Minotaur (25 page)

“Who else but our brothers?” asked Phaedra.

Of course. I hadn’t thought of that. From what Phaedra had told me, it would probably have been safer to send them in the first place. Catreus and Deucalion were not guarded or watched as closely as Phaedra.

“I will watch for them,” I promised.

“Make sure you do,” said Phaedra. “Now, come lie down with me and hold me in your arms. We don’t have much time. I may not see you again for some time.”

I hardly needed to be told again. I did what I was told without protest. Phaedra was right. We had to make the most of our time.

“Did you know you are called Minotaur now?” asked Phaedra suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

No I didn’t. “What?” I said, sitting up.

“In Greece they are calling you Minotaur. The bull of Minos. I thought you should know.”

“So I’m not Asterion anymore?” I asked, feeling my anger rise.

Phaedra pulled me down to her again. “You will always be my Asterion. I guess that people need to put a name to their fears. Asterion just wasn’t that name. I quite like it. Minotaur,” she said, savoring the word. “It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“I’m not sure I agree with you,” I replied, trying to let go of my anger. “It makes me a beast, which I’m clearly not.”

“Of course you’re not,” said Phaedra soothingly. “But that reputation will keep you safe down here. Even the people of Crete have started using it.”

I was still unconvinced. I knew Minos had probably come up with the name and encouraged its use. I resented any association with him.

“I have something for you,” said Phaedra suddenly, trying to change the subject, extracting herself from my embrace and sitting up. She opened up her satchel and brought forth some flowers. They were slightly crushed, but I knew what they were as soon as she brought them forth.

They were sea daffodils, a beautiful white flower found all along the coast of Crete. The damp earth smell of the labyrinth was suddenly overwhelmed by their sweet, heady perfume.

“Happy birthday,” she said simply.

My birthday? Was it my birthday? I had no idea. Phaedra obviously had a much better grasp of time than I. That meant I was now seventeen. I would never have guessed that I would spend my birthday in such a place. Who would’ve?

My initial reaction was to try and kiss Phaedra, but that was impossible. I had to settle for several birthday kisses Phaedra planted on my neck.

“Thank you,” I said finally. The flowers were the most beautiful gift anyone had given me. They reminded me of the happy times Phaedra and I had spent on the shores of Crete. Now, every time I smell the perfume of the sea daffodil, I think of that moment Phaedra and I shared deep in the labyrinth.

I felt so happy then which is why I always keep sea daffodils on my window sill. To remind me of Phaedra and the love and comfort she brought me when I needed them the most.

Ω

The Athenians arrived two days later. I positioned myself with some care, two twists of the maze away from the trapdoor.

I decided not to wait directly under the trapdoor for a variety of reasons. The first—I didn’t want the guards to get a good look at me. If they did, they’d quickly realize that I wasn’t starving. Secondly, I didn’t want the Athenians to panic. I could imagine the bedlam. If the unfortunate tributes caught sight of me too soon, anything could happen. I was all too conscious of my appearance, especially with the bull mask fixed permanently in place. It would be best to give them a little time to adjust to their predicament and let their initial terror diminish.

Finally, I wasn’t sure how I felt about all this. Other than Phaedra, I had been all alone for three months. I couldn’t really predict how I was going to react. I wanted to observe the intruders and become comfortable with their presence first.

Looking back now, it was a little comical to think that I regarded others coming into my labyrinth as intruders. I guess I felt slightly possessive of the place. It had become my home, and I was about to have unwelcome guests. Slightly irrational I know, but there you have it.

I heard their screams long before they reached the trapdoor. Shortly after that, the thud of flesh hitting rock echoed about the labyrinth. More cries. More sounds of bodies being thrown down the trapdoor. It sounded like the guards were fairly ruthless, barely allowing any time for each victim to get out of the way before another body toppled down.

Then, I heard the sounds of the trapdoor being shut and the click as the bolt was drawn across. More screams. Pleading. I wondered if I had sounded like that and realized that I probably had.

Eventually, the screams became sobs, the sobs gradually turning into whispered conversation. I gathered from the fragmented voices I heard that they were trying to decide what to do. Most sounded like they wanted to stay put. A few brave souls voted for exploration.

Now that they had settled a little, it was time to put on a show. I didn’t relish this, but Phaedra had insisted. I needed to be convincing. Even though the trapdoor was closed, I knew the guards would be watching and listening. Probably Minos as well, relishing each moment.

I opened my mouth and bellowed. The noise echoed away into the labyrinth and was met by complete silence. I could imagine the fourteen Athenian tributes, shocked and frozen, their imaginations running wild. Fated to be eaten by Minotaur, the bull of Minos. I can’t even begin to imagine how terrified they must have felt.

Very few, if any, remembered the name Asterion. It was around this time, I believe, that any mention of my previous association with Theseus was stricken from the historical record. The adventures we had together were changed. Theseus had triumphed alone. He never had help from his good friend Asterion.

I liked to think Theseus had no hand in this, and I suspect that I was probably right. The legend of Minotaur had taken on a life of its own, much like the adventures of Theseus before he arrived in Athens. Once people started obsessing over the stories, facts become almost obsolete. Oddly enough, the truth was actually stranger than fiction. But people didn’t want the truth. They wanted to believe in heroes and monsters. Theseus was the hero and I the monster. It made their simple, uneventful lives easier to understand, easier to bear.

I understood how they felt. I just didn’t like it.

I waited a few more moments, listening as the hysterical cries started up once more. And then I made my move.

I emerged from behind one of the walls in the maze. By now, the young tributes’ eyes had adjusted sufficiently for them to make out that someone or something was standing there. The limestone walls glowed with enough luminescence for them to see that much at least. They knew that Minotaur had come for them. The beast of the labyrinth. They were convinced I was going to eat them.

Almost all did exactly what I thought they would. These were the ones that had resigned themselves to death. They huddled together on the cold stone floor, wretched, frozen in terror. At least four ran for their lives as I’d intended. That wasn’t a problem. Actually, I’d hoped that all would do that. For our ruse to work, I could hardly eat the Athenians in plain sight of the guards. Better for them to run away. The guards’ imaginations would do the rest.

I had planned to just get closer and closer and force them to move, to flee before me. I knew they would eventually, and then it would be a relatively simple matter of rounding them up.

Unfortunately, they had two heroes amongst them. I, being a hero myself, fully understood their drives and motives. I respected them, I could relate. I also hated them for their stupidity.

It was just light enough for them to attack me without the risk of running into one of the walls. They didn’t have weapons of course, but fear lent them strength. The two youths charged at me without tactics.

My eyes were much more accustomed to the darkness than theirs. It gave me an advantage. Combined with my newly returned strength, they stood no chance. To their credit, it didn’t deter them at all. They must have been scared. Who wouldn’t be? I stood head and shoulders above them, and my helmet and bull mask, only barely visible, must have been terrible to behold.

Both tried to close with me, instinctively realizing that it was their only hope. I punched the first one who reached me. Boxing, like wrestling, had always been one of my stronger skills. I wasn’t very fast, but I was immensely powerful with a reach greater than any other man. My fist hammered into his face, throwing him off his feet. He bounced off a nearby wall and slumped to the ground, absolutely still. I was a little dismayed by this, hoping that I hadn’t killed him. I really shouldn’t have hit him so hard.

In hindsight, I should’ve tried to do something else. Wrestle him perhaps? But then again, wrestling was only effective against one man. When fighting multiple opponents, especially unarmed, it was better to strike hard and fast, removing them from the fight as soon as possible. Paris told me that.

Distracted, I turned my attention to my second attacker.

As I’ve mentioned several times already, I was not the fastest of fighters. My time in the labyrinth had not served to hone my reflexes either. I was sluggish. My attacker, as young as, or perhaps younger, than I, was much fleeter of foot, even hampered by the darkness. He was also driven by the will to survive, which makes any man a dangerous animal.

I had intended to stop his attack with another punch, but I was too late for that. He was already inside my swing. He punched low, connecting with my naked stomach. I reacted completely normally, doing what any other person would do in that situation. I stooped suddenly in pain. The movement forced my head downwards.

One of my horns plunged straight into my attacker’s eye. Horrified, I picked him up off the ground with both hands, intending to remove the horn as gently as possible. To any onlooker, it must have been a terrible sight. A young man impaled and lifted into the air by a great beast. Of course, he struggled mightily, his struggles only driving the horn even deeper. By the time I set him on the ground, he was already dead. I was absolutely devastated. Not only had I killed a man by accident, but I had done it in almost the same manner as I had killed Androgeus.

Feeling sick, I turned to those Athenians still huddled before me. I put my hands out, placating, grasping for the words to reassure them. Nothing came out of my mouth. There was nothing I could have said. They had just witnessed me smashing one of their friends into a wall and then skewering the other. They were probably expecting me to immediately start feasting on the bodies.

It was the catalyst required to finally make them move, eventually doing what I had intended for them to do all along. The irony didn’t escape me.

They fled, screaming, into the cold dark embrace of the labyrinth.

“I see,” said Ovid, nodding his head slowly. “I understand.” He did—with absolute certainty. As Ast had related the events, Ovid had pictured them in his mind, even as he furiously scribbled. He understood exactly how everything had unfolded—and why. Human nature being what it was, it couldn’t have happened differently.

Ovid was experienced enough to know that people acted unpredictably when scared. Imagined terrors are often worse that actual ones. How terrible for this man to have killed—entirely by accident—one of the people he was trying to save. It was enough to haunt you for the rest of your days. He couldn’t begin to imagine what Ast had gone through. If he was being honest with himself though, he realized that he was quite relieved that Ast had never eaten people. If that were the case, Ovid probably would’ve fled.

“Don’t blame yourself,” said Ovid, in what he hoped were reassuring tones. “It’s not your fault.”

Ast sighed wearily. “I know that, but it’s poor consolation. I think that if I had somehow acted differently, it wouldn’t have ended in tragedy.”

“I hardly see what you could’ve done differently,” said Ovid, eyeing the man with growing sympathy. He took a sip of wine. There wasn’t much left now. He was even considering rationing himself, which was almost unthinkable. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

“Couldn’t you have somehow got out the trapdoor?” he asked.

“Don’t you think I tried that?” said Ast, a note of irritation in his voice. “Several times I waited in the shadows for the rope to be lowered with my water. Once, I even managed to grab it. They simply cut it before I could climb. There was no other way to reach the trapdoor.”

“What about levering some of the stone blocks out of the walls, stacking them and using them as a ladder?” asked Ovid. He knew it as soon as the words emerged out of his mouth that it was a foolish question, but he was tired and drunk. That combination made him incautious.

“Would you like me to finish my story, or are you just going to keep bombarding me with stupid questions all night?” snapped Ast.

“Please,” said Ovid, making a gracious gesture. “Be my guest. I am sorry if my quest for the truth irritates you.”

Ast stared at him. Many men would’ve flinched from that stare, but not Ovid. He was feeling brave now. Reckless. Ovid met the stare and then smiled. To his surprise, Ast smiled back.

“I believe I have chosen wisely,” said Ast. “If anyone has the courage to reveal the truth, it is you. Would you like to hear more?”

Suppressing a sudden desire to laugh hysterically, Ovid nodded and bent his head, quill poised.

Ω

“So what are we supposed to do now?” asked Catreus.

“Don’t ask me,” I said shrugging wearily. “I suppose we could herd them like cattle.” I was tired, having spent the last few hours unsuccessfully trying to round up the Athenians. It was like trying to corner scared cats. Not that I blamed them. I was feeling frustrated and more than a little horrified by the turn of events.

“We’ll have to light both … ” said Deucalion.

“ … lamps, obviously,” said Catreus. The twins exchanged knowing glances.

Which was fine. My half-brothers had seen fit to bring only one lamp with them, to guide the Athenians through the passage. Phaedra had given them explicit instructions, instructions that now were completely irrelevant.