Ariadne(78)

I gasped. Phaedra had always been direct. But for her to voice such things so openly!

Her lip twisted as she took in my expression. ‘You look at me with a kind of horror, dear sister, but I look only to the gods and what they have done. I suggest nothing as base, as foul, as depraved as what Theseus has done a thousand times over, and yet he is fêted everywhere he goes as a hero! You yourself – however shocked you may appear at my dreams of love – went willingly to Theseus’ bed, here on this very island, though you were not his wife. I do not know how you dare to stand in judgement over me. I am guided only by my deep and true devotion to a man far more noble and virtuous than any you have ever known; you who married a god renowned for debauchery and drunkenness, whose followers abandon their husbands and sons and go in defiance of their fathers to lose themselves in the frenzied rites of Dionysus, concealed in the mountains where no one sees their foul perversities.’

Her words were like a shock of icy water thrown upon me. ‘It is not as you say!’ I protested. I forced the image of the maenads scrubbing the blood out of their robes from my mind. I would not think of it; what Phaedra hinted at could not be true. ‘The rites are private and sacred, that is true, but not what you insinuate. Any foulness they are accused of comes from the darkness in the minds of their accusers, not . . . I don’t . . .’ My words were jumbled, defensive, confused. ‘Phaedra, only think of what you are saying! The boy is but a youth; pledged to observe the chastity of Artemis, and loyal to his father. He will surely not be seduced from all he holds dear by his own stepmother. You can see, can’t you, that it is absurd?’

The wrong choice of word. I knew as soon as I said it. A flush rose on my sister’s cheeks, staining them deep red. I had not meant to ridicule her, but I saw at once that she would see it as such.

She tossed her head. ‘Absurd?’ she spat. ‘What is absurd is that I would come here, to you, to seek any kind of help. You, so complacent in your exile here that you do not even know what your own husband is! A god! You and I know well what gods are like, Ariadne. What could be absurd about my love, my hopes? I have kept my youth. My waist has not thickened, my face is barely lined with age. No squalling brats squirm at my breast any more,’ and here she cast a scathing glance at me, sweeping up and down my body, ‘occupying my mind with trivial and domestic matters. He is my stepson, perhaps, but look once more to our gods, where Zeus sits enthroned on Mount Olympus with his own sister, Hera, as his wife . . .’ She paused and caught herself. For a moment, the silence rang hard between us and then she went on, more quietly. ‘Your concerns are simple ones,’ she said. ‘I can understand it. You have been here, living like a housewife for all these years. The world moves on beyond Naxos; you do not understand how it has changed. You have forgotten what a city is like. Remember in Crete, how our own mother seduced a wild bull. No human man will resist me, the granddaughter of the sun!’

I shook my head, exasperated. ‘It is our mother that I think of when I tell you not to do this! I will never forget the taunts, the whispers that surged in a filthy tide around us. I remember how we were all made grotesque by what she did; the smirks and the stifled laughter and worse. Is that what you wish for yourself? Did you learn nothing from our childhood?’ But I could see that she had not listened to a word.

‘I came here to ask the protection of your husband,’ she said. ‘I did not think that he would stand in moral judgement upon us. I have heard enough of the dance he leads across the world to know that what I suggest is nothing that could offend him, of all the gods. I hoped that I could find sanctuary for Hippolytus and me, here on Naxos, safe from Theseus’ revenge. But I can see that there is no respite for us here.’

‘Do not do this, Phaedra,’ I begged. I did not try to soften my words this time to spare her feelings. ‘Hippolytus will not go with you. Yes, you are beautiful, but you are his father’s wife, and nothing that you have said gives any sliver of hope that you could divert him from his path of chastity. He does not want you, Phaedra, or the shame that such a union would bring. He has found his father; he will not want to lose him so disgracefully. If you will not think of him, then think of your own children! How could they bear the shame if you—’

I saw her face twist with an emotion I could not identify. Tears sprang into her eyes and she turned away abruptly. The harsh words we had spoken hung between us and I wished so desperately I could start this conversation again. But I groped helplessly for the right thing to say and could think of nothing at all before she turned back, her face smooth and blank once more. ‘They are Theseus’ children,’ she said. The bitterness had drained from her tone and she looked so very tired. ‘I see nothing of myself in them . . . I do not understand them. I should never have been married to him, and if I had not been, then they never would have lived.’

I drew back. ‘But that is surely not what you want,’ I said. My mind reeled at the thought. I imagined that her children would have been a great comfort to her, that she would have loved them all the more because they were all she had; that she could look at them and see that something good at least had come from her miserable marriage.

She sighed. There was an emptiness in her eyes that horrified me. Phaedra had been so full of life and vigour when we had grown up together. Her despair was something I had never dreamed I would see.

‘Who would have known?’ she said. ‘I thought you were so lucky to be chosen by Theseus, but it was his leaving you that made you fortunate in the end.’ She tried to smile, and I winced to see how false it was. ‘You have a life that makes you happy,’ she went on. ‘I don’t think you can imagine any other. You have lived here since you were eighteen years old. I have ruled the mightiest city in Greece. Our experiences are more different than I realised.’ Her tone became brisker, sharper once more. ‘I thank you for the hospitality you have shown to my crew but we shall return immediately to Athens.’