“I know,” Helen whispered. She looked around to make sure no one could see her. “It has to do with some silly prophecy. Something like ‘When the maiden and the horned beast at—’”
Praxios corrected her. “When maiden meets the horned beast at the heart of the Labyrinth, then will you find your heart’s desire.’”
“That’s it!” Helen cried, clapping her hands.
“It’s something Daedalus told King Minos when he built the Labyrinth,” Praxios said.
“I thought the Minotaur was dead,” Odysseus said.
Praxios shrugged his bony shoulders. “King Minos never forgot those words. He said it was a prophecy. After my master escaped, even after the Minotaur was dead, the king continued sending foreign young maidens—boys too—into the Labyrinth. He believed their sacrifice would give him his heart’s desire and that the rule of Crete would go on forever.”
“But Minos too, died,” Odysseus pointed out.
“His awful son rules,” said Praxios. “The sacrifices continue. There are other monsters in the maze now.”
“Me,” Helen said. “He was going to sacrifice me!” Her voice held a combination of horror and surprise. “But Idomeneus—may Aphrodite bless him—stood between me and the palace guards. He insisted they take Penelope instead.”
“And you let them?” Odysseus asked.
For once she had the grace and wit to be silent.
“What could Helen have done?” Mentor argued. “Better one than two. And she’s here now.”
“Too little and too late,” Odysseus said bitterly. “Penelope was worth twenty of you.” He realised that he meant it.
Helen began to snuffle. “I know she is. I know. And I tried. I begged Idomeneus. I was still crying when he left me.”
“Tears are not coins and buy little freedom,” Odysseus said.
“I know. I know,” Helen said. She wiped a hand across her nose, smearing the heavy Cretan make-up. “I ordered a servant to show me the way here. You should have seen him jump!” She gave a little hiccuping laugh. “I came so you can get out and rescue Penelope.”
“Did you bring us swords?” asked Odysseus.
“Don’t be silly! How could I carry swords?” Helen answered.
“A bow then?” Odysseus asked. “I’m really good with a bow.”
“Of course not.”
“Then how are we to get out?” Mentor asked.
“I thought clever Odysseus would have that figured out by now. I just came to be sure you went to rescue Penelope first,” Helen said. “I guess he’s not so clever after all.”
Odysseus groaned.
“The key,” old Praxios croaked.
“The key?” Mentor and Helen said together.
“The key!” Odysseus almost shouted, then remembered where they were. “Where is it? The golden key?”
“Why …” Helen looked puzzled. “In the treasury. Idomeneus took me there to pick out some jewellery and to put the key there.”
“Can you find your way back to the treasury?” Odysseus said, trying hard to be patient and not succeeding.
“Of course,” Helen said. “But it’s very well guarded. You’ll never get inside.”
“You,” he said, almost growling. “You will get inside, Helen.”
“But why me? Haven’t I already done enough?”
“You’ve been wonderful,” said Mentor.
Odysseus kicked him on the shin. “You have to get inside to get the key!”
“Why that key?”
Honestly, Odysseus thought, she is the dumbest girl in the entire world. Then he remembered how she’d found her way to them. Maybe not that dumb. “Because the key is one of Daedalus’ inventions. It will open any lock in Crete.” He decided not to let her know it would open any lock in the entire world. Better not to give her too much information!
Helen tilted her head to one side, considering. “I’m not sure they’d let me in without Idomeneus.”
“Order them to. Tell them you don’t like the earrings you’ve got. Tell them you want to get a new pair,” Odysseus said.
“You don’t like the earrings?” Helen asked. “Are they too gaudy? I know they’re too gaudy.”
“It’s just an excuse,” Odysseus said, bristling with impatience. “I don’t care about your earrings, so long as you get the key.”
“Don’t you take that tone with me, Prince Clever.”
“Helen,” Mentor said, his tone suddenly cozening, “we’ve got to get started at once if we’re to save Penelope.”
Helen stood. “All right. I’ll try. You wait here till I get back.”
She disappeared from the grille.
“As if we had somewhere else to go,” Odysseus whispered.
CHAPTER 22: HORNED BEAST
ODYSSEUS COULDN’T STOP IMAGINING Penelope wandering along the twisted tunnels of the Labyrinth.
Is she frightened? And then as quickly, No, she’ll be brave.
But he knew that being brave, without weapon or friend to help, would not be enough.
Not against a beast in the dark.
He started pacing the cell restlessly. “Helen should have been back by now.”
“Maybe she was caught,” Mentor said.
“Maybe lost her nerve, you mean,” Odysseus countered.
Mentor bit his lip. “You haven’t given her enough time.”
“How much time do you think Penelope has?” Odysseus said.
“Hush!” Praxios suddenly stood, finger to lip.
They shut up at once. There was a rustle above them, then a loud clink.
They looked up, then down. A gold key glinted in the straw.
“Now get on with it,” Helen whispered, starting to move away.
“Wait,” Odysseus called. “We need one more thing.”
“I can’t do any more. Idomeneus is probably already looking for me.”
Mentor called, “Please, Helen. This and nothing more.” He looked over at Odysseus.
Odysseus nodded. “Distract the guard, Helen. Or he’ll cut us down as we try to leave.”
“I thought you were a hero,” she said.
“He is a hero,” Mentor replied angrily. “He saved me from drowning, got us away from the pirates, fought the bronze dog and …” His voice ground to a halt.
Odysseus bit his lip. “Helen, we’re two boys and”—he looked over at Praxios—“and a craftsman. The guard’s a grown man with a sword. You figure it out.”
“And how am I supposed to distract him? This grown man with a sword?”
“Just be yourself,” Odysseus said.
Mentor kicked him in the shin.
Helen knelt again and whispered through the grate. “If I do this, then everyone will know I helped you to escape.”
“Everyone will know anyway,” Mentor said. “And in Sparta you’ll be known for your bravery as well as your beauty.”
“Do you want Penelope rescued or not?” Odysseus went to the heart of the matter.
“You’d better succeed, after all the trouble I’ve gone through,” Helen said. Then she was gone.
They were silent until they heard the murmur of conversation in the outer hall where the guard stood watch. Trusting it was Helen—not just another guard—Odysseus slid the gold key into the cell door lock. He turned it gently until it gave a satisfying snick, and the door opened.
“Sandals off,” he whispered. Then, turning to Praxios, he took the old man’s cloak.
They found themselves at the far end of a long corridor. Clear on the other side the burly guard hunched over, talking intensely with someone hidden from their view.
Their bare feet made no sound on the stone floor, and they crept up behind the guard until they could hear Helen’s voice saying, “Should I turn left at the grain store?”
“No, mistress. Right at the store. Left at the stables.” The guard spoke with the same irritation Odysseus did when talking to her.