Ariadne(95)

I did wonder what Dionysus planned to do in Argos, but I confess that my thoughts were idle and unformed. It would be some kind of show of strength, I supposed, to prove his superiority over his entrenched and stubborn brother. What exactly it would be, I could not particularly imagine. This kind of thing was far more typical of the other Olympians; the gods whom Dionysus had always disdained. How he would go about it himself, I was not sure.

The storm blew itself out by morning. When we awoke, we breakfasted on figs and honey in the weak sun, then walked on the beach, breathing in great lungfuls of the fresh air. A good day to sail.

The children were apprehensive that I was leaving again – this time with their father, too. They were accustomed to having me always there with them. I even left Tauropolis; he was old enough now to manage in my absence under the watchful care of the maenads.

It pained me to go. I did not know what to expect, but did not dare expose my boys to the nightmarish sight of baby goats being torn to shreds. ‘Don’t worry, you will be well looked after,’ I reassured them.

Dionysus swung them in his arms and kissed them, and pronounced them the brave guardians of Naxos whilst we were gone.

They watched us depart, with the few maenads that remained behind. The others sailed with us. The great crests of ivy weighed heavy on the mast and the white-tipped waves sparkled. Dionysus slipped his hand in mine. For the first time since Phaedra’s death, I felt a sliver of hope.





38


My first sight of the Peloponnese peninsula gave rise to some excitement. My disastrous voyage to Athens had blunted my burgeoning taste for travel, but I was glad to be somewhere new, somewhere with none of my history. Somewhere untainted by my family and the unfortunate luck we dragged behind us.

We did not sail directly to the city. There was no king’s welcome for us here; I knew not to expect one. Instead, we anchored the ship in a quiet bay, overlooked only by mountains.

‘Will we walk from here?’ I asked Dionysus, surprised.

He smiled. ‘We go with humility,’ he said. ‘I do not seek to dazzle my brother with a display of my divinity – not yet. For a king, he is a man of unexpectedly simple tastes.’

It was pleasant to be out in the open air, with the fresh scent of the trees and salt on the air.

‘Is this what it is like, when you go away?’ I asked him. ‘No chariots, no flight?’

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes. But the best way to see the world is on foot. The gods miss so much, flashing through the skies or galloping around in the skins of animals. I like to know a country, feel the differences. If I were dropped blindfolded into a dozen places on earth, I could tell my location just by the feel of the breeze on my skin.’

Easy enough when you are a god, I thought. But although I loved Naxos, I wondered why I had not done this before.

We had walked for perhaps an hour when I saw it, looming in the distance. A colossal statue, outlined against the sky. I could see gold and ivory, winking in the sunlight. As we drew nearer, I saw more details. The haughty face, the ring of rigid curls sitting beneath the shining crown. Eyes wide, staring down upon us, stern and cold. The ripples of the bridal veil carved down her back. One hand held a great sculpted pomegranate, perhaps the size of my head. I had never seen a statue so vast, so detailed, so glorious before. She sat before her temple: Hera, the Queen of the Olympians. Persecutor of my husband. I cast a look at Dionysus. His face was carefully blank.

‘A masterpiece of its kind, don’t you think?’ he asked.

I could not imagine the money that it had cost, the months or years of labour that would have gone into crafting such a thing. Only a king could have paid for it; only the patron immortal of a great city would be honoured in this way. The simple joy I had felt walking through this new place was beginning to curdle.

But I did not have time to dwell on the statue, for as we rounded the sweep of the next bay, the walls of the city rose before us. Along the top, I could see the guards patrolling. My heart sank a little, wondering just what kind of confrontation awaited us.

Dionysus stood at the foot of the walls. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted: ‘Perseus!’ I knew that the walls truly meant nothing to him; that he played a game, not showing his hand quite fully to his mortal brother. Perhaps he meant to taunt him: Here, I come to your walls like one of you but you know that I am not. Be careful how you treat me, for you may come to see just how powerful I really am.

There was a silence, too brief, before the great bronze doors swung ajar. I could identify Perseus by his crown and the great circular shield at his hip. It was covered now with a large square of purple fabric. Like Dionysus, it seemed he kept his power in check. His guards fanned out around him, their spears thumping the ground in unison as they stood to attention.

‘Dionysus,’ he said, and I thought I detected a hint of weariness in his voice. ‘You come again to my city. Why?’

‘What kind of a welcome do you give your brother?’ Dionysus smiled. ‘You are a son of Zeus; surely you know better than to scorn the sacred custom of xenia?’

‘You have abused my hospitality before.’ Perseus spoke evenly. ‘I told you last time that my city gates would remain closed to you, yet here you are again.’ He ran his eyes over us, stopping when he saw me. ‘Do you bring your wife?’ he asked, surprised.

Dionysus squeezed my arm gently, an indication to me to speak. I wondered what on earth we were really doing here.