Minotaur Page 3

  Did Minos think for a moment that Poseidon would not notice? Poseidon saw much of what transpired in the world those days. He did indeed witness Minos’s betrayal and the displeasure of a god—especially one as mighty as the Sea God—is not something to be courted. Poseidon decided to punish Minos for his arrogance.

  At that time, there lived a master craftsman. He went by the name Daedalus. The stories tell that my mother sought out Daedalus and asked him to craft her a device whereby she could conduct the act of love with the bull. I have heard that this device was made of wood and leather and would have enabled the bull to mount her. When I heard these rumors, I felt true rage. At that time, I conducted myself in a manner that probably added to my bestial reputation.

  While it’s true that Daedalus was a member of the King’s court, Daedalus never crafted such a ludicrous device.

  The gods have a certain bleak sense of humor. Poseidon wanted to remind Minos of his arrogance. When I was born, those present were horrified. One of the midwives screamed and fainted. Why? Because I was born with tiny horns on my head. My mother tells me that Minos’s face blanched as white as the bull that was the cause of his shame and fled in a rage.

  I suppose you might be wondering why Minos didn’t have me killed immediately. Minos tried to do exactly that but was denied by Poseidon himself. The great god of the sea appeared just as Minos reached for me, presumably in the act of infanticide.

  Poseidon commanded that I would never die at Minos’s hand. At first, I suspect Minos probably feared the wrath of Poseidon but this lessoned with the passage of time. Other emotions eventually overwhelmed this fear and his impulses were—unfortunately for me—finally acted upon. In all fairness, Minos did obey the letter—although not the spirit—of Poseidon’s command. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

  Minos immediately hated me and his hatred of my mother knew no bounds. He refused to see either one of us again. This suited my mother, and for a while, she knew peace and happiness. She named me Asterion, the starry one, and loved me like all good mothers, despite my deformity.

  Eventually, my father saw her again but only at night, fuelled by drunken lust, when there was no chance he could come face to face with me, his shame. She produced three more sons and a daughter with Minos: Catreus, Deucalion, Glaucus, and Ariadne. My half-brothers and half-sister. Minos had another illegitimate child with a village girl. Their daughter was called Phaedra. Even though she was a commoner, she was so beautiful and sweet natured that Minos brought her to court and treated her with almost as much favor as he did with my eldest half-brother, Androgeus.

  My childhood was filled with mixed memories—some good, most bad. Androgeus was one of the good ones. He was four years older than me and was everything an older brother should be. Kind, patient, loving. Apart from my mother and Phaedra, he was my most formative influence. I remember him as a figure larger than life. He had almost a god-like presence to him. Everyone loved him but no one more than I.

  I’ve been told I was extremely strong for my age and larger than a boy had a right to be, but clumsy with it. And of course, there were the horns. My robust size, however, made me a perfect playmate for my older brother. Most older brothers seek playmates their own age but for some reason, Androgeus and I bonded.

  Androgeus was everything a father wanted in a son: tall, strong, agile, and handsome. While I might have been two of those things, only my mother considered me anything but clumsy and plain. My heavy blunt features hardly made the girls swoon.

  Androgeus and I used to explore the myriad rooms, halls, and the vast grounds of the palace together. The palace was a source of wonderment. With over thirteen hundred rooms, there was always something new to discover. I was his constant shadow, and it was his presence that stopped others from treating me with the horror and distaste I became accustomed to later in life. I remember the looks servants would give as we played our games; their gazes would soften with love for Androgeus but harden as soon as they saw me. I was a freak. Not only that, but I had brought shame onto the house of Minos and the kingdom of Crete.

  I must’ve been around five years of age when I asked my brother why they treated me like they did.

  “Because you’re different,” he answered.

  “Why am I different?”

  Androgeus tousled my hair fondly. “Don’t you know, little brother? What are these things here?” he asked, fingering the horns sprouting from my forehead.

  “Horns?” I ventured.

  He smiled at me. “Yes, they are! Do I have them? Does anyone else?”

  I shook my head sadly, confused.

  “Well, that makes you different then,” he announced.

  “Why do I have horns?”

  “Ask our mother,” he said and would say no more.

  As he suggested, I took my concerns to our mother. She had her own suite of rooms in the palace, far removed from those of Minos. The palace was immense, large enough that Pasiphae and Minos only encountered each other by accident. Other than the times his desire overcame his disgust, when he’d creep around like a thief in the night, he and my mother only saw each other a few times each year.

  When she saw me, Queen Pasiphae smiled sweetly and held out her arms. I rushed into her embrace, and she gathered me into her bosom. It was times like this when I felt truly safe, truly loved. I looked up at her.

  “Why do people hate me?” I asked.

  She looked slightly startled by the question. “What makes you think they hate you? And who are these people you talk about?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, gesturing vaguely. “People. Everyone. Well, everyone except you and Androgeus. No one looks at me. When they do, I see their faces change.”

  She rubbed my back. “Don’t let it worry you, my sweet Prince. I love you, and your brother loves you, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Why does my father never see me?” I asked. I had seen him around the palace, of course, but he always managed to make his excuses and depart as soon as I entered a room. I’d heard the rumors too, how the King wasn’t my real father. Palace gossip reliably informed me that my father had been a monster.

  Pasiphae looked down at me, wrinkles creasing her forehead. Even at that age, I suddenly realized that my mother was getting older. Having so many children was taking its toll as well.

  “He’s a busy man, your father. Being a king is a big responsibility.”

  “But he makes time for Androgeus,” I complained.

  “That’s because your brother is older and will one day be the King himself. Your father is trying to teach him how to rule.”

  “Is my father really my father?” I asked, blurting the question out, not really wanting to hear the answer.

  “Hush,” said my mother. “Don’t ask such silly questions.”

  And that was the end of the discussion.

  It was a few years later that Androgeus began his real training to prepare him to be King. This meant (much to my disgust) that Androgeus was no longer available to explore and play. He was getting older and becoming a man while I was still but a boy.

  As much as I resented the change, it did bring a new presence into my life. Phaedra. I was only around ten at the time, but other than my mother, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She was about the same age as I but slim as a reed where I was thick and stout as a tree. She had long hair the color of gold and skin so tanned it shone with an almost otherworldly luster.

  As one of Minos’s favorites, she could do no wrong and her nature reflected this in some ways. She took risks where others wouldn’t dare and possessed a restless, lively sense of humor I often couldn’t compete with. I couldn’t wrestle with her, but she could climb better than I could ever hope to. We spent days doing just that. She would climb to the very tip of the branches, causing my heart to quicken with fear. I stayed far below where the larger branches could support my ever-increasing weight.

  There
was a certain tree, a cypress, centuries old, grown huge and tall, far more massive than any other tree in the palace gardens. Our nurse, Alcippe, had told us to stay away from it as it was dangerous and full of rot. Large limbs had a tendency to fall with lethal effect on any who were unfortunate to be beneath them at the time.

  Because of this, that part of the garden tended to be deserted. Perfect for young people to play their games. Phaedra, I, and the younger children would often use the tree as the center point for whatever other adventures the day brought.

  My other siblings were away playing their own games. It was just Phaedra and I sitting quietly beneath the tree. Every moment we spent in its shadow made me more breathless as my fear threatened to overwhelm me. Phaedra appeared unconcerned. I could tell she was bored, fidgeting with the straps on her sandals.

  “What shall we do?” I asked, more to break the silence than anything else.

  Phaedra looked up at me, a calculating look in her eye. “What would you like to do?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Whatever you want.” I was always keen to please her, and she often took the lead in any games we played.

  “You could kiss me if you wanted,” she said archly.

  I didn’t know what to say to that. What ten-year-old boy does? I blushed furiously. “But, I’m your brother,” I stammered. “I can’t kiss you.” I knew I couldn’t, but a large part of me really wanted to.

  “Ah,” said Phaedra, waggling one finger in front of my face knowingly, “But are you?”

  “What?” I replied, too stunned to think of a more sensible response.

  “Are you really my brother?” she asked again.

  The question immediately placed doubts in my mind, doubts fuelled by the other palace rumors. “Yes,” I said, sounding anything but confident.

  “I heard a rumor the other day,” she said. “A rumor that your father was a bull. That’s why you have those horns.”

  I fingered the horns on my head self-consciously. Lately, they’d been getting longer and longer. It seemed that every year they grew, much to my embarrassment. Even growing my hair long couldn’t conceal them. I snatched my hands away furiously and stood.

  “My father is not a bull,” I declared. “He’s Minos. The King of Crete. The same father as yours except my mother is a Queen and not some village whore.” That was a mistake. Unlike Phaedra, I was always a little clumsy with words. Sometimes they flew out of my mouth without me even realizing what I’d said. This time, however, I knew I’d said something unforgiveable and desperately wanted to suck the words back in. It was too late though. They were out there and had already reached Phaedra’s ears.

  Her mouth twitched in anger, and she sprang to her feet. The silence in the grove was broken by the sound of a slap, then another. I felt my cheek burn as blood rushed to my face.

  “How dare you,” she snarled through gritted teeth. “My mother wasn’t a whore. The King loved her. I loved her.”

  Her mother had died in childbirth a few years earlier, straining to push out another of the King’s illegitimate children. To call her mother a whore was one thing, to dishonor her memory was another. Desperate to make amends, I looked around frantically.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  With that, I began climbing the tree.

  “Don’t,” said Phaedra. I felt a thrill as I heard the note of worry in her voice. She was concerned about me. She cared.

  I ignored her, heaving myself up into the limbs of the trees. They creaked alarmingly under my weight.

  “I know you didn’t mean it, Asterion. I forgive you. Please come down. You’ll hurt yourself.” She knew I wasn’t much of a climber.

  I was beginning to have second thoughts. She was right—this was probably going to end badly. But I didn’t care. I had hurt her, and now I’d make it up to her. Make her realize that I was sincere in my apologies.

  I climbed higher. An ancient limb, thicker than my thigh, cracked, suddenly snapping under my weight. I saved myself by reflex, reaching out, desperately grasping another branch with one hand. Thankfully, it held, and I secured my hold with both hands. I breathed a sigh of relief, and it was only then that I heard it. Sobbing.

  I looked down. The limb had crashed to the leaf littered ground below. Unfortunately, Phaedra was standing directly below. The limb had struck her and pinned her beneath its weight.

  Heedless of my own safety, I plunged downward, inadvertently dislodging smaller limbs, which rained down upon the ground. Fortunately, this time, none struck her.

  I reached the bottom of the tree, breathless, and bent down next to Phaedra. Glistening droplets of sweat had broken out on her forehead and weak moans of agony escaped her lips. The branch was heavy but I didn’t notice, tossing it aside easily. I examined Phaedra’s leg. It appeared broken, the skin already discolored, the flesh surrounding it starting to swell.

  “I’m so sorry, Phaedra,” I moaned. It pained me to think I was the cause of her distress. Bravely, she tried to smile reassuringly, but it emerged as a grimace.

  Unwilling to move her but frightened that more tree limbs might fall, I sheltered her with my body, making her as comfortable as possible. I called out, and eventually Catreus, Deucalion, Ariadne, and Glaucus returned.

  The twins, Catreus and Deucalion, were the eldest of my younger brothers, and I sent them off to seek help. Ariadne and Glaucus stayed behind.

  “You’re in trouble now,” smirked Ariadne. I flinched, knowing she was right. Ariadne, two years younger than I, hated me already. I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve it, but she did. I suspected it was in order to curry favor with our father, but she was also mean-spirited and vain. She spent hours fussing over her long dark locks and was fastidious about staying tidy, regardless of how rough our games were.

  “I’m going to tell father,” said Glaucus. Temperament wise, Glaucus was very much in the same mold as Ariadne. He followed her around like a puppy, even though he was only a year younger than her. He seemed to lack a will of his own, content to follow Ariadne’s lead. Neither one displayed any concern for Phaedra’s predicament. It was merely an opportunity to get me into trouble—one they weren’t going to miss.

  I fussed about Phaedra, trying to ignore them. I felt like crying but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Fear of my father and his displeasure started to override my concern for Phaedra. I almost wished that no one would come. But that would mean Phaedra’s suffering would be prolonged, and that was unforgiveable.

  We didn’t have to wait long. Catreus and Deucalion returned with Alcippe and two guards.

  “What happened?” demanded Alcippe. I explained, leaving out the details of why I climbed. Alcippe nodded curtly. “That’s why I told you not to climb that tree. Children never listen.” She was a good woman. Middle-aged and childless, she regarded all of us as her own—even me. I was not her favorite by any means, but she still treated me kindly, despite the circulated rumors, pettiness, and spitefulness indulged in by others in the palace.

  She gestured to the two guards. “Pick her up. Gently. Take her back to the nursery.” The guards complied. I held Phaedra’s hand all the way back to the palace, trying to comfort her when the jostling caused her to cry out in pain.

  A healer had already been sent for and waited in the nursery. Phaedra was set down on a pallet, and we children gathered around with a mix of curiosity, excitement, and, in my case, worry.

  Unfortunately, Alcippe was having none of it. She ushered us out despite our protests. “Your time will come when you’ll see all too much of this,” she explained somewhat cryptically. “And that time has not yet begun.”

  The waiting was terrible. The five of us camped out in the playroom—a vast open area attached to the nursery, the high ceiling supported by stone columns. Mosaics and paintings of children playing adorned the walls, and it had huge windows that were open all year long. Wooden toys of every description fille
d the room, some of which the other children began playing with. Not I. I sat on the ledge of one massive window, staring out gloomily over the palace grounds.

  Catreus and Deucalion made an effort to comfort me, but I could tell they were more interested in sparring with wooden swords. I didn’t blame them. They were good boys, almost identical and only a year younger than I, both fair to look on. Like Phaedra and Androgeus, they were palace favorites, their easygoing manners endearing them to most. Their ability to finish each other’s sentences never failed to fascinate me.

  “She’ll be fine,” said Catreus.

  “Yes,” said Deucalion. “Don’t worry about her. It was … ”

  “ … an accident, after all,” finished Catreus.

  I nodded but couldn’t help but blame myself. I had done this to her. Because of my foolish words and actions.

  Alcippe finally returned an hour later. It seemed like much longer. I hadn’t moved, fidgeting nervously by the window. I rushed toward her, the others gathering around more slowly.

  “Well?” I asked. “Will she be alright?”

  Alcippe nodded. “Thanks to the healer. He has set her bones. They will heal straight and true. It was a very simple break, but she’ll have to be treated gently for the next few weeks.” She looked significantly at me.

  “Lucky,” sneered Ariadne.

  “Can I see her?” I asked, completely ignoring my younger sister.

  “Of course,” said Alcippe.

  Without bothering to see if the others followed, I scurried into the room next door. Phaedra was propped up on a pillow, smiling as she caught sight of me. I was enormously relieved to see she had apparently already forgiven me.

  The healer was finishing wrapping her leg in white cloth, the splints already in place. He ignored me.

  “How are you?” I asked. It was a stupid question, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “It hurts,” she said, speaking around a mouthful of something. If the smell was anything to go by, it was probably the bark of a willow tree. Healers seemed to dispense it for any type of pain. My mother had chewed it through all her many labors.