Ariadne(37)

‘Why would they take—?’ I stopped, confused. I didn’t know what to think, and I had to be so careful with what I said. I traced the pattern of the mosaic beneath my feet with the toe of my sandal. It was a particularly grotesque one, depicting the horned head and slavering jaws of the Minotaur. A terrible suspicion was swelling inside of me and I was beginning to wish I had taken Theseus’ club and smashed the creature’s skull to pieces myself, rather than waiting for him to do it for us.

I moved closer still to Pasiphae. Minos was a sight to behold, indeed. The threats he issued – the punishments he described at length – all of the bile he spat, whilst hopping up and down, incandescent with fury. Knowing what those of us who watched silently all knew. It was all meaningless without his pet monster scrambling through those twisted corridors. I was sure he had weapons enough to enact some of the horrible violence he threatened but his Labyrinth was as empty as the show he put on. Despite his soldiers and his axes, he seemed suddenly to be nothing more than an angry child, squalling and stamping because his favourite toy had been taken away.

We had lived in fear of Minos for our whole lives. Now, I waited for the trembling, for the tears to burn in the back of my eyes and the words of protest to crumble to dust in my throat. But all I felt was the dark thrill of contempt shudder through me. He was just a man, after all.

A scuffle at the door. Breathless men tripping over their feet to get in, deliver their reports in cringing subservience, hoping Minos’ axe would not fall on them. I despised them too in that moment, though I listened eagerly to their news.

‘Daedalus’ tower, sir,’ panted the first. ‘We searched it, as you commanded.’

‘And?’ barked Minos.

‘He had baits, sir, scraps of food he must have taken and left out at the high windows for the gulls. Whenever they came to land, he had some kind of snare set up – a delicate thing – not to kill them or even hurt them, just to take some feathers from each one.’

Minos glared at the hapless speaker. ‘How long must this have gone on for, to gather enough feathers for what you saw this morning?’

The man hung his head. ‘I cannot say, sir. Perhaps months.’

So, Daedalus had been preparing for this long before Theseus’ arrival. I wondered how much he had foreseen, how much he might have guessed, and how quickly. I felt a pang of longing for his quiet wisdom, the gentle knowledge in his eyes and the kindness of his voice. I wished I could speak to him.

‘Months,’ spat Minos. ‘Months of treachery, of plotting against me – and not one of you incompetent fools suspected a thing! Was he not closely observed? Did you not check his quarters daily for any hint of rebellion against me?’

Silence burned in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations, suspicions and fears. Everyone knew of Daedalus’ cunning. Minos was the fool, to think he could imprison a man so much cleverer than himself and harness his brilliance forever.

Minos resumed. ‘So, how did he transform these feathers into wings strong enough to give him flight?’

The man who spoke seemed to regret his haste in putting himself forward to deliver this report. Haltingly, he continued, flinching at the sight of Minos’ lowering brow and the curling of his fist around his great double-headed axe. ‘He must have made the frames from wire – material that he had been supplied with for the work he was doing here, quite legitimately, sir. No one knew that he must have requested an excess to construct the shape of the wings. He probably secured the feathers with molten wax from his candles. That must have been why Icarus plunged – the heat of the sun melted the wax.’ He lapsed back into silence, staring at the floor.

‘Out!’ Minos roared. ‘Get out, you idiots!’

They did not need telling twice, but as they stumbled to leave, another contingent was already rushing in, the foremost clutching at a sack stained dark and dripping at the bottom. I saw the foul, black liquid seeping from the seams and felt my stomach lurch again. My head ached and I knew that I desperately did not want to know what the sack contained.

‘King Minos! The remains of the Minotaur has been discovered!’

Pasiphae’s head whipped around. I looked away, unable to bear the hollow abyss of her wide pupils.

‘In the cove, just west of the harbour, concealed by the long jutting edge of the cliffs. That must be where Theseus made his escape!’

West of the harbour. But Theseus had directed me to the east, where another ridge of cliffs blocked my view of the small, hidden cove of which the man now spoke. My sleep-deprived, shattered brain wrestled with the knowledge, trying to make sense of it.

As I struggled to understand, he raised the sack and a sickening gust of air wafted from it. Throughout the room, everyone backed away, clutching their hands to their faces as he spoke again. ‘We bring back the beast’s head – what’s left of it, anyway.’

On to the marble floor, the exquisitely crafted inlaid tiles of the mosaics, the delicate craftsmanship that the nobles of Crete walked over every day, rolled a matted clump of gristle, bone and hair. Before I could squeeze my eyes shut, I saw the bull’s horns cracked and broken.

Pasiphae’s shriek echoed through the cavernous quiet. Higher and higher, the discordant howl of her desolation shrilled from each pillar that held the roof above us until I thought it would cave in and crush us all. Abruptly, she cut off her keening and dropped to the ground. The sound that her skull made as it struck the hard stone reverberated through my spine, but somehow I stayed upright.