Ariadne(42)



‘Phaedra, all of Athens welcomes you warmly,’ he said.

‘A daughter of Crete, welcome here? I doubt it,’ I answered.

He snorted, caught out in his stateliness with surprised amusement. ‘It is true,’ he said. ‘And I am glad to see you again as well. I hope you will be happy here.’ His voice lowered. ‘Do not think that Athens bears a grudge against you, little Phaedra. Everyone knows that you are innocent of any wrongdoing. Your father’s deeds are not your own.’ He swallowed. ‘And your sister, of course – everyone knows that she left Crete of her own accord. They know you and she alike were not complicit in the crimes of your city.’

I hoped that he was right. I had been the subject of censorious gossip for my entire life. I would be quick to recognise it here. But as he led me rapidly through the quiet harbour in the dawn light, leaving the crew and the servants to unload the ship, he had already brought up the subject I longed to talk about.

‘Tell me about what happened to her,’ I asked.

He blanched. ‘It is not something that you wish to hear, I assure you.’

‘But I do,’ I answered. ‘You were with her before she died. Tell me how it came to pass.’

He rubbed the side of his nose; took in a long, deep breath. ‘Artemis sent a snake to kill her as she slept.’

‘Why did she sleep alone?’ I asked.

He cast me a look. ‘It would not have been . . . appropriate for her to sleep in my company.’ He cleared his throat.

‘But what about the other girls, the hostages? There were seven of them. Where did they sleep?’ I watched his face closely, though he walked quickly now and it was hard for me to keep up.

He jerked his head, as though swatting away a fly. ‘They slept on the ship.’

‘Then why did she not?’ I couldn’t imagine my sister wanting to sleep alone in the wild. I remembered her, stretching like a cat in the sun on the couches that lined the courtyard at Knossos.

‘I don’t know!’ he snapped. He sighed, slowed down and stopped. He took my hands in one of his and tilted my face up to his with the other. ‘I am sorry, Phaedra. I know it is natural that you want to know about your sister’s untimely death. It is a tragedy. But it was the will of Artemis. Perhaps the great goddess sent a madness on her, perhaps that is why she wanted to sleep out there.’

‘Then why didn’t you stop her?’ I couldn’t prevent myself from asking.

‘Perhaps Artemis sent a madness upon us all,’ he answered stiffly.

I tried to twist my hands free of his. ‘Did Artemis send a madness when you gave me directions to the wrong cove?’

He was startled. Unprepared. Had he expected me to be meek, overwhelmed, so happy to be here with him that I would not think to question him?

He dropped my hands. ‘I did no such thing,’ he said. His voice was heavy, ponderous with dignity and reproach. ‘I think you must have taken a wrong turn. We could not wait for you – your father’s guards could have been upon us at any moment.’

I wished that I could believe him, but I was certain that he was lying. How much and about what, I could not be sure. Now that I was alerted, I also knew I had to be careful. He was the King of Athens and I was the daughter of the city’s most loathed enemy. ‘Who can know the will of the gods?’ I said eventually, struggling to keep my tone neutral. ‘All is in their hands. I do not dare to interpret what Artemis put into any of our heads to see her justice served.’

He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Quite so.’ He gestured to me to keep walking.

The path wound up a steep hill and I was glad that I was used to the climb to Knossos, or I would have been quite out of breath. When we reached the summit and all of Cecropia was before me in its glory, I stilled, the questions that turned over so feverishly in my head silenced for a moment. The top of the great rock which we had climbed was like a mighty table spread out at our feet. I could glimpse its dimensions through the ornate arched gateway that Theseus made to lead me past. I held up my hand for him to stop, to pause a moment whilst I took it in. A tall tower stretched up into the sky on our right and I could glimpse the watchful gaze of a guard looking down upon us, his bow tilted ready against intruders. Likewise, the walls that ringed the citadel were thicker than any I had ever seen in Crete – metres of stone built to deflect attackers.

None of these defences could counter the plague that Minos entreated Zeus to send, I thought, my head bowing with a mingling of shame and anger. The suffering that my family had wrought here was truly unimaginable, and now the palace of Athens sprawled before me, mighty and magnificent. I would have to show them that their agonies were not my fault; that I was not like my father. I felt the sweat beading at the nape of my neck, beneath the sweep of my hair that the girl had pinned high on my head. I was glad now that I had let her coax me into a finer dress.

‘Your new home,’ Theseus said.

I had years still before it would be time to marry him. Time enough to find out the truth. I was not my sister and I did not have her faith or her naivety. I cast my eyes down demurely enough as I followed him across the marble floor. But I would not let it rest until I knew all.





16


Ariadne


My stomach plunged and I lurched forward, catching myself on the great rock and fastening my arms around its comfortingly stable bulk whilst the world slipped around me. A ship. The sails were not black. But of course, Theseus would have hung new ones – the white sails of victory to alert his anxious father, old Aegeus, who must have scanned the sea from Athens as ardently as I had done from Naxos, awaiting his son.

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