Lost in the Labyrinth by Patrice Kindl (ereader with android txt) 📗

As Daedalus translated my mother’s words, Theseus’s face darkened. He sputtered a bit in his own language and then, stabbing himself in the chest with his forefinger, shouted, “I! I! I do not fight—” He struggled for a moment and then twisted around and demanded the proper words from Daedalus.

“No, do not speak!” said Daedalus. “I will answer for you!”

“I speak!” roared Theseus. “I speak!”

Daedalus shrugged, and after a few moments’ consultation Theseus turned back to the queen.

“I do not fight old, tired, tame bulls! I am Theseus of Athens and Troezen, a prince and a hero! The greatest hero of our time!”

The audience looked at him skeptically.

Theseus rumbled, “These animals I see here today are—they have no—they are not manly. They are like cows. I do not fight with cows. I come here to kill the monster and no other do I fight.”

The queen lifted her eyebrows.

“The monster?” she inquired.

Daedalus shook his head mournfully. “Ohi, Theseus, ohi. Do not say it.”

“The monster! He who has devoured so many of my people! I kill him. I kill the Minotaur!”

Chapter Eight

My Father’s Son

“THAT WAS THE MOST CONTRARY, HEADSTRONG, IDIOTIC YOUNG man it has ever been my fortune to meet,” said Daedalus.

When the Festival of the Bulls was over, Ariadne had, without a word to anyone, run down into the arena. Unhappily, I followed her, Queta riding on my head and complaining shrilly in my ear. Ariadne seemed different. I didn’t like it, and I meant to see what she did next.

We wended our way through the hordes of departing worshipers and at length caught up with Daedalus, who was striding along on his way to the artisans’ studios. It appeared that Ariadne wished to question Daedalus about the man Theseus.

“Surely not idiotic,” objected Ariadne.

“Yes, idiotic, Princess. I explained three times that the Minotaur, as they call Lord Asterius, does not eat flesh at all, let alone human flesh. And even in Athens they must have heard rumors that the ‘Minotaur’ is the son of the queen, not of Minos. The fool would barely suffer me to address the queen rather than Minos. And why should he think that either ruler would allow him to butcher their son? He has lost not only his liberty but, very shortly, his life. And all because he would not listen!”

“Oh, but have I not heard you say how different it is over there on the mainland?” said Ariadne eagerly. “How could he know? How could he credit a world in which everything is so altered from all that is familiar to him?”

“Because I told him so,” snapped Daedalus. Icarus’s father was old—nearly fifty—and the combination of his age and his great value to our queen made him less respectful toward persons of consequence than he should have been.

“Look here, Princess,” he said, in a more civil tone. “Let us say that you are a young person but lately departed from your mother’s hearth, and that you find yourself at the mercy of one of the most powerful rulers in the world.

“Now, let us suppose that you are the legal and rightful possession of this mighty queen, to be disposed of as she sees fit,” Daedalus went on. “And let us also suppose that this queen has every cause to hate you and wish you dead. Why then, Princess Ariadne, if you should ever find yourself in this position, I would advise you to listen very carefully and very gratefully to the counsel of a man older and wiser than you, who is also a distinguished member of your own race and nation.” He looked at her under fierce brows.

“That is all I have to say. Good day to you.” He caught sight of me behind Ariadne and his manner softened. “Princess Xenodice, you have not been to see us of late. You must not abandon your old friends.”

I blushed. It was true enough. I had not stopped by the workshop recently, as I had been able to see Icarus several times in other ways.

“I will come soon,” I promised. He bowed and walked rapidly away, obviously impatient to get back to work after a day’s holiday. Daedalus could never bear to be idle for long.

Ariadne was silent for a moment when Daedalus had left us. Then she said, “Daedalus’s self-love is hurt, that is all.”

“Well, yes,” I said slowly, “I suppose it is, but that does not mean he was wrong in what he said. If Theseus had followed Daedalus’s advice, he would have had a chance to wipe out his father’s blood debt and return victorious to his own country. Now he has lost everything, for he might have lived long and well as a slave at Knossos.”

“He would rather die than live as a slave, especially here at Knossos.”

I looked at her curiously. “How do you know that?” I asked, although I suspected that she was right. Along with the ship’s captain, I did not envy anyone who received such an argumentative and quarrelsome servant.

“He told me so,” she said, and then tried to change the subject. “And what are you doing following me about, Xenodice?”

“Theseus told you?” I demanded. “How could he have told you anything? He arrived only the day before yesterday and he has been under guard the whole time! When did he tell you?”

Ariadne hesitated. She looked at me sideways from under her lashes. I could see that she was longing to tell me but unable to guess at my reaction.

“When I came up from the processional he was waiting to address our mother,” she said. A smile flickered across her lips. “He is very muscular. And very hairy.”

“Oh, Ariadne, how awful!”

“Not at all. You’re a baby. You know nothing about it.”

“But how did he come to speak to you?”

“Oh, I spoke to him—I noticed him yesterday. I thought that I would ask Mother to give him to me. She owes me restitution for giving my slave to that imbecile Polyidus.”

She fell silent for a