Ariadne(88)

I ate the grapes. Perhaps it was best that she spoke her feelings to him now, as painful as it may be. Once the break was made, we could both leave Athens together, I hoped before Theseus returned.

I took Tauropolis to settle him for an afternoon sleep. The chambers of the palace were airy and luxurious and there was an abundance of soft cushions. When, at length, his face had relaxed into slumber and I dared to tiptoe away, I found the courtyard empty. So she had gone, bent upon the pursuit of her foolish dreams.

The afternoon wore on and still Phaedra did not return. I began to wander the courtyard, peering down corridors and around marble columns. I could not help a flicker of curiosity. Once I had thought this place would be my home. What kind of life would I have led here, wed to Theseus? I closed my eyes and Naxos swam before me, with its vast emerald bays, the blue-grey peaks of its mountains disappearing into the haze of the sky. I heard my children’s laughter echoing from the rocks; saw my husband striding across the sand towards me.

All at once, a rousing chorus of horns rang out loudly from the harbour below. A moment after, Tauropolis’ cry summoned me and I hurried to lift him from his comfortable nest, delighted to feel the soft squash of his face in the crook of my neck as he shook the sleepiness away.

I carried him back. The corridors seemed so quiet, so empty for a royal palace. I wondered where everyone was, what the blaring of horns had signified. Tauropolis reached out his hand to trace the bright frescoes that lined the walls: Athena and her olive tree, Poseidon with his salt spring, the birth of a great city blazoned proudly. I whispered the stories into his ear as we walked back towards the courtyard. And stopped short.

Someone was there, but it was not Phaedra.





33


Phaedra


Ariadne’s arrival has thrown me. I hope I seemed collected, in control before her; that she does not see the turmoil that spins me helplessly, as though I have been swept up in a hurricane.

I sailed back here so full of confidence and determination. Hippolytus had gone hunting when I returned, but I waited with a calm and certain patience for him to come back. I swore I would seize the moment, but my courage ebbed away again. And now she is here and still I have not spoken. I know that she will try to persuade me again, whatever she says. I do not trust myself to listen to her. I cannot bear to hear her words.

So. She has forced my hand. Today it must be.

My fingers tremble too much to pick up my silver combs, to arrange my hair. No matter. Hippolytus will prefer it to tumble loose, I am sure.

Now. Whilst she is distracted by that baby. It has to be now.

I do not feel like it is my legs which carry me from my chambers, from the palace itself. My whole future, my destiny, hangs ahead of me and all that is required is that I step into it.

He is there, at the stables. Of course he is. The gods are with me – bold, beautiful Aphrodite must be smiling on me for he is alone and no one else is to be seen. I have him to myself and in a moment I will have everything. I tell myself that perhaps we will leave on Ariadne’s ship, after all; maybe her arrival is fortuitous indeed.

He is surprised to see me. The serious set of his face never lifts. I long so much to make him smile, to see him soften to me, to feel his gentle warmth bring me back to life like a flower lifting towards the sun. As he turns to face me, framed against the dim light of the stable behind, I lose my restraint and clutch at his arm. The concern on his face – he worries for me, I see it.

‘Hippolytus,’ I gasp, my breath coming quickly and all the words I have to say jumbling together. ‘Hippolytus, we must speak – at once!’

He frowns, steps back in a moment of confusion, but I hold fast to his arm. His skin is warm under my fingers and I force myself now to look up into his face.

With his eyes on me, I feel the tumult that has tossed me in every direction suddenly settle. In the ensuing quiet, I find that finally I can open my mouth and speak.





34


Ariadne


He turned to see me. The shock stamped across his face was luminous. He stepped backwards, for a moment looking as though he might fall.

Fifteen years had passed since we last laid eyes upon each other. I had fallen asleep in his arms and woken to cold ashes, a desolate dawn.

‘I wondered when you would come,’ he said, his voice half strangled.

For all of Phaedra’s scathing words about her husband, I saw that time had not been too unkind to him. He was still strong; his muscles still carved in smooth relief, his hair still thick. And his eyes, of course, the same piercing green as ever.

How many times, in those first days on Naxos, had I dreamed of this moment? So many things I had thought I would say to him, scream at him, demand of him. But when I opened my mouth now, none of them seemed to matter any more.

‘You are well?’ he asked. ‘I have heard . . . heard of your marriage.’ His eyes flicked to the baby in my arms.

I looked at him steadily. ‘And I have heard of yours. A Princess of Crete was palatable to Athens, after all.’

He swallowed. ‘Perhaps my people were more forgiving than I anticipated.’

Had he really left me because he thought that Athens would reject me? I found that I could not bring myself to care. I stepped further out into the courtyard. ‘I am here to see Phaedra,’ I told him. ‘I do not seek to go over the past.’

He looked visibly relieved. ‘And where is my wife? No one was at the harbour when I returned.’