Lost in the Labyrinth (11 page)

"No," she said. "I told you he wasn't!"

"Then how—?"

"Oh, I got into his cell easily enough. It wasn't even guarded. But one of his arms is manacled to the wall and I have no means to free him. Daedalus holds the only key. Xenodice, you must help me! Our mother will kill him as soon as Acalle returns, and that is at any moment!"

"Acalle! Returning? What do you mean?"

"What I said, of course."

"She is not dead then? Or—I thought perhaps she was under an enchantment. Was that why she did not come home for so long?"

"Oh, you are so stupid, Xenodice! Of course she wasn't! She was only pregnant by the King of Libya. She went away to have the baby, and now that it is born, and thankfully not a girl, she is coming home again."

"Pregnant! But—wait! Why should she not have a girl child? I would like to have a little niece."

"I could shake you, Xenodice, really I could," she said, and did so. "Listen! If the baby was a girl, she might someday try to claim the throne, even though she was illegitimate and the product of an inferior alliance. As Acalle's firstborn she could cause problems for Acalle's first
legitimate
daughter. You see? So a girl baby would have to be exposed on the rocks to die as soon as it was born. But as it happens, it was a boy. Acalle has only been waiting until he was old enough to be handed over to a wet nurse to raise, and now she is returning."

"Oh!" I said. "I see." I sat down on the bed beside her. "But why couldn't we be told?"

"Because even the rumor of such a child could someday stir up trouble, that's why. Apparently absolutely
everybody
has known all along that Acalle wasn't dead or gone for good, that she was just off studying with some famous holy woman in the Eastern Isles. No one spoke of it because it was supposed to be some big, secret, religious experience. What only Mother knew was that Acalle was pregnant when she left. But no one"—Ariadne's face was white and set—"no one thought to tell me anything about anything."

"Oh, Ariadne," I said. "I am sorry."

"Never mind. I was furious when Mother first told me, but now I'm
glad,
because I'm going to leave here with Theseus."

"What?" I cried.

"And why not?" she demanded. "Do you suppose I want to stay here with no husband and an illegitimate child and have Acalle made queen over my head?"

"But perhaps you are not pregnant after all. You might be mistaken."

"I am not mistaken! I tell you, I know it!"

"All right! All right! Perhaps you are right. But you couldn't want to leave Kefti and go to Athens!"

"I could! I do! At least I would be queen there."

"If Theseus married you, you mean. But you would not be queen of Athens in the same way that Acalle will be queen of Kefti. They do not honor women there as we do here on Kefti."

"What do you mean,
if
Theseus married me? Of course he will marry me. He loves me. He says he cannot live without me!"

"That much is certainly true," I said.

"Xenodice, how cynical you've become! Let me tell you, it's very unbecoming in a young girl. If you must know, I cannot live without him. And anyway," she added, more prosaically, "he couldn't possibly hope for a better match than Princess Ariadne of the Isle of Kefti."

"Ye-es," I agreed.

Ariadne's nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. "Why do you say yes' like that? Do you suggest that I, II am not worthy to wed the future king of
Athens?
How dare you, Xenodice!"

"Oh, yes, of course." I hurried to appease her. "You would be a very great prize indeed if you wedded with our mother's consent, but as it is—"

"Theseus considers me a great prize with or without our mother's consent," Ariadne said coldly.

"Even if—even if your flight leads to warfare between Athens and Kefti?" I asked, trembling before her anger.

"Yes! Yes! Even then."

"Oh, my sister, I fear for you!" I said. Knowing it would have been better to remain silent but unable to help myself, I added, "And on top of everything else he is so very unattractive!"

"He is not! Stop saying that, Xenodice!"

"But I do not understand! Why would you wish to tie yourself to a slave, and one condemned by our mother to die? It makes no sense."

She hesitated. I could see that she did not believe me capable of sympathizing but desperately needed to talk about her lover to someone.

"He is a hero, Xenodice," she said very seriously. "He is the greatest hero of our time."

"Yes," I agreed, "so he told us."

"Oh. you are like everyone else! We are too civilized here on Kefti. Our island has been tamed for a thousand years. There is no wilderness here—the Queen's Menagerie holds the only dangerous beasts of prey. What need have we for heroes? Theseus comes from a primitive world, where heroes matter. He is rough and wild because the world he comes from is rough and wild. He wasn't boasting when he called himself a hero—he was just stating a fact."

"It sounded like boasting," I said. "And that's all the more reason not to leave Kefti for Athens. Who knows what would happen to you there!"

She smiled a secret smile, hugging herself. "Theseus will protect me," she said. "He will never let any harm come to me. Do you know what he did?" she demanded. "He is—everyone has guessed that he is illegitimate, but he is the son of a princess, not some milkmaid or woodcutter's daughter. His mother is the daughter of King Pittheus of Troezen."

"Oh, really?" Troezen was a tiny coastal nation across the sea, of no importance to anyone but its inhabitants.

"When he reached manhood he
walked
from Troezen to Athens to claim his patrimony, although his mother begged him to sail. The lands between Troezen and Athens were infested with all manner of monsters and thieves and murderers, but he would not take the easy way, because he wished to prove himself a hero."

"And did he meet any monsters or murderers on his way to Athens?" I inquired.

"He did. He killed them all," she said. "There were scores and scores of them! There was Sinis, for example. He used to tie people to two pine trees bent to the ground. Then he'd let the trees go and the people would fly through the air into the sea. It must have been a sight to see," she mused. "Theseus served Sinis in exactly the same manner.

"And then—listen, Xenodice!—this is very strange. The robber Procrustes owned an iron bed, and when strangers passed through his lands he would force them to lie on it. If you were too tall to fit the frame you had your feet cut off, and if you were too short you'd be
stretched
so you were long enough!"

"Ugh!" I said involuntarily. What queer savages these mainlanders were!

"And then he met one Sciron, a bandit who—"

"Why?" I asked.

"Why what?" Ariadne demanded.

"Why did Procrustes do that, stretching people and chopping them up? Why should he care?"

"Oh, I don't know. He was just mean. Anyway, Theseus bound Procrustes to his own bed, killed him, and left him there for the crows and birds of prey," she concluded with satisfaction. "After that there were lots more he vanquished, like a fierce sow and a wrestler who broke people's necks and I don't know what all else. And then when he got to Athens, everybody was naturally shouting out his praises in the streets, since he had made that whole part of the world safe. He was so popular, in fact, that his father—who didn't know he was his father, you understand—got worried. Not having an heir, he didn't much like bold young men who might be tempted to take the country away from him. So he invited Theseus to dinner with the idea of poisoning him."

I gasped. "
Another
violation of the sacred law of hospitality! Truly this Aegeus is a barbarian!"

"Well, it wasn't actually his idea," Ariadne said. "There was at court a witch named Medea, who knew by her arts who Theseus was and who wanted no rivals for the love of the king. So she convinced Aegeus to give his son a cup of poisoned wine."

"Still—"

"But Medea's plot failed," Ariadne said rapidly, "because just as Theseus was about to drink, his father saw the sword he carried and the sandals he wore, by which he knew the boy was his son. He dashed the cup from Theseus's lips and pressed him to his bosom, whereupon the witch Medea stole away and fled from that court and was never seen there again."

"Hmmmm," I said. "What, then, is he doing here in a consignment of slaves?"

"That is the bravest thing he has done so far," she said eagerly. "He volunteered to come here. He thinks—they all think in Athens—that the Minotaur—"

"Do not call him that!" I said. "His name is Asterius, and he is our brother."

Rather than firing up at my peremptory tone, she did not meet my eyes. "Yes," she said, and then went on. "They believe that he eats Athenians. I
cold
Theseus that he did not—really, I did, Xenodice. But once Theseus gets an idea in his head, well, it's remarkably difficult to get it out."

"A pleasant trait in a husband," I observed.

"Oh, what do you know about the matter?" she said furiously. "No more than Molus, or that baby Phaedra! He is the only husband I shall ever have, so hold your tongue!"

I was about to reply, when I thought better of it. I knew what it was to be bound to a man by fate. I would marry Icarus or I would marry no one. And then too, the mainland sounded like a terrible place, lawless and wild—it was no place for me. But Ariadne had a brave, bold heart, just as Theseus had. Perhaps she belonged there, as she would not belong on Kefti now that Acalle was coming home.

Ariadne was watching me.

"Help me, Xenodice."

"No! How can I? He will hurt Asterius—I know he will! He frightens me, Ariadne. There is another matter—" I broke off. unwilling to betray my father. I didn't know how Ariadne would use such knowledge.

"He won't! I promise you, he wont harm Asterius. I will make him swear!"

If Theseus could be bound by a promise not to harm my brother, why then ... he could be sent away before my father found him, before my father managed somehow to release him. Before he pressed a knife into his hand and led him to my brother's quarters ... My mind worked furiously More than anything, I wanted him gone from the Labyrinth. And, though I did not much like Theseus, I was entirely willing to see him depart for Athens rather than for the Underworld.

"But you will need a ship, provisioned, and oarsmen, too! What can I do in such a hopeless case?"

"Get me the key, Xenodice," she said.

Was it only a few weeks ago that she sent me into the orchard to steal figs? Now, with the same assurance of my obedience, I was being sent to commit a treasonous act against my mother, my queen, and my country.

"But I may be caught!" I objected.

"That," said Ariadne, "is why I want you to do it."

"Oh, but Ariadne!"

"I
ONLY MEANT THAT
D
AEDALUS AND
I
CARUS ARE BOTH FOND
of you, so if you are caught, they won't tell our mother. Nobody notices what you do anyway. You're always loitering around Daedalus's workshop, talking to Icarus."

"I am not!" I protested.

"Xenodice, listen. The servants still think of me as the heir, so they watch me day and night. If I tried to steal the key, I'd be caught. In fact," she said, looking apprehensively toward the door, "it won't be long before they come looking for me."

"I thought you said that everybody already knew about Acalle," I said.

"Oh, you know what I meant. The important people knew. Not the servants."

She sounded impatient. Evidently believing that she had gained her point, she now wanted to move on to other matters. I, however, was not giving up so easily.

"It seems to me," I argued, "that someone clever enough to get herself pregnant without the knowledge of vigilant watchers could certainly manage to steal a key."

"That's the problem." she said. "They're getting suspicious." She got up, moved to the door, and peered out into the hallway. Satisfied, she came back and stood by the bed. "I nearly had to force wine down the throat of that stupid Salamis just now to keep her from following me."

Salamis was the slave girl who waited on my sister.

"You got her drunk? How could you—?" I stared, aghast, imagining my sister forcibly pouring enough wine into Salamis to render her incapable.

"It was drugged, of course," Ariadne said impatiently. "How else do you think I've been getting away? Ever since she caught me coming back to bed at dawn she simply will not leave me alone. I've been putting poppy juice in her wine every evening for weeks. Only, after a while it doesn't seem to work as well."

"No, I suppose not," I said.

"You stay here for a bit after I leave," she directed. "If they guess that I have gone to the trouble to drug Salamis in order to talk to you in private, they'll start watching you, and that will ruin our plans."

I followed her unhappily to the door. As she entered the hallway she paused and turned to look at me.

"Not a word to anyone, do you hear? If you open your mouth it will be your undoing, as well as mine and Theseus's."

She had gripped my injured wrist again, but I did not protest this time. The hall was shadowy; the lamps were unlit at this time of day. Her face looked different—older and haggard. I was seized with a sudden terror, not for myself but for her.

"Oh, Ariadne, are you entirely certain that you are doing the right thing? Reconsider, I beg of you!" I cried.

Was there ever anyone in the history of the world who changed a cherished course of action upon hearing such a plea? No one with Ariadne's mind and spirit, at any rate.

"Don't be such a goose." To my amazement, she put her arm around me and kissed my cheek. "Oh, Xenodice, we are going to be so happy I He has promised to teach me how to interpret the winds, and he's going to whittle me a reed pipe and show me how to play music on it. He knows everything; he can do everything! And he says"—her eyes softened—"he'll give me a bear cub for my own, when next he kills a nursing mother."