Ariadne(61)
‘My plan seized me in an instant. I had not known – had not allowed myself to know – my own intentions but the knowledge curled itself within me now like the roots of an ancient tree, coiled in my innards and unmistakeable. I could not walk meekly back on to Charon’s boat and sail away in the darkness. I was gripped with the unassailable conviction that my mother’s distant untouchability would melt away if she could see the sunlight once more, and I vowed that I would bring her with me.’
‘But how . . . ?’ I said falteringly. ‘How could you sneak her past Hades, even with your power? You said yourself that such a thing could not be done.’
His glance flickered to my face once more and his rigid expression softened a little. ‘You are right that no one can steal from the realm of Hades, even Zeus himself could not do it. Certainly not Zeus, with his bluster and thunder! And even the god of tricksters, Hermes with his feet of quicksilver, who leads the quaking souls of the dead to those gates – the only Olympian to go so close to the dread realm – even he has never been bold enough to steal one of those cold wraiths away for himself. He would not bring down the vengeance of Hades upon his head.
‘But I have told you, Ariadne, that the other gods are not like me. I have walked amongst mortals for many years and I know the dizzying joys of humanity: the fragile, ferocious power of human love and the savage force of grief. When I share wine with mortals, we celebrate together and I feel the clustered hopes and yearnings, the pain and fears that you all share. In those sacred rites, as simple and ancient as the world itself, we raise a cup and we drink together and our souls are freed from the constraints of the everyday. We find what unites us, what we have in common with one another. I have felt the gaping wound and the bruised, ragged edges of grief. I know that human life shines more brightly because it is but a shimmering candle against an eternity of darkness and it can be extinguished with the faintest breeze.’
He leaned towards me, fastened my hand in his. His eyes held mine steadily, and I could not look away.
His voice was impassioned as he spoke. ‘The gods do not know love because they cannot imagine an end to anything they enjoy. Their passions do not burn brightly as a mortal’s passions do, because they can have whatever they desire for the rest of eternity. How could they cherish or treasure anything? Nothing to them is more than a passing amusement and when they have done with it, there will be another and another and another, until the end of time itself. Their heroes do not know love because they only value what they can measure – the mountains they make of their enemies’ bones, the vast piles of treasure they win and the immortal verses are sung in their name. They see only fame and are blind to the rewards that only human life can offer, which they simply toss aside like trash. They are all fools.’
His words warmed the pit of my stomach; dissolving the cold ache that still gnawed there when I thought of how I had lost Theseus’ love. Dionysus’ words quieted the questions that still teemed in my mind. Theseus had not left me because I was at fault, or because I did not matter. He had left because, to him, nothing mattered at all beyond the cold pursuit of his own fame. I would not let a man who knew the value of nothing make me doubt the value of myself.
‘So, Hades did not suspect you?’ I asked.
Dionysus smiled again. ‘It so happened that the Underworld was missing a guard that day,’ he said. ‘The Underworld is encircled within the great River Oceanus, and five more rivers flow to and from the realm. Charon guards the mighty Styx but the others provide a possible way out, treacherous as they may be. One such gateway is blocked by the monstrous Cerberus, the great dog that towers above the tallest man and slavers foam from the jaws of each of its three heads. I will confess, I would not have wished to tackle Cerberus for I have no such skill as Orpheus with the lyre to lull the beast to peaceful sleep. But fortunately for me, the day that I descended to the Underworld, I had been preceded by that celebrated hero, Heracles himself. His Labour in Hades’ realm was twofold: to both subdue the fearsome guard dog and to rescue his worshipful protégé. Yes, your lover, Theseus, had mired himself in the mud of the Underworld on a foolish and blighted mission to abduct the Queen of the Underworld Persephone from her throne at Hades’ side.’
He laughed, seeing the surprise on my face. ‘Did noble Theseus neglect to tell you this tale when he spoke of his heroic triumphs? Ha! No doubt he did. His mindless companion, Pirithous, had been torn to shreds by Cerberus and Theseus had hidden in fear until Heracles rescued him.’ At this Dionysus threw back his head and another peal of laughter rose into the darkening sky.
I was caught between laughter and horror myself. The ludicrous picture that Dionysus painted of Theseus – his greed, his delusion and his tremulous cowardice at the end – it could not be further away from Theseus’ own tales of his feats. Yet it rang true and I could not doubt it.
I looked up from the ground. The scalding shame of Theseus’ abandonment had finally been doused. Dionysus’ eyes were kind and warm and fixed upon me. I felt the air between us as though it were a solid thing, charged and potent. ‘So, you could take Semele away because Heracles had captured Cerberus?’ I asked.
Dionysus shrugged. ‘Perhaps. It was certainly a stroke of luck. When I led her that way and saw the entrance unguarded, with Cerberus’ chain trailing on the floor, the great iron links torn apart, I knew that I could not miss such an opportunity. I hurried her through without a moment’s hesitation, but all the long and twisting journey back to the surface I will confess I felt the cold touch of fear that a god so rarely knows.’