Minotaur (15 page)

I stared at the footwear of a dead man without touching. I couldn’t do it. Not just yet at any rate. They probably wouldn’t fit anyway.

Theseus himself was uninjured, the blow he had been struck a minor one. My injury was a little more serious. The blow had broken the skin on my forehead, despite my helm’s protection. The wound was still leaking as I slumped next to the fire. I wiped at the blood, thinking of the body of Periphetes lying lifeless and cold amongst the trees.

“How is your head?” asked Theseus.

“Fine,” I said gruffly.

“You’ll need to clean it,” he said. He tore a strip from what had presumably been Periphetes’s tunic and soaked it in water. He crouched down before me and began wiping the blood from my forehead.

I let him work without protest. I didn’t really care, but Paris had told me how important it was to clean wounds. Paris had seen too many soldiers die over wounds more minor than mine.

“It’s not deep,” said Theseus. “Luckily.”

I said nothing. “We won’t have to worry about food for a few more days now,” he continued. “Periphetes had a pouch of food and a water skin. I also found a purse tucked up against his skin.”

I knew what Theseus was trying to do. Distract me and perhaps make me realize that some good had come from Periphetes’s death. It seemed like a high price to pay. Some food, water, and a few coins in exchange for a life. Instead of making me feel better, I felt worse.

“Have you ever killed a man?” I asked.

Theseus paused. I could tell he was wrestling with his pride again, unwilling to admit his inexperience and lose face in front of me. He pursed his lips but finally told the truth.

“No,” he admitted. “But I will soon. That’s what heroes do.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” I said.

He thrust himself to his feet angrily, throwing away the bloodstained rag. “You need to be stronger than this,” he said. “We are bound to meet more outlaws or worse on the road. This will not be your last killing. I need you to be strong at my side.”

“Easy for you to say,” I said. I knew it would make him angrier, but I was too busy wallowing in my own misery and regret to care.

“Yes, it is,” he said, his voice rising. “Periphetes deserved what he got. Do you think he would be dwelling on your death if your positions were reversed? I don’t think so. Think of the lives you have saved by killing him. He would’ve preyed on other travelers and taken their lives without remorse. One life for many. It was the right thing to do.”

“I could’ve let him live,” I said glumly. “I could have made him swear on his honor to change his ways. To promise to give up the life of an outlaw.”

“Do you really think he would’ve listened to you?” Theseus sneered. “Promises extracted from someone like him would never last. But I’ll tell you this now; when I have to kill someone, especially scum like him, I will not hesitate and I will have no regrets. Whatever harm they seek to inflict on me or others, I will rain down upon them a thousand fold.”

Theseus threw himself down by the fire and said no more.

Ω

“You’re telling me that you and Theseus were friends?” said Ovid with open disbelief. “At the very least, companions?”

“That’s what I said, wasn’t it,” replied Ast mildly.

“But you are never mentioned in the stories” said Ovid.

Ast sighed impatiently. “That’s because the myths were retold and passed down by the Athenians. I have told you this already. His stature would’ve been lessened by my presence.”

“I have to confess,” said Ovid, “that this is quite difficult to believe. Surely there should have been some mention of you?”

“No,” said Ast. “The deeds Theseus and I accomplished together have been altered to suit.” He thought for a moment. “I can see that you doubt me now. That you doubt my honesty. Is there something I can do that will prove what I say is true? That I am who I say I am?”

“I doubt that very much,” said Ovid with a note of scorn in his voice. “What evidence could possibly remain after all this time?”

Ast said nothing. He rose to his feet and disappeared into the adjacent room. When he returned, he was carrying a cloth wrapped bundle. He set it down on the table between them.

“Open it,” he said.

Ovid didn’t move for a moment. He had no idea what lay concealed amongst the cloth wrappings. Suddenly, he felt a little afraid. With nervous fingers, he picked up the bundle and cautiously opened it.

His mouth fell open when he saw what was revealed.

“Do you believe now?” asked Ast.

Ovid steadied himself with a gulp of wine. For once, words had abandoned him. He nodded slowly.

“Now can I continue please?”

Ovid nodded again but he found it hard to concentrate on the papyrus before him, his eyes constantly drawn to the object sitting on the table.

It was an ancient helmet, smeared with the grime of accumulated centuries. A mask was bound to it, hanging off to one side. The face of a bull stared out at him. But it wasn’t just that. Two holes were bored through the helmet, holes where horns had once been. The holes were exactly the same size as the marks that Ovid had seen on Ast’s head.

Ω

Our path became more difficult, often overgrown with shrubs and weeds. Slowly, we followed a steep dirt trail that wove up into the hills, forcing us to revise our schedule. It was going to take much longer than I’d thought to reach Athens.

Food was scarce. Even with our supplies bolstered by Periphetes, we were still on the verge of starvation. Theseus wasn’t as good with the sling as he’d boasted, only managing to bring down one small rabbit, which we roasted over the fire and devoured eagerly. I started to daydream about food.

We had to have our wits about us though. The uneven terrain, heavily wooded with thick pine trees, had a tendency to conceal sudden drop offs that would plunge a careless traveler to their deaths.

Theseus tried to lighten the mood and pass the time by telling me stories of his childhood adventures. He was, in all fairness, quite the entertaining storyteller. Most of his tales seemed a little farfetched but I never suggested they were anything other than the truth for fear of offending him.

I said little, still dwelling on the death I’d caused. I knew that Theseus was right—that killing Periphetes was the right thing to do—but it was a hard thing to let go of. Having a death on your hands is not an easy thing to bear. It doesn’t get easier either.

It was hot. Not a cloud in the sky. The sun blazed down, evaporating the sweat from our skin almost before it had time to cool us. We were running short of water too, having last filled our water skins at a stream over a day earlier. They were now all but empty save for a few precious drops.

As well as my new club, I carried the satchel of food and water. Theseus had his sword, shield, and spear. I was impressed by his stamina and started to appreciate how hard it must be for soldiers to bear forced marches, day after day, loaded down with weapons and armor. By contrast, Theseus and I were travelling light.

I was glad Theseus forced me to wear Periphetes’s sandals. At first, I had resisted, but after picking several thorns out of my heels, I decided to relent. Periphetes had been a large man but his sandals were still too small for me. My toes stuck out, and I stubbed them several times, but the sandals were better than bare feet.

We stopped for a rest, sinking wearily onto a warm bed of needles beneath a cluster of pines.

“How far do you think we’ve come?” I asked. Even though I had covered the geography of Greece with Daedalus and my knowledge was fairly-broad, it was not enough to give me any idea of where we were. Theseus had much more detailed local knowledge.

He thought for a moment. “I think we’ve probably walked ten leagues.”

I was surprised. I thought we’d travelled further than that, but I was rather inexperienced in such matters. It didn’t seem like much.

“How long until we reach the next city?”

“We’ve been walking for three days. I’d guess another two to reach Ismthmia. We could travel a bit further north and get to Corinth but that’s a little out of our way. Ismthmia will have everything we need.”

Two more days. I hoped our water would hold out. Even though our energy reserves were low, we were unlikely to starve before we reached the nearest city. Water was the real problem.

Too exhausted and hot to talk further, we lapsed into silence. I began to think about food again. No doubt Theseus had similar thoughts.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the quick slap of sandals on earth. People were heading in our direction, and they were in a hurry. We jumped to our feet.

Down the path came several figures: an ancient man, two older children running on foot, and three women, the eldest carrying a small child. Their eyes widened in fright when they caught sight of us. They made as if to turn around and retreat the way they had come.

“Peace,” said Theseus. “We mean you no harm.” I think his handsome smiling face went some way to reassure them, especially when two of the women were not much older than us. They smiled tentatively back at him. Theseus often made a good impression with members of the opposite sex. Unlike me.

The group of travelers eyed me nervously, but the presence of Theseus calmed them. Although still obviously alarmed, they made no move to get past us.

“What troubles you?” asked Theseus. “Why the haste?”

“It’s my husband, eldest daughter, and my two older sons,” said the mother. She began to sob. “We were set upon by bandits. My husband told us to flee while he and my sons fought them. They grabbed my daughter. We heard screams behind us. I fear the worst.”

“We will deal with these brigands,” said Theseus, sounding overconfident to my ears. “We will find your husband, daughter, and sons and return them to you safely.”

“Thank you,” sniffed the woman, wiping away her tears with the sleeve of her dress. “Please be careful. I think they were many, and there are only two of you.”

“Yes, but we are two heroes,” said Theseus, puffing out his chest. He hefted his shield and sword with a swagger. The two younger women looked him up and down with bright eyes.

The woman gave us directions and we were about to head off when she stopped us.

“What is your name?” she asked. “So I might tell tales of your bravery.”

“Theseus,” he said, “and this is my companion, Asterion.” She seemed satisfied by that.

“Theseus,” she said. “I will remember. May the gods be with you.”

Theseus strode off with me travelling in his wake. With only a moment’s hesitation, I fixed my faceplate into place with the leather thong. In a fight, it might terrify an opponent long enough to give me an advantage.

Theseus turned to make sure I was keeping up. His face betrayed his fear for a moment before being replaced with a grim smile. He nodded. “Excellent. You scared me for a moment though. I would not like to face the likes of you in battle.”

We reached the spot described by the woman. Even though Theseus and I were hardly skilled in tracking and woodcraft, we could still tell that a scuffle had taken place. The shrubs were beaten down and several footprints led off the path, deeper into the trees.

Cautiously, we followed them. Shortly, we came across a clearing. Even from this distance, we could hear weeping and cries of pain. We crept closer, hugging the ground, trying not to make a sound.

I have never been able to move quietly. My sheer size makes it all but impossible. Theseus, on the other hand, moved like a ghost, his passage hardly disturbing the undergrowth or needles beneath his feet. Thankfully, there was enough noise coming from the clearing to mask our approach.

A quick glance into the clearing confirmed that we were well and truly outnumbered. There appeared to be six bandits. Those we could see at any rate. Three figures, presumably the daughter and sons of the woman we spoke to, lay on the ground not far from the remains of a campfire. They seemed to be bound, hand and foot. One of them wasn’t moving. Three men stood guard over them.

The bandits had built a lean-to, using the hide of a deer as a makeshift doorway. Next to it, two smaller pine trees had been bent almost to the ground, held in position by ropes and stakes. The trees were facing each other with just enough room between them to put a man.

A man was being forced to his knees by a huge bandit while two other bandits were binding his wrists to the bent pine trees. I didn’t like the look of what they were doing.

Before we could act, the bandits finished their bonds and took positions on either side of the pines. The bandit in the middle stepped back and nodded to his fellows. Ignoring the pleading and screams of their prisoner, they drew blades, simultaneously cutting the ropes securing the pines to the ground.

The result was horrifying, sickening. The trees, no longer bound, sprung back into their normal upright position. The man trapped between them was torn apart. I felt bile rise in my throat, and it was only through great force of will that I didn’t throw up.

The huge bandit laughed. Moving toward the three younger prisoners on the ground, he yanked the girl to her feet and began dragging her into the lean-to by her hair. His intentions were clear.

“Enjoy yourself, Sinis!” laughed one of the other bandits.

“I will,” said the huge bandit. “Fresh meat. Young too, just the way I like them.”

“Save some for us,” said another bandit. “That’s if she still lives.”

I felt a rage growing within my breast. I didn’t completely agree with Theseus, but these bandits deserved to die.

“What’s our plan?” I whispered, the sound muffled by my faceplate.

“Simple,” said Theseus. “We kill the bandits and free their prisoners.”

“Not much of a plan,” I grumbled.

“Whilst we debate, more innocents will die.” He was right. Even as we whispered together, the bandits were leading a young man toward the blood-splattered trees. The trees had already been bent back into position once more. “What do you suggest?” hissed Theseus impatiently, struggling not to raise his voice.