Ariadne(46)

I stood, unsure of what to do, suddenly acutely aware of every trembling bit of me. I pushed my chin higher and did not let my body betray my sudden alarm.

‘I did not expect to find anyone here,’ he said disarmingly. ‘Who might you be and how did you come to be here all alone?’

His words jolted me. How did he know I was alone? How ridiculous a question. He was an Olympian god; he knew anything he cared to know. ‘My name is Ariadne,’ I replied falteringly. ‘I am a princess of Crete.’ Even as I said it, I flinched a little. Would Dionysus have heard my story, in passing – perhaps from a sailor? Would he know what I had done? Or would the gossip of mortal affairs wash over him? Unless my presence on Naxos offended him, what cause would he have to pay me any mind at all?

We looked at each other for a long moment. I could see now that his eyes were blue.

The man flung himself to the ground with a great thud that startled me. ‘My god,’ he mumbled into the sand. ‘Divine god of the grapes, of wine and music, bringer of joy and pleasure, please have mercy upon me, for I did not know, I did not—’ His body heaved with sobs.

I looked at his prostrate figure. Should I join him on the sand? Humble myself before this divine being and beg his mercy? For I most surely needed it. But something held me back – the laughing amusement in Dionysus’ eyes made me feel it would be ridiculous somehow.

‘Come, Acoetes,’ Dionysus said, clapping him on the back and lifting him to his feet. Though the sailor stood so much taller and broader than the god, it cost him no effort to haul the desperate man from the sand as though he were no more than a child. ‘Do not kneel to me; we are friends.’

Acoetes began to stammer out his gratitude, but Dionysus spoke again.

‘It is I who am grateful to you, my man,’ he said. ‘Your crew sought to deceive me and planned to sell me into a life of cruel slavery, but you stood firm against them even before I revealed my true self. You are a good man, Acoetes, and a friend to me. Stand with me!’ He spoke jovially, his voice full of delight. ‘Now,’ he turned back to me. ‘We are in the presence of a princess: Ariadne of Crete.’

Poor Acoetes’ eyes bulged. I think he wondered for a moment if he should fling himself back on his knees, before me this time, but Dionysus’ arm was still slung around his shoulder and although it looked as though it rested lightly, I suspected that it was actually holding the man upright.

‘I am sure she has tales to tell us,’ Dionysus continued, his gaze warm and that hint in his voice of a thousand untold jokes. ‘I expect she will politely listen to our boring stories as well. Let us stroll hence to my house – a little dwelling I keep here on Naxos that I believe Ariadne has looked after for me.’

I started. Was there nothing he did not know?

‘We will restore you with a cup of wine, my friend, and find out all about each other there.’

And so it was that I became acquainted with a god.





17


When we reached the house, I gasped. No longer a little stone cottage; in its place sprawled a shining white palace. A god’s home. The stately pillars at the front were ornately carved and twined with gold filigree twisting into vines and sprouting golden grapes in shimmering relief. Polished marble glowed where before there had been rough stone.

Dionysus led us through. A magnificent staircase spiralled up from the centre instead of the narrow, dusty one I had climbed to bed before. The little courtyard was now a vast oblong and the statue now towered in the centre, streams of rich red wine flowing across its golden surface. Bronze couches heaped with purple cushions stood all around. It was to one of these that Dionysus solicitously guided Acoetes now, with a kindness I had not heard of a mighty god displaying before. He inclined his head towards another couch for me and was gone in a moment, rounding a corner behind a pillar and disappearing into another room.

I sank into the couch. Acoetes’ face no doubt mirrored my own. But before we could express our bafflement, Dionysus was back, bearing platters heaped with food, meat steaming in the centre, its mouthwatering scent hanging in the air, crumbly slabs of cheese, rolls of bread, fat olives . . . My stomach flipped in ravenous excitement. Real, delicious food that made the grapes for which I had earlier been so abjectly grateful seem like nothing. ‘Eat,’ he entreated us, and I needed no further invitation.

Was it a dream? I wondered. A dream brought about by the delirium of starvation, a dream of plentiful food and sweet wine, served in a palace by a powerful god? Perhaps this was what my mind had conjured to soothe me in my dying moments.

But what tremendous comfort it was! The feeling of hearty food in my body was something I could not describe. The wine slowed the anxious racing of my mind; the easy conversation of our divine host soothed it yet further. I learned that Dionysus had asked the doomed crew for passage to Naxos and they had plotted in secret to sell this beautiful youth for a fine price in Thebes. Only Acoetes had demurred and pleaded for the men to behave honourably and keep their word to leave him on Naxos, as promised. I wondered why Dionysus had asked to sail with them at all? I had heard tell that he could skip across the waves, without the need for boats or sails or even a humble raft to keep him afloat. Or that he could don a pair of wings and fly, according to his whims. I did not ask him this; an impish glint in his eye told me that he had seen good sport and the chance for mischief, and that was cause enough. It was hard, though, to fear him so greatly. I knew that any chance offence I might give him, whether intended or not, could see me voiceless and bound in a thick, grey skin beneath the waves, but he was so engaging and kind that I could forget from minute to minute with whom I conversed.