“I was conceived when Minos’ wife, Pasiphae, fell in love with a white bull. Imagine the manner of woman she must have been, to fall in love with a bull.”
He hated his mother, I thought, and then my mind fled to my own lover, the white stag, lying so desolate in his glade, and my heart broke for Pasiphae.
“She was determined to copulate with him,” Weyland continued, “no matter the injury to herself. She had a craftsman, Daedalus, construct for her a wooden cow with a convenient opening, I would imagine, at the appropriate spot. She then inserted herself into the cow, her legs down its back legs, her body within its body, and had a servant bring the bull to his ‘cow’, whereupon the bull mounted it.”
He paused, probably thinking of that bestial moment, and for some reason I looked at his left hand which still rested on the table. I’d seen his hands before, surely, but I’d never really looked at them. It was a surprise, this hand. Large and square, but with fine skin and long fingers, tipped with well-kept nails.
It was a sensitive hand. A gentle hand.
“I heard that she screamed when the bull entered her,” he said, his voice now very low, “and begged the servant to pull the bull away. But the bull was strong, and intent on taking his pleasure. Can you imagine, Noah, the sight of it.” He turned his face to me, and I recoiled at the hatred I saw there. “The bull, grunting and thrusting atop Queen Pasiphae.”
I closed my eyes briefly. I could imagine, all too well. Was this from where he got his dark power, I wondered? Power engendered by that terrible, tearing, agonising, stupid mating?
If only Pasiphae had known what she was conceiving. If only…
“And thus, I was engendered in agony and horror. My mother hated me, thinking only of the pain and the humiliation. Her husband, King Minos, loathed me…no doubt thinking of the ribald gossip running up and down the streets of Knossos: They say she fornicated with a bull, and that her child has been born so malformed that its mother cannot bear to gaze upon it. And that was true enough, for I was born malformed, born with the head of a bull, the head of my father.” He spat the word out, and I realised at that moment that none of this was acting, this pain was all too real.
“Minos determined to hide me away,” Weyland continued. “It is said he instructed Daedalus to build a labyrinth, and then to place me within it, so that none might ever see my face again, save those that were sent to their deaths. But that is not strictly true. Knossos already had a labyrinth, the Great Founding Labyrinth, and it was into that they placed me—Daedalus was merely the fool sent to place the mewling infant into its heart. And there I stayed, and there I grew, and all the food they ever sent me, Noah, was human flesh. Twice a year, in batches of terrified youths, pissing themselves in fear. Do you blame me for eating, and for enjoying the meal?”
My mouth was dry. I could not respond.
“Everyone regarded me with loathing. Everyone. There was no one, Noah, to offer me any kind of shelter at all.”
There! Again! He was watching me carefully as he spoke that last, and I knew that he saw my panic.
“No one,” he said very softly, his eyes intense on mine, “to offer me any kind of love.”
I managed, somehow, to swallow, and that gave me the courage to speak. “But Ariadne—”
“Ah, yes. Ariadne. My sister. My lover. She was born eight years after myself…I assume the time difference was because it took Minos some time to bring himself to mate with a woman who had betrayed him with a bull. Anyway, Ariadne was born, and grew, and became the most powerful Mistress of the Labyrinth that had ever been.”
“And, as part of her duties, she met you.”
His expression softened. “Aye, she met me. She came to me, not only from curiosity, although that was certainly part of it, but driven by compassion as well.”
That I found most implausible. Ariadne, driven by compassion?
“We became lovers, and, oh, how I did love her! She was the only one I’d ever known who did not look on me with fear or loathing. She made me laugh.” He paused. “She made me feel wanted.”
Weyland stopped, caught in his memories, and I stared at him, fascinated by this tale of rejection and horror.
He saw me watching, and smiled, and it caught at my heart, it was so sweet. “We had a child…did you know?”
Now he’d stunned me, and for some reason I felt a shiver of premonition. “No,” I managed, “I didn’t know.”
“A little girl. Perfect. She had no bull nose, no horns, but merely tangled black hair and the loveliest of faces. Ariadne let me hold her. Once. Just once.”
Tangled black hair and a lovely face. Just like Catling. I shivered again with that strange fearful premonition.
“And then?” I said, trying to distract myself from my thoughts.
“And then one day, perhaps a month after her birth, Ariadne came to me and said she had sent the girl away. She was ashamed, not of the girl—”
Again I closed my eyes briefly.
“—but of the beast who had got the child on her.”
“Where did your daughter go?”
“I don’t know. I never saw her again, and Ariadne never spoke of her.”
Oh, gods…I was so confused now I didn’t know what to think. This the dreaded Minotaur? This the frightful beast evil incarnate? I knew that Asterion was most likely constructing this to sway me, to make me sympathise, to make me pliable…but there was something deep within me that screamed that this was truth.
“But then Ariadne met Theseus,” I said. I needed to get past that child.
“Ah, yes, Theseus. She met him, she wanted him. And so she sent him to me, and he slew me, and then he betrayed her, and this entire…” he waved a hand in the air, trying to find the right word “…debacle was created.” Again Weyland looked at me, and what I saw there I thought was as real as anything I’d ever read in anyone’s face. “Do you blame me for what I do, Noah? Do you blame me for fighting with all my might to prevent myself being thrown back into the labyrinth?”
“Then walk away! We shall let you be, Brutus and myself. Walk away!”
“No!” His hand—that sensitive, long-fingered hand—thudded into the table. “The instant the Game is completed, then so shall I be incarcerated once more into its heart.”
“Then you must be true malevolence,” I said, “for otherwise that should not be your fate.”
He said nothing, just looked at me.
“Why cause myself and Jane all this pain?” I said. “Why tear those imps from us? Why, if not that you act out of hatred and maliciousness?”
“I did that,” he said, “because I am nothing but what the labyrinth made me.”
Now my emotions swept the opposite way. This pathetic tale had been all a lie, uttered to confuse me.
Weyland sighed, and lowered his eyes. “I began this crusade against you and Brutus and Jane and all else involved in this bitter Troy Game,” he said, “out of malevolence and hatred. But do you know what, Noah?”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I am tired of it, Noah.”
I gave a small, disbelieving smile.
“Why else should I have healed you?” he said.
“To trap me,” I said. “To make me think you had a better nature.”
He sighed. “I cannot blame you for thinking badly of me.”
He stopped, looked at me, smiled in a strange, funny little manner, then he leaned over the table, closed the distance between us, and kissed my mouth softly.
I did not move, and I told myself that this was because I was terrified into stillness.
He leaned back, and I turned aside my face. I would not look at him.
Again Weyland sighed. “You are free to come and go as you wish, Noah. I will not prevent you. I ask only that you do not see Brutus, that you sleep your nights here, and that you spend time with me. That you come to know me.”
Freedom to come and go? This was a trap, I knew it.
He smiled, soft and sad. “It is no trap, Noah. All I want is for you to have the freedom you need. To learn from Jane the ways of the labyrinth.”
“You want me to become Mistress of the Labyrinth?”
“Of course,” he said. “Can you imagine it, Noah? You and I, Mistress and Kingman? I can. I lie awake nights imagining it. Imagining you and I…”