Ariadne(13)
For a moment, I saw the Minotaur pacing his sunless prison, alone for all the days of every year except tomorrow, and I saw Androgeos, his handsome figure blurred in my memory – my own flesh and blood but truly a stranger to me – gored upon the horns of a different bull. My brothers. Their tragedies alike had led us to this place, the watching crowds and the sacrificial beast that died dumbly in our sight today. Then the other unfortunates who would meet their death tomorrow in the dark; torn apart by the senseless, savage animal I had once thought I could tame.
The games commenced. Men raced on foot and in chariots, tossed spears, hurled the discus and grappled one another in boxing matches. Sweat poured from the contestants’ temples. A bead trickled down my back. I shifted uncomfortably, wishing it was over. On one side of me, Cinyras drank and cheered, one hand resting damp and heavy on my thigh. I ground my teeth, swallowed my humiliation, tried to shift away, though it only made his fingers clamp more tightly. On my other side, Phaedra was enraptured.
‘How much longer will this continue?’ I muttered.
She was incredulous at my lack of enthusiasm. ‘Ariadne, this is the most excitement we ever see!’ She tossed her blonde head in reproof.
I longed for the solitude of my dancing-floor; wished I was beating out my frustrations on its smooth wooden face. That alone would erase the image of tomorrow; how the lonely Labyrinth would be so briefly enlivened with the chase and the screams and the ripping away of flesh from bones. Then the ship I was to board; the life that awaited me over the waves in Cyprus. I swallowed and forced myself to look at the arena, to distract my mind from its own grim imaginings.
A cloud passed briefly over the sun and I saw clearly for the first time. ‘Who’s that?’ I asked.
So far, I had recognised many of the young men competing; the pre-eminent youth of Crete mainly, all jostling for supremacy. But the youth who stepped forward now to the wrestling-ground was not familiar to me at all. Unless . . . I sat forward, scrutinising his face. I had seen him before – but I could not understand how this could be.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, his strength evident in his easy stance and in the muscles that brought to mind the palace’s finest marble statues. He strode with such confidence and assurance that I was confused as to how he could be a stranger to the place but look so at home.
‘Theseus, Prince of Athens,’ Phaedra whispered to me. It wasn’t just the impossibility of her words – Athens hated us with justified bitterness; why would their Prince compete in our games? – but something in her tone made me glance at her sharply. She didn’t take her eyes from him as she went on, ‘He asked Minos directly to take part in the games so was freed from his bondage for this afternoon only.’
Athens. Freed from his bondage. ‘You mean, he’s a tribute?’ I squeaked, disbelievingly. ‘The Prince himself, brought in chains as our sacrifice? Why would Athens send its own Prince?’
‘He volunteered,’ she replied and this time the dreaminess in her voice was undeniable. ‘He couldn’t allow the children of his countrymen to come alone, so he took the place of one of them.’
‘A fool!’ Cinyras snorted.
For a moment, we watched Theseus in silence as I absorbed my sister’s words. Where would one find the courage to do such a thing? I wondered. To cast away a life of riches and power and anything he desired; to give his life in the very prime of his youth for his people. To go knowingly and willingly into the snaking coils of our dungeon as living meat for our monster. I stared at this Theseus, as if by looking hard enough at him I could decipher the thoughts behind that calm face. It must be a mask, I thought, a veneer of ease laid over the frantic racing of his mind. How could anyone not be driven mad by the prospect of what lay just hours ahead of him?
I thought I might have my answer when his opponent stepped out. Taurus, my father’s general, a huge hulking colossus of a man. His sneering face with its squat, toadlike nose was as ugly as Theseus’ was beautiful. Veins clustered over his bulging muscles like ropes, glistening horridly with oil. His cruelty was famed across Crete; an arrogant man devoid of sympathy. A brute, barely more civilised than my youngest brother bellowing beneath the stony ground. Perhaps Theseus had weighed things up and preferred to choke to death in Taurus’ deadly grip out here in the light of day than be devoured in the coal-black pit.
They clashed with shocking force. Taurus was far bigger than Theseus and it seemed he must surely be victorious but I had underestimated the value of skill against sheer bulk. I didn’t realise how far forward I sat in my seat and how tightly I clenched the wooden bench beneath me until I spotted Phaedra in a similar attitude of fixation and collected myself once more. The two men gripped one another in a horrifying embrace, twisting and striving to throw the other. I could see the sweat in rivers on their backs and the agony carved into every straining muscle. Vast as he was, Taurus’ eyes were beginning to bulge from his head, giving him an expression of crazed disbelief as, slowly but inexorably, Theseus gained the upper hand and drove him further and further to the ground. In an ecstasy of anticipation, we watched, holding our breath so silently that I was sure I could hear the cracking of bones.
When Taurus’ back crashed to the earth, the cheers from the crowd were deafening. This courageous prince’s story had evidently won their admiration. I knew, though, that it had no impact on their avid desire to see him fed alive to the ravenous Minotaur the following evening. How delicious to have this frisson to lace the bloody excitement; his royalty, his bravery and his victory made an irresistible blend.