Chapter Text
Law-Giver Minos: « …and criminals shall thus be consigned to the Labyrinth. » Have you got that in writing, Talos?
Talos: Aye, sire! These bronze tablets are sure to hold up better than Solon's wooden axones.
[Absolute peace (?) has arrived in the island of Crete now that the population has been depleted even of its pettiest rule-breakers.]
Minos: ah shit now whom am I to feed to that abomination Asterion (which was begotten as a result of mine own impiety) ???
Androgeos son of Minos: Nike smiles upon me! For my excellence in all skills, I have reaped a bounteous harvest in Panathenaic oil!
[The Athenian athletes murder that upstart braggart foreign prince.]
Minos: I'll get those bastards! And if I don't, then Zeus the Father will!
Aegeos: How, O Oracle, are we to avert this spate of famine and plague?
Oracle: Deliver unto Minos whatever he desires.
Minos: (Hmm, my murder bull has been pretty bad-tempered lately. Could it be that we've spoiled his digestion for so long on fodder consisting of the vile dregs of humanity? Perhaps we may need to balance his diet with flesh from the virtuous…)
Minos:
For the death of my bestest son, I'll find satisfaction only if you lot should send tribute - your finest sons and daughters.
Of course, every generation produces its own crop of tall poppies, so I'll be generous and ask for only 7 of each every 10 years. Because none of your stock could ever hope to compare to the man my Androgeos would have grown up to be.
Minos: >:'c