ALTHOUGH I SHOULD want to scream for joy that the minotaur is dead, that the monster will never devour another Osterian, the thrill just won’t come. Theseus is still in there. Theseus needs to get out or who knows what torment Pasiphae will come up with next. But Theseus has dropped the belt, the lifeline I was certain would be his—our—salvation. A sudden flash of indignation burns through me like wildfire through dry grass. It was a gift from the gods, damn it. Surely they wouldn’t put success so close and then rip it away. No wonder Minos’s forbearers gave up on the Twelve all those years ago. Even Odysseus, whose bravery I’ve heard of, can’t stand the tension and has left the room.
Seeing how close the belt is, it’s painful and frustrating to watch Theseus clamber around for it. Despite the blinding dark, his hands pat the ground only a finger’s width from the twinkling metal. My own fingers grip at a phantom object as if I can control his hands. He is so close. My hope mounts again. One more tap to the left and he will feel it, he’ll sense the cool material and follow it out to safety. Perhaps I was too hasty; the gods may not be so bad after all. He raises his hand. It hovers just over the belt. Which god do I thank for this? Hephaestus as the patron god of Theseus’s home polis, or Athena as the patron goddess of the polis Theseus is representing?
My mind flitters with all these excited thoughts as I watch Theseus’s hand move downward, just over the chain. A few inches more and he’ll have it, he’ll be able to find his way out. Just as his hand is about to touch it, the belt jerks several feet out of Theseus’s reach. Curse the gods! I want to scream. I want to sob. I want to shout at the idiot who’s holding the other end of that belt. But nothing comes out of my throat. I’m dumb with despair.
Minos. In my anger, I nearly forgot him. How is he taking this? He had cheered and laughed just like his old self when the minotaur fell. The hope of being through with this ordeal had bolstered him. Had Theseus’s luck continued, no doubt we would be sending a messenger to Yerni to warn him of Minos’s arrival. But Minos has seen what has happened and understands he has just lost any chance of saving his kingdom from the Osteria Council or from Aryana or from whomever is truly behind this. The realization has leeched away any vigor he had left. Minos now sits once more in a trancelike state, his eyes staring at the screen in a way that makes me wonder if he is seeing any of this or if he has mentally checked out and gone elsewhere. I reach out to touch him on the forearm to see if he’s with us. Just as my fingers reach out to console him, Minos belts out a barking laugh. I jump back, nearly toppling my seat, startled by this return to life. Minos is pointing at the screen with a triumphant smile filling his face and tears of joy spilling from his eyes.
This is it then. He’s gone mad.
I turn to the screen. Minos isn’t crazed, after all. A woman is in the lair with Theseus. A sudden and stupid wave of jealousy pulses through me. I want to be there with him. I want to be the one rescuing him. The two exchange a few words. Theseus appears trapped between annoyance and relief as he takes a few tentative steps toward her, his head angled as if he’s trying to pinpoint the direction of her voice. With one hand clutching the belt, she keeps talking as he staggers toward her. Even in the strange green glow the camera creates, I can see Theseus’s cheeks are wet with tears once he reaches her. She slips an arm around his waist for support—my brain delivers another dose of jealousy to my overloaded system—and they slowly walk from the lair using the belt as a guide.
"No," Pasiphae says, her voice hoarse.
"I think we should go greet him," I say with a mocking levity to my voice.
"An excellent idea," says Minos, who already looks stronger, and I swear bigger, than he did a few moments ago. He ignores the helping hand Iolalus offers and stands tall on his own, wiping the moisture from his cheeks. I glance out the window that looks over the walls and I think how horrible it would be to come this close only to fail by a few minutes. The sun still hasn’t gone below the horizon, but its lower edge is touching the far hills and Theseus still has a long trek back to the entrance. Despite his injuries, I have to hope that following the chain and making no wrong turns will let him walk out far faster than he walked in. I put on a happy, confident face to keep Pasiphae from seeing my worry, but in my heart I’m afraid of celebrating this victory too soon.
"Councilwoman, care to go with us?" Minos offers in a tone that makes it clear he hopes she won’t, that she will just go straight to her room and pack and leave and never come back.
"He won't make it," she says, but gets up and joins us anyway. "Besides, he cheated. His victory will not count."
"He followed your rules, the very rules you read out today. So, unless you have another minotaur up your sleeve," Minos says. "Theseus and these Athenians have won. Osteria has won."
She makes no response. A chill invades my warm mood as I wonder what other monsters she might indeed have up her sleeve to set upon Minoa if Theseus doesn’t make it out alive or if she pulls some trick and declares his triumph invalid. I glance at her and am surprised to see she doesn’t have the look of someone plotting her next move; she looks worried.
Pasiphae’s guards join our group when we exit the palace. The sun’s orb is half covered by the distant hills. I tell myself Theseus still has plenty of time, but my gut tightens at the sight of the sun racing behind those hills. As we near the maze’s entrance, I want more than anything to see my heroic Athenian standing at the iron gate, but as we round the corner I see only Odysseus sitting at the entrance. So that’s where he went to. I chastise myself for thinking he was too weak to stay and watch, when it appears he’s the one who may have saved Theseus’s life. His gaze flicks to his sandals and I see the belt tied to it. Unfortunately, Pasiphae notices his gesture. Her eyes flare with anger.
"Cut it. Cut that chain. Cut off his foot if you have to."
Faster than I would have thought him capable of only an hour ago, Minos steps forward, whipping out a dagger from his sleeve as Iolalus and I flank him. Iolalus has drawn a beautiful Helenian sword with a hilt in the shape of an owl. I have no weapons, but when the guards look at me, they step back a pace. If it comes down to it, I will claw them with my fingernails to protect Minos and to ensure Theseus gets out of the maze.
A crowd has gathered. No doubt some people still linger at the agora end of the maze, but many, having noticed Pasiphae and her guards, have followed them knowing that wherever these guards go, that’s where the action is likely to be. I look toward the west to see the sun’s position. I can’t help but groan. How can the sun hang still for so long then, just as time becomes most precious, hurry on its way as if the horses drawing Apollo’s chariot have picked up a sudden burst of speed?
"You will not touch him," Minos says, his voice like the low rumble of a bull about to charge.
Though his spirit has returned in full force, Minos’s body is withered from his recent turmoil. The lead guard isn't threatened and puts the point of his sword to Minos's throat.
"Step aside, Minos," Pasiphae says coolly, "or you will die."
For a moment I think Minos will refuse to move, that he’ll say something trite like his life is over anyway, but instead he lowers his dagger and steps aside. Odysseus has already gotten to his feet, but he’s backed up against the wall with nowhere to go. The guard swings the sword down and it clangs against the stone landing. To his credit, even though the blade lands only a finger’s width from his toes, Odysseus makes no move; he doesn’t even flinch. We all look down. The sword hasn’t cut the belt.
"I have a bad habit of not sharpening my weapons as well," Odysseus says, finding this similarity utterly amusing as he laughs so hard tears come to his eyes.
"Pull it up," Pasiphae says. The guard arcs his sword up to point it at Odysseus's throat. This stops his laughter, although he’s biting his lip to control it. "It may not be honed enough to slice metal, but I’m sure it’s sharp enough to pierce your windpipe. Now, pull up that chain."
Odysseus looks to Minos who gives one solemn nod. "The sun’s almost gone. They're dead anyway. No sense in you dying as well."
Odysseus pushes the blade aside with the back of his hand and crouches down. I imagine, if he tried, he could simply snap the chain with a tug, but he takes his time untying the knot. I have to pinch back a smile at his attempt to give Theseus just a few more moments. There is only a hint left of the sun’s light, but right now every second counts.
Once the knot is undone, he yanks on the belt. There's a brief resistance as the chain becomes taut. An image flickers through my mind of Theseus and the others being yanked up the steps like hooked fish, but the line slackens. Iolalus puts an arm around me. I want to cry, but I can only stare at the glinting metal as Odysseus pulls it up foot by foot.
"What in Zeus's name are you doing?" a voice yells from the bottom of the steps.
"Testing you," Odysseus says. "Now get your donkey ass of a face up here before the sun sets."
Squinting and bleeding, Theseus climbs the steps. I can't imagine the utter darkness of the maze if even this tiny bit of early evening light is forcing him to shield his eyes. I glance to the horizon. The tiniest sliver of sun still shows. Finally the tears come as sheer joy and relief overwhelm me.
"Seize them," Minos orders. From out of nowhere, huge Minoan guards rush forward. The command from our weakened leader is so sudden and so unexpected that the Areans don’t have time to react and are in cuffs and chains before they can even think to struggle. Pasiphae tenses as if ready to run. A surge of energy fills my body. I’m ready to chase her down if she dares to flee. "Now," Minos growls, "unlock the gate." Pasiphae flinches and fumbles with the keys. Once the gate to the maze swings open, Minos orders her to face him. She does, as meek as a beaten puppy. "Get out of my kingdom."
"But there’s no train tonight," she says, her voice pleading and I wonder if she has the guts to ask to stay in the palace another night.
"Then walk back to Aryana," Minos says. "You are not welcome within these walls ever again."
Pasiphae, looking as if she wants to beg, fights back her words. It will take her days to walk to the closest city. She will have to brave the roads and run the risk of a bandit attack, but she will not grovel in front of all these Minoans. When she turns to leave, the people cheer. After basking in his triumph for a few moments, Minos instructs a guard to let Pasiphae sleep in the carriage of the train that will depart in the morning, adding, "But be sure it’s in third class. She deserves no comforts."
Having held himself up only long enough to spite Pasiphae, Theseus collapses into my arms. His tunic is coated in blood. "We need to get him to the medics," I say. Odysseus and Iolalus help me carry him. They offer to remain with me, but from the music and cheers coming from the windows of the hospital, I can tell this will be a night they shouldn’t miss. They step back just in time as a flurry of women in white tunics swarm in to assess Theseus’s wounds. The medics practically ignore me at first as if I’m just an extension of their patient’s body, but I wonder at the sense in my staying with him when they start to tend to the damage. I’m not a squeamish woman, but the moment the cleansing solution reveals the extent and depth of the bite marks across his shoulder, my stomach turns.
"Lift your arm forward," the lead medic says and Theseus obeys through gritted teeth. I take the hand of his uninjured side and he squeezes so tightly I grimace and almost cry out. I say nothing though. How can I complain about a little ache after seeing his mangled shoulder? The medic then tells him to raise the arm to the side, providing a light touch of support as he does so. I hate seeing the pain twist his face, but the medic is smiling. "Good. No loss of motion, which means no connective tissue damage." Another medic mops away the blood that continues to drain from the wounds. "A few stitches and some rest will do wonders. Now, Priestess," she looks at me, "I think the people would like to know their hero will survive."
I know a dismissal when I hear one. I want to stay, but on the same side of the drachar, I’m relieved. I honestly don’t think I could handle watching the needle going in and out of the bloody gashes on Theseus’s shoulder. I nod. Before I can go, Theseus reasserts his grip on my hand. "Thank you," he says. I hold his intense gaze. I‘m overwhelmed with the thought that I cannot leave, that I cannot be separated from him. But the tide of this certainty is broken when the assistant holds out a mug of what smells like the most fortified wine in Osteria.
"You’ll want this," she says. Theseus releases my hand to take it, makes a little toast to me, and downs it in a few gulps. As my hand throbs back to life, I can see the instant effect of the drink as his eyes glaze and his cheeks warm. I leave the room as the lead medic begins threading a needle and her assistant washes the wounds with hot wine.
Minoans, like many Osterians, love to celebrate. And tonight they pull out all the stops. It’s as if after months of being denied happiness they want to make up for all their lost joy in one night.
The moon is high in the sky and, when I make my announcement of Theseus’s well-being, the celebrations rage on with new vigor. Holding out a platter of food and a jug of wine, Iolalus invites me to a corner of the main plaza where we can watch the crowd without being swept up in it.
"I know this wasn’t Minos’s fault," Iolalus says, finishing off the last of the cheese.
"How?" I can’t help but glance at his hair. We don’t allow oracles in Minoa. Most are charlatans or give such convoluted answers you’re no better off than before you asked your question.
"No, it’s not the sight. I spend half my days telling people I’m no oracle. But I am observant. I saw Pasiphae’s behavior. It was her, wasn’t it?"
"Yes, she seduced Minos then came up with some elaborate trick to get him to give over his army to the Council, and who knows what lies she conned them with. Still, you would think they would have looked into what she said before acting."
"The Council," he says with derision and downs the wine that’s left in his cup. "I think someone wants war. I was about to give it to them if Theseus hadn’t done his job as hero. The Council. Aryana. I’m not sure which, but I promise I’ll tell everyone I meet that Minos wasn’t behind this. Minoa won’t have to worry about retaliation."
I thank him. His words and his promise are a relief from a worry I hadn’t even realized I’d been carrying. Even though the minotaur is dead and the poli will no longer have to send their children to us, the people Osteria would certainly hold a grudge against Minos. After all, three poli had to suffer before Athenos, before Theseus, ended it. It’s good to know Minos’s name will be cleared. The Council should answer for not looking into the matter more closely, but I don’t want to think of that now. Just then, Yerni dances (dances! I didn’t think he had it in him) over and delivers us two big bowls of noodles. The snack of bread and cheese has wakened my appetite and I realize I haven’t eaten all day.
The Portacean Solon proves to be good company as the party doesn’t slacken even as the moon slides across the sky and finally goes into hiding. I didn’t meet him when he was here last year since I had travelled to Bendria to help a farmer with a couple sick oxen. The farmer said he didn’t trust "his fellows" to the animal medics in his district, being convinced they had deals worked out with the meat suppliers. It turned out he was right, which meant I had to stay even longer than I’d planned to help sort out the legal mess and to bring in some true animal medics.
As Iolalus is telling me of his time with his cousin Herc and their battle against the monster Lerna, something nags for my attention. I look up to see Theseus, arm in a sling, slowly walking across the forum toward where Iolalus and I sit on a low brick wall. My heart flutters and I chide myself for having a crush on this man who every woman in Osteria will now be flocking to.
The hero can’t escape a few toasts, but he eventually makes his way to us. I can’t stop staring at him and notice his eyes are fixed on me as well. I wonder how he escaped the medics. Surely, they must want him to rest to avoid ruining their hard work. Then the thought hits me: If he’s well enough to walk about, he’s well enough to leave. I don’t want him to leave Minoa, but it’s foolish to think he would stay here. Yes, this is an exciting, wealthy kingdom that many Osterians would love to call home, but he will have to go to Athenos, tell them the news of his triumph, and enjoy the praise from his father, his people, and—I assume jealously—many eligible women. I feel terrible, but I almost wish our medics weren’t so skilled. If he could only be forced to stay here another week, I would ask for nothing more. But to leave now after we’ve barely had a couple days together? I return to my conviction that these gods of his are cruel indeed.
Theseus holds my gaze and my gut gives a jolt at the warmth I see in his eyes. To think of receiving a look like that every morning for the rest of my life.
I realize I’ve completely blanked out Iolalus’s words, but he seems more amused than upset. He glances around. "I better go see what Odysseus is doing," he says and smiles knowingly at me as he gets up to leave. I notice for the first time that even though he limps slightly, he’s not using his cane tonight.
Theseus takes my hand and we slip out of the crowded forum to stroll down a side street that will eventually lead to the temple. Without warning, he stops and steps in front of me. He leans forward slightly and I smell the medics’ wine on his breath, but he seems sober enough. I tilt my head, afraid to move closer for fear of jostling his shoulder. Just as I’m thinking he will back off, that maybe he only stopped to get a pebble from his sandal, he kisses me. My entire body floods with pleasure. I want to reach out to hold him, but I remind myself of his injuries. His good arm slides around my waist, pulling me a little closer, but not as near as I’d like to be.
It’s some time before our lips part again and I feel as dizzy as if it was me who had been given the medics’ strong wine. I want his lips on mine again. I want his hands on me. I hate the thought of being separated from him.
"Come with me," he says. My heart jumps. Does he mean to his room? He kisses me again and I marvel at the feel of our tongues playing their game. He stops, but only pulls his mouth far enough away to speak. "I have to go home, but if you—"
"Anywhere. I’ll go anywhere," I say, and I mean it, even if he’s only implying that we sneak off to an alleyway to share each other tonight.
"You would come to Athenos with me?" he asks in relieved amazement and I’m glad he does indeed mean for me to spend more than just a night with him. Instead of replying, I take his hand and continue to the temple. In a small alcove where robes and blankets are stored, I kiss him and ease him down onto the makeshift bedding. With his injuries, our bedsport is quiet and careful, but as the revelers cheer in the streets below we both cry out with pleasure.