The White Bull (25 page)

The news of the death of Minos had come as a serious shock to the entire population, but now conditions appeared peaceful, on the surface at least. Queen Pasiphaë ruled Crete at the moment, but with the princesses both gone, the future looked uncertain to everyone. At least civil war had not yet broken out upon the island, though as I was soon to find out, it was already threatening.

My first real clue as to how things stood in this regard came when I ran into some of the potential combatants, a small group of off-duty soldiers. They were returning to their garrison from a visit to the farm where the family of one of them was living. When I asked them how things were going in Heraklion, and in the palace, they gave me two different answers, and immediately began to quarrel among themselves.

Gradually the political picture became clear: A large faction of the people, including the army and navy, were ready to rebel against a queen who secretly claimed an alien consort as her lover, and conducted a bestial relationship with him, though she pretended to deny the fact.

I pretended to be astonished to hear such accusations. My informants asked me where I had been; I replied that I was a scholar recently arrived from Greece, and had been hiking from palace to palace on the island, in search of my old compatriot Daedalus.

At this the soldiers began to wrangle again among themselves, some claiming that Daedalus had flown away from the island to Sicily on wings of his own invention, while others dismissed that tale as a preposterous invention. The White Bull, they were quite sure, had had the inventor murdered months ago. I bade them goodbye and slipped away almost unnoticed while they continued their argument.

Half an hour later, during a conversation with certain milkmaids who were engaged in rounding up their goats, I at last heard some word of Dionysus. When I first mentioned the god's name, the young women exchanged sly glances among themselves and tittered. But then they were not altogether unwilling to talk. It was plain to see that they found Dionysus very intriguing. Yes, they told me, that restless god was even now reported to be visiting the island once again, as he had at intervals during the last few months, ever since the reported death of mad Minos somewhere in the petty kingdom of a foreign enemy.

On this latest trip to Crete, Dionysus had once again arrived in his wondrous chariot, which he had landed more than once during the last few months inside the Labyrinth itself. Some of my informants thought that he was there now, visiting the White Bull; others giggled and refused to speculate. But one of the girls said that she was looking forward to a chance to attend one of the Dionysian parties. Then she burst into laughter and would say no more.

Soon I walked on, wondering if the presence of that god would destroy the rest of human life on Crete, as it had appeared to come close to doing on Naxos. But no one else I talked to that morning volunteered any information about Dionysus, and when I cautiously mentioned his name I had blank stares for an answer. Probably, I thought, that god (if in fact he was a god) did not really care anything about ruling Crete or any other land. Most likely his primary reason for visiting here was to restock his wine supply from the almost bottomless cellars of the late king. Probably the new divinity of wine and madness was not averse either to recruiting a few attractive Cretan goat-maids for his orgies.

Around midday a small coin from my light purse bought me a satisfactory dinner from a farm-wife. While munching on my bread and cheese I pondered what I had learned so far, and came to the conclusion, or at least allowed myself to hope, that I need not worry too much about Dionysus—at least not unless Theseus actually succeeded in catching up with him and challenging him directly. On vastly smaller Naxos, where there were not nearly so many people, the more or less steady influence of Dionysus had triggered a vast change in the general behavior of the population. But here on Crete the divine comings and goings tended to be unnoticed by most of the inhabitants. With public attention focused on the strange events taking place in the House of the Axe, one orgy more or less somewhere else caused little excitement. And it occurred to me to wonder whether, if Dionysus ever attempted to control too many people at one time, he became distracted and found it impossible to get them to do anything in particular.

As for the chance of Theseus bringing this convivial monster (or god) to bay, it seemed unlikely, as long as Dionysus wished to avoid him. The King of Athens could travel from island to island no faster than a sailing ship, while his great antagonist soared overhead and out of reach in what might have been the chariot of the sun. Small wonder that Theseus wanted wings of his own; but fortunately—as I thought�no wings that I could build could ever match the speed of the vehicle borrowed from the departed Bullheads.

I hiked all the remainder of that day, with brief rest stops, realizing that I was somewhat farther from my goal then I had originally thought. By the time darkness had fallen again, I thought I knew almost exactly where I was in relation to the House of the Axe, and to our planned place of rendezvous. Once it was dark, with the thin moon behind some friendly clouds, I dared to fly again. And as soon as I had risen above some small nearby hills, the distant lights of the great palace and the adjoining town were unmistakable. Thus, with no very great difficulty, I had in the course of a day and a night arrived at a position very near the appointed place of meeting.

The exact place of meeting, which I managed to reach during that night, was a small cave on a rugged hillside. This cave had been frequented from time immemorial by the local peasants, who considered it a minor shrine to some local god so ancient that I suspect his very name had been forgotten. From the mouth of the cave it was possible to see anyone approaching along the ascending path some time before the visitor actually grew near; thus I suppose Theseus thought it made an excellent place for clandestine meetings.

A light rain had begun to fall when I established myself snugly just inside the cavern's mouth, and went to sleep. Near dawn I was aroused from a light slumber by the sound of someone climbing quietly along the path below. Arming myself with my staff I waited, ready to fight or retreat along the rough terrain of the hillside behind me, which was marked by innumerable places of concealment. Presently I could be sure that only one person was coming up the path; and a few moments after that, straining my eyes in near-darkness, I determined to my joy that my visitor was Theseus.

The young king, bareheaded now and wrapped in a long Cretan cloak, with his short sword ready underneath it, was pleased to find me already in place and undetected by the Cretan authorities. He told me with cheerful excitement of the considerable difficulties, including the necessity of abandoning most of his armor, that he had experienced in getting ashore without being destroyed by Talus. But by dint of swimming, wading, and running, he had managed the feat at last.

I thought, but did not say, that Theseus never would have managed to do so unless Talus had been distracted from pursuing him by some other perceived duty. That duty might well have been the pursuit of me. Of course I too had been fortunate to survive; and I supposed that I could attribute my good fortune to the fact that I had placed enough steep-sided ravines and cliffs between myself and the Bronze Man to keep him from keeping track of me.

The king asked me: "Have you had any word yet from Heracles?"

"Not a word, sire." And now it occurred to me to wonder if the strong man had unwittingly sacrificed his life to provide the distraction necessary to save both the king and myself. "Did anyone else volunteer to come ashore?"

"I think not." The king did not seem in the least perturbed, of course, by this lack of heroism in his crew. What use would one or two more ordinary mortals be in this situation?

Theseus graciously heard the story of my ad-ventures since we had separated, then modestly told me something of his own. He too, on his journey incognito overland to this place, had seen and heard things suggesting that the land of Crete now faced increasing anarchy and strife, perhaps intense enough to threaten civil war.

He had also heard the same stories I had heard regarding the god of wine and celebration. With the tension among the people growing closer and closer to an open outbreak, King Theseus hoped we might be able to count on some support from strong factions among them if we entered the Labyrinth to try conclusions with Dionysus if he were there as reported, and with the White Bull as well, if necessary.

This struck me as a truly heroic plan. I have said that my fears were much diminished, but I had not grown suicidal. The idea that two of us might be able to defy our enemies in such a way seemed so to me.

I expressed my doubts that any great number of the Cretan people would support a foreign prince, and my companion had to agree that my objections had some force. Theseus wished aloud that he could have manned one of the captured pirate ships and sent her to Athens for help, so that he might have the prospect of assistance from something of an invading force. But there was no use wishing. In any event, he had been unable to spare the men to work even the smaller of those captured pirate ships.

The day was now well advanced, and still we had seen no sign of Heracles. The question now was how long we ought to wait for him. Theseus was anxious to reach the Labyrinth as soon as possible.

"There is one thing that concerns me, though."

"Yes sir?" I waited, hoping for reasonableness.

"It is this, Daedalus. Are you going to be able to guide me through that place when we get into it?"

"Of course, sire." There had been just a hint of a momentary change in my young friend's voice when he spoke of the Labyrinth. I thought to myself that he was doubtless going to need all of his heroic nerve to make himself enter that place again for any reason. But still I had little doubt that his nerve would be equal to the task; and of course I had full confidence in my own ability as guide. It was the other problems, including the Metal Man and an army of human enemies, about which I did not feel so confident.

Remaining in or near the cave, we waited for Heracles through the rest of that day, and the early part of the following night, meanwhile sharing between us the small amounts of food we had each brought. But the strong man did not appear, and at last Theseus made up his mind to do the best he could without that formidable helper. About two hours after sunset the king and I started down the path from the cave.

"Sir, what are we to do when we actually reach the Labyrinth? As you know, it is heavily guarded."

"Well find a way to get in. Trust me, Daedalus. As long as you can guide me once we are inside."

Our plan, which I had been waiting to hear elaborated, apparently did not exist except in the most rudimentary form. And the skeleton was going to be fleshed out by the King of Athens at the last moment, using whatever mental materials he might then find ready at hand. At about this point I became better acquainted with despair than I had been for some time. Then a happy thought struck me.

"There may be one person living near the palace, sire, who would be willing to help us."

"So? Who's that?"

I told my lord of the devoted slave Thorhild. Many months had passed since I had seen her, but I believed her devotion had been genuine, and it seemed at least possible that she might still be dwelling outside the palace proper. Alternatively some loyal relative or close friend might be there, available to carry a message to her.

We determined to do what we could to seek out Thorhild, I suppose simply because we had no better hope. Theseus, once an even faintly better hope was offered, admitted freely that it would be sheer madness to simply try to sneak into the Labyrinth on our own. He questioned me several times on all its entrances and exits, and I told him of all I knew—of all but one. That portal was a secret one, that might conceivably be of benefit to us if we were trying to get out of the Labyrinth—but it would, I thought, be of no real use to adventurers insanely bent on getting in, two mice approaching a huge trap. Of course, as the king and I both realized, it was possible that there had been extensive reconstruction of maze or palace, or additional building since our hurried departure from the island. In that case even I might prove inadequate as a guide.

Having walked until near midnight, we decided to rest until morning before trying to locate Thorhild, and turned off the road into a thicket where a murmuring stream promised water. Theseus, ever the hearty warrior, thought nothing of spending a night in the open. And in his company I felt considerably easier about it myself.

We slept soundly enough, wrapped in our cloaks, and next morning were up at the first light and on our way. When we reached the top of the next hill, the House of the Axe and the Labyrinth were in sight before us, with Heraklion and the sea visible beyond them.

As I recalled, Thorhild had lived not far outside the walls of House and Labyrinth proper, in a quarter of the adjoining town that was largely given over to housing the more dependable slaves and servants of the crown. These chattels lived in a state of freedom actually greater than was enjoyed by many who were not called slaves; Minos had believed in rewarding competence.

"My Lord Theseus?"

"Yes?"

"I will be much less recognizable in the eyes of most people here than you will. At the same time, Thorhild is much more likely to recognize me than you." That young woman would also, I thought, be more likely to trust me than to trust a king, but I did not say that to the king's face. "Therefore I should be the one to go to her door. It will be better if you remain out of sight somewhere nearby, while I try to establish contact."

At first Theseus would hear nothing of any plan that put him in a position of lesser danger. But eventually he was so far persuaded by the force of my arguments that he consented to remain standing across the street, face muffled in his cloak, while I knocked at the humble portal that I thought must be Thorhild's door. No one answered my repeated knocking, which was hardly surprising since at that hour most of the able-bodied servants were at work within the palace.