Ariadne(82)

‘She sets her heart on another doomed enterprise then,’ he said.

I felt defeated and no doubt it showed in my face, even without the benefit of divine perception. Dionysus put his arm around me. For a few silent minutes, we watched Tauropolis sleep contentedly.

‘Mortals,’ he sighed. He rested his cheek against my hair. ‘They are often so stubborn, so determined not to see reason. Everyone should live as easily as we do on Naxos, instead of making these endless traps in which to ensnare themselves. They are the cause of their own suffering, and yet they will never see it. They will rage against the gods all day long, and pray to them and plead for their mercy in the darkness of night. But they will never see how simply they could make their lives better for themselves.’

I was not used to hearing such doleful words from my ever-optimistic, indefatigable Dionysus. And all the while, like a relentless drumbeat in the back of my mind were Phaedra’s words: You do not even know what your own husband is.

I had been trusting and obedient. I had thought that was the right way to be; the path to peace and happiness. The domestic content that had settled upon our island like a golden haze had made a little heaven of our own, and I truly believed that Dionysus would rather be with us here than sprawled on a throne at Mount Olympus. I thought that our love was of far more worth to him than the adoration of a thousand frenzied adherents to his cult. I still believed it to be so. But for the first time, I wondered if it truly was enough to satisfy a god.

When Dionysus had found me upon Naxos, I had been ready to accept my death. I had weighed the balance of my life and found that the Athenian lives I had saved for years to come exceeded the worth of my own existence, and I knew that it was fair. Now, I had five children, my sons, radiant with curiosity and innocence. Five beams of light that illuminated my world with dazzling joy. There was no price that could be paid for them, no noble transaction that could be made, no reward that would ever come close to justifying the thought of sacrificing one crumb of their comfort. If Dionysus had grown restless, I vowed that it would not disturb their happiness.

We watched the sunset together as we had done a thousand times before, his arms around me and our baby, as warm and protective as ever. But I had decided that I would find out more. I would follow the maenads and watch what they did; observe the sacred rites of Dionysus in the mountains and know what he and his followers truly were. I hoped and I believed that I would prove Phaedra wrong.

We feasted, as always, to celebrate his return. Platters of roasted goat steamed in the centre of the long table, olives glistened in great clustered heaps and, of course, the wine flowed freely. The two older boys hung on their father’s every word whilst the younger children wound their arms around Dionysus’ neck, clambered into his lap and at length pressed their sleepy faces into his neck and yawned. I sat, more watchful than usual, but nothing seemed at odds with his normal demeanour. Had I allowed Phaedra’s words to assume more significance than they merited?

As always, I went to settle the children in their beds and whilst I was away, my husband and his maenads stole away from the house. I knew they went to the path through the forest; the path that Dionysus had shown me years ago when we first came to Naxos, that led to a clearing on the mountainside. The heavy coin of the moon would illuminate it tonight, but the moon was the only witness to whatever it was that took place there.

I walked the empty rooms of our home. As a mother to young children, the silence of the evening had always been a luxury to me, but now I felt acutely alone. I found myself at the door, the night air gentle against my skin, my eyes scanning the slope that led to the forest. I wished I could see through that tangle of trees, to where the maenads would be singing as they walked behind my husband.

I glanced back into the rooms, the golden glow from myriads of candles spilling out into the darkness that stretched ahead. Behind me was our sanctuary, where our children slept so peacefully. Before me – I did not know. Naxos was not mine by night. It belonged to Dionysus, and I felt like a trespasser setting my foot on the soft earth beyond the confines of our walls. How had this come to be? When had things changed and why had I not seen it?

I hovered indecisively. Would I go now, as I had sworn? Somehow, that vow had seemed so much easier to make in daylight. There would be nothing to see, I told myself. For a moment, I saw again the blood staining the clear waters of the stream. The maenads’ faces, blank and bare, as they scrubbed their dresses, the crimson froth churning around their hands. I shook my head, tried to clear the image. Then I stepped back on to the familiar tiles of my home.

I had decided. Not tonight. I would not go tonight.

I passed the long and restless hours until dawn, wondering when he would come back. When at last he crept so softly to our chambers, his immortal feet soundless on the marble floors, I strained to discern through the thin light any difference in him. I sought the words to ask him but they would not come.

His sleep was untroubled, but I rose early, before even the children awoke. I slipped outside, the fresh beauty of Naxos made new again in the stirrings of day. I could feel the dampness of the earth beneath my sandals as I followed the path now towards the dim and silent forests.

What was I looking for? I did not know. In my heart, I looked for everything to be the same, everything to be as expected. For my familiar forests to harbour no secrets, no hidden darkness on my isle of light and joy. For the restlessness that Phaedra had brought with her to be soothed, and my faith in Dionysus’ contentment to be restored.