead. Before they died however, they lived long, happy lives and made much mischief.”

  Ovid nodded. “I’m glad.” And indeed he was. It was satisfying to hear that some of the people in Ast’s life had been rewarded for their loyalty.

  Ovid had more questions, some he had been dreading for fear of Ast’s reaction. To fortify himself, he attempted to fill his goblet from the one remaining wine skin. To his disgust, he found it all but empty. He shook the dregs into his eager mouth. Perhaps it was time to get going. There was plenty more wine where this came from at the port of Iraklion.