Day was dawning as he brought me out. He locked the door behind him and put the key back in the priest’s house-for the priest and the guards were still sleeping, drugged with the wine I had mixed for them. Next he took me to a hiding place in a thicket on the bank of a stream. There he bathed my face and rubbed my hands until I came to my senses. I do not remember anything of this either. It seems I was much distracted and unable to speak, and he therefore gave me a sedative drug. I did not return to clear consciousness until much later when we were approaching the city, he leading and supporting me. Thereafter I remember everything.
I recall no suffering, nor did my thoughts turn often to Minea. She was now a remote shade in my soul, as if I had known her in some other life. Instead I reflected that the god of Crete was dead and that the might of Crete would now decline according to the prophecy. J was in no way cast down by this although the Cretans had shown me kindness, and their mirth sparkled like sea spray on the shore. When I came near the city, I was glad to think that those airy, delicate buildings would one day be in flames and that the lecherous cries of women would turn to mortal shrieks, that Minotauros’ mask of gold would be beaten flat and divided among the rest of the spoils, and that nothing would remain of the splendid majesty of Crete. The very island would sink again into the sea from which, with other marvels of the deep, it had once arisen.
I thought also of Minotauros, and without ill will, for Minea’s death had been easy, and she had not had to flee from the monster with every trick her art had taught her; she died before she knew what had befallen her. I reflected that Minotauros was alone in the knowledge that the god was dead and that Crete must fall and I guessed that his secret could be no easy one to bear. I was not sure his task had ever been easy, even in the days when the monster still lived and he sent the flower of his country’s youth into that dark house, month after month, year after year, knowing what happened to them there.
No, I felt no rancor. I sang and laughed like a madman as I walked, leaning upon Kaptah. He easily convinced those of Minea’s friends whom we met that I was still drunk after having awaited her return. They found it natural, seeing that I was a foreigner and too ignorant to know how barbarous it must appear to them to be publicly drunk in the middle of the day. At last he was able to hire a chair, and he took me back to the inn where, having drunk a great quantity of wine, I sank into a long and profound slumber.
When I awoke, my head was cool and clear, and the past remote. I thought again of Minotauros. Should I set forth and slay him? But I knew that it would serve no useful purpose. By telling the truth, I could save the lives of all those who were still to draw lots, or who had already drawn them, for the privilege of entering the house of the god. But I knew that truth is an unsheathed knife in the hands of a child and readily turns against its holder.
As a foreigner, therefore, I felt that the god of Crete was no concern of mine-and Minea was gone. Crabs and crayfish would gnaw at her delicate bones, and she would rest forever on the sandy floors of the sea. I told myself that all had been written in the stars long before the day of my birth, and this brought me consolation. I spoke of it to Kaptah, but he said that I was ill and must rest, and he forbade anyone to see me.
I was greatly vexed with Kaptah at this time, for he persisted in stuffing me with food although I felt no hunger at all and desired only wine. I suffered from a continual and unquenchable thirst and was calmest when I had drunk enough to distort my vision. At such times I became aware that things might not be quite as they seem. For the drinker sees everything double when he has drunk enough. To him this is true vision even while he knows in his heart that it is false. And what is this but the very essence of truth? When with patience and self-mastery I sought to expound this to Kaptah, he would not listen but bade me lie down, close my eyes, and compose myself.
I can now appreciate the, severity of my disorder, though I have forgotten my thoughts since the wine tended to confuse me and darken my understanding. Yet I think the good wine saved my reason and helped me through the worst when I had lost Minea forever and with her my faith in the gods and in humanity.
Something in me evaporated in the fumes of the wine. I had felt something like it before when in my boyhood I saw the priest of Ammon spit on the face of the god in the sanctuary and rub it with his sleeve. The river of life was choked and its waters spreading-spreading into a wide lake whose surface was fair, a mirror to the starry heavens. Thrust a staff into it, and the water was clouded and the bottom but slime and corruption.
One morning I awoke in the inn to see Kaptah sitting in a corner of the room weeping silently and rocking his head between his hands. I bowed my head over the wine jar and having drunk said roughly, “What do you weep for, dog?”
It was the first time for many days that I had troubled to speak to him, so weary was I of his foolish solicitude. He raised his head and answered, “A ship is now lying in the harbor ready to sail for Syria, the last, it is said, that will leave before the winter gales set in. That is all I weep for.”
I said to him, “Run away to your ship, then, before I beat you again. At least I shall be spared the sight of your unendurable face and the sound of your everlasting lamentations and complaints.”
Having said this, I was ashamed and pushed away the wine jar. A bitter consolation lay in the thought that there was at least one creature dependent on me, though it was but a runaway slave.
Kaptah said, “Truly, lord, I, also, am weary of your sottishness. The dead are dead and don’t return. Let’s go away from here while we may. Your gold and silver-all that you a massed in the course of your journeys-you have thrown out of the window. With your shaking hands I do not believe that you could effect a single cure; you cannot so much as hold a wine jar. At first I thought it well for you to drink for the sake of your peace of mind; I urged you to do it, continually breaking the seals of new jars-and I drank also myself. Moreover, I boasted to others: See what a master I have! He drinks like a hippopotamus-he drowns both gold and silver in his wine, recklessly, and makes exceedingly merry. Now I boast no longer and am ashamed on my master’s account, for there are limits to everything, and to my mind you exceed them.
“I will never condemn a man who drinks himself into a passion and brawls in the street and gets his head broken. That is a sensible custom, which relieves the mind in many kinds of grief, and I have often done the same. The resulting disorders should be treated prudently with beer and salt fish, after which a man resumes his labor, as the gods have ordained and decency requires. But you drink as if each day were your last, and I fear you wish to soak yourself into your grave. If this is your aim, you would do better to drown in a bath of wine, for this is a speedier method, pleasanter also, and no dishonor.”
I considered his words. I surveyed my hands, which had been those of a healer but which now shook as if they had a will of their own and I were no longer their master. I thought of the knowledge I had accumulated in many lands and saw that excess was foolishness. It was as foolish to eat and drink immoderately as to give way to extremes of joy and sorrow.