Ariadne(49)
He stepped closer. He studied my face, my burning cheeks. ‘You did not think I would return,’ he said. ‘Why not?’
‘I thought you would forget,’ I answered. ‘I thought . . .’ I did not finish.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘That I was like Theseus?’ He snorted with amusement. ‘I do not posture, Ariadne, or make promises that I cast aside like nothing. You asked me to bring you news of your sister, did you not?’
I looked up. Did he know what had happened in Crete after I had gone? I was so desperate to hear of Phaedra.
Dionysus must have clearly read in my face what I wanted to know for he spoke before I could. ‘I will tell you what I know,’ he said. ‘It is not everything, for I received it from an oracle and you know how they speak in riddles. But this I do know: she does not suffer in Crete. Theseus was right in one respect; no one did suspect her role in the liberation of the Athenian hostages and the death of the Minotaur. Only one daughter took the blame for that. Phaedra was safe from the blistering fury that Minos unleashed – he shouted most of it at the sky and the sea, calling upon every god he could think of to curse Theseus. Minos was so accustomed to being a favourite of the gods, he had forgotten how fickle they can be.’ Dionysus smiled at this. ‘The dashing young hero is far more appealing to them now. The altars heaped high with thanks for the defeat of the Minotaur gratify the immortals far more than the ranting of Minos. A disgraced and humiliated king can only provide them with a little amusement. They had already turned their eyes to far more exciting exploits. And so Minos’ prayers went unheard. In frustration, he sought the escaped inventor, Daedalus—’
‘Daedalus escaped?’ I interjected, surprised.
‘Apparently so, though I do not know how. Your brother, Deucalion, rules Crete whilst Minos searches for him. Deucalion is a sensible king – his first order of business was to soothe the possibility of rebellion that seized Crete in the initial chaos. With Minos gone far across the seas, the Labyrinth cracked open and the Minotaur nothing but pulp and gristle, he could not risk an uprising. Deucalion needs allies. He arranged a husband for Phaedra – a great prince of a mighty city – and she boarded a ship the very next day. She lives in another palace now, waited on by an army of maids and her every comfort attended to, whilst the years pass until she is of an age to marry him. Please do not ask me more of her situation at present for I cannot tell you more. The Fates have plans for your sister, and it is not for me to divert her destiny and bring her to you. And if you are honest with yourself, although I know you long to see her, you know that this quiet island is no place for her.’
I could not deny it: a luxurious palace in a foreign city would appeal to my sister far more than a life of exile and solitude. I did not know how precarious my position here might be; I could not justify dragging Phaedra into my own murky confusion. I missed her round, open face and her inquisitive chatter more than I could say. But I wished my sister well, above all else, and her prince, whoever he may be, would not welcome an alliance with a princess who had betrayed her entire kingdom and allowed its greatest treasures to be plundered, destroyed and stolen in one night. Dionysus promised me that I would see Phaedra again, once her new status was secure, for he had seen her arriving here on a mighty ship one day, bedecked in finery.
I thought of returning to Crete, now that Minos was gone. But his potential return at any moment meant I would never have a second’s peace there. Besides, I had committed a terrible crime. Could Deucalion, a fledgling king, really welcome back the woman who had betrayed the whole city, even if its citizens were secretly glad to be free of the Minotaur? I did not think so. Naxos was a safer place for me for the time being and, in truth, whilst Dionysus was there, I could not deny that part of me wanted to stay.
18
Phaedra
There were some things, at least, that Theseus did not lie about. In the years that were to come, I would count these up – these scraps of honesty, here and there, tangled up in the sea of deceit in which he swam so effortlessly.
Firstly, it was true that Athens did welcome me, far more than I expected. Gradually, I stopped listening for whispers in dark corners. At Knossos, our family disgrace trailed behind us like a chain we were forced to drag, pulling us down, tripping us up. In Athens, I was amazed to find I could move freely, without its weight. Instead of condemnation, I found sympathy.
The citadel was small; smaller than I had expected, having been accustomed to the sprawling splendour of Knossos. I asked Theseus to show me it all, hoping that as we walked I would be able to draw more from him, to piece together my sister’s final moments on Naxos. He never spoke of it, though, despite my best efforts. I did not have the skill of manipulation, of coaxing and cajoling; I was used to a more direct approach. If I asked him about that night, he would frown and curtly find a reason to bring our conversation to a close.
He was, of course, happy to talk about his exploits. I heard many times how he had vanquished our Minotaur, crushing it into a whimpering mass of blood, hair and horns in the blackness of the Labyrinth. He embroidered his heroics, rehearsing them for me time and time again. I stopped listening and instead took in the details of my new home.
The citadel was snugly protected in its fortifications on the flat summit of the mountain we had climbed on my first day. The stone steps cut into its side led down to the harbour and the snaking river that flowed from the fertile valleys, which sprawled lush and verdant below, so unlike the dry, dusty rocks of Crete.