Ariadne(11)

I clutched at Pasiphae’s arm, trying to make her see me. ‘What are Father’s plans for this king, this priest?’ I demanded. ‘Why is he here?’

‘Minos wants the wealth of Cyprus’ copper,’ she said. ‘It will enrich Crete and ensure their loyalty if the Athenians one day rebel.’

I could tell that she was repeating words she’d heard. I didn’t know if she even understood what she was saying; her voice was as empty and listless as her eyes.

‘And what does Cinyras want in return?’ I asked. ‘Does he want to marry me?’

‘Yes. And then Minos will have the copper.’ She could’ve been talking about the grey sky or what food the servants were preparing tonight.

I sat heavily on the couch beside her. ‘But I don’t want to marry him.’

‘His ship sails after the harvest. The wedding will happen at Cyprus,’ she parroted, as though I had not spoken.

‘I don’t want to go,’ I repeated. But she didn’t answer. And when I looked up, there was Phaedra, framed in the doorway, her mouth a circle of perfect horror, her anguished eyes fixed on mine.

I stood on shaking legs. ‘He is repulsive to me,’ I tried again, but Pasiphae was lost, drifting on a distant sea of her own fragmented thoughts. Phaedra looked at me in mute compassion, not knowing what to say. ‘If you will not help me, I’ll go to Minos,’ I said. Phaedra’s eyes widened at this. Even Pasiphae looked up, briefly surprised. I knew it was likely to be futile, but I had to try.

I did not feel brave walking out of the room. How could it be courage when the alternative – to accept my fate without attempting to evade it – was so much worse?

As I left, Phaedra slipped her hand in mine. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she offered, and my heart swelled. It was noble of her to risk bringing our father’s wrath down upon her head on my behalf.

Of course I could not allow her. ‘I will go alone,’ I told her. ‘But thank you.’

She looked annoyed, tossed her hair. ‘I don’t need your protection,’ she said.

‘There’s no need,’ I answered. ‘It’ll only anger him further if we go together.’

So I went alone to the throne room. Minos sat tall upon his crimson seat. Behind him, a fresco of dolphins leapt and dived endlessly, frozen in tiles. His advisers, nobles, hangers-on of all descriptions milled about, but I was relieved to note that there was no sign of Cinyras.

‘Daughter.’ His greeting was flat, unwelcoming.

I clenched my fist in the folds of my skirt. My fingernails cut into the flesh of my palm. ‘Father.’ I bowed my head. None of the men had looked my way yet, for which I was grateful.

Minos’ eyes bored into me, as if he could see my thoughts and found them uninteresting. Not for him the courtesies of small talk; he would wait in silence until I was forced into clumsy speech.

I took a deep breath. ‘Mother has told me I am to marry Cinyras.’

Minos nodded. I noticed that around us, the men of the court were starting to look over, their conversations falling a little more quiet.

‘Father, I beg of you—’ I began.

His words cut me off, along with the dismissive slice of his hand through the air. ‘Cinyras is a useful ally. The marriage will be of benefit to all of Crete.’

I could see that I had only this moment of his attention. ‘But I do not want to marry him!’

A hush fell upon the room.

Minos smiled. ‘You will sail with him after tomorrow is done.’

I opened my mouth to speak again. My face was warm. Stinging. The words were forming, words I knew that I should not say but could not stop from coming.

Before they could fall irrevocably from my lips, I felt a tugging on my sleeve. Phaedra, small and brave, had followed me anyway. As my eyes met hers and I saw the tiny shake of her head, the words melted away.

What could I say that would ever make him listen? That would ever turn his head and yank his attention sharply away from his important preoccupations – the affairs of the court, the rule of the peasants, his cool calculations that whirred away in his brain, endlessly weighing up the options before him to find what would bring him the greatest value, be that gold or copper or the beautiful, desperate gasp of fear – and look at me, truly see me for perhaps the first time?

Cinyras’ ship would sail away from here, away from the Labyrinth. Away from Minos.

I swallowed the boiling, bubbling hatred that had begun to flame in my throat. I imagined my face as expressionless as smooth marble, my eyes empty glass like Pasiphae’s. I met his gaze with perfect blankness. He nodded tightly.

I let Phaedra lead me from the room, not knowing where I followed, until she stopped and I felt her warm hand slip from mine. I looked about me wearily. We were in the courtyard again, where we had talked so idly of husbands, when the worst that we could imagine was that he might be old or ugly. Phaedra did not speak. Perhaps she knew that there was nothing she could say, but I hope that she realised her presence was a comfort. How many more times would we stand here together now?

We looked out across the sea. I was so preoccupied that many moments passed before I recognised the insistent press of Phaedra’s hand on my arm and I realised that she was saying my name.

‘The Athenian ship, Ariadne – look!’

Beneath us, where the cliff edge fell away into the broad sweep of the harbour, I could see what had seized her attention and distracted her from our shared despair. A mighty ship, hung about with black sails, was docking. And she was right – it must indeed be the arrival of this year’s hostages.