Ariadne(53)

Dionysus’ whole demeanour had lifted as he spoke of his early days on Mount Nysa. We had stopped at a clump of boulders where I could sit, and he lounged now against one of them. The sun shone down on his face, igniting a glow around him that took my breath away. Shades of Zeus’ glory; a whisper of how he must have appeared to Semele in her final moment. He shaded his eyes with his arm as he smiled at me, languid and graceful.

‘Old Silenus went wandering one day, as was his wont, and found himself at the foot of the mountain in the Phrygian kingdom ruled by Midas. Now, Silenus was drunk more often than not, and when he stopped at a fountain for a drink of water he inadvertently fell asleep in the midday sunshine. King Midas gave him great hospitality when he awoke. So I promised King Midas that, in exchange for his kindness, I would give him any gift he liked.’

I looked sharply at Dionysus, uncertain where the story was going. He was still smiling, though I could not quite see his eyes beneath the shade of his arm, and so I smiled too, swept along with his good humour.

‘King Midas was delighted by this offer and thought about it carefully. Phrygia was not a rich kingdom. He longed to lord it over his neighbouring rivals, with gold beyond compare.’ Here, Dionysus could not hold back a ripple of mirth. ‘So, gold was exactly what he asked for – to be precise, the ability to turn all that he touched into gold.

‘You can imagine his glee when I granted his wish and the table upon which he rested his hand gleamed brightly all at once. He spun around, giddy with joy, touching the stone pillars at his side and seeing them transformed. The fountain from which Silenus had drunk shone as he laid a hand upon it and each ripple of water froze into shimmering golden waves. The flagstones beneath his feet, the gnarled olive trees that he danced towards, even the blades of grass that waved in the breeze as he knelt to run his fingers through them – all was gold. The shining surfaces reflected the rays of the sun in harsh, blinding sheets, causing his courtiers to wince and shield their eyes. Midas laughed again and twirled across the courtyard – like a boy once more – before he stumbled abruptly and fell. His robes were no longer woven fabric but solid, unyielding gold. Doubt flickered in his eyes as he tried to struggle to his feet, like an upended tortoise.’

At this, I did laugh. The image of the undignified king, struggling on the floor to extricate himself from the gold he craved, was amusing. But there was something wicked in Dionysus’ eyes, and beneath my laughter I felt an unease begin to stir.

‘The king was a stubborn man and determined to right himself. As his attendants flocked towards him, he gestured them imperiously away. But whilst their attention was distracted, no one saw Midas’ young daughter run across the courtyard to her fallen father, eager to join him in his game.’

I gasped. Surely Dionysus wouldn’t . . .

‘She could not have been more than three years of age, and quite devoted to her father. She rushed to where he flailed on the ground, quite imprisoned by his stiff and clanking robes, and flung her chubby little arms around his neck, pressing her face to his cheek in a delighted kiss.

‘The golden statue of a child fell back to the golden ground, the metallic clang echoing through the suddenly silent air.’ Dionysus paused, taking in the full extent of my appalled expression. ‘And as her father wept, the salty tears solidified on his cheeks like glinting jewels.’

I could not speak. I was horrified. I thought of the little girl, of her trust and her exuberance, silenced and turned into a cold, beautiful replica of herself. I had not thought that Dionysus was like the other gods – cold, cruel and petty.

I do not know what expression of horror must have contorted my face but it caused Dionysus to hurl his head back and laugh aloud. ‘Ariadne! You do not think I would leave the child, do you? Of course I would not punish an innocent,’ he said, swallowing his mirth. ‘And I was truly grateful to Midas, who was a kindly and gentle man, for taking care of Silenus. He saw the folly of his wish in an instant. I let him take it back at once by helping him to struggle to the nearest river and wash away the power. Indeed, the silt of that river is still rich with slivers of gold even now. I breathed life back into the girl, who did not remember a moment of what had happened, and all was restored to what it had been. King Midas learned a lesson about what is truly valuable – and it made for an entertaining anecdote, it cannot be denied.’

I was relieved but I felt disconcerted, nonetheless. It was only Dionysus’ benevolence that had made it nothing more than an amusing tale, rather than a terrible tragedy. All he needed to do was to will it either way.

He reached out his hand, to pull me to my feet, and looked me full in the face. The sheer force of his beauty took my breath away. He looked as though he had been gilded himself, as though Midas’ foolish fingers had brushed his skin and infused him with gold. The great Helios was my grandfather and I knew that an echo of his radiance touched me and my siblings with a soft glow, but Dionysus’ entire presence burned with a spectacular magnificence and vitality that made the blood of the sun that flowed in my veins seem feeble and weak in comparison. He touched his fingers to my cheek and it felt like a white-hot brand searing through my flesh to the soul within. Behind him, the sky ignited into a glorious sunset. It felt like this moment was something tangible, something I could grasp on to; I had somehow found safe ground here, in the place I had thought would strip my flesh away and bleach my bones. But I still didn’t know if the story of Midas was warning or reassurance.