Ariadne(52)

My eighteenth year loomed ahead of me. I wondered how long I might get away with this life. Theseus did not need a wife; he needed a grateful audience and someone to run the city whilst he carved his name into history. But our union was part of the truce with Crete and I knew it was inevitable. Eventually the day came when he sent word from his travels of his expected day of return and instructed that the preparations for our wedding should commence.

Our wedding day, like the birth of the Minotaur, was a memory I did not allow. Whenever it flickered in my mind, the prevailing sense was that aching loss I felt without Ariadne by my side. Athenian hands, kindly enough but strange and distant, twisted my hair into braids and draped me in flowing fabrics. Not my sister; my sister who had dreamed of this day for herself.

If I had hoped that marrying Theseus might quell some of the suspicion that still burned away within me, I was wrong. After we were married, I wondered yet more at his claim to have left Ariadne alone out of respect for her virtue. As far as I could see, Artemis, the goddess grimly wedded to her own chastity, would have little reason to send her serpent against Ariadne for helping Theseus out of the Labyrinth. I could only surmise that my sister had paid the price for something else, something far more offensive to the virgin immortal.

But Theseus, sleeping soundly beside me, would never tell.





19


Ariadne


I waited for Dionysus to say that he would go again; that the world called for him and he would take to the waves and disappear. But he stayed. He did not speak again of his mother at first, but as we fell into a routine of walking together along the beach in the evenings, he broached the subject once more.

‘My mother, Semele, was indeed a mortal woman, but my father was Zeus, god of the thunderbolt and ruler of Mount Olympus. Despite the bitter jealousy of his wife, Hera, my father did not resist the temptations of the beautiful women he saw on the earth beneath him. Although he had the white-armed Hera in all her glory, he would not be satisfied with just one woman – even if she was the queen of all goddesses. And so, when he saw Semele, he did not hesitate to make her his own.’

Of course. A familiar story. But in Dionysus’ mouth, the words hummed with a hidden undercurrent. The gods would take what they wanted, whenever they wanted it. But what did Dionysus want? His face was open and guileless and though I was poised at any moment for what might come next, he only carried on with his tale.

‘Semele was delighted to receive the attentions of this handsome youth. She did not doubt his word when he told her that he was the most powerful of the immortals. And she did not resist when he led her to a secluded cove, away from the prying gaze of his ever-watchful wife. In time, her belly swelled and she boasted of it to all who would listen. When Hera heard of the foolish mortal girl bragging of the divine child she was to bear, she planned her revenge. She visited my mother in the guise of an old crone and cast doubt on her story. ‘Why does Zeus not come to you in the golden glory in which he visits his immortal wife?’ she asked Semele. ‘Make him show you what he truly looks like and then you will know beyond all doubt that you carry his son in your womb . . .’ Dionysus paused.

My stomach twisted in the retelling of this story. I knew of Hera’s spite and the punishments she had wrought upon Zeus’ unfortunate mortal lovers. I knew this must be a trick and I felt Dionysus’ pain in recounting what she had done to his mother.

‘So, Semele went to Zeus and made him swear that he would grant her any wish that she requested. Laughing, he swore that he would – making his oath on the Styx, that mighty river that takes every spirit to the dark shadows of Hades. Powerful and almighty as he is, Zeus was bound by that oath with unbreakable chains. So when Semele spoke her wish aloud – that he would reveal his true, immortal self to her – he knew at once that Hera had found him out and this was to be her revenge. With a heavy heart, he cast aside his mortal shell and his awesome divinity blazed forth. No human eyes can withstand such a sight. My pregnant mother was burned to ashes in a heartbeat.’

I swallowed. Hera’s punishment was so clever; once again, she had outwitted her straying husband. Once again, another woman paid the price. ‘Then, how—?’ I started to ask.

‘How did I not shrivel to a cinder in her belly?’ Dionysus grimaced. ‘My father plucked me from her womb as she burned. I was not ready to be born, so he sewed me safely into his own thigh until the time came. Thus, I was born twice and could assume my birthright as a true Olympian, for my father’s golden blood had nurtured me.’

I felt a pang of sorrow for him; a baby torn from his mother for nothing more than spite and wounded pride. At least the Minotaur had known the gentle touch of his mother’s caresses, even if his maddened brain could not understand that love.

‘Hera, of course, would not stand for me taking a seat in the halls of Mount Olympus, so my father entrusted my infant care to the nymphs of Mount Nysa. It was far enough away from Hera’s favoured places that I could be safely concealed whilst so young.’

So this explained why his demeanour was so at odds with everything I had expected of a god. He had not been raised in the golden halls of Mount Olympus amongst the sleek, cruel throng of immortals that jostled there for supremacy. He had not learned at Zeus’ knee that the world was laid out before him like a feast to pick and choose what to take and what to discard. ‘And so I grew up on the slopes of the mountain, loved and cared for by the nymphs. They were a band of sisters who lived with their father, Silenus. It was from him that I learned how to press grapes into wine. He was a jovial old man, forever laughing at the ridiculousness of life, and a great lover of wine. He taught me its secrets from a young age.’