Ariadne(99)

‘So you brought a madness to them, like Hera did to you when she drove you out of Olympus,’ I breathed.

He flicked his eyes to me. ‘You saw that I did. I called upon my father, Zeus, and then the women came to me. They did not know what they did. I would show them my power, the ecstasy. I would prove to them—’ He stopped.

‘The goats?’ I ventured.

He shook his head. ‘The women went back into the city walls, the veil of madness blinding them to what they did. They did not bring out goats.’ He turned away.

My fingernails dug deep into the flesh of my palm as I waited.

‘I had always brought them back. After the frenzy, I could always restore them whole and unharmed. It is the gift that I bring.’

Nausea coiled in my stomach. ‘What did they bring to you?’

A gulf stretched between us. He shook his head as though exasperated, as though it were a troubling source of confusion. ‘They brought their babies.’

He could not be my husband. He could not be the tender, anguished god that I had fallen in love with. Dionysus knew the sweetness of his sons’ soft bodies cradled in his arms. He knew their indescribable, precious fragility. I shook my head violently. No. It could not be.

‘To bring a human life back from that brink . . .’ he said. ‘It was not the same. Some difference, perhaps, in the incantation . . . I do not know. But once the frenzy was done, I could not give them back their children.’

Pasiphae. Semele. Medusa. Now a hundred grieving mothers. The price we paid for the resentment, the lust and the greed of arrogant men was our pain, shining and bright like the blade of a newly honed knife. Dionysus had once seemed to me the best of them all, but I saw him now for what he was, no different from the mightiest of the gods. Or the basest of men.

Behind me, the maenads that I had not even noticed gathering around us sobbed. The quiet sound of the women’s despair was lost against the muffled bellow of the army that rose from the city, the avenging horde that Dionysus expected to pacify. I thought of what I would do if someone plucked a single hair from the head of one of my children. He had slaughtered an entire city’s young. Even the golden tongue of an Olympian could not find the words to appease the outrage at such an atrocity.

I could not cry for those mothers. The magnitude, the vast gulf of their agony was something I could not even begin to explore in my mind. Tears would be useless, an insult to a suffering deeper than the furthest abyss of the ocean. The fragile peace of Naxos had held because I told myself that my husband offered the wronged women of the world a sanctuary and an outlet for their pain. But he had surpassed his lightning-wielding father and his earth-shaking uncle at long last: even they had never broken so many women in one fell swoop. In terms of heartbreak, Dionysus could call himself the greatest of all the gods now. He could measure his glory in female torment and blaze his legend across the heavens as the conqueror of infants, destroyer of the innocent.

Great cold raindrops began to fall now from the sky, spattering across my upturned face. I felt them chill my skin and clear my mind. I thought of Euphrosyne. Her loss was as vast as any grieving mother but she had found comfort on Naxos, even if it had not given her back her child. Even without the tide of anguish that Dionysus had unleashed upon Argos, so many other women would be in sore need of such a refuge. But they could not find it whilst Dionysus ruled our island, and they would not find it if Naxos was burned to ash by Perseus’ army, for I knew that if Dionysus could not hold them back here, they would seek what they were owed. My five children were on Naxos. Dionysus’ sons.

I heard the clash of bronze. The city doors flung wide. The roar of the soldiers, advancing upon us.

My mind felt like a crystal: clear and hard and brilliant. ‘Go,’ I said quickly to Dionysus. ‘Hold them back; do what you can. But do not hurt them. And when you are done here, you will go. Spread your vicious cult where you want. But leave Naxos to me and the women.’

He looked at me. He did not reply. And then he was gone.

I turned breathlessly to the maenads. ‘I mean to sue for peace,’ I said to them quickly. ‘I will go to Perseus and ask for his mercy. We are women and children and have done nothing to him. The fault is with Dionysus alone. We will not pay the price for what he has done. I will promise Perseus: Naxos will no longer be the home of blood rites and sacrifice. We will be women and children alone, we will be no threat to anyone.’

I could see the acceptance in their eyes. But it was mingled with doubt that I could do it.

I turned and saw the soldiers roiling across the beach in a black, viscous tide. Dionysus was striding towards the dark beetle shells of the fighters, a golden and towering god. A true Olympian, at last.

Above the throng of men, standing at the summit of the hill behind, Perseus was unmistakeable. His shield shone silver through the rain, uncovered to reveal the monstrous visage of Medusa screaming from the metal in which she was forever fixed. I had to act now, quickly, before he gave the order to charge. I had to say my piece before my husband could wreak more havoc, never deigning to think that it would be the women who would suffer for it, yet again.

I set my jaw. I had no armour, no protection. I had to go now or it would be too late.

I clambered over the side of the ship, jumping down into the freezing surf. I struggled through it, my eyes fixed on the figure of Perseus.

Dionysus began to speak, his divine voice thundering around the bay. ‘Argives, this is your only chance! Cast aside your weapons before you move against your god. I will grant you all mercy as my followers.’