Ariadne(36)

A winged man. Flying through the misty skies of the dawn, towards the rising sun.

‘It’s Daedalus!’ shouted a guard, so close that I winced. ‘Daedalus and his son!’

I gaped. Around me, the guards did the same. They should have sprung into action, some kind of pursuit, though how they could chase a man through the clouds was beyond me. But all we could do was watch in fascination at the miracle. As clumsy as their flight was, it was incredible to see. I realised that somehow the great craftsman must have constructed these wings for him and his boy, the charming Icarus who always smiled at me shyly from under his mop of dark hair, who was always so eager to carry out my commands for our games together. I felt for him, growing up so close to the maw of the monster, but without my privileges as a princess – the privilege, such as it was, to leave this cursed island one day, even if it would be on the arm of a husband chosen for me by my father.

I shook my head, trying to clear my tired brain. Daedalus and Icarus were prisoners; perhaps bound in chains of gold but chains nonetheless. Minos would never let the fine-honed mind of his genius wriggle free from his clutches, and no doubt Daedalus had not dared attempt a bold escape which would risk his young son until his ingenious brain could concoct something failsafe. For all their hopping up and down, Minos’ watchmen could do nothing to catch them as they were borne away by the spiralling winds, higher and higher.

I smiled to watch them, though my mind was still frantic, wondering what had become of the co-conspirators in our grand plan. It was magnificent to see father and son fly free after so long in captivity. I could tell their glee from here, though they were mere pinpricks in the sky by now. The smaller shape soared higher; Icarus’ light little body was giddy on the currents of air that carried him away from Crete. Daedalus was perhaps more cautious. He stayed lower, though I could see his head upturned to his son and the gesturing of his arm, which destabilised him, causing him to plunge briefly, roll on one side and then swing back up once more.

Icarus, though, was oblivious. As the sun rose higher in the sky, he whooped a great cry of elation that carried right across the waves. He followed the dizzying arc of Helios, tracking that golden chariot up into the blue heavens, higher and higher. He laughed and shrieked with so much delight that he could not hear his father’s cries of warning below him, which turned to desperate pleas. Soft, white feathers began to drift from the boy’s wings; first only one, then two, then a flurry like a strange midsummer snowstorm.

I watched as the little figure of Icarus swooped up in one final mighty arc before he plunged abruptly like a stone into the cold ocean far below, a stream of feathers spiralling loose in the air behind him. The waves closed over his head in a moment and he was gone.

I gasped. I saw Daedalus teeter in his flight and wondered if he too would plummet. The hungry maw of the sea had taken his child and I could see him spinning in turmoil, his great white wings wrapped briefly around his body before they unfurled once more and the wind carried him away. In just a few seconds, he had disappeared into the sky.

Around me, the dazed guards began to recollect themselves. There was a great flurry of activity; a rush to deliver the news to Minos, each one quaking that he might incur the brunt of his anger by being the first to say it, or punished for being too slow to alert him. No one even noticed me as I stood, stunned. The empty sea did not yield Icarus up again and my heart cracked at the sight of its smooth surface. He had been so full of vibrant joy and then gone the next moment. I could make sense of nothing. The plan had succeeded: the Minotaur was dead and even Daedalus had made his escape from Crete. Why did I still stand on its rocky shores, as lost and confused as any of the panicking watchmen? I could see no choice but to follow them to the palace, to learn if anything had been seen of Ariadne, Theseus and the other Athenians. Then I must try to force my exhausted brain to come up with another plan.

*

The scene that awaited me in Minos’ throne room was unthinkable. My cold, calm, emotionless father, whose stern dignity had governed my life, was unrecognisable. He clutched at his head, raving and shouting like a madman. I stared at him from the entrance, aghast as he stamped his feet against the tiles, his sandals already broken and battered. I looked around and saw my mother standing a few feet away from me, her hair loose around her shoulders and her gaze fixed on the dolphin fresco above the throne. The blue tiles shimmered and I wondered if she imagined herself to be one of those dolphins, diving through the warm waters, far away from this palace and the tyrant who screamed unintelligible curses, dancing in rage before his appalled court. I was sure that I saw a little smile flicker across her face.

I sidled closer to her. ‘Mother?’ I ventured.

She swung her head around to face me, something in her eyes that I had not seen before.

‘Mother, what has happened?’ I asked.

‘Theseus,’ she said and my heart leapt painfully in my chest. ‘He has gone – vanished! The Labyrinth is open, no hostages to be seen or remains of them to be found. Your sister Ariadne has disappeared as well. No one knows where Asterion is – perhaps fled to the mountains?’ Her voice lifted hopefully. It was the most she had said to me all at once, perhaps ever.

‘So – there is no sign of any of them?’ I asked, needing to hear it again.

She shook her head. ‘The palace’s treasures are plundered,’ she whispered. ‘Gold, gems, clothes – everything, taken.’ She didn’t sound like she cared. I think she was imagining that monster she had spawned running free at last in the hills, tearing up the tree roots and devouring whatever creature crossed its ravenous path.