So here I was, in a quandary of my own making. Did I have to ask my uncle for that signal in the first place? Now that the animal had showed up, I couldn’t just kill it. You must be blind not to see that it was not your common or garden variety bull. For all I know, it could have been my uncle himself. There was little doubt that the old guy would be mad at me regardless. The question was, what would enrage him more: my attempt to sacrifice him or my disobedience?
Next thing, my whore of a wife fell for the beast instantly. I am not good enough for her, give her a barnyard animal any time. To be fair, it’s not entirely her fault. This is what the gods do. They find it hilarious, to turn into a hooved creature, seduce somebody else’s missus and look at the husband’s reaction. What could I do? Swallow my pride and wear my horns, that’s what. O ignominy! By the time the word of scandalous pregnancy reached my ears, it was abundantly clear that the bull was what it was, no matter how magnificent, and not a god of any kind. Still, butchering the poor bovine — technically, the father of the future prince — wasn’t even on the table. I wouldn’t risk angering yet another god, my father-in-law.
What I did do, however, was to make sure that the abomination was securely locked up from the moment of its birth. The oracle told me to build a high security prison for the bull’s offspring. I charged my best architect with the project and didn’t spare money on it. It took twice as long as planned and was three times over budget. I was still grieving the loss of my elder son then. Controlling finances was not the first thing on my mind. As usual, I was the last to learn that the very architect built that wretched wooden cow. Really, I can’t trust anybody on this island.
To be continued...
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