Dark of the Moon

chapter 16

I'VE VISITED the palace of my grandfather, King Pittheus, several times. I was always astonished at its twelve rooms—eleven more than any other house I'd ever seen—and its magnificence, with its whitewashed walls and hard stone floors. Then, when I saw the palace of my father in Athens, I realized that Pittheus's palace is as a shepherd's hut compared with that magnificent building. Five or six of my grandfather's palace could fit inside it, and its dining hall is as large as the entire village square at Troizena.

I thought that once I had seen that palace, I had seen the utmost in splendor, but when I catch glimpses of the palace of King Minos in Knossos, I realize that Aegeus is a nothing, a gnat. I can't imagine how such a building as the Knossan palace can exist and how powerful must be the man who lives in it.

It is not only huge, although it certainly is that. It is also magnificent. It sits on top of a hill that isn't as high as the sacred hill in Athens but is much broader. Since I am still working my way up to the palace, I can't see the entire structure at once. The road twists and turns, and by the time we pass through the gate, I've seen enough to know that the Kretan king's residence is as large as an entire city. Enormous, fat red pillars support terrace after terrace, and white steps lead into countless entrances. I wonder which one goes to the maze with its bull-headed monster.

The port of Knossos was jammed with ships and with sailors loading and unloading them when we arrived. Vendors busily hawked roasted meats, fruit, bread, cheap sandals, and local good-luck charms, which are odd clumps of knotted yarn. I bought one. I don't think it will do me any good.

We pushed through the crowd, the king's men keeping careful watch over us. This is pointless, as there's nowhere to run to and we'd be easily discovered. Athenians look quite different from the locals. Most of the Kretan men we pass wear nothing but a white loincloth. They are all short, most of them are slim, and all of them wear their hair in long black tresses. Some are elaborately coiffed; these I take to be the nobles. Others wear white capes marked with one, two, or three black stripes. Soldiers, I find out, most of them palace guards whose rank is indicated by the number of stripes.

"Where are the women?" I ask one of our escorts, whom I suspect to be heavily armed but hiding his weapons under his cloak out of courtesy.

"You saw women down at the dock," he says.

"True. But do none live in the palace?"

He doesn't answer, and as we walk I lean forward to look at his face. He's scowling. "Never mind," I say. "Forget I said anything."

We walk on. It's already odd not to feel my sword under my cloak. It's forbidden for foreigners to carry weapons within the precinct of the palace. Fearing I would be searched, I managed to slip it to Prokris, who has hidden it among her clothes. No one would touch her belongings, and I will need that sword if her plan is to succeed.

The road is steep. Behind us, one of the little girls is whining, and I turn. Prokris is already carrying a small boy who is sucking on his thumb, his head on her shoulder, so I wait for the little girl to reach me, and then I scoop her up and settle her on my shoulders. She grasps my hair with her small fists and stops sniffling.

My guide waits for me at the next turn. "Look," he says, "you're a foreigner, a barbarian." I start to object but think better of it. "Still, you seem like a good sort, and you are a prince." He looks at me doubtfully, and I nod in confirmation. "Three kinds of women live in the palace. There are the servants, who are all local girls with brothers and fathers nearby, ready to defend them and to avenge any wrong done to them. Then there are the wives of the Minos. You will not see them, except in his presence, and then only if he invites you." We walk on. Finally, he says, "And then—then there are the others."

"What others?"

"There are two of them. You probably won't see them, but if you do..." He trails off and lays a hand on my shoulder. "Well, if you do, be careful. There's no telling what will make them angry, and they are very powerful."

He refuses to say more, and soon we climb steps and pass through wide doors, and we are in the palace. I try not to gasp like a peasant at the sight of the painted walls. Some show leaping dolphins in impossible colors so joyful that despite my dread of what is coming, my heart lifts; some show flowers growing in all directions; others, blue monkeys harvesting saffron blossoms. On one, boats sail on an ocean with waves cresting in every color the ocean never was, red and orange and bright yellow. We pass through chambers decorated with paintings of double-headed axes. My escort tells me that this is a holy symbol called the labrys. It gives its name to the entire palace, the labyrinthos.

Finally, we are in the heart of the palace, where no sunlight falls. Torches are lit, their light bouncing off the shiny stone floor and showing walls painted a solid red. Hands reach up and take the little girl off my shoulders. She clings to my hair briefly, protesting, and then surrenders. She and the five other little girls are led off by women who seem kind enough. In the next room, men coax the little boys along in gentle voices.

"They'll be well taken care of," says my escort as I watch them depart. "Our monster has no need of them."

"He doesn't? Why not?" I blurt before thinking.

The guard turns his unblinking gaze on me. "Why, because he has you."