One Twelvemonth Later

A twelvemonth passed on Crete and so Art and Thebe, both now eighteen, were now husband and wife and in a few months would be parents. Timaeus, now three and forty, was both happy for the two and yet at the same time unhappy. If one's race was dictated by one's paterfamilias then that meant the child would not be an Achaean, but a foreigner, a barbarian. How long until someone less tolerant than he approached the two?

In the palace garden, Timaeus stood before Art and Thebe, both sitting upon a bench while Niall lay in the shade of a nearby tree. Once more he asked for them to depart to somewhere else stating: "We must go to somewhere safer for the two of you! Art, your people were expelled from Egypt by Ahmose and that expulsion was lifted by Ramesses. Why not go to Egypt? You, Thebe and your child will be safer there and I have heard tell other cats like Niall live there, let him be among his own kind, let him have offspring as you and Thebe are about to."

"Timaeus, we are under the protection of Minos here." Stated Art, an arm around his pregnant wife. "No one would dare harm us."

"I remember hearing a tale that Heracles had freed the current Ramesses from imprisonment by a usurper called Busiris." Commented Thebe. "I wonder if you wish to go to Egypt to question Ramesses the Great about his meeting with Heracles."

Timaeus could do naught but nod. Half of it was worry about Art, Thebe and their child. The rest was learning more of Heracles from one who had met him. He had learned all he could from Minos. Perhaps a non-Achaean perspective would prove quite as illuminating.

"Timaeus, Thebe is in no condition to travel." Said Art. "We will be staying here on Crete, though perhaps we could send word to Ramesses inquiring about his meeting with Heracles."

Sighing, Timaeus nodded once more. Art was right of course. Perhaps Ramesses the Great really would answer such a question if sent by Minos, a brother king. Thus, did the Corinthian leave the garden and the Young Gael and the Athenian Girl, husband and wife, were alone with only their feline companion for company.

There did the two sit. Had it really been only two twelvemonths of knowing one another? It felt longer than that, almost as if they had known each other their entire lives, as impossible as that sounded and yet, Art had memories of dreams where he would meet a girl… Could that girl have been Thebe, whom he now called his wife? His memory may have been good, but it was not that good. He couldn't really remember the face of the damsel who had appeared in his dreams, the hair colour yes, but when one was born into a race of redheaded people and lived entirely among them for the first sixteen twelvemonths of his life what else would Art's dream damsel have been?

Art had told Thebe of these dreams and she had told him of having similar dreams, involving a boy with red hair. Like Art and his dream damsel, Thebe had no memory of the boy's face. It may have been entirely possible that she never saw it or at least never got a clear look at his countenance. For all either of them knew, these figures from their dreams could have been each other.

"Do you think he is feeling trapped here on Crete, Art?" Thebe asked her husband, giving him a smile.

"I think his worries about Asterion breaking free and coming this way might be driving him mad, Thebe." Art replied. "For all we know, the Minotaur is safely in his prison that Daedalus created, unable to escape."

"Daedalus…" Thebe repeated grimly. Every time that Thebe had heard that appellation, she had repeated it with such a tone.

"What is the matter, Thebe?" Art inquired. "Wherefore is there such distrust for your fellow Athenian?"

"I am not sure if he is an Athenian, Art." Thebe answered, a distant look in her eyes. "Back in Athens, I heard tell of him as the grandson of Erechtheus, Aegeus' great-grandfather, by Erechtheus' son Metion, but I've also heard it told that Metion never had a son by that name. He may be nothing more but a foreign charlatan."

"According to Minos, Daedalus is in exile from Athens." Commented Art. "Do you remember hearing anything about wherefore he was exiled?"

"Why yes, for killing his nephew!" Thebe answered. "And that is why I have no desire to have him come anywhere near out child. His statues might walk, but he is still a child-killer."

Art understood perfectly. "Then tomorrow I shall go to Knossos to confront him on the matter. Minos may not know of the reason for Daedalus' exile and may not know of the possibility that this inventor is a charlatan. The man may be more dangerous than any of us could possibly realize."

Despite having lived on Crete for a twelvemonth, neither Art or Thebe had ever met Daedalus, nor his son Icarus. Neither knew what these men looked like, nor truly knew if Daedalus' statues did indeed walk, but with Asterion truly being half-man and half-bull, Art believed that such a thing was truly possible.

"Be careful, Art." Thebe whispered. "If Daedalus truly killed his nephew, then he might be perfectly willing to kill adults as well as children and I do not wish for our child to not know their father."

Giving Thebe a smile, Art nodded and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "I will, Thebe. Our child will know me well and as long as we are on the subject of our child, how shall we name them? A Gaelic name if it is a boy, an Achaean name if it is a girl?"

Smiling back, Thebe answered: "That sounds just perfect. How about Meta if it is a girl?"

"It sounds like a wonderful appellation." Art stated. "How about Gann if it is a boy?"

"A beautiful name." Thebe replied.

Gann and Meta… A good pair of names indeed and who could say? Perhaps they would have a brace of children, one of each gender to bear those appellations.

From the corner of his eye, Art noticed Niall sit up and stare at the entrance to the garden. Standing there was someone who was not one of Art and Thebe's palace staff. It was a man from Knossos, a messenger from Minos.

The messenger approached and handed a scroll to Art saying: "For you! From King Minos!"

Unravelling the parchment, Art read what was written on it. It seemed that Argus was on Crete, all it had taken was a twelvemonth for him to discover that Art and Thebe were not on the mainland… Or someone had told him they were on Crete. But who? Had one of Eurystheus' spies heard it discussed by Pandion, Melia and Atreus. Both Art and Thebe wished they could have sent them word they were alright, but the possibility of Eurystheus and Argus the messages to discover that Crete was where they were located was too great.

Or… Was there someone in Minos' court who could have told Eurystheus and Argus? But who and wherefore? What reason did anyone have to do that? Could it have been Daedalus? Child-killer, foreign charlatan, what else could Daedalus have been? If only Art and Thebe could have known, known the truth about a man they had never met, known how Argus had discovered they were on Crete, there was so much they could have known, but did not.

Minos had summoned Art to Knossos to meet with Argus. That was not exactly something the Young Gael wished to do, for all he knew he could have been walking into a trap, but at the same time he doubted the Cretan Monarch would allow a murder to take place.

Or would he?

As much as Art called the Palace of Melia his home, the fact was he was still a stranger in a strange land. As much as hospitality was considered sacred, there were always people who considered it sacred to an extent, considered it sacred unless it applied to certain individuals. Was Minos one of those people? How was he to know?

Putting the parchment aside, Art closed his eyes for a moment before telling Thebe everything. When he had finished, Thebe could do naught but stare, her hand upon her stomach. Wondering what was going on through his wife's mind, Art continued to hold Thebe close and wait for when she was ready to speak. From watching his own parents, Art had learned from both of them that it was always best to wait for the other to speak instead of rushing them. Whenever his father had gotten quiet or his mother had, the one would always wait for the other to speak.

When had he first seen it? It must have been the shock to learning that one of Art's paternal cousins had been killed in a rockslide. His father had just stared into space and his mother had gently placed a hand around him, waiting for him to speak when he was ready.

Eventually, Thebe did find her voice. Quietly, she asked: "W-Where are we to go now?"

Art knew not what to say. He wished he did. He only hoped that Argus would be sent away or something… That he and Thebe would be allowed to live in peace.