Prostrating themselves before Dionysus, they offered him their fowls and rabbits. He accepted these gifts in a kindly, indolent way, and indicated that it was time for someone to get busy cooking.
Now one of the older women was beating on a drum, and another was blowing on the pipes of Pan. Additional female voices were singing, chanting, in the distance, coming closer. Somehow I had seated myself on a patch of grass, and had become an audience; and now one of the two girls who had arrived in the magical chariot of Dionysus had cast aside her last scraps of clothing, and was moving before me in an abandoned dance. The young dancer smiled at me invitingly. There seemed to be nothing in the whole world beyond the craving of my flesh, and when she threw herself down on the grass beside me, I without thinking enfolded her in my arms and wings. Around us the music continued, amid screams of laughter.
Some little time later I disentangled myself from the dancer, who immediately arose to dance again. I noticed now that the smell of food was beginning to arise from cookfires. And when I looked toward Dionysus, I saw with mixed feelings that this god was obviously beginning to overindulge in wine. His laughter was louder than before; his eyes looked glazed, and he swayed lightly upon his Arcadian throne of grass and pillows.
Ariadne kept repeatedly refilling her master's golden cup, and his control over the minds and souls of others was starting to become erratic. By now I had dimly realized that I too had been brought at least partially under that control. There were moments of confusion, when fear tried to establish itself in my mind, and could not; and then I would wonder what I was doing in this strange glade, and why I should feel such overwhelming excitement and devotion whenever I looked at the young god.
The women around me were affected even more intensely, to the point of madness. From time to time one of them would suddenly turn aside from her cooking, or her more personal service to her lord, and weep.
But for the most part we all existed in an atmosphere of pleasure and excitement. No one but myself was even faintly shocked when at last Ariadne, Princess of Crete, lost all shame and in the presence of all threw herself wantonly upon her young lord, moaning and wrapping all her limbs around him. Grinning, he rolled over on his couch and began to try to know her; but it appeared that the excess of wine he had drunk, or his earlier frolicking with one of his handmaidens, might prevent his achieving what he wanted now.
Turning my gaze away from this embarrassing sight, I stared at the other women. A number of them were beginning to embrace each other in an unnatural way.
The realization struck me belatedly that, besides the god himself, I was the only male in sight. Also some vague echo of the warnings I had received from the lowland people now awoke in my memory: the most terrible of the rites attributed to these groups of Dionysian worshippers required a male victim.
By now all of the women had joined the orgy, in one way or another, and there was no one left to serve as cupbearer. The god, when he had finished with Ariadne for the moment—or else had temporarily abandoned his attempt—lurched to his feet and stumbled behind the hut, where, as he seemed to know, the supply of red wine, real wine, was kept concealed. I heard the sound of divine retching; then a moment later the god reappeared, raising to his lips a rare glass flask, in the apparent act of polishing off the last of the good stuff.
I had long since dropped my own poor, cracked cup and had seen no reason to pick it up again.
For a few moments the idea of getting away had labored to establish itself in my mind, but for the time being that thought was gone again. My mind struggled to attain coherence. My mood, under the varying influence of the god's power, was changing with the swiftness of a summer storm at sea.
Two drums were sounding now, along with a stringed instrument and the ancient pipes of Pan.
The dancing girl was back before me, and had once again thrown herself down in the grass where she lay moaning lustfully. She was trying to entice me to lie with her again. But instead, with a growing sense of terrible danger, I staggered to my feet. Slowly and with a feeling of growing horror I realized that when I had lain with the woman earlier I had taken off my wings, being frantic to free my arms for other matters. And now the pinions were missing.
I questioned the dancing girl, and shook her as she lay moaning in the grass, but she only laughed, and clutched at my arms and refused to let me go. Desperately I struggled free, the skin of my arms torn by her nails. As in a nightmare, I ran in circles, searching.
Fortunately for me, the other women were all distracted by their own sensations. The god, as powerfully affected by drink as any mere mortal might have been, had now begun to sing; Dionysus had a truly inferior voice, as I look back on it, yet at the time, of course, I thought it of surpassing beauty. Several times I paused in my search for the wings, forgetting the deadly peril in which I stood, to listen to the song.
The song was interrupted, began again, broke off once more. And as Dionysus nodded in the midst of song, with his own consciousness swaying in its sovereignty over his body, so did his control over me waver also. I suppose that the women, too, may have been released at this time, but as I remember nothing in their behavior changed. It may have been that they had been so long and so willingly his slaves, and were now so caught up in their orgy, that no effect of freedom was apparent in them.
Unless it were that cruelty now began to take a place in the festivities. Or perhaps it was only when my mind grew relatively clear that I began to notice it. I saw two of the women pinning down a third, burning her deliberately with a hot brand from a cooking-fire—and as the screams of pain and laughter of this trio went up into the sunny sky I felt an urgent need to get away while I was still able to do so. But I could not find my wings.
At last I found them. The young dancer had recovered them from somewhere, and was trying to put them on her own shoulders, meaning, I suppose, to dance in them. But it was impossible for her to put them on, for in her ignorance she had them reversed right to left. I had to struggle briefly with her to get my wings away, but when I had them in my hands again, to my unspeakable relief they appeared to be essentially undamaged.
Immediately I began to edge my Way toward the trees, carrying my wings rolled up under my arm. I thought I now had a better understanding of what might have happened to Theseus and Phaedra, if they had left the island only after the arrival of Dionysus. I understood now that if this god, in full possession of his faculties, had ordered them to leave, refusal would have been impossible, even for a hero. And in the circumstances, if Ariadne were already under the god's spell, it would have been impossible to persuade her to come with them.
I was still edging my way toward the trees when at last Dionysus drained the last of the red wine from the last glass flask, and passed out completely. He fell unconscious to the turf, his handsome face raised to the sky in blank stupidity.
Moments later the Princess Ariadne, lost in her own trance of ecstasy, her clothing torn and in a shameful state of disarray, sprawled unconscious beside him. But the frenzy that had been growing among the other women showed no signs of diminishing, and they continued their orgy, complete with pounding music. The screams of the victim who had been selected for burning torture went up and up. The celebration gave promise of degenerating rapidly into something truly horrible.
As for myself, I had to struggle at every step to somehow retain enough wit to recall the warnings given me by the native men below, warnings that no longer sounded at all foolish or exaggerated. The revel had not yet attained its climax. Someone else was going to be required as the next victim, and I managed to realize how eminently I, as a man and an outsider, met the qualifications.
The dancer, her face bloodied where I had struck her to get the wings away, still beckoned with her arms and body to get me to return. But step by step I moved away.
With a total disregard for the glory a true hero might have gained by enduring these circumstances and somehow overcoming them, I sneaked off into the woods, wh
ile the women who were still conscious were momentarily engaged in trying to arouse their master. And from the rocky crag where I had landed I sprang into the air and climbed on my wings to safety.
Flying once more around the low hills, retracing my aerial course back down to the harbor, I lurched through the air somewhat unsteadily, feeling the aftereffects of my experience, as much or more than if I had been drinking real wine.
Topping the last hill, I knew a shock of horror at seeing that the Phoenician ship and its crew were gone from the harbor.
But by this time fear, and the rush of cool sea air, had restored me almost to sobriety. In a moment more I was able to get a grip on myself, and realized that the absence of the ship presented no insuperable problem to an active man with wings. It was the work of only a few minutes to fly high enough to see where they had gone, and of only a few minutes more to overtake them, cruising as they were a couple of stadia offshore. I assumed that Kena'ani had felt confident that I would be able to rejoin them at sea, if I had survived at all.
I landed on the trader's deck—much to my friend's delight, and to the consternation of his crew, none of whom had ever before seen me fly. Immediately I began to give my friend an explanation—it must have been somewhat incoherent—of what I had discovered on the island.
But I had not been able to proceed very far with my account before we were interrupted by a cry from a man in the stern.
Turning, we saw that a pirate ship had emerged from concealment amid a cluster of tiny islets nearby. Her prow was set in our direction, and she was quickly overtaking us.
* * *
FACULTY OUTING
The ship had appeared with great suddenness, popping out of concealment amid a cluster of brush-grown islets so closely grouped that they might have been designed as a place of ambush. She had her white sail already hoisted and was rapidly overhauling us. No one aboard our vessel had any doubt that our pursuer was a pirate�who else would chase a Phoenician merchant in such a fashion? The men on the stranger's deck, already almost within the range of voice, were yelling something to us across the water, but with the wind and the crash of waves against our prow, we could not hear. In any case it could hardly be anything but a demand for surrender. Squinting into the sun, I was able to make out that the lines of our pursuer's hull, and of her sail, strongly resembled those of an Athenian warship. In the circumstances I did not find that reassuring.
Meanwhile our own crew, experienced sailors and fighters all, were no trembling cowards in this situation. In obedience to Kena'ani's shouted commands, they were preparing as best they could to fight, and at the same time trying to get more speed out of our own vessel.
The time elapsed since my landing on the deck of the merchant had been so brief that I had not even started to remove my wings. Now, as our pursuers drew nearer still, I tightened my shoulder straps—again blessing the improved design which made this maneuver possible without assistance—and made ready to leap into the air. My intention was to fly toward our pursuers and try to frighten them away. But a moment later, taking one last look over the stern before I leaped, I cried out in joy. I had recognized Prince Theseus, standing on the deck of the Athenian ship and giving orders.
Kena'ani, oblivious to my repeated cries that all was well, was swearing mighty oaths, invoking gods or devils whose names I had never heard before, and urging his men to make some adjustment of the sail they were trying to hoist. At this point our ship plowed into a large wave, and the sail, old and weathered canvas, suddenly ripped free of the lashings that secured it. What little hope we might have had of getting away from the onrush of the ship astern was abruptly dashed.
I continued to cry out the good news, that the commander of the other ship was my good friend, and eventually my cries were heeded. In another moment our men had ceased to row. Some gawked at the approaching Athenian, while others concentrated their efforts on disentangling the wreckage of our sail and its lines. Very soon after that the other ship caught up with us.
Meanwhile I had sprung onto the rail, and leaped from there into the air above, ignoring Kena'ani's stifled oath of protest behind me. Unhurriedly I flew in the direction of the other ship. It was now going to be impossible for me to keep my wings a secret from Theseus in any case, and so I wanted to reveal them as impressively as possible.
My princely friend and his crew were indeed astounded to behold a flying man, and in fact a general panic ensued upon the Athhenian deck. As the crew had nowhere to flee, they made ready to defend themselves. Fortunately their captain recognized me, and kept them from trying to riddle me with arrows or slung stones. Soon, at the invitation of the prince, I landed on his deck, where he greeted me warmly, and in the same breath demanded an explanation of my wings.
This I was able to provide, and the prince in his practical way quickly accepted my answer. In turn he explained to me that the black sail formerly adorning his mast had worn out; the ordinary white replacement had prevented my identifying his ship at first sight. Then he returned to the subject of the wings.
"You never cease to amaze me, Daedalus," Theseus muttered, the finest compliment I think that I had ever had from him. Gripping one of my pinions gently but firmly in each of his huge hands, he spread them out curiously and made them delicately flap, a warrior intrigued by a new weapon, and instantly visualizing possibilities for its use. "I have always thought that if anyone could make wings for a man to fly with, it would be you."
I suspected that the prince was not really capable of thinking about inventions, not until they appeared before him in concrete form. But all I said was: "I thank you humbly, sir."
He nodded. All trace of the harried student and the frantic rebel had disappeared from the man before me. Once he had filed away the idea of my wings as a new practical possibility, he let go of them and went on. "You and that clumsy trader have just come from Naxos."
"Indeed we have."
"What word of the Princess Ariadne there?"
"She is still there," I said unwillingly. "I have just seen her and spoken with her."
"What said she about me?"
"Alas, sire! Nothing at all."
Theseus nodded, as if he had expected to hear that bad news. "She abandoned me, Daedalus," he informed me, sounding and looking as sad as Ariadne herself when I had tried to talk to her about whatever had happened between them on the island. Obviously Theseus did not want to discuss the subject either, but he appeared to have no choice in the matter. "Abandoned me. But I am sure that she was under an enchantment when she did so."
"I am sorry, sire." I ventured a question of my own: "And where is the Princess Phaedra now?" I was hoping to get all unpleasant revelations over with as soon as possible.
"She is in Athens." My young friend stood a little taller, and looked proud. "And she is more than a princess now. She is my queen."
I needed a moment to take in the full implications of that statement. "By all the gods… then you are king." I genuflected hastily. "That means your noble father is no more?"
A momentary shadow passed across the face of Theseus. "Some months ago, just before I came home, King Aegeus plunged from a clifftop into the sea. I am told, Daedalus, that the illnesses of old age had begun to—look there!"
I spun around, which is no easy maneuver when one is wearing wings of a god's design. My arms, in trying to move swiftly, had to grapple with the air as if it were a heavy thicket of bushes.
What I saw was a small and distant object moving in midair. Only a bright speck at the distance, but it was easy enough for me to recognize, having recently seen it at close range. It was the flying, gleaming chariot of Dionysus, looking almost sunlike with reflected sun as it rose from somewhere in the highlands of Naxos, and then accelerated across the sky. Traveling at a speed I considered worthy of divinity, it soon disappeared in the direction of Thera, to the south.
"I am told he rides in that," Theseus growled. He sounded anything but awed.
"Dionysus? Tru
e enough, for I have seen him disembarking from it." I did not mention that Ariadne had now become that sky-rider's erotic slave.
The young king slammed his fist down on the rail. "Then how is a man ever supposed to come to grips with him?"
I reflected that this self-confident young man who now stood before me had already broken the neck of one supposed god, and therefore was not likely to stand in too much awe of another. Still I thought that it would be inadvisable for Theseus—or any other mortal—to attempt to come to grips with the Dionysus I had encountered. Nor did I hesitate to say as much. "Sire, whether he is a god or something less—I think that there would be no glory in such an effort. He is not a warrior."
Theseus smiled tolerantly and took me by the shoulder—by the wing-root, rather, shaking my whole body gently. "You are a good man, Daedalus, and in some matters you are a good adviser. But I think I will not follow your advice in this."
Meanwhile the Athenian crew were pulling closer to the trader, where the crew were still trying to untangle themselves from the fallen sail. Theseus and I continued our talk. The new king explained to me how he had come to leave his new queen behind in Athens, and why he and his crew had been patrolling off the coast of Thera, rather than landing on the island boldly.
"The two of us, your man-god Dionysus and myself, had a strange encounter on the island some two months ago." Theseus was reluctant to tell me the details of the story now. Perhaps he could not remember what he had said and done on that occasion, when his mind must have been clouded and his feelings controlled by his rival. But as Theseus now remembered and described the encounter, Ariadne herself had ordered him to depart, if he loved her; and he had taken an oath at Ariadne's urging never to land on Thera again unless she summoned him back.
Having myself experienced the influence of Dionysus at first hand, I could well believe that even Theseus would be unable to overcome it. But knowing Theseus the hero, I doubted that he would ever admit or accept such a defeat.
The White Bull Page 15
