The Maze of Minos

by Tammie Painter

  Just as my guards and I enter the passageway that leads to the arena floor, the cool air of the shaded tunnel hits my skin and someone tugs at my arm. The shoulder the minotaur had sunk his teeth into gives a twinge at the sudden movement. I push away my melancholy and flash a bright smile as I turn around thinking it might be someone wanting to congratulate me, but instead I meet Odysseus’s cunning eyes. His own guard looms nearby.

  "I don’t need advice or quips now," I say putting my hand to my sword hilt to show that I'm prepared to take on this beast.

  "Why did you not show him that?" He indicates Owl with a nod of his head. "Aegeus would have had to know it was you if he saw it."

  My assuredness suddenly fades. I’d been so caught up in the chance to show off that I ignored why I need to prove myself. Why doesn’t my father recognize me? I couldn’t have changed that much in the few days I’ve been gone. I take in the guards flanking us. Above I hear the sound of feet as people shuffle their way to their favorite seats.

  "I don’t know why Aegeus didn’t recognize me, but if I had reached for my sword I’d bet these guards would be carrying my body to the funeral pyre instead of escorting me to the arena."

  "I have a feeling I know—"

  "No swords," the guard at the arena entrance grunts. It’s another of the black-clad hulks of the same sort who were at the villa’s door. I wonder again where Kyros, Zethros, and Pheres are. They would know me, wouldn’t they? "Remove it."

  My gut jolts at his command. This is no minotaur who I must fight blind before he eats me alive, but I had counted on having Owl at hand. After a few jumps, dodges, and feigned near misses, I had planned to leap over the bull and stab him between the shoulders. Not only would I give the audience the thrill they’d be seeking, but I’d also deliver a quick, clean death that would be over with before the beast even had time to realize his fate. I may have no qualms about killing him, but there's no need for the animal to suffer.

  "How am I supposed to defend myself then?" I ask.

  "Not my problem," the guard replies as he looks to Odysseus. "And he goes in alone."

  "Don't worry, I'm only here for a pep talk," Odysseus says as he holds out his hand and eyes me levelly. "And to safeguard Owl."

  The crowd above shouts and the sound rumbles through the underside of the arena. The bull has been released.

  As I unclasp the scabbard from my waist, piercing screams come from just above me. I startle and nearly drop the sword. Odysseus, glancing up warily, reaches for the sword belt with Owl in it, then stares at me wide-eyed when another scream roars overhead.

  "Why are they screaming?"

  "Now do you want my advice?" Odysseus asks. From somewhere in the stands comes the splash of water. What in the name of the Twelve is going on?

  "Only if you know what's up there," I say, trying to control my nerves. Odysseus, although concerned, looks as if he’s expected this all along. I tell myself he’s only calm because he’s not the one who has to go out there. He’s not the one who has to prove his identity to his father by risking his life against Zeus knows what. Another cry reverberates in the darkness of the tunnel. "No one screams like that over a bull."

  "Look, I’ve had my suspicions about your stepmother and if I'm right that is indeed a bull trotting around up there."

  "So why does it sound like they’re trampling one another to get away from it?" I ask as the sound of people scrambling to get higher in the stands thunders above us.

  "The bull probably breathes fire," he says as casually as if telling me the animal eats hay. "You remember when Jason was tested in Aeetes’s arena? The two bulls? I’m certain this is one of them."

  I would have accused him of joking if not for what I was hearing. "And I'm expected to go up against him with no weapon?"

  "You have your dagger." He reaches into the satchel that’s always at his side. "And you have these." He pulls out wispy silver chains that look no thicker than a strand of hair. They remind me of the belt I used in the maze. The one that stretched to unbelievable lengths. Where did I get that from? A shout from above brings me back to the trouble at hand. I eye the chains again.

  "Those? Against a bull? Even an ordinary bull would snap them. This one, if what you say is true, will melt those things with one sneeze."

  "Do you think I would hand these over to you if I didn’t think they would work? You’ve seen their strength. They won't break. They won’t melt. If you can manage to get them around the animal’s neck, you can subdue him. But you don’t need to control him; you need to defeat him. Just get them around a hoof and trip the beast. The rest is up to you."

  "These are the chains Jason used in Colchis, aren’t they?" I remember now how Jason, naked as hairless dog, tamed a pair of fire-breathing bulls to keep me and the rest of the Argoa’s crew from becoming Colchian slaves. I take the chains. They have a slippery feel to them as if they’ll drip straight through my fingers. To keep them from tangling, I wrap the silver strands around my wrist. Despite its delicate appearance, the chain has a good weight to it that’s somehow comforting and I think that this must be Hephaestus’s metalwork. I’d lost a good deal of my confidence at the sound of the beast out there, but the thought of being aided by a piece of finery created by my home polis’s patron god restores a fraction of my surety. "But why would she send me in against one of her monsters? And why can’t Aegeus recognize me?"

  "You really are an idiot. Don’t you see? You’re in her way. Whose idea was it that you volunteer to go to Minoa? You may think you thought of it yourself, but she wants you dead. I can explain more later, but she needs her child to be the future ruler of Athenos, not only to satisfy her own ambition, but to prove herself to her father, and she wants no impediment."

  "At the cost of my life?"

  "She would kill us all to succeed."

  "Who is she?"

  "I believe it's Medea in disguise."

  "How have we not recognized her? This is no time to play games for her amusement. We need to capture her and have her killed for what she did to your cousin’s children."

  "I’m trying to figure out why she looks so different. It may be some spell Circe taught her. And it may be the same spell that kept your father from recognizing you. Did you notice when she was distracted he nearly identified you? As far as going up there and assassinating her, I have a feeling these new guards were put in place by her. There are still true vigiles around, as you saw at the palace, but she’s keeping these mercenaries close to her and keeping your father’s men as far away as she can manage. If we accused her or attacked her, we would be arrested for treason and sent under, a fate I would very much like to avoid. I’ll figure out how to take care of her, but for now just get in there and survive."

  "Easy for you to say."

  Just then, trumpets blare across the arena.

  "Enough talk. Time to go." The guard yanks my arm, flings open the door, and shoves me into the arena.

  As if he knew where I’d come out, the bull is already at the entrance staring me down with menacing black eyes. Before I can fully register how massive he is, flames burst from his nostrils. I spin aside. The intensity of the heat sears all the way down my back, but thankfully my tunic has not caught fire.

  I have a moment to assess my opponent as I skirt around the edge of the arena. Odysseus’s guess is right; this is one of the Colchian creatures. He’s big, at least twice the size of a normal bull, but what he’s gained in bulk has been lost in speed and flexibility. With his stocky neck and shoulders he can't turn his head far enough to reach his flanks. He also can't nimbly change direction like a smaller bull and certainly has none of the cunning of the minotaur. If I can stay to his rear, I should be out of the direct course of any flames.

  The bull makes a hulking charge. Flames pulse out in time with his hoofbeats. I dodge away just as he sets a section of the backboard on fire. On my circuit I notice other areas that have been burned. It must be what sent people fleeing to the upper seats
and would explain the rush of water I heard. Now, guards stand in the lower levels with buckets ready. Unfortunately, I’m certain none of them have been ordered to use those buckets to douse me if I catch fire.

  I unwrap the chain from my wrist. The action fills me with a memory. A memory of a tall woman’s hands around my waist. I shake the thought from my head. Now is no time for fantasies. My fingers run along the length of silver. Gods, it feels like nothing more than string. Could it really have any strength? The bull charges again, but this time I run to the middle. I can’t face him and bridle him like Jason who had salve to protect his skin from the flames. I need to trip him as Odysseus suggested. But if I'm to do that, I need to lay a snare where he's been standing, the spot in the center of the arena from where he makes his charges. I quickly tie a loop and curse my shaking hands.

  The bull’s hooves paw at the dirt floor of the arena as his muscles twitch. He’s ready to make his move. With lumbering speed, he charges toward me. I tie the slipknot, but he's bearing down too quickly for me to make the loop of the snare large enough. I'd try to drop the chain in place but there's not time. I run away thinking I've given myself enough room just as flames catch my right calf and sear the flesh.

  "I'm going to do the same to you by the end of the day, big boy," I yell, angry with pain as I widen the loop. I need him to move off his spot. "Come on, you hunk of steak." I step out, staring him down as I circle him. "I’ve still got plenty of body parts for you to roast, but remember what they say about payback." The bull charges and I run at him, but just as I near him I swerve aside. He can’t stop quickly enough and continues thundering past me. I lay the loop down and unravel enough chain to give myself space without putting out so much length that the snare loses its snap.

  My fiery adversary returns to his spot, standing just outside the snare. I don't want to move too much or he'll charge and it's not as if I can just ask him to step a bit to his left. Just as I'm about to give up on the chain and leap on him in the hope that my dagger is long enough to hit a neck artery, a bucket clatters against the wooden backboard. A guard must have dropped it and the noise steals the bull’s attention. Unable to turn his head far enough to look, he has to make a few steps to angle his body so he can see if the distraction is worth an attack or not. The movement puts a hind leg into the snare. I yank the end of the chain with as much force as possible.

  It doesn't bring him down him but it does confuse him. He turns more as he tries to examine his hind foot. I hold the chain up and pace a circle in the opposite direction, unwinding the strand as I go. In only a couple rotations, he's tangled in what looks like silvery spider silk.

  He tries to step forward and trips. As he falls he looks pathetic and I feel terrible for him. This is not a noble death; it’s not even an exciting show for the audience, but showmanship is not what’s at issue here today and I will make his end come as quickly as I can. Fire arcs back and forth as he flails his head in his struggle to get up. I rush over, now having to avoid kicking hooves as well as flames. My fingers graze against puckered flesh as I pull my dagger from the scabbard at the calf he burned.

  The bull pauses in his struggle, meets my eye, and gives a pitiable cry of surrender. Seeing my chance, I rush in and slash his neck. From the direction of the royal box I hear a woman shout an angry curse. Blood gushes over my hand and I know I’ve hit a mortal mark. I scramble back fearing a last ditch attack, but it’s done. Flames beat weakly from the bull’s nostrils as his life pulses from him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Aegeus

  SPOUTING WORDS EVEN Zethros wouldn’t utter, my wife curses as her bull collapses. She slumps back in her seat muttering something about her chains that I can’t make sense of. I can't share her anger. I'm too impressed by the boy’s bravery in the face of the fire-breathing beast and leap to my feet to cheer him. I’m still confused as to what happened to my son. Could I have the disease of forgetfulness that sometimes comes with old age? Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe this fellow in the arena was only announcing my son’s success in Minoa. Or perhaps that other man was right. Could I just not be recognizing the man my boy has become? But how would he get back so quickly? I start to ask Medea if she thinks the boy might be Theseus. When I turn to her, my wife smiles graciously and applauds, but I recognize the tightness of displeasure at her lips. I leave the question unasked and decide I must get a closer look at this fighter.

  "We would honor you," I call out to the champion who bows at my words. "Join us in the royal box so we can toast you."

  The bullfighter, a broad smile on his face, bows again. My wife’s guards will escort him to my box that overlooks the arena. These guards are everywhere lately and it unnerves me more than it should. With their brusque, defiant air, they are more like mercenaries than true vigiles, but Medea says she wants them around because she worries there will be trouble if Minoa continues with its aggression toward the poli. They make her feel safe and I can understand that, but she has now insisted they also be the guards inside our box at the arena, whereas before I would always have my three friends in here as guards and companions.

  I try to make her happy, but, by the gods, she is asking more and more from me that I do not like. Still, she’s in a delicate state and I haven’t wanted to argue with her. Even though I have agreed to keep her guards in here with us, I have placed Kyros, Pheres, and Zethros just outside the door so they are near at hand if I need them. I have also made concessions to make her child heir once it is born and not before, but I have not told her that the child will only have this honor if Theseus does not want it or cannot accept it.

  Theseus. Is this man being marched up the stairs my son or an imposter?

  "Smart move," Medea says as she scowls at the scene in the arena below. Butchers have already begun the work of cutting the bull into manageable pieces that will then be loaded onto a cart, hauled away, and sold off.

  "Yes, that’s a huge animal. It’s a little gruesome, but if they didn’t cut it up, it would be impossible for them to lift a beast that size onto the cart."

  "Not the bull." She rolls her eyes making me feel idiotic then indicates to one of her guards to set out glasses and wine. "I mean getting him up here so we can do away with him." She taps the ring on her finger. It's a big thing, too big for her delicate hands but she is never without it. She told me once it contains hydra blood—one of the most poisonous substances in Osteria. I don’t believe it. Of course I never told her so, but I’m sure she got swindled by a smooth talking salesman in one of Osteria’s many marketplaces. After all, where would she have gotten it from? The last hydra was killed nearly a year ago in Portaceae by Hercules Dion. Still, the intention of my wife is clear even if her means are nothing more dangerous than water.

  "Why would I want him dead?"

  "Can you not see that man is a liar? He cannot be Theseus, he doesn’t even look like Theseus.”

  "He’s familiar," I say unconvincingly.

  "He’s using that as an advantage. Even if Theseus has survived, he could never have gotten to Athenos so quickly. He’s a threat. He clearly intends to worm his way into your household, if not your heart. And then what will he do? Look how easily he killed that bull. He’ll do the same to us if you fall for this trick. I might as well drink this poison right now and be done with it."

  She flicks the ring open and raises it to her lips. The scent of rotten cherries hits me. Dear Athena, only hydra blood has that foul sweet smell. Could she be right? Had I just not been wondering the same thing myself about this man’s sudden arrival? I think of the threats she has been warning me of lately.

  "No, don’t! Close it."

  Once she snaps the latch of the jewel shut, I wrap my shaking hands over hers. She has been trying lately, but I would do anything for my wife and do not want to see her take her own life. Still, something nags at me about this. Something tells me not to kill this man, but at the same time I can't see why he’s worth saving. My head fogs with the same confusi
on that has come upon me often these past months. I worry again it’s the dreaded disease of forgetfulness and wonder how long I have left before all my memories have fled from me.

  Before I can sort out my jumbled thoughts, a guard opens the door and announces the boy’s arrival. Theseus. So he still insists on being called that. I want to curse him again, but something about his stance is strikingly familiar and the way he looks to me for approval tugs at my heart. The guards that flank him shut the door and fan out along the wall, ready to attack if needed.

  Medea kisses our guest on both cheeks and he eyes her with more apprehension than he ever did the bull. I feel myself tearing apart inside. I don’t know who to believe. Is it just my hopeful desire that Theseus has come back to me that makes me think I recognize the man before me? Have I been listening to Medea’s worries for so long that I’ve become paranoid? Everything seems to suddenly be moving forward with the speed of a falcon diving for prey in a free fall. Like the falcon, I need to control this situation before I break my neck upon the ground.

  "Some wine to celebrate," my wife says brightly, although she looks exhausted. She steps over to where the jug and cups have been set out. After filling two cups, I hear the click of her ring’s latch before she finishes pouring the third. I grasp the boy’s hand to make him turn toward me, scanning his face looking for my son. If this is Theseus, I can’t let him take the drink Medea has prepared. I urge myself to see him, begging every scrap of my mind to recognize who this is before me.

  I can’t kid myself. This is not him. Familiar, similar, yes, but not my boy. I give his hand two quick pumps and offer him terse congratulations while wondering what he has done with my Theseus. His smile drops as I step back from him.