Ariadne(81)

‘What did Zeus say when you complained?’ I asked. I was not interested in Perseus’ worship. He could snub Dionysus for as long as he wanted, as far as I was concerned. I did not want him here, seeking his brother’s favour.

‘He will not intervene.’ The grim set of Dionysus’ lips warned me not to ask more. ‘As long as his own altars are heaped high with offerings, he will not concern himself with anyone else’s. He tells me to seek my followers elsewhere; that the world is wide and full of willing worshippers if I seek them out.’

‘You have always been happy to travel to find them before,’ I said mildly.

The dark flash of his eyes, unfamiliar to me, reared like a snake from the leaves. ‘I am weary of travelling,’ he snapped. ‘And if my own brother spurns me, then why would strangers fall to their knees in barbarian lands that have never even heard of me?’

When had my husband ever required anyone to kneel? He had always invited his worshippers to dance. I do not know what I might have said next, but for the boisterous arrival of Staphylus and Thoas. Shrieking with delight at their father’s long-awaited return, they flung themselves into his arms, climbing all over him. Tauropolis squealed his protests but his brothers did not heed him in their joy. Dionysus’ face was laughing and golden once more, and I saw my children’s faces open like flowers before the sun. For a few noisy moments, they were a tumble of limbs and hair and kisses, and my heart throbbed with an almost painful sweetness to see it.

Once they had settled into him, Staphylus with his lanky eight-year-old limbs trying to fit himself under his father’s arm and Thoas wedged under the other, with Tauropolis still nestled against his chest, all of them gazing up at him in rapture, they demanded the stories of where he had been. As always, he obliged, telling them of mighty dragons in the distant land of Colchis, where even the bulls breathed fire, of sea serpents rearing from their rocky caves, of savage lands where cannibals roamed and Cyclopes tended great flocks of giant sheep. They hung on his every word until I could wedge in some news of our own.

‘We had a visitor ourselves whilst you were away,’ I told him, as he began another tale of a faraway place. ‘My sister, Phaedra, came to our shores seeking my help.’

The briefest flicker of interest in his eyes. But I could see it meant little to him.

‘Phaedra, married now for many years to that prince you told me of.’ Acid dripped into my tone.

Now he remembered.

‘Oh,’ he said, embarrassed for a second. ‘Yes, Phaedra. How is she enjoying life with the heroic Theseus? Is it all that she dreamed it would be?’

I was mindful of the children. I could not say all that was beginning to boil in my breast. ‘Perhaps not,’ I answered. ‘Children, run along to the house now and tell of your father’s return so that the maenads can prepare the feast.’ I cut short their protestations and ushered the older ones on their way. When I turned back to Dionysus, that newly defiant look that I had not seen before was on his face, and I felt my temper rising. ‘Why did you lie to me?’ I demanded. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that it was Theseus to whom she was promised?’

That languid shrug. The carelessness I had always loved, now irritating me beyond endurance. ‘You would have been upset,’ he answered. ‘And there was nothing that you could have done to allay it. I told you the truth: Phaedra was happy. More than happy. She had everything she wanted; everything she had dreamed of in Crete, when she listened to his stories next to you.’

‘She didn’t know what he was like!’ I cried. ‘She didn’t know what he had really done.’

Dionysus jiggled Tauropolis gently in his arms. I had never doubted him. Not until Phaedra had sailed here under an Athenian flag and sowed her seeds of distrust. He looked me full in the face.

‘It would have made no difference,’ he said quietly. ‘Phaedra was infatuated with Theseus, perhaps more even than you had been. And she was safe in Athens, far safer than she could ever have been in Crete. Minos was gone on his foolish quest for Daedalus, and peace was restored. I thought it had all worked out considerably better than it might have done. I did not tell you it all, because I never wanted to cause you a moment’s disquiet. But I see that the scales have fallen from Phaedra’s eyes, by the look upon your face. How has he disappointed her?’

I hesitated. I remembered Phaedra as a girl, the soft beam of her eyes in the banqueting hall at Knossos, fixed on a hostage bound in chains with an icy green gaze. Would she have been repelled by the knowledge of how he had abandoned me? Or would he have found a way to convince her, persuade her, charm her anyway? The proud, impetuous, passionate woman who had replaced that determined little girl had not been willing to listen to any of my words of reason now. Would she have listened back then? I shifted uncomfortably. I had known my husband longer now than I had known my sister, I realised. ‘His son, Hippolytus, has come to live with them in Athens,’ I began. I didn’t wish to tell of my sister’s misguided passion, but I didn’t know how to avoid it.

‘Hippolytus,’ Dionysus said. ‘Artemis brags of him. A dedicated follower of hers, indeed. He has sworn himself to be chaste, most unlike his father. He has much more of the Amazon in him than the hero, I must say. A fine youth. A far better son than Theseus deserves.’

‘I think Phaedra would agree,’ I said. I did not need to say more. Dionysus could read the tone of my voice well enough. His eyes widened. I think I saw amusement flicker across his face. I would not forgive him if he showed it openly, I decided.