The White Bull (16 page)

Thalia met my eye, saw that I knew more than she had thought, and drew me aside briefly. To others it might have appeared that she was questioning me on the tragedy, but in fact she was imparting information.

"Know, Daedalus," she whispered, "that our father was making plans, bad plans, with this one who lies on the floor. You were to be sent back to Crete as Minos's captive, in return for a few maritime concessions. Our father has never believed in your wings—but we know better." And the princess smiled confidentially and left me.

By this time it seemed that everyone in the palace, drawn by the uproar, was trying to crowd into the new bath. After uttering his last words to me, Minos lay breathing lightly, staring through an opening in the roof, as if he could see death coming for him from the sky.

Meanwhile the members of the visiting king's Cretan escort were hastily gathering in the apartment where their lord had been fatally scalded. Some high-ranking folk among them demanded explanations, but I thought that their demands were half-hearted. From their first look at their master they must have known that he could not possibly survive, and it was now time to see to their own welfare as best they could.

The three princesses departed, some time before Cocalus at last appeared. The king, doubtless coming from a conference with his daughters, coolly offered his royal sympathies to the members of the Minoan entourage. He assured the Cretans in a calm voice that there would be a complete investigation of the accident, and that whichever slaves were found to bear responsibility would certainly be executed.

Then Cocalus asked the Cretans if they wanted to take the body of their king with them when they left. This was even a few moments before the Cretan king had actually breathed his last.

The handful of high-ranking folk of Crete who had accompanied Minos to this place were frightened, and at the same time I thought they were in some sense relieved. Several of them now admitted to me in whispers that the king had been mad during the last month or two of his life. None of them mentioned the plan to return me to Crete, or the gift Minos had handed me—perhaps none of them knew their king had been carrying it.

One of the Cretan nobles did utter some sober words, for my ears only, about the dangers of anyone's returning to Crete. Observing these people, I felt sure that even among themselves there was now widespread doubt as to whether they wanted to go back.

Now that they were freed of the constraint of Minos's presence, some of them had some new stories to relate about the Bull and the queen.

And another member of the delegation hinted that Minos had planned to see to it that I died horribly, if ever he were able to get me into his power again.

A process of ritual mourning was outlined, to begin at dawn. Meanwhile I spent most of the hour after the king's death talking quietly with the visitors, wanting to know if they would converse more freely now that their master was dead. But there was little that the visiting Cretans were able to tell me about Theseus, or about the royal princesses of Crete, who were still said to be living abroad somewhere. Some stories still put the princesses on Naxos, and by some Prince Theseus was thought to be still there as well.

I thought with some sadness of Ariadne at least, who had considered me a trusted adviser, almost, as I thought, an uncle.

Despite the death of my would-be persecutor, I did not retire that night to my usual room to sleep. I had collaborated only indirectly in the death of Minos, and that death in itself was not greatly displeasing to Cocalus. With the ruling house of Crete in such disarray, he probably feared no military retaliation. But I knew that whatever King Cocalus might say to me now, and however he might congratulate himself upon the elimination of a rival, he would someday begin to look upon me as a regicide. Nor would he himself ever, I suppose, dare to take a shower in any plumbing of my construction, whatever precautions I might build in against a repetition of the "accident."

I thought that my Phoenician friend Kena'ani, having departed just before the arrival of Minos, must still be on his way overland to the port where his ship lay. It seemed to me that with my wings I ought to be able to overtake him easily before he reached it.

I felt a deep reluctance to fly again for any purpose. But I could foresee only trouble for myself if I remained—trouble that would be multiplied whether I actually made wings for the princesses to fly with, or finally refused to do so.

I put on my secret wings, and leaped into the air from the roof of that shabby palace, and soared into the night. I did not forget to carry with me the secret, sacred gift of Minos. Whatever it was, whatever power for good or evil it might contain, it was now my responsibility.

Realizing that to locate my traveling friend by night would be virtually impossible, I decided to find some secure tree and roost in it until dawn. To manage this in darkness proved more difficult than I had thought, but at last I was successful. My final choice was a tall pine, leaning inward from an almost inaccessible rocky ledge. With my wings unbuckled I slept curled at its foot—not in its branches, which proved impractical.

Taking to the air again as soon as dawn gave light enough to see, I found little difficulty in identifying the particular series of roads by which my friend the captain and I had ascended to King Cocalus's domain. Skimming downhill close above these sinuous thoroughfares, I began in earnest my search for Kena'ani. My appearance in the sky created some wild confusion among some slaves and peasants who were early in beginning their day's labors, and also in a party of hunters who had spent the night in camp.

But with the speed of a bird I soon left these perturbed folk behind me. My flight was much faster than the progress of any man who was forced to follow the switchbacked roads on foot, and I caught up with Kenaani long before he had reached the harbor.

My friend was traveling alone, hiking along briskly with staff in hand. Recognizing him at a distance and from behind, I flew low over some trees to get ahead of him, and landed in the road so that as he rounded the next turn he came upon me as I stood waiting for him.

Kenaani stopped in his tracks, staring as if I were a ghost. "Daedalus. How did you get here?"

I was standing with my wings down at my sides, so that the fringes of soft leather that imitated great feathers trailed in the dust, and the effect must have been of a silvery cape rather than wings. For a moment or two more I might have deceived my companion. But, I reflected, I would hardly be able to do so any longer than that.

"With these," I answered, and spread my pinions wide.

The eyes of the Phoenician trader widened; I had concealed from Kenaani my secret project for the Sicilian princesses, and he had never before seen any wings of my making in an unbroken state.

"Then it is true—but let me see you fly!"

Considering that I owed him my life, I could hardly refuse this modest
request. But almost as soon as I was airborne, my friend became fearful that I would be seen by someone else, and that the secret of my invention would somehow be lost for nothing. So after completing one brief flight, up to treetop level and back, I landed in response to his urgent gestures.

"Then it is true," he muttered when I once more stood beside him on the ground. "Really true."

"You still had doubts?" I did not know whether to feel amused or wounded.

"I had—but never mind. My friend, can you begin to realize what an invention like this is worth?"

I sighed. "I suppose not—I only know what it has cost me."

"You will need help—of course you cannot begin to manage it yourself."

Then, following the good captain's almost frantic urgings, I immediately unstrapped my pinions from my waist and shoulders, rolled them up carefully—the improved model allowed this;�and stowed them neatly out of sight in my friend's backpack. While doing this I told him what had happened to Minos.

He frowned and agreed that I had been wise to flee.

Realizing that I would probably have to do so sooner or later, since we would be traveling together, I told Kena'ani next about the gift of Minos, and showed him the small mysterious box.

For once, staring at the small coffer in my hands, my friend was silent. At last he asked me: "Have you opened it?"

"I pulled on the lid once when it was first given to me; but the lid stayed closed. It is somehow locked or sealed, though no fastening is visible. No, I have made no serious attempt to get it open. Nor do I intend to do so, for the time being."

Again Kena'ani was silent for a time, staring at the box, though making no attempt to take it into his own hands. "You are probably right," he sighed at last, caution winning out for the time being over curiosity. "Let us get to my ship while we can."

Whether I was going to be pursued or not we did not know, but it seemed a reasonable assumption that my absence was unlikely to have been discovered until morning, and that therefore we had a substantial start on any possible pursuit. Flight in the literal sense should not be necessary. Making the best speed oh foot we could, we reached the harbor late that afternoon. My friend was welcomed tumultuously by the men of his crew, who had once more been on the point of giving us both up for dead. We wasted no time in putting out to sea.

We had a fair breeze to carry us to the northeast. Only after Sicily was well astern did we inform the crew of the startling events at the court of King Cocalus, leading to the death of the visiting King of Crete. The seamen were impressed to hear of my involvement in such great affairs, and thankful that we had been able to depart without further trouble.

We were well and safely away from Sicily, but my friend the captain was at first undecided as to where to go next. I had my own ideas on the subject, and by next morning I was working hard to convince Kena'ani and his crew that we ought to sail to Naxos, where we had good hopes of catching up with my old friend Prince Theseus, or at least of learning where he had gone. Though Kena'ani had been but poorly rewarded by King Cocalus for bringing me and my wings to Sicily, the captain was still determined to sell the idea of human flight to some wealthy potentate, and Theseus seemed the most logical choice. I suppose that the indefatigable merchant had plans also to dispose of the gift of Minos at a profit, but he was wise enough not to mention them to me.

Kena'ani prayed to his Phoenician gods, and observed the flight of sea birds, seeking an omen. To my relief these oracular efforts confirmed that my advice was good, and trying to find Prince Theseus would be our wisest course.

The voyage to Naxos was quite a long one, I suppose five thousand stadia as the winged creature flies, and it occupied us for nearly a month. This time included several short stops for supplies of food and water, and a small amount of trading—and the whole of this time I kept my new wings carefully rolled up, concealed from everyone but Kena'ani. He was assuming an ever more openly proprietary interest in my invention, until I sometimes wondered silently which of us was the inventor. Constantly he reminded me that the wings must not be revealed to anyone but a person of immense wealth, someone who would have the power to suitably reward the proprietors.

During our voyage to Naxos we traversed a great part of the coast of mainland Greece, following the shoreline closely as a rule, doing a little merchant business here and there at the small ports. There came a day when I realized that we were in the vicinity of Kythera, and that we must therefore be passing close to the small and nameless islet where my son lay buried, and from which Kena'ani had originally taken me aboard his ship.

I mentioned to my friend the possibility of stopping to try to find the grave of Icarus, that I might mourn and offer sacrifice anew; but he convinced me that the shape of the islet would most likely have altered by now, as the sand was moved about under the influence of wind and wave and current. The chances were, Kena'ani thought, that we would no longer be able to recognize the spot where poor Icarus lay; and in the black mood that came upon me then it seemed to me unlikely that my son's unhappy shade would know the difference anyway.

As we were now so near Kythera, Crete itself must lie at no great distance to our south and east. But we were determined to steer clear of it. Who ruled upon that island now in Minos's absence, and who would control his lands and fleets when his death became known, were mysteries that neither of us had any wish to investigate personally.

We even sailed at night, to minimize as much as possible the chance of an encounter with the Cretan navy. But our precautions were perhaps unnecessary. These waters, once so heavily patrolled by Minos's navy, were now all but empty of his ships. Kena'ani frowned upon realizing this state of affairs, and predicted that such a situation could not endure for long without bringing on a recrudescence of pirates, who for generations had been virtually nonexistent in this area.

Enjoying a fair wind again, we passed north of Crete, I think just out of sight of her tallest peaks, and were on a course for Naxos that would have brought us very close to Thera, had not many of the crew complained, causing the captain to alter his heading somewhat. No one, to Kena'ani's knowledge, had traded on Thera for a generation.

Twice taking the opportunity to hail a passing merchant ship, we received information on both occasions regarding the situation on Naxos and on Thera now—but the information we received from the two ships was confusing and contradictory. I also found it disquieting. One of our informants assured us that Theseus was still on Naxos; the other, that he was not. The gods were swarming over Naxos now, said one; no, said the other, they had all departed for Thera months ago.

Only on the single occasion when one of the Cretan navy's war vessels came over the horizon and came in our direction as if meaning to hail us, did I prudently descend into the small below-decks compartment of our ship. I did not want the Cretans to have any idea that the famed artisan Daedalus was on board this particular Phoenician. But the navy craft changed course and ignored us, and I was soon topside again.