The King Must Die (44 page)

I said to them, "The god has heard our prayers. Now we will go down to Amnisos, and seize a ship to get off in when the gale eases. But first, look here! Here is the Mistress, Minos' daughter, spared from Poseidon's anger. Help me to care for her; she will be my wife. Look at her well and know her. Here she is."

I swung her up on my shoulder; in the Bull Court one learns the knack. I wanted to be sure they knew her face, lest she should be lost in the tumult, or ravished by the young men; it was a time of wildness. So I lifted her, as one lifts one's standard for one's troops to see and remember.

They cheered. The noise amazed me, that so few mouths could make it. And then I saw that all around us, in the mounting glow of the fires, the walks and lawns were black with Cretans. They came swarming and clambering up the slopes, from the open places where they had fled to abide the wrath of Poseidon. The servants in the Bull Court had heard my warning, and run out to warn their friends. All through the Palace, Cretan had told Cretan; they had put down broom and pot and lamp and trencher, and slipped away. They did not hold the gods so light as the courtiers of the Labyrinth.

They had fled and lived. Now they beheld in ruin the proud house of Minos, where they had known heavy labor and slight esteem. They saw the broken doors, the smashed chests and closets spewing out silks and goldwork; the tilted wine jars, the tables spilling their feasts; the precious cups and rhytons they had filled and carried, always for the lips of other men.

So they had crept near, meaning to make themselves the heirs of Labrys. Then just as they reached the upper terrace, I had lifted up before them the Goddess-on-Earth.

She stood to them for the prayers King Minos had answered; for the oracles that had sweetened their coarse bread with mystery and hope; the little Cretan goddess, whom tall fair-haired Pasiphae had been ashamed of bearing. She was their own, their stake in the glories of the Labyrinth. She was the heart and kernel of the old religion, nearest to the Mother who takes men to her breast and soothes them like whipped children after her husband's wrath. She was the Thrice Holy, the Most Pure, the Guardian of the Dance; and, seeing her, they remembered the sacrilege done before her in the ring, which had waked the Earth Bull to ravage Crete.

They thronged about us, roaring like the sea. They had seen who held her, and remembered the oracles, the ring in the harbor, and the warning that had brought them out. Some of them began shouting the marriage cry, whooping and dancing. But most were pointing to the Palace shaking their fists, or waving sticks and knives. As they pressed forward, sweeping us along with them, a voice howled, "Death to the Minotaur!" and a hundred answered, "Death!"

Amyntor and Telamon closed up beside me, locking their arms across my back. All together we bore up the Mistress; we dared not set her down, lest she should be trampled in the milling press. Remembering the wrecked stands by the dancing-floor, I thought it ten to one Asterion was dead; I was angry at all this hindrance, thinking only how to get my people away. And then, of a sudden, just like the oil flames running along the Palace floors, I felt a fire leap from the Cretans to the bull-dancers around me. A spark of it fell on my soul, and it burst into a blaze.

We thought of our distant homes, our parents weeping when we were snatched away; some of us had been courting, some betrothed, some in love with a craft or with the good land of our fathers, some with our hearts set on renown; from all these things, from the places and the customs of our kin, we had been torn away to die for the sport of the painted Labyrinth. We thought of the haughty envoys coming for tribute who had held our people light. But those of us who by now were bull-dancers to the bone, remembered before everything how Asterion had made merchandise of our courage and our blood. The gods were held cheap in the House of the Ax; but we had been brought from places where gods are honored. Though we were slaves, yet we were a proud people, the little calves of Poseidon. We did not take kindly to being any man's cattle.

High above the shouts of the Cretans rose the Amazon battle scream. Closer, about my ears, Amyntor and Menesthes were yelling, as they had yelled at the Isthmus and at the storming of Sounion Head, "Ares Enyalios! Ah-yah-yah-yah Enyalios! Hai-ai-ai Theseus! Theseus! Theseus!"

I threw back my head, and gave the war cry.

We began to move faster. I remembered my dive in the muddy harbor, crawling among ships' garbage to find the ring. I remembered how he had bought me like horseflesh, after I had defied him like a warrior; how he had shown me at his feasts like a dancing dog; how he had made me sing. And I said within me, "Let him dare to die before I come! Wait, Minotauros, wait. Wait for the mainland lad in the leather breeches; the mad bull-boy good to turn somersaults and nothing more! Ares of the Battle Call, Father Poseidon, keep him for me!"

I could feel Ariadne's fingers clutching my hair, as our charge bore her forward. Presently we came to some carrying-chairs, which had brought nobles to the dancing; we throned her in one of these, and the Cretans lifted the poles. As she rose above the mellay, I looked to see if she was frightened; but she was leaning forward, grasping the chair-arms, her lips parted as if she drank the wind.

A roar broke forth like spring snows rushing down a mountain; but the spate streamed upwards, and was made of fire. The flames had found an oil store. As they met the breath of the gale they were flattened, and blown streaming to the north. By this huge cresset the House of the Ax was lit like day, and I saw that one block still stood entire. It was the western wing, where the great stair led down to the sunken shrine and the white throne of Minos. I thought, "If he lives, he is there."

They had found a second chair, and tossed me into it, lifting it shoulder-high. I made them turn it round, so that I could stand as in a chariot, with the high back for a rail. I did not want the bull-dancers to lose me. On I rode like a ship on a tossing sea, the Cranes close around, the Cretans cheering. To them I was Theseus the bull-leaper, whom the Mistress fancied; the odds-on favorite who had saved their bets. But to myself I was once more Kouros of Poseidon, Kerkyon of Eleusis; Theseus son of Aigeus son of Pandion, Shepherd of Athens, riding to my enemy. "Ahai! Ahai!" I shouted, as one leads the battle line. The war calls answered. My blood sparkled and sang.

As we came near and the fire-glow warmed our faces, I thought of Minos, for whom the god himself had raised a burial-mound and fired the altar. Minos had sent the tribute-galleys forth. Under his seal the mainland cities had been assessed: so much corn and wine, so many mares in foal, so many bull-dancers. I would have ripped his soul from his breast upon a battlefield, if our threads had crossed there. But it is a king's work to rule, to widen his lands, to win spoil for his warriors and feed his people. And he had greeted me by my title, though I was a slave. Asterion had offered me gold; he had put wine and dressed meat before me to the sound of music. But he had made my standing mean, and hurt my pride in myself when it was my whole estate. It is what any man will have blood for, who is half a man.

We came in from the east, and saw a place that was not burning. It was the Bull Court. The lamps had been smothered by the falling roof; the shell still stood, and one or two columns; in the portico the Bull of Daidalos kept his sturdy feet, with painted plaster up to his hooves. I made them put me down, to lead the way.

We climbed over the fallen roof beams, and the prone inner doors. In the passage beyond lay the floor from above, broken chairs and women's paint-pots, and a child's body curled upon a toy. Fiery sparks floated over us on the wind, and the air rippled with heat. Behind me ran the bull-dancers, who had kept with me while the Cretans looted; working together was in our blood.

Presently we came out on a wide space of ruin. It was the Great Courtyard, where on smooth pavement cool to the feet nobles and envoys had walked among pots of lilies, and flowering lemon trees. Three of its sides had fallen in on it, the south right to the ground; to the east were leaning floors with flames licking along them. But the west wing stood. One of its balconies had fallen; the crimson pillars had smashed through the flagstones, and painted flowers stood bare upon the wall. But in the lofty entrance porch the huge king-column upheld the lintel above the stairs, and at the top of them I saw armed warriors.

I was going to shout for the charge, when I heard groaning. Though the air was full of screams, from people trapped in the ruins, this caught my ear. It was quite near; as I looked about, a heap of rubble moved, and I heard my name.

It was Alektryon. He lay with his curled black lovelocks white with dust; his gaping mouth was scattered with flakes of plaster. So had the boy-dolls of painted clay, which the Cretan ladies deck in springtime, lain on the dancing-floor trampled and unstrung. One hand hung limp; the other moved and fluttered over a great column-drum that lay across his belly. A rag hung out from under it; yellow silk stitched with turquoises, but it was mostly red. As I looked down, two Cretans shouldered each other to snatch his jewels.

I flung them off him, and knelt down, with half an eye for the porch where the troops had seen us. His grimy hand gripped my arm. "Theseus," he said. "Don't leave me for the fire."

I looked at the great column; then at his eyes. We understood each other. I brushed the rubble from his breast; he was slender, and weakly as it beat one could find his heart. "This will be quick," I said. "May the Guide lead you kindly. Shut your eyes."

He put his hand on my wrist, and panted as if he would speak again. I paused, and he jerked his head to the west wing, saying, "The Minotaur." Then he shut his eyes as I had told him to. Seeing him bite his lips with pain, I left him in it no longer. He caught his breath and died; and I turned away, for there was much to do. So I never saw who got his necklace and earrings.

Men were coming down the steps, holding up shields against the stones the Cretans were throwing. Forth stepped Phoitios, with his boxer's nose, and standing before the king-column called out in Cretan, "Be quiet, good people. You have a king to mourn for. Minos is dead in the earthquake. How he sinned against the god, and incurred this vengeance, you will be told when there is time. But first the new Minos must be hallowed, who can make our peace with Earth-Shaker and avert his anger. Now while I speak to you the sacred rite is being done; the time is too desperate for public shows." There were boos and howls of anger; but Phoitios was a man who could face out a lie. He flung up his hand palm out; he was a man used to command, and the sign had power. "Take care! He is in the presence of Mother Dia! It is sacrilege for men unpurified to approach the shrine. Have you not had enough misfortune? Stand back, and escape the curse."

They drew back muttering. They were not warriors, and had good cause to fear the gods. Then in the pause, a high clear voice sang out across the courtyard. "Who are you, Phoitios," it said, "to curse for the Mother?"

She stood on the platform before her chair, her right arm raised, the flame-light flickering on the dress she had led the dance in. Phoitios' mouth set, and his men looked at each other. I too gazed in awe. Never before had I heard her speak with power; it made me shiver.

She said, pointing toward the sanctuary, "In there is the curse upon the Labyrinth! I call all gods to witness, he has murdered Minos! There is the killer, in the holy place, uncleansed of blood-guilt, standing before the Mother. And you speak of sacrilege!" There was a dead hush, but for the rush and crackle of fire. She stretched both hands out over the earth and cried aloud, "May the Mother curse him and all gods below, and may Night's Daughters hunt him down into the ground! And on the hand that sheds his blood let there be a blessing."

The silence broke in roaring. The Cretans surged forward. I cheered them on; a warrior does not forget the battle. But my mind was troubled. I thought, "She does not know who struck down Minos. Will her curse fly home to me?" And then I thought, "No, for Minos himself freed me of it," and then again, "But she would have known who killed him, if she had spoken in the power of any god." Then I felt better. As to Asterion being her own mother's son, there is no holier duty than to avenge one's father. One could only praise her, if she wanted to see his blood.

The Cretans were hurling stones again and pressing nearer; behind us was the fire, and before the enemy. I jumped up where the bull-dancers could see me, and gave the call of the bull ring, when everyone is needed to turn the bull.

A boy's shout answered mine. Thalestris scrambled up the rubble, the firelight turning her strong limbs all to gold. She reached back over her shoulder to her quiver, and nocked an arrow to her string. It spoke, and Phoitios fell.

"Well shot!" I called, and turned to smile at her. But she did not look. She was giving at the knees, and sinking backward, with a javelin standing up under her breast. She fell; the blood of her wound was bright as scarlet, and there was a rattle in her breath. A red-haired Amazon who had fought at her left hand knelt down beside her wailing. Thalestris pushed her away, to struggle up on her elbow; she scanned the battle line, and pointed out the man who had thrown the javelin. The red-haired girl leaped to her feet again. Under the glowing sky her eyes seemed to glitter with tears of fire; she blinked them away, and steadied her hands to aim. The man clutched his throat, and I saw the flight of her arrow between his fingers. Then she turned back; but Thalestris' stare was set, and she lay still, with her black hair spilled among the crocks of a painted vase.

The red-haired girl gave a scream that drowned all the din of the burning Labyrinth, and rushed toward the spears. I shouted my war call and sprang ahead. I liked her spirit; but I was not going to have a woman get there before me.

The bull-dancers came swarming over the broken stones. Our feet were light, from dodging bulls in the thick sand of the ring; and the weapons in our hands were like food in famine, to us who had flirted with death unarmed. The troops on the steps had spears and shields; but Cretan bulls have long horns, and stronger fronts than a plated war helm. We were used to unequal matches; it had been our life.