The Egyptian

5

When Kaptah had fortified his valor with wine, he said in a faint voice, “Lord, let us light a torch. Its glow will not be seen from outside, and this obscurity is worse than the darkness of death: that is unavoidable, but we have entered this of our own free will.”

I blew on the charcoal and, lighting a torch, perceived that we were in a large vault, the entrance of which was closed by the copper gates. From this vault issued ten passages leading in different directions and separated from one another by massive walls of brick. I was prepared for this as I had heard that the god of Crete dwelt in a labyrinth, and the Babylonian priests had taught me that labyrinths were constructed on the same plan as the viscera of sacrificial beasts. For this reason I believed that I might find my way, so often had I beheld the entrails of bulls at the sacrifice, and I assumed that the Cretan labyrinth was built on this plan.

Therefore, I pointed to the passage that lay farthest to one side and said, “We will go in there.”

But Kaptah said, “We are in no great hurry, and nothing was ever lost by caution. Let us beware of going astray, and above all let us ensure that we find our way back-if we are ever to come back, which I gravely doubt.”

Upon this he took a ball of thread from his pouch and fastened the end of it to a bone pin, which he drove between the bricks. The device was so cunning in its simplicity that I should never have hit on it myself, though I did not say this lest I lose dignity in his eyes but merely told him sharply to hasten. So I entered the mazes of the dark house with the image of bovine entrails impressed on my memory, while Kaptah following unrolled the thread.

We wandered endlessly about in the darkness, while new passages continually opened out before us. At times we came up against a wall and had to turn and go some other way. At last Kaptah stood still and sniffed the air. Then his teeth chattered, and the torch wavered in his grasp as he said, “Lord, do you smell the bulls?”

I, too, was by now aware of a repulsive stench like the stench of bulls, though even more vile, and it seemed to issue from the very walls as if the whole labyrinth had been a gigantic cattle shed. I ordered Kaptah to continue without breathing in, and when he had taken a deep draught from the wine jar, we hurried forward until my foot slid on some slippery object. On bending down, I found it to be the rotting skull of a woman, to which hair still adhered. Then I knew that I should not see Minea alive again, but a lunatic urge to make sure drove me forward. I cuffed Kaptah and forbade him to whimper, and we went on, unrolling the thread as we advanced. But soon we encountered another wall and had to turn about.

All at once Kaptah stopped short, pointing to the ground; his scanty hair rose on his head, and his face was contorted and gray. I followed his gaze and observed some dried cattle dung on the ground-but the heap was as high as a man so that if a bull had left it the creature must have been big beyond belief.

Kaptah had the same thought, for he said, “This cannot be from a bull, for such a bull could not enter these passages. I believe it is the droppings of a monstrous serpent!”

So saying he took another deep draught from the jar, his teeth chattering against the rim, and I reflected that the maze seemed made for the movements of such a serpent and was seized with the impulse to turn back. But then I remembered Minea, and impelled by wild despair, I pressed forward, dragging Kaptah with me and gripping my knife in a moist hand, though I knew that no knife could help me.

As we continued, the stench of the passages grew ever more appalling, resembling the miasma from some enormous grave, and it was difficult for us to breathe. Yet I rejoiced, knowing that we were near our goal. We rushed onward until a faint light was perceptible in the passages. We were now into the mountain itself; the walls were no longer bricked but hewn from soft rock. Now the way led downward, and we stumbled over human bones and heaps of dung until at last a great cavern opened before us. We stood on a rocky ledge overhanging an expanse of water and were enveloped in most foul and poisonous air.

Light entered this cavern from the sea, a dreadful greenish light that enabled us to see without torches, and somewhere in the distance we could hear waves thundering against the rocks. On the surface of the water before us floated what appeared to be a row of immense leather sacks, until the eye perceived them to be one huge, dead animal-an animal more huge and more terrifying than can be imagined, which emitted the stench of corruption. Its head had sunk into the water; it was that of a colossal bull. The body resembled the body of a serpent, which, made light by decomposition, rocked its hideous curves on the water. I knew that I beheld the god of Crete-knew also that it had been dead for months. Where then was Minea?

As I thought of her, I thought also of all those who had preceded her. I thought of the youths to whom women were forbidden and of the girls who must preserve their maidenhood in order to enter into the bliss and glory of the god. I thought of their skulls and bones lying in the passages of the dark house. I thought of the monster pursuing them through the maze and blocking the way with its monstrous bulk so that neither their leaps nor any other stratagem could help them.

This leviathan had lived on human flesh-one meal in the month-a meal furnished by the rulers of Crete in the form of the fairest girls and most perfect youths, because these rulers fancied that by so doing they could maintain the sovereignty of the seas. From out of the dread depths of the ocean the creature must once, long ago, have been driven into the cavern by some tempest. A barrier had been thrown across the entrance to prevent its return and the labyrinth built for it to run in. It had then been fed with sacrifices until it died, and there could be no other such monster in the whole world. Where then was Minea?

Mad with despair I shouted Minea’s name and awoke the echoes in the cavern until Kaptah pointed to the rock on which we stood; it was stained with dried blood. Following the track of this down into the water, my eyes beheld Minea’s body, or what was left of it. It stirred slowly along the bottom, dragged by sea crabs that were tearing at it ravenously. Her face was gone and I recognized her only by the silver net over her hair. I did not have to look for the sword gash in her breast, for I knew that Minotauros had followed her here, thrust his blade through her from behind, and thrown her into the water, that none might learn that the god of Crete was dead. This he must have done to many a boy and girl before Minea.

When I had seen and comprehended it all, a terrible cry burst from my throat. I sank down in a swoon and would certainly have fallen from the ledge to join Minea had not Kaptah dragged me to safety, as he afterward told me. Of what then befell I know nothing save by Kaptah’s account, so mercifully profound was the swoon following upon anxiety, torment, and despair.

Kaptah told me that he mourned long beside my body, believing me to be dead, and he wept also for Minea until his good sense returned to him. Having felt me and found that I was alive, he reflected that he could save me at least though he could do nothing for her. He had seen the bodies of other youths and girls whom Minotauros had slain; the crabs had torn all the flesh from these bones so that they lay smooth and white upon the sandy bed of the sea.

Then he began to be stifled by the smell. When he found that he could not carry both me and the wine jar, he resolutely drank the rest of the wine and threw the empty jar into the water. So greatly fortified was he by this that he succeeded in half dragging, half carrying me back to the copper gates by means of the thread we had unrolled on our way in. After a moment’s reflection he thought it best to roll it up again as he went so as to leave no trace of our visit. It seems that in the light of his torch he noted secret signs on the walls, no doubt set there by Minotauros to help him find his way. Kaptah told me he had thrown the wine jar into the water to give Minotauros something to think about when next he carried out his bloody work.

Day was dawning as he brought me out. He locked the door behind him and put the key back in the priest’s house-for the priest and the guards were still sleeping, drugged with the wine I had mixed for them. Next he took me to a hiding place in a thicket on the bank of a stream. There he bathed my face and rubbed my hands until I came to my senses. I do not remember anything of this either. It seems I was much distracted and unable to speak, and he therefore gave me a sedative drug. I did not return to clear consciousness until much later when we were approaching the city, he leading and supporting me. Thereafter I remember everything.

I recall no suffering, nor did my thoughts turn often to Minea. She was now a remote shade in my soul, as if I had known her in some other life. Instead I reflected that the god of Crete was dead and that the might of Crete would now decline according to the prophecy. J was in no way cast down by this although the Cretans had shown me kindness, and their mirth sparkled like sea spray on the shore. When I came near the city, I was glad to think that those airy, delicate buildings would one day be in flames and that the lecherous cries of women would turn to mortal shrieks, that Minotauros’ mask of gold would be beaten flat and divided among the rest of the spoils, and that nothing would remain of the splendid majesty of Crete. The very island would sink again into the sea from which, with other marvels of the deep, it had once arisen.

I thought also of Minotauros, and without ill will, for Minea’s death had been easy, and she had not had to flee from the monster with every trick her art had taught her; she died before she knew what had befallen her. I reflected that Minotauros was alone in the knowledge that the god was dead and that Crete must fall and I guessed that his secret could be no easy one to bear. I was not sure his task had ever been easy, even in the days when the monster still lived and he sent the flower of his country’s youth into that dark house, month after month, year after year, knowing what happened to them there.

No, I felt no rancor. I sang and laughed like a madman as I walked, leaning upon Kaptah. He easily convinced those of Minea’s friends whom we met that I was still drunk after having awaited her return. They found it natural, seeing that I was a foreigner and too ignorant to know how barbarous it must appear to them to be publicly drunk in the middle of the day. At last he was able to hire a chair, and he took me back to the inn where, having drunk a great quantity of wine, I sank into a long and profound slumber.

When I awoke, my head was cool and clear, and the past remote. I thought again of Minotauros. Should I set forth and slay him? But I knew that it would serve no useful purpose. By telling the truth, I could save the lives of all those who were still to draw lots, or who had already drawn them, for the privilege of entering the house of the god. But I knew that truth is an unsheathed knife in the hands of a child and readily turns against its holder.

As a foreigner, therefore, I felt that the god of Crete was no concern of mine-and Minea was gone. Crabs and crayfish would gnaw at her delicate bones, and she would rest forever on the sandy floors of the sea. I told myself that all had been written in the stars long before the day of my birth, and this brought me consolation. I spoke of it to Kaptah, but he said that I was ill and must rest, and he forbade anyone to see me.

I was greatly vexed with Kaptah at this time, for he persisted in stuffing me with food although I felt no hunger at all and desired only wine. I suffered from a continual and unquenchable thirst and was calmest when I had drunk enough to distort my vision. At such times I became aware that things might not be quite as they seem. For the drinker sees everything double when he has drunk enough. To him this is true vision even while he knows in his heart that it is false. And what is this but the very essence of truth? When with patience and self-mastery I sought to expound this to Kaptah, he would not listen but bade me lie down, close my eyes, and compose myself.

I can now appreciate the, severity of my disorder, though I have forgotten my thoughts since the wine tended to confuse me and darken my understanding. Yet I think the good wine saved my reason and helped me through the worst when I had lost Minea forever and with her my faith in the gods and in humanity.

Something in me evaporated in the fumes of the wine. I had felt something like it before when in my boyhood I saw the priest of Ammon spit on the face of the god in the sanctuary and rub it with his sleeve. The river of life was choked and its waters spreading-spreading into a wide lake whose surface was fair, a mirror to the starry heavens. Thrust a staff into it, and the water was clouded and the bottom but slime and corruption.

One morning I awoke in the inn to see Kaptah sitting in a corner of the room weeping silently and rocking his head between his hands. I bowed my head over the wine jar and having drunk said roughly, “What do you weep for, dog?”

It was the first time for many days that I had troubled to speak to him, so weary was I of his foolish solicitude. He raised his head and answered, “A ship is now lying in the harbor ready to sail for Syria, the last, it is said, that will leave before the winter gales set in. That is all I weep for.”

I said to him, “Run away to your ship, then, before I beat you again. At least I shall be spared the sight of your unendurable face and the sound of your everlasting lamentations and complaints.”

Having said this, I was ashamed and pushed away the wine jar. A bitter consolation lay in the thought that there was at least one creature dependent on me, though it was but a runaway slave.

Kaptah said, “Truly, lord, I, also, am weary of your sottishness. The dead are dead and don’t return. Let’s go away from here while we may. Your gold and silver-all that you a massed in the course of your journeys-you have thrown out of the window. With your shaking hands I do not believe that you could effect a single cure; you cannot so much as hold a wine jar. At first I thought it well for you to drink for the sake of your peace of mind; I urged you to do it, continually breaking the seals of new jars-and I drank also myself. Moreover, I boasted to others: See what a master I have! He drinks like a hippopotamus-he drowns both gold and silver in his wine, recklessly, and makes exceedingly merry. Now I boast no longer and am ashamed on my master’s account, for there are limits to everything, and to my mind you exceed them.

“I will never condemn a man who drinks himself into a passion and brawls in the street and gets his head broken. That is a sensible custom, which relieves the mind in many kinds of grief, and I have often done the same. The resulting disorders should be treated prudently with beer and salt fish, after which a man resumes his labor, as the gods have ordained and decency requires. But you drink as if each day were your last, and I fear you wish to soak yourself into your grave. If this is your aim, you would do better to drown in a bath of wine, for this is a speedier method, pleasanter also, and no dishonor.”

I considered his words. I surveyed my hands, which had been those of a healer but which now shook as if they had a will of their own and I were no longer their master. I thought of the knowledge I had accumulated in many lands and saw that excess was foolishness. It was as foolish to eat and drink immoderately as to give way to extremes of joy and sorrow.

Therefore, I said to Kaptah, “Let it be as you say, but know that the matter was already evident, and it is not your words that persuade me. They are as the tedious buzzing of flies in my ear. I shall leave drinking for a time and do not purpose to open another jar. I have brought order among my thoughts and intend to return to Smyrna.”

Kaptah skipped joyfully across the room and went out to arrange for our departure, and on that same day we went aboard. The rowers dipped their oars, and we glided from the harbor, past the scores and hundreds of vessels lying at anchor and past the copper-shielded Cretan warships. Once outside the harbor the men shipped their oars; the captain made sacrifice in his cabin to the sea god and others and gave orders for the hoisting of the sail. The vessel heeled over and sped on her way. Astern of us the island of Crete melted like a blue cloud-a shadow-a dream-and we were alone on the rolling expanse of the ocean.