Ariadne(15)

It was not Daedalus that I watched that evening, though. I found that I couldn’t tear my eyes from the Athenians; one in particular.

I wonder if the heroes the bard sang of that evening knew before they triumphed what they would become. In those crucial moments when fateful decisions were made, did they feel the air brighten with the zing of destiny? Or did they blunder on, not realising the pivotal moment in which destiny swung and fates were forged? I don’t know what I felt when my eyes met Theseus’. Curiosity, certainly. He stood tall and jutted his jaw forward, betrayed by no shaking or sobs. He held my gaze with a cool impudence, as though I were not a princess and he were not a sacrificial offering. It did not feel momentous, yet when I tore my eyes away from his I found that nothing looked quite the same, as though the world had fractured and sheared away from itself to reshape in almost – but not quite – the same formation. As though I had looked at a waterfall and realised with a faint jolt that the water flowing over the rock was ever-changing, that it would never be the same water again.





5


‘Do you think he’ll try to put up a fight?’ The lazy drawl of Cinyras’ voice, thickened with wine and anticipation.

I cast him a withering glare. Did I hope to repel him, to make him think twice about his arrangement with Minos to parcel me up on his ship in exchange for a mountain of copper ingots? I was foolish if I did; a man like that is only impelled by indifference and excited by outright reluctance. ‘What do you mean?’ I said in as icy a tone as I could muster.

‘The Prince. The hero.’ Cinyras laughed, a nasty poison dripping through his mirth. ‘He isn’t snivelling like the others. I wonder if he thinks he can take on the Minotaur with his bare hands.’ Around us, amusement at the idea rippled across the long benches.

He did stand alone amongst men, this great Athenian hero, of whom so many legends would be woven. He was taller, broader, handsome, of course – and with the bearing not just of a prince but the poised strength of a panther waiting to strike. A man who would inspire songs and poems, whose name would be heard to the ends of the earth. Did I really see that then? Or was I just an awestruck girl whose eye had been caught by his muscular chest, his thick hair, his flashing eyes? Did I feel the cogs of destiny, the gliding of the Fates’ loom, or was it actually just the thumping of my excited heart? I most certainly was not the only one to feel it, judging by the captivated gaze on my younger sister’s face. Phaedra sat, elbows propped on the table and head tilted dreamily as the soft beams of infatuation spilled from her big, blue eyes.

I didn’t think he looked at her, though. I was sure I could feel the warmth of his stare upon my back, and I was sure it was not vanity or even wishful optimism that made me sense it.

It wasn’t only Theseus’ eyes which rested on me. When I raised mine again, I caught the shrewd gaze of Daedalus and felt my cheeks redden as I realised he had seen the flicker that passed between me and Theseus. I squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable. I didn’t know where to look. I sought refuge in hissing at my younger sister. ‘Phaedra! If your mouth hangs open any wider, you’ll catch a fly.’ I sounded matronly, fussy, far bossier than I meant to, but she only rolled her eyes and darted out her tongue at me. I laughed. Beneath my smiles, however, my thoughts rampaged through the labyrinthine corridors of my mind and they skittered in a welter of panic from one dead end to the next. Would those fourteen young men and women, barely more than children, really be flung into that dark pit in a matter of hours? I could not hold the image in my head. The overpowering rush of horror that it brought: their cries in the gloomy, lonely, narrow twists; the stench of decay and despair; the shaking of the earth beneath the terrible hooves as the monster sought their tender, vulnerable flesh . . . I could not bear it, but how could it be otherwise?

Pasiphae sat, the food in front of her unnoticed and the wine in her goblet untouched. Impulsively, I rose, touched her shoulder. ‘Mother, a moment?’ I asked.

She was easy to lead away from the feasting and no one cared to give us a second glance. Cinyras was deep in conversation with my father. He roared with laughter at his own witticisms, and Minos smiled mirthlessly. The flames of the torches cast a flickering light across the hard angles of his face, creating deep shadows in the austere flesh of his cheeks. I imagined that when he looked at Cinyras, all he saw was the copper he would soon have in place of me. He certainly paid no mind to my departure from the room with Pasiphae.

In the corridors outside, I breathed more easily. I knew that I had not made her hear me before, but perhaps I could make her hear me now. ‘Mother, please,’ I begged, the mounting edge of hysteria sounding in my voice. ‘Please, tell me that there is something we can do to stop this atrocity. Please, tell me that there is a way!’ Phaedra’s words, the plea I had rebuffed myself only hours earlier.

She was silent. But it wasn’t her usual, abstracted muteness for once.

‘You are my mother, Phaedra’s mother, Deucalion’s mother.’ I swallowed hard. ‘Asterion’s mother.’ At that, her eyes did flicker, I was certain of it. ‘Think of the mothers in Athens now,’ I said, my voice low and unexpectedly hard. ‘Knowing what awaits their sons and daughters tomorrow. Think, Mother. Think if it were one of us. Think if it were me, waiting to be thrown into that labyrinth. You know what Asterion has become; you know what he will do to them. Please, Mother, please, please tell me that we do not have to rob fourteen more mothers of their children to satisfy Minos’ greed for power!’ My voice rose, impassioned, frantic.