Odysseus in the Serpent Maze (13 page)

“What a terrible thing to do to rubies,” Helen commented.

Odysseus couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh and laugh.

Penelope joined him.

Even Mentor began to giggle.

“Well, it
is
,” Helen said.

With that, they all simply rolled on the floor, convulsed.

It took a while before they could stop laughing. But at last Odysseus sat up and poked the dog with his foot.

A few more wheels fell out of its chest.

“If I ever meet Master Daedalus …” he began.

“He’s long in his grave,” Mentor said. “If you’d listened to that bard…”

But Odysseus was already walking across the room to the chest that the dog had been guarding. “Let’s see what manner of treasure that beast was keeping safe.” He didn’t tell them that walking helped him control the shakes. His legs were twitching just as the bronze dog’s had. Odysseus refused to believe it was fear that made his legs tremble. After all, what was there to be afraid of now?

He lifted the lid of the chest. What he saw inside was the last thing he’d expected to see.

The chest was filled with thin sheets of pale leaflike material inscribed with drawings and symbols.

“Script,” he said disgustedly. “Nothing but script. Penelope—can you read this?”

She got up, came over, and took the papyrus from his hands. Spreading the sheets out over one of the long tables, she pored over them for many minutes. Finally she looked up.

“Well?” Odysseus asked.

“I can read some of it. I’ve watched my father’s scribes enough,” she said. “Here’s Daedalus’ name again.” She pointed to the bottom of one page.

Odysseus took the golden key out of his tunic and compared the two groups of signs. “I can see that,” he growled. “What else?”

Penelope frowned and looked down again at the papyrus. “It’s full of long, complicated words I’ve never heard of before. Things like
high-draw-lick.
And
awe-toe-mat-ick.”

Mentor sat down next to her. “Where does it say that?”

She showed him the script on the page. “I think these are instructions for making things, because there are drawings of many strange things too.” She pointed out a tall, pointed building, a strange-looking chair with legs like a woman’s, water flowing down a series of complicated channels, a pair of wings, a plated hound.

“That’s the dog we just fought,” Helen said.

No one argued with her use of “we”.

“And there’s the ship,” Odysseus said, picking up four of the sheets on which both the outside and the inside of the ship were drawn. The inside drawings showed clearly how the wheels and rods fitted together to make the oars work. There was also a lot of script on the page, which meant nothing to him now. He stuffed the papyrus down the front of his tunic and promised himself that when he got back to Ithaca, he would learn how to read it.

When.

Not
if
.

Just then Helen—who’d been unaccountably and blessedly silent—gave an awful yelp and tumbled to the floor. A marble plinth that she’d sat down on was even now sinking into the floor.

“Is this another of Daedalus’ tricks?” she cried.

Before anyone could respond, there was a thunderous rumbling from somewhere above their heads.

“A storm?” Penelope asked.

Odysseus’ eyes narrowed; his mouth went dry. A prickling at the back of his neck warned him that something much more serious was about to befall them, only he didn’t know what.

The thundering sound was closer now.

And louder.

The room began to shake.

Suddenly, with an awful certainty, Odysseus knew.

“Get out!” he cried, pushing the others towards the door. “Out! Out! Out!”

Penelope grabbed Helen by the arm and dragged her through the door, down the dark passage towards the great bronze door, which was still agape.

As they got closer, a huge boulder crashed down in front of the opening and rolled away towards the stone jetty.

“By the Furies!” Mentor gasped. “Are the gods playing skittles with us?”

“Not the gods,” Odysseus cried. “Daedalus.” He took a deep breath. “We’ve got to get out of here right now!”

More boulders rolled down from the cliffs above them.

“If we go out, we’ll be crushed,” Penelope shouted back.

“If we get pinned inside here, we’ll be buried alive,” he replied, charging outside.

The others followed, but they looked up fearfully. The entire cliff face was breaking apart above them, sending torrents of stones large and small tumbling down towards the harbour.

“The tunnel,” Helen screamed. “We’ll be safe there.” She lifted her skirts and began running straight towards the sea cave. But as she ran, one of her sandal straps broke, and she fell, sprawling, some twenty steps short of her goal.

“Helen!” Mentor cried. Without hesitating, he scooped her up in his arms and ran with her towards the cave. As he ran, a small stone glanced off his ear and a larger one grazed his back, but he kept to his feet.

Right behind him came Penelope, and then Odysseus. At the last minute, Odysseus turned and looked back at the ship.

Huge rocks the size of horses were raining down on it, splintering the decks.

“Nooooo,” he moaned as the hull buckled and cracked.

Then Penelope grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into the sea cave just as a boulder the size of the bronze hound hit the ground where he’d been standing.

He touched his tunic, where the papyrus drawings were stowed.
If it takes me years,
he thought,
I’ll build another such ship, greater than the
Argo
my father sailed on.
And, he promised himself, he’d make a voyage such as no man had ever made before.

“I swear this by the gods,” he whispered.

Only Penelope heard, and she didn’t ask him what it was he swore. It was as if she already knew.

W
HILE THEY HUDDLED ANKLE-DEEP
in water, the rocks outside the tunnel piled up until they were all but blocking the tunnel mouth. The walls vibrated with the impact of stone upon stone.

“We need to get out of here before the roof collapses,” Odysseus said, starting to slog through towards the open end.

Mentor agreed. “Lucky the tide’s going out, or we could have been drowned.”

The girls followed right behind them, though Helen limped slightly because of her missing sandal.

When they emerged out the other side, they all blinked in the sudden light.

“Dry land and daylight,” Helen said, pointing to a shingle of sand. “Things are looking better.” She stumbled towards the sand.

Penelope and Mentor cried out together, “Helen, no!” Odysseus reached for his dagger.

Out of the woods above the beach a dozen armed men suddenly appeared, striding towards them. Four held spears, three mighty bows with the arrows already nocked; the rest had drawn swords.

Odysseus took his hand away from the knife.
A boy with a knife
, he reasoned with himself,
is no match for fully armed men
. He brought his hand up weaponless.
Better to use my brain
.

“We come in peace!” he cried.

One young man, in bright bronze armour and a high-crested helmet, strode ahead of the others. He had a fierce hawk face.

When he got close to them, he laughed and called over his shoulder, “Stand easy, men. These are only children.” He was scarcely older himself.

Odysseus bristled.
I’m no child
, he thought.
I’m a prince of Ithaca, old enough to have already slain a boar, rescued two princesses from pirates, and beaten a bronze hound
. But he didn’t say it aloud.

One of the swordsmen, grey-bearded, with corded muscles and a deep scar over his right eye, stepped between them. He held his sword chest-high and pointed right at Odysseus’ throat.

“Idomeneus, my prince,” he said in a gravelly voice, “in this place who knows what form an enemy may take. Remember that young Theseus, who slew the beast in the maze, was but a boy. Remember the trickery of Daedalus and his little son.”

“You worry too much, Bosander,” said the prince. He took off his helmet and wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand.

The older man didn’t lower his sword and, once again, Odysseus’ fingers went to the hilt of his dagger, which he pulled out slowly, insolently.

“Hsst,” Penelope said in his ear, “what are you thinking? One knife against a dozen armed men? You’ll just get us all killed.”

Odysseus knew she was right. But he’d already figured that out on his own. He hated that she didn’t trust him.

Bosander knocked the knife from Odysseus’ unresisting fingers with his sword.

“I was just giving it to you, old man,” Odysseus said. “No need to stand a sword’s length away.”

Bosander moved close and pulled at the thong around Odysseus’ neck with more roughness than was necessary.

A gasp went through the men.

“Look, my lord!” one cried.

Idomeneus stiffened. “Take it, Bosander!”

The grey-bearded soldier sliced the thong with his sword and, dropping the bronze spearhead on the sand, kept the golden key.

“Are you brigands waiting to rob us when we have done you no harm?” Odysseus demanded, his voice hotter than his heart.

Idomeneus glowered at him. “Mind your tongue, stripling!” he warned. “Though you’re an Achaean by your speech, you’re still a stranger here. Be careful how you address the son of Deucalion, king of Crete.”

Glowering in silence, Odysseus knelt and picked up his humble amulet, tying it around his neck once more.

Bosander handed the gold key to Idomeneus. “This is surely the key the man Praxios spoke of, my prince. He didn’t lie.”

“Few men lie when faced with the threat of the Labyrinth,” the prince remarked slowly. His eyes grew hooded, the lids closing halfway down. He took a step closer to Odysseus, looking more like a hawk than ever. “How did you come by this key, boy?”

Odysseus shrugged the insult away, but a deep line grew between his eyes. “It was just lying there in the sea cave. I almost missed it in the dark. But my foot connected with it, and it rang out against the stone wall. Never leave gold lying about, I say.”

“What were you doing in the cave?” Bosander asked.

“We took shelter from a storm and rock slide,” Odysseus replied innocently. “When we emerged, there you were, waiting for us. Not much of a reception for
children
in this Crete of yours.”

Idomeneus eyed the others. “We had no storm on
this
side. And
whose
children are you?”

Ever mindful of his grandfather’s warning that knowledge was a two-edged weapon, Odysseus was about to begin a false story. But Helen stepped in front of him.

“I am Helen, princess of Sparta, captured by pirates and escaped here by the grace of the gods. I demand in the name of my father King Tyndareus that you treat me with the respect proper to my station. And my handmaiden Penelope as well.”

Odysseus cursed silently, but Idomeneus seemed impressed.

Even more than impressed.

Struck down like Mentor, possibly unmanned.

Which may be to our advantage
, Odysseus thought. He kept silent and watched the Cretan prince.

Idomeneus bowed. “Despite the dirt and the worn clothes, I can well believe you’re a princess. But alas, Helen of Sparta, at the moment I have little hospitality to offer you.” He turned back to Bosander. “Watch them all while I go into that cave.”

Key in hand, he headed into the sea cave. A moment later he was out again, roaring. He brandished the key in Odysseus’ face. “What’s happened here?”

“I don’t know,” Odysseus said, keeping his voice guileless, though the crease between his eyes deepened. “We took shelter in the cave, and suddenly there was a sound of rocks falling, and the walls began to shake. We ran this way, afraid of being buried alive.”

“And you saw nothing of what lies beyond?” demanded Idomeneus.

Odysseus shook his head.

Idomeneus turned to Helen. “Is this true, princess?” His eyes narrowed. “If you truly
are
a princess.”

“
If
I’m a princess?” Helen’s voice rose with her indignation. “When you insult me this way, what reason have I to answer?”

She folded her arms and looked at him from under a fringe of hair. It was the kind of look that could bring strong men to their knees, and Idomeneus was young enough to be smitten. But Odysseus thought he detected a false note in Helen’s voice. Suddenly he realised that Helen was playacting.

Thank you
, he whispered under his breath. It would buy them some time. Time, he knew, was always on the side of the prisoner.

“I meant no insult, princess. But I must know
everything
about this key. See—it’s marked with the name of the traitor, Daedalus. Everything of his interests us. We shall return to the city and see what my father has to say.” He put a hand on Helen’s arm. “You come with me, Helen of Sparta. As for the others …” He turned to Bosander.

“Bring them all along,” Bosander suggested.

Idomeneus nodded. His men jumped to do his bidding, and Odysseus, Penelope, and Mentor were suddenly and ably surrounded and taken in hand.

They marched back into the woods and along a well-worn trail. Helen’s sandalless foot was bound up by Idomeneus with a piece of cloth ripped from his own tunic.

The trail led across rugged foothills to a plain where twenty chariots waited, guarded by armed men. The Cretan horses were small, black, and well muscled, with slim heads and eager legs.

“Back to the city,” Bosander commanded.

The four were not treated roughly, but separated and placed in different chariots. At a signal from the prince, the charioteers slapped their reins against the horses’ rumps, and the little horses began to pull.

Odysseus was impressed with how smoothly the Cretan horses ran, galloping in quick, short bursts of speed. He said so to the charioteer, who glanced briefly over a shoulder at him.

“Specially bred. We keep brothers together. The king is a horse lover. So is his son.” The charioteer spoke in short bursts too.