I had personally never seen this underground chamber. Years ago my great-grandfather had built the labyrinth as a prison but eventually it was so rarely used for its original purpose that, during my grandfather’s rule, the maze was turned into a game for the Earthshaker festivities. It had been a popular event that had taken on a party atmosphere. But one year the party went too far and a group of Arean men—drunk on the wine my grandfather had been pouring for free—kidnapped my grandmother and dragged her into the maze. My grandfather’s guards discovered her absence not long after, but by then the Areans had gotten deep into the maze where they raped my grandmother one after the other. By the time the royal guards found her, her attackers had fled and she required medics to carry her out. The maze had been sealed ever since.
The young people on my screen had done well for a time. They only had to make their way to the other side, to the stairs that would lead them out to the agora. Feeling their way along the walls, they moved in the right direction without making any wrong turns. But instead of staying on the zigzagging side route, they started taking the most direct route. The route that would take them right past the minotaur’s lair.
I don’t know if he heard them first or caught the scent of their fear, but suddenly the minotaur’s bullish head jerked up and his nostrils flared as if trying to take in as much of their scent as possible. I felt my hope drain away like waste from a public latrine. He was no graceful hunter, no mountain cat, no wolf stalking its prey. No, the minotaur charged forth barreling through his victims just as my own bulls do on their race through the streets during the Earthshaker Festival. The creature used his horns to gore torsos, his teeth to tear out throats, and his weight to knock down his blind prey. And then he devoured every piece of his first victim except the bones.
Surely his appetite could be satiated with only one or two of them, I had thought. Then, like a man after a large banquet, perhaps he would grow tired and the rest would have time to find a way to escape. But they did not.
It was a horror beyond explanation. I have woken up screaming every night since. So, when the second group—this time from Tillaceae—arrived, I avoided them. I couldn’t even do these people, these children, the honor of greeting them. I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t muster any encouraging words. I wanted to cower in my rooms embarrassed of what I had become.
"You will offer them my apologies?" I asked Ariadne. She nodded and, although, I was grateful for the lack of judgment on her face, I was ashamed of myself. Once she left I did go to the station, but I hid, watching from the shadows like a criminal.
One of the Tillaceans tried to run when the Arean guards opened the carriage of the train. From my hiding spot I cheered him on, urging him to sprout wings at his ankles like Hermes and fly away. But the guards caught him. To make an example of the boy, they beat him. As their fists drove into his mouth, his nose, his ribs, his groin, their faces never showed any sign of anger, excitement, or effort; they acted like men performing a routine task. With the boy’s left eye swollen shut, his ribs cracked, and his head bleeding, they picked him up and tossed him into the maze then marched the other eleven in after him.
And, cruel as she is, Pasiphae forced me to watch. Thankfully, it was over with quickly even if the nightmare of it will haunt me forever.
Now, the third group is on its way. Will these Astorians bring the hero we need? That I desperately need. My people despise me. I live in fear of a revolt and have taken to sleeping with a dagger under my pillow for protection.
"We should try the calves again," I say to Ariadne as we wait at the station. Shame creeps up my back. I want to hide again, but I force myself to stay put. I will face the scorn of the Astorians who arrive.
"It didn’t work last time."
Although I had no desire to lose a single one of them, I had hoped the large number of calves birthed this year—the ones Frederic sired before Herc Dion took him to Portaceae—might keep the minotaur so full he wouldn’t be interested in human flesh.
"Try it again," I bark at her then instantly regret my tone. After all, this is not her fault; I brought this on myself.
But she’s right. The idea didn’t work. The calves merely wandered about the maze, trapping themselves into various dead ends. And when the minotaur came after them, did he see them as food? No, he guided them by nudging them forward with his snout until they reached the stairs that led out to the agora. So gentle with calves, yet so vicious with humans. Pasiphae and her Arean cohorts have certainly given this monster a particular palate. I cinch my tunic belt tighter as the train rolls up to the platform.
* * *
After sunset, long after they should have come out, I leave the palace to go to the gateway in the agora where I hope one of the Astorians will emerge. As I sit there, Minoans pass me by. They do not greet me anymore. They do not come up and talk to me. They sneer at me and spit on me when they have the chance. I do not wipe the spit away. I wear it as a badge of the shame I have brought on my kingdom.
Much later, when the moon has already begun to set and it’s clear none of the twelve Astorians have survived, Ariadne collects me and leads me back to my bedchamber. Once in bed, I slip my hand under my pillow to feel for the dagger. I cannot do this much longer. How long until it’s Portaceae’s turn, I wonder. I shudder at the thought that Iolalus might be among Portaceae’s twelve.
I cannot let that happen. I am resolved. I don’t know if it’s still a lingering trickle of hope or simply cowardice to delay the inevitable, but if the next group—from Athenos, I think—does not succeed, I will give Minoa over to the Areans. Then I will use this blade to slit my throat.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Medea
I SMILE AS the small brush sweeps a shiny layer of maroon lacquer over the nail of my index finger. It’s the first true smile I’ve felt cross my lips in weeks. How could I have been so stupid as to suggest Theseus fight that bull? Aegeus hasn’t stopped boasting of his son’s prowess against it, nor of his later successes in the arena as the Wonder Boy wrestles, runs, and engages in mock battles like a trained gladiator. On a daily basis I have to endure Aegeus recounting every step, every winning move Theseus has made as if I hadn’t been right by my husband’s side watching these spectacles.
I swear if I never hear the name Theseus again it will be too soon. From the way Aegeus blathers on, one would think Theseus is all the gods rolled into one human body.
I push aside the mounting irritation by painting the rest of the nails on my left hand. In the mirror of my chamber’s dressing table, I hold my hand out with fingers splayed to admire the color. I had to bribe an Athenian beautician to create it since even these logic-minded people find bad omens in this deep shade of red. Silly. I waggle my fingers a bit to dry the varnish, then awkwardly pick up the little brush in my left, non-dominant hand. I’m feeling proud of myself as I swipe the brush over my first two fingers without making a mess. I think how perfectly the varnish will match the large, hinged ruby of the ring I wear on my right hand. Just as I’m about to start on my ring finger, a shout comes from the courtyard my room looks over. Startled by the noise, I jerk and end up with a shiny maroon streak half the length of my right ring finger.
I jab the brush into the bottle—a rash move that smears the paint on my left hand’s nails. I shove away from the dressing table and storm over to the window. Of course it’s Theseus, telling some stupid joke as he struts below my window with Kyros, Pheres, and Zethros. I scowl as I watch them pass.
I grab a rag and dip it in solvent to clean up the mess Theseus has caused me to make of my hands and fingers. So much for a relaxing treat, I think as I scrub varnish from the creases of my ring finger and stare at my ever-widening belly in the mirror. This only adds another log of frustration to my irritable fire.
Unlike he promised when we wed, my husband still has not changed his will to make the child I carry—his legitimate child—heir so the people will back him when my husband dies or gives up his power
. Ever since the arrival of Wonder Boy, Aegeus claims we should wait until the baby is born, since he doesn’t want to tempt the gods, saying it’s ill luck to declare an unborn child heir or to give it gifts. So, once again, I am speeding up my pregnancy faster than I should in the hopes that I can get the baby out before this Theseus can worm his way deeper into my husband’s heart.
"Medea," Aegeus whispers. My secret name. The name he uses when we are naked together—or when he’s hoping to be naked together. Maintaining the masking charm and the increased rate of this pregnancy have left me exhausted at the end of each day. Too exhausted to partake in any bedsport.
But today, I have kept to my rooms most of the morning, so have had little need of the masking charm. With that rest and the pampering my maids have given me, I was feeling vibrant and energetic until I was so rudely disturbed by Theseus’s noise. Knowing I need to keep Aegeus bound to me, I push aside my irritation at his son and toss down the rag that now looks like it’s streaked with blood. I turn from my dressing table and step toward my husband, who still stands in the doorway, and untie the ribbons at my shoulders. My silk gown slips off. Aegeus’s eyes widen hungrily.
"Yes, husband," I say innocently. "Did you want something?"
"I had been looking for Theseus," he says, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. "But he can wait."
Aegeus is careful with me at first, too careful for my taste, so I take charge of our love making much to both of our pleasures. Once finished, we lounge in the bed as the afternoon sun streams in and bathes us in warmth and light. Despite my swollen belly, the sun and the glow of satisfaction leave me feeling like a goddess. I run my fingers along Aegeus’s firm abdominal muscles, intrigued that a man so old can still be so fit. And so vigorous.
"Maybe I should distract you more often," I say. I know Aegeus has many duties, but I hope to keep him talking long enough to rouse him into another round of passion. The more I focus his attention on me, the less he can focus on Theseus.
"Perhaps you should," he says, kissing the top of my head. "But I should really find Theseus."
Thankfully my head is resting on his chest and he can’t see me roll my eyes. "Theseus kept you waiting for years before he came to see you. Surely he can wait another few hours," I say coquettishly.
"No, I can’t contain the news. I’m practically bursting with it." His excited speech turns to a moan as my fingers trail lower than his abdomen.
"Bursting?" I ask, looking up at him as my hand grazes his groin. "With news, or something more urgent?"
"Don’t tempt an old man, Medea," he says, gently pushing my hand aside and raising himself up to sit. "Especially not a busy old man. You know today is the day the poli learn which one of us must be the next to sacrifice to this coward Minos. When I make the announcement, I also want to announce that I plan to name Theseus as my heir.”
I’ve encouraged Aegeus to use the term heir. Athenos calls itself a democracy in which the ruler and his policy makers are elected every six years, but Aegeus is king in all but name since only half-hearted challenges are ever made when election time comes. Aegeus has ruled for three election cycles. The woman before him went unchallenged for five election cycles before that, and her own father served an impressive seven cycles despite his being around Aegeus’s current age when he first took power. So, for all its democratic notions, Athenos has a monarch—a monarch who will propose a successor who will then undoubtedly be elected by the people. And I am determined that successor, that heir, will be the child in my womb, not some braggart bastard from Helena.
However, I know I cannot argue with my husband or badger him into making this child within me his successor. If I have learned one thing about Aegeus it’s that he puts up the sturdiest wall to people who tell him what to do. He must slowly be swayed to my opinion without ever realizing it’s happening.
"Heir? To your wealth or your position?" I ask. I’m not entirely greedy. I don’t mind if Aegeus gives Theseus enough money to live on comfortably as long as the bastard chooses to live far away from Athenos and allow my child to claim the birthright he or she deserves.
"If the people elect Theseus, then both. I plan to back him in the next election." He turns to me, his face bright with hope. I stare at him in disbelief. He would give up his power just like that? What a fool. "Won’t it be wonderful to get out of this city and settle into a little place in one of the districts? Just you and me?"
After living in Colchis, an uneventful backwater at the edge of Osteria, for most of my life, his retirement dream sounds more dreadful than being trapped in a room full of satyrs who have contracted an ailment of the bowels. Not only do I have no desire to live in some rustic villa in the middle of nowhere, but if I do not give my father an heir that will inherit a great polis or kingdom, he will disinherit me. His Colchian guards lurk around, spying on me as if they think I don’t notice. Every moment I don’t get this child within me a secure place on some seat of power, the closer my father gets to handing over Colchis to my cousin, Phrixus. I will not suffer through another birth only to end up living in the country like some farmer’s wife, and I’ll be damned if I let Phrixus and that slut who stole him from me snatch the kingdom that should belong to me and my child.
But to get my child everything he or she deserves, I must get Aegeus to side with me, not Theseus. I stretch as if I haven’t a care in the world, arching my back to push out my milk-heavy breasts.
"But you never married Theseus’s mother. Can bastards be heir here?" I ask innocently, but know damn well they cannot. The leader of the polis must be legitimate.
"Not yet, but my darling," he says, letting his fingers slip across the breast that is nearest to him, "I’m president, I can change the law. Besides, Theseus is winning many people over. Did you see him yesterday in the arena? Gods, he is amazing."
I groan at the praise, but quickly change it into a moan. The sound stiffens him slightly.
"Yes, but that’s only a game. Can he fight in a real battle? Can he defend Athenos as you have done?" He starts to answer, pulling his hand away, but I cut him off with a smile and press his hand back down. "It’s not my question, my love. I have no doubt of his capabilities, but I have heard this and more on people’s lips," I lie. My only interaction with the people has been my masking games I play in the agora with husbands and their wives. "You might consult a few of them before making changes that they may not like. You see Theseus through a father’s eyes, a doting father who is love-blind for his son. That’s a wonderful thing and I know you’ll be a perfect father to our child, but Theseus is not familiar as a son of Athenos."
"You are very wise, Aegea." At the use of my adopted name, I know my spell is broken and I will have to try again later. I let go of his hand and he pulls on his tunic. "I will just have to make them feel that he is their son. Now get dressed and meet me downstairs so we can receive this news from Minoa together."
Soon after Aegeus leaves, my ladies come in and dress me. Since I need to maintain the Athenians’ favor, I try my best to avoid aggravating these superstitious poli-dwellers and have had my maroon gowns packed away. Instead, my women wrap me into a pale yellow gown with an emerald-studded belt cinched at my torso just above my belly. There’s no use trying to hide my bulge, so I opt to decorate it. To keep my hair simple for this somber news, they form two small braids and circle them around my head, securing the ends with a wine-colored band and letting the rest of my long, dark hair cascade down my back.
When I begin my way down the stairs, Aegeus is passing a messenger a coin. And of course, Theseus is by my husband’s side. I remember to don the masking charm just as Theseus glances up. He hurries halfway up the stairs and helps me make my way down.
"Thank you. Such a gentleman. Is that it?" I ask, looking at the parchment in my husband’s hand. It’s sealed with the twelve-star emblem of the Osteria Council. A sense of unease hits me and makes me fear for my child’s future. They say Minos has a weapon that could destro
y us all if we don’t give into his demands, but the poli may attack anyway if these sacrifices continue much longer. Either way, war is looming.
"It is. Shall I read it here or wait to read it in front of the people?"
"Best to read it here so you can prepare yourself," I say, placing my hand on his arm. "You can always reseal it and pretend to read it for the first time in the agora."
The cracking of the seal sounds like a whip snapping in the empty foyer. The servants have been told to leave, but I’ve no doubt a few lurk within earshot waiting to be the first to catch the gossip.
Aegeus’s face pales as he reads.
"Athenos?" I ask.
He nods. His chin trembles and his eyes fill with tears. If he tries to speak, I know it will come out in a sob. I go to his side.
"It will be okay," I whisper. I know it won’t be. I don’t know what has sparked this madness in Minos. Although his kingdom is on the other side of Osteria and far from Colchis, I have always heard good things about Minoa. There have been unfounded rumors that Minos takes carnal pleasure in his bulls, but Areans themselves are well-known for their exploits with their docile sheep. At least taking a bull would prove Minos’s courage.
The thought of sex brings to mind what Aegeus and I were discussing in my room. I realize my husband is absolutely right. Theseus needs to become a true son of Athenos. Demos has lost twelve of its young people, as have Astoria and Tillaceae. It does seem impossible to survive one’s time against the minotaur.
"Husband, this could be the way for Theseus to prove himself to the people of Athenos," I say cautiously. If Aegeus and Theseus both react badly, I can simply say I meant that Theseus should read the decree. After all, why would I, a caring stepmother, propose my dear stepson be sent to slaughter?
The Maze of Minos Page 13
