The Maze of Minos

by Tammie Painter

  I casually scan the list, but my efforts to act poised have apparently blinded me. I thought Paris's name would jump out with barely a glance, but my first perusal fails to reveal it. I read again, going more slowly this time. Again I don't see his name. Some names like Menelaus and Agamemnon of Seattica do stand out. How could they not? Menelaus has hounded me ever since learning of Jason’s wedding, so his name is completely (and unfortunately) expected. Perseus, however, is a surprise as I thought he was a mere Docklander, but Theseus is not since he is believed to be next in line for the rule of Athenos unless Aegeus’s fiancée can get him to make the child in her belly his heir. But Paris. Where is Paris? I look down the column marked "Home Polis." Perhaps Paris goes by a different name in official documents. But Demos isn't even represented.

  "You missed a name," I say, flicking the paper in my father’s face.

  "No, I haven’t," he says and brushes the sheet away as if it were a pesky fly.

  "Paris?" I ask. "I know he applied. How can he not be on here?"

  "And how do you know who applied?" My father eyes me suspiciously. Damn my impulsive mouth. All applications were sent to the private office he keeps outside our home. I can't very well tell him the truth, that Paris wrote his letter of intent while sitting naked beside me, using my belly as his desk, and pausing every sentence to place kisses along the length of my body.

  "I saw the letter." This is not technically a lie. "The messenger brought it to me before realizing his mistake. Besides, Demos is a strong polis. Why wouldn’t you include Paris?" I try to sound as reasonable as possible.

  "Because I’ve heard rumors of Paris. He is not husband material and he is not a leader. They say he flees from any combat or challenge. And he usually flees to a woman’s bed."

  My face burns as my father eyes me knowingly, but I don’t turn away from his gaze. I’m a woman grown. I shouldn’t have to be ashamed of what I choose to do in my spare time.

  "He likes peace, is that so bad? You always say Osterians fight too much amongst themselves."

  "I do say that. A man shouldn't start battles, but he should be willing to stand up for his home, his family, his polis when the time comes. Paris has run from many disgruntled fathers and husbands, and that is not someone I want as a son-in-law. Now if his brother, Hector, were single, then I would push you to select him, but he was wed last year," he says wistfully as if he himself would have liked to marry Priam's eldest son.

  "Hector could die," I say, stating the obvious. Hector serves as a vigile commander in a polis that borders Aryana, the most war-hungry land in Osteria. One skirmish and he could be gone.

  "Don't say such things," my father says as if I’ve just cursed each of the Twelve by name. "Hector is one of the best men in Osteria. Besides Paris is a second son. He’ll never be anything of importance."

  "Menelaus is a second son and he made the list."

  "You know very well that Menelaus and Agamemnon will rule jointly, both in Seattica and on the Osteria Council now that they are done with their tour on the Argoa. Either of them would be excellent choices and Menelaus has always been devoted to you." This time I do roll my eyes. Menelaus is also a boring dolt who looks, and sometimes smells, like a bear. A trained bear led by the nose by his own brother.

  I flop onto my bed.

  "I hate this."

  My father sits next to me. "It would have been so much easier if Jason hadn’t broken his promise."

  "Castor and Pollux are still fuming," I say. In fact, my brothers were more upset over the break of Jason’s betrothal than I was. After all, I thought I was going to be free to choose my husband. Well, I do get to choose, but only from a stupid list of stupid applicants. The frustration of it all brings burning moisture to my eyes.

  "There, there." My father pats my back as if I’m sad and need comforting. "I know you loved Jason, but there are others."

  I try not to laugh. Can my father really think I'm weeping over Jason, a man I see more as a brother than a lover? I'm not even that upset; I'm annoyed, frustrated, powerless. I have an urge to simply tear up the list, escape to the apartment Paris is renting at the edge of town, and dash to the nearest priestess to have our hands bound in matrimony.

  "I'll give you time to think. No need to pick today."

  "Thank you. Yes, I need time. It's all so much to take in." Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't have been an actress.

  My father rests the list on my nightstand and leaves the room. I think of Paris, but do not run to him. It is undignified. Let him come to me. If Paris wants to prove his love for me, he will defy my father. I linger on the bed, imagining my lover stealing me away and how happy we’ll be.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Minos

  "IS SHE STILL coming?" Ariadne asks.

  "I haven’t heard otherwise," I say to the woman who serves as priestess in my Temple of the Bull. She is a beauty with rich, dark hair; warm, brown eyes; and a healthy roundness to her body and face, but it’s her gentle way with my bulls and her quick, clever wit that I truly admire. I even asked her to marry me once—I place no silly restrictions on my holy people like the Portaceans and Athenians do—but she refused, saying she would not play second fiddle to the bulls I adore. Still, there is an easy compatibility between us and she remains one of my most trusted advisors. There’s certainly no one else I’d prefer to have by my side when I greet our unwanted visitor.

  "They could have given a little more warning. And why is a council member coming here anyway? Since when does the Osteria Council stick their greedy hands into affairs of a kingdom?"

  She’s right. I do not like this and do not trust it. The Osteria Council may oversee the twelve poli, but it’s rare for any of them to step foot within one of Osteria’s kingdoms which have always been outside their jurisdiction. It is equally unheard of for them to state they are sending a representative to make a proposal that I would be "wise not to refuse." Those were the exact words in the message delivered last night. Hardly the start of a cordial meeting, a meeting I was trapped into since, according to the letter, the council’s representative would already be on her way to Minoa before I ever broke the seal. I suppose I could bar the gates to her, but best to meet her and be done with this show of the Council’s pomposity.

  "We won’t know until we speak with her. Let’s just get this over with." I hold out my arm. Ariadne rests her hand on it as if I’m escorting her to a night at one of Minoa’s many theatrical performances. As is my habit, I touch the shoulder of the bull statue in the foyer of my palace as we pass it on our way out. It is only late morning, but already the arcaded streets of my city are bustling with activity. Above our heads, gardeners plant brightly colored flowers in baskets that hang at the top of posts along the street. Plumbers clean and prepare the fountains that have been turned off for the winter. When the weather warms, water will gurgle from them to cool the air. As always, people greet me with welcoming smiles. I want to stop to talk to my citizens as I normally do, but Ariadne tugs my arm and offers them apologies.

  We pass market stalls brimming with the season’s first indigo blue honeyberries, the cross-topped buns of spring, and honey left over from last year’s hives, but it’s the scent of fresh stew wafting from Yerni’s shop that sets my ample belly rumbling. Despite Minoa’s wealth of fine eateries, Yerni earns the bulk of my business. I nudge Ariadne, trying to guide her into the eatery, but it seems nothing will deter the woman from her march to the gates and to the station beyond.

  "What’s the rush?" I ask. "She’s the one inconveniencing us. Make her wait."

  "I will not have a council member lurking around the kingdom. You know how they are. She’ll be taking a mental inventory of every sheet of glass, every brick, and every viola petal. She’ll be calculating how much the kingdom is worth and how much they could tax us for. Best to get there first and discover what this is about."

  "Do you really think they would try to tax us? We already pay to maintain our portion of the Osteria
Road and rail line." In fact, the Minoan trade keeps much of the economic lifeblood of the poli flowing. Happy, wealthy people like those in my kingdom are always looking for the latest, the best, and the finest. Although Minoa is meant to be a neutral territory immune from the bickering and occasional skirmishes between the poli, I do have a polis or two—such as Portaceae—whose leaders I consider friends and would support them over others if it came down to it. Aryana, the home polis of our visiting councilwoman, is the last polis I would lend a hand to.

  "I can’t think of any other reason the Council would come. You know some of the twelve positions are now empty, but almost every seat that remains filled holds the pompous backside of a man or woman who either wants more money, more power, or both. I can tell you one thing, Pasiphae is not coming here to make friends."

  I had left the palace in my usual jovial mood, ready to face this councilwoman, charm her for a bit, and then send her on her way with noncommittal, yet politic words. But Ariadne’s pessimism sends clouds of doubt to rain on my good temper.

  "Enough," I say. "Second guessing only puts us on the defensive. Maybe she just wants to see my bulls."

  "Only if she can tax you on them," Ariadne mutters, then stays determinedly silent as she steers me the rest of the way through Minoa’s wide streets that lead to the station.

  Unlike other places in Osteria, the train does not stop within Minoa’s walls but rather a short distance beyond the main gate. This was not only a smart defensive tactic of my great-grandfather who broke the kingdom away from the Bendria polis, but also makes life inside the walls quieter and cleaner. Osteria’s train may run on solar power, but it still clangs and clatters its way over the rails, rumbles when it starts up, and squeals when it stops. I’m convinced the bulls appreciate the absence of such noise. After all, my bulls are like me and hate being disturbed from their naps and mealtimes.

  Ariadne’s rushing pace gets us to the gates just as the train pulls up to the platform. Guards check travel permits as each person steps from their carriage. It’s obvious who hasn’t been here before as newcomers always gaze up with mouths gaping at my city’s tall buildings of gleaming glass and steel. I scan the women’s faces wondering which of them is Pasiphae. My question is answered when a woman with features as slim as Ariadne’s are round and wearing a gold-trimmed emerald travel cloak snaps at one of the border guards, "Do you not know who I am? You just checked my permit two stops ago."

  With my eyes fixed on the finely made face of Pasiphae, I sense rather than see Ariadne step slightly into my shadow. She is clever and smart and, although lovely, doesn’t believe she is. My priestess is bold with me because we are close friends and she knows I love her in my way, but attractive, confident women leave her acting as insecure as a calf who can’t find its mother.

  Pasiphae’s cloak glitters in the bright early spring sunlight and she draws looks from many of the newly arrived travelers. She strides toward me with her head held high. Her narrow nose and high cheekbones look as if they’ve been carved from marble by Osteria’s most skilled sculptor. I’m not one to give into self-doubt, but seeing her wispy frame and elegant features makes me feel incredibly big, something I’ve always been proud of. As she draws nearer, the illusion of a moving work of art is bolstered by her perfect skin that shows no trace of wrinkle or blemish. I briefly wonder if she visits some beauty salon on Mount Olympus to get skin and hair treatments alongside Aphrodite and Hera. I bite my lip to keep my welcoming smile from turning into a laugh of nervous amusement.

  "Pasiphae, welcome," I say with outstretched hands. She lifts her right hand, presenting it for me to kiss as if I’m supposed to pay homage to her. When I don’t, she plays off the gesture by lightly touching my right hand. I’m surprised at how cool her fingers are. Not because it’s hot out—the Minoan heat that extends from late spring to early fall won’t arrive for at least another couple months—but because I know the train can be unbearably stuffy. Except in the most frigid winter temperatures, arriving passengers practically ooze out of the carriages like melted wax. But not this cool councilwoman.

  "Greetings Minos, and—?" she asks with a sneer on her face as she looks over my shoulder at Ariadne. I step aside, forcing the priestess to introduce herself. This insecurity must be tamed if she is to help me in whatever matters this councilwoman wants to discuss. I expect Ariadne to shrink back, but she makes me proud by stepping forward and, even though I can tell it is forced, standing as haughtily as Pasiphae.

  "Ariadne, priestess in the Temple of the Bull and advisor to Minos. I will be present in all your meetings," she says as sternly as a wife who does not dare leave her husband alone with a beautiful woman.

  "Of course you will. I know how men hate to do their own secretarial work," Pasiphae says, using only a few words to knock Ariadne down to nothing more than a note taker. But before I or Ariadne can correct her, she says, "Are we going to stand here all day? I hear you have a most magnificent city hidden behind these walls."

  I turn to escort her through the gate, but she pauses, looking at the travel pack a porter dropped off while we have been making our greetings. Her eyes shift to Ariadne who glances away, feigning interest in one of the hanging baskets that is overflowing with purple and yellow pansies. The bag is small and there’s no reason even the wispy Pasiphae couldn’t carry it herself, but I will not have her treat my priestess like an ox. I sweep up the bag myself and lead Pasiphae through the city.

  When we pass by the temple, the priests are washing down this year’s bull, Marcus. He’s more clever than last year’s dumb, but kind-hearted creature, Frederic, but he’s also a randy beast. As they soap up the inner portion of his rear leg, Marcus’s penis makes one of its frequent appearances. Pasiphae leans to look. She does not blush or titter like most women do the first time they see Marcus’s display, but she does pass me a knowing glance.

  "They say you like these bulls because they remind you of yourself," she says. "In what way, exactly?"

  Before I can stammer out an answer, she turns away and we continue uphill from the temple grounds toward the palace. I’m thankful for Ariadne’s explanations of the sights we are passing as my head fills with the curious tone and innuendo of Pasiphae’s question. I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to bring some heat to that cool facade of hers, but I have my doubts of the wisdom of making bedfellows with a member of the Council.

  Once in the palace, I hand Pasiphae’s satchel to one of my servants and ask him to bring wine and a snack to the palace’s inner courtyard. Pasiphae hands another servant her cloak then strides around the foyer looking at the frescoes painted on the walls. Although slimmer than I would normally prefer, I admire the twitch of what appear to be very firm buttocks under Pasiphae’s close-fitting green silk dress. Ariadne steps in front of me bringing me back to my senses. I grin apologetically at the chastising look she gives me.

  "Pasiphae, unless you prefer to rest, I would like it if you joined Ariadne and me for some refreshments."

  She slinks over to me. "I’m not tired in the least," she says as she links her arm in mine. I lead her through the maze of hallways to where the servants have already laid out a bounty of food. I head straight for it and, not forgetting my manners, pour a cup of wine for her and Ariadne before filling my own.

  "This is a snack?" she asks, her right eyebrow arched as she takes the cup.

  "I have a big appetite."

  "I’m glad to hear it," she whispers before turning away to take a seat. An awkward, yet pleasant tension grips my groin. I linger at the side table filling my plate until the feeling subsides.

  "How was your journey?" Ariadne asks. Although she has taken a small plate of dried strawberries and soft cheese, she only nibbles at one of the berries. This irritates me. I enjoy seeing people eat, and normally Ariadne has a healthy appetite. But I also know women and I know Ariadne will be feeling self-conscious about snacking since the slim Pasiphae has taken nothing but the cup of wine. It’s as
if not eating is a show of strength between women. The thought only makes me hungrier and I polish off a hunk of bread smothered in butter.

  "We don’t have to bother with chit chat," Pasiphae says bluntly. "I’d prefer to just get things into the open rather than skirt around them."

  "Alright," I say, setting down my plate and trying to hide my irritation, not so much at her words, but because in Minoa, when it’s presented, food takes precedence. Minoans eat before we delve into business and it’s rude not to enjoy yourself and let others finish dining before starting negotiations and making demands. Although I hold a regular dinner to which several citizens are invited specifically to discuss anything that’s on their minds—one of Ariadne’s clever ideas—the real debates don’t occur until everyone has had at least three courses. I take a deep breath to push down the frustration at her behavior. "Then I’ll just ask what’s on my and Ariadne’s minds. Why are you here?"

  "We, the Council that is, want you to join us."

  "No," Ariadne says under her breath, but I pass a glance to her and she says no more.

  "Why is the Council suddenly interested in Minoa? You have to know we will never become a polis again. We have no need. That short walk through our streets should have shown you my kingdom’s wealth. My people are happy and my army is strong."

  "That’s exactly why we need you. Think about it, of the many kingdoms of Osteria only yours is a true success. Colchis, although I do give them credit for their defensive strength, is little more than a coastal backwater ruled by a man who has been on the verge of madness even before he lost the golden pelt of Nephele; Amazonia is inhabited by a herd of reclusive warriors; and the Docklands’s only wealth is a bunch of fishing boats. Can’t you see? Minoa is the richest and strongest kingdom. You would be a great asset to furthering the Council’s goals."