can dispense riches like your Royal Highness.
I could hire some whores if I had the gold,
but such an unruly pursuit of pleasure
would detract from my efforts to train the prince.
Minos answered: It remains to be seen
which women I’ll give you. Weigh the Argive!
The bard’s bony body didn’t
burden his side of the balance much.
Then Minos said: Pasiphaë,
up in the pan with the pair of daughters
you allege are mine. Your lust for livestock
has put your entire past into doubt.
Phaedra nearly fainted when she heard this—
unlike her sister, who simply pouted,
her lips favoring her father’s sneer.
Their mother knew they’d emerge unharmed
from this prank once Minos had humiliated them.
The women crowded the wobbling pan
while slaves filled the other with octopuses,
leveling the beam one lurch at a time.
The women weighed a little less
than thrice their winner, which wasn’t what Minos
had expected to happen (it’s hard to think
two steps ahead). His stutter vanquished,
his eyes barely able to blink
in their bruised sockets, the bard’s rival
advised the king: Cut off one arm
and his weight will match his women’s total.
These words gave rise to the royal smirk,
which burst to vex the bard’s victory.