From the USM Southworth Planetarium
"So, crates are your speciality, eh?"
THE DAILY ASTRONOMER
April 29, 2009
Minotaur
On March 30, the DA posted the first installment in a series called “Nothing without Theseus.”
The second installment, entitled “The Lying Witch and the War Robe” is turning out to be much longer than any previous DA. Consequently, I wanted to divide the second part into a both a prequel and a main story, which starts where the first installment ended.
So, today, we offer the preface to the second part, which is coming soon. Curiously, Theseus is nowhere to be found in this prequel, for it occurs a few years before he begins his adventures. However, this tale offers the background of the one creature that is most closely associated with the Athenian hero.
Minotaur
Daedalus was a calm man. He comported himself with an ease and imperturbability which seems particular to craftsman. While others might rage and howl at life's adversities, he saw the world as a series of puzzles to unravel and problems to solve. Each one he approached patiently, confident in the knowledge that in the enterprise of craftsmanship, he had no rival.
This tranquil nature would serve him well that early morning when he was aroused from his sleep by the Queen's piercing wails. Though the Queen was in the palace and he in his nearby cottage, her screams were of such volume that Daedalus arose at once upon hearing them. His wife was also awakened and was terrified, for those hollers sounded inhuman, as though they were the shrieks of a Tartarus shade rather than those of a mortal woman. After a few moments, the screaming subsided and Daedalus' wife, comforted by her husband's calming voice, lapsed back into sleep. Daedalus, however, remained awake.
Daedalus knew that the Queen was due to deliver a child. Such matters often proved complicated and the craftsman suspected that perhaps his services would be required. It is true that he knew precious little about midwifery, but, as he would tell you himself, Daedalus could fix anything. He sat in the chair by the front door and was not altogether surprised when he heard knocking a few minutes later. Fearing that his wife would once again be awakened and scared, he hurried to and then opened the door.
Before him stood King Minos. Yet, even the serene Daedalus was taken aback by the king's appearance. Ordinarily, Minos was the very portrait of self-possession. He carried himself with the regal arrogance befitting a king of his stature and accomplishment. Though his imperial personality was often tempered by a generally kindly nature, King Minos was one of the most formidable people that Daedalus had ever known. He was, in all other situations, the quintessential king.
Presently, he was a wreck. He shivered uncontrollably. His clothes were soiled with dirt and blood. In one hand he clutched something wrapped in swaddling rags. With the other hand, he wiped from his eyes a stream of tears.
"Your majesty," Daedalus whispered, observing decorum despite his shock.
"I need to come in."
Daedalus quickly gestured for the King to enter. This was certainly an extraordinary day, as the King had never asked to enter the cottage before. Daedalus cast a worried glance over at his wife’s sleeping form as the King collapsed into the chair that the craftsman had just vacated. He hoped that this intrusion wouldn’t rouse his wife or their infant son, Icarus.
“You have to help me,” Minos said between sobs. “Something has happened and I don’t know what else to do.”
At this the King cradled the swaddled object and openly wept. Daedalus stood silent for a minute while the King collected himself. He gingerly laid his hand on the king’s heaving shoulder and whispered. “What has happened?”
“Punishment? Olympian Rage? What do I do?”
“I don’t understand,” Daedalus replied. He then noticed that the thing Minos was holding so firmly hadn’t made any sound. “Is this your newborn?”
Minos’ sob became a sharp howl. The wife and infant awoke, the latter of whom answered the howl with one of his own.
“What’s happening?!” Daedalus wife asked, rising from the bed to grab the crying Icarus.
Minos, in a fit of temper he had never before displayed, demanded that the woman and infant be removed. “Nobody can see!” he yelled, pressing the swaddled object firmer. “Nobody can see!”
“My love, take Icarus out back to nurse. There is trouble and I must attend to it.”
“Are you in danger?” she asked, regarding him sharply.
“No. All is well, but I have to attend to the King.”
When the wife and child left, Minos arose and approached his craftsman. Daedalus knew better than to reproach the King for his fit of temper, but he did speak sternly. “What is the matter, your majesty?”
“This is not my child.”
Minos gently laid the swaddled object onto the bed. “I don’t understand. How do you know the child is not yours?”
Minos removed the swaddle. Daedalus repressed a scream. He had never thought to see such a sight as that. The rags fell away from a small, but monstrous creature. Though its entire body was pink and shriveled like that of most infants, it was fashioned of a baby’s legs and stomach, but the other features were those of a bull. Its head was overly large for the chest that heaved beneath it. The strain on the neck was such that as the creature lay on the bed, the head lolled around at odd moments, as though prepared to detach from the trunk. However, the creature struggled to rise from its recumbent position.
Minos buried his face in his hands. “How could this have happened? Why?”
Daedalus knew, but did not reveal, the answer. For this craftsman, whose work was celebrated over all the world, spent one wretched night many months ago bitterly regretting his proficiency. It was the night when the Queen herself stormed into his workshop. Like Minos, this proper and pompous queen was reduced to tremors and desperation. She spoke of a burning and unnatural lust that was tormenting her day and night. She could neither sleep nor eat. She neglected her daughter, Aradne, for she could think of nothing else. She was so besieged by this incandescent passion that she could no longer bare the sight or feel of her own husband. She loathed him as intensely as she yearned for commerce with the beautiful white Bull of Poseidon.
Poseidon had bestowed this bull onto the King, with the understanding that the King would sacrifice it back to Poseidon. King Minos, who developed an immediate fondness for the creature, refused to kill it. Enraged by this insolence, Poseidon cast a spell onto the Queen, causing her to feel a fierce desire for the animal. It was under the influence of this spell that the Queen sought Daedalus’ help. She knew that his cleverness had no bounds and he could do anything. She demanded that he create a disguise that would enable her to seduce the bull. To his shame, Daedalus devoted the entire night to creating the bovine suit she used to engage Poseidon’s bull in this shameful and wicked intercourse.
And, Daedalus saw before him the result of this liaison. He was as responsible for its conception as the Bull and Queen, for he knew of her lust and contrived with her to achieve its fulfillment. The little creature met his horrified expression with a seething, steadfast gaze.
“Expose it,” he said in a breathless whisper, as though fearful that the monster would understand him.
Minos looked up. “I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Look at it. Though it was born within the last hour, it has not yet cried. It merely breathes and stares. It took all of my strength just to hold it against my shoulder. It would survive exposure. What would it do after we left it?”
Daedalus turned away and opened the door. He needed to feel the breath of Aurora against his face. He wanted a moment’s peace, but the king spoke again, this time in strained tones. What he said chilled Daedalus to his core.
“My friend, the Queen has gone mad and I am at a loss.”
“I need to think,” he murmured, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he found, to his surprise, that he had been clutching the threshold for support. Daedalus looked upon the nearby ocean. That’s what he needed. He needed something like an ocean to contain
the creature and prevent it from laying waste to the much weaker citizens. Though, the ocean was unreliable.
“Tell me what to do, Daedalus. I cannot stand to be around it much longer.”
“Labyrinth…”
Minos looked over to him. “What?”
“A labyrinth. A maze so complex that anybody placed in it could never escape. Walls folding onto walls, curving back onto themselves. A labyrinth in which each step is both backwards and forwards. A labyrinth with towering walls that no occupant could ever climb.”
“Labyrinth? I never heard of such a thing.”
“They are not easy to design. Only the best of craftsman would dare attempt it. I can make the most complex labyrinth ever constructed. We shall tie the creature to a post and I will build the maze around it. By the time it liberates itself from the post, the labyrinth will be done. This thing shall spend its entire unnatural life within its confines. The only ones who will see it are those foolish enough to tread within the labyrinth. These witnesses shall not be able to speak of it to anybody because they, too, shall never know life outside the labyrinth again.”
They both turned to the hideous infant, which was now standing, albeit unsteadily, on its human legs. Minos backed up against the wall as the creature bore its teeth in what appeared to be a malicious sneer. It locked them both in a fierce glare as its trembling hands curled into claw-like fists.
“Can you begin it today?” Minos asked in a voice that was scarcely above a whisper.
“Your majesty,” Daedalus answered, his tone reassuringly steady. “I’ll begin at once.”
And so he did.
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