The White Bull (5 page)

"You are think-ing it is un-likely, and in that you are co-rrect. As I have said, such a breeding is more un-like-ly than you, Dae-dal-us, can well im-agine. And yet with the sci-ence I bring to this world even this can be made poss-i-ble. E-ven as a hus-band-man grafts the branch of one kind of fruit tree u-pon the stock of an-o-ther. For the sake of your pe-ople and mine, it must be done."

I bowed silently, not knowing what to say. My heart and my mind were united in silent protest against the whole idea.

"You are so in-tel-li-gent, Dae-dal-us. I want you to be-come my first off-i-cial pup-il."

"That would be a tremendous honor." And at that point I, thinking that I ought to make some further response but unable to find any favorable words, went down on one knee.

"I could not be-stow an hon-or up-on any-one more wor-thy. But get up." The Bull looked at me with an expression that I interpreted as sudden concern. "The time is near, I be-lieve, for your mate to be de-liv-ered of a child."

"That is true." I got to my feet.

"What say the phy-si-cians of her case? Do they pre-dict a nor-mal birth?"

"Yes. Yes, sire. She—Kalliste—is somewhat narrow through the hips, which sometimes causes difficulty in childbirth. But so far all the signs from the gods are favorable." That was how the physicians had expressed their opinion.

"Dae-dal-us." Now I thought that the Bull was looking at me very solemnly, though I had not yet learned to read with any assurance the expressions of that inhuman face. "When you think as a sci-en-tist, you know that there are no gods."

I supposed that I was being somehow tested again. I thought again about the great question, as I had a million times before I ever met the Bull, and came to the same conclusion that I had held through my mature years.

I said: "Whether there are gods or not is not a decision that is up to me to make."

My would-be teacher paused. "Then ne-ver mind. La-ter we will deal with the gods. Right now are mat-ters more prac-ti-cal in plen-ty to keep us bu-sy. Send your mate to me. The phy-si-cians I am be-ginning to train will en-roll her in a sci-en-tif-ic program, ded-i-ca-ted to the im-prove-ment of ma-ter-nal health in childbirth."

And I was filled with joy at this sign of the favor of this supposed emissary of the gods, who denied their existence. I expressed my joy and gratitude to the Bull as best I could, and then the two of us went on to talk of building classrooms.

When I got back to our quarters I discussed with Kalliste the matter of the new physicians, by which we meant those who were already being trained by the White Bull. She was at first reluctant, still fearful of anything having to do with the Bull. Patiently I overrode her objections, and next day she was enrolled in the maternity program, along with a number of Cretan women of different classes.

Meanwhile, my work on the various projects for both king and Bull went on apace. The workers, some slave and some free, feared the Bull, and for the most part behaved in a subdued way when on the job, and worked hard that they might be finished sooner. They were well content that the Bull chose to stay almost always out of their sight and out of their way while they were working.

But these workers cared even less for the Bronze Man, who frequently came and stood as if he were watching them while they toiled. Never did that particular figure utter a word. Somehow Minos, in one of his infrequent attempts to be humorous, had named the speechless thing Talus, after my late Athenian nephew who had been known for this taciturnity. Naturally a name bestowed by Minos was certain to be adopted by everyone. There was nothing I could do about it. I was able to smile at the king's jest—I had to admit the naming was apposite—and go along.

The Bull, when I mentioned this incident to him, seemed to be irritated. He insisted that the bronze thing did not and should not have a name. "It is a tool, Dae-da-lus. It is not a-live."

"A tool only? A mere tool, that walks and speaks and follows orders? Surely such a tool has never before been seen anywhere on earth."

"That is cor-rect, on earth, no-where. Except for this is-land and Ther-a."

"You told me once, sir, that others of your race live on the isle of Thera."

"That is true."

"Will you tell me more about them, sir?"

"Tea-ching should be sys-tem-a-tic, Dae-dal-us. When school begins in ear-nest for you, my wor-thy pu-pil, you will have much to learn."

I felt definitely relieved when, a few days later, the Bull informed me that the project of interracial breeding was indefinitely postponed: during our tentative discussions I learned that it would have involved the Bull's mating—perhaps some transfer of the seed would have been accomplished by artificial means—with a number of young female slaves. I had been warned by the Bull himself to discuss this project with no one else, and I had spoken of it only to Kalliste. She too was vaguely horrified, and privately voiced her objections.

One day when I was busily at work supervising the installation of one of the more remote portions of the main pipeline, word was brought to me that Kalliste was in labor. I dropped everything at once and did my best to hurry to her. But I had been working well up in the foothills, at a considerable distance from the Labyrinth, in some rooms of which the new medical school treated its patients.

My hurrying was all in vain, because Kalliste was dead before I reached her, although the newborn baby lived. Eventually I came to realize that there was nothing particularly strange about her death; she had simply died, as so many other women did, and still do, in childbirth.

The new physicians, trained by the White Bull, were as professionally regretful as any doctors of the old school would have been, and as essentially detached. And the Bull himself was not available for comment, being in conference with Minos and others on the great subject of his school.

I stood dumb, for a long time, beside the lifeless clay that I had loved when Kalliste's spirit lived in it. Around me the life of the living women there continued, some of them nursing their newborns, others still awaiting the start of labor.

More sympathetic than the doctors, the nurses showed me my newborn son, already attached to the breast of a woman whose own infant had just died.

One day some four years after Kalliste's death�and the death of our newborn infant, who had followed her very quickly into the underworld—I was once more up on the high ridge above the House of the Axe. This time I was ostensibly inspecting the plumbing with a view to expanding the system, but in fact I was only halfheartedly pretending to work on that. Such work indeed proceeded, and sometimes my personal direction was required. But less and less did these Cretan waterworks, or any of the other routine projects requested by king or Bull, have any meaning for the designer. Rather I was sitting with my attention fixed on the white gulls, who rode in so effortlessly over the land from the bright sea.

I was pondering how the birds always came to be borne up as if by magic as soon as the sun-dazzled landscape began to rise beneath them, when in the gray sea-distance beyond the birds I caught my first glimpse of the black-sailed ship, inbound to the port.

Standing, I raised a hand to brush aside my hair—notably grayer than it had been four years ago—and shade my eyes. The ship was Athenian, I thought, studying her as best as I could at the distance. But her sail was black. The only meaning I could assign to such an ominous display was that King Aegeus of Athens must be dead.

If that was true, then perhaps, just perhaps, my need for a refuge away from Athens might be over. I was not sure how I felt about that.

I grabbed up and threw over my shoulder the cloak with which I had padded rock into a more or less comfortable chair. Then I started down the hill.

For more than an hour I picked my way cautiously down the rocky slope before coming to an easy road. Once on the road my stride lengthened and my speed increased correspondingly. Half an hour more, and the harbor of Heraklion had surrounded me with its customary noise and activity. There was the usual confusion of naval ships and cargo vessels, half of them at any time, it seemed, undergoing some kind of repair. Others were unloading or taking on cargo. Relatively few were simply riding at anchor or tied up at dockside; everyone knew how the King of Crete disapproved of idleness. There were, of course, worse sins. On Execution Dock the sun-dried carcasses of pirates, looking like clumsily-made statues, were shriveling atop tall poles, testimony to an extreme form of royal disapproval.

The black-sailed ship was tied up at a dock now, between a Cypriot merchantman and a Canaanite, and I paused in order to observe her from a cautious distance. A number of her passengers had disembarked, and appeared to have stepped right into what looked like some kind of debate or argument on the dock. Meanwhile a brightly-painted wagon, pulled by two white horses, had come down from the House of the Double Axe to meet the ship; thus important embassies, from Athens or elsewhere, were often met. But this time none of the arrivals had yet moved to get into the wagon. This was no common diplomatic mission.

For one thing, the new arrivals standing on the wharf looked unusually young. With a little patience I was able to count fourteen youths and maids wearing what looked like good mainland clothes, that seemed to have been deliberately torn and dirtied. Also the faces of these young people had been smeared with soot and ashes as if they were in mourning, and to make the situation really puzzling at least some of them looked somewhat the worse for wine.

This youthful delegation from Greece were confronting and arguing with a couple of minor officials of the House, who had doubtless come down with the wagon to meet the ship. Backing up the officials was a small honor guard of soldiery, who managed to look both bored and worried by the protracted delay.

At last I concluded that these people from the black-sailed ship must be young Athenians come to attend the school of the White Bull. But why the mourning, and the drunkenness?

Eventually I allowed my curiosity to draw me closer. I was especially unable to resist the sight of one young man who stood arguing in the forefront of the Athenian group. He was not at all difficult to notice, being at least half a head taller than anyone around him. If I was right about his identity, he had not been nearly so tall when last I had seen him five years earlier.

Presently I came pushing my way in through the little crowd of onlookers that had gathered around the argument. None of the Athenians took much notice of me at first; by now I was to all appearances a gray, middle-aged Cretan with the heavy calloused hands of a hardworking artisan—though I did wear certain signs of the king's continuing favor, in the form of heavy gold and silver ornaments on my fine white loincloth.

A soldier looked around resentfully as I pushed on his shoulder to urge him from my path; then he recognized the pusher, closed his mouth, and stepped aside.

"Prince Theseus," I said, standing at last before the tall youth. My hands went out in a gesture of deferential greeting, long unpracticed. "I rejoice that the gods have brought you safe again before my eyes after so many years. How goes it with your royal father?"

Rather slowly the tall young man swung his dark gaze around, bringing it gradually into focus upon my face. Some of the sullen anger left the princely countenance.

"Daedalus," he acknowledged. His nod, a gesture giving back unforced respect, became almost a bow as the strong, broad-shouldered body threatened momentarily to overbalance. "Daedalus, how many years has it been?"

"Four years now, prince, since I fled your father's court—how is His Majesty?"

Theseus belched faintly, and considered. "King Aegeus does well enough."

"I am relieved to hear it." When I heard myself speak those words I realized that there was more than a little truth in them; Aegeus might have felt compelled to hang the slayer of his nephew, should that offender ever fall into his hands, but I had never thought that the King of Athens was actively my enemy. "When I saw your ship's black sails, I feared that they might bear news of tragedy. And you and your companions show some signs of being in mourning."

"All m'family are healthy as war horses, Daedalus. Or they were when we sailed. The mourning is for ourselves. For our approaching…" With his big hands Theseus groped hopelessly for a word.

"Immolation," cheerfully supplied one of the other young ash-smeared men.

"Our immolation in the school. That's it." The heir to the Athenian throne smiled faintly at me. "So you may tell these officers that we are going to wear what we please to our own welcoming ceremony." He turned slightly and his dulled black eyes went roaming up the great stair-steps formed by the harbor town's white houses and warehouses and whorehouses, to fasten at last upon an outlying flank of the great complex formed by Labyrinth and House, just visible beyond a grove of cedars at the top of the first real ridge. "Where is the school?"

"Up there where you are looking, prince. Not far beyond the portion of the House that you can see. Say an hour's walk from where we are standing." I observed the young man with sympathy. "So, I take it that you find the prospect of a student's life in Crete not much to your liking." By now, everyone around the two of us was attending to our dialogue, and all the other branches of the argument between Cretan officials and Athenian youth had ceased.

"It's four years my father wants me to spend here, Daedalus." I knew the curriculum had just been expanded to that length. The princely cheeks, one of them already scarred with an old sword-wound like that of a veteran of forty, puffed out in another winey belch. "Four years. To get some kind of a piece of paper saying that I have achieved learning. That I am educated. Four god-blasted years, without any real break. I'm nineteen years old now." That last statement was uttered in despair, looking forward to a hopelessly distant twenty-three.

"I know, I know." I grimaced in sympathy. Almost I put out a hand to take my young friend's arm; but that would be a little too familiar a way to treat royalty in public, even here in easy-going Crete. "Prince Theseus, will you walk up the hill with me? King Minos will want to know that you've arrived, and to see you promptly, I expect."