Ariadne(29)

I felt my knees give way. Had she been found out? Why had she not come? She would not have changed her mind, I could be certain of that. A gulping sob tore through my throat. ‘My father . . . she must have . . . if he knows—’

Theseus was shaking his head. ‘If she had been found out, a contingent of Minos’ soldiers would have been waiting for us – at the Labyrinth doors, here on the sand – she has been delayed, that is all.’

I tried to calm my breathing. ‘You are right, she is delayed. But how long will she be?’

He was still shaking his head, forestalling what I was about to say. ‘We cannot wait, Ariadne,’ he told me, his voice tight. ‘Your sister has not come, we cannot risk all of our lives on her arriving now.’

I couldn’t make sense of his words. ‘We can’t go without her!’ I said, and my voice broke to an unexpected shrillness that made him hush me warningly. ‘We have to wait, we can’t—’

He raised a hand in the air, cutting off what I was about to say. Not looking at me, intent upon his purpose, he lifted the sack and shook its contents out on to the beach. The heavy shapes beneath the cloth rolled on the sand. Theseus raised his club in both hands and I saw the moonlight strike it, illuminating every gory sliver of blood-soaked flesh that daubed it. I felt my breath catch, my stomach lurch as he brought it down upon the dark lumps, none of which I wanted to look at any more closely. The muffled sound of flesh separating from bone; the cracking of bone splintering beneath the iron. Again, he raised his club, again he brought it down with a sickening thump. Over and over, until the discernible lumps that had been were ground to sticky paste and fragments.

A sharp, acidic flame scorched its way up my throat as Theseus lifted the cloth and scattered the bones, blood and flesh of the Minotaur across the beach. All that remained of my brother, Asterion – named a bringer of light in defiance of everything he truly was – now smeared in broken pieces over the sand.

Theseus took hold of me, pulling me towards the boat. I struggled against him, though I may as well have struggled against a boulder. His grip was iron around me as he hoisted me in. Now the screams were boiling up inside of me, ready to erupt, with no mind for quiet or for stealth.

‘Ariadne,’ he said, and the set of his face stifled my cries before they could escape. ‘I will return, for Phaedra – I will come back tomorrow.’ He gestured towards the open sea, where the other two boats were disappearing. ‘I must take my companions to safety, I cannot risk their lives again. They have endured bravely, Ariadne, but have a heart and take pity on their youth and their fear.’ He was pulling on the oars swiftly as he spoke and the beach was already receding from our view.

I gazed mutely at Crete, searching the dark shapes of the rock for Phaedra’s nimble little form scrambling down them. I saw her in my mind’s eye, searching the sea for boats that would not come for her, and my heart broke itself apart.

‘I will come back, Ariadne,’ he was saying again.

I stared at him. There was a pleading in his voice I had not heard, a vulnerability that seemed so distant from the brutal efficiency with which he had just pounded the Minotaur’s body to pieces.

‘She will be safe in the palace, she is brave and cunning. She will be guarded, she will say nothing that will give us away. Your father will believe us all to be gone; when your disappearance is discovered then it will be you alone who is blamed. No one will think to question little Phaedra’s innocence. No one will dream that I would return for any reason. They will think we have sailed straight for Athens. But we shall sail now to the island of Naxos; it is not far from here. There we will rest and from there we will steal back to Crete under the cover of darkness and creep into the palace itself to take Phaedra. I will bring your sister back to you, Ariadne,’ and he looked at me with eyes so free and clear and full of simple honesty that I felt the terrible shaking of my body begin to calm. ‘I will bring her to you,’ he took a deep breath, ‘so that she can dance at our wedding.’

His words made sense. We could not risk a return now; the open Labyrinth doors could be discovered at any moment and its plunder exposed. As soon as the alarm was raised, we would not be safe – and as mighty as Theseus was, he could not fight a whole army by himself. My sister was indeed brave and she was clever. I knew she would not breathe a word, and I hoped she would have faith that we would come for her.

Behind Theseus, the silhouette of a great ship was becoming visible. He stroked the oars through the water quickly and cleanly, pulling us towards it. A rope ladder dangled over its side.

I felt the world splitting open beneath me. I was in the middle of the ocean; I was in the company of the man who had killed my father’s monstrous pride and joy. The bridges were burned behind me and I could not make my way back across the ashes any more than I could walk on the trail of moonlight cast across the water.

I let Theseus hoist me up to the ladder. I climbed each rung, the rope burning the skin of my palms as I pulled myself up. My skirts were heavy with water from where I had splashed through the surf; the braids my mother had carefully plaited were tumbling loose. As Theseus’ men helped me over the edge of the boat, I felt that I was in a dream. I would wake up in the palace of Knossos, the Athenians would be dead and we would live under the shadow of the Minotaur, waiting with bated breath, forever.

Except that the Minotaur was dead. And I stood now on an enemy ship, a lone woman amongst strange men, a woman lost to her home forever. No guards would pursue me to defend my honour. If anyone came for me, it would be to exact a terrible revenge. I thought of Scylla, drowning.