Ariadne(59)

I wanted so much to see him again; to salve the hurt of our parting. So when, after days and maybe weeks had passed, as another day was coming to a close, I saw him once more on the beach, I felt a mighty surge of relief. I did not hold myself back from running towards him.

His smile – warm, open and eager – was a golden beacon of reassurance. He caught me in his arms; the feel of his embrace after the solitude was both unreal and yet undeniably solid and true at the same time.

All the things I could have said to him were tangled up inside me. What emerged was simple and honest. ‘I am so glad that you came back.’

He looked at me. ‘I will always come back.’

I wanted to believe that was true. ‘I am sorry – for everything. And I am sorry about Ampelos, too. I know that what you shared was not like other gods and humans.’

He inclined his head. ‘It was not. But how would you know that it was not, with everything that you have seen? I want to tell you how it is different, so that you understand.’

Caught up in the tide of joy, my fears and my doubts were a current tugging at me from underneath, but I pushed them down. For now at least, I would not think of them. I would let him talk – and hope, this time, that his words would convince me. I caught his hand in mine, pulling him towards the villa. ‘Come, drink wine with me then, and tell me what it was really like.’

The courtyard glittered with torches, proclaiming his return. Although Naxos belonged to him, I had grown so accustomed to it being mine that I felt like it was he who was the guest, and so it was I who brought out cushions for the couches and goblets for the wine. When we were seated, I took a sip of the rich, honey-tinged liquid and invited him to speak. ‘So, what did you do after Ampelos died?’ I asked.

He watched the wine swirl in his cup and sighed. ‘I was raw and bruised from my loss and I turned it over and over in my head – how humans could be so vital, so alive and so full of passion, only for it to be crushed from them in a single second. I wrestled with it as I travelled. How could this be true and what purpose could it serve? I had fled to foreign lands with Hera’s tormenting madness ringing in my ears. Now I returned with the madness of the questions I could not answer driving me equally to insanity and despair.’

Dionysus paused again. He looked beyond me, to a place I could not see, lost in the past.

‘They are the questions which plague humanity, of course. But unlike mortals, I had the power to find the answers for myself. I resolved that I would find the Underworld from which I had preserved Ampelos’ spirit. I think that I could not have done it if it had meant seeing his face there, ghostly and blank-eyed. But I did hope that I could look just once upon the face of my mother; the face I had never seen. A helpless baby when she died, not strong enough even to survive outside her womb, I could not have done for her what I had done for Ampelos and she must roam those ghostly halls of Hades for all time. But perhaps if I could see her, I could redress in some measure that great injustice that had been done to us both.’

‘The Underworld?’ I breathed. ‘But how—?’

He smiled darkly. ‘The journey was lengthy. The place is well concealed, even to immortal eyes. The pampered gods of Mount Olympus shrink from the darkness of Hades’ realm. They fear his grey, grim countenance on his brief sojourns to their realm. None of them, accustomed as they are to drinking nectar and feasting on ambrosia upon their couches, wreathed in golden purity and all the luxury of their world, would think to walk those dim, dank tunnels sloping ever deeper underground, full of crawling insects and slithering worms and scuttling creatures. But I was not like them and I did not fear the dark.’ He took a long draught of wine.

I watched his hand curl around the stem of the goblet, the smooth flexing of his throat as he swallowed. ‘What was it like?’ I asked, fascinated.

‘It was like nothing I had ever seen in all of my travels. When I reached the marshy banks of the River Styx, the silent and hooded figure of Charon greeted me impassively with nothing more than a nod of recognition. The pitiful misty wraiths that swarmed the shores tried to cling to my robes, to board his rickety boat, but they were the souls of the Unburied, condemned to throng the bleak marshlands for all eternity. They could not hold me back and they could not accompany me.’

I shuddered. Such a fate could have been mine, if Dionysus had not come here when he did.

‘How can I describe to you, Ariadne, the voyage across that still, black river? The wailing of the lost souls receded to a faint chorus of moans as we crossed the vast cavern. The water was thick and slow with mud and as we drifted further and further away, the only sound was the splash of Charon’s oar as it slapped the viscous, oily surface. Such a voyage, all humans must make only once and none can ever cross back. But I knew that I would return to the surface, that I would feel the warmth of sunlight on my skin once more, and that sustained my spirit and my hope on that bleak crossing.

‘At length, we reached the opposite bank. Here, in the true heart of the Underworld, it was not so eerie or silent as the long journey. The land of the dead is a great, bustling city and although it is all hued in shades of black and grey, there is movement and noise – the chatter of all the souls that have ever lived and died upon the earth. At the centre of it all rose a towering palace, and before that was the great Plain of Judgement, where Hades would weigh the life of every soul that came shivering and meek before him.