Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two (24 page)

Tigers are wild,

dogs are tame.

Listen, dear child,

to your husband's name.

Theseus, Theseus

A prince for a princess,

Theseus is his name.

Roses are red,

wounds are too.

Him you shall wed,

I tell you true.

“Anyone would be happy to marry you,” whispered Theseus. “You're exquisitely pretty. And smell marvelous. And sing like a lark.”

“You sound like a man who wants to kiss me.”

“You're so lovely and clean. And I'm in so foul a state. How can I touch you?”

“I'll take a bath when I leave. I'll have to anyway.”

“Look, they're ready to kill me just for being cast away on this island. What would they do to me for fondling the king's daughter?”

“Oh, they'd whisk you to the chopping block and lop your head off.”

“Exactly.”

“Unless sorcerers can grow their heads back—as lizards do their tails.”

“You have some useful ideas about magic,” said Theseus.

“That witch taught me a few things.”

“Show me.”

“Not here. I need some stuff. Frog … cat … fire of thorns. An alder stick and a bag of corn …”

“Sing that again,” he was surprised to hear himself whispering.

“I wasn't singing.”

Pain flowed from his mangled earlobe and coursed like lava through his head. He groaned and fell back on the straw.

He heard her singing:

Thorn and thistle,

gristle grue.

When I whistle,

it means
you
!

He tried to speak but could not. She whistled. He saw the straw heave beside his face. He couldn't move away. Out slithered a rat, an enormous gray one with faint black markings. It held something pale in its mouth and danced toward the girl like a poodle. She held out her hand and the rat leaped up. Balancing itself on her palm, it offered the ear. She took it and kissed the rat on the head. It disappeared.

Ariadne turned the ear, studying it. She spat on the raw edge and smoothed it out with her little finger, then knelt to Theseus and pressed it in place. It was like a piece of ice; it froze the fire in his head. Pain drained deliciously out. He felt the ear; it was whole. He looked at her. She smiled. And, very gently, he kissed her curly mouth.

“You're getting politer,” she whispered. “Anything else I can fix?”

He drew away. “Just talk to me.”

“Talk?”

“Yes, it's a way of touching too.”

“Maybe you
are
old under that beard.”

“Nobody's that old, Princess. If you were to walk past an Egyptian tomb, the mummies would jump out and run after you.”

“Oh, gruesome! … Someone told me about those tombs once. They're very tall and full of cats. An Egyptian told me.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“He put into port one day in a big boat made of paper or cloth or something. Big, clumsy things, hardly like a boat at all.… Egyptians are weird. They look like long, rusty knives. Reddish brown, you know, with stilt legs and bird faces. But he was nice. He told me all about cats and tombs and the moon eating the sun. Egyptians are very religious—worse than us.”

Her hand lay on the straw beside him. He studied it as he drank in the clear, beautifully articulated stream of words. It was a childish hand still, the fingers very long. He put his hand over it. It moved in his grasp like a little bird. Tears scalded his eyes.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing. Tell me more things. Tell me about your mother.”

“What about her?”

“There's a curious tale—that she eloped with a bull and had a child, half man, half bull …”

“I can't talk about that,” said Ariadne.

“Why not?”

“It's a family secret. And in our family that's a state secret. You know what happens to anyone who tells? They get their tongues torn out with hot pincers.”

“You can tell me. I won't tell your father.”

“Why should I tell you anything? You won't even admit who you are. But I know. You're Theseus, Theseus, Theseus.…”

She brought her face to his. Her eyes were black disks like her father's, but larger and more brilliant. Slowly, they began to spin. “Aren't you? Aren't you?”

“Yes,…” he murmured.

Ariadne laughed. Her eyes spun faster. Blackness spun inside his head, flowed out, and engulfed him.

9

The Sacrifice

The king was closeted with his daughter.

“Well,” he said. “I have indulged your whim and allowed you to visit his cell.”

“It wasn't a whim,” said Ariadne. “I was trying to help you.”

“Did you learn any more than I did?”

“He confuses me.”

“Is he a wizard?”

“Too young. Much too young. I think he's what he says he is—a castaway. Why should you doubt it? Many shipwrecked sailors are washed up on our shores. They've never bothered you. You just pop them into the slave-pen.”

“Not this one,” said Minos.

“Why?”

“Something spoke to me in the night, warning me against a castaway and against drought. This fellow appears, and it stops raining. It hasn't rained for weeks, not a drop. The streams are dry. Crops are withering in the fields.”

“What are you going to do, kill him?”

“Not yet. I want to know his secret. He shall be tortured until he talks.”

“Father, he won't survive a minute of torture. He's too weak.”

“Are you sure he's not pretending?”

“If you want to torture him long enough to learn anything, you'd better shift him out of that cell. The rats almost ate his ear off. At this rate, he won't last three days.”

“You're suggesting that I turn him loose?”

“Not at all. Simply put him in the Labyrinth until he gets his health back and is able to bear a touch or two of the hot iron without dying.”

“I'll think about it. Return now to the temple. Dance with your priestesses and pray for rain.”

Since Phaedra had learned that her sister was visiting the castaway, she followed Ariadne everywhere. There is no instinct surer than jealousy—especially when your rival is your sister—and Phaedra had immediately sensed that this stranger was Theseus. She felt helpless. Ariadne had already begun to blossom, especially since the stranger had come, but she, Phaedra, was still a little girl. She examined herself very carefully in a mirror and saw nothing to interest anyone. But if she wasn't ready for Theseus herself, no one else would have him either, especially not Ariadne.

And now things were worse. The prisoner had been transferred to the Labyrinth, which was a dreadful development. For Ariadne, armed with that damned spool Daedalus had given her, could slither in and out of the maze like a hedge-snake.

On this night, Phaedra had followed her sister to the temple of the Horned Moon and perched herself on the outer stone wall. The vestals came out and began to dance. Phaedra hummed wordlessly along with the flutes. The moon was hot and white, and shadows danced among the vestals. One shadow thickened and flowed toward Phaedra. A hand clutched her with enormous strength.

She felt herself being lifted high over a shoulder and borne away with great speed. A heavy arm pressed against the back of her thighs, holding her close. Her head swung against a downy back, rolling with muscle. She was in a swoon of speed, a daze of helplessness, and wanting the ride to go on and on.

Suddenly it was over. She was swung down and set on her feet. Phaedra stood before her abductor. She examined him from the bottom of his hooves to the tip of his horns. He was huge. A dense pelt of golden hair covered his shoulders, chest, belly, and thighs. He looked all golden in the moonlight. His horns glittered, and his eyes were pools of light.

“Hello, Minotaur,” she said.

He grunted.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No.”

“Why did you carry me off, then?”

“I heard you singing. Your voice …” he reached out and touched her lips with the tip of a hard finger.

“What about my voice?”

“My mother used to sing to me. Then, one day, she was in pieces on the ground. Your voice is like hers.”

“Well, she was my mother too.”

“Yours?”

“I'm your sister—half anyway. The one called Phaedra.”

He didn't answer. She was frightened by the silence. His eyes were burning. Finally he spoke.

“You'll stay with me now.”

“Will I?”

“I want you to.”

“Suppose I don't want to?” she said.

“Once you try it, you will.”

“Try what, exactly?”

“Living with me. Doing what I do.”

“But you're a monster. I'm not.”

“You can be anything you like. Look at our mother. She got herself up as a cow to catch my father. And that old wizard who helped her can help you. He'll make you some sharp horns and a pair of razor-hooves, and you'll be able to run the maze with me and have fun with prisoners.”

“What kind of fun?”

“Wild, screechy fun, the kind girls like. Goring with your horns, trampling with your hooves. You'll love it.”

“I'm not so sure.”

“Of course you will. You're my sister, you say.”

“Only half.”

“That's plenty. We have the same crazy mother. And your demon father makes mine look like a bleating calf.”

“I can't stay with you, but I'll come visiting,” she said.

“Every day?”

“Well …”

“If you don't, I'll come get you.”

“Almost every day.… Tell me, do you eat all these people you kill?”

“I don't eat people. That's a myth. I just kill them; the vultures pick their bones. What I eat is grass and things.”

“Grass? I can't eat that.”

“Sing something.”

“Then will you let me go?”

“If you want me to. But I can always come and get you again. And I will—again and again, until you decide you might as well stay.”

“Hush if you want me to sing.”

Ariadne was told that the king wished to see her. She hastened to him. He told her that the stranger was to be given to ritual slaughter.

“I suppose it's necessary, if you say so.”

“The oracles say so. They state that the drought has been caused by a stranger in our midst. And the populace, always ready to relieve its fears with simple answers, has accepted the idea that the castaway is accursed. He comes here, and crops wither in the field. Cattle die; men and women are dying. They believe that only his ritual dismemberment will appease the gods and bring rain.”

“But is that what you believe, Father?”

“I believe the lad is unlucky, for he is to die young. I believe in the drought and the suffering of our people, and their rage and fear. They believe in gods, curses, and oracles, and I welcome such faith. Absolute belief feeds absolute authority. I shall decree the performance of the people's will. You priestesses shall howl your prayers, the bull dancers will perform, and the boy will be given to the Minotaur.”

“And then—suppose it doesn't rain?”

“It will rain, or it will not. If not, I shall detect a flaw in the ritual. The oracles will find another victim. I shall certify his guilt; you will dance again; he will be given to the Minotaur, then dismembered. And so on. It has to rain sometime.”

Ariadne knelt before her father. “As usual, sire, your wisdom leaves me speechless with admiration.”

“One more thing,” said Minos. “I mean you to play a key role in this ceremony. When the bull dancers have finished, you will appear as your ancestress, Europa, being abducted by Zeus in the form of a bull. And that bull shall be the best in all our herds, of tremendous size, unblemished whiteness, and fiery spirit. Following that, the stranger will be brought into the ring and given to the Minotaur. And the drama of what will happen then will divert our poor drought victims, even if it doesn't bring rain.”

Ariadne visited Theseus in the maze and told him what her father had decreed. He laughed.

“What's so funny about the Minotaur? I only hope you find him that amusing when he comes at you in the ring.”

“No use weeping beforehand.”

“You have guts, I'll say that for you. Anyone else would be scared witless.”

“You haven't met many heroes. It's well known we have more guts than wits. Actually, I'm not entirely like that. I have sharp wits and not quite enough courage.”

Ariadne stared at him, then reached into her tunic and pulled out a spool. “Watch,” she said. She tossed the spool onto the ground. It darted through the hedge, out of sight, unreeling itself as it went and leaving one end of its thread in the girl's hand. She whistled. The thread grew taut as the spool wound itself back through the hedge and leaped into her hand.

“Remarkable!” said Theseus.

“Daedalus gave it to me so I could find my way in and out of the maze. I want you to have it. Leave the Labyrinth tonight and try to make your way to the coast.”

“You want me to leave?”

“I don't want you killed. I'll try to follow you.”

“Keep your spool, pretty one. I came here to fight the Minotaur.”

“Do you have any plans for survival?” said Ariadne.

“My only chance is to do what I do best.”

“What's that?”

“Riding,” said Theseus.

“They won't give you a horse. Just a weapon.”

“Yes, but you can help me.”

“How?”

“You'll be aboard a bull, you say.”

“Yes.”

“Listen carefully …”

She listened, then departed, leaving the spool with him.

10

Hero Meets Monster

The bullring at Knossos was a huge grass oval enclosed by stone steps shelving up tier by tier to the height of a hundred feet. The royal box was a pediment of rose marble on which stood a throne of onyx and gold. A white silken canopy supported by four ivory posts shaded the throne.