The noise from within the maze was growing louder, the Minotaur's roars mingling with a man's shouts and a woman's screams. Unable simply to stand still, Ariadne started forward again only to jump back as Theseus, with a bared sword in one hand and half carrying a fainting Phaidra in his other arm, burst around the corner of the corridor.
“Here!” Ariadne called. “Come this way, quickly!”
She hoped they could all run out the back gate before the Minotaur appeared and that she could lock him in—but he was too close. Theseus turned his head, saw her, virtually threw Phaidra at her, and whipped back to face the corridor around the curve. From that a huge bellow echoed. Ariadne ran forward to grab Phaidra and haul her to her feet. She wasn't quite a dead weight, but as she came upright the Minotaur erupted into the straight section of the corridor. Phaidra froze in place making it impossible for Ariadne to drag her to the safety of the gate. Phaidra shrieked wordlessly as the huge body, arms extended, rushed at Theseus.
“Stop, Minotaur!” Ariadne screamed. “Ridne says stop.”
Whether he responded to the words or was startled by the piercing quality of Phaidra's shriek, the Minotaur did stop—or, at least, hesitate—for a moment. In that moment, Theseus leapt forward, right under the long-clawed, reaching hands, and plunged his sword, which had a strange, blue-gray hue, deeply into the bull-head's body. The Minotaur roared and reared back, both arms raised to strike down at Theseus.
“No!” Ariadne cried, pushing Phaidra away from her and running forward, but whether to prevent the Minotaur from striking Theseus or Theseus from striking the Minotaur she didn't know herself.
Whatever she intended, it was too late. The Minotaur's arms dropped, but without force or intention and he didn't touch Theseus. Theseus had already driven his gray-metal sword into the Minotaur's chest again. This time, as he pulled the weapon free, the huge body toppled, struck the wall, twisted, and slid down on its side. Ariadne flung herself down beside it, caught and cradled the bull's head in her lap.
“Oh love, love,” she sobbed. “I never meant you to be hurt.”
“No hurt. Love Ridne.”
She could hardly make out the words; they were more like the broken lowing of a beast than the moaning of a man. She couldn't speak for weeping, but it didn't matter because the Minotaur could no longer hear or understand. The big eyes with their beautiful thick lashes were dimming. Ariadne stroked the now-ragged fur on his forehead.
“Love Ridne,” he sighed, and his breathing stopped.
Ariadne bent above him sobbing bitterly, only to be seized by powerful hands and pulled away. She cried out in protest, trying to cling to the Minotaur's head, but a horn came off in her hand and the features seemed to be melting. She screamed and, senselessly, struggled against the hands that pulled at her. And then there was a sharp pain in her head, and nothing, nothing at all.
CHAPTER 22
Ariadne slowly became aware of the regular movement of the bed under her. She was frightened at first, thinking the heaving was owing to an earthquake, but the terrible roaring and grinding was missing, there were no crashes of falling objects, and the motion continued constantly without slowing or increasing.
In the first moment of alarm, Ariadne had opened her eyes, but a pain shot from them right through to the back of her head, and she shut them again. She thought muzzily that if she had been struck by something because of the earthquake, nothing was falling now and she must be safe.
By the time she realized the motion was not caused by an earthquake, she had been attracted by the sound of low but angry voices. One was her sister Phaidra's; the other she was less sure of, but as she listened she decided it must be Theseus'. He was explaining—sounding a little weary, as if he had said it all before, more than once—that he was sorry he had hit Ariadne harder than he intended.
“The mob was almost upon us. She was sitting there with that rotting thing in her lap and she wouldn't let it go. Could I leave her to the mob's mercy?”
“I told you not to worry about her. Dionysus would have come to protect her.”
“Dionysus!” There was a hint of scorn in the voice. Ariadne stirred, but her body was heavy and reluctant; it was too hard to protest. “Another god made flesh,” Theseus continued. “I know she spoke of him as if he were real; you've said so more than once, but did you ever see him?”
“Once ... I think. It was the day the Minotaur killed Isadore and my mother wanted to push me into his chamber. Ariadne went in instead, but the Minotaur thrust her out. Then Dionysus came and took her away. I was frightened ...”
“You saw a big man who carried your sister away. I believe that. A god ...” He snorted. “Even if I believed that tale, I wasn't going to take the chance that she would be injured by the crowd—after all, she saved us both by ordering the Minotaur to stop. I couldn't leave her there.”
“Then why not take her to her shrine? Why bring her on this ship with us?” Phaidra's voice was sharp, accusatory. “What will she do in Athens?”
Theseus murmured a reply, but Ariadne didn't pay attention. She was on a ship. That was the reason for the heaving motion. She felt a sense of satisfaction at solving that problem and then the rest of Phaidra's speech struck her. Athens. Theseus was taking her to Athens? Dionysus would go mad when he discovered she had gone off with a man! Kind as he had always been to her, she knew how jealous he was. She opened her eyes again and struggled upright, this time fighting the pain in her head and the nausea it aroused.
“Take me back,” she cried. “Take me back to Knossos at once.”
Theseus turned and came to the padded shelf on which she sat almost upright. “Thank all the gods that you've recovered your senses. I'm sorry I struck you so hard. I had forgot that the sword hilt was in my hand.”
Ariadne's hand wavered to her head and she tried to swing her legs over the side of the shelf to face him, but there was an upright edge that caught her feet. Theseus leaned forward and lifted her out, standing her upright but solicitously holding her steady with an arm around her. Phaidra came to her and pulled her free of Theseus' arm. Ariadne swayed and almost fell. Theseus caught at her and Phaidra pushed him away. Grasping at an upright that supported the deck above, Ariadne pulled free of both. Her headache and the sickness generated by it were beginning to diminish.
Ignoring Theseus' apology, she said, “Take me back to Knossos at once. Dionysus isn't a god who can be scorned or robbed. He's very real and very powerful.”
“I know you believe that,” Theseus said in a patient, superior voice. “But we can't go back to Knossos. I killed your Bull God, unfortunately in the sight of a whole crowd of his priests and priestesses, one of whom screamed for the others to attack and destroy us. Worse, a crowd of your people, some from the court, who had come to see whether I would pass safely through the maze, cried 'blasphemy'—although how it can be blasphemous to kill a man-eating monster, I have no idea. But they joined the priests and priestesses. We had to flee back through the maze and out through the palace to save ourselves.”
“He was only a little boy,” Ariadne said softly, “only eight years old. He liked stories...” But she didn't continue, only shook her head sadly. “Mother, be kind to him,” she prayed, “take him to yourself and love him, for he was innocent.” And a breeze, warmer than the air around her, caressed her cheeks and stirred the locks of consecration.
Theseus was looking at her as if she were mad and he went on as if she hadn't spoken. “I have no way of knowing how King Minos will react. With that thing dead and rotting on the floor, I can't see how he can continue to claim it was a true god and that we Athenians must serve it. And we of Athens fulfilled the sentence he pronounced. I brought the tribute and I and the other youths and maidens passed through the maze. Still, if he wishes to claim that we didn't fulfill our agreement and attack Athens again ... You must see that I must warn my people.”
“I tell you Athens is in worse danger from Dionysus than from Minos, and Dionysus can r
each it more quickly,” Ariadne said. “Take me back.”
“Theseus,” Phaidra said, laying a hand on his arm. “I'm sure with the Bull God so publicly dead that my father will have more to do than set out for Athens at once. There will be time enough. If you don't wish to sail back to the port near Knossos, leave her at Khania. That's at the very western end of Crete.”
“Yes, yes, I'll gladly go to Khania. I'll go anywhere, so long as it's off this ship.”
However, Theseus wouldn't listen, claiming that to sail against the wind to Khania and then turn and retrace their path toward the coast of Greece would take almost two days. Still with an aching head and sick stomach and terrified of Dionysus' response to his perception that she had abandoned him and her duties, Ariadne simply sank down onto a bale of some goods and tried to think of reasons Theseus would accept for setting her ashore.
The one device she wouldn't use was to Call to Dionysus. He had told her that he could come to wherever she was, and to Call him would probably save her from his wrath. It wouldn't save anyone else aboard the ship. Within her Ariadne could feel the lash of his rage, the rising lust to inflict pain, to draw blood, to kill. Ariadne couldn't bear that those on the ship should be driven to killing each other. Phaidra was her sister and she was doing her best to convince Theseus to return her. Theseus himself had done wrong, but for a good reason. Ariadne's heartflower was folded so tightly around her heart that each beat was painful.
She and Phaidra argued with Theseus on and off all day, with no more result than that sometimes he turned his back on them and sometimes he laughed at them. However, being caught leaning over Ariadne's bed that night, which made her cast a spell of stasis on him, solved the problem. He fell like a log atop Phaidra, who lay between them on the deck. She clutched him happily in her arms and began to kiss him, until she realized he seemed lifeless.
Phaidra's screams convinced Ariadne to release the spell, whereupon Theseus' arms finished the gesture they had begun before the stasis froze him and reached over Phaidra to Ariadne. Both women recoiled in horror, and Phaidra broke into loud weeping. Theseus denied the implication vigorously, explaining that he had heard Ariadne weeping and just leaned across to waken her.
Since her cheeks were wet, Ariadne was inclined to accept the excuse, although she was coming to believe Theseus was the kind to bed any pretty woman he saw. In this case it was ridiculous. Her sister was between her and Theseus and any hope of a quick coupling, even with an accomplice far more willing than herself, seemed out of the question.
Phaidra was less reasonable. She accused them both of behavior that was totally impossible, considering the short length of time Theseus had been in Crete and that Ariadne did not live in the palace. She wept and she cursed and then withdrew into offended silence. Theseus was, in Ariadne's opinion, amazingly patient—although she realized later that he was flattered by Phaidra's jealousy—but for her own reasons Ariadne aided and abetted her sister.
Soon, Ariadne saw, Theseus bitterly regretted whatever attraction he had felt for her, whatever notion that he could have both sisters—one as wife and the other as a priestess who must remain unwed. By midafternoon he made it quite clear that he didn't relish a woman who could paralyze him with a word and a gesture and, moreover, he was already contracted to marry Phaidra. Ariadne would have to go. She was more than willing, but he wouldn't return her to Crete.
On that subject, he was immovable. The most he was willing to concede was to sail somewhat eastward to leave her on the island of Naxos. There, he told her, was a temple of Dionysus where she could find shelter, and he promised that he would find a neutral ship that traded with Crete and send a message to King Minos to say where she was. It was plain enough that he didn't believe Dionysus was more than an illusion she had created in her own mind.
Almost, as she trudged up the hill to where the temple had been built, Ariadne wished it were so. Dionysus would be furious. They had parted in anger and he would believe that she had willingly gone away with Theseus. If she Called him, wouldn't he also believe that she had been put aside in favor of her sister and only Called because she had been abandoned? But if she didn't Call at all, would he believe she didn't want him? Perhaps he didn't care. Perhaps he would even be glad.
The high priestess of Dionysus' temple was Achaean, tall and blonde, full-breasted, wide-hipped. She was plainly suspicious of Ariadne, not too willing to believe the tale that the suppliant was the Mouth of Dionysus in Knossos and had been abducted by mistake. Still, Ariadne guessed, the woman could see Ariadne was Cretan and was too cautious to turn her away. The news of Minos' conquest of Athens was still fresh; even a priestess wouldn't wish to offer insult. Moreover, her hesitation to offend told Ariadne that Cretan ships must frequently put in to the port.
Having asked what she could do for Ariadne, the priestess' lips pulled down when she heard that Ariadne had come for shelter and couldn't say for how long. Clearly she was sorry she had given even so cold a welcome. How, Ariadne wondered, could I say for how long I will need shelter? What if Dionysus doesn't come for me? What if King Minos blames me for the Minotaur's death and the escape of his Athenian hostages and won't accept me back in Crete?
Ariadne was fed thin soup and hard bread and shown a small cell with a hard pallet on the floor. Aside from thinking once that she must make sure her own household didn't treat guests quite so frugally, she hardly noticed. She ate what she was given, rested sleeplessly on the hard pallet, and rose obediently when a novice tapped on the doorframe to call her to the evening sacrifice.
Knossos had no such service, but Ariadne rose obediently and followed the novice to an inner shrine, roofed to provide protection from wind and rain. Priests and priestesses were arranged before the altar, behind them a small crowd with various offerings in their hands. Ariadne barely glanced at those. Feeling the high priestess watching her jealously, she took a humble place behind the Naxos votaries, just barely ahead of the common folk.
Not knowing where to look to avoid increasing the priestess's suspicion, Ariadne fixed her eyes forward and saw that this shrine had a statue of Dionysus rather than a painting. The image was amazingly like him. Ariadne nearly turned green with jealousy as her eyes flashed from the image to the voluptuous priestess. Doubtless for that heavy-uddered cow he had come in person so that the artist could see him.
The fine marble of which the image was carved was very white, like his skin, and had been carefully tinted to reproduce his overlarge blue eyes and smiling, rosy lips. It wore a wig of gold-colored hair. Tears filled Ariadne's eyes as she gazed on it. The hair was not brushed smoothly back, but lay in curls on the figure's forehead as it did when they had been running wildly through the vineyards. Ariadne was tempted to push it back. Insensibly the leaves of her heartflower opened.
The air in the chamber seemed suddenly too thick, and it rippled as if a large stone had been dropped into a small pond. On the altar, where the disturbance centered, another image appeared.
“What are you doing here?” the god bellowed, leaping off the altar and bowling over the priest and priestess who held the central positions to reach Ariadne who was behind them. “Where have you come from? Why are you here?” And even louder, so that she was tempted to put her hands over her ears, “How have you hidden yourself from me for three whole days?”
He seized her by the shoulders and shook her so hard she thought her neck would snap. Ariadne grabbed his arms to steady herself.
“These people hid you!” His eyes bulged with rage and Ariadne felt the lash of his fury, felt the stirring of those nearby, heard the low, animal growls.
“Don't you dare!” she shrieked, letting go of one arm and slapping his face. “Don't you dare punish these folk for taking me in and feeding me when I begged for shelter. You have less sense than the Minotaur. He, at least, was hungry when he killed. If you are angry at me, punish me!”
“Punish you?” His hands dropped from her shoulders. “I can never punish you, no matt
er what you do. You are the core of my life. My Mouth. The one firm place in my universe. So long as I have you, I'm not mad.”
The imprint of her hand was red on his pale cheek. Around them Ariadne could hear cries and groans and whimpers, soft scraping on the stone floor as those in the shrine tried to retreat. Ariadne put a hand gently over his lips.
“We don't need the whole of Naxos to be witness to what is between us,” she said. “Let's go to where we can be private.”
His arms went around her and there was a familiar moment of coldness and dizziness. Then they were in her own chamber. She still held tight in his arms.
“Did you hide yourself from me to teach me that I can't live without you? You didn't need to be so cruel. I knew it already. What do you want of me?” he asked.
The tone, despondent of defense, said he would grant whatever she asked. What did she want? She had a sudden vision of the full-bodied Achaean high priestess and was furiously jealous again.
To add to that, as her fear disappeared, Dionysus having come and she having ridden out the worst of the storm, her body began to react to his nearness, to their touching, and, she realized, to the feeling flooding back to her through the tendrils of her heartflower. Her nipples were hard; her nether lips full and wet. Dionysus' question had cut the cord holding up the sword of Damocles. Her moment of decision was upon her.
“What do I want of you?” she echoed. “I want you to take me fully as your priestess, which you have never done. How have I failed you, Dionysus? Why do you reject me?”
“Reject you? I never have.” He reached for her again. “Never. You are my Chosen, my dearest. My Mouth and my safe haven in a mad world I don't understand ...”
“Dionysus!” She pulled away and seized his upper arms, shaking him slightly. “I've offered myself to you, I don't know how many times, and you pushed me away. Each time I caress you, you flee me as if I carried the plague. Most of the time you won't touch me. For a time you made me think that there was something repulsive about me, but my heartflower doesn't lie. I know you desire me. Why are you willing to lie with every priestess from west to east but not with me?”
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