The White Bull (27 page)

He shook his massive head. "I can-not release you from your own will-fill ig-nor-ance."

"White Bull!" This challenge came, of course, from the young and royal hero, who was not going to submit to being overlooked.

His former teacher turned on him a slow and patient gaze of inquiry. If there was in that look any desire for revenge, it was well masked.

"White Bull, I demand that you tell me where the one who calls himself Dionysus can be found!"

The Bull looked at the guards, and pointed at the king, with the one arm in which he seemed to have free movement. "Re-move this one to his cell."

Theseus, dumbfounded at such treatment, had nothing more to say as he was escorted away.

When the two of us were alone—except for my own pair of guards—the White Bull informed me that the time had finally come to press on with Project Two, the plan for interspecies reproduction.

I said that I was sorry to hear it.

Ignoring that, the Bull told me that he would see to it that my life was spared if I constructed the necessary wooden cow. Looking down at his own damaged body, he said, in words even more stilted than usual, that a considerable amount of artificial aid would be necessary if he were going to couple directly with a human female.

The guards, their faces expressionless, stared straight ahead. I wondered if they might have been chosen for deafness, or an inability to comprehend anything but the simplest orders.

Apparently the stories about Bull and queen were not, at least not yet, founded on fact. I was wondering what to say about Project Two, when the Bull interrupted himself. "There is an-o-ther prob-lem, e-ven more ur-gent."

"And what is that?"

"If I give you a new teach-ing, Dae-dal-us—a teach-ing like that which en-a-bled you to make the wings�will you make for me a bet-ter ve-hi-cle than this?" And in a sudden uncharacteristic display of violence, the Bull smote with his one good hand at the side of the clumsy wooden conveyance into which he was bound.

"Sir, I am sorry for your crippling, as I have said before, and I never intended it to happen. If given my freedom and a workshop, I promise that I will make you a much better vehicle than that—or several of them, different kinds for different occasions. I can promise that even without the benefit of any more of your special teaching."

"I can pro-vide the work-shop. Free-dom will have to wait."

"I accept."

"And in the mat-ter of what your peo-ple call the wood-en cow?"

I was still hesitating, wondering whether or not his intended partner was really Queen Pasiphaë, when he cut me off again. "That can wait." Again he pounded at the armrest of his litter with his hoof-nailed hand. "I must have some-thing bet-ter than this, I must. The dis-com-fort is too great. What type of con-vey-ance would you build me now?"

I considered the problem quickly. "As I said, more than one type, for different situations. One at least with wheels. First I would consider in which position your wounded body is most comfortable, and then—"

"I would like to be ab-le to change pos-i-tions with-out help. I have the par-tial use of one arm and one leg."

"Then in my construction I would be sure to allow for that."

But it turned out that I could not possibly be allowed to return to my old workshop; not just yet. The best compromise I could obtain was that I should immediately be given a cell with good lighting, and that small tools and whatever modeling materials I wanted should be provided, along with a workbench. I could create models of several vehicles for the handicapped for the Bull's approval before making a full-sized version.

Our agreement was completed for the moment, and I was ready to be taken away; but the Bull delayed me at the last moment.

"Dae-dal-us, I have heard that you were present at the death of King Min-os."

"That is true."

"Be-fore he left Crete for the last time, he said that he wished to be re-con-ciled with you."

"Yes, White Bull. He told me that also."

"It was his plan and mine that he pre-sent you with a gift."

On hearing this I hesitated. But so far, I thought, the truth had served me well. "I did receive a gift from the king before he died, and he said that gift was partly from you too. You have my gratitude, for what it may be worth."

"And the gift was—?"

"A small box of wood, carven and richly inlaid. Yes, King Minos brought it to Sicily with him. He said it was meant to be used as a sacrifice—"

"Ah!"

"Yes. Intended as a sacrifice to the gods and goddesses of earth. And I saw it go into a volcano."

"Ah." And the White Bull sounded satisfied. "Then I hope that King Co-cal-us may de-rive great ben-e-fit from it. And the earth-gods of Si-ci-ly as well."

It was plain to me that this creature before me did not have any idea as yet that Theseus and I had visited Thera, disposed of his gift there, and also brought away with us Heracles, who might have been the most enigmatic of that island's remarkable inhabitants. Sometimes a partial truth serves better than the whole, and I said nothing to enlighten the White Bull upon this point.

But the Bull was growing more thoughtful anyway, as if he were aware that there was much about the situation that he did not know. "And where did you join for-ces with the new King of Ath-ens?"

"That came about as the result of an encounter at sea."

"Ah. Where?"

"Some distance to the north."

"Ah. Near Ther-a, perhaps?"

"It was closer to Naxos, sir."

The White Bull was silent for a time. "And have you been to Ther-a, Dae-dal-us?"

"Indeed, sir, we put in for a brief visit."

The Bull waited, as if he expected me to say more; but now I was silent too. At last he asked me directly: "Were an-y of my peo-ple there?"

"No, sir. Not when we were there. On Thera we found strange buildings, all ruined… where they had once lived. Theseus had thought to find Dionysus there, but he was gone."

The Bull was silent for a time, nodding, a human trait of communication that he had picked up sometime during his years on Crete. Then at last he said: "It does not sur-prise me. My people must have a-ban-doned their mis-sion and gone home. Lea-ving me. A ter-ri-ble pun-ish-ment for me. A-mong my kind, the most ter-ri-ble that can be met-ed out. I am now more ut-ter-ly an ex-ile than any of your kind can i-ma-gine." Then he glared at me fiercely. "But it does not mat-ter! The teach-ing is all that mat-ters to me now!"

Shortly after that I was escorted away by the guards, this time to a different cell, much more spacious and livable. It should have been called a room, save that the door could be locked only from the outside, and the windows were too high and narrow and heavily barred to allow any thoughts of escape. Here my clothing was restored to me.

This chamber was furnished with a bed, a table that would serve as workbench, and two chairs. It had its own supply of water, which ran in through a pipe at one corner of the ceiling and gurgled away through a hole in the floor that also served for waste disposal. I remembered carrying out some of my earlier experiments in plumbing while constructing this small row of rooms; I was surprised to see that the water was turned on here now when, as I recalled, the supply to the palace was not always adequate. Then I understood—it was very likely that Theseus was being kept in the even more luxurious room next to this one, and naturally a king, even in prison, must have fresh water.

If Theseus were really my neighbor, then I must find a way to speak to him. It might of course be possible to communicate between the cells by shouting through the corridor, but there could be no privacy in such a conversation. Tapping on the wall between the cells would also serve to send a message, but only if some kind of code had been arranged in advance.

But between these two particular cells yet another connection existed, in the form of a curving and recurving passage, built carefully within the thickness of the wall. The tunnel was narrower than a man's arm, and in its windings resembled a kind of miniature Labyrinth. The small opening to this passage was set high in the wall, so difficult to see that I might well have missed it had I not known that it was there. I had to stand on my table to bring my head close to the inconspicuous opening. This small labyrinthine passage, too small for any creature bigger than a mouse to attempt to use, was the result of another experiment in construction, carried on at the request of King Minos. The king had been thinking of having facilities for eavesdropping built into his palace. As in the matter of the plumbing, I had thought to test my techniques in the dungeon portion of the Labyrinth before putting them into construction within the House of the Axe itself.

The minature labyrinth had proved to offer no advantage, for purposes of espionage, over a simple opening; but with cooperation on both sides of the wall, it ought to serve, I thought, to carry a few whispers back and forth.

I hissed and whispered. To my joy, I was able almost at once to catch the attention of the neighboring inmate, who proved indeed to be my comrade Theseus. In another moment the two of us were engaged in quiet but urgent conversation.

"I must escape, Daedalus. I cannot endure being long confined like this."

I shuddered inwardly for my young king, remembering his terror of being closed in during his earlier adventures in the Labyrinth. "I built these cells myself, Majesty. Short of bribing the guards, I know of no way you can get out quickly. Of course we must not despair."

"If it were not for the windows, I would be mad already. Even with them—" Theseus let his words trail off, but I thought I understood what strain there must be behind them. Alas, for the time being there was nothing I could do.

Within a matter of hours the modeling materials and small tools I had requested were delivered to me in my new quarters.

The materials included some small pieces of wood, along with string and thread and wax and glue, as well as tiny nails and screws and other minute metal parts.

Shortly after the arrival of my tools and materials I conferred with Theseus again, and the idea for a plan of escape began to germinate between us. I was now possessed of sharp-edged and pointed tools, with which a determined man might eventually be able to conquer a wooden door. The lock on the door of my cell was protected, as I have said, with metal plates that would make such an attack neither quick nor simple. But Theseus reported that his cell door was almost entirely of wood.

"If only I had one of those tools they've brought you, Daedalus…"

It was the king's idea that if he could get out of his cell, he could attack the next warder who came along—he was sure they tended to travel this corridor alone—and get a key with which to open my cell, and any other occupied ones nearby.

But how was I to pass him one of my little chisels or augers? The only conceivable way was by means of the curving and recurving speaking-tube.

Once an appropriate tool had been passed through, Theseus, given some time to work, would be able to make a hole in his wooden door. After that it would be a matter of heroism, in which he had few peers. He could grab a guard by the throat, and stun or strangle the man, get a key from him to unlock his own door and then mine.

It occurred to me that if only it were possible to pass a thread or a string through the devious passageway where our spoken words passed, then Theseus could pull through any number of small objects. I had a great deal of string.

We tried to see a way of pushing, blowing, or forcing one end of a thread or string through the twisting passage, but none was immediately apparent.

Frustrated, the young king, standing on his own table, tried with his great strength to break away the stonework at the narrow opening of the communication passage, but the massive ashlars there refused to budge.

Only the idea of the string seemed to offer any hope. But how to force a thread through a Labyrinth, even such a comparatively simple one as this?

The first possible solution that occurred to me had to do with the fact that air and water could flow freely through even such a convoluted structure. But I could conceive of no way in which to create such a forceful flow of either fluid as to carry a long thread through the several windings.

A better idea came to me while I was watching a tribe of ants. These were very large and active creatures, who had dug their own passage up into my cell through the interstices of the stone paving. Then they had established a trail between their entry and some scraps of food that remained on the floor after my most recent meal.

After taking thought, I first induced the ants to re-form their trail over a scrap of fabric—my clothing had been restored to me—which piece of cloth I then lifted from the floor and introduced into the labyrinthine passageway.

The next step was to capture some ants. To one of these, held in a fine tweezers on my improvised workbench, I cemented one end of the finest gauzy thread I had available in my model-building kit.

Seldom have I attempted any job requiring greater patience. Several ants were spoiled in the process, before one with an end of thread firmly affixed to its small back could be placed in the entrance of the miniature Labyrinth, where it joined its fellows who had gone up there with the cloth. And then the thread came loose, and yet another attempt was necessary.

On the second trial, the burdened insect, after some minutes of frenzied indecision as to what route to take, pulled the fine thread through the passage. Theseus seized it at once, and soon, at my direction, was able to pull through a stronger thread, and after that a piece of string. My supply of string was practically unlimited, and once an end was through any small object that could be tied to string securely could be passed from one cell to the other.

It would certainly have been more practical to use some larger creature, say a beetle of substantial size, instead of an ant. But as always it was necessary to work with the tools available.

Given a day in which to work with the small bronze bit or chisel, the King of Athens had no difficulty in boring several holes almost through his cell's door. A weakened panel was thus created, through which Theseus meant to put his fist at the proper moment.