He admits it himself. Who made that tomb?
Who comprehends the human body’s
hidden workings and hideous whims?
That’s me, of course! I’ll cure Glaukos.
Minos rebuked him: It would’ve been better
if you answered so clearly when I asked you a question.
You can stop your stutter for slander, it seems.
Minos lifted a leg and removed
a gilded slipper that gleamed blueness.
I never told you, you could tread on my shadow.
You’re not in Athens anymore, ingrate!
Daedalus had a hard face,
which bloodied some sapphires and broke off others,
dinging the dolphins adorning the floor.
Icarus stole a stray sapphire
and danced for the slaves who dragged Daedalus
back to his house. It’d been a week
since the homecoming and the honey-slough.
Glaukos had started to stink, but the feast
lost no momentum. Minos had long since
abjured wine but enjoyed watching
his subjects drink themselves sightless
and urged them to do so. He danced alone,
the tiles cluttered with torpid bodies—
the regal corpse and the wretched drunks.
At daybreak, Minos introduced a horn
to Polyeidos’s pinna and blew.
Sunlight harassed his raw head,
which the tomb’s murk would mollify.
His red eyes didn’t rush to translate
black into gray. The boy’s gilded
funeral clothes culled flies and gleaming.
A serpent strophed the stones toward Glaukos.
The bard remembered his borrowed sword
and unhinged the serpent’s head from its body.
An hour later (at least, an hour
by the heart’s count in the constant murk)
another serpent nudged their headless
husband or wife, but wasting no time
mourning, the second slithered off,
then hurried back, holding a spray
in their mouth, which they lay on their lover’s head:
the wound unfurled a fresh body,
green as the spray. Spiraling each other,
they returned to their lair, leaving behind
the bluish berries. The bard placed them
on the boy’s head. The berries rattled,
and Glaukos stood up and staggered blind
and wept and screamed Pasiphaë!
When Minos heard, he commanded slaves
to pry the tomb, and he took the prince
in his arms and raked his orange hair
with his stubby fingers and stuttered joy.
The sun extinguished the tomb’s murk:
the leaves browned, and the berries burst.
They returned to the palace and a pompous welcome.
The feast recommenced, and Minos declared:
Polyeidos, I put you in charge
of my boy’s education. I can’t allow
a dull loser like Daedalus
to mold him into a measly craftsman.
I’ve thought hard about how to reward you:
take thrice your weight in women or gold.
The bard replied, Bountiful king,