The Maze of Minos

by Tammie Painter

  "To us," Medea says, handing the stranger a cup and then giving me mine. I'm about to toast him when I hear Kyros giving a friendly greeting to someone. Odysseus? Did he say Odysseus? That clever Illamosian would certainly be able clarify what’s going on. Unless he’s in on the plot—

  The door of the royal box bangs open and it takes every bit of my vigile training not to jump out of my skin. Despite my wife’s request that my friends only enter if asked, Pheres stands at the open door, his dark face full of concern. Medea’s guards try to block him by stepping in front of the doorway, grunting a refusal, but Pheres insists the newcomer be let in.

  "It's Odysseus," he says, looking at me over the guard’s shoulder.

  "You might as well let him in," the boy—Theseus? Is it him? Damn my mind—says. "If not for his help I’d have had no chance against that bull."

  Medea shoots a cold glare at the door. The dark circles around her eyes seem to have grown larger in the past few moments and I notice her placing her hand on the side table as if to support herself. This is too much for her, I think. She pauses, then appears to come to a decision. She nods to her guards who step back from the doorway as she pours another serving of wine and deftly allows a drop from her ring to fall into the new cup. She catches my eye. "We have plenty of wine to go around, don’t we?"

  I’m at a loss of how to respond. Surely we can’t kill two men right in front of Kyros, Pheres, and Zethros. Her guards won’t care, I know that, but I don’t want to be put on trial for so obvious a crime.

  "Your sword, Theseus," says Odysseus—for I do recognize this man without a doubt, thank the gods for that. Is he in on a conspiracy? Does he know where my son is? "I thought you might want it."

  While Zethros tries to use his size to block them, Medea’s guards move to prevent Odysseus from handing over the weapon. I wave them aside. If the boy wanted to attack us, he could have done so with the vigile dagger strapped to his calf. For the first time I notice the seared flesh that needs to be tended to. How can he stand the pain?

  "It could have waited," the boy says curtly, reaching for the sword. As he dons the belt, the tip of the scabbard grazes his mangled calf and he lets out a hiss of pain. He should be asking for a medic, not paying homage to us, but here he is standing tall and ignoring his wound like a true soldier. I don’t know who he is, but I don’t think he’s here to cause trouble, nor that he should die for my wife’s suspicions. In fact, I would be proud if this was indeed Theseus.

  Medea hands Odysseus his cup of wine. After flicking an annoyed look at the sword, his gaze turns to Medea. His eyes bore into her in the same manner I’ve seen fathers stare at men who have raped their daughters. She keeps her head bowed and turns away. Oddly, I find I don’t want to protect her from his accusatory glare.

  Theseus picks up his cup again, hoisting it as if to toast. But Odysseus, turning away from Medea, smiles cunningly, says a cheer, then—before I even have my glass raised—clinks his cup too lustily against mine. His cup cracks, spilling his portion of wine to the floor.

  "Seems I really can't hold my drink," he jests. "Sorry for the cup, Medea. Oh, and Theseus, I’ve made a mess of your tunic. Here, let me." As it sinks in that this man knows my wife’s secret name, my eyes watch the flurry of his hands. He reaches toward the stranger and swats wine splatters off the sword’s hilt.

  My heart lurches. The sound of something breaking against the tile floor reaches my ear before I even realize it’s my own cup I’ve dropped in my surprise at what I’ve seen, at what Odysseus has shown me.

  The stranger is wearing Owl. The sword my son and only my son would have. Any doubt of who this is falls away. As if emerging from underwater, my head clears from the fog that has enveloped it.

  Theseus! It is him. He’s suddenly as familiar as he ever was. Every feature just as it had been when he left. How could I not recognize him? He’s a man to be sure, but I still see the boy I’ve cherished since his birth.

  He raises the cup to his lips. The hydra blood. No. He cannot die. I lunge forward and knock it away, shouting at my guards to seize Medea as I do so. There are already sounds of scuffling, yelling, another cup shattering against the tile. As if everything that had been moving too rapidly has suddenly slowed down, I watch as wine launches from the cup that flies from Theseus’s hand.

  Droplets of moisture splash onto my lips as the airborne wine cascades downward. I spit them away, flicking my head like a wet dog.

  A drop. I swear it is only a drop with the taste of warm red wine, a hint of cherries, and an underlying rotten nuance. I spit again and brush my tongue with my hands trying to clear that taste of death away. But this is hydra blood. It takes only a drop to work. Theseus, my dear Theseus, looks confused, alarmed, but he’s by my side in an instant.

  My throat constricts as if large hands are encircling and squeezing my windpipe. I still see it all. Medea is not by my side. A loving wife should be by a dying husband’s side. No one has to tell me what I realize too late. She is as wicked as my friends warned. I struggle to command the guards to seize her, but my throat has constricted. No words come out, only a hollow rasping sound. But they don’t need my orders to know they should act. In the mayhem I’m jostled aside. Theseus helps me, protects me, eases me to the cool tiles. I have been a fool.

  My lungs burn. I want air so desperately. I scratch at my throat. Theseus, my son Theseus, pushes my hands away and holds them so I cannot hurt myself. I gasp—the sound is horrible and I want to stop making it but I keep gasping. The air gets no further than the back of my throat.

  A black falcon swoops over my field of vision, circling in closer and closer. Through a pinpoint of light I see my son, my brave son. Tears stream down his face.

  "Lead," I wheeze as the black creature settles over my eyes completely.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Briseis

  "DO YOU WANT to race again?" I ask.

  "What’s the point? You always win," Achilles says, cutting off Jason’s response. Achilles can be such an annoying ass.

  "Did I ask you?" I turn my back on Achilles.

  "He’s right. You do always win," Jason says, grinning. Although his tone is moody, this new habit he has of grinning after his comments is an amazing leap forward. For the first few weeks after his arrival, I really thought he had been born without any of the muscles that pulled one’s lips up. One day after a run I discovered he could smile and my heart soared at the sight of it. After our first run several weeks ago—which ended up being more of a walk with how terrible he felt and the number of times he dashed into the shrubs—he’s been improving bit by bit. I would like to say there has been a surge of progress, that a single run put him on a new life course, but the struggles have been there.

  Despite the painfully slow pace and stomach troubles during that first run, I had been proud of myself, confident with figuring out how to knock Jason back into health, and thinking the task Chiron set me would be easy. Wanting to continue with the progress on my project, I arrived at Jason’s cabin the next morning. He was retching into a bucket. He’d made a wine out of some mint leaves—and yes, the vomit did have the smell of rotting mint so horribly I don’t think I’ll ever eat the herb again. Unfortunately, he’d poured the concoction into unclean bottles that tainted his brew. When I asked him about it he said he had noticed an off taste, but drank it anyway. At least he vowed to never try his hand at winemaking again.

  And he may have been telling the truth. Due to his poor health, it took nearly a week for him to fully get over his self-induced food poisoning, but after he felt strong again we ran each morning and afternoon for several days. Again, I had that surge of confidence in my own skills and could imagine Chiron showering me with praise for my cleverness. Then, in the midst of one run when we were far from the Fields, Jason began trembling so badly he fell over. I thought I’d trained him too hard, but Achilles—in his mocking way—said it was a sickness from not drinking, as if Jason’s body were in revolt f
rom not having any alcohol.

  And there were times, only when Achilles wasn’t with us, when Jason simply stopped running and broke down in tears, crying over his dead children, sobbing over his supposed failures as king, hating himself for becoming what he was. In secret, although it pained me to see him hate himself, I didn’t mind these moments because I could comfort him, holding him in my arms until he regained his composure. It’s been over a week since he’s had one of these episodes, and in some ways I miss them. But that’s as heartless as something Achilles would say, isn’t it? Perhaps I’ve spent too much time with the golden child of Thetis. Jason is recovering and I have done well. And I thank Chiron for the trust and the challenge.

  "Just a run then?" I say brightly. "I know where we can get some rabbit."

  At this both Achilles and Jason perk up. Chiron doesn’t allow meat to be served in the cantina. Not that I blame him. If I was half horse, I would be a bit wary about touching meat as well. But I’ve always been a stealthy hunter and can take down my own prey in the woods without his notice. A quick fire turns a freshly snared rabbit into an excellent snack. I then trade the pelts on the sly when merchants travel through this area. If Chiron ever wonders how I always have a fresh supply of ink and high-quality parchment, he doesn’t ask.

  "Let’s go," Jason says eagerly. This time his comment isn’t seasoned with a smile but with something darker. I’ve noticed this whenever I’ve invited him to hunt with me, this hardening of his eyes, this seriousness of manner like a student training for an exam. From what he’s told me, it seems he never enjoyed hunting as a child. He did kill a boar once, but he said it was only to protect his cousin, Odysseus. Now, something in him seems driven to hone his hunting skills, but I don’t question this drive since it keeps him sober and alert, and allows us more time together. Besides, these dark clouds over the mood of his recovery are brief and once we return from a day in the woods that surround Chiron’s Fields, his rediscovered good humor switches back on, even if he’s tentative about it as if he’s relearning how to enjoy life. As long as his strange intensity is only temporary, I can’t begrudge it in him when we hunt.

  So, after gathering up some water flasks and our sharpened daggers, we run to the far edge of the forest where the trees clear onto a vast meadow. It was here when I first saw Jason smiling—despite having lost the race we ran most horribly. I had asked him why he was so happy.

  "Because I don’t think when I run. It’s just one foot after another. Well, and jumping over a log or creek depending on what obstacle course you drag me through."

  And he really can clear any obstacle I take him over—look at me, I talk about him as if he were a well-trained horse. Still, I was amazed at how he popped over clumps of bramble, fallen logs, and the forest’s widest creek without ever tripping or getting his feet wet. He told me it was a skill left over from his early days, his schoolboy days, with Chiron during which he couldn’t compete with his cousin Odysseus in matters of fighting or sword play, but both he and Achilles—who insists he’s not allowed to fight in front of an audience—took great joy in receiving personal training in gymnastics from Chiron.

  "Did I ever tell you about the time he leapt over Chiron’s back?" Achilles asks, not even breathing hard despite our pace. I may be able to beat this man who is half god in most of our races, but he comes across the finish line looking as fresh and glorious as ever and ready for another few miles whereas I sweat more heavily than a winter downpour and can almost hear my muscles begging for a rest.

  I had the most painful crush on Achilles when I first started working for Chiron. How could I not? He’s beautiful, he’s confident, he’s everyone’s friend. But when I realized Achilles would never be clear of his mother’s apron strings and that I would never be what she wanted for her son, my fascination for him turned into friendship. We do love other, but as a sister loves a brother—a teasing yet protective kind of love. Jason on the other hand is no fleeting crush. He’s attractive and I admire the inner strength I don’t think he realizes he possesses, but, with the weight of his wife’s actions still bearing on him (although slightly less every day, if I do say so), now is not the time for me to be anything more to him than a close companion even though I dream for more.

  "A dozen times. In the past week," I respond and continue by Jason’s side.

  When we return, having left three pelts to dry in the work room of my cabin, we enjoy a meal on the lawn outside of Achilles’s home. I don’t normally like eating here because Thetis always casts a scornful eye on me, making me feel guilty for every bite as if I’m stealing food from her child even though we’re eating bread and cheese I’ve brought from my own stores. But right now it’s one of the few spots still in the sun, and I can’t resist lounging in the warmth. As I break off hunks of bread and pass them to Achilles and Jason, Achilles pops the stopper off a jug of wine and takes a long drink followed by a loud smack of approval.

  "Jason, quench your thirst?" he says, holding the jug out. I glare at Achilles, but he ignores my scolding eyes. He isn’t supposed to do this and I sense Chiron, who has been enjoying the sun in front of his own home, perk up as if he’s ready to come over. While he’s allowed wine with meals, Jason is only supposed to be given a cup at a time, not to be handed an entire jug. Jason’s eyes widen with sudden eagerness, like a man who hasn’t had a woman in months coming across a naked and willing nymph. But the look passes just as quickly. He gives me a rogue’s smile and toasts me with his cup of water.

  "Thanks, but it’s a bit early for me."

  From the corner of my eye I can see Chiron nod approvingly and settle back down. Achilles shrugs and says, "More for me," before taking another swig. And when I hand Jason a slice of cheese to go with his bread, the cynic in me wonders if his fingers lingering on mine is accidental, while my heart beats with the romantic excitement of a schoolgirl.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Odysseus

  "SO IT WAS Medea?" Menelaus asks. We’re seated in Aegeus’s council room to learn his will. If Theseus—as Aegeus’s son—is named heir, he will complete the final few years of Aegeus’s term. At the end of the term the people will vote on whether to extend his reign. If someone else or if no one else is named in this decree, a vote will go up immediately and other candidates, including Theseus, can compete for the position of ruling Athenos. This can turn costly, but given that Athenians keep their leaders in power like kings, it could be a wise investment for the winner. But before the will is opened, we’re being subjected to this questioning. Or rather, I’m being subjected to it since Theseus is in a near state of shock over his father’s sudden death.

  My interrogators are the two representatives from the Osteria Council who live closest to Athenos, the brothers Menelaus and Agamemnon who jointly occupy the seat for Seattica, Athenos’s neighboring polis to the east. We sailed together on the Argoa, but they are not treating me as a fellow adventurer during this interview. At least Menelaus is more easy going than Agamemnon and delivers his questions with an air of curiosity. Agamemnon, always the more aggressive of the two brothers, is combative in his speech as if he’s itching for fight, whether it’s verbal or physical. With his accusatory tones, burly shape, and the traditional shaggy black cloak the Seattican wears, I feel like I’m facing down a bear who’s just been disturbed from his winter nap. I never warmed up to them on the Argoa, and I like them even less now that they’ve taken their places on the Council—a group I would very much like to see disbanded.

  I know Menelaus and Agamemnon are new to the Council, but they still represent a body that didn’t even bother to question Pasiphae’s story. Did they send even a single investigator into Minoa to get the facts? Did they try to compromise with Minos? No, they most likely saw it as a way to wear down the strongest kingdom in Osteria in the hope of getting their greedy claws on some of Minos’s wealth and resources.

  The Council is already dwindling, perhaps one day it will die out altogether. Iolalus refuses t
o sit amongst them, Jason is of a similar mind, and Theseus has already told me he will have nothing to do with them if he gains the presidency, Pasiphae’s burns have put her in a coma the medics can do nothing for, and Menelaus and Agamemnon barely attend half the meetings. Unfortunately, this leaves the remaining seats filled with the backsides of Osteria’s most ambitious rulers, excepting Priam who could never be described as anything but meek and agreeable. These remaining few will do what they can to further themselves, even, as we have just seen, allow the youths of Osteria to die.

  I seethe at being interrogated by these two brothers. Why should I have to answer questions about one death, when their colleagues are responsible for the murders of dozens of young Osterians? I grip the arms of my chair as if I can channel my anger into the furniture. I cannot argue. I don’t want to. I just want to be done with this and to have them out of my sight. Since the quickest way to get rid of them is to answer their inquiries, I try to keep calm.

  "Yes," I respond. "I think once I called Medea directly by name, she was exposed and could no longer maintain whatever spell she’d cast over herself. It was most definitely her."

  "Supposedly you’ve spent months hunting her down," Agamemnon says tauntingly, "but then you just let her leave?"

  "No, you rotted piece of chicken cloaca," I snap. "I did not just let her leave. You make it sound like I rolled out the gold carpet and escorted her to a gilded carriage."

  So much for calm, but this ursine councilmember has hit a sore spot.

  I’ve been cursing myself every moment since Medea fled. In truth, I wanted to run after her, but Theseus asked that I stay until the funeral was over. Before I could refuse, the Council insisted I remain in Athenos to answer their representatives’ asinine questions.

  "We’re not accusing you," Agamemnon says with false sincerity.