“We are just passing through, Princess,” said one of them, leering at her. I felt myself bristle but, with an effort, remained calm. If we had hoped to remain unrecognized, we were out of luck. Even if Phaedra had been with someone else—someone normal—I doubt we would have gotten away with it.
“Well pass then!” she said.
The soldiers laughed but offered no further comment and soon departed.
The mood broken, Phaedra and I decided to return to the palace, our hearts heavy. We spoke little on the walk back, dwelling on our own dismal thoughts. It was a forlorn hope to think the guards would remain silent. Minos, although happy to punish any of his people for idle gossip or rumormongering, took a more pragmatic approach to his soldiers. He needed their loyalty. They were his strength, his power. Without them, he was nothing. If he punished them for telling the truth, for essentially doing their jobs, he would lose them. The soldiers knew it and were motivated by winning Minos’s favor. Everyone in the palace—no, everyone on Crete—knew Minos hated me and welcomed any opportunity to punish or humiliate me.
They must have galloped straight back to the palace because, by the time we had arrived, guards were waiting to escort us to the throne room.
Minos was waiting there, sitting on his throne, his face grim. We knelt before him, lowering our heads but not our eyes. I could tell that Phaedra was scared. Her chest was heaving, and her eyes were wide. I felt the same way, but after my other encounters with Minos, I was not about to give him the pleasure of witnessing any weakness.
He looked from one of us to the other, his eyes completely devoid of warmth. Finally, his gaze settled on Phaedra.
“You will not see this … creature again,” he snarled. “From now on, you will be kept apart. If I hear or see you together, I will have him killed. Do you understand?”
Phaedra, bolder and more courageous than I, did not take this well. She was also a favorite of Minos and tried to use this to her advantage.
“We were doing nothing wrong!” she cried. “Asterion is not even my brother. You know that as well as I. Everyone knows that.”
She dared too much. Minos’s eyes went wide with rage. He gestured to a guard. “Get her out of here. She is not to leave her chambers for one cycle of the moon.” Guards took her away. Only Minos, a few guards, and I remained.
“Remove this thing from my presence,” he snarled, not bothering to look at me. “Have him beaten and thrown outside the palace. He is not to return for the same period. If he does, kill him. If you see him with my daughter, kill him.”
I was beaten half to death with wooden staves. The soldiers, eager to win Minos’s approval, were possibly a little over enthusiastic. My body was blackened with bruises for many days after. I hobbled away from the palace and into the nearby forest to lick my wounds.
Of course, I contemplated leaving then but had nowhere to go. I had no money, no weapons. The kilt I wore and the sandals upon my feet were my only possessions.
When I was able to, motivated by hunger and thirst, I sought to satisfy these basic needs. I soon discovered that Minos had issued a decree that if anyone aided me, they would be punished by death. I was forced to steal food and always felt guilty about it. I stole from those who could least afford it—the common people who worked the land outside the palace grounds. I had no choice. If I didn’t, I would’ve died.
Occasionally, when it was dark, I crept into a grain store and slept. More often than not, I made my uncomfortable bed in the forest, usually tucked into the base of a tree. I didn’t know it at the time, but this experience in survival would serve me well in the future.
Eventually, a month passed and I returned to the palace. My bruises had all but healed. The only evidence of my beating were fading blotches of yellow discolored skin scattered over my body.
Under the watchful eyes of the guards, I made my way to my bedchamber, threw myself down on my pallet, and slept for two days.
After that, I rarely saw Phaedra. I was forced to take my lessons privately with Daedalus. I ate alone. Phaedra and I were constantly watched. It was one of the unhappiest times of my youth.
Ω
A few miserable months passed. A time for a festival approached however, one that I was looking forward to. The knowledge raised my spirits considerably. Although many Cretans worshipped the Greek gods of mainland Greece, the bull was still venerated as a holy animal. I still consider it odd that so many reviled me, I who bore the horns of an animal held in such high regard. I put this down to the King’s influence. A wiser and kinder king would’ve perhaps used me to emphasize his divine favor. Unfortunately, Minos was neither of those things.
In the annual festival, games were held to celebrate and honor the bull. One of the highlights of the festival was the famous bull leap. For the last ten years of my life, I had watched those competing in this event with something approaching awe. It was incredibly dangerous and as you can probably imagine, many died from gore wounds. Enraged bulls trampled some. Those who succeeded were heaped with accolades and rewards. The rewards, it seemed, outweighed the risks as many entered.
You had to be sixteen to participate. Androgeus, four years older than I, a superb athlete in his prime, was the resident champion. He had successfully somersaulted each year to rapturous applause and praise. I was hoping to emulate him, not to win favor from Minos but to perhaps gain acceptance from the people. Not only that, but I wanted to impress Phaedra with my physical prowess. I was, after all, just a sixteen-year-old boy.
The bull arena was situated outside the palace grounds, not far from the sea. People from all over the island attended, in numbers so great that they spilled out of the stands like an overfilled bucket. It was the last day of the festival, the climax and culmination of all the other celebrations. The air was filled with happy, excited laughter. The mood was infectious.
The hopeful bull leapers gathered together outside under the shadows of one stand, clad only in simple loincloths. Androgeus and I stood together. I fidgeted nervously. Androgeus stood easily, a relaxed smile adorning his handsome features.
We’d practiced together using smaller bulls, and Androgeus had made it look easy. He used the bull’s back instead of its horns to aid with the somersault but that took immense courage and few risked it. I had seen several try it but only a handful could successfully pull it off. Only those possessed with amazing physical grace and ability could leap high enough to avoid being gored.
I, however, was not equipped with his speed and agility. Not only that, but I was far heavier than my brother. Unless I timed it perfectly, my great weight would often force the bulls head down rather than up, which would lead to a wrestling match rather than an exercise in grace and speed, much to Androgeus delight.
“You’re not trying to seduce it,” he had said during one failed attempt, laughing as I struggled to pull the bull to the ground. “Leap over it, not through it.” At first, I thought Androgeus was referencing my supposed conception. But I knew he would never dishonor our mother with such words. He was not that type of person. I had told him about my true origins, and he had accepted it without question.
“Makes sense,” he’d said. “The horns, your great strength, and size. Who else could be your father but a god?” And that was the end of it. It didn’t change our relationship in the slightest. I worshipped him, and he in turn treated me with kindness, respect, and understanding.
Out of ten attempts, I had succeeded only twice. Androgeus told me not to worry. The bulls in the arena were much larger and had the necessary strength to throw me. I hoped he was right.
As sons of the King, Androgeus and I had the honor of going last. Actually, Androgeus would go last. I would compete just before him. We watched the other competitors try. Some failed, some succeeded. Two died. There was only one more athlete in front of me. The competitor—a young man not much older than myself—cautiously approached the bull from the front. Suddenly, he sprinted toward it a
nd leapt, grasping the cloth wrapped horns and flipping himself over it to land on his feet behind the animal. Fortunately, the bull’s instinctive response aided the athlete. Once it felt the young man’s hands on its horns, it tossed its head upwards and back, helpfully providing the momentum for the somersault. It was beautifully done and the crowd went wild, showering the happy young man with flowers.
Then it was my turn. My fear had almost unmanned me. I was shaking uncontrollably. Androgeus attempted to reassure me. “You’ll do fine, brother. Remember, it’s all about timing. Get that right and you’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides, if you fail, the bull will probably turn tail and run. I would if I was a bull.” He smiled happily and patted me on the back. The words caused most of my fears to evaporate. I couldn’t have loved my brother any more than I did at that moment.
I strode out into the arena, expecting to be greeted by cheers. Instead, I heard only silence. Minos, my mother, and my other siblings sat on a raised dais at the far end of the arena, protected, like the other spectators, by tall wooden walls. My father stared down at me, his expression unreadable. I felt like fleeing in shame. All the other competitors had been met with raucous applause. Did the people of Crete really hate me this much?
Suddenly, ragged cheering broke the silence. Behind the King, Phaedra, Catreus, and Deucalion were attempting to break the mood of the crowd. No doubt, they would suffer the King’s displeasure later on. The crowd took their cue and some began to join in. Others followed, and soon the arena was filled with the sounds of support and encouragement. It wasn’t as great as it had been for the other athletes, but it was more than enough for me.
The bull was ushered into the far side of the arena. It was a massive beast, much larger than any other I’d seen that day. Not only that, but it was white. Minos, in his none too subtle way, was sending me a message.
The bull was already in a lather. Someone had been working it up into a killing frenzy. It caught sight of me and immediately charged, giving me no time to plan my assault. As it got nearer, I finally noticed something else different. Its horns, more massive than my own, were uncovered. They glinted wickedly in the sun. This was not how it was supposed to be. I sensed the hand of Minos guiding events once again and knew his intention. He didn’t want me to leave the arena alive. He could get rid of his hated son without fear of reprisals from his family, the people of Crete, or Poseidon himself. Not that many would have likely cared if I died but even a king couldn’t kill his son without consequence.
Poseidon had decreed that I could not die at the hand of Minos but he said nothing about a bull. Minos’ hatred knew no bounds and he was prepared to risk it. Perhaps he thought that if I died in a supposed accident, Poseidon would not avenge my death. Minos was never the wisest of men. The gods may be many things but they are neither blind nor stupid.
The knowledge was sobering, but it also filled me with determination. Determination I’d never felt before. I would succeed here. I would show Minos and the people of Crete that there was more to me than just a lumbering, deformed giant. I would survive despite the intentions of my father.
I sprinted directly at the charging bull. When I say sprint, it was more of a lumbering plod but you get the idea. It had lowered its head, intent on goring me. Unlike most of my practice sessions, this time I got my timing right. Well, almost.
I grasped the bull’s horns, but not before I felt a slight nick as one sharpened point grazed my palm. And then I was soaring through the air. As Androgeus had predicted, this bull was strong enough to provide the lift necessary to propel me upward and over. I flipped in mid-air, hoping to land on my feet behind the bull.
My timing was almost perfect but not quite. The bull, as I mentioned earlier, was huge. The push I received was not enough. Not only that, but I hadn’t had time to accelerate to full speed. As a result, I landed almost head first on the back of the bull. I felt the sickening impact as my own horns penetrated deeply into the beasts flesh. It roared in mortal anguish. My momentum carried us both to the ground, with me still pinned to its back.
The bull was clearly in its death throes. It thrashed about, leaking copious amounts of blood over me, pooling on the soil beneath us. It gave one last bellow of pain and then succumbed to its grievous injury.
I got to my feet and pried myself away from the dead bull. More blood spurted from the parallel wounds as I yanked my horns out. It was only then that I noticed the absence of noise in the arena. All was deathly quiet.
I looked up, catching the eye of my father. His mouth was twisted in hatred. Before I could move, he was already on his feet, furiously marching out of the Monarch’s box.
There was a grumble of discordant noise from the crowd. A few cheers cried out but they soon quieted down. Most in the crowd realized what this meant. This was a sign from the gods and not a good one either. I had killed a sacred animal. Not only that, but I had killed a sacred animal with horns that were universally regarded as a sign of divine disfavor. This was not good.
I felt an arm tug at mine. I looked down in a daze and saw Androgeus there.
“Come, Asterion. Time to leave.”
Numbly, I let him lead me out of the arena. Phaedra was waiting for me. She was taking a huge risk seeing me like this but concern for my safety had overridden common sense.
She and Androgeus guided me back to the palace. The festival was over. Despite my grogginess, I felt a little guilty. Because of me, Androgeus would not be able to compete this year.
“I’m … I’m sorry,” I slurred, gripping Androgeus’s shoulder. “You didn’t get your go.”
He patted me on the back and smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, little brother. How could I possibly have competed with your performance anyway? Hard act to follow.”
The journey was a blur. I don’t remember arriving back, only that suddenly I was sitting down with Phaedra. She was dressing the wound on my palm. We were in her bedchamber. Androgeus stood at the window, gazing out at the ocean, his face blank. It was dusk. I felt weak, nauseous. My stomach was churning.
“Are you all right?” asked Phaedra. I could tell she was worried. “You’ve turned white.”
I wasn’t feeling well at all. Something was wrong. My palm was throbbing. Through the pain, a thought occurred. Had Minos poisoned me? Would he do such a thing? I knew with sudden certainty that he would. It wasn’t enough to uncover the bull’s horns. He had to make certain that I died.
“I don’t feel so good.”
Phaedra and Androgeus helped me lie down on a couch.
“I think he’s been poisoned,” said Phaedra. She knew me. Knew how strong I was. Something was very wrong when a slight scratch could have this effect on me.
Androgeus looked frightened for a moment and then nodded his head ever so slightly. “We have to send for a healer.”
“No,” said Phaedra. “The healers will do our father’s bidding. They will probably let Asterion die or even poison him again. Now that Father has tried once, he’s got nothing to lose by finishing the job he started.”
“Well, what then?” asked Androgeus impatiently.
“We’ll send for Daedalus. He’ll know what to do.”
Androgeus ran off to summon the master craftsman while Phaedra stayed at my side. Catreus and Deucalion arrived, crouching next to me, offering whatever support they could. Of Ariadne and Glaucus, there was no sign. For that at least, I was grateful. The last thing I wanted was for them to laugh at me.
Daedalus bustled into the room, already briefed by Androgeus. He examined me closely, even going so far as to unravel the bandage Phaedra had wrapped around my palm, sniffing the injury. He opened the wound and placed a gentle finger inside, tasting what he found there.
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I think it could be nerium, but I’m not sure. I’ve seen similar effects before. There’s not much I can do. Keep the arm down so that the poison doesn’t travel to his heart.”
“You have our thanks, Daedalus,” said Androgeus. “When I am King, you will be richly rewarded. This will not be forgotten.”
“Certainly not by the current King,” replied Daedalus drily. “If he finds out I’ve helped, that is.”
“He will not find out through us,” said Phaedra, trying to reassure him. “But make sure you are not found here. Go. Now!”
“In a moment,” said Daedalus. “I may be of more assistance to you yet.”
“Asterion can’t stay here,” said Androgeus. “Our father will find him, and if he does … .”
“I know where we can take him,” said Daedalus.
And indeed he did. A place where even Minos couldn’t find me. A place I didn’t know existed.
Chapter 7
It took me two full days to recover, covered in sweat, passing in and out of consciousness. Not that I was aware of the passage of time. Androgeus told me later that Phaedra stayed at my side for much of that time. It seemed that my part-god constitution was a match for the poison employed by Minos.
Under the cover of darkness, Daedalus had me taken to his workshop outside the palace, carried by my brothers and Phaedra. Unknown to any of us, Daedalus had constructed a series of rooms underneath the workshop itself, accessed through a small, cleverly concealed trapdoor. The rooms were devoted to secret projects, projects he felt the world was not yet ready to see. Icarus knew of them, but his father had sworn him to secrecy. The rooms, I guess, were a forerunner to the labyrinth.
There were all manner of devices contained within. Some I vaguely recognized, but the purpose of most escaped me. Most intriguing of all was a set of wings, which I assumed were for Daedalus’s next stage in his exploration of flight.
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