Chapter 1: A Hero’s Labor

Leandros mounted the steps one by one, his tanned skin baking beneath the midday sun, his sandals pounding against the hot stone. He wore a set of bronze armor that glinted in the light, his ornate cuirass molded into a muscled effigy of a male torso, the metal ornamented with flowing scenes of battle. His Corinthian helmet came down over his cheeks and nose, shielding his eyes from the glare, its decorative crest bobbing with each step. With his spear and shield in hand, he arrived at the top of the staircase, the wind that blew in from the ocean rustling the leather strips of the pteruges that protected his thighs. Behind him, the white sands of Crete gave way to the azure ocean, the sunlight reflecting off its calm surface, the calls of seabirds resounding as they circled overhead. He could see his trireme from here, the ship moored at the bustling docks below, its white sails fluttering in the breeze.

Above him, perched atop the island’s craggy cliffs, was the great palace of Minos. It was an impressive edifice of shining marble pillars, its stone painted in vibrant reds and blues, adorned with finely-crafted statues honoring the Pantheon.

As he made his way higher, a pair of armored guards moved to intercept him, but they soon backed away when they recognized the sigil of the lion on his shining shield. He jogged the rest of the way, following the winding path up the arid, rocky incline until he reached the shade of a covered walkway. His sandals echoing on the polished tiles, he made his way deeper, flanked to his left and right by the massive, ornate pillars that held up the impressive structure. It was as large a palace as he had ever seen, grand both in its incredible scale and in the minutia of its adornments. He could scarcely find a surface that wasn’t patterned with beautiful mosaic work or an alcove that didn’t play host to an immaculately carved statue of a hero or a God.

The guards watched him warily as he ascended a short flight of steps, emerging into the king’s audience chamber. Sitting before him astride a throne of white marble was Minos, the king of Crete. He was clad in flowing robes of the finest silk, the locks of his long beard decorated with heavy, golden jewelry. Atop his head sat a gilded diadem encrusted with rare gems that shone as brightly as stars. At his right hand, seated in a smaller – albeit no less impressive throne hewn from marble – was his wife, Pasiphae. She was as beautiful as the stories had told, her olive skin seeming to reflect the light of the torches that burned nearby as though it had been oiled, her long, braided hair falling down her back. Her gossamer gown did little to conceal the feminine figure that lay beneath, but not even Leandros was so bold as to examine her too closely in front of the king.

He took a few steps closer, then dropped to a knee, his armor clattering as he lay down his spear before the low pedestal that held aloft the throne.

“King Minos – I have traveled far to answer your call for aid. I am Leandros – son of Alessandro, hailing from the island of Kos. I come to offer you my spear.”

“Rise, Leandros,” Minos replied with a wave of his hand. Each of his thick fingers was adorned with a gilded ring that shone as he moved. “Tales of your exploits have reached even these shores. I met your father once – he was a skilled warrior and an even more renowned statesman.”

Leandros climbed to his feet again, puffing out his chest with pride as he stood before the monarch.

“Thank you for answering my call in this dark hour,” Minos continued, leaning forward in his stone seat. “Tell me – what stories of Crete’s plight have you heard?”

“Rumors, my King,” Leandros replied. He didn’t elaborate, seeking the king’s permission to continue for fear of causing offense.

“Speak,” Minos ordered.

“They say that a beast lurks beneath the palace,” Leandros began. “They say that under this very court, there is a labyrinth of immense proportions from which no man can escape, no matter his cunning. They say that within its walls lurks a beast – not quite man, and not quite animal – that preys on all those who might dare enter.”

“You have heard true,” Minos continued, settling back into his throne with a solemn nod. “Far below us, in the bowels of the island, is a labyrinth that spans leagues. It was created on my orders by the most renowned masons and architects of Greece, its purpose – to serve as a prison, as a cage for this beast. For nearly two decades, we have kept it satiated with tributes and offerings, but it has grown restless. Now, I fear that it might find a way to escape one day soon, and when it does, all of Crete will be threatened by its wrath.”

“What is it, my King?” Leandros asked.

“An unholy union of man and beast,” he replied, his dark eyes darting to his queen for the briefest of moments. She averted her gaze, staring off into the distance, the tension between them so palpable that Leandros could almost taste it on the air.

“I have sent warriors and assassins into the labyrinth in a bid to end this threat before it gets out of my control,” the King continued, turning his attention back to Leandros. “These were not mere sellswords and mercenaries, but men of great renown. Many have ventured into the labyrinth, and not one has ever been seen again. Whether the creature is to blame or the labyrinth itself claimed them, I cannot know for sure, but the people of Crete will not sleep soundly until this threat is dealt with.”

“Then, I, Leandros of Kos, shall be the one to set their minds at ease,” he replied as he planted the long haft of his spear on the tiles. “I vow to enter the labyrinth, slay this beast, and return with proof of my deeds. I shall deliver you its head and cast it before your throne.”

“As I had hoped,” Minos replied, waving a hand. From the shadows, an old man clad in a fine cloak appeared, seeming to melt into view beside one of the flickering torches. “This is my closest and most trusted advisor, Daedalus. I have tasked him with preparing you for the labors to come. He will guide you to our armory, where you may take whatever weapons and supplies you deem necessary, and he will answer any questions you might have about the nature of the beast and its home.”

“My king,” Leandros replied, bowing his helmeted head in supplication. He turned to the old man, who beckoned for him to follow with a crooked finger.

Leandros left the throne room behind him, following the hunched Daedalus deeper into the palace’s winding corridors. As they ventured into the heart of the structure, less natural light made its way inside, and the flickering of torches soon replaced it as the only illumination. Was this an omen of the darkness that he might soon face below?

“I was there when the labyrinth was first built,” Daedalus croaked, Leandros having to slow his gait to match pace with the old man’s unsteady footsteps. “It was twenty years ago almost to the day that the creature was birthed, and upon seeing its horrifying countenance, King Minos assembled the greatest architects of the age and ordered that a structure be built to house it. My son Icarus and I oversaw its design and construction.”

“Why not kill it before it had even drawn its first breath if it was so horrifying?” Leandros asked curiously.

“The King had his reasons,” Daedalus replied cryptically. “The will of the Gods is not so easily countermanded. It took five years to complete the project, and by then, the beast had grown several times larger than a normal child of its age. It was already strong enough to overpower an adult man. It was then sent into the maze – never to be seen again. At least, that was the King’s sincerest hope.”

“What changed? I was told that no man who sets foot in there can ever leave.”

“If you think that to be true, then why have you offered to enter?” the old man asked as he tilted his head quizzically.

“Fair point,” Leandros muttered. “I have a plan.”

“In truth, the labyrinth is very difficult to navigate by design, but nothing is impossible. If there are ways in, then logic dictates that there must be ways out. I am the only man who has ever seen the completed structure from the inside, and I was barely able to make my way out, even armed with all my knowledge. The King has grown worried that as the beast’s strength and cunning grow, it will overcome the obstacles that have been placed before it.”

“What is this creature?” Leandros pressed, the pair turning another corner in the snaking hallways. “I must learn all that I can of its strengths and weaknesses before I begin my hunt.”

“It is the spawn of man and beast,” he replied, mirroring the king’s words.

“If you were there to see the construction of the labyrinth, did you see the creature in person?”

“I did,” he replied with a nod. “Many years have passed, but that image is still burned into my mind like a brand. It was as though the Gods had taken two statues of soft clay and had melded them into one. It had the broad shoulders and torso of a man, but its face ... its face was that of a bull, covered in coarse hair and sporting a pair of sharp horns. Below the knee, it had the cloven hooves of a beast of the field. Be wary, for it is stronger and more resilient than any man could hope to be, embodying the bestial traits of its father. Even the great heroes of myth would crumble before it were they to challenge its strength directly. No, only a warrior quick of both mind and blade will be able to overcome it.”

“I am well versed in military strategy,” Leandros replied proudly.

“So I have heard,” Daedalus continued with a shrewd look. “Your feints during the battle of Tegea are known to me. Your father was a master strategist, and he has clearly trained you well. But, I must warn you that this creature knows its prison well. You trespass in its home, and it will have committed the twists and turns of that place to memory over the years. While it may resemble a beast, and it might fight with the fury befitting a savage animal, only a fool would underestimate its intelligence.”

They emerged into a large chamber, the burning torches that illuminated it reflecting off the hammered bronze of a hundred weapons. The walls were lined with racks of fine swords and daggers of all sizes, spears with leaf-shaped tips – even war axes and tridents of intricate design. There were straw mannequins wearing helmets, cuirasses, greaves, and bracers – made both from metal and studded leather, capes of fine silk adorning their shoulders. It was an armory fit for a king, and that was likely its very purpose.

“I have never seen metalworking of this quality,” Leandros muttered as he walked along a rack of kopis blades. He lifted one of the flared swords, balancing it in his hands, admiring the beautiful engravings that ran down its length. He gave it an experimental swing, hearing it cut through the air with a whistle. “These must have been forged by the most skilled artisans in all of Greece.”

“These are the personal arms of King Minos and his palace guard,” Daedalus replied, pausing to place a liver-spotted hand on one of the chest pieces. “It is his decree that you shall have your pick. Everything that you see here is yours to take.”

It was tempting to just replace all of the equipment that he was carrying with these finer, more ornate versions, but Leandros had trained extensively with his own weapons. His doru spear was like an extension of his own arm – he knew its reach and balance intuitively, and his armor was tailored to fit him like a second skin. There were elements that he could afford to replace, however. The kopis was far finer than his own blade, so he sheathed the sword in a scabbard on his belt. He also found a shield that was better crafted than his own, lifting it by the straps to gauge its weight, finding that it was lighter as well as stronger. Finally, a woolen cloak in blood red, Leandros draping the flowing garment over his shoulders. It was cold below ground, and he might need something heavier than his own cape.

When he was done, Daedalus led him into an adjacent chamber, this one packed with shelves that were filled with scrolls. It was a grand library. The old man made his way to the far end of the room, pulling a dusty roll of parchment that was as tall as he was from a shelf. He laid out the faded document on a large table, walking along its considerable length as he slowly unrolled it, placing stones at its corners to act as weights. That done, he lit a candle, its flickering light illuminating the faded parchment.

“When I designed the labyrinth, I kept detailed maps and schematics,” he explained as Leandros leaned over his shoulder to get a closer look. The paper showed an overhead map of the maze as though he was looking down on it from above, and as he began to take it in, he was stunned by its intricacy. The roll of parchment was almost the length of the wooden table – a good twenty feet and near half as wide – yet the passageways depicted were as thin as the edge of his sword.

“Then, the king was not exaggerating when he said that it spanned for leagues beneath the palace,” he marveled.

“It extends far further than the foundations of the palace,” Daedalus explained as he traced one of the corridors with a shaking finger. “I would tell you the exact length of each passageway when taken as a whole, but the number would be meaningless to you.”

“Do you have a map that I can take with me?” Leandros asked.

“Nothing that you could carry with you or that would be of any real use,” Daedalus replied with a shake of his head.

“It is not all pathways,” Leandros mused, leaning closer as he squinted at the markings. “I see chambers and larger rooms. What are they?”

“I have described the labyrinth as a prison,” the old man began, staring down at the paper. “It was built to keep the creature imprisoned for as long as it lived, yes, but it was a gilded cage. The beast’s human mother had a soft heart, and she pleaded with the king not to condemn her child to a life of torment and madness, as profane as her offspring was. She had raised the child for five years while awaiting the labyrinth’s construction, and had formed a bond with it. In his mercy, the king agreed and had me incorporate these amenities into its design. There are underground streams fed by springs that make fresh water for drinking and bathing easy to find, chambers upon chambers that resemble buildings from within, and even caverns where plants and trees can grow. I devised a method of using shafts filled with mirrors to bounce sunlight down below the earth.”

“So, it is as much an underground world as a jail,” Leandros added.

“It was our intention that the captive would be able to explore for years and never become restless – that they would be able to live a life approaching that of a surface dweller.”

“But always alone, and never able to leave...”

“Indeed.”

“How was it determined that the creature was trying to escape?” Leandros added. “How can anyone know what it’s doing down there?”

“The king was wracked by nightmares for many months,” the old man explained. “Eventually, he journeyed to see an oracle, who told him that these dreams were an omen. In the throes of her trance, she had a vision that foretold the beast’s escape. The king’s only option now is to slay it before this prophecy can be fulfilled.”

“Then, I face off against the fates as well,” Leandros muttered.

“Earlier, when I asked you why you would venture into a labyrinth that is said to be inescapable, you told me that you had a plan. What is it?”

Leandros reached for a leather pouch on his belt, then placed it on the table, opening the string that held it shut to reveal a ball of fine thread the size of a man’s fist.

“I see,” Daedalus mused, picking it up to examine it. “You intended to leave a trail of string so that you might follow it back?”

“Now, I fear that I did not bring enough,” Leandros sighed.

“Here,” Daedalus said, walking over to a nearby shelf. He retrieved a sizable sack and placed it on the table, fishing inside it for a moment before handing the warrior a piece of white chalk. “You will use these to mark your way. Some parts of the labyrinth will be damp, and the marks will not last, but you should have no problems where the stone is dry. That said, even this may not be enough, and carrying much more will weigh you down.”

“It will give me a fighting chance, at least,” Leandros replied as he tied the sack to his belt. “Are you not worried that I will fail, and that the creature will be led straight to the exit?”

“If you fail, I doubt that anyone else can succeed,” Daedalus replied solemnly. “You are far from the first assassin who has been sent into the depths, and if you cannot complete this task, there may be none who can. Your heritage will give you many advantages in this task.”

“I would study this map further, but I doubt that it will be of help,” Leandros said as he gave the parchment one last glance. “It is far too large to commit to memory. The chalk will have to suffice.”

“For rations, we can offer you naught but barley porridge and dried fish – enough for three days,” Daedalus added. “A single man cannot carry more, though the king could assign a slave as a porter if you desire it.”

“No, he would only slow me down,” Leandros replied. “I prefer to travel light. Three days of rations will have to suffice.”

“Then, this is all the help I can give you,” Daedalus said with a curt bow that was little more than a tilt of his head. “You need not proceed directly to the entrance. Please, at least rest for the night and allow the king’s attendants to prepare you a hearty meal before you begin. You will thank yourself in the morning.”

“A wise suggestion,” he replied.

“Do you require any other comforts? A concubine, perhaps? All of the king’s amenities will be made available to you.”

“No, the servile demeanor of slaves bores me,” Leandros replied. “A full belly and a bed will be all that I require, thank you.”

“As you wish,” he conceded, gesturing to the door. “Please – come this way.”

Leandros did indeed eat well that night. King Minos had his cooks prepare a celebratory feast for his honored guest, which included delicacies that even those of noble birth and great wealth would have envied. The meal began with appetizers of finely-chopped cabbage spiced with coriander and rue, served with a dressing of honey vinegar that gave it a sweet bite. There were cheeses mixed with garlic and salt, and fresh-caught prawns peeled of their shells that had been glazed with honey and sprinkled with black pepper.

The centerpiece of the banquet was a young lamb that had been left to marinate overnight in a mixture of fine wine and garum – a flavorful fish sauce – in preparation for his arrival. It had been roasted to perfection over a roaring fire, then seasoned with honey and olive oil before being served. It was a delicacy beyond even what he had experienced back home, the tender meat melting right off the bone. At the end of the night, when those in attendance could scarcely eat another bite, they were served sweet honey cakes straight out of a warm pan. There was wine aplenty, but Leandros knew better than to overindulge before going into battle, favoring a mix of vinegar and water instead.

The king and queen were in attendance, as well as many of the king’s honored generals, who spoke at length of military strategy and their past campaigns. Crete had a powerful navy, and its exploits were of great interest to Leandros. They were interested in his campaigns, also, and they inquired at length about his parentage. His grandfather was said to have been conceived through his father’s union with a Naiad – a river spirit descended from Zeus. Leandros’ blood had been diluted over the generations, but it still empowered him, his reputation for inhuman strength preceding him. He was happy to demonstrate it by lifting a heavy cooking pot that had been moved by a team of half a dozen servants, much to the amusement of his hosts.

Minos seemed to leap at any opportunity to distract himself from the prophecy that hovered over his head like a dark cloud, speaking little of the creature and the labor that Leandros was soon to undertake. His wife was distant, present in body but seemingly absent in mind. She ate little and participated in their conversations even less, staring out at the ocean as though searching for some answer on the far-off horizon.

When the food was gone, and the moon was full, Leandros turned in for the night.

Their footsteps echoed hollow down the long passageway as Daedalus led Leandros deep beneath the palace, followed by a procession of palace guards. Leandros could tell that they must be far below ground by this point, as there was moisture clinging to the walls, and the temperature dropped a little more with each flight of stairs that they descended. Gone was the impeccable mosaic work and noble pillars of the buildings above, replaced by simple hewn stone, every step and corridor carved out of the island’s very bones. The tunnel was fifteen feet tall and large enough that a whole formation of men could have marched down it standing shoulder to shoulder. Perhaps its designers had envisioned just such a scenario – it was certainly spacious enough for their entourage.

Laden with his chalk and the supplies that he carried in a satchel on his back, he felt more like he was marching to a battlefield than preparing to fight on one, but he would soon be glad of them.

The long passageway culminated in an ornate archway, the stonework carved with intricate reliefs depicting a bull-headed creature of impressive stature terrorizing groups of smaller people, their faces etched into grimaces of horror. The pillars that held it aloft were as thick as tree trunks, and there was a gate of massive proportions standing between them – a pair of wooden doors plated with bronze so heavy that ten men would have had trouble pushing them open. It looked like something that one would find outside a fortified city. It was barred, too – a pair of thick logs slotting into recesses carved in the walls to either side of it.

“If you were so worried that the creature would escape, why have a door at all?” Leandros asked. “Why not entomb the beast in its maze?”

“The king did not wish it,” Daedalus replied, hesitating for a moment. “There are ... other reasons. Since its construction, the labyrinth has been used as a method of execution for Crete’s traitors and murderers. Should one conspire against the king or be found guilty of other heinous crimes, they were sent into the labyrinth through one of its entrances, and the door was closed behind them. There have also been sacrifices to appease the beast.”

“Those sacrifices were in vain, it seems.”

“Open the door!” Daedalus barked, and the dozen men who had accompanied them jogged forward to set about removing the bars.

It took six men to carry each of the heavy logs, then they gripped the handles on the bronze doors, pulling them open three to a side. The old hinges creaked as they slowly swung ajar, revealing inky darkness beyond, the light from their torches penetrating only a few paces before it was drowned out. Leandros took a few steps forward, glimpsing the shimmer of the damp stone walls beyond.

“We will close the gate behind you,” Daedalus said.

“What happens if I return victorious, only to find it shut?”

“Here,” the old man said, passing him the frayed end of a rope. Leandros traced it to a small bell that had been mounted on the wall beside the door. “Pass the rope beneath the gate on your way inside. A guard will be posted here at all hours of the day and night until either you return, or enough time passes that all hope of your victory is lost. Pull the rope, and the bell shall ring.”