Ariande's Web Read online

  "Why did you take the boy with you?" Ariadne asked curiously.

  "Because, gracious princess, I thought it quite possible that I would not come back."

  "I am not sure that I understand."

  "I mean, my lady, that had I been able to pass one final obstacle on that day—and had my son and I been able to find a boat at the water's edge—and had we been willing to brave the sea alone—then I must admit to you, princess, that the two of us might have left this island forever behind."

  "I see."

  "But to obtain a suitable boat, or passage on a ship, we are almost certainly going to need help."

  "That will not be impossible to arrange. But tell me, Daedalus, what is this 'final obstacle' you speak of?"

  "My princess, with your permission, it will be easier if I show it to you when we reach it—if it is agreed that we are going." They both looked at Asterion, who nodded silently. "And rest assured that this time I will be prepared to overcome it."

  "I see. Yes, I think that we are now agreed to go . . . I will speak for Theseus, since he cannot be here to speak for himself. Then the only remaining question seems to be, how are we to obtain a boat? No, I suppose there is one more: when we put out to sea, can we escape the patrols of my uncle's navy?"

  She stood looking at the two men, and they at her. At last Ariadne added, "I must speak to Theseus about this."

  Chapter Seven

  In the early evening of that same day, Ariadne and Theseus met secretly once more. Like all their other meetings, this one took place in a corner of a walled-off passageway of the Labyrinth, very close to the palace.

  When communication by smuggled notes and surreptitious glances had advanced their relationship to the point where a place of rendezvous was certainly required, the princess had closed her eyes and taken thought, in the special way that had come to her as a legacy of her divine father. A familiar scene, recognizable to her as a portion of the Maze, had appeared as if it were a product only of her imagination. And in the scene there appeared two glistening parallel lines; the princess had been following those lines almost all her life, through one kind of imaged background or another, and they had never yet led her astray. As always, they reminded her of imaginary spiderwebs; and on this occasion the lines had run straight from just below her own eyes to the next corner of the Maze, where they took a sharp turn to the left. Ariadne had relaxed. From lifelong experience she knew that she had only to follow the two lines and they would almost infallibly lead her to the thing that she most wanted or needed at the moment—in this case, a place where she might meet in secrecy with her new lover.

  It had needed no more than a trifling bribe to a sympathetic guard to enable Theseus to slip from one pocket of the Maze into another, out of sight of guards and of his fellow prisoners as well. So easily was it possible for him to leave behind the section in which the eighteen young people of the renewed Tribute were still confined, waiting to meet their doom in a few days.

  On the following day the couple had met in the secret place again. Since then, hardly a day had passed without a rendezvous. Today, as soon as Theseus saw her, he caught her in his arms, with princely boldness, and kissed her feverishly. So far, faced with the constant possibility of being observed, he had not attempted any further demonstration of his love.

  How beautiful he was! Taller than any other man that Ariadne knew, her brother of course excepted. Her new lover's body, clad now in the special kilt and cape that all the young men of the Tribute had been given to put on, was fit to be that of a young god. A thick curl of golden beard adorned his square jaw.

  In an urgent whisper, she told him, "It's been decided. You are going to escape, and I am coming with you, and so are several others."

  He heaved a sigh, as if a large weight had just dropped from his shoulders. Then he asked, in his usual quiet voice, "Others of the Tribute?"

  "No! It won't be possible to get them all away. You must say nothing to them."

  Immediately Theseus was suspicious. "Who is coming with us, then?"

  "One is Daedalus—you've heard of him?"

  "I think that everyone in the world has heard of Daedalus. And most people know that he has come to Corycus to work for the new king."

  "Yes. And now he has his own reasons for wanting to escape my uncle, and this island. Also, he has discovered a way by which we can reach the seacoast."

  Still her lover's suspicions were not entirely allayed. "How?"

  "Daedalus doesn't want to say, until the day comes. Probably that's wise, and I believe him."

  "Then when are we going? How will it be arranged?"

  Ariadne lowered her voice to an even softer whisper. "We are going to depart, from somewhere near the very middle of the Labyrinth, on the very morning, the very hour, when the sacrifice is scheduled to take place."

  Obviously Theseus did not understand. "In broad daylight? Why then?"

  "Because Asterion—he's my brother, and he's coming with us too, at least I think he is—has learned in a dream that that will be the best time."

  Theseus was obviously not impressed by such a revelation. "Are we to be controlled by our dreams, then? Shall I tell you what mine was last night?"

  But the princess lifted her chin and defended it. "My brother's dreams are as different from those of most men as his body is from theirs. As I believe Daedalus when he says the thing is possible, so I believe Asterion."

  When her lover saw how serious she was, he did not press the argument. But he had more questions. "And how am I to get free? Somehow I must reach the starting point of this secret route that Daedalus has discovered."

  Ariadne grabbed up one of his big hands and kissed it. "All these details will be worked out. We will meet in a certain place, inside the Maze. Those who do not already know the way will be guided when the time comes."

  "Fine. Reasonable, I suppose. And then—?"

  "Daedalus has not revealed the details of his route yet. When the day has come, and we are all together, he will show it to us."

  The prince still brooded, not quite satisfied. He took a pace or two, all that the confined space would allow, and then came back to her. "And this is all you can tell me now?"

  "It's all I know, my love. Many details must still be worked out, of course. If you don't want to trust Daedalus, can you come up with a better idea? He seems to be a good man, and he wants to escape almost as much as we do."

  Theseus had no concrete suggestions of better ways to offer. He kissed her, and said, "I am a stranger on this island. If it were up to me to plan an escape, I'd be at a dead loss. If you trust Daedalus, I will too."

  "Good." Then a shade of new concern grew in Ariadne's face. "How is it with you, among the other prisoners? Are the others . . . ?"

  "Are they what? Trying to escape? No. Terrified? They really don't seem to be." Theseus shook his head. In a different tone he said, "The truth is that I don't understand them. Even if I had not found you—"

  "Don't say that, dear."

  "Oh, my darling! . . . But my point is that no matter what, I would still be trying to get away. Making some kind of effort. What I can't understand is that none of my fellow inmates seem to care a fig for their own lives. It's beyond me—having been told that they are doomed, they accept the judgment without a murmur. They've given up and said goodbye to the world. Well, I haven't."

  "I should hope not." Ariadne snuggled into the curve of her prince's arm, which seemed to soften to accommodate her. "I suppose they think it hopeless to struggle against a god—or even against my uncle. Still, I worry that your absence will be noticed, when you come here to meet me."

  "I really don't think we need worry much about that. It's not as if all eighteen of us were being kept in a single room. No one is taking roll call every hour. One of Shiva's priests does that, usually only once a day."

  Theseus went on to describe the interior layout of the quarters he shared with the seventeen others of the Tribute. Ariadne had not seen tha
t portion of the Labyrinth since it was partitioned off from the rest. The young people of the Tribute were rarely all in sight of one another at the same time—in fact no one room of their quarters was big enough to hold them all. The section in which they were confined was in itself a maze of narrow passages and small compartments. Here and there draperies had been hung, affording some measure of privacy.

  The captives were being well fed, provided with wine and certain pleasant drugs, allowed and even encouraged to spend their time amusing themselves with each other's bodies, or with the entertainers who were brought in from time to time.

  The princess was relieved that her lover was not being cruelly treated. But at the same time she was vaguely perturbed. "What luxury! Of course I hope you have no interest in the others' bodies."

  "Of course I do not! Believe me, dear one, from the moment I laid eyes on you . . ."

  When another prolonged kiss had been concluded, Ariadne said: "I am relieved. Somehow, though I should have known better, I was picturing a kind of dimly lighted dungeon. Rats, and dirt . . ."

  "Not at all. It seems that nothing is too good for those who are to be blessed by Shiva."

  The princess winced, and her voice dropped. "Have you caught a glimpse of my uncle's god yet? I have seen him only a couple of times."

  "No, the Lord Shiva has not honored us poor folk of the Tribute with his presence," Theseus observed dryly. He paused, then added, "Nor have I yet been able to speak to your uncle the king."

  That made the princess blink. "Why should you expect to be able to do that?"

  Theseus drew a deep breath, like a man coming to a decision. "I didn't say anything to you about it, not wanting to cause you extra worry, but—many days ago, I sent a message to King Perses—addressing him as King Minos of course—saying I was willing to act as go-between in arranging an alliance between him and my father. On the condition, naturally, that my life should be spared, and I released."

  Ariadne's eyes widened in surprise, and she held her breath. "And what did Uncle say?"

  "Nothing at all; at least I have received no answer. I suppose the new Minos—no, I really shouldn't call him that—I suppose your uncle doesn't trust me. I'd be a fool to rely on any promise he might make. Not that he's likely to make any."

  Ariadne said impulsively, "I will go to him, and plead for your life."

  Theseus was shaking his head slowly. His face was grim. "I don't think so, princess. I believe we ought to rely on some other means, more dependable than your uncle's word—even assuming that you could persuade him to give his word. No, I'd much rather trust the plans of the clever Daedalus. Your pleading should be kept as a last desperate resort."

  After that the couple tried to work out some of the details of the effort they were soon to make.

  The princess said, "Daedalus swears that he can somehow lead us all the way to the seashore, with little danger of discovery. But after that of course we'll need a ship."

  Her lover was listening intently, squinting with an effort at concentration. "To what point on the shore is he going to lead us? There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of miles of coastline on this island, taking into account all the inlets and promontories."

  "I don't know where, but I'll find out."

  Ariadne told Theseus she was going to smuggle a message out to certain sailors, men who had remained loyal to the memory of her father. The new king was feared and obeyed, but he was not enormously popular among the people.

  But Theseus assured her that it would be much easier for him than for her to summon ships and sailors to their aid, provided her secret allies could get a message out for him. He felt confident of being able to communicate with seamen who would be loyal to him. Vaguely he spoke of elements of his father's navy.

  "In fact," he added, "I had better give you the message now. Take this." And he slipped from one of his big fingers a distinctive ring. It was of bronze, thought Ariadne, of little intrinsic worth, but curiously wrought. "So my friend will believe it truly comes from me." He gave her also the name of a man in the city ("he is one of my father's agents") who would pass it on.

  The name of the ultimate recipient meant nothing to Ariadne, and she commented on the fact.

  Theseus shrugged. "There's no reason why it should. It's only a kind of code word. He is really an officer in my father's navy."

  The princess was daring, but seldom careless, and she wanted to make sure that the whole escape effort was as solidly organized as possible. "How many will we be, then, besides you and myself?"

  "Is Princess Phaedra coming too?" her lover asked.

  "No." Ariadne answered calmly, but without hesitation. "I know my sister, and she will not leave the island. She would see running away as deserting her suffering people. Besides, Phaedra is one of those people who become transparent whenever they try to keep a secret—everyone who looks at her can see at once that something is amiss. No, she mustn't even suspect what we are doing."

  "All right. I leave your sister to you. Not that I have any choice about it."

  "Fine. Let me see, where were we? You and I, and Asterion, if he will come with us, makes three."

  Ariadne's lover raised a golden eyebrow in a perfect curve. "Will your brother be willing to leave the Labyrinth?"

  "I don't know, but of course I have offered him the chance, and he hasn't yet said no. And Daedalus, who will be our necessary guide, makes four—and little Icarus, five. I'm sure the father has no intention of leaving the son behind."

  Theseus nodded thoughtfully. Then he suggested, "What about this soldier—you say his name is Alex?—the one who confirmed the manner of your father's death. How deeply involved is he in the plan?"

  "Quite deeply, now."

  "Then I think he should join our party too. Or at least it would be wiser for us not to leave him behind, alive. Now that he knows so much of our plans."

  Ariadne tossed back her hair with a decisive motion. "That makes sense. Say half a dozen, then. And we should also add my personal attendant, for the same reason. Clara will make seven. That is a lucky number, is it not?"

  "A large number, to keep anything a secret. But it seems we don't have much choice."

  The couple's talk moved on, to the things that would have to be managed at the last moment. Ariadne had learned, and now warned her lover, that the maidens and youths were to be given a slow-acting poison, in a ritual cup, just before they were led deeper into the Maze, and to their deaths. "A few hours later they will all be dead. They will disappear from the world forever, and their fate will of course be blamed upon the Monster."

  Just at sunrise on the chosen day, the eighteen were to be guided, by priests of Shiva and a detachment of the Palace Guard, to a spot near the center of the Labyrinth. "It's only a short distance from where Daedalus is working, and he says that a crew of maintenance workers from the palace are building a kind of holding pen. Some of the walls of the Labyrinth have been knocked down to make an open space."

  "What method is to be used to take our lives?"

  The Princess had heard rumors about that, but it was not the kind of thing she wanted to mention to her lover. "It's not going to happen to you. It's not!"

  "Of course not." And Theseus patted her arm. "Now, while we have the chance, let us try to consider some of the details. Where things might possibly go wrong."

  "Of course."

  "But before we get into that—I've wondered, how does your uncle plan to explain to the world what he is doing with the people sent to him as tribute?"

  "From what I hear, the world had already given them up for lost. As for my uncle, he sees no reason why a king has to explain anything. Dear, what will you do when they hand you a poisoned cup and order you to drink?"

  Theseus shrugged impatiently. "I can manage that somehow. I might just pretend to drink the stuff. Hold it in my mouth and spit it out, it can't be instant death, if they mean to march us a mile after we drink. Or if you can find out what the poison is, it might be
possible to get an antidote—but that's even chancier. I hope we can get away before that moment comes."

  He went on to relate to Ariadne a rumor that had been allowed to spread among the victims themselves: Minos secretly hoped to create from these fine specimens of mainland youth the nucleus of a legion of powerful and fiercely loyal warriors, with the girls of course destined to be the mothers of warriors. With such a legion he hoped to be able to conquer the world.

  Ariadne's eyes were wide. "Do you believe that?"

  Theseus shook his head. "Frankly, no. There are few of the other intended victims that I would choose as fighters."

  Another tale that had gained some currency was that the youths and maidens were simply to serve for a year as attendants in a temple, containing the altar of some god whose help Minos considered vital, perhaps Mars, or Hermes; and after that the eighteen would be returned safely to their homes.

  "Maybe some of the seventeen others have swallowed that one," Theseus speculated. "That might account for their complacency."

  Ariadne was shaking her head slowly. Her voice was more frightened than he had heard it yet. "The truth is, of course, that Shiva wants you, and the others."

  "To be his servants?" The question was asked in mockery.

  She answered solemnly. "He wants you to walk the road that so many slaves and prisoners have already traveled in the last few months—in the form of sacrifice."

  The prospect did not seem to disturb the youth unduly. "But why? I don't doubt what you say, everything points to it—but still it puzzles me."

  "Why does any god want sacrifice? And yet almost all of them seem to find it pleasing."

  My horns rather limit the number and kind of positions in which it is possible for me to sleep. When I, the Minotaur, awakened, I was exactly where I had lain down, in a certain small plaza of the Labyrinth where I liked to sleep in the warm weather. My big body was suspended in a hammock I had tied up between two trees, within a ring of murmuring fountains. I lay in a curved position, clasped hands under one cheek, supporting my head.