Bull God

by Roberta Gellis

  Androgeos did not stir. “I tell you that not only mother but father is set on the idea of confirming the Bull God as a deity.” His tone was threatening.

  Ariadne laughed. “King Minos intends to attack the high priestess of Dionysus? He'll put me in prison? He'll torture me? What will he do when the grapes rot on the vine and the wine is bitter as gall? What will he do if Dionysus—despite the fact that he hasn't come to the ritual—runs through Crete as he ran though Thebes?” She shrugged. “There's nothing with which you can bribe me or threaten me. I'll always be kind to Asterion because he's my little brother, because he loves me and needs me. I will not encourage the belief that he is a god.”

  “You will bring upon Knossos the destruction you Mouthed.”

  Ariadne again shrugged her indifference. “Perhaps. Perhaps if Queen Pasiphae hadn't chosen me to be Dionysus' priestess, the god wouldn't have answered the Call; Pasiphae wouldn't have become envious and coupled with Poseidon; Asterion would never have been born. So perhaps I am responsible. But nothing I do or don't do now will have any effect. If you want magical trickery and much finer than I can do, go to Daidalos. He will create much more convincing and spectacular miracles.”

  “You don't understand. Father hasn't spoken one word to Daidalos since ... since the Bull God was conceived and has taken away many of his stipends and privileges—”

  “Then this is a good time for them to be reconciled. King Minos shouldn't blame a servant for yielding to Pasiphae, to whom he, himself, yielded.” She looked away for a moment and then looked back. “And I fear that Daidalos' arts will be urgently needed if the king and queen continue to tread the path they are now walking.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Ariadne wasn't surprised when Androgeos' visit was followed by one from her father. She had always understood her mother's purpose—to diminish her and Dionysus, who had rejected her—but her father, older and wiser, might have seen something she had missed. Fortunately Androgeos had given away the real reason for Minos' attempts to wheedle and bludgeon her into supporting the cult of the Bull God. All he was trying to protect was his pride. He didn't wish to humble himself to Daidalos. So, although Minos was far more skillful than Androgeos in his pleading and attacks, he was unable to waken either sympathy or fear in her.

  Despite the wonder Daidalos had created for her to dance on, Ariadne was by no means fond of him. He was always sour and complaining, acting put-upon because he was required to give service for his keep. But fair is fair; ungracious as he was, it was Minos himself who had ordered Daidalos to give Pasiphae the seeming of a cow. He had no right to punish Daidalos for doing so.

  Ariadne held to her absolute refusal to appear in any capacity, even as a simple visitor, in the temple of the Bull God. And not a ten-day later, she had cause to be passionately grateful that Androgeos had armored her against her father's wiles.

  “Where is he?” the voice she had longed for, wept for, bellowed simultaneously in her head and in her ear. “Where is he?”

  Ariadne shot bolt upright and fastened her hands to those that were grinding flesh into bone in her shoulders. She was mute with terror, fearing in her sleep-dazed state that Dionysus was accusing her of defection to the Bull God.

  “She'll kill him! I must go there. Where is he?”

  The exclamation that “she would kill him” cured that fear and the blind eyes that stared at her and didn't see, the beads of clammy sweat that glittered faintly in the dim light of the night-lamp, told her that Dionysus was in the throes of a Vision or the aftermath of one.

  “Tell me! My lord, you must tell me! I only see your Visions though your voice.”

  He swallowed hard, struggling to explain. “A dark room but faintly lit with moonlight? A night-lamp? I'm not sure of that, but I could see a bed only ... only near half of it was gone, swallowed up by a—a blackness.”

  He drew a gasping breath and Ariadne used the grip she had on his hands, which had eased their bruising hold on her, to pull him around somewhat so he could sit on the bed.

  “An evil blackness?” she asked, not because she thought so—her heartflower was fully open and the silvery mist of strands from it was telling her that the blackness wasn't what brought beads of fear-sweat to Dionysus' face.

  “No! No, there's no evil in the blackness. It's a disguise only—but I don't understand ...”

  “Understanding is my part, my lord. You need only speak your Vision.”

  His eyes grew even more unfocussed, and Ariadne knew he was literally replaying the Vision in his mind. “I See a glimmer of light approaching the door to the chamber,” he began. “It grows brighter and a woman appears in the door way, holding a lamp in one hand; the other is closed over what I think is a small scrap of cloth.”

  Ariadne gasped and shivered as Dionysus' Vision suddenly became manifest to her. She not only heard him; a picture of his Seeing flowed back to her through the mist of silver tendrils, a picture filled with a terrible sense of fear and desolation. But she wasn't certain whether that emotion was coming from the Vision itself or whether it was Dionysus' fear and sorrow that she was feeling.

  “She's beautiful, more beautiful than any Olympian woman, except perhaps Aphrodite,” Dionysus continued, almost chanting, “but she's a native.”

  Ariadne heard him, but she was far more caught by the expression on the woman's face than by her beauty.

  “She comes close to the bed and begins to whisper, gesturing with the hand that holds the piece of cloth. She's casting a spell. I can see it spin out from her hand and fall, like tiny beads of light, on the blackness. The beads sink into the blackness. I can see them drifting, marking out the figure of a man, marking out the threads of another spell, that one which creates the blackness. He stirs. The beads burst into flame. He screams and screams again. The blackness disappears. It's Eros—my friend Eros, writhing in pain.”

  Ariadne drew in a deep breath. She had glanced only briefly at the tortured man. Her attention had been all on the woman, who had staggered back when Eros became visible, crying out with a terrible dismay.

  Dionysus grasped her shoulders tight again and shook her. “Mouth,” he demanded, “tell me where they are! That's not Eros' chamber in Aphrodite's house. I know that room well. Tell me where they are so I can stop her before she kills Eros.”

  “She won't kill Eros,” Ariadne said. The Vision was gone, but she could still see it.

  “Where are they?” Dionysus roared. “I Saw her killing Eros. I'll tear her in pieces, and Aphrodite will help.”

  “No!” Ariadne cried, seizing his arms; through her hands pulse after pulse of soothing silver flowed. “The woman meant no harm to Eros and has done him no lasting harm.” She spoke slowly and clearly, willing calm to him. “Didn't you hear what she said when the blackness drained away? She didn't know Eros was concealed in the dark cloud.”

  He blinked and his eyes focused on her. In the dim light, they looked as if the silver mist that was flowing out of her had colored them silver instead of bright blue.

  “If she meant no harm,” he asked, “why did she cast that spell, which caused him so much pain?”

  He was still angry, but not frantic now. Ariadne shrugged, but didn't loosen her grip on him. “Your Vision didn't tell me that. I can only Speak what I saw in the woman's face before she cast the spell—that was love, great love, and a desire to help whoever was hidden by the darkness.”

  “So much pain?” Dionysus whispered. “Are you telling me that I should do nothing?” His face creased with anxiety. “Eros was in agony. I could feel it.”

  Ariadne had felt it too, and her certainty in her interpretation was shaken. Seeking reassurance, she looked past Dionysus, to the blacker shadow in the opposite wall. Did it move? Gesture? Perhaps not, but she knew. Eros' pain wouldn't torment him long and wasn't important; however, there was something Dionysus must do.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice deeper, smoother than was natural to her, “there's something you must d
o. This time your Vision was sent to save your friend—but not from the spellcaster so it doesn't matter where they are. You must stop Aphrodite from harming the woman. If the woman dies, Eros will also die.”

  “He mustn't die,” Dionysus said. “Eros is my friend. He doesn't say, 'Dionysus what do you want?' and give it to me immediately so that I'll go away. He offers me wine and cakes and talks to me. He mustn't die.”

  Ariadne was a trifle amused by Dionysus' simple self-centered reason for protecting Eros, but the need in his voice laid bare his terrible loneliness and the vicious circle of the hurt that led to anger, the anger that lashed out and woke fear, which led to withdrawal or avoidance and bred more hurt. There was nothing amusing in that. She reached out and touched Dionysus' face tenderly.

  “Eros won't die,” she said, and then impelled by some inner certainty, she added, “He's greatly beloved of the Mother and She has sent you this Seeing to save him. Go, Dionysus. Explain to Aphrodite.”

  Dionysus caught Aphrodite just in time, just as she was about to leap to where the woman lived and, he feared, kill her. He seized her, holding her fast, ignoring her outraged shriek, and shook her. Small fists pounded his legs and back; small nails scratched his hips; baby teeth fastened in one calf. He was too accustomed to the pain of bites and scratches to be distracted.

  “Does Eros live?” he roared, shaking Aphrodite again. The attacks on him redoubled; there were shrill cries of rage; more small hands gripped him.

  “Yes,” she cried. “Let me go. Let me revenge myself on Psyche for the pain she caused him.”

  “No,” he said. “Or at least your revenge must be such that it does her no real harm. My Mouth looked into my Vision and told me that if you harm the woman, Eros will die.”

  Aphrodite sagged in his grip and sighed. “I know it. I never meant to hurt her, only to make her suffer, to make her pay for what she did.” Then she blinked at him. “You Saw Psyche bespell Eros? Why didn't you try to stop her?”

  “I had no idea where she and Eros were! I was almost crazy with fear. I leapt to Knossos. The priestess there is a true Mouth. It was she who told me that Eros would suffer no permanent harm from the spell, but that if the woman who cast it was harmed—Psyche, you said she was called—Eros would die.”

  “He is deeply bound to her,” Aphrodite said with an angry grimace and a sigh. “He calls her 'his soul.' What did she do? Why did she do it?”

  Dionysus tried to help Aphrodite to a chair, but found himself unable to move. Each thigh was encircled; there were arms about his waist and hands on his ankles. He looked down and around at six or seven small faces. They were no more than eight years old for the eldest, but all were grimly determined to protect their goddess. He couldn't help laughing, which made Aphrodite look down too. He saw her mouth quiver, but she clicked her tongue against her teeth and gravely shook her head.

  “Children. Children. Let Dionysus go. Look what you have done! He's all scratched, and bitten too. Oh, how wicked you all are!”

  “He grabbed you.”

  “You screamed.”

  “He shook you.”

  Three shrill voices and wordless protests from the others.

  “And you wished to save me,” Aphrodite said gently. “Well, I'll forgive you, but Dionysus is a friend. You know that. You know he wouldn't hurt me unless it was very important. He was trying to stop me from doing something that would have caused great harm to Eros—who is also his friend. Now, say you are sorry.”

  There was a reluctant chorus, and Dionysus smiled at the downcast faces. “I understand,” he said. “You're forgiven. Indeed, you're commended. Aphrodite is very precious and should be protected.”

  Her silvery laugh tinkled and she smiled, although her head was still half turned toward Eros' rooms. Then she sighed. “It's very late, children. Off to bed with you all.”

  They trooped off, two of the youngest looking back at him somewhat doubtfully. Aphrodite smiled at them but said nothing until the sound of their passing was cut off by the snick of a door. Then she listened for a moment more, but the house was silent. She beckoned and went into the central room. A gesture lit concealed mage lights; the walls were painted to resemble a garden, a small fountain tinkled, and night-blooming flowers shone. She took a chair and gestured toward another. Dionysus stood before it for a moment, looking in the direction of Eros' apartment.

  “Would I do harm if I went to him?”

  “He's asleep. Asclepias is with him.”

  Dionysus nodded with relief and sat down. Asclepias, it was said, could heal anything—sometimes even death. “My Mouth says Eros is beloved of the Mother and that She sent my Vision to protect him.”

  “Little as I like it, your Mouth might have spoken the truth. He could barely speak, but all he said was 'Don't harm Psyche. Don't.' Well, I won't, but she'll suffer for what she did. Why, Dionysus? You didn't answer me. What did Psyche do and why did she do it?”

  “As to why, I don't know. I asked the same question of my Mouth and she said my Vision didn't explain why. Ask Psyche. What she did is easy to describe. On the bed was a blackness. Psyche cast a spell and the blackness disappeared. Although my Mouth didn't interpret that, it's easy enough to understand. Psyche sought to remove the blackness. Why, I don't know. What my Mouth did say was that she did it out of great love and a desire to help.”

  “Stupid bitch!” Aphrodite's delicate features were not made for rage, but reflected it nonetheless. “Likely she nearly killed Eros out of idiot curiosity, just to see what was under the cloud of darkness.” She snorted delicately. “Natives! Your Mouth is native too. Do you believe what she tells you?”

  “Yes. She's never been wrong.” He frowned. “There's more. When I'm with her, I feel a touch within me. She can quicken the grapes alone as well as I. Like Eros, she's greatly beloved of the Mother. I have felt the power flow into her, both in the vineyards and when she performs the praise-dances. There's more to her than a simple native.”

  Aphrodite cocked her head. Although half her attention was plainly on catching any sound from Eros' apartment, that statement had caught her attention. “As there was in Semele?” she asked.

  “More than in Semele. I sought out Semele because she was my mother, because I believed Zeus had wronged her, because I thought ... No, that doesn't matter. I was mistaken. Now I'm not. Ariadne isn't afraid of me and—and has no cause to be because she can contain my ... my madness.”

  “Contain it?” Now Aphrodite fixed all her attention on him, concern in her expression. “Are you sure you aren't mistaken about this priestess?” she asked gently. “Silenos was here—he comes to tell stories to the children—he was all bruised and bitten. He didn't speak to me, but I could read his face and the marks told their own story of ... violence.”

  “It's true enough.” Dionysus' mouth was sullen. “I've been blessing the vineyards with blood and lust.” Then he looked up at her and smiled, shamefaced. “More blood than lust. But that's not the fault of the priestess. I quarreled with her and have withdrawn from her for two years.”

  Aphrodite's eyes opened wide. “She quarreled with you bitterly enough that you withdrew from her for two years ... and she is alive? She does then truly contain your rage.”

  “Calms it is a better description. It's not as if the rage were poured into a stoppered flask and would burst out again if the stopper were withdrawn.” He grinned again. “It—it's as if she rained on my fire.”

  “You do not like to be quenched?” Aphrodite asked. “Is that why you left her?”

  “No. She defied me.” He shrugged. “She was right to do so. I even knew it, but ... Do you remember when I was so troubled by the Vision of a white bull with a man's head?”

  “Yes, I do.” Aphrodite sounded surprised. “You came to tell me about it and Hephaestus was here or came later. I'm not sure about that, but I do remember the Vision of the white bull.”

  “I couldn't rid myself of it, which is why I came to tell you. I hoped th
at would wash it from my mind. It didn't, but very soon after, Ariadne Called me and explained the Vision and it was gone. I had another on the same subject—” his mouth turned down with distaste “—and she told me it would mean that her mother, in the guise of a cow, would couple with Poseidon in the form of a bull.”

  “That's usually Zeus' ploy, isn't it? Was she confused between the two?”

  “Oh, no. It was quite true. Out of that coupling a monster was born, a boy with the head of a bull.”

  “Oh, dear! Poseidon must have been very angry with your priestess's family.”

  “Yes. With cause. He'd answered King Minos' prayer for a sign he was the rightful king. Poseidon sent a white bull, which was then to be sacrificed, as the sign. But Minos liked the bull too much to kill it. He tried to breed it to his cows.”

  Aphrodite burst out laughing. “An exchange of cows? Natives! You should have withdrawn yourself as soon as the Vision was satisfied.”

  “I couldn't. I thought I could save Ariadne from much trouble so I told her I'd show her how to kill the babe with no pain or fear. Not only for her, but for the poor creature himself—to ward off the suffering he would endure and would inflict on the whole of her people. But she said I was the monster, not the poor malformed babe, and she would worship me no longer. So I left her. But she was right. It was a lesson from the Mother.”

  Aphrodite pressed her lips together uneasily at that avowal. There were many in Olympus who objected strenuously to worship of the Mother. Eros, on the other hand, acknowledged Her with devotion. Aphrodite herself cared little either way, only wishing not to be embroiled in the argument.

  “So this Ariadne can quench your fire.” Aphrodite grinned, avoiding approval or disapproval of his last remark. “And you have long needed a companion, aside from that mean-spirited Bacchus and no-spirited Silenos. Are you going to offer her the chance to come to Olympus?”

  “You think that wrong?”

  “Not if she is what you think she is and you can cozen Persephone into extending her life.”