Lost in the Labyrinth (6 page)

Icarus smiled and said nothing. I felt a prick of annoyance. How dare he? I had studied statecraft and he had not. "Aegeus of Athens has suffered for his crime," I went on. "He has no legitimate heir, I am told, and so the throne will go to another house upon his death. There could be no harsher fate for one of royal blood. You would not understand."

"No, I wouldn't," he agreed. "My pity is reserved for his unfortunate subjects. They are torn from their parents at a tender age and shipped across the sea to a strange country to be fed to an unnatural monster. That's what they believe, you know—that they are to be sacrificed to your brother." He smiled at Asterius, who was at that moment holding a large, angry beetle in his cupped hands and sniffing warily at it.

I smiled also, at the idea of Asterius making a meal of one of his attendants. He ate only fruits and grains; he had never tasted flesh.

Asterius looked very well in this open place with the morning sun on his back; he was still strange, but that strangeness had been transformed into beauty. I wished that others—my father, for instance—could see him as he was at that moment. His interest in the beetle had given his face a nearly human expression, and his carriage was graceful, the sinewy chest and arms carried proudly above his four-legged bull's body.

"You do not approve of slavery, then?" I said, returning to the argument. "But Athenians also own slaves, do they not?"

"As many as they can get," admitted Icarus.

"I am sure that their slaves are not treated half so well as ours. And the Athenians who attend Asterius will likely find themselves in positions of much greater power and comfort than they would ever enjoy at home."

"Perhaps, but it will not
be
their home. Oh, Princess," he said, with unusual seriousness, "I know you are right. It is only that I dislike seeing my own people in bondage."

"But they are not your people, Icarus, not really. Your mother came from Athens and your father's father also, but you were born and raised here on Kefti. You are one of the Keftiu," I said jealously, disliking the idea of Icarus belonging to anyone else.

An outraged snort made us swing our heads around to see what was amiss with Asterius.

"Asterius? What is it?" I demanded of my brother. I stood and hastened toward him, for I could tell that he was angry.

I heard a giggle behind a nearby tree and my heart leapt up into my mouth. Asterius heard it likewise and lowered his head.

"No! Asterius, no!"

He charged the tree as I ran toward him. A gasp of terror, then I saw bright dark eyes and a pair of naked arms and legs shinning up the tree. Asterius's left horn missed the child's right foot by a finger's breadth.

This was not a child of Glaucus's age, who knew no better. This was a boy of ten at least, gangling and skinny as a colt. He had attracted my brother's attention by throwing stones at him and was preparing to do so again.

"
Stop!
" I shouted, as loudly as I could. "Throw no more stones!"

It was too late. My brother had been hit in the eye. He clapped a hand over the injured area and roared. The child quaked in the tree and tossed another pebble in Asterius's direction.

His shape rendering him incapable of climbing the tree, Asterius instead began tearing it to shreds with his bare hands. He reared up on his hind legs and wrenched large limbs off the tree, snapping them off at the base. The boy shrank away and tried to crawl higher.

"Go," I shouted to Icarus. "Go and get his attendants to help me."

"I cannot leave you in such jeopardy, Princess. Let me try to distract him."

"He will pay you no heed. Go!"

Sometimes in play I would ride upon my brother's back, like the athletes in the bull games. He never seemed to mind, though I could tell it seemed a strange sensation to him. Never, however, had I attempted to mount his back when he was in a passion.

I now took a firm grip of his lashing tail and pulled as hard as I could in the direction of a large boulder that could be used as a mounting block. His forefeet dropped to the ground and he turned to see who had him by the tail. I was not fool enough to believe that in this mood Asterius would know me. I scrambled up onto the rock, trying not to think how his horns would feel, cleaving my flesh. Re-leasing his tail, I jumped.

I landed on his broad back with a painful thump that knocked the breath from my lungs. I gripped my arms around his waist and my legs around the barrel of his bull's body. Asterius forgot the boy in this new, unexpected situation; he bucked and kicked furiously. As the world heaved and lurched beneath me, I caught a glimpse of Icarus, his jaw slack in amazement. Madly, I found myself wanting to laugh.

A sudden plunge caused me to bite my lip, and all urge to hilarity left me.

"Go!" I shouted, but I could see that the Athenians, alerted by our cries, had drawn near of their own accord.

Asterius tore my hands from him and flung them away like the frailest of cobwebs. I slipped perilously to one side, clawing at his flank with my fingers. One shrewd twist and I would go sliding to my death under those plunging hooves. By great good luck he suddenly lurched to a halt, apparently overcome by the need to express his rage. He pounded his chest with his clenched fists and bellowed until the woods echoed.

Grasping handfuls of his hide and squirming, wormlike, upward, I managed to pull and push myself onto his back once more.

"Asterius, my brother!" I called to him. "Do not murder me, I beg of you. It is I, Xenodice!"

He snorted, as if derisively, and began to gallop at tremendous speed around the clearing. He did not attempt to penetrate the dense brush nearby or descend the mountain—the path was steep and rocky. I believe also that the clearing reminded him of his home in the Bull Pen.

The boy, I saw, was still up in the tree, held captive by fear.

Asterius was beginning to tire. He breathed enormously, his sides heaved, his whole body was slick with sweat. His eye was still wild and there was foam on his lips, yet I thought I might tame him. I spoke to him again, my voice firmer this time.

"All is well, Lord Asterius," I said. "We must be calm so that we may travel down the mountain and seek medical attention for your eye." He slowed his pace a little; he was listening. "All is well," I crooned, "all is well."

Gradually he came to a halt. His head swiveled around and he saw me. He shook himself all over, as if to throw off his angry mood, nearly dislodging me as well. I clung to him, however, and even risked loosening my death clasp around his waist to pat him cautiously.

At this moment, the boy in the tree chose to loose his last stone at my brother.

"I'll kill the little beast myself ifl ever get the opportunity" was my last coherent thought as we reared into the air and I clamped my arms and legs about Asterius again.

Icarus and the attendants now reappeared—I realized I had not seen them for a time. I later learned that they had withdrawn from sight behind trees, disliking to interfere while I had him under some sort of control. Now there was nothing to be lost by their presence and everything to be gained. They closed in and flung a net—brought along for just such an emergency—over us both.

Asterius fought against the confining net for some time, until every tooth in my head felt as though it had been jarred loose and the muscles of my arms and thighs were on fire and my wrist, which had been damaged in the struggle, became a torment to me.

At last, at last, he groaned and sank to his knees. Moving swiftly as thought, Icarus sliced a long slit in the net and tried to pull me through it. I had held my position so long, however, that it was difficult to unclench myself Icarus had to pry my frozen fingers loose and gently drag me away, ever in mortal dread of Asterius's swinging horns.

Icarus tried to carry me away from Asterius, but I protested. In a weak voice I directed him. "No, let him see me. It may help. We have yet to get him down the mountainside."

Icarus therefore laid me down near Asterius, where I could reach out a hand, still rigidly curled into a hawk's talons, and rest it on his flank. Asterius was ashamed, I could tell. He would not look at me, but hung his head mournfully and lowed like a cow.

I scolded him in a soft voice while Icarus examined my wrist.

"It is beyond my knowledge, Princess," Icarus said. "I do not believe it is broken, but there are many small bones in the wrist, any one of which may be shattered without the fact being obvious. We will have the doctor Asclepius look at it when we return. He is said to be the best in the world, and I know him to be kind and gentle."

At length I thought to ask about the boy in the tree.

"He is gone, my lady," said one of the Athenians, a woman. The servants were squatting on the ground in a circle about us, still panting a bit with their own late exertions. "I looked to see, but he was off and gone by the time I did."

"That boy should be fed to the lion in the Queen's Menagerie," observed another of the servants.

"I nearly agree with you," I said in a shaky voice.

"Certainly I would have left the little whelp to his own fate and then said nothing more about it," said Icarus.

"No, you would not," I said.

"No, perhaps not," he concurred. "But now there can be no attempt at hushing this up. Even if," he glanced at the Athenians, "even if we could all be trusted to hold our tongues, there is your wrist. It must be tended and you will not be able to use it for a time. That will cause comment."

I had not got that far in my thoughts yet. Icarus was right. The tale would undoubtedly spread and gain color and volume as it did so. People—most especially my father—would be convinced that Asterius was a wild and untamable beast.

"Could we not—" My eyes traveled around the ring of Athenians and I knew it would not do. They were sympathetic now, but they would not hold their tongues, all the same.

I stood up straight, cradling my wrist, and addressed the Athenians. "We who were here today know what happened. The boy hid behind a tree and threw stones at the Lord Asterius. Only when the Lord Asterius was injured did he seek to harm the boy. I charge you, tell the tale that way. Do not let people believe that my brother attacked an innocent child. As it is," I turned and looked at my brother. "I fear I will not be able to take him outside the Labyrinth again for a very longtime, if ever."

The Athenians nodded and made obeisance to me. Icarus made sure of their word by discreetly passing a few coins about the circle. Soon I stood and flexed my muscles, preparing for the long journey down the mountain. As I moved cautiously about, I guessed that I would be most dreadfully sore when I woke next morning, but save for my wrist, there did not seem any serious damage.

Icarus, who had been watching me, called out, loud and clear: "Hail, Bull Rider!" It was the salute given to those who have successfully ridden the bull in the bull games without falling off or being gored.

The Athenians saluted me likewise, crying in unison: "Hail, Bull Rider!"

Traitorous tears started without warning from my eyes, and my cheeks burned like fire. I bowed briefly, as the bull dancers do, more to hide my face than for any other reason, and then quickly turned to look out to sea.

There was a black speck among the dancing sea lights. It was still so far away that I could not make it out.

"Icarus," I said, and pointed.

His eyes were sharper than mine. "It is the black sail," he said. "My Lord Asterius's new servants come."

Behind me, I heard the Athenians give a soft, sighing cry.

"Y
OU BREAK YOUR WORD OF HONOR TO ME, YOUR DAUGHTER
and heir, for that posturing ninny?"

I stared at Ariadne, fascinated. I had never seen her so angry. Every drop of blood seemed to have drained from her face. The very hair on her head was alive and waving with fury. Her fists were balled, as though she would strike our mother as she sat on her throne.

"That "posturing ninny" restored your brother Glaucus to life," Mother remarked calmly, leaning back and studying her daughter. "He deserves a reward. Several rewards, in fact. I value all my children, not my daughters alone."

"Then give him a reward, by all means. Give him land, a house, a ship, whatever he desires, but don't give him my Athenian."

Mother's eyes grew cold. "None of the Athenians are yours, daughter. They are mine, to dispose of as I see fit."

"You promised!" Ariadne was now nearly spitting with rage.

I wished I were closer to Ariadne so that I might kick her ankle or deliver a warning pinch to her arm. She was going too far. Ours was a loving mother, but she did not allow disobedience or disrespect from any of her children. As things were, I was too far away, sitting on the floor in a corner of the throne room nursing my damaged arm and playing quietly with Phaedra and baby Molus. The servants who normally cared for them were busy, preparing a feast to mark yesterday's arrival of the new Athenians. Ariadne paid my worried glances no heed.

"I said that you might be allowed to keep one of the Athenians if nothing further came up. Something further has come up. The last Athenian will go to Polyidus." Mother made an abrupt gesture of dismissal. "You may go now, daughter."

Stony-faced, Ariadne executed a sketchy salute that barely escaped insolence in its brevity. She turned and moved stiffly toward the door.

"By the bye, Ariadne," my mother said softly, "you are not my heir. Acalle is my oldest daughter."

Ariadne halted, as though a rock had struck her squarely between the shoulder blades.

I closed my eyes and prayed that my sister would keep silent and go.

Praise the Lady, my prayer was heard. Ariadne stood still for a long moment. Then she walked away without a word.

I regarded my mother with some surprise. She had not the look of a woman who believed her oldest daughter dead or beyond recall; she was smiling a little, unmindful of my eyes upon her.

But where could Acalle be? Had my mother recent tidings of her, that she smiled so? Why not then announce them? Perhaps she had known all along where Acalle was. What if Acalle were absent at her request and conniving? My mother had not wept a tear when this oldest, most precious daughter had disappeared.