The Maze of Minos

by Tammie Painter

  "Really? Because it does seem that way."

  "Then what happened?" Menelaus asks in a more reasonable tone than his brother. "You had a sword, why didn’t you stop her once you knew who she was?"

  I take a deep breath. This is the most trial-like will reading I’ve ever attended.

  "When I entered the box, I saw her handing Theseus a cup of wine." I recite the story I’ve already told them twice. "I also smelled the scent of hydra blood. After all the false smiles she’d given Theseus and the scorn she’d greeted us with, the joy on her face when she handed over that cup was a little too real for my taste." I pause, trying to arrange my thoughts a new way to get them to understand how fast everything happened. How there were a dozen actions I would have had to take to keep everyone alive and put Medea under arrest. How her guards swarmed us like menacing crows and created enough mayhem for her to escape. How I had only time enough for one action, the one that saved Theseus’s life, but allowed Medea to get away.

  "A lot of thoughts came together all at once when I realized who she was," I continue. "I thought she had to have Aegeus under some sort of spell and I figured if he saw Owl, the sword he had given Theseus, it might rattle something in his head enough to break through that spell. There were guards in the box, her guards, not the three who are usually with Aegeus. The three who would have been a great help if they’d been in there," I say looking at Kyros, Pheres, and Zethros who had informed me they had been made to stand outside the royal box at Medea’s command. They nod in thanks at the recognition, Zethros a little more sheepishly than the others.

  "What would her guards have done if I had whipped out a sword in that box?" I ask the two Seatticans at the table. "They would have attacked me and, who knows, the result may have been the same or it may have been worse. Only the gods know if Medea still would have had her chance to flee or if Aegeus wouldn’t have been accidentally poisoned. At least when I mentioned her name, her spell was broken, allowing Aegeus to see and acknowledge his son before he died. As for going after her, well—" I rub the knot on my head I’d received from Zethros when I burst from the royal box to go after Medea and he had knocked me to the ground. "As I’ve said, that was a bit difficult."

  Zethros at least has the decency to look chastised. "My apologies. I reacted before I knew the situation." I nod an acceptance to his apology.

  "Also, you have demanded, sorry, requested I stay here," I say, addressing Menelaus and Agamemnon. "Otherwise, believe me, I would have chased her down. And would probably have caught her by now."

  "Will you still pursue Medea? You have the letter," Kyros asks. The red rimming his eyes brightens the green of his hazel irises. He seems even harder hit by Aegeus’s death than Theseus. I think Medea has added another name to the list of people who would like to exact revenge on her for killing one of their loved ones.

  Medea, probably assuming she would be returning to her rooms soon after she did away with Theseus, had left behind a folded piece of dirty parchment. A letter from her father in which he wrote that he was about to give away his kingdom to Phrixus, the former lover of Medea who spurned her for another woman, Glauce. After seeing the letter I felt certain that Medea would be heading to Colchis. I immediately sent alerts out by the fastest horses in Athenos to the ports to tell them to detain any pregnant woman seeking passage. I have also alerted the stables in Athenos not to provide her a horse, carriage, or litter. Even if she thinks she can play at being a sorceress, Medea is heavily pregnant, she cannot sprout wings, and she cannot smooth out the rough landscape she’ll have to traverse. Forced to journey on foot, she will take at least three days to travel the same distance I can cover in one day on horseback. Even though I know every moment counts and I’m anxious to go after her, I’m thankful for this cushion of time.

  Without any bidding, I suddenly think of Penelope and hope she will come to the funeral—an odd thing to wish for, but I’m so desperate to see her I wouldn’t care if I had to climb the side of one of Minoa’s glass towers to meet up with her. If she comes to Athenos, I can explain to her that I need to run one last errand before we can resume our lives as husband and wife, before we can hide away together in our little house in Illamos Valley and ignore the world.

  "As soon as the funeral is over, I will go after Medea." I don’t bother to add that I must go to Jason first. This is news he needs to hear even if I hate to bring it to him. "Now, if I am cleared, can we get to Theseus’s business?"

  "Of course," Pheres says, cutting off the next question before Agamemnon can ask it. His hand darts quickly across the table to the folded piece of parchment in front of Agamemnon. The Seattican starts to protest this sleight of hand, but Pheres is already showing us the seal that’s the size of a child’s hand to demonstrate it’s unbroken. Embossed in the wax is the owl symbol of Athenos. Pheres then hands the letter over to Kyros who snaps the seal and unfolds the letter. He scans the will, then smiles. I briefly wonder if he’s been named heir, it wouldn’t be unheard of for a guardsman and close friend to be named leader of a polis. But in a few moments he hands the letter to Zethros for his confirmation of its contents. The three men stand and bow to Theseus. Although he should have expected this, Theseus looks bewildered as Zethros hands the grieving son the paper bearing his father’s last will. Theseus’s hands tremble as he reads it.

  "I, I don’t know—" he pauses, taking a moment to contain his emotion. "I don’t know what to do."

  Kyros pats him on the shoulder. "We were here for your father and we would gladly serve you. You’ll learn the job soon enough."

  "For now though," I say, standing up and making a clear signal that I’m through with the two councilmembers’ questions, "you must lead the funeral."

  Theseus nods and then stands. Grief is still written all over his face, but he carries himself like a ruler when we leave the room and head to the harbor.

  As I walk with the group from the villa—gods only know why they don’t just call it a palace and be done with it—to the harbor, I scan the crowd looking for Penelope. Her parents love any type of ceremony or festivity and, if they could, would certainly have dragged her here. I chastise myself a little for hoping for a joyful reunion on this day of grief, but I can’t help it. It’s getting to the point that I need to see Penelope, I need to hear from her. Even if our marriage is no longer—which I wake up at nights thinking is the case more and more often lately—I deserve to see her one last time or at least to have a letter from her own hand telling me goodbye.

  But today is not that day, or at least not yet. Surely, there will be more people arriving later. I do see plenty of other people I know, including Bellerophon, Theseus’s best friend aboard the Argoa. He slips from the crowd into our group and taps the new ruler on his shoulder. Theseus stops, his eyes brighten for a brief moment, but then turn somber again as they walk side by side toward the harbor.

  As I continue to scan the crowd, my eyes meet those of one of my inquisitors. Agamemnon smiles and nods warmly in greeting as if nothing has passed between us, but Menelaus’s gaze is focused on a tall man wearing a gold-trimmed cloak that reminds me of the styles that come from the Califf Lands. I would recognize him anywhere, but seeing him here gives my heart a jolt. It’s Tyndareus. No doubt Menelaus hopes to catch a glimpse of the woman he dreams of wedding next to her father, but Helen is nowhere to be seen.

  Tyndareus, as Penelope’s uncle, may know where my wife is or may at least have had word about when she will return. I catch his eye and mouth, "Let’s talk," as I pass. To my surprise, he looks relieved, not surprised, at this. This time it’s my stomach that jolts. Does he have news about my wife? News he hopes to be rid of?

  Once to the harbor, I see Aegeus’s body has been laid out on a funeral barge and the ships that are normally in the harbor have been shifted to the distance away from what will soon become a burning pyre. The rite is not much different than what we do in Illamos Valley, except rather than only the new leader releasing a fire arrow to l
ight the barge, everyone in the funeral party is given a bow and arrow, myself included. At a command from Pheres, the tips of our arrows are lit from nearby torches. Another command, this time from Kyros, has us aiming our bows to form the perfect arc to the barge that has just been released and now floats toward the center of the inlet.

  It’s Theseus who gives the final command, his voice choked, as he tells us to fire. A cascade of flame-tipped arrows strikes the barge. There’s a moment’s pause then a whoosh as the vessel catches on fire. As the barge bobs in the current, flames blaze brighter and hotter than any fire I’ve ever warmed my backside on. Just as quickly as it started, the fire’s intensity fades and Aegeus’s body has been transformed into a heap of ashes.

  Bellerophon has an arm around Theseus’s shoulders that are now slumped in grief. He never got the chance to know his father and I wonder if he’s grieving the man or the missed opportunity. The funeral party breaks up and, as I turn, Tyndareus is beside me.

  "Tyndareus," I say with a quick bow. I served under his command for half a year after my vigile training was done. With him, I spent more time advising than fighting or patrolling which in those days did not settle well with my restless energy, but it did hone my ability to strategize, taught me the value of a good brain, and earned me enough of his respect that he introduced me to Penelope, his niece who I found far more intriguing than either of his daughters, Helen and Clytemnestra. "Don't you have a daughter to marry off?" I ask, mockingly.

  He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in the universal symbol of frustration. "That girl is why I'm here. She keeps dithering over that damn list and now her impatient suitors have invaded my city. They spend the days hounding her and baying for her attention, while their nights are spent fighting amongst themselves in the bars then in streets once they get kicked out of the bars. Menelaus and Agamemnon leave now and then to attend to their duties, but the moment they’re back—" He lets the sentence hang, then shakes his head again. "I swear, if you were single I'd push her off onto you to be done with it. Gods, I’d probably wed her to a titan just to be rid of her. That’s why I came—I barely knew Aegeus, if truth be told. I’m hoping the Athenian judges can advise me how to retract my promise to let her choose for herself."

  "Is it that bad?"

  "Taverns now shut their doors when they see any of the suitors coming. I simply can't afford to repair the damages the brawling leaves in its wake. At least Agamemnon has hinted at taking his name off the list. He's wooing Clytemnestra instead. A wise decision. That girl will be far less trouble."

  Knowing Clytemnestra’s reputation, I doubt that, but few fathers want to hear rumors regarding their daughter’s love of bedsport.

  "Maybe he doesn’t want to compete with his brother. You know Menelaus’s undying puppy love for Helen."

  "He’d be a good choice, he’s far less rowdy than the others, but I worry about her making any choice. I mean, if they fight like this now, what battles might rage when she makes her selection? Then again, at the same time I want her to choose and be done with it. I'm trapped."

  I notice Agamemnon watching us. He quickly looks over our heads acting as if he’s trying to find someone who must be very tall.

  "Do you really think it'll come to that? These are supposed to be Osteria's most elite."

  "And, don’t forget, they’re also the men with the largest armies."

  We walk a little further without saying anything. I want to say that if he would just let Helen marry Paris this would all be done with, but Tyndareus has set his mind against the dashing Demosian so it's pointless to suggest making a truce between them.

  "A truce," I blurt.

  "Pardon?"

  "Make the men on the list sign a truce," I say, my mouth running faster than my thoughts can catch up. "No, not a truce exactly. Draw up a contract that states to remain a suitor no man currently on the list can ever take up arms against another. And, if the winner does find himself in battle, the others must support the winner by providing men and arms."

  "So if any suitor engages in conflict against Helen's husband he'll have to face the full force of all the others. Scare them out of starting a war. Yes, it could work." Tyndareus’s face lights up with relief and hope for the first time since we started talking.

  "Exactly. Each suitor has to sign the agreement or his name will be removed. You will force them to be allies if they want a chance to marry Helen."

  "You're a genius, Odysseus."

  "I try. Although not clever enough for my wife. Have you had any word from Penelope?"

  "Last I heard she was somewhere near Chiron’s Fields."

  "Just where I’m going next and from where she will probably be long gone before I get there."

  "She’ll settle down soon enough," he says.

  Unfortunately, I thought she had settled down to be my wife a year ago. Now I don’t even know if she still wants to be my wife. Just then I spy Agamemnon lurking nearby. I figure he must be hoping to talk to Tyndareus privately about Clytemnestra, so I make my farewells. I don’t owe the Seattican any favors, but the thought of him marrying Tyndareus’s younger daughter who will probably cuckold him within a year makes me want to see him wed and made a fool of as soon as possible.

  "I must get ready to leave," I say.

  "Thank you for your advice. I’m sure you have just saved Osteria from war."

  "All in a day’s work," I say. After a warm hug, I leave him and head over to Theseus who is sitting on a bench watching the harbor. The funeral barge is now just a black shape nearing the horizon.

  I seat myself next to him and we make idle chitchat for a few moments before he goes silent.

  "I can’t do this," he says once the funeral barge is completely out of sight. "What do I know about Athenos, let alone leading it? I don’t even feel whole myself, how can I be a leader?"

  "By listening to good advice, by surrounding yourself with good advisors, by being humble, and by being willing to learn what these people need and want from you. The fact that you doubt yourself is a good start. Some people would just bluster in acting like they know everything and end up leaving the place in ruins because in truth they know nothing and are too ignorant to ask for help."

  "Thank you. For so much," he says quietly then resumes staring at the water. I pat him on the shoulder, wishing I didn’t have to leave him in this state, but I have to get to my cousin. And to Medea.

  After greeting many familiar faces in the crowd, I finally make my way to the stables. Bellerophon is there, asking the groom to set aside a permanent stall for his steed.

  "You’re staying with him, then?" I ask with relief. Bellerophon is young, but he seems to have a good head on his shoulders and will be a much-needed companion for Theseus. "Kyros, Zethros, and Pheres are good advisors, but I think he needs a friend. Even a satyr’s twat like you would do."

  "I take that as high praise. And why wouldn’t I stay? Palatial lodgings in a building that’s not supposed to be called a palace, and best friend to a king who isn’t supposed to be called a king. Much better than going home to tend to a bunch of dairy cattle." I give him a scornful look. "And I thought you had a sense of humor. Look, I’m not blind; I can see he’s grieving, and as a friend I want to help him out. But it also seems like there’s something more."

  "You’re pretty astute for a satyr’s twat, I’ll give you that."

  "High praise indeed. So what is it?"

  I shrug. "Ever since we’ve gotten back from Minoa he keeps saying there’s something missing. He’s been going on about feeling like half of him is lost." I then think of my own feelings about Penelope’s absence, my own sense of missing my better half. Could Theseus have fallen for someone in Minoa? When would he have had time?

  The groom brings my horse around, the saddle bags full of what I hope is something tasty and not just hard rolls and stale cheese. I swing up into the saddle.

  "Take care of him," I say, giving one last look around for Penelope before I turn th
e horse and ride away from Athenos.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Odysseus

  ALTHOUGH I SHOULD be glad to see my cousin after these long months, the ride back to Chiron's Fields weighs on me as an absolute drudgery. I don’t want to see Jason and Chiron, and especially not Achilles; I want to see Penelope. Even just a letter from her would be enough to lighten my mood. More often than not, I wonder if she’s forgotten me.

  But more than this worry is the burden of having to tell Jason that Medea was an arm’s length from me and got away. I do not look forward to telling him justice has escaped her once again.

  I enter the Fields, walking my horse since my mind isn't so lost in its own troubles that I would disrespect Chiron. Gods know I don't need anyone else upset with me. Chiron, wearing a smile that seems too cheerful for my sullen mood, strides up to greet me.

  "Why the long face?" Chiron says half-amused at the old centaur joke.

  "Isn't that my line?" After finding out Penelope hasn’t been to the Fields after all, we exchange a few pleasantries, but he senses my unease and urges me to tell him what’s on my mind. "I have hard news to tell Jason and I don't know if it will set him back. I would hate to be the one to undo all your hard work." I don’t add that I fear my cousin will hate me for not being quick enough to grab Medea. My soul bearing goes only so far.

  "He’s doing well. His friendship with Achilles has helped his mind, and his companionship with Briseis is healing his heart. I actually think he can bear whatever you have to tell him."

  "Tell who what?" Jason says approaching at a running pace. By gods, he does look healthy. His cheeks are warm with exercise, not sallow from a permanent hangover as they were when I saw him last. He wipes the sweat from his brow and stretches to the left then the right. The movements show definition in his arms and legs; he has gained back the muscle he lost. As he bounces a little to ease some tension out his calves, it’s clear his body is less weighed down by an emotional burden. There’s still something dark in his eyes, but the all-encompassing depression seems to have lifted. How can I be the one to bring his troubles back? Hating what I have to say, it’s almost a relief when Achilles trots up alongside him. Who thought I’d live to see the day when I admitted to being glad to be in the company of this boastful braggart?