Ariadne(91)

There is nowhere to go. For a moment, I think of hiding under the straw in the stable, like a child believing she is safe if she only closes her eyes tightly enough. But I knew, as a child, that was no defence against a monster.

Something in the stable catches my eye. I draw in a long, shuddering breath as I try to gather my wits enough to think. What I have seen could be my only hope of escape from this nightmare I have brought down upon my own head . . .

I cast a glance at the thick copse of trees opposite. The skittering horror that has consumed me slowly starts to melt away, replaced by something steadier. Something more certain.

A way out. That’s all I can hope for now.





36


Ariadne


I heard the creak of the rope first. The trees were dark and a quiet wind ruffled their branches, making their leaves flutter. Only one shape swayed behind him, different from the others. He held out his arm to stop me, but I walked forward as though this was a dream.

Her face was bloated. Blackened. I spun away as soon as I realised what I looked upon, but the image of my sister – stark and stiff in the coils of the noose that hung from the branch above – was burned into my vision already.

‘Hippolytus,’ Theseus groaned. ‘Her note names Hippolytus.’

‘Get her down,’ I hissed. I could see the sickening weight of her, swinging. I could not bear it.

‘My son,’ he said. ‘He did this.’

In the periphery of my vision, I saw figures draw closer to us. Young men, stable hands perhaps. Not Hippolytus. ‘Take her down,’ I said again. I saw their faces convulse as they took in the scene, the shock freezing them for a moment. Then one of them fumbled at his hip for a knife, stepped towards the trees, the others behind him.

I did not watch them.

Theseus paced, clutching at his hair.

‘What do you mean?’ I forced out the words, battling against the surging black horror engulfing me. ‘Did Hippolytus do this to her? How could that be?’

He ground his teeth. ‘Her letter. It names him. Hippolytus, it says. My poor, innocent Phaedra. She could not bring herself to write down what he did to her, but I know.’

Behind me, the creaking of the rope had ceased. I made myself look again. With a gentleness that made me grateful amidst this nightmare, the stable hands cradled her body, letting her rest against the ground, the shorn-off rope waving grotesquely in the breeze.

‘What do you know?’ I breathed.

‘I know what men do,’ he answered, his voice dark.

I made myself unfold the letter, made my hand hold it still and my eyes focus on the swirling loops of her girlish scrawl. ‘It says – it only says his name,’ I said. ‘Not that he has done anything to her.’

He shook his head. I could see the rage smouldering in his eyes, burning away the despair. ‘She could not write it, she could not name what he did, but he must have done it. Why else – why else would she take a rope from the stable and do this—?’

I bowed my head. I did not want to betray her, but I could not let him think his son a monster. ‘She loved him,’ I whispered. ‘And I think that he did not love her. He must have told her so. That is all.’ I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his reaction.

‘Ha!’ he spat.

My eyes flew open in astonishment.

‘Ariadne, you do not know men. Of course he has defiled her; she would not do this thing unless he had driven her mind clean from her body. I know it.’

Could he be right? Had she told him of her love and had he taken it to mean that he could do as he wished? Had his promises of chastity been merely a facade, the kind of lie his father might have told to make a woman believe him to be benign when really he was a seething animal beneath it all? Had Phaedra thought better of her plan, had she recoiled from him in vain?

From what Phaedra had told me of Hippolytus, I did not think so. I could not reconcile the shy youth I had met so briefly in the courtyard with what Theseus said. I feared he judged his son by his own standards.

‘Theseus, your son is not like you,’ I said. I did not care if my words were brutal. ‘Phaedra has written nothing to suggest what you say. I tell you, she loved him, she planned to tell him today.’

‘Then he took it as an invitation!’ Theseus bellowed.

‘Why?’ I cried back. ‘When has your son ever abducted a woman, carried her away, left the pieces behind without looking back? He learned from his mother, not his father!’

Theseus shook his head. ‘You are as foolish now as when I left you in Naxos.’

My own fury crested now. I was glad of it; anything but the sinkhole I had felt open up in me when I saw her body hanging. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ I hissed at him. ‘Blind to everything that happens around you. Phaedra spent years of misery at your side; I am glad that you ran away from me. I would rather have rotted on that beach than found myself wedded to you. I only wish that I could have saved her, too.’

He strode towards me. I thought for a moment he would strike me, but instead he shoved me aside, storming past Phaedra’s body, away from us all.

The stable hands stared at me. The one who had cut her down opened his mouth to speak, but he could not seem to find the words.

‘Can you bear her back to the palace?’ I asked. My face was stinging, my voice thin.