Dark of the Moon (9 page)

"Sit!" she says with a beaming smile. But I feel like I've been turned to stone. Medea killed her own brother to steal the Golden Fleece, an act almost as unthinkable as the murder of her children—worse, to some minds. She's still looking up at me, but her smile is beginning to be replaced by puzzlement at my long hesitation.

I sit. The wine poured into my cup is almost purple and has a fragrance that is new to me. I take a sip and then drain it. Before I can ask for more, the guard has refilled it.

Medea heaps bread, olives, small fish bathed in oil, and dried fruit onto a wooden plate and pushes it in front of me. My cup is pointed on the bottom, and I can't put it down while there's anything in it, so I awkwardly scoop a few tiny fish onto a piece of bread with one hand. I close my eyes as I chew; the fish is flavored with herbs and rich with oil, and is delicious. When I open them again, Medea has put broken pieces of bread, a roasted songbird, and some fins and tails of a larger fish into a pile on the floor, and Artemis is snapping it up. As I take a second draught of wine, my dog walks over to the pool, laps up water for what seems an impossibly long time, and then lies down, her head on her crossed paws, and goes to sleep.

"Now," the king says as he puts two plump birds onto my plate, "tell us about your journey here. Any adventures?"

"Nothing to speak of," I say. "I killed a sow the first day—it was being kept by an old woman who..." Their faces fall as though they are bitterly disappointed.

I pause.

Nobody knows me here. For all anyone in Athens is aware, I am the hero of my village and a great fighter. Everybody in Troizena seems to think that the road to Athens is fraught with peril, and the king (I still find it difficult to think of him as my father) assumes the possibility of adventures.

To cover the silence and to give myself time to think, I put a songbird into my mouth. I crunch the tiny bones and then wash it down with a large swallow of the dark wine.

"As I say, nothing to speak of." They continue to look downcast. "The sow was the size of a horse." They perk up a little. "It came from the underworld, I think. It spoke with a human voice, and its hooves were as sharp as daggers. It came screaming at me as I walked along the path."

They seem enthralled. I decide to let them wonder, and then the king says, "So, what did you do?"

"Oh, I killed it. Ran it through with my sword." I take another swig of wine.

Artemis has raised her head and is staring at me disapprovingly. "The old crone who owned it flew through the air at me. I had to kill her, too." I'm starting to enjoy this. "And one night I stayed at an inn that had only one bed." I say it casually, hoping they'll think I'm used to something much grander. "The owner of the inn swore that it didn't matter what size the bed was, that everyone was comfortable in it. So, what he did to make sure that everyone fit was to cut off the feet of anyone who was too tall and stretch short men on a rack until they died."

My stepmother gasps. Her round black eyes become even rounder, and she clutches my hand. "What did you do?" she breathes.

"Killed him with his own sword. I left it behind," I add hastily before they can ask to see it. "I'm not a thief, and I didn't want anyone to think I'd killed him for the sake of plunder. It wasn't worth the trouble of taking with me, in any case. It was blunt from all the ankle bones he'd chopped through. And I'm not much good with a sword." I stop, not wanting to remind him of how poorTroizena is. Until I tipped over that boulder, I had never seen a blade longer than a knife like the one Arkas pulled on me.

"What else?" The king leans forward, interest showing on his face.

I cast about for another adventure and remember the man I suspected of being a thief. "A traveler asked me to help him on with his sandals. I was suspicious, because he seemed perfectly capable of doing them up himself, so I was on my guard, and when I was kneeling in front of him he aimed a kick at me." My father shrugs as if to say, "So? A kick?" and I go on hastily, "This was on the edge of a cliff, and if he'd succeeded I would have gone over the edge." He still seems un-impressed, so I go on. "I pushed him off instead." Still not enough. "He fell into the sea, where he was eaten by a ... by a giant turtle."

"Ooh!" The queen's face is shining. "A giant turtle!" I'm afraid I've gone too far, but she seems completely caught up in my tale. "What else?"

Diabolical animal, thief, murderer. There must be something else I could invent. They look at me expectantly. I open my mouth, hoping that somehow the words will fall out of it. Nothing.

I am saved by the sound of a door opening. A tall girl with brown hair comes in, leading a small boy. The child, perhaps five or six years old, clutches a clay animal of some kind, with wheels where its feet should be. He bends and puts the toy on the floor and then straightens, pulling it behind him with a string. The girl smiles and lets go of his hand. He trots toward us, and his toy rattles across the paving stones.

"Medus, my sweet!" the queen says. "Bring him close, Prokris. Theseus, this is our boy. Medus, precious, this is your brother, Theseus."

"I have a horse," the little boy says. He picks up his toy by its string and holds it out for my inspection.

"It's a fine horse," I say. I have always liked children, at least until they reach an age to join their older brothers in bullying me or their sisters in taunting me. I'm careful to avoid looking at the girl, fearing the derision that I always see in girls' eyes.

Aegeus says, "Prokris, my dear, this is my son Theseus." I rise and bow to the girl, and when I reluctantly raise my eyes to hers, they are as soft as her hair, and all I see in them is curiosity. She's pretty—not striking, but sweet-looking. I smile at her and she ducks her head, but then she raises it and smiles back.

"Your son?" Prokris looks from me to little Medus, who has squirmed off his mother's lap and is now running his toy along the floor, singing to himself.

"Yes, and you wouldn't
believe
the adventures he had on his way here from—where is it you said you come from?"

"Troizena," I say, and instantly the queen launches into a recital of my trek. Prokris gasps at the right moments, and when the tale is over she turns to me with admiration shining in her face.

"Why, that's marvelous! You must be very strong and very brave."

I feel myself turning red. "Well, I—"

"How dull it will seem to you here in Athens."

"Oh, I don't know..."

"Surely you long for more adventures?"

I can't say no with her big gray-green eyes shining with admiration. Since she seems to be waiting for an answer, I manage to say, "Oh yes, of course. I'll have to look around a little, see what's up. Not much chance of finding another
Argo
—" I stop in horror at my own words and steal a glance at the queen, wondering how she'll take my mention of the ship piloted by her first husband, Iason. She seems not to have noticed and is fixing Prokris with a quizzical stare, perhaps wondering where the girl is going with her chatter about adventure, as am I.

The girl seems unaware of our attention and claps her hands. "Don't you see what this means?" She turns to the king.

"What
what
means, my dear?" He pauses in the act of putting a sweetmeat into his mouth and gapes at her in puzzlement. Now all three of us are staring at her.

"Don't you see?" She looks from one to the other and then bursts out laughing. "The king's son! And a hero, too."

"Ah!" The queen's face lights up. "My dear?"

The king still looks puzzled, but then he rubs his hands together with a chuckle.

"
What?
" I'm the only one who doesn't understand. I might as well be talking to the little boy's painted horse for all the attention they pay me. The queen has clasped her son in what looks like a strangling embrace, and her face shines.

"Mama, you're hurting me!" The child squirms, and she loosens her grip. He runs his horse back and forth on the floor. The only sound in the room is the scrape of the clay wheels on stone.

The king turns and looks me full in the face. I can't read his expression as he scrutinizes me. Finally, he nods.

"He'll do," my father says. "He'll do very well."

THE QUEEN belatedly realizes that I'm in even greater need of a bath than of food, and as I try to frame a question about what the king means—I'll
do?
Do for what?—she sends Prokris to fetch the child's nurse.

The old woman looks exactly like a bird, with sharp little eyes on either side of a long, thin nose. I almost expect her to flap her skinny arms as she precedes me down a corridor, past weaving rooms full of women who fall silent and peer out the door after us, and storerooms jammed with large earthen vessels of what must be wine and oil, and fat sacks of grain. She wears a most unbirdlike smirk as she waits for me to hand her my clothes. I fumble with them, not sure whether it's decent to strip in front of her. She glares at Artemis, and the dog lowers her head and tail and retires to a corner.

"Come, boy," the bird-woman says, not even trying to conceal her impatience. "Whatever it is you have under that stinking tunic, I've seen better. I was nurse to Aegeus, and I've had the care of Prince Medus since the day he was born." In my haste I manage to knot the belt even tighter. She shifts her weight and sighs.

At last I lower myself into the steaming water and settle back with a sigh. When I was still small enough for my mother to take an interest in me, my bath was the highlight of my week. She would fashion sea monsters out of shells and wood and make them wiggle through the water, and I would battle them until I emerged clean and victorious.

The woman doesn't leave me to bathe alone, as I had hoped, but rubs sweet-smelling soap into a large sea sponge and vigorously scrubs it on me, tutting through her teeth. "You'll be fit for the king's court when I'm through with you," she says grimly, as if this is a challenge she's taken on. "Although where you're going, it won't make any difference."

"Going?" I sit up, sloshing water over the side of the tub. "I'm not going anywhere. I just got here."

"As you say." Her voice is prim, but I hear a note of sarcasm.

"What do you mean? And why wouldn't it matter how clean I am?"

She pushes me forward and rubs at my back until I think the water will run red with my blood. She yanks up an arm, scrubbing from shoulder to fingertips, and then back down to my armpit. One thing I have to say for her: she's thorough.

Apparently she can't keep from taunting me. "The one you'll be meeting doesn't care what you look like or smell like."

I try to wait her out, but I can't. "Who will I be meeting?"

A dry chuckle, then, "Someone who cares what you
taste
like."

I emerge from the bath wearing a brilliant white tunic, and a silver diadem that holds my hair in place. My feet are encased in sandals so new, they squeak on the stone floor.

The bird-woman has disappeared, and I'm uncertain where to go. I take a tentative step into a corridor, hear muffled giggles, and hastily retreat. I wait a bit and then try again. With the help of a young manservant, I find my way back, Artemis's claws clicking on the stone floor at my side.

The room is empty, and I'm standing in the doorway wondering what to do when I hear a soft footstep. I turn to see the girl Prokris. She lays a soft hand on my arm and asks if I'd like a cup of wine. I accept and follow her into the lofty chamber. I sit on a low stool and notice that the slippery cushions I sat on earlier have been removed. Burned, I wouldn't wonder, trying not to blush as I remember how filthy I'd been. The girl pours two cups of wine and hands me one. The liquid is so dark that I know it hasn't been watered, and I wonder if she's trying to dull my mind, so I take only a sip as she settles next to me.

"I hope you're not angry with me."

So, what she said earlier to the king and queen is something that should anger me. "I didn't understand what you were talking about," I admit. "What did the king mean by saying that I would 'do'?"

"It all goes back to the young prince," she says.

"Little Medus?"

"No, no. Androgeos. His father is the king of Krete. Minos. You've heard of him?"

Everyone knows about the powerful King Minos, and everyone in the world sends him tribute. Even small Troizena—when our turn comes every nine years, we send him wine and herbs. "Yes," I say. "I've heard of him."

"His son Androgeos came here to play in our games—the Panathenaic Games. He was a fine athlete, and so handsome! The king's firstborn, they said, with his first wife. They married when they were barely of age. Androgeos was raised in the palace at Knossos, the first city of the island. Androgeos was a fine athlete," she repeats, "and that's where all the trouble came from."

"What trouble?"

It appears that the Kretan Prince Androgeos was so good at the games that some drunken Athenians killed him. When word reached King Minos, he was furious, and he added a new tribute to the wine and oil that Athens was already sending him.

"Every ninth year, King Aegeus must send seven boys and seven girls to Krete," Prokris says. "At first, he sent pretty children, nobly born, but the Kretans sold them as slaves. Some even went to work in the horrible limestone mines and of course died quickly. That was bad enough, but worse was to come. The second time, the king turned them into playthings for his wife's monstrous son, who tore them apart and ate them."

I have heard of this monstrous son. He is called the Minotauros and is said to be the son of the Kretan queen and a sacred bull.

"This is all very interesting," I say, even as my stomach turns at what she has said, "but what does it have to do with me?"

"That second time, almost nine years ago now, Aegeus sent only the children nobody wanted—beggars, mostly, and the ones who should have been exposed at birth. King Minos was furious, and last year he gave instructions that this time, Aegeus must send his son. Medea flew into a rage and said they should never have her son, that she already sacrificed two children and this one would not go to the monster."