Ariadne(18)

I’d padded to that door as softly as if my feet were clad in velvet slippers but when I slid that key into the lock and twisted with all my might, letting the great weight of the door swing back before I even realised it had given way, Theseus was standing in the doorway, calm and collected and giving no hint of surprise. As though he’d expected me all along.

‘Princess,’ he murmured, dropping quickly to one knee for the briefest of moments before he stood again quickly and took my arm.

I felt the touch of his skin like a burning brand.

‘We must be out of sight, to talk undisturbed,’ he said, his voice low and smooth in my ear. ‘You know every secret of Knossos, I have no doubt. Can you lead us to such a place?’

I hesitated then. I had meant to give him the thread here, in this dim and shadowy cell and leave after . . . after what, precisely, I wasn’t completely sure. But I was not so hopeless a child that I did not know the dangers of stealing away into hidden corners with a headstrong young man – and one already condemned to death, at that. But he was steering me, gently but firmly, and I heard Daedalus’ words again: You must leave Crete and never return. I had known, the moment I had held that key in my hand, that there would be nothing left for me on this island. And so, I thought, what more did I have to lose?

‘There is a place, a crop of rocks overlooking the sea,’ I whispered and barely knowing what I did and how I dared, I took his hand and locked the door behind us. I led him down a passage carved so intricately that no one would see it if they didn’t already know it was there. At the end of the passage, there was the fresh, salty air of the shore.

We could have been caught a dozen times over. When I look back, I feel the vertiginous dread now that was swallowed then by my excitement. What hideous punishments Minos could have devised for us, had we been chanced upon by any passing guard, maid or disorientated reveller, I shudder to envisage. But no doubt assailed me; the giddy certainty of youth and infatuation gave me wings to spirit my newfound lover to the edge of the cliff, shrouded by rocks and hidden from view. And back then, I did not know how wings could melt and peel away from your body; how someone could plunge so unexpectedly from their soaring ascent to freedom and be swallowed by the ravenous waves below.

When we reached the rocks, we laughed in exhilaration and I looked at his face in the moonlight and did not blush at my boldness.

‘I must return before I am missed,’ he said, looking down at my face, and I heard what was unspoken in his words. We had snatched a fleeting window of time and I had only these precious minutes to forge my future.

‘You want to go back?’ I asked him. ‘You know what awaits you tomorrow night.’

He shrugged, a sinuous and graceful movement. I felt a hunger flash in my veins, a powerful instinct to be wrapped in the embrace of those strong arms. So far removed from the hideous sensuality of Cinyras. ‘I would not run,’ he stated simply and I knew that Daedalus had been right, of course. A hero would not shrink from his destiny, he would not sneak from his dungeon and flee the fight. His name wouldn’t ring through the ages for that. ‘You know the Labyrinth, my lady,’ he continued. ‘And you know the beast that prowls it. If you can give me some intimation, some clue as to its weakness, I would be forever in your debt.’

Forever. Theseus would be mine, forever. I was sure that was what he had said. Still, I clung to a show of modesty, a pretence that I had not made my mind up in the great hall hours before when I saw him standing there, ostensibly powerless but gleaming with a courage that Minos, wrapped safely in the protective cloak of his tyranny, could never dream of. ‘The beast is my brother,’ I rebuked him gently. ‘And there is no weakness in the Minotaur or the Labyrinth. They are both certain death to anyone who enters.’

A small huff of laughter escaped him. His eyes were soft with amusement and that strange, silver spark leapt from them like the ripples cast by the moon on the dark, briny sea. I recalled the stories that told he could never be certain of his father – either Aegeus, the mighty king of Athens, or Poseidon, the silver king of the sea. Either way, he had the birthright of a legend. If it were Poseidon who had fathered him, I thought, perhaps Poseidon had sent him to put right the wrong he inflicted upon us when he called Asterion into being. I saw the earth-shaking sea god, poised to send the madness to my innocent mother, and I saw Theseus, identical in his stance, vanquishing his father’s depraved experiment. Perhaps I was an instrument of the gods, I reflected, and in winning Theseus his glory, I aided Poseidon’s purpose and made amends for my own father’s treachery and greed.

‘I am not afraid,’ Theseus assured me. ‘But I think you fear for me, Ariadne.’

My name breathed from his lips. An exquisite sweetness I could hardly bear. He was right; the only fear I had left was that he would be gone when I had only just found him. I uncurled my fingers from the red ball of twine and saw his eyes widen.

He smiled, a curl of satisfaction in his eyes as he held my gaze steadily. ‘Perhaps, Princess, I can explain why I have come to Crete in chains and how I mean to rout its scourge.’

And so I came to hear the story of Theseus.

His name would echo down the centuries with the likes of Heracles, who paved the way before him, and Achilles, who would come after: mighty legends who wrestled lions and razed cities and set the whole world aflame. But I sat with a flesh and blood man that night. He described his feats to me like they were simple acts; the cutting down of a murderer or a tyrant sounded from him like slicing the rind off a cheese or prising the stone from an olive. His words were not planned or deliberated over. He did not seek to impress me with embroidered and embellished tales. They were quite enough on their own.