Where the Labyrinth Led

Daedalus stood in the shadows at the entrance of the Labyrinth and watched one of the heroes enter the dark passageway. It was a strange, secret building that Daedalus, an artist favored by the gods, had built with his great skill. Countless winding passages and turnings opened into one another in a confusing maze that seemed to have no beginning or end. There was a river in Greece, the Maeander, that had never been traced to its source, for it flowed forward and backward, always returning, and Daedalus had planned the Labyrinth like the course of the river Maeander.

There was hardly anything that Daedalus could not do with his hands, for the gods had given him great gifts. But he liked trickery more than honesty and had spent years using his clever mind to invent this maze.

As he peered into the dark alleys of the Labyrinth, he saw the hero disappear. He would never return, Daedalus knew, for no one had ever been able to retrace their steps through its turnings. Like many secret things, the Labyrinth caught and destroyed even the brave.

It was a pity that anything so dreadful should have happened on such a day as that. The olive trees of Crete were in full leaf, and Daedalus could hear a nightingale singing in the forest nearby. But he was deaf to the music of birds, for he was listening for another sound. It was May of the year, the day when Athens sent a tribute of seven of the strongest lads and seven of the fairest daughters of Greece to be driven into the Labyrinth, a tribute to King Minos of Crete. The Minotaur, a raging beast half man and half bull, waited in its secret passageways to devour them. Daedalus had built the Labyrinth and confined the Minotaur in it to commend himself to King Minos. The sound he listened for was the crying of these youths and maidens on their way to the sacrifice.

The road was strangely quiet, although Daedalus could see the white garments of the children as they made their way toward him through the aisles of flowering trees. Their eyes were bright with courage, and a youth who was taller and older than the others led them. Daedalus trembled and hid behind a bank of moss as he saw him.

All Greece was beginning to talk of this youth, Theseus, the son of the King of Athens. He had but lately come to Athens, having lived with his grandfather at Troezen, and had astounded the people with his strength. The boys in the streets had ridiculed him a bit at first because of the long Ionian garment he wore and his long hair. They called him a girl and told him he should not be out alone in public. Hearing this mockery, Theseus had unyoked a loaded wagon that stood nearby and thrown it lightly into the air, to the amazement of all who saw him. Next, Theseus had overpowered some fifty giants who hoped to overthrow the government of Athens and set up their own rule of plunder and terror in the city. Then Theseus had, by his extraordinary strength, captured a furious bull that was destroying the fields of grain outside the city and brought it captive into Athens.

Daedalus did not know, however, of this last adventure Theseus had undertaken.

The Athenians were in deep sorrow when he came to the court of Athens, for it was the time of year when its sons and daughters must be sent for the annual offering to King Minos. Theseus resolved to try to save his countrymen from this too great sacrifice and offered himself as one of the victims to leave for Crete. His father, King Aegeus, was reluctant to let him go. He was growing old, and Theseus was his hope for the throne of Athens. But the day of the tribute came, seven girls and six boys were chosen by lot, and they set sail with Theseus in a ship that departed under black sails.

When they arrived at Crete, the victims were presented before King Minos, and Theseus saw Ariadne, his daughter, seated at the foot of his throne. Ariadne was so beautiful that we may still see her crown of gems in the sky, a starry circle above the constellation of Hercules who kneels at her feet. She was also as good as she was beautiful, and great pity filled her heart when she saw Theseus and these young people of Athens about to perish in the Labyrinth. She wanted to save them all to be the glory of Athens when they grew up, so she gave Theseus a sword for his encounter with the Minotaur and a coil of slender white thread.

Daedalus, from his hiding place, saw these and wondered as Theseus approached the Labyrinth and fearlessly entered.

As he followed the crooked, twisting passages, Theseus unwound his white thread and left it behind him. He went on boldly until he reached the devouring beast in the center of the Labyrinth and slew it easily with Ariadne's sharp blade. Then Theseus retraced his steps, following the thread, as he found his way out of the Labyrinth and into the light again. Daedalus was seized with overpowering fear, for the trick of his work had been discovered. There would be no more sacrifices of the heroes and children of Greece to the Minotaur. The crooked ways of the Labyrinth had been made straight by Theseus' white thread of truth.

King Minos was most angry of all with Daedalus at this failure of the maze. He imprisoned Daedalus and his son, Icarus, whom Daedalus loved more than anything else in the world, in a high tower in Crete. When they escaped, he set guards along the entire shores of the island and had all ships searched so that the two might not leave by sea. Icarus had great faith in his father and begged him to find some way by which they might avoid the guards and begin their life anew on some other island. So Daedalus forgot the lesson of the Labyrinth and set about making wings for himself and Icarus.

The wings were as false as the maze had been crooked. Daedalus set the boy to gathering all the feathers he could find that the sea birds and forest birds had dropped. Icarus brought his hands full of these; he was very proud of his father and had always longed to be old enough to help him in his work. He sat beside his father in the shelter of a cedar grove, sorting the larger from the smaller feathers and bringing wax that the bees had left in the hollow trees. Daedalus worked the feathers together with his skillful fingers, beginning with the smallest ones and adding the longer to imitate the sweep of a bird's wings. He sewed the large feathers with thread and fastened the others with wax until he had completed two pairs of wings. He fastened them to his own shoulders and to those of Icarus, and they ran to the shore, lifted upward and feeling the power of birds as they made ready for their flight.

Icarus was as joyful as the nightingale that spreads its wings to carry its song as far as the sky. But Daedalus was again terrified at the work of his hands. He warned the boy:

"Fly along the middle path, my Icarus," he said, "not high or low. If you fly low, the ocean spray will weigh down your wings, and the sun may hurt you with its fiery rays if you fly too high. Keep near me."

Then Daedalus kissed his boy, rose on his wings, and flew off, beckoning for Icarus to follow. As they soared away from Crete, the plowmen stopped their work and the shepherds forgot their flocks as they watched the strange sight. Daedalus and his son seemed like two gods chasing the air above the blue sea.

Together they flew by Samos and Delos, on the way to Sicily, a long distance. Then Icarus, exulting in his wings, began to rise and leave the lower course along which his father had been guiding him. He had wanted, all his life, to see the city of the gods on Mount Olympus and now his chance had come to reach it. Icarus was sure that his wings were strong enough to carry him as far as he desired to fly, because his father whom he trusted had made them for him.

Up, up toward the heavens Icarus rose, but the coolness of the air changed to blazing heat, for Icarus was near the sun.

The heat softened the wax that held the feathers together and Icarus' wings came off. He stretched his arms wide, but there was nothing to hold him in midair.

"Icarus, my Icarus, where are you?" Daedalus cried, but all he could see was a ripple in the ocean where his son had fallen and the bright, scattered feathers floating on the surface.

That was the true end of the Labyrinth, where the daughters of the sea, the Nereids, took Icarus in their arms and carried him tenderly down among their gardens of pearly sea flowers. For Daedalus had to fly on alone to Sicily, and although he built a temple to Apollo there and hung his wings in it as an offering to the god, he never saw his son again.