by R. D. Brady
“Yes, sir. It’s the Queen Leda.”
“Clytemnestra’s ship?” Agamemnon’s mind whirled. What on earth was it doing here? He immediately dismissed the idea of Clytemnestra herself having sailed for Troy. She was too devastated by Iphigenia’s death—and besides, she was so broken and terrified she would never dare. But perhaps she had granted the use of her ship to someone else. Her servant, the sailor Aegisthus, perhaps? He was Spartan. But why would he not just moor the ship with the others?
“I took the liberty of joining the crew,” said Claudius. “It seems they had an opening—one of their fellow crewmembers disappeared right after I found the ship.”
Agamemnon smiled. “Disappeared, huh?”
Claudius smiled in return. “The world is a dangerous place, sire. I have to get back. I told them I needed to tell my family I would be gone. Assuming you wish for me to continue?”
This was probably nothing, but Agamemnon did not trust Helen’s brothers or any of the Spartans for that matter. And if they were planning something… “Continue. If there’s anything worthwhile, report it to me immediately.”
Claudius smiled, showing off the two cracked teeth he’d received as a child. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He bowed and turned to leave.
“Claudius?”
Claudius turned back.
“If someone is plotting against me or our mission here, they need not return.”
Claudius smiled. “Yes, sir.” And he disappeared through the tent flap.
Humming, Agamemnon rearranged a troop formation on the table before him. There is nothing like ordering a death to turn a day around.
Chapter 68
The island of Crete, Greece
Helen and Barnabus set sail aboard the same ship Clytemnestra had brought here—the Queen Leda. The crew was known to Helen—all except one, and the captain, Aegisthus, assured her he would keep an eye on him—and all the men were sworn to secrecy. But Helen couldn’t help but wonder if Zeus had gotten to any of them. Just in case, none of the crew would be allowed off the ship until Helen’s mission was complete. It was the only way to be sure.
She knew there was danger ahead, but she couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction as the journey began. After weeks of waiting around, she was finally doing something to help her children. Unfortunately, the trip to Crete was plagued by bad weather. It took three weeks to arrive, double the amount of time she had expected. Helen hoped it was not a sign of the difficulty they would face at the island.
Now Barnabus rowed himself and Helen to shore in the pre-dawn dark. She was having a hard time shaking a feeling of foreboding.
“We can go ashore there.” Barnabus nodded toward a piece of empty beach. “You’ve heard the stories of Minos, haven’t you?”
Helen nodded. Crete had been a closed kingdom ever since its inception, but the current king—King Minos, he called himself, as he claimed he was the literal reincarnation of the original King Minos—had taken that predilection to an even more drastic level, completely cutting the island off from all visitors and barring any of his people from leaving. But a few brave souls had managed to escape, and they had brought with them tales of the king’s cruelty. Helen hoped those tales were exaggerations.
Pink streaks were just appearing in the sky as Helen and Barnabus stepped onto the shore. It was not exactly an ideal time to arrive; Helen would have preferred the cover of darkness.
“What do we know about the layout of the island?” Helen asked.
“Very little. But that is Minos’s home there.” Barnabus pointed to the top of Mount Ida in the center of the island, where tall walls surrounded an even taller building. From the parapet, the king could no doubt see every inch of the island and the sea surrounding it. Which meant Minos’s men may have seen their arrival.
“Let’s hope the darkness kept our arrival quiet,” Barnabus said, as if reading Helen’s thoughts.
There were no homes near the beach, but two seven-foot-tall statues marked the entrance to a path that led toward the center of the island. Each statue depicted an extremely muscular beast with the head and legs of a bull and the torso of a man.
Barnabus examined the statues. “Minos does not receive guests often and has little interaction with outsiders—but the few that do make it off all speak of one thing.”
“The maze and the minotaur.”
“Exactly.”
Helen put little stock in those types of tales—most were just exaggerations made greater by time. But as they moved down the path, she was beginning to doubt that. All along the path were more symbols of the minotaur—carvings, etchings in trees, smaller statues.
“Minos wants to make sure no one forgets the minotaur,” Barnabus said.
“Or that no one forgets to fear him,” Helen said as they passed some hovels that looked as if a slight breeze could knock them down. A small, naked child no more than two years old stood holding onto the post of one. His eyes were vacant.
“So how do we think Minos will receive us?” Helen asked quietly, not wanting to wake any of the villagers, even as she wondered how they had not been noticed yet.
Barnabus shrugged. “He could embrace us with open arms or kill us on sight.”
Helen gave him a sidelong glance. “I had forgotten how comforting you can be, Barnabus.”
He smiled. “It is one of my charms.”
Helen laughed.
They were halfway to the center of the island before they encountered anyone other than the little boy. A man came down the path toward them, a basket of fish lures in his hands. Barnabus raised his hand in greeting. “Good morning, sir. Would you perhaps—”
The man shook his head violently, then turned and sprinted up the path away from them.
“Well, that was odd,” Helen said.
As they climbed the path, they began to run into more citizens of Minos, but each of them had the same sort of reaction as the man did. Doors were closed, blinds were pulled. More than one person had sprinted away in fear.
“I have never heard of people reacting like this,” Helen said after a fearful woman yanked her child into her hut.
“Me either. Perhaps we should head back to the ship and figure out—”
“Too late,” Helen mumbled.
A group of guards, all wearing the uniform of Minos—a white tunic rimmed in gold thread with the minotaur depicted in black in the center of their chest—stormed down the path toward them. “Halt!”
Barnabus pulled his sword.
Helen grabbed his arm. “The trees,” she whispered.
Barnabus narrowed his eyes at the two archers there. “We can take them,” he said.
“Yes, we could. But we need to speak with Minos, and I don’t think killing his guards will make him more talkative. So let’s play it his way for now.” She made a show of raising her hands.
With a growl, Barnabus re-sheathed his sword and put his hands in the air as well.
The guards surrounded them.
Helen gave the men a wide smile. “I believe a mistake has been made.”
Chapter 69
The guards did not seem to agree with Helen. They wrapped their visitors’ wrists in ropes and marched them to Minos’s home.
“Are we still going along with Minos?” Barnabus asked Helen quietly.
The ropes chafed at Helen’s skin. “Yes.”
Barnabus sighed. “Just checking.”
At Minos’s home, the guards led Helen and Barnabus through an outer courtyard decorated with several small fish ponds, through the front doors, and into a hallway with marble floors. Servants gaped at the new arrivals and then quickly shifted their gaze away. At least they do not run, Helen thought. They continued on through several turns until they approached an open doorway that looked as if it led to an inner courtyard. Sounds emanated from the doorway that Helen couldn’t quite place. “Is that a lion?” she asked.
Barnabus frowned. “I think so.”
They stepped through t
he doorway into a lush, green space dotted with palm trees. There were tables, chairs, and even a giant bed draped in red linens. But the overly sumptuous landscaping did nothing to detract from the courtyard’s greatest attraction—the animals in cages that lined the perimeter. Zebras, giraffes, a nadir, a giant bear, and in the middle, two lions.
A whip cracked, and one of the lions roared.
The king of Crete laughed as he pulled the whip back and let it fly again. The king was a small man, with pockmarked olive skin and small dark eyes under a heavy brow. He had incredibly slim arms, yet somehow managed to have a belly that strained against his tunic. That’s what a life of indulgence and no hard work will do for you.
The king handed the whip to one of his servants before turning to the young boy standing next to him. “You see, my son, even the king of the animals is under our control.”
The boy nodded. “Yes, Father.”
Minos caught sight of Helen and Barnabus and frowned. He pushed his son toward a servant before striding over. With only a glance he disregarded Barnabus and turned his full attention to Helen. He bowed. “Your Highness, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
Helen frowned. “I’m afraid you have me at a loss, as I do not recall our first meeting.”
“I was at your wedding. It was quite an affair.” His gaze flicked to Barnabus. “Although he was not your groom. I have heard you like to swap husbands.”
Barnabus stiffened, but Helen spoke before Barnabus could snap the ropes around his wrists. “You have heard wrong, good king. I am loyal to my one husband: King Menelaus.” She held up her bound hands. “But I must admit, your hospitality leaves much to be desired.”
The sun glinted off her ring, and Minos' eyes went wide. His mouth fell open as he stepped back. “You’re the ring bearer?”
Chapter 70
So—Minos knew who she was. She had thought she would have to explain about the ring bearer before she could request his aid in finding whatever her mother had sent her here for. But it looked like as if things might be a little easier than she had feared. “Yes. I’m the ring bearer.”
Minos’s face went from shock to anger to calculation in seconds. “Untie them,” he said to his guards. “How dare you treat our distinguished guests in such a way?”
The guards quickly cut off the ropes. Helen rubbed her wrists; angry red marks showed where the ropes had been bound too tightly. Next to her Barnabus did the same, although Helen had no doubt his arms had already healed.
“Excuse me for a moment.” Minos inclined his head to Helen before motioning two of his guards off to the side.
Helen moved closer to Barnabus. “What are they saying?” she whispered.
Barnabus kept his voice low. “Minos is ordering that his archers surround the courtyard and all of his guards be brought up.”
Helen sighed. “Apparently I was too optimistic.”
“Plan?”
“It remains the same. We need Minos. So we play along until we no longer do.”
Now it was Barnabus’s turn to sigh. “As you wish.”
Minos returned to them. Helen noted that archers were already stepping into the balconies that rimmed the courtyard.
“What can I do for you, Queen Helen? Or should I call you the chosen one?” Minos asked.
“Something was left here for me a long time ago,” Helen said. "Answers that I need. I have come to learn them.”
King Minos’s eyes narrowed, his anger evident. “And what makes you think you deserve them?”
Helen straightened her spine. “Do you know where the Omni is?”
Minos scoffed. “You know nothing. You don't even know what you are looking for. But I know what you are here seeking. It’s my sacred duty to watch over it until the one worthy of it appears to retrieve it.”
Despite his tone, Helen felt relieved. He knew about the Omni and what she was supposed to find, which obviously was an object. She had worried that she and Barnabus would waste all their time searching. Now they should be done with this quickly. She raised an eyebrow. “Well, here I am.”
Minos smiled without warmth. “Which proves nothing. You must prove to me that you are in fact the ring bearer. You must pass my test. You must retrieve the box with the scroll that will lead you to the Omni. If you can do that, then you are truly the ring bearer.”
Helen narrowed her eyes. Something was off here. The king looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“My queen?” Barnabus asked quietly.
Helen knew he was asking if she wanted him to make the king tell them where the scroll was. She shook her head at him.
“Very well, King Minos,” she said. “Lead me to your test.”
Minos placed his hands on his waist. “It is fortuitous timing, your arriving now. Almost as if the gods had planned it themselves. And perhaps they did. We are about to begin our celebration. You can join our other guests.”
Minos’s guards opened a set of doors to his left, and a group of children was dragged in. A single rope tied them together, wound around the wrists of each child. There were fourteen in all—seven boys and seven girls. The oldest was no more than eight, and the youngest looked closer to three. Tears trailed through the dirt on more than one little face.
Helen whipped her head toward the king. “What is the meaning of this?”
Minos stretched his arms wide. “It is the first night of our celebration. The gods must be appeased—as must their pet. With their sacrifice, these children bring honor to their families, as well as to our great nation.”
Helen’s mouth fell open. She had heard that when the first King Minos began his rule, he sacrificed fourteen children to the minotaur every two years. Apparently the “reincarnated” King Minos had adopted more than the first Minos’s name.
Helen took a step toward the king, and Minos raised an arm. The archers took aim—but not at either her or Barnabus. No, the archers had aimed their arrows at the children. Helen narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”
Minos smiled. “I have a heard a great deal about you, Queen Helen. I know the premium you place on the lives of the innocent. Tell me: if you were to use your powers, how many innocents do you think you could save before my men cut them down? Here and throughout the island? Exactly how powerful are you? I’m guessing not powerful enough to save them all. But if you pass my test, I will give you what you are looking for, and no one will be harmed. It is your choice.”
Beside her she could feel the anger burning off Barnabus. She didn't turn toward him though because she was having a tough enough time keeping a lid on her own anger.
“Besides,” the king continued, “the key to finding the Omni is in the maze. Without it, I cannot help you. You will enter the maze with these children.” He shrugged. “Perhaps you will even save a few of them.”
“When does this celebration begin?” Helen asked through gritted teeth.
Minos smiled. “Now.”
Chapter 71
The trail leading to the maze entrance wound around the backside of Mount Ida. No homes were built on this side of the island; it seemed to be used mainly for livestock and grazing. Long rolling hills with shepherds and sheep could be seen in the distance. The citizens of Crete lined the path, although none of them cheered or even smiled. They wore dirty, tattered clothes on their skinny frames, and the looks on their faces were haunted, as if they had long ago learned that fighting was useless. Worst of all were the heartbroken looks they gave the children as they passed.
King Minos led the procession in his ornate litter, carried by eight incredibly muscular men. “Obviously Minos is saving the food for himself and his personal guard,” Barnabus muttered.
Helen nodded, her anger at the man growing.
Barnabus leaned toward her. “I overheard some of the guards talking. He does this every two years. The maze is a natural cave system, and there is some sort of beast inside. The king feeds the beast fourteen children. It’s his way of keeping control of the p
opulace. It seems anyone who disagrees with him has his or her child chosen.”
“Do any of the children survive?”
“No.”
Helen had not needed to hear that. She balled her hands into fists. “What is this beast?”
“Most say it is the minotaur, that he has survived since the rule of Minos the First. At night, they say he howls at the moon, and sometimes shepherds find some of their flock missing. It is alleged that he walks like a man but has the head of a bull.”
Helen snorted. “Right. What’s really in the cave?”
“No one knows. No one has survived to tell.”
“Great.”
They arrived at the entrance to the caves. The opening was huge, but was barred with an equally huge wooden door. As Helen approached, she realized the door was made from entire trunks of trees, doubled up and nailed together, with a giant metal bar holding it all in place. Whatever was behind that door, the people of Crete definitely did not want it to get out.
“Whatever happens,” Helen said quietly, “we protect the children first.”
“Agreed,” Barnabus murmured. “But are you sure we don’t want to kill Minos and get this over with?”
“We still need to find whatever is in the maze, and I do not trust Minos. If we force Minos’s hand, he will make these children pay—and probably others as well. So for now, we follow through with this stupid test.”
Barnabus sighed. “As you wish.”
The procession stopped, and Minos’s litter bearers lowered him gently. And it was Helen's turn to sigh. She was hoping a few might stumble, dumping the tyrant to the ground.
The children huddled together, terror in their eyes, looking around wildly. Helen's heart constricted. This world was too cruel a place for children, she thought thinking of the dangers her own children were in as well.
A woman broke free from the crowd and ran for the children, but a guard stepped in front of her and slammed the end of his staff into her face. Her feet flew out from under her and she landed hard on her back.
