Authors: Fred Saberhagen
Meanwhile our own crew, experienced sailors and fighters all, were no trembling cowards in this situation. In obedience to Kena'ani's shouted commands, they were preparing as best they could to fight, and at the same time trying to get more speed out of our own vessel.
The time elapsed since my landing on the deck of the merchant had been so brief that I had not even started to remove my wings. Now, as our pursuers drew nearer still, I tightened my shoulder straps—again blessing the improved design which made this maneuver possible without assistance—and made ready to leap into the air. My intention was to fly toward our pursuers and try to frighten them away. But a moment later, taking one last look over the stern before I leaped, I cried out in joy. I had recognized Prince Theseus, standing on the deck of the Athenian ship and giving orders.
Kena'ani, oblivious to my repeated cries that all was well, was swearing mighty oaths, invoking gods or devils whose names I had never heard before, and urging his men to make some adjustment of the sail they were trying to hoist. At this point our ship plowed into a large wave, and the sail, old and weathered canvas, suddenly ripped free of the lashings that secured it. What little hope we might have had of getting away from the onrush of the ship astern was abruptly dashed.
I continued to cry out the good news, that the commander of the other ship was my good friend, and eventually my cries were heeded. In another moment our men had ceased to row. Some gawked at the approaching Athenian, while others concentrated their efforts on disentangling the wreckage of our sail and its lines. Very soon after that the other ship caught up with us.
Meanwhile I had sprung onto the rail, and leaped from there into the air above, ignoring Kena'ani's stifled oath of protest behind me. Unhurriedly I flew in the direction of the other ship. It was now going to be impossible for me to keep my wings a secret from Theseus in any case, and so I wanted to reveal them as impressively as possible.
My princely friend and his crew were indeed astounded to behold a flying man, and in fact a general panic ensued upon the Athhenian deck. As the crew had nowhere to flee, they made ready to defend themselves. Fortunately their captain recognized me, and kept them from trying to riddle me with arrows or slung stones. Soon, at the invitation of the prince, I landed on his deck, where he greeted me warmly, and in the same breath demanded an explanation of my wings.
This I was able to provide, and the prince in his practical way quickly accepted my answer. In turn he explained to me that the black sail formerly adorning his mast had worn out; the ordinary white replacement had prevented my identifying his ship at first sight. Then he returned to the subject of the wings.
"You never cease to amaze me, Daedalus," Theseus muttered, the finest compliment I think that I had ever had from him. Gripping one of my pinions gently but firmly in each of his huge hands, he spread them out curiously and made them delicately flap, a warrior intrigued by a new weapon, and instantly visualizing possibilities for its use. "I have always thought that if anyone could make wings for a man to fly with, it would be you."
I suspected that the prince was not really capable of thinking about inventions, not until they appeared before him in concrete form. But all I said was: "I thank you humbly, sir."
He nodded. All trace of the harried student and the frantic rebel had disappeared from the man before me. Once he had filed away the idea of my wings as a new practical possibility, he let go of them and went on. "You and that clumsy trader have just come from Naxos."
"Indeed we have."
"What word of the Princess Ariadne there?"
"She is still there," I said unwillingly. "I have just seen her and spoken with her."
"What said she about me?"
"Alas, sire! Nothing at all."
Theseus nodded, as if he had expected to hear that bad news. "She abandoned me, Daedalus," he informed me, sounding and looking as sad as Ariadne herself when I had tried to talk to her about whatever had happened between them on the island. Obviously Theseus did not want to discuss the subject either, but he appeared to have no choice in the matter. "Abandoned me. But I am sure that she was under an enchantment when she did so."
"I am sorry, sire." I ventured a question of my own: "And where is the Princess Phaedra now?" I was hoping to get all unpleasant revelations over with as soon as possible.
"She is in Athens." My young friend stood a little taller, and looked proud. "And she is more than a princess now. She is my queen."
I needed a moment to take in the full implications of that statement. "By all the gods… then you are king." I genuflected hastily. "That means your noble father is no more?"
A momentary shadow passed across the face of Theseus. "Some months ago, just before I came home, King Aegeus plunged from a clifftop into the sea. I am told, Daedalus, that the illnesses of old age had begun to—look there!"
I spun around, which is no easy maneuver when one is wearing wings of a god's design. My arms, in trying to move swiftly, had to grapple with the air as if it were a heavy thicket of bushes.
What I saw was a small and distant object moving in midair. Only a bright speck at the distance, but it was easy enough for me to recognize, having recently seen it at close range. It was the flying, gleaming chariot of Dionysus, looking almost sunlike with reflected sun as it rose from somewhere in the highlands of Naxos, and then accelerated across the sky. Traveling at a speed I considered worthy of divinity, it soon disappeared in the direction of Thera, to the south.
"I am told he rides in that," Theseus growled. He sounded anything but awed.
"Dionysus? True enough, for I have seen him disembarking from it." I did not mention that Ariadne
had now become that sky-rider's erotic slave.
The young king slammed his fist down on the rail. "Then how is a man ever supposed to come to grips with him?"
I reflected that this self-confident young man who now stood before me had already broken the neck of one supposed god, and therefore was not likely to stand in too much awe of another. Still I thought that it would be inadvisable for Theseus—or any other mortal—to attempt to come to grips with the Dionysus I had encountered. Nor did I hesitate to say as much. "Sire, whether he is a god or something less—I think that there would be no glory in such an effort. He is not a warrior."
Theseus smiled tolerantly and took me by the shoulder—by the wing-root, rather, shaking my whole body gently. "You are a good man, Daedalus, and in some matters you are a good adviser. But I think I will not follow your advice in this."
Meanwhile the Athenian crew were pulling closer to the trader, where the crew were still trying to untangle themselves from the fallen sail. Theseus and I continued our talk. The new king explained to me how he had come to leave his new queen behind in Athens, and why he and his crew had been patrolling off the coast of Thera, rather than landing on the island boldly.
"The two of us, your man-god Dionysus and myself, had a strange encounter on the island some two months ago." Theseus was reluctant to tell me the details of the story now. Perhaps he could not remember what he had said and done on that occasion, when his mind must have been clouded and his feelings controlled by his rival. But as Theseus now remembered and described the encounter, Ariadne herself had ordered him to depart, if he loved her; and he had taken an oath at Ariadne's urging never to land on Thera again unless she summoned him back.
Having myself experienced the influence of Dionysus at first hand, I could well believe that even Theseus would be unable to overcome it. But knowing Theseus the hero, I doubted that he would ever admit or accept such a defeat.
"You say you saw her just now, Daedalus. Tell me, try to remember, had she any message for me. Am I to land on Naxos again, and rescue her?" Here my young friend was almost pleading for the answer that would release him from his solemn oath.
I was unable to give him what he wanted. "No, Your Majesty. She said nothing of the land." I suppose that would have been my answer whether it was true or not, but of course it was true enough. I tried again to remember anything that the Princess Ariadne might have said about this man who only a few months ago had been her lover; but I could not recall a word.
"Then what
did
she say?"
"She spoke of—of women's matters. And of neutral things." I gestured vaguely, thinking that it would do no good, but probably great harm to tell Theseus how the woman he loved�even if unfaithfully—had doted on the god of intoxication. The vanity of the young hero before me would certainly not be able to stand hearing that, and I feared what the consequences might be.
Even as matters stood Theseus was greatly upset. "Ah, Daedalus! Women! How by all the gods can a man ever hope to understand them or cope with them?"
I could only shake my head in response to a question which no counselor however sage has ever been able to answer in a wholly satisfactory way.
The king continued to talk to me—I think he was hungry for a chance to talk—and gradually a little more of the story came out, of what must have been a memorable encounter. I could visualize the three of them: First, Ariadne, already under the spell of her new master. Second, the young man before me, who had not yet known that he was king, his hero's pride hurt deeply. (What had Phaedra urged him then?) And third, the being called Dionysus, who, as I was beginning to realize, must be more powerful in some ways than any king on earth.
Theseus, thinking back now over the circumstances in which he had been persuaded to take such an oath and sail away, was more puzzled than ever as to how such a thing had come about.
"By all the gods, Daedalus, what I did then seems now like—like a base thing. And yet at the time…" He gave up in bafflement, knowing himself to be no coward.
I did what I could to reassure him. "I too have talked with Dionysus, sire. I can appreciate what you must have experienced. It is a matter that will bear much thinking about."
"Then do you think about it, counselor. I rely on you for that." And my friend sounded much relieved, at having someone who might do that kind of thinking for him.
By this time our two ships, the Phoenician and the Athenian, were standing close alongside each other, and the two crews, understanding that they were to be in some way allied, had begun to exchange greetings. The Athenian crew were a hard-bitten, experienced lot, unimaginative for the most part, though superstitious like all sailors. I learned later that these men were all picked volunteers, come willingly on this voyage to help their new king win glory in whatever manner seemed to him most fitting.
Of course by now my friend Kena'ani had come aboard the ship of Theseus, to be presented to the new King of Athens. The merchant outdid himself in obsequious obeisance on this occasion; I got the impression that no one in the long line of his trading ancestors had ever had such an opportunity to ingratiate himself with royalty.
Theseus was sure that the flying god, whose departure from Naxos we had just witnessed, had gone to Thera. It seemed to all of us a likely goal. Beyond that island to the south, the direction in which the flying chariot had vanished, there was only Crete, where the gods were not commonly known to be visitors, and beyond Crete only Africa.
And so the King of Athens informed us all that, since Ariadne still declined to release him from his oath regarding Naxos, he planned to set his course for Thera. Turning his most commanding gaze on me directly, he insisted that I accompany him there—bringing my wings, of course, and standing ready to use them in his service as well as my wits and skill.
I was wary of this king's impetuous youth, but still, having long been intrigued by the mystery of Thera, I had no wish to refuse him, even had a refusal been possible. I had to transfer my few belongings, including the mysterious gift of Minos, to the Athenian ship.
As far as Theseus was concerned, what Kena'ani and his crew might want to do was up to them. The Phoenician captain, on the other hand, continued in his determination to sell this king—or some other presumably wealthy potentate—on wings. But Theseus had already seen the wings, and cheerfully assumed they were already at his disposal. Kena'ani did drop a hint or two regarding payment, which Theseus ignored. Wisely the merchant forbore to press the matter now. The best he could do for the time being was to involve himself in the process of explaining possible uses for the invention, and he began to urge me to provide the king with a fuller demonstration.
But Theseus had always a habit of wanting to organize his own plan of learning, and, having already seen me fly, nothing would now satisfy him but that he make a trial of the wings himself. He insisted on doing this immediately, despite my protests that the wings I had made for myself would never fit him, being constructed for a smaller, considerably lighter man than he.
The straps could barely be made to fit upon the royal shoulders. Then the new king's effort on leaping over the side of the ship could hardly be described as a success, though by heroic effort he could just manage to keep himself aloft for the space of a few breaths, and at least avoided falling unheroically into the sea.
Carefully we unbuckled the straps from his shoulders and his waist as Theseus sat panting on the deck. When he had breath enough to speak again, he said: "You must make a set that will fit me, Daedalus."
"Gladly, sire. Of course. But to undertake such a project I must be provided with a workshop, well equipped with tools and well stocked with the necessary materials."
He smiled boyishly. "That was one of the things, as you recall, that I said on Crete I could not promise you."
"In Athens, sir, where you are now the king, I am sure we could find—"
"But we are not going to Athens. Not just yet. I suppose my wings will have to wait."
Kena'ani decided to accompany us to Thera, being advised to do so by the same oracular methods he had used before. These never seemed to give him any advice erring on the side of caution, or opposed to the spirit of the entrepreneur. His first mate stood ready to take over command of the Phoenician ship and crew, and of the remainder of their trading voyage. The mate said that he hoped to see his captain at home again one day. He also said that his first act as captain of the merchant ship would be to put her ashore for repairs on one of the dozen or more smaller islands nearby.