Ariadne(73)

I believed the ring of sincerity in her voice. For a moment, the jagged space between us that I had not been able to cross seemed to shrink a little.

‘I had my suspicions, but I did not let myself think of it. I knew nothing for certain, and it did me no good to dwell upon it further. Besides, my own children were born, and you know yourself how motherhood occupies the mind.’ Her tone changed a little, something unidentifiable creeping in. ‘I had hoped to meet my immortal brother-in-law and I am disappointed to find him not at home, though I hear he travels far and wide much of the time.’

I fumbled for the words which should have come easily when bidden but somehow eluded me. Baby Tauropolis was growing restless again now that we had stopped and he made a series of yelping sounds that signalled an imminent storm of crying. I bounced him up and down, the dance of motherhood that swayed my hips from side to side to soothe a baby rather than sending me in wild spirals across a dancing-floor.

‘No matter,’ she said, not waiting for my answer any longer. ‘I did not come for a family gathering, as intriguing as your great Olympian husband is to me.’

At this, I was surprised again. What had she come for, if not to see me?

‘Theseus could not keep you a secret forever. The fame of Dionysus spread across our lands and we heard of the Cretan princess elevated to be his wife; the great crown of stars in the sky that they said he placed there for you. The story went that Dionysus convinced Artemis to create the illusion of your death so that Theseus would leave you without a fight and he could claim you for his own. But I knew this lie for what it was, the moment that I heard it, like an arrow to the heart.’

Her anger was palpable. I was touched that she felt so outraged on my behalf; that the shared blood in our veins and the childhood we had spent together could still stir her to such feeling.

‘I knew how easily he could leave a woman behind.’ She snorted, tossing her hair again.

I could see her waiting for us that night: small and brave and patient as the night fell away. I wished so fiercely that I could have wrapped my arms around her little body; that we could have shared our heartbreak and our anger on that misty dawn when we both stood alone on different, desolate shores.

‘The scales fell from my eyes at once. I was glad that you lived, but I saw that my life was a grand deception . . .’ She paused.

I wondered what she saw as she stared blankly across the sea to the gulls wheeling in the distant sky.

‘. . . and then Hippolytus came.’





26


Phaedra


After I learned that Ariadne was alive and began to piece together for myself what had really happened at Naxos, more of Theseus’ lies began to unravel, as though I had pulled a single thread on a tapestry and found great ragged holes appearing all over its surface.

Back in Crete, Theseus had told us how he cleared the route between Troezen and Athens of monsters and murderers, but he didn’t tell us where else he went on his heroic journey. I opened my ears to the gossip now. I no longer feared it would be about me. I listened closely to the visiting sailors and travellers and merchants and royalty who came to our court. I lurked whilst the maids chattered, dragged my heels in crowds and pricked up my ears at any mention of the King. One useful advantage I found of motherhood the second time around was that a baby at my breast was the perfect diversion. I learned grudgingly to be grateful for the suckling infant as I realised that women speak to the mother of a newborn, their guard down, and their hearts as open as their mouths. The same was true as my sons grew older; I could watch them play whilst my ears were tuned in to what the other mothers around me talked of. Slowly, I learned more and more about the man I had married.

First of all, I gathered a picture of where Theseus had really travelled all that time ago. He had hardly taken the most direct route home from Troezen, after all. I discovered that he had sought a rare prize in the land of the fearsome Amazons. I put the pieces together: he would have intended to stride through the doors of Aegeus’ palace with not only the trail of wicked men and deformed beasts crushed in his wake, but a bride on his arm that would show his father what kind of man his son had become.

I had heard as a child myself that, far beyond the familiar shores I knew, lay a mysterious island just off the coast of Lycia. Legend told it was populated by a wild race of women who stood taller than the tallest of our men and who galloped upon horseback against any intruders, showering them with a hail of deadly arrows. These warrior women struck fear and intrigue into the heart of many adventurers, who longed equally to lay eyes upon them and to disbelieve their very existence. The younger Theseus must have seen the chance to seize a fabled trophy he could boast of in the halls of Athens. He set his sights upon Hippolyta, the Amazon Queen herself.

The story went, whispered from the mouths of fearful gossips and lascivious sailors, that Theseus presented himself to the fearsome tribe alone and apparently unarmed, a humble sailor seeking sanctuary. They took pity upon him and welcomed him, giving him food and drink and a place to rest. I know well what stories he would have spun for them. In return, he crept to the chamber of Hippolyta that night and carried her away as she slept. She was overcome with wine that night and, in the confusion, he managed to drag her as far as his ship before her sisters were roused from their slumbers by her cries and gave chase. Theseus was fast, though. He abandoned his plan to bring her home, but he took his opportunity whilst he held her captive alone on board. By the time that Hippolyta had struggled free from his clutches and was staggering back through the surf towards the avenging Amazons that galloped to her rescue, Theseus had taken what he wanted. She cannot have known it as the women bore her back to their home, Theseus’ ship already a dot on the horizon, but he had left her with child – a son, Hippolytus.