Ariadne(23)
‘The heavy lines that had been smoothed out by Aegeus’ carefree joy in the past months had now returned, etched more deeply into his old face. He could not meet my eyes as he spoke again. “Theseus, perhaps if you had been here we would have stood a chance. But almost three years ago, King Minos of Crete sent his navy against us and we could not withstand their almighty power. His ships stretched the length of the horizon, their sails billowing triumphantly and his soldiers poised with ash spears, mighty shields, a hail of arrows and terrible swords glinting in the sun. Such an arsenal he brought to bear upon us; it was too great. We fought. We fought him bravely, and we may well have driven him out, for the courage of the Athenians is more powerful than all the wealth of Crete. But Zeus favoured his son and at Minos’ request, he sent a plague to us.”
‘Aegeus was silenced by the memory for a few moments. His voice was low when he continued the tale and I strained to hear his awful words. “The strongest of our men died like flies. Their bodies piled up on the beach before we had time to burn them, grey and stinking like a haul of fish brought into land that is too vast to be eaten and spoils in the sun. Throughout the land, our people sickened and fell within hours. The funeral rites could not keep up with the scores of deaths; the spirits of the unburied cried out, their moans mixing with the howls of the grief-stricken living.” Aegeus told me in his faltering words that Athens could not endure and that they had to submit before every one of them was dead.’
As Theseus described the horrors that my family had inflicted upon his people, I felt a loathing for Minos that churned and twisted in my belly like a monstrous foetus; a nightmare of a baby far beyond the creature my mother had birthed. The Minotaur devoured a handful of men and women each year – I felt as though my rage could burn cities to ash in one breath. But hate Minos as I did, I was still his daughter and Theseus would expect me to show loyalty to Crete and to my father; he would think that the suffering of Athens would bring me joy. If I cried, he would think me a liar. I set my jaw and listened.
‘It pained Aegeus even to say it, but he explained to me his surrender and your father’s terrible condition for peace.’ He shook his head. ‘I had seen the depravity of simple thieves and bandits. I had never imagined the scale of a king’s cruelty when he has endless wealth and unchecked power to indulge his most crazed and filthy fantasies of revenge and torture. What Aegeus described to me was beyond any evil I had so far encountered.’
Fourteen children, young men and women who were barely beginning their lives, torn each year from their parents. Brought to this place, paraded before Minos to satisfy his lust for power, and then fed – alive and screaming – to my brother.
I could see that Theseus would have known in an instant what to do. No doubt or fear would have held him back for a second; not this man, who had cut down every horror and injustice in his path so far without hesitation.
‘The day dawned when the lots were drawn. A grim silence hung in the hall; I could feel the weight of it pressing down upon me like the heavy sky that Atlas bears upon his mighty shoulders. Heracles had borne that burden, too. I knew it was a king’s duty to hold up the sky for his citizens, to prevent them from being crushed beneath it, no matter how much his back may buckle or his muscles scream for mercy.’
But Minos had never spoken like this about the terrible privilege and price of ruling. I had never heard before that a king should lay down his life for his kingdom until Theseus stated it as though it were an obvious, undeniable truth.
‘And so, as the thirteenth lot was drawn and the viscous tension in the room began to dissipate just slightly – one more to go before this room and its stinking shame could be left behind another year – I stepped forward. I would not let another child of Athens face this horror. I would go in his place.’
Beside me, Phaedra was rapt, spellbound by his clean, decisive heroism. Of course he would sacrifice himself for his kingdom; I could see his path set before him with no wavering or confusion, no apathy or reluctance. He would stride on, never doubting for a moment the right direction for a man, and never afraid of twists and turns or obstacles. He would cut aside the thorny brambles that ensnared me – the twist of revulsion and pity for that infant monster; the murky shadows of fear and loyalty that bound me to Minos; the tangled skeins of anger and love that held me to Pasiphae – he would slice it all away with one sweep of his sword. I yearned for that easy knowledge, that faith that would make it so simple to walk on.
Still, whilst he may have forged ahead with righteous conviction, I would wager that not everyone saw it as he did. ‘Your father?’ I asked. ‘Surely he could not allow you to do such a thing?’
He swept his eyes across me, almost contemptuously, for a second. ‘Allow me? How could he prevent me? How could anyone? Of course, he counselled against going and tried to persuade me that I could do more good by staying in Athens and helping him to build up our navy so that we could bring war against Crete. But that could take years and how many more dozen of our children would be sent to die in Minos’ Labyrinth? I could not allow one more.’ He turned his icy glare upon me.
I wanted to step into that chill light. I wanted him to freeze away the hot sweep of shame that it was my father, my brothers, my home that had caused so much pain and suffering for his. I wanted to atone for that craven cowardice that shivered up my spine at the thought of his navy coming to crush us, with Theseus standing tall at the prow of the very first ship looking for his prize. Would I have run down the beach to prostrate myself at his feet, to beg this great commander to burn my palace, raze my land and take me away with him? I was on fire at the thought of what had already been, what might have come and what was still ahead. I longed to submerge myself in the clear waters of his certainty.