Bull God Page 38

  “Not yet,” she got out between stiff lips.

  To her horror, Dionysus seemed more relieved than disappointed. He nodded acceptance cheerfully, said he must go and that he would see her the next day. Ordinarily that would have given Ariadne all the comfort she needed. Now she stared at the spot from which he had leapt with a sinking heart. Doubtless he would come the next day, as he said, but for how long would he continue to come, if he had a new woman to assuage his loneliness?

  Time didn't stop for Ariadne's fears and they were never realized. Ten-day followed ten-day peacefully, the time of growth and ripening winding down into the time of harvest. And eight days after the ides of the month of ripening, Minos and his fleet returned home. Not one ship had been lost and very few lives. The king was greeted with huge celebrations and announced in person and by proclamation that Crete's dominance over Athens and Athens' acceptance of the Bull God was complete. Athenians would pay tribute to Crete and acknowledge the Minotaur as a true god. Each year a group of seven youths and seven maidens would bring the tribute and remain to serve the Bull God. In expiation of the murder of Androgeos, prince of Crete, this first year Aigeus' own son, Theseus, prince of Athens, would bring the tribute.

  Phaidra carried that news to Ariadne as soon as she heard it. She was bursting with it, and had no one else to tell, no one else who would listen to her private hopes and fears. Others thought of victory and tribute; Phaidra only cared about the fact that the treaty Minos had desired had been confirmed with several additional clauses that favored Crete. To her, that meant that her marriage to Theseus might still be possible.

  “They will come with the tribute,” she insisted to Ariadne, who hadn't denied it. “Father's no fool. He hasn't dismissed the fleet and army. He allowed the Athenians a grace period of a ten-day to permit Theseus and Aigeus to settle their affairs and stabilize their realm. However, if the Athenian tribute, gold and human, doesn't arrive in another ten-day, father and his fleet will set out again, and this time they'll kill the men, take every woman and child into slavery, and burn Athens to the ground.”

  “They'll come,” Ariadne agreed, but before she could add that they would come out of honor, not out of fear, Phaidra was speaking again.

  “Yes, I think so too. They're too afraid of father to disobey. And that means the treaty will be enforced—and part of the treaty was that I should marry Theseus and some day be queen of Athens. Oh, Ariadne, it will be wonderful.” She laughed. “Sometimes a foreign queen is scorned, but with father all but ruling Athens, I don't need to fear that.”

  Ariadne bit her lip, realizing it would be fruitless to try to explain to Phaidra that what defeated the Athenians in the first place wasn't the Cretan fleet and army but their horror of the dishonor and impiety of the murder of Androgeos. To double that impiety and dishonor by refusing to fulfill the terms of their surrender—no matter what the cost—wouldn't be possible for them. But she had to say something; she couldn't let Phaidra force a marriage with Theseus and then act as if she were the ruler of a defeated enemy. She wanted Phaidra to be happy.

  “There are other reasons for them to fulfill their agreement,” she said, “but even if Theseus does come because of fear of King Minos' retribution, you must remember the retribution can't arrive quickly. When you go to Athens, you'll be surrounded by Athenians and Minos' fleet and army will be nearly two ten-days away. If you should be ill-treated, you would have to find a messenger willing to go to Crete, and then you would still have to wait until the message could be delivered and Minos could sail to Athens. Think what could befall you in that time.”

  “Are you trying to convince me to withdraw from the marriage?” Phaidra's eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why? I will never again attend that monster in the maze! Not if I must rot here in Knossos forever.”

  “No, of course I wasn't urging you to repudiate the marriage agreement. From what I've heard, Theseus is a worthy person. I think he would make you a good husband—but only if you make him a good wife. Consider how bitter it would be for a husband to have thrown into his face that he married out of cowardice and to have his wife look down upon his friends and family. Wouldn't it be better if you made him care for you so much that he would defend you against any scorn or dishonor?”

  Phaidra blinked. “Yes. Yes, of course. Father never permitted anyone to missay or scant honor to mother. But what if Theseus doesn't care for me?”

  “Why shouldn't he, silly girl? You're beautiful. You're clever. You can make a man lust after you and also be merry. You'll be able to manage his household to his benefit. You desire to be his wife. What more could a man want?”

  Ariadne saw Phaidra go back to the palace buoyed up with hope, and she knew that hope rose to even greater heights when the Athenian ship came into harbor and the Athenians, escorted by a strong detachment of Minos' troops, made their way to Knossos. As a result of her sympathy and support, Ariadne heard, as soon as Phaidra's feet could carry her up Gypsades Hill, that Phaidra had seen Theseus on the day the tribute was delivered and had even been introduced to him.

  It was apparent to Ariadne that all thought of being a conqueror's daughter had flown out of Phaidra's head with that first meeting. Phaidra's eyes almost glowed as she announced that Theseus was such a man as she had never seen before, taller and stronger than any Cretan. Beyond that, he had said openly that she was lovely and a wife he was eager to take; he was the husband she had dreamed about all her life. There would be other meetings, she told Ariadne, because a second audience with King Minos to define their service to the Bull God had been set for a seven-day later.

  The first tiny shadow of a doubt touched Phaidra the next day when she learned that the Athenians were now housed in the Minotaur's old apartment. “Why?” she asked Ariadne. “There are separate quarters for embassies from other nations. Why did father put the Athenians in those rooms, sealed by magic, as if he needed a prison for them?”

  “They're not exactly an embassy,” Ariadne pointed out. “They're part of the tribute King Minos exacted from Athens. They are guilty of the death of Androgeos.”

  “No, they aren't!” Phaidra cried. “It wasn't Theseus and his father who conspired to kill Androgeos. It was their enemies, and they used that stupid false god excuse.” Her lips pursed with distaste. “Not that the Minotaur isn't a false god. I've never seen a falser.”

  “Well, part of the atonement for all Athens—whether any particular person was guilty or not—is for the tribute youths and maidens to serve the Bull God.”

  “Then why not house them in the temple with the priests and priestesses?”

  Although Ariadne said what she thought might be soothing to Phaidra, a horror was growing in the back of her mind. She had, after the tribute was safely delivered and the king was giving his attention to domestic matters, asked for audience and mentioned that all but one of the servants were gone from the maze. She felt he had a right to know, but hadn't asked that the servants be replaced. Minos had smiled. Smiled, and told her she needn't worry about the supply of servants. He had already arranged the matter.

  Now what Phaidra said about the Athenians being imprisoned in the Minotaur's old apartment and separated from the priests and priestesses that served the Bull God took on a sinister aura. A connection between that apartment and the palace-side entrance to the maze could easily be established. Did King Minos intend that the service of the Athenians to the Bull God should be to feed him?

  Even if they had been guilty of Androgeos' death, that seemed too harsh a fate; Athens had paid and would continue to pay blood money. And if they were not guilty—as Phaidra insisted, and, as seemed likely to Ariadne, who couldn't imagine any reason for them to invite an embassy and then kill its leader—they mustn't be sacrificed so horribly. Ariadne went to the palace; the magic-sealed door opened to her command, and she spoke to Theseus herself.

  She came away convinced that if the Athenians weren't to be trained for bull dancing or for ceremonial duties in the Bull G
od's temple, she must do something to save them. Theseus irritated her; she didn't like his attitude of male superiority or the too-interested glances he had given her and the practiced way he had tried to flatter her. Despite her irritation, she really didn't doubt the distress he felt about Androgeos' death or the truth of the actions he had taken to avenge it and to cleanse the Athenians of impiety. Too late, however. Minos had been upon them before they could send him the few traitors still alive or explain what had happened. To fight back would only have compounded the impiety, so they had yielded.

  Ariadne considered whether she dared raise the question of the Athenians' fate with Minos. Would her pleas for leniency help? Surely her father knew she had loved Androgeos and wouldn't wish to belittle his death. Or would her interference only harden Minos' decision? Worse, would it put into his mind a horror he had never intended?

  Ariadne waited, hoping that Dionysus would See and forbid what she feared, but he had no Visions. He remained amused and cheerful as he had been for weeks—which sometimes drove her near to despair by implying he no longer cared enough to be aware of her feelings and often made her want to kick him. Worst of all, he no longer urged her to come to Olympus. Ariadne began to fear that that last haven would be closed to her.

  Then, at the end of seven days, the fate of the Athenians drove Dionysus' intentions out of Ariadne's mind. Phaidra came flying to the shrine after the morning court weeping so hard that she could hardly explain what caused her anguish. The king, Ariadne finally made out, had passed sentence. The Athenians, in an order he would later decide, would enter the earthly home of the Bull God—a maze only the god could safely decipher.

  If each Athenian could pass through the maze and reach the back gate of the temple, that youth or maiden would have proved his or her acceptance by the Bull God. When all the Athenians had passed through the maze, they would be free to return to Athens or to remain in Crete. And the first to enter the maze would be Prince Theseus, who must be the most worthy and could intercede with the Bull God for his lesser companions.

  “Oh, it's horrible,” Phaidra wept. “Father has become a monster. The whole court cheered him. The tale of Theseus's capturing and destroying the faction that caused Androgeos's death has spread about and now there's much sympathy for the Athenians. Now the court believes that father is being merciful and has chosen a fine way for the Athenians to acknowledge the Bull God and to set them free afterward. And if they die, of course it wouldn't be father's fault. It would be the Bull God's judgement.”

  Ariadne shook her head and sighed. “I think you must free them,” she said. “I understand that their ship is still in the harbor, waiting to bring back news of the fate King Minos chose. If you set them free as soon as it is dark, likely they could get to the port and sail away before their escape was noticed.”

  “But the guards—”

  “Drug their wine.”

  “Can't you—” But before she finished speaking, Phaidra's eyes shifted and she rose.

  Ariadne didn't try to keep her nor ask her to finish the sentence. She guessed easily enough that Phaidra had been about to ask her help and was glad that, for whatever reason, she hadn't. Theseus didn't appeal to her; she wished him no ill, but preferred to have as little to do with him as possible. But Ariadne was not to escape from further involvement so easily. Before the shadows had shortened by a thumbnail, Phaidra was back, almost incoherent between fury and terror.

  “He won't go,” she got out. “I took him aside and told him the truth, that father's sentence was not an honor-saving device to set him free but a condemnation to death. I told him about the maze. I even told him what the Minotaur was. Do you know what that idiot said? He said, 'Your brother is dead. I should have guarded him more carefully.' “

  “He's an honorable man,” Ariadne remarked a bit absently, her brows knitted in thought.

  “Honorable!” Phaidra spat. “He's ruining my life as well as losing his, and he doesn't care. I begged and I pleaded. He caressed me and said he was sorry I wouldn't be his wife, but that King Aigeus had given his word that he and the others would abide by King Minos' decision, whatever it was. I pointed out that it's our father who has been dishonorable, that he has always known the Minotaur wasn't a true god and had no right—”

  “But I'm sure Theseus believes dishonor on another's part doesn't justify further dishonor on his. Never mind—”

  “Never mind!” Phaidra shrieked. “Are you satisfied that he should die? Are all my hopes to be blasted?”

  “No, I'm not satisfied that Prince Theseus should die,” Ariadne said calmly. “But I accept that for his honor and Athens' honor, Theseus must go into the maze. I said never mind because there's another way to solve this problem that won't offend his honor.”

  “How?” Phaidra wailed.

  Ariadne's lips thinned but she kept her impatience out of her voice. “He must enter the maze, but there's no reason for him to be trapped in it for long. It's a very simple maze. I'll give him a large ball of fine yarn. With that as a guide, he won't be fooled by illusions into tracing and retracing his own steps. Before the Minotaur can discover him, he'll find the gate to the back of the temple. You can wait there for him and open it. He will have honorably completed the sentence King Minos pronounced, and be free. And the king won't dare harm him or forbid the marriage because he knows the court believes that was his intention from the beginning.”

  Phaidra had been so distraught when she rushed into Ariadne's chamber that she hadn't sat down, and Ariadne had risen, intending to embrace her. Now Phaidra backed away, eyes wide, face intent.

  “I can't,” she said. “I can't wait by the back gate. I must be with Theseus when he enters the maze. Who else can unlock the palace gate?”

  Daidalos could, but Ariadne didn't think of him because she was so horrified at Minos' cruelty in making Phaidra open the gate for the destruction of her hoped-for husband. She wondered how he had prevailed on Phaidra to do it, but that wasn't important; Phaidra had many weaknesses. As for why Phaidra couldn't run from the palace-side entrance to the maze to the back of the temple and be there in time, Ariadne didn't even wonder about it. It was entirely normal for Phaidra to ask Ariadne to save her trouble.

  Later she realized she should have known Phaidra would not leave to her sister the greeting of the hero when he emerged safe, but that realization came far too late. At the moment she thought only of the plans for Theseus' escape. First she pressed on Phaidra a very strong, brightly colored, but thin yarn used for stringing looms to train girls in weaving. There were stadia of it in the ball and it would easily cover the maze. Then she reminded Phaidra to describe to Theseus the turns of the real maze. She was a little surprised at how indifferent Phaidra seemed to the plans, nodding and agreeing but as if her mind were elsewhere, but she was also accustomed to her sister being easily cast into despair. Hoping Phaidra wouldn't forget anything essential, Ariadne merely assured her again and again that Theseus would escape if she followed the suggestions.

  She told Dionysus nothing, partly because she was so ashamed of her father's behavior and partly because she was very angry at him for taking another woman and lying about it. She was doing her best to wean herself away from her need and desire for him and that evening, distracted by her concern over Phaidra and Theseus, she tried too hard. They parted on less than totally amicable terms, Dionysus having finally been pricked into reaction by her absence of mind. If she weren't interested enough in him to talk to him, he had said, he could find livelier company in his own house—and disappeared.

  Misery makes an uncomfortable bedfellow, so Ariadne was awake very early, which was just as well because once she arrived at the Bull God's temple, it took her longer than she expected to avoid the notice of the dancing votaries. Conscious of her steadfast refusal to appear as a worshiper of the Bull God, she had enveloped herself in a long hooded cloak, but she still had to wait until one group retired to make way for another before she could sneak up to the magi
c-sealed doorway and spell herself through.

  After a moment's thought, sheltered behind a wall, she left the doorway open. It would be very impressive if Theseus walked through what had been an impenetrable barrier for so long. In the excitement of that event, she could slip through also and then reinvoke the spell.

  Even with that delay, she was at the back gate of the temple long before she expected Theseus to arrive there. She wasn't impatient. A new set of votaries were performing, and this was the first time she had ever been able to see what Pasiphae had devised to keep her feeble-minded son willing to sit on his throne for long periods. Ariadne was impressed with the effect the priests and priestesses produced, and felt saddened that the poor Minotaur could no longer be trusted to enjoy the spectacle.

  Ariadne was so fascinated herself, and the clashing cymbals, rattling sistra, and twittering pipes filled her ears with sound so that she became aware only very slowly of a growing din behind her. When she turned to look, she could see nothing at first but a short passage that bent sharply to the right—and then she caught her breath with horror. She was seeing the true passage. The illusions of the maze had been dissolved.

  Without thinking, Ariadne touched the gate to open it and ran through. In that first moment, she felt that in his insane desire to punish the Athenians, Minos had found a way to break Hekate's illusions. In the next moment, she knew that was impossible, and almost simultaneously realized it was Phaidra who had broken the illusions. Minos hadn't demanded Phaidra open the gate for Theseus; Phaidra had decided to cover herself with glory by saving him herself.

  Sobbing with fear but unable to decide whether to wait where she was or try to find them in the maze, Ariadne stood still and listened. Stupid, stupid girl, she thought. Hadn't Phaidra realized that without the illusions the Minotaur would be able to track them by scent and sound and surely catch them before they could get through? No, of course not. The idiot girl had only thought of the quickest way to get out of the maze, and probably told herself that Ariadne had selfishly withheld the idea of removing the spells out of jealousy.