A LARGE CROWD HAD gathered about the wharfside, all jostling and pushing in an effort to gape at the new batch of tribute lads and maidens come from Athens. Rumors flew thicker than thieves on the tongues of the people. It was said that an Athenian prince had agreed to become part of the group, to suffer the lot of a common slave and mountebank. They said also
that these Athenian barbarians were too stupid to know what fate awaited them, they had come into the harbor singing and dancing some barbaric war dance.
Ariadne paid little attention to the mutterings going on around her. She wished to see for herself what these newcomers were like. A strange premonition had been growing on her since she had awoken that morning. She had dreamed of a face crowned with golden hair and eyes the color of aquamarines.
It was a face she had seen but once before.
In the courtyard fountain of her garden in the palace.
She had known, even then, that one day the two of them would meet. It was foreordained, as fixed in its course as the stars in the sky.
She remembered a ship bearing a black sail destined for Crete. He had been on that ship. Once a king's son and noble, he had been sent to sacrifice himself at the behest of the Sea God.
It is your task to protect your people and the one who will save them from Minotauros' evil.
Cleate's words haunted her still, though eight years had passed since the prophetess had uttered them. Ariadne never forgot the old woman's predictions about her half-brother, the deformed brute called Minotauros. Eight years before he had been the second son, neglected, despised, useless. Now he was her father's heir, the only living son of royal blood, still despised and cruel, but now he had the power of his title to back him. These last years he had gathered a large following of wealthy nobles, mostly discontented second and third sons who wanted more power and excitement and saw Minotauros as the means to get it.
The older heads of the houses still remained loyal to her father, but Ariadne expected they did so because they feared change than out of any real affection or respect towards the king.
Minos was old and sick, and getting worse with every day that passed. He kept almost exclusively to his apartments now, attended only by Daedelus and Cronus, his most trusted body servant. He reminded Ariadne of a grizzled old wolf, brought to bay by his younger rival, but still snarling and showing his teeth.
She and Minos had never been particularly close, but he was still her father and if she did not precisely love him, she was still loyal to him nonetheless. The king had first begun to show signs of sickness three years ago, in the form of blinding headaches and dizzy spells followed by bouts of violent nausea and fever. At first the physicians had thought it was the falling sickness, which ran in the royal line, but he had none of the seizures common to the disease. The sickness followed no logical course of symptoms the physicians were familiar with. In vain had they sacrificed doves and goats to Apollo, god of Medicine and Healing, but the god had refused to answer.
The symptoms persisted, until the king was a shadow of his former self, a wraith that wore the semblance of life. Daedelus had done what he could, proscribing a wholesome diet of fruits, vegetables, and bread and willow bark tea, which seemed to help with the headaches and dizzy spells. But even his facile mind could not come up with a reason behind this sudden decline.
People began to whisper that Minos was cursed by the gods, that he had been since his wife had aroused Aphrodite's wrath and been ensorcelled into bedding the Scythian bull leaper. See how the king is driven slowly mad; soon he will fall down on the floor and froth at the mouth like a dog, screaming in a frenzy at nightmares only his eyes can see.
Ariadne, desperate, had resolved to try one last time to discover what manner of disease ailed her sire. But not by medical means. Instead she used the Gift that Dia had given her, the Gift that enabled her to cause fields to bear and plants to grow. The Goddess's Gift was one of life, and with it Ariadne could sometimes sense corruption and decay within the land. She touched her father, and in that one touch her Gift revealed that his illness was not caused by natural causes.
Only Daedelus had suspected what her Gift now revealed as the truth.
Her father was being slowly poisoned.
Daedelus thought it was a slow-acting drug, perhaps thalot, that probably dissolved utterly in food or drink. Given in small doses, the drug would produce mild hallucinations and headaches. But over time, the poison would cause utter deterioration of both brain and nervous system.
Immediate precautions were taken with the king's food and drink. Daedelus prepared every dish personally, using stores gathered from the temple of the Mother, delivered straight into his hands by Ariadne. But even those measures were not enough, Ariadne knew. The poison had been too long in his system and had caused irreparable damage. Despite all they did, the king was dying.
Ariadne's Gift told her that at most the king would live six months longer.
Then Minotauros would rule Crete.
Unless a way could be found to stop him.
There was no doubt in her mind who was responsible for the poisoning.
But she had no reliable proof, and without it the law could not be brought down upon her half-brother. Though she was High Priestess and the Chosen representative of the Goddess on Earth, even she could not undo the fact that her mother had claimed Minotauros as her son, one of the Royal Kindred, and therefore able to inherit the Serpent Crown.
Like the long-tailed comet that flashes across the heavens, he portends doom and disaster for the House of Minos.
As if her thoughts had conjured him, Minotauros's chariot appeared in the streets. People scattered like leaves blown in a wind to permit the ill-tempered prince room enough to pass. Ariadne found herself jostled roughly by women and men alike, for no one recognized her, dressed as she was in the plain white robe and hooded green cloak of an under-priestess. She had deliberately dressed inconspicuously, for she wished to not have Minotauros's eyes upon her.
Of late, they had been lingering on her too much for comfort, with a look in them such as no brother should have for a sister. The eyes of a bull, maddened with lust and the need to kill.
Just once had she touched Minotauros's mind with her Gift, and the sheer savagery, bloodlust, and dark desire that dwelled within his soul had nearly rent her in two. He was deadly dangerous, and never more so than now, when he had the power to back his cruel desires.
Abruptly she recalled Aegithros, standing in a pool of sunlight in the courtyard, proclaiming angrily, "If Father does not check him now, while he is still able, he will be well-nigh uncontrollable as a man."
But the king is dying, his strength fading more and more each day. I am Priestess-Queen of Knossos, and it is my responsibility to protect my people. Somehow, some way, I must stop him before it is too late.
Suddenly her eyes were drawn towards the small group of Athenians standing tied together at the edge of the wharf. Several of the maids were pale, their eyes staring wide with surprise and fear. Some were flushed as if in shame. The men stood protectively near the women, trading angry glares with the Cretan trader, a slick tongued fellow called Vulcan, who had a reputation for making a quick profit.
One man stood slightly apart from the others, and his air was one of calm indifference. But only on the outside. Inside he seethed with a barely controlled fury at being treated no better than a prize horse at an auction. Ariadne gasped. Never had she felt another's emotions so clearly, almost as if they were her own.
Ariadne pushed her way past a stout baker and his wife and saw clearly for the first time the man whose emotions burned like a firebrand in her mind. Hair the color of sunlight curled about his head like a cap of beaten gold. His bronze skin made a startling contrast against the white of his tunic that reached to mid-thigh. It was pinned with a gold brooch over one lean muscled shoulder. And his eyes were the deep blue-green of the sea on a cloudless day.
He was the vision in the pool.
Theseus looked about him curiously, all the while trying to ignore the stares and comments of the people gathered on the wharf side. He heartily wished he was back on the ship, for all that its rolling and pitching caused his stomach to turn over, despite the fact that he had to endure Vulcan's sly glances and his overt attempts to seduce little Thea into his bed. Theseus had nearly come to blows with the man, but had been held back by Amnerion, who was no less outraged, but who knew that to attack the Cretan noble would give him the perfect excuse to drag the girl off and have his way with her, since he knew that would bother the proud Athenian captives more than any other kind of punishment he could mete out.
The prince knew that his friend was right, and he left Vulcan alone, save for glowering warningly at the man whenever he chanced to go near Thea. Yes, he'd welcome even Vulcan's lecherous eye over the eyes of these strangers, who spoke a mixture of Greek and Minoan and acted as if he and his countrymen were little more than beasts who could not understand speech and so it did not matter what was said in front of them. One of the women, a rather pretty brunette in a peacock-blue skirt and a low-cut bodice with her hair curled up on her head, said to her companion, "Look at the scowl on that one's face! Is he as savage as he looks? Still, he has good shoulders and a strong back. He might last a season at the most."
Her companion, a young boy of about sixteen, wearing only a patterned loincloth and arm bands and necklet replied, "They say, Sappho, that these mainlanders fancy themselves as civilized as we are. Can you imagine? I'll warrant that this one can't write more than his name, if he can write at all. Doesn't read either. Probably doesn't have the brain to do more than swing a sword or pull a plow."
Theseus ground his teeth together. He would not lower himself to reaching out and grabbing the insolent pup by the ear and giving him the thrashing he so deserved. Amnerion touched him lightly on the shoulder.
"These people are insolent to the point of rudeness. But it's to be expected. To them we're no better than objects. Yet even so, I want to put my fist through their teeth. We treated our servants at home much better."
The golden-haired warrior was silent a moment before answering, "That's because we saw our servants as people. Besides, my grandfather would never have tolerated such behavior from either of us."
"That's for sure! We'd be whipped and sent to bed without supper."
"We're both a little too old for that, don't you think?"
"Not according to your grandfather." Amnerion said with a chuckle.
Which was true. Pittheus still tended to treat him as if he were ten instead of nineteen. He supposed it was only natural, seeing how the old warrior had raised him until he was eighteen. "Theseus?" came a soft child-like voice. "That ugly man is coming towards us."
Theseus turned to meet Thea's frightened blue-eyed gaze. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Don't pay any attention to him, little one. These people are ignorant and barbaric."
"But he's—oh!" the child gave a soft cry of horror. "He's got a face like a beast! Don't let him touch me, Theseus!" She tried to hide her face in his cloak, but the Athenian prince tipped up her chin and spoke in a soft voice.
"You must not show how much you are afraid, Thea. You will see worse before we are done here, I'm sure. You must learn to face whatever comes with your head up and eyes open, girl, even though you want to weep. Be brave, little flower, and remember nothing can hurt you unless you let it."
"I—I will try, my lord." The girl swallowed and lifted her head, staring at the large, misshapen man coming towards them. "Why is he like that? Is he a monster, come to devour us?"
"No, of course not! He's only a man, he was probably born like that. Don't go believing those tales Pyrrha tells you. She's as full of wind as a huspah smoker." Theseus said sharply. He was not angry at Thea, but at Pyrrha, one of the other maids from Athens, who enjoyed telling tales that made one's hair stand on end. She should know better than to speak such nonsense to Thea, who was all too impressionable.
"He may have a face like a bull, but he's wearing enough gold on him to buy all the ships in your grandfather's harbor." Amnerion remarked. "Only a king would have that much gold on him. Is he Minos?"
"Father of Storms, no! Minos is half-Greek, and well-favored by all the women. That one would frighten his own mother." Theseus said quickly. He had spoken in Greek, thinking the man too far away to overhear and unfamiliar with the mainland tongue.
He was wrong. He turned around to see a heavily muscled chest covered with rich golden chains and pendants. The Cretan's eyes, though small, were lit by a cruel intelligence. "Once the bulls are done with you, pretty boy, your own mother won't recognize you." Minotauros said with a cruel laugh. "If you're lucky."
Then, before Theseus had time to register his intent, the man drew back his hand and slapped the Athenian prince hard across the face. The blow was so strong that Theseus was almost knocked to his knees. Blood trickled from a corner of his mouth where Minotauros's heavy ring had cut his lip.
Thea gasped. Slowly, Theseus brought up his hand. The other watched, the gleam in his dark eyes glowing brighter. Theseus knew that the brute would like nothing better than a fight to give him an excuse to beat his captive senseless. He was about to be disappointed.
Theseus lightly touched his lip, feeling it start to swell. He gave the beast-like man a warning look and then he smiled coolly. Let the brute make what he would of that.
"Mind your tongue, boy. It'd be a shame to cut it out." Minotauros snarled. "What are you called?"
"I am the Chosen of Poseidon."
"I asked for your name, idiot!"
"Theseus son of Aegeus, prince of Athens. Forgive me if I misunderstood. My Minoan is not that good," the Athenian warrior said, greatly daring, for the big Cretan had been speaking Greek, though with an atrocious accent.
Minotauros frowned, uncertain whether or not to fly into a rage. Had he been insulted? No, the pretty boy would not dare insult him further. He was a fool, like all mainland savages.
Ariadne tensed, seeing the shadow of black fury pass across her half-brother's face. She prayed that the Athenian warrior had sense enough not to provoke him further. When Minotauros had struck the Athenian prince, she had almost fallen over; his pain had resonated back to her with such force that she had raised a hand to her mouth, half-expecting to see blood on her fingers.
She closed her eyes briefly. Never had she felt another's pain so strongly. It was as if she were bonded to the man, linked by her Gift so deeply that if he died she feared that she might also, if only from the shock.
Ariadne opened her eyes, shaking off the last vestiges of the Athenian's pain. She concentrated on observing the confrontation between Minotauros and Theseus.
The Bull and the Stallion shall meet, but the Falcon will decide who lives.
Minotauros was the Bull and Theseus the Stallion. But who was the Falcon? Ariadne scowled. She hated the obscurity that always came with Cleate's prophecies. Why did prophecy have to be hemmed round with riddles as thick as flowers on a bridal gown? It was bad enough to See that something was going to happen, but not to know the details made her want to tear her hair out and scream.
I like not the look in Minotauros's eye. His mad brain plots some new atrocity, I'm sure of it. And the whole of it shall fall upon the warrior who so boldly challenged him.
Minotauros plucked a heavy golden collar off his thick neck and held it up in front of Theseus like a man giving a bone to a dog. The collar was embossed with dolphins and mermaids done in jewel tones. It was well worth a king's ransom.
"Chosen of Poseidon, are you?" Minotauros mocked, his twisted mouth contorting further into a sneer. "Here in Crete we have only a Priest-King, like our Egyptian cousins." The deformed prince gestured to the froth-topped sea. Off to the left was a large rock outcropping, where the waves swirled and crashed in ferocious turmoil. "That there we call the Sea's Tooth. Below the current is especially strong, we call it Poseidon's Fury. Only the bravest sailors and warriors dare to swim it. Those who survive are said to have the Sea Lord's own luck. I am one such." Minotauros's eyes gleamed. "A true Chosen of Poseidon will swim the current, for the god will aid him. Do you count yourself among them, little Athenian barbarian? Then show us your mastery of the sea. If you survive, I shall give you this." He waved the necklace under Theseus's nose, and his mocking laugh thundered over the harbor.
Theseus never hesitated. In moments he had stripped off cloak, sandals, and tunic. Clad only in a loincloth he ran to the edge of the wharf and arced smoothly off it, his slender body curved like a seal in play. The water closed over him like the embrace of a lover.
For any other man, Minotauros's challenge would have been a death sentence. But the beastial prince of Knossos had no knowledge that Theseus had spent much of his boyhood diving from sheer rock cliffs into the sea to search for clams and shellfish, and even the occasional bit of jewelry that had slipped from a lady's hand as she alighted from a ship. Amnerion and he had made it something of a game, seeing who could remain under the longest on a single breath.
Below him now the sea floor was cluttered with sponges and coral and the pieces of ships timbers rotting, broken pots, and refuse. He continued to swim, feeling the current grow stronger, more wild as he made his way through the water. I did not think it would take me this long. I am a fool, for not remembering that the water here would be dark with all the garbage they throw in it, not clear like the cliffs around Troizen.
He swam further, his eyes beginning to sting from the salt water. He could feel the tightness in his chest that came from lack of air and knew he could not remain under too much longer. Father Poseidon, he prayed silently, help me. I wish only to keep my people safe and to repay this slight on my honor.
The sea rumbled, and then he was amid the deadly wash of water. The current sucked at him, pulling at him with the strength of a dozen horses, dragging him backward. Theseus struggled to maintain his calm, fought against the panic that rose in him, the panic that came upon any who had ever been caught in an undertow. Be calm, calm. Panic only uses up strength and air. It will kill you just as quick as the sea if you let it, the prince repeated the advice given him long ago by the old sailor Nestor, who had taught him how to sail and swim and fish the great depths. Kicking hard with his legs he managed to thrust himself forward, so that he was abreast of the current instead of against it.
His muscles howled with the agony of the strain of fighting the wild water, but he gritted his teeth against the pain. To give in was to die, and Theseus stubbornly refused to do so. Poseidon had brought him here to redeem a vow, not to drown in some ignominous challenge made by a mad prince. Furious, he stroked upward, using his hands like a ship's prow to cut through the water. The waves roared about him, churning foam until he was made deaf and blind. He could feel his chest squeezing, iron bands tightening, tightening, until he almost gasped aloud.
Poseidon, help me. Sea Lord, hear now your Chosen. Is this your will, that I die here?
In another instant he would have been lost, dashed against the rocks like a ragdoll, his bones splintered and crushed to a red pulp. But then a gigantic wave lifted him up, gentle as a father lifting a small child. He rode the foaming crest with ease, as it pushed him past the seething rocks and into the calm harbor beyond. There it set him down and a booming bass voice said, You are my Chosen, Theseus. Beware the Bull-Man, he courts your death, if he can. Be not reckless again, my son.
Theseus bowed his head, flushing in shame at the sudden scolding tone. Forgive me, Lord. I will not forget myself again.
All is forgiven, my son. Came the Sea Lord's answer, and the waves seemed to glisten and caress the Athenian's weary body. Theseus felt all of the aches and weariness fade away as the Sea Lord healed his Chosen, reaffirming beyond doubt that Theseus was indeed his Chosen.
He shot up towards the surface, feeling his head grow dizzy. He emerged in a patch of sunlight, and drew in one long breath of air like a man who had drowned and come back from the dead. With the graceful ease of a dolphin, he swam effortlessly to the wharf and climbed out.
Minotauros wore a look of disbelief on his face; the look of a man who thought he had a prize within his grasp only to see it slip through his fingers at the last moment. His small, round eyes never left Theseus, but he called over his shoulder to the crowd, "Seems to me he is more fish than man. It would seem the sea claims you as his own." He bowed to the Athenian, but it was more mockery than obesiance, and all who saw it knew it. He held out the necklace. "Your reward, little merman!"
Theseus took the necklace, held it gently in one hand. The workmanship was exquisite.
"It is not wise to mock the gods. I am Poseidon's Chosen, as you can see. I thank you for the gift, my lord, but I regret that I cannot accept it. This is fit for a god. I will offer it to Poseidon, that he may spare you his wrath for doubting my word."
Theseus tossed the necklace into the sea.
"If you want it, go and talk to Poseidon. Though I'm sure he won't give it up without a fight," the warrior told an outraged Minotauros.
For one moment Ariadne's heart froze. Her half-brother was not one to honor a pledge and he did not hold with respecting the gods as much as he should. He had been made to look like a boastful fool before half the court of Knossos, and he did not take such slights at all well.
Still, he would one day be Poseidon's priest, and it would not do for his people to see that he held the god in such low esteem. Carefully, she reached out with her mind, bracing herself for the burning pain she would feel upon contact with her half-brother's mind.
The pain was there, but it was not the blood-red, raging inferno she had feared. Instead the rage was shot through with streaks of black. Angry Minotauros might be, but he would not release his anger now. Later, he would have his revenge upon the Athenian barbarian.
Ariadne gasped as his cruel musings seared into her like a hot knife against her flesh. She snapped the thread that bound them and shielded herself from all outside emotion. She felt a slight buzzing in the back of her mind that told her that the bond she had first felt upon seeing Theseus was still there, but now she felt none of his feelings beyond the one that told her he was alive.
Ariadne pressed her hands to her temples, rubbing them as they began to throb.
"No, let the god keep his offering. He has been generous today." Minotauros said. Then, in a voice meant only for Theseus, he hissed, "Watch yourself, Athenian. You may be a wizard in the water, but no man has yet mastered the bulls. And if they do not take your life, be assured that I will."
He stepped away from Theseus, who retrieved his cloak and tunic and began to pull them on. "We will meet again." Minotauros said loudly. "Forget not the name of Minotauros, barbarian!" Then he was mounting the steps of his chariot.
With a last flourish of the whip, he spun his horses about and was gone.
Ariadne released the breath she'd been holding in relief. Then, as if to reassure herself that he was well, she looked at Theseus. He was lacing up his sandals, his head bent. The sun caught his brilliant hair, making it shine. She remembered what he had looked like as he climbed out of the water, his body hard and fit, glistening with sea spray like the statues of Poseidon that stood just outside the Great Hall of Knossos. Only this was no stiff bronze but a living, breathing sculpture. He had the lean taut muscles of a runner, smooth and clean limbed as stallion. His hands were long-fingered and she sensed that they contained gentleness as well as strength. His face was clean-shaven with high cheekbones, but it was saved from being too girlish by a strongly defined chin. Stubborn, without a doubt.
Theseus raised his head and his aqua eyes met Ariadne's green ones.
Heat curled deep within her, beginning at her toes and moving upward like a gentle flame. She wanted him to touch her, to feel those long fingers on her body, in her hair. She wanted to feel his mouth on hers, hot and sweet and demanding. She felt as though she stood in the midst of a bonfire, her limbs being devoured from within by the strange heat he conjured simply by staring at her.
What is wrong with me? I should not be feeling like this. He is an Athenian, a bull leaper. I am Priestess-Queen of Knossos, vowed to the Mother. This cannot be, I won't allow Cyprian Aphrodite to possess me as she did my mother. I am meant to save my people, not destroy them!
She tore her eyes away, denying that she had felt his desire as well as her own when their eyes had met. And yet, she could not stop herself from thinking that he was very attractive, and the only man who had ever looked upon her with desire and not worship.
Ariadne gathered her skirts and whirled around, desperate to get as far away as possible from the Athenian sorcerer whose sea-colored eyes had caused her to burn like an oil-dipped torch. She shoved her way through the crowd, ignoring the angry cries and curses people screamed after her.
And yet, run as fast as she would, as far as she could, she would never escape her Gift and the way it had bound her soul to his with chains far stronger and more enduring than star-forged iron.