Odysseus in the Serpent Maze

CHAPTER 19: THE GREAT KING’S PALACE

“A BIT OF FOOD?” COMPLAINED Mentor. “Hardly even a bite.” He looked down at the wineskin and the half loaf of hard bread.

Odysseus wolfed down what they’d been given without measuring it.

“We’d hardly any more,” Penelope told them. “Though Idomeneus did give Helen some dried dates.”

Odysseus swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced at their captors. Smiling, he waved at the nearest soldiers, who pointedly ignored him. “Soldiers on a scouting trip never carry great stores. We must be soldiers too.”

“Not I,” Helen said, stretching prettily. “I’m a princess. When we get to the palace, there’ll be kitchens and beds and baths and—”

“And dungeons,” Mentor put in grimly.

“And the Labyrinth,” Odysseus added, though he seemed almost excited at the prospect.

“What’s Idomeneus been looking for?” Penelope asked.

“What we found,” Odysseus said. “Daedalus’ workshop. But we mustn’t tell him that. Because then he’ll find out we destroyed the place. And he won’t be happy about that.” He looked particularly at Helen as he spoke.

Helen shrugged prettily. “All I did was sit down on a plinth.”

“I doubt Idomeneus will see it that way,” Penelope told her. “And I’ll be sure that he finds out whose fault it was.”

“It was an accident,” Helen began to wail.

Penelope shut her up with a quick elbow to the ribs. “Listen to Odysseus.”

“We’ve got to go along with the Cretans for now,” he said. “We’re in no position to fight off or escape a band of armed warriors.”

“Besides,” Penelope added, “where would we go?”

“And what would we do for food?” Mentor added. “Dried bread will only get us so far.”

“Exactly,” Odysseus said. “We need a ship, food, weapons, and the rest of Tros’ sailors if we’re to make it off this island.” He didn’t tell them he’d no idea how to manage all that. One thing at a time.

Just then Idomeneus came over. “Better get to sleep,” the prince said. “Soldiers rise very early. And we’ve still got a long ride in the morning. Princess Helen, are you comfortable?”

She dimpled at him. “I’ll be more comfortable when we’re at your palace,” she said.

Comfort, Odysseus thought grimly, is the enemy of the hero. How often he’d heard that from his father’s soldiers. Nevertheless, in his sleep he dreamed of hot food, sweet wine, and a soft bed.

In the morning, as early as Idomeneus had promised, they set off again along the dusty road, soon turning inland.

Well before noon they came to a small village with an inn the size of a pigsty, and as inviting.

Odysseus and Mentor now had their legs tied with just ropes, to ensure that they didn’t wander. Odysseus suspected that it was Bosander who’d made that decision.

However, the innkeeper brought the girls water to wash in, as well as plates of cheese, olives, dates and wine. A garrulous sort, the innkeeper exchanged pleasantries with the soldiers as well. He ignored the boys.

“Just as well,” Odysseus whispered to Mentor. “I didn’t understand a word he said anyway.”

“I didn’t want a conversation with him,” Mentor said. “Just some of his food.”

It was the charioteer who enlightened Odysseus as they charged along the rock-strewn road. “The innkeeper speaks Cretan. And badly. We”—he struck himself on the chest proudly—“we are Achaeans. We conquered this land.”

No wonder Idomeneus and his men are so edgy, Odysseus thought. His father always said it took ten generations to conquer a people. From Minos to Deucalion to Idomeneus was a short three.

By afternoon, they were travelling along a broad, paved highway, wider and smoother than any Odysseus had ever seen. Along the roadside were shrines, stone markers inscribed with the image of a double-headed axe.

Soon they passed small villages made of whitewashed stone houses; then two-storey houses of brick began to crowd the roadside.

“Knossos,” said the charioteer. “Our capital.”

Odysseus watched carefully. If they were to escape, they’d have to know the way.

The outskirts of Knossos were chockablock with airy dwellings, noisy workshops, long storage barns. To the north Odysseus could see a wide harbour where ships bobbed at anchor. But the chariots didn’t turn in that direction. Instead they passed through a pair of enormous gates into the city itself.

“The palace of Minos,” said the charioteer, reining in the horses so that Odysseus could have a better look.

Odysseus stared, amazed. The Cretan palace was twice the size, ten times the size—no, twenty times the size—of his father’s and his grandfather’s palaces combined. It seemed to stretch away as far as he could see, storey upon storey rising up on thick russet pillars. Unlike the palaces he knew at home, kept within high defensive walls, this structure sprawled outward in every direction, as if the makers had no fear of intruders. Workshops, stables, storerooms had accreted to the central building, making the place enormous. To the south and west were bright yellow-walled apartments looking like honey spilling from a jar.

Without wanting to, Odysseus found himself awed. But he bit his lower lip to keep from giving himself away.

The chariots halted at last, before a high stone gateway carved with the double axe. Idomeneus and his men dismounted and, herding their prisoners along, entered a pillared courtyard.

“This is … incredible,” Mentor whispered to Odysseus. He kept swivelling around to see what lay on every side. “Can the gods on Olympus have anything this magnificent?”

Helen too, was amazed. “What riches. What power …”

“Look over there,” Odysseus whispered to them. “Those walls on the left side. See—they’ve been blackened with fire, and not recently either, I’d guess. And I saw some ruined houses on the western edge that haven’t been repaired.”

Penelope nodded. “I see what you’re getting at, Odysseus. For all their riches and power, they’ve had a share of disaster too.”

“And not enough resources to fix it up.” Mentor was thoughtful. “What do you think it all means?”

“I don’t know,” Odysseus said.

Idomeneus dismissed most of his men, including Bosander, but kept half a dozen as escort.

And as guard, thought Odysseus.

“The watchmen will have informed my father of my return,” the prince said to his prisoners. “I’ll take you before him and let him pass judgement.”

Helen raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I don’t know that I care to be judged.” Then she smiled at him.

For a brief moment Idomeneus looked uncomfortable. Helen seemed to have that effect on a lot of men. Odysseus turned his face away, determined not to laugh, though it was difficult.

“Well … not you, princess,” Idomeneus said haltingly. “But them. They need to be judged.” He pointed at the boys, drew a deep breath, then said with rescued authority, “Come with me.”

They followed him down a passageway, the guards at their heels. On one wall a huge painted bull frowned down on them. Then the passage opened up into a courtyard so vast, it was like the market square of a large city. Musicians strolled by playing lutes and flutes. Servants scurried about with trays of fruit. Men in colourful robes and ladies with painted faces sat on stone benches, chatting.

“Look!” Penelope whispered, and with her chin gestured upward.

Above them were tier upon tier of balconies, from which even more people stared down at them.

Idomeneus led them up a wide stair to a doorway. To one side loomed a statue of a beautiful woman who had snakes twining around her body. Two savage lions lay down at her feet like pet dogs.

Startled by the figure, Helen put a hand to her mouth.

“Don’t fear, princess,” Idomeneus said, moving close to her. “That’s Britomartis, goddess of our island, who protects us from fire and flood.”

“Only some of the time,” Odysseus whispered to Penelope and Mentor. “The rest of the time their houses burn like anyone else’s.”

Then they entered the west wing, where sunlight slanted through windows and the dark corners were lit with lamps.

The floors were colourful mosaics: scenes of dolphins, fish, and bearded Poseidon with his great trident held aloft. Crossing the mosaics, Idomeneus led them into new passageways, which twisted and turned as though designed to baffle visitors.

“How do you find your way through this place?” Mentor mused aloud, but none of the guards answered.

At last they entered an antechamber, and Idomeneus ordered them to be silent.

A man who was clearly a court official stood by the door. He wore a formal white robe that stretched down to his feet, and his left wrist was weighted down by a strand of carved gemstones.

Sealing stones, Odysseus thought. His father used the same to mark the containers in which their stores were kept, though these looked much more elaborate.

“Prince Idomeneus, your father awaits you,” the robed man said, bowing low.

Odysseus wondered what kind of a man King Deucalion was. Was he, like his father Minos before him, a man of war who sent foreigners to their deaths in the Labyrinth? Or would he treat them fairly? Should Odysseus admit to being a prince himself? Or should he keep that information secret still? He fidgeted, tapping his fingers against his thighs.

“Waiting,” Penelope whispered to him, “is clearly not what you’re good at.”

“Waiting is a woman’s gift,” he whispered back.

Just then the door opened, and they were ushered inside.

The room was small given the size of the rest of the palace, but it was still impressive. The walls had been painted to resemble a forest inhabited by gryphons, with their lion bodies and eagle heads. Two of them stood rampant on either side of the great throne.

And there was Deucalion, almost dwarfed by his long purple robe. A jewelled crown sat on his head, and he held an ivory sceptre in his right hand. His hair and beard were set in elaborate curls. Yet somehow he—like the room—was smaller than Odysseus had expected.

Deucalion leaned towards them, grey eyes as hooded as his son’s. “Step forward,” he said in a voice that was flint-hard. “And give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”