Ariadne(16)

It took her a long time to speak. When she did, it cost her a great effort, I could see, to force her fragmented mind back to the present, back here to where we were now, blown apart as it was by the horrors of the past and set to drift on the winds of despair forever. ‘What can be done?’ she managed. ‘No one can fight him.’

A connection. Something, flaring to life between us again. I clasped her thin hand in mine. ‘Maybe someone can,’ I said.

‘No one can fight your father,’ she answered.

I could see her grasp loosening, her mind beginning to drift once more. But something she had said slid into place in my mind.

No one could fight my father. He was protected by his armies, by his power, by his immovable self-belief and the monster raging beneath his palace. Brute force and strength would be useless against the superior might of his guards.

But what if he did not need to be fought? It would take a cunning mind to do it, but what if Minos could be outwitted? His clear, straightforward tyranny was based on simple fear. He did not look for tricks, for who would dare attempt it?

I breathed in. The air outside the banqueting hall was cool and smelled of stone. It stilled my thoughts, brought the racing panic and pity to heel and replaced them with a sudden clear insight. My mother couldn’t help me. But I knew who could.

Although the feast dragged on for hours more – the finest of Cretan society revelling in my father’s largesse and the thrill of hushed speculation over how long each of the hostages might last in the Labyrinth the following night – eventually it ended. When I saw Daedalus leaving, followed closely as always by a guard, I hastened to catch up with him.

‘Good evening,’ I greeted him, slightly out of breath.

He nodded courteously. ‘And to you, Ariadne.’

I could sense that he was alert; he knew something was awry, but he had the patience of a craftsman and he would wait to find out what I wanted.

‘A tile has loosened on my dancing-floor.’ I spoke loudly, for the benefit of the watchful guard. ‘I wonder if you could look at it; I would trust no other with your creation.’

‘Of course.’ He inclined his head respectfully. ‘I will attend to it first thing tomorrow morning, Princess.’

‘No, it must be now,’ I answered, an unfamiliar imperious ring to my voice. ‘Please come, it will be the work of a moment. I must be able to dance at sunrise tomorrow; it is a sacred day and I would prepare by honouring the gods as I know best. And I will not dance upon it again for a long time, perhaps ever. There will be no such masterpiece in Cyprus.’

Daedalus’ eyes softened at this, but it was all for the listening guard. Daedalus could go nowhere and speak to no one unobserved, and I could not afford to raise suspicion, but tomorrow would be too late. Daedalus was the only person who could help me. I knew he carried the guilt of his unwitting role in the creation of the Minotaur like a bright crystal, a fragile weight that hung about his neck, one that he nurtured and would never break.

I led the way, my sandals clattering on the smooth stone floors as we twisted and turned through the intricate loops of the palace to my courtyard. As I had expected, the guard stood solidly in the door frame and Daedalus followed me to the opposite side of the wide floor. The night air calmed the flush that I knew stained my cheeks.

Daedalus looked at the perfect tiles beneath our feet and then looked at me, quizzically. I knelt and, after a pause, he knelt beside me, pretending to examine the exquisite edge of the floor. A fountain tinkled clear water over its marble basin and I trusted that would cloak our words from the guard’s ears.

‘Daedalus, I need to know the way out of the Labyrinth,’ I whispered urgently.

It didn’t seem to surprise him. Perhaps his gift for puzzling out any structure on earth extended to knowing the human heart as well. Or perhaps he just knew me. ‘You wish to save the hostages,’ he murmured. ‘You wish to save Theseus.’

I nodded, no time for modest denials or coquettishness. ‘I do. It is monstrous and I cannot let it happen again.’

‘It has happened many times, Ariadne,’ he replied. ‘Never to a handsome Prince of Athens, but to many young men and women. Why is Theseus’ life worth so much more?’

Answers fought in my throat, forming a hard ball that blocked any words from emerging. Was it just his handsome face that prompted me to act? Would I have let the hostages go to their fate without protest if none amongst them had sea-green eyes and silken hair that I longed to touch?

I knew our time was short so I asked Daedalus directly. ‘Can you help me? Or can it not be done?’

‘I think it cannot be done,’ he told me, and the weariness of his response surprised me. I had not thought there was anything that Daedalus could not do, except escape our island.

‘Is the Labyrinth truly inescapable even to its creator?’ I asked, not believing it could be so.

He sighed deeply. ‘I can give you the means to lead Theseus from the Labyrinth.’ He spoke low and quickly, but behind his words he sounded so very, very tired. My heart leapt at what he was saying but his tone sobered me. ‘But, Ariadne, do you think that is what he wants?’ Daedalus saw the confusion on my face. Glancing back at the guard, he spoke faster, his words like a rocky avalanche buffeting me as they fell. ‘Does a Prince of Athens who strives for legend want to be rescued from a monster by a beautiful girl? Do you think he will allow you to take him by the hand and smuggle him from Crete under a blanket, like a sack of grain?’ He looked directly at me as his words sank in.