The Minotaur's Bride

"Why, such untruths," says the Minotaur, stroking my cheek with a waxen claw. "What reason have I to murder and, ugh, how I shudder to say it," (he provides a theatrical little twitch of fur) "eat my guests?"

"That is merely what they say."

"They, they, they. And who is they, and how do you suppose they know? Have they been here? Do they dine with me?"

"Well, no, sir, but . . ."

"You silly little girl. So silly. So charmingly silly." He holds my entire chin now in his massive hand, and I know he can feel my frantic swallows like a sparrow's heartbeat against his flesh. "Why do you suppose I request only maidens and unwed men?"

"I... I do not know, sir."

"Well, goodness, it can't be that they taste better. Why on earth would anyone suppose a virgin tastes better than a slut, or vice versa? Humans are humans. I imagine you lot all taste the same."

"But marriage…"

"I'm a lonely creature. Admittedly a greedy one as well. No one needs seven wives at once. But I do enjoy it."

"But why every seven years, sir? You ought to have dozens of wives by this point . . ."

"Oh, little lovely," he lows, drawing me closer. "They grow old. They repine. And so I send them off to another island where they can live in the sun and raise olives together."

I soften at the thought of ripe green olive trees. The world is so dark here, so utterly devoid of growth. Though his explanations have not yet been entirely illuminating. "And what of the men?" I inquire. "Why do you need our male youths as well?"

He turns his bovine nose bashfully aside with such confidence it immediately belies the very gesture. "That part is maybe a little cruel. Even I will concede that." He pauses.

I pallor but remain calm, curious. "What do you do with them?"

"I need guards for my wives. They're not all happy here, as you might suppose. And so I geld the boys to make fine servants for you young ladies." He brushes off all objections with a tidy flit-flit of his misshapen hand. "After all, your lot has castrated the offspring of my half-kin for generations, and the Persians do the same, you know. It's hardly as barbaric as it sounds."

I thank the gods I was never attached to any of the boys this year, not like poor Althea or the dark Iola, the former my friend, the latter my rival. For the one I will weep tonight while for the other I will rejoice, and perhaps my emotions might balance out and I can finally be content with my lot.

Though the thought of Iola makes me suddenly worry about where I will stand among the wives. If this is to be my life for the next Great Year, how can I settle for less than best loved?

"Well," I begin in feigned thoughtfulness, "well, sir, now that I know your intentions for the next seven years, what is it you plan to do tonight? It has certainly been a stressful day for you." I make as if to turn away. "Perhaps you would like to retire for the evening?"

"I was pondering that myself," rumbles the Minotaur with considerable pleasure. "All the other wives were so inconsolable at the thought of their fates that they were hardly good company."

"I can leave you in peace, if you like . . ."

"Oh, goodness no," says the Minotaur, hooking his right fore-claw beneath my chiton. "I intend for you to stay."

*       *       *

"Sir!" I exclaim. "How very gentlemanly you are! Even I cannot dine so delicately as you." I nuzzle up against him with a feigned fervor and rub my nose into his pelt. He smells pungently of unwashed bull and wet iron, and I bite my tongue to stop from gagging.

"Well, little lovely," says the Minotaur. "I've had ages to practice. A beast in appearance does not a beast at heart make."

"So very true," I agree.

We are silent for some seconds as I stroke his arm and pray to any god that will listen to give me the cockiness to ask a question.

"Sir?" I venture finally. "Sir, will you guide me through more of the Labyrinth? These living alcoves are quite nice, I'll admit – after all, they had an excellent designer - but . . ." I stop to breathe. "But, sir, I'd really love to see more of it. To fully appreciate your domain."

A sharp intake of breath with the edge of a growl.

"But if . . . If you'd rather not, then . . ."

"Stupid cow," he mumbles, wrenching his bulk out of my soft, stroking hands. "If I could give you a tour of this wretched tangle, do you think I'd still be living in it?"

"I thought perhaps . . . This area is such a tiny part of it, maybe there was more you . . ."

"Oh, shut up," the creature grumbles. "Shut up before I feed you to the other wives."

I look speculatively at my plate of lamb, and wonder if I could differentiate it from Althea's thigh or Iola's enviably lovely shoulder.

"Stop looking at it that way!" screams the Minotaur. "Now let's just . . . Now let's just finish our dinner, shall we? Have another glass of wine, will you?" He hastily proffers a sloshing amphora and nearly flings its contents across the table.

"Yes, please, sir."

"Now that's better. Isn't it better?"

I nod vigorously. "Yes, sir."

He reclines in his chair, bracing his hind hooves on the table and balancing on two precarious carved legs. "And don't think of exploring, you little strumpet," he admonishes. "You'd starve to death before you found your way back here. Though wouldn't that be charmingly ironic?" He chuckles thoughtfully. "Perhaps you'd grow so ravenous in there that you'd dare to eat yourself toe by toe and up the calves until you were twisted inside out. And who would be the monster then, I should ask? Certainly not me."

"No sir," I placidly agree. "Not you."

*       *       *

"Darling!" calls the Minotaur, lumbering along so distractedly that he nearly crushes me underfoot. "Darling? Oh . . . Ah. There you are. You probably shouldn't read in the hallways, you know."

"Probably not," I concur, quickly rolling up a piece of parchment left by a previous wife.

"Yes, you see . . . Anyhow, I have something of a favor to ask of you. A trifle, really."

"You know I am always pleased to serve you." I sidle up to his side with a grin so false it makes me jaws ache with embarrassment.

He pats me absentmindedly on the head. "It's just a tiny bit of a hassle, really, but some fellow is bumbling about my home and I believe he means to play the hero and murder me. For the good of the Athenians or some such laudable aim like that. But you know I'm not all that bad, you know that, right?"

"Of course I do, dearest," I purr with self-loathing, kissing him on the gigantic nose. "So what do you want me to do?"

"Dispatch the young man, if you please." He chucks me under the chin like an indulgent grandfather. "Or if you don't please. Either way, get rid of him. He'll suspect less foul-play from you than I, my dear pretty thing."

"As you wish, my love."

"I'll know," he says quietly, tapping the side of his nose, flicking an ear. And with that he rumbles away.

I unroll the old wife's notes and stare at the map, the small smear of rust in the corner, then tuck it neatly away.

*       *       *

I'm waiting for him when he comes tiptoeing around the corner, his fingers curled around a bright red ball of string unwinding as he steps. The string catches and he fails to notice me for several moments as he cautiously disentwines it from a piece of ornate stonework, and I enjoy the view for a few seconds longer, watching the beautiful tension of his arms as he struggles, the bead of anxious sweat that slowly drips from his temple only to be lost in a mass of dark curls.

"Oh thank the gods!" I cry, unable to wait any longer. "Someone has come to save us!"

"Er, what?" the man utters in surprise, turning about. "Oh, um, yes! I have come to rescue you, fair maiden!" He pauses to scratch his stubbly chin with one eye half-closed in contemplation. "But, er, if you don't mind answering, why exactly haven't you been eaten yet?"

"The monster!" I shriek, clinging to his arm like a crazed limpet.

"Yes, that's all very well, but, um…?"

"The monster eats us slowly, one by one! It's excruciating!" I sigh a little and swoon against his arm. Suddenly I spring up, as though I've been graced with an idea. "But I could help you find him! I know where he sleeps!"

"Oh, er, that would be fantastic. Thanks." He gives the string one last determined tug and it finally pops free of the wall. "Lead on, fair maiden!" he exclaims, right arm outstretched in a gallant posture.

I guide him in circles for close to twenty minutes, debating if I should just let him play the hero and push a sword through my husband's body and let that be the end of it. But in the end, who serves me better, the man or the monster? If this youth should fail and the Minotaur know that I had helped him, where would I be? No longer his favorite, that's for certain, and how could I bear to live such an inferior life?

And so I give this man a kiss on his perfect parted lips and while he's still staring at me in surprise I loop his own string around his neck and pull it tight. He's so startled that he forgets to struggle until he's too weak for it to be useful, and I watch his lovely eyes fade from blue to gray, the way the sea looks when a fog rolls in over the islands, and I almost laugh to myself to think that death has made him even prettier. I drop him when his face turns violet, when the flailing stops, when his heart no longer patters so loudly with fright that it echoes through the corridors, and I give him another kiss in parting and step away over his exquisite corpse, snapping the ball of string apart from its noose with my teeth. I feel like Atropos.

*       *       *

I follow the parchment map, string trailing behind me like a fox's tail, until I find myself at a massive door. It is carved with images of Pasiphaë and the Cretan Bull – frolicking in a field, nuzzling against one another, climbing into Daedalus' contraption to copulate. I wonder what the Minotaur thinks when he sees this door, and if he loves his mother and it pains him, or if he wishes her dead.

Inside are the bodies of his wives.

Some are little more than bare bones at this point, dusty and raw white, gnawed clean and snapped in half to allow for easier access to the marrow. Others have been consumed in a more creative fashion. Althea has been chomped in a spiral pattern along her sides so that she looks like a mauled caterpillar, while Iola holds her stomach open to reveal a hollowed out interior.

"Hello," says the Minotaur. "I heard you coming this way, so I thought I'd wait for you."

*       *       *

He eats me slowly, one piece at a time, leaving just enough carved off fragments of myself after each session to keep me fed until the next. I suppose I could choose not to eat them. I suppose I could choose to just starve and die.

But he's such an amazing cook. After all, he's had ages to practice.