Ariadne(66)

23


Phaedra


I only wonder now that it took so long for the story to reach our court. Naxos was so close; all those years I could have been there with just a day’s sailing. But whilst I could not trust Theseus’ account of what had truly happened between them there, I had never doubted that she was really dead.

The festival I had instigated had become an annual event and it attracted visitors to the city in their dozens. We entertained many guests year round now; rich merchants and royalty from many regions of Greece and beyond came to Athens in a continuous flow. I loved to be their hostess, to sit as Queen in the centre of it all, and that night was no exception. It had been so stultifying all day; the sun pounded down relentlessly in a harsh glare so that the stones outside felt as though they would burn right through my thin sandals. I was heavy with child and all of that summer, the heat had made my bones ache with a weary exhaustion. I longed for cold winds, mist, rain, snow on the distant mountain tops. Now, the soft glow of the moon and the slight breeze stirring the evening air felt so welcome as we sat beneath the stars out in the open courtyard, sipping wine after a fine meal.

A captain of a fleet that had docked earlier with a great shipment of goods to trade for our silver raised his glass, and I smiled at him. ‘A compliment to your wine, Queen Phaedra,’ he said. ‘So good that I have to ask if it comes from Dionysus himself?’

I laughed. ‘We cannot quite boast of that, good captain, but our vineyards are excellent in Athens.’ I thought he was joking.

‘Ah, I wondered if it had been a gift from your mighty brother-in-law,’ he said.

I squinted at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

He was confused by my bewilderment. ‘Dionysus, your sister’s husband, the god of wine . . .’ he trailed off at the expression on my face.

‘I think we speak at cross purposes, captain,’ I said. ‘I have no sister living any more.’ I caught Theseus’ eye; noticed that he looked uncharacteristically pale. I sat straighter in my chair.

The captain’s honest brow creased. ‘Then . . . my condolences on your loss, my lady. It must have been very recent.’

I felt it then. The crackle of Theseus’ anxiety. He made to stand but I held my hand up, warding him away, and something in my face made him obey. He wanted nothing more than an heir and so the balance of power had swung a little more in my favour of late. ‘I have believed my sister dead these past seven years,’ I said softly. ‘You speak of Ariadne, I take it? For I have no other sister that I know of.’

The captain stumbled over his words, greatly disconcerted by the way that Theseus and I both glared at him; he was caught between our anger that he could not hope to understand. I could see he wished he had never spoken at all. ‘Ariadne, yes,’ he answered. ‘But far from being dead these seven years, Queen, she has been wed to Dionysus of Naxos. I did not . . . I could not . . . I did not dream that you didn’t know.’

‘How can this be?’ I whispered. The baby within me rolled, pushing its feet into the wall of my stomach. It was so tightly confined now, these last weeks, it barely had room to move at all.

The captain swallowed. ‘The constellation above us, my lady,’ he ventured. ‘The crown of stars in the sky, just there.’

He pointed and I looked up, as though in a dream. The arc of stars in the northern sky did indeed look like a crown.

‘That was the coronet he gave her for their wedding,’ the captain said.

The shock slipped through me like a tide. I hauled myself to my feet, hating the ungainly swell of my body and how it slowed me now, when I wanted nothing more than to run.

‘My wife,’ Theseus said quickly. ‘She is unwell, you must excuse us.’

He had my elbow, a show of support, but I could feel the tight press of his fingers. A wave of dizziness surged within me. He was steering me away from the courtyard now, away from an audience. A ripple of concerned chatter drifted behind us, but he did not stop, yanking me into the interior of the palace, to my chamber.

Once inside, he closed the door heavily behind us. His face was defiant. Cold. I sat down on my bed, hands pressed on my stomach, trying to focus my mind on what I needed to say, to make him speak the truth at last.

He began. ‘I didn’t lie.’

It was laughable, but my breath was still sharp and jagged in my lungs.

He continued. ‘Not at first. I saw her there, dead.’ He saw me open my mouth and raised his hand to cut me off. ‘I know, I know what you will say. I think . . . I think that Artemis must have sent the vision.’

In the midst of my shock, I still marvelled at his adherence to the lie he had told so many years ago. I felt a tumult within, like a fist closing slowly around my womb. I inhaled sharply.

‘That’s it,’ he went on, beginning to pace the room now, tugging at his jaw, not looking at me. ‘Dionysus must have wanted Ariadne for himself. So Artemis made me see her as though she were dead, so that I would leave her there for him.’

‘You told me that you battled the snake. That you buried her body.’ I forced the words out.

‘A dream,’ he answered. ‘It must have been a dream.’

‘You dreamed it. And left my sister alone there.’ My voice was flat.

He would not meet my eyes. ‘You told me yourself that we cannot know the mind of the gods,’ Theseus said. ‘Their power . . . their illusions. They are greater than any of us.’