She curled her legs into her chest, tugging the hem of her tunic down as far as it would stretch, and turned away from the bearded man. She didn’t want him to see her cry.
From the smatterings of conversation, Danae gathered most of the others had been in the cell for at least a few days. The boy had arrived just before her.
“What’s your name, lad?” asked the bearded man.
The boy sniffed. “Lycon.”
“Where are you from, Lycon?”
The boy’s pink tear-stained face appeared from behind his knees. “Crete.”
“Are you now? I’ve heard it’s a beautiful island. Some say the finest in all of Greece.”
Lycon nodded, a hint of a smile tugging his mouth. The bearded man’s tone was friendly, but he reminded Danae of a mountain lion playing with its food.
“Are you old enough to remember the Minotaur?”
The boy shook his head. Despite her foreboding, Danae was intrigued.
“The old King of Athens used to send fourteen children, just like you, from Athens to Knossos every year. Their parents would dress them up in their finest clothes like it was a feast day—well in a way I suppose it was.” He chuckled. “Then they would be sent over the sea to Crete and be paraded through the city to the palace. Do you know what happened next?”
Lycon shook his head.
“Autolycus, leave the boy alone,” said the old woman.
The bearded man ignored her. “They were fed to the creature that lived in the labyrinth below the palace. A terrible beast, with the body of a man and the head of a bull, always thirsty for human blood. The children would scream and scream but no one—”
“Oh, be quiet!” The old woman shook her head.
Autolycus looked hurt. “I’m only trying to cheer the boy up by reminiscing about his home. Such a lovely island. I, for one, have fond memories of the yearly sacrifice.” He sighed. “Until our most noble and righteous king slaughtered the monster and put a stop to it. Shame really, it would have been much more fun if the Minotaur had killed Theseus.”
Lycon started to cry again.
“You’ll get us all put to death with that kind of talk,” muttered the old woman.
Autolycus laughed. “We’re as good as dead already.”
Danae hoped he was joking.
Suddenly, the Spartan soldier jerked into motion. He grasped the chain either side of him and whipped it against the floor with an echoing clang.
“Enough.” His voice was rusty from disuse.
They all fell silent.
Danae had heard tales of the Spartan army. Wild stories from farmhands and fishermen’s sons. It was said they took boys from their families aged seven to start training. At ten, to weed out any weakness in their ranks, they were paired against each other and forced to fight to the death.
There was no more talk that night. She was glad at least that Autolycus left her alone. She was in no mood to be toyed with.
As the hours stretched on, she couldn’t tell if the gnawing in her stomach was from bruising or hunger. She thought of home, of her father. Silently, she begged the gods to spare him punishment for her escape.
She pushed the memory of Arius being taken, the image of her sister’s drowned body and the terrible look in her mother’s eyes into a deep hole and imagined piling boulders on top. She couldn’t let herself dwell on those thoughts. If she did, she would shatter, and she didn’t think she’d be able to piece herself back together again.
I will make it to Delphi. I will find a way.
She chanted the words over and over in her mind, until eventually she fell asleep.
“Psst.”
