Authors: Fred Saberhagen
I returned his greeting in kind. "Daedalus, artist and artisan formerly in the employ of Aegeus, king of Athens."
"It is a pleasure to welcome you. What stroke of fortune brings you here, sir?"
"I have heard that King Minos of Crete is generous to artists, and appreciative of cleverness and skill. I am here to offer him my services."
The harbormaster bowed again—actually it was more like a thoughtful nod—and considered this. "And the lady?" he asked.
I turned to look at her, an immigrant trying to see her through a stranger's eyes. Yes, she might well have been a lady, seated and resting, wrapped in fine wool for warmth. I said: "I am sorry. This is my slave, named Kalliste; my well-loved concubine. And this is Icarus, our freeborn child."
What might have developed into quite an awkward social moment on the mainland was passed over as a trivial error by this Cretan harbormaster. "I see… by the way, do you come here direct from Athens?"
"From Piraeus; yes."
"And did you by any chance sail near Thera?"
I was not surprised at the question. There had been stories about strange happenings on Thera since the days of my childhood, and I supposed that there were new stories now. "No, our course lay well to the west of that island."
"I see. Thank you. Well, welcome to Crete, eminent Daedalus. You'll be wanting to go up to the palace right away I suppose, to the House of the Double Axe." He eyed Kalliste's pregnancy; she was standing now. "If you wish to spare yourself and the woman a long walk, you could ride—either on donkeys or in a wagon. The road is good."
"The wagon, then," I said with gratitude. "And my thanks for your assistance, worthy Hecateus."
The other shrugged. "It is little, but you are welcome. Remember me when someday you are influential in the House."
In less than half an hour the arrangements for our ascent to the palace had been completed. The ship's captain and I rode ahead on horseback, escorted by a few of the soldiers who had appeared from somewhere at the harbormaster's bidding, while Kalliste and Icarus and some miscellaneous baggage followed in a creaking wagon, escorted by a few more soldiers.
My first real surprise in Crete, a pleasant one, had been the harbormaster's casual courtesy. The second surprise that I experienced was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. It had to do with the House of the Double Axe, and came when I obtained my first look at the great palace at close range, in the light of the nearly full and newly risen moon. It was not the vast size of the House that was startling; I had expected that. Rather what astonished me was the builders' obvious indifference to defense. There were outer walls, and in places those walls were high enough to make them difficult to climb, but they were certainly not of sufficient height or thickness to offer a serious impediment to an attacking army. There was a town here too, but it was hard to tell where the town ended and the sprawling complex of the palace began.
It took that younger self of mine a moment to understand: the sea, and his navy upon it, were all the walls that Minos needed.
The town adjoining the House was easy enough to enter, but the sentries stationed there were efficient enough when at last our little procession came to the gate in the palace wall. In a few moments the horses we had borrowed had been led away, and I, along with the ship's captain and one escorting military officer, were entering an anteroom, where we were told to wait.
So far all the walls that I had seen inside the House were red with horizontal stripes, and a carefree pattern of symbolic fronds, added in cream color. Never before had this Athenian artisan seen art that looked like this, and I was interested. Either the decorations were more familiar to my companions, who ignored them completely, or else such matters did not interest them.
After a little while a small and inconspicuous door opened softly, and a pair of well-dressed little ladies silently appeared, evidently come to satisfy their curiosity about visitors. The two men with me stood at attention, and I took my cue from them. The Princess Phaedra—though I did not then know her name—was about ten years of age; her sister Ariadne, taller and fairer, was a little older, perhaps thirteen. These children inspected us solemnly for a moment or two, and then were gone, without having spoken to us. The military officer then explained to me in a whisper who they were.
Presently a pair of anonymous officials, also given to whispering, came in through another door to lead the distinguished newcomer away alone. They led him deeper and deeper into the House, past row after row of black, downward-tapering columns supporting a roof of gleaming tile. The visitor noted with approval the economical construction of the arches.
The palace was nowhere more than two stories high—but from the outside I had not been able to appreciate its full size. It seemed to go on forever. The floor level was forever rising or falling by means of stairs or ramps, and so probably staying in rough congruence with the level of the hilly ground upon which it had been built, while a prodigality of oil lamps, torches, and even candles testified that this imperial domicile was occupied by no stingy monarch.
My escort, certain of their route, proceeded, and I followed. Now, somewhere not far ahead though still unseen, a celebration was in progress. As we approached, voices raised in song broke off at frequent intervals to indulge in laughter. And there was music, made by two pounding drums, not always in consonance, along with wind instruments and strings that I could not at once identify.
Another door was opened before me now, and I was ushered into a hall, vast even for this building. It was by far the biggest room that I had ever seen; King Aegeus had nothing in his palace that could match it. Here the lighting was different. Oil lamps were clustered near the middle of the vast space, abandoning the outer precincts to the night. Above, a high-arched ceiling vanished into shadow.
There were nearly a score of people gathered in the center of the enormous room, most of them performers of one kind and another: musicians, dancers, acrobats. Meanwhile, seated on plain, hard-looking couches were the high-born celebrants, men and women together, enjoying their wine and entertainment. One of these, a weighty, masculine figure, surged to his feet so promptly as we entered that he might have been watching for the door to open. Having arisen, this man set down a golden cup upon an inlaid table, and strode toward me with the unmistakable confidence of majesty.
As my escort stepped back, I began to make obeisance; but this was cut short by the rumble of King Minos's voice, for King Minos it was, urging me to stand up straight and have a drink. A youthful cupbearer and wine-pourer, looking like twins, were standing beside me almost instantly.
The king's voice rumbled. "You must be Daedalus."
"Yes, sire. I had heard that you wanted—"
The hair on the king's head, glossy with oil, was raven black, as was the matted growth on his bare chest and arms, the latter adorned by circlets of heavy gold. He squinted at me closely; we were very much of a height, neither of us more than ordinarily tall. "It's really you. Yes, yes indeed, I've heard your description several times." Minos reached out to pinch my shoulder with a large, strong hand, adorned with many rings. To me it felt like a hand accustomed to assessing horses and draft animals as well as humans for their potential value to the throne. "Come to work for me, have you?"
"Yes sir, that is, I hope so, sir. That's what I want to do."
"Good, good!" The king stood back a step, his fists on hips. "What made you finally decide to leave Athens?"
Certainly the king was going to hear the full story from someone, sooner or later. Almost certainly he would also hear exaggerated and distorted versions. During the voyage, in consultation with Kalliste, I had made up my mind to simply tell the truth when this moment came.
I said: "What with one thing and another, sire, I had been falling more and more out of favor with King Aegeus. Things came to a head a few nights past. My nephew Talus—I suppose you will have heard of him—paid me a visit when I was working alone in my workshop, late at night."
Minos rumbled: "Talus—yes, I've heard of him—some say that his skill as an artisan rivals yours." He watched me carefully for my reaction.
"I think, sire, that it never really did. But however that may be, Talus is now dead." Becoming suddenly aware of thirst, and of the full cup in my hand, I gulped wine, then let the emptied vessel hang at my side. "We quarreled that night, my nephew and I. Then we fought. When he entered my studio that night I had no intention of killing him; but when I left it, he was dead."
"I see. And Aegeus—?"
"Talus was related by marriage to the king of Athens, Your Majesty. I thought that if I stayed to try the king's reaction, I would be lucky to escape execution."
"I see," said Minos again. He gestured, and both our wine cups were refilled. There was a burst of noise, laughter and music, from the happy group still gathered in the center of the hall, who were determinedly going on with their revel. Glancing in that direction, I caught a glimpse of a woman I supposed must be Queen Pasiphaë. She was a large, dark, still-beautiful woman of about the same age as her husband, who I supposed to be a few years younger than myself. She was wearing a great amount of jewelry, and a blond wig.
It was at about this moment that her royal husband clamped his hand upon my neck, rather like a farmer about to lead a young bull-calf to be gelded, so that for a moment I feared a fit of royal jealousy. But the king was not jealous—not then. He only wanted to lead me with him, into another and much smaller room where we would be able to talk in greater privacy.
The small room held a table with a lamp already lighted on it, and two chairs. Minos did not carry his friendly and informal approach so far as to invite me to sit down at table with him. Instead Minos sat, while I was beckoned to stand close across the inlaid board. An open window high in one wall let in some of the misty night.
The king started to say something, was struck by a second thought, and voiced that instead: "Your ship came here direct from Piraeus?"
"Yes, sire."
"Pass anywhere near Thera, did you?"
I remembered the harbormaster's asking the same question. "No, sire."
"The strange stories, the rumors, keep coming out of that island, Daedalus. Some of the original population must still be living there, because people seem to keep fleeing the place in small boats, and some of them end up here. Each refugee brings with him wilder tales than the last. None of my captains will go ashore on Thera, and I don't suppose I blame them. I don't even ask them to land, only to sail near the place and reconnoiter. When they do that, or say they do, they come back with more wild tales of their own. Reports of gods flying over the cliffs of Thera, and monsters waddling on the beach."
"Sire, in Athens I have several times spoken to some of the refugees you mention. Even if one discounted nine-tenths of their stories, something extraordinary indeed must be happening on Thera. And whatever it is must have been going on for more than twenty years."
"Do gods dwell there, Daedalus?" the King of Crete asked me flatly. "In the sense that I and you dwell in this room? And might a man who went to that island find himself confronting them face to face?"
"Majesty, I am no philosopher or seer. And it seems to me that only one who—"
"I have seers and philosophers at my call. A whole stable of them. And they can tell me nothing, really. But you are famed as a practical man. What can you tell me? What do you think?"
I hesitated to answer, but I had to at last. "Sire, I deal with practical matters, as you say. I know nothing about the gods. To my knowledge no outsider has visited Thera in the past twenty years or longer—of course I would not be surprised to hear that there had been a few Phoenicians, who will go anywhere. But that last is only my surmise."
The king considered my reply. Then for a time he sipped absently at his wine, gazing at the painted wall as his thoughts led him elsewhere. But presently his attention came back to me. "I question every intelligent traveler on that subject, Daedalus, when I have the chance. I suppose there is no reason to expect you to be able to provide answers where others have failed. You are, as you say, only an artisan."
"Indeed, sire, that is what I am. I find that my own field of endeavor offers more than enough problems for me to solve. My thought is that if there are gods, on Thera or elsewhere, I will leave them alone, and hope that they will do the same for me."
The king smiled. "Most men are content to think of the matter that way. And most of the time I agree with them." Then Minos shook his massive head, like a man emerging from water. In a brisker and more businesslike voice he said: "I would like some plumbing installed in my palace. I've heard there are some great Greek houses where fresh water, good to drink, runs in through pipes, while other pipes carry off the sewage."
I nodded. "I have seen one or two such on the mainland, sire. They are very convenient though for some reason there is no great demand for them over there. And I think I can improve on the ones I've seen. Much depends, of course, on the ready availability of water," I added cautiously, though it seemed a safe assumption that no palace this size would have been built far from a good source.
"Of course, of course—you can look over the whole place tomorrow. By the way, did anyone come with you?"
"Only one concubine, sire, a girl I dearly love. And our child. Kalliste's half a year into her second pregnancy, and I—"
"Hah, concerned about her, are you? Never mind, I'll make sure a good physician looks at her tomorrow. You'll want her with you tonight, I suppose. So, let that be enough discussion for tonight. Get a good night's rest, and we'll work out the details for your employment in the morning." The king got to his feet, frowning at his wine cup as if surprised to see that it was empty.
That night I slept snugly, installed with my woman and my child in quarters even finer than those we had enjoyed in Athens, when I had been at the peak of my favor at the Athenian court.