"Why would they listen to me?"
"Krete needs someone strong in the palace; they've been ruled by priestesses and that old man for too long. Ariadne will be the most important person left, and her husband will be the natural one to assume power. There will be no Minos to get in your way."
I don't much like the idea of participating in their ritual. For one thing, I don't know how they extract blood from the man chosen by the priestess. From what I've seen of Krete, it's likely to be uncomfortable, not a mere prick on the fingertip. For another, we don't observe many religious ceremonies in Troizena, and I don't know how to behave.
Besides, I have no intention of marrying the girl, and I say so.
"You don't have to stay married to her," Prokris reminds me. "Just long enough to get established as king. Once they see how a real kingdom operates, they'll be happy to leave off their barbarian ways."
I ponder this and see a flaw.
"How am I to make sure she chooses me at the Festival?" Prokris lays a hand on my knee and smiles. "I don't think you'll find that difficult," she says.
ARIADNE
Chapter 30
I HAD NOT visited my brother since I had attempted to introduce him to Phaedra two days after the baby's birth. He had erupted into such a jealous rage that I hurried away with my sister while she screamed herself purple. This time I came alone, and Asterion's joy made me weep with shame at my neglect of him. This frightened him, so I quickly forced back my tears and sat next to him and held his hand.
I spent all afternoon there. I sang him songs and told him tales. He loved to try to sing with me, mouthing meaningless syllables in his surprisingly tuneful voice. I never knew how well he followed my stories, so I recounted my own favorites, not the warlike ones that most boys preferred.
I told my brother about Medea and her bravery in sacrificing what she loved the most. I told him about Medusa, who was so powerful that snakes crawled in her hair and so beautiful that men turned to stone at the sight of her. I told him about Moera Krataia, so mighty that even her brother Velchanos bowed to her, and about how she spun the thread that apportioned every mortal's life. I described how she measured each life thread into its appropriate length, weeping when she had to cut one short, rejoicing when she was allowed to leave another long and strong. I lowered my voice to tell him how her scissors finally sliced through the indicated spot and the person died.
When Asterion drifted off to sleep, I placed his hand on his broad chest and left my own there for a moment, feeling him breathe, and then slipped out.
Even before I reached the Minos's residence, I could tell that things had changed. A soft rain was falling in the courtyard, so it was not surprising that it was deserted, but everything about this place looked so different that it took me a moment to orient myself. There was the Minos's bench under his favorite fig tree. Tight buds along its branches looked ready to burst open and turn into the huge leaves that the children enjoyed playing with. Green crocus spears poked their tips through the soil. All this was the same as always, but the rest took me aback. The only other seat that remained was a stool missing one of its three legs. No toys littered the pavement; no awnings were pulled over seats to allow the wives to get a little fresh air even in the rain. The wind picked up some rubbish and swirled it around. The bird cages were empty, their doors ajar.
No sounds of quarrels or laughter came through the columns, no clash of cooking pots, no thud of shuttles banging on looms, no whirring spindles. No babies cried, and no mothers scolded. Even the eunuchs were absent.
A distant voice was all I heard. It was a woman, and she was clearly issuing orders and becoming impatient as they were not followed to her liking. The voice grew louder, and then a portly figure strode into the courtyard and stopped short at the sight of me. A look of annoyance crossed her face. This was the Minos's third wife, who had come with a shipment of tribute from Aegyptos before I was born. No one could pronounce her Aegyptian name, so the Minos had renamed her Ino. Although she had been in Krete for decades, she still kept to her Aegyptian ways, shaving her head and wearing a heavy wig in public, insisting on filmy linen clothes instead of good wool, speaking her strange language to her many children. These children were now all grown and gone, and it looked like Ino was leaving too.
"What are you doing here, mistress?" she asked me in her deep voice, which had retained most of its Aegyptian accent. A servant appeared behind her, dragging a wooden case. She stopped and sat down on the box.
"I'm looking for the Minos," I said.
Ino shrugged. "He's probably in his chamber. I haven't seen him for days."
Indignation swelled in me. She seemed utterly indifferent to the man who had been kind to her for twenty years. "What do you have in there?" I asked, pointing to the case.
"Merely my personal items," she spat. "A wife is allowed to remove her cooking pots and weaving supplies when she leaves."
I knew that the box contained more than that—and in any case, I had never seen Ino holding anything that looked like a cooking pot or a spindle or loom in her pudgy hands—but I didn't care. Let the wives strip the palace bare, just as long as they left.
As though in answer to my thought, the servant said timidly, "The ship leaves at sundown," and the Minos's wife snapped back at her, "Then why are you sitting there? Take that box to where the cart awaits."
The servant grasped the leather handle and jerked the case along the paving stones of the courtyard and out the gate. Ino swept by me without a farewell or even a backward glance.
Once her haranguing voice disappeared, all was silent once more. Or almost. I caught a low sound, as of someone murmuring, and then a pause, and then an answer in a deeper tone. I recognized both voices, despite how muffled they were, and I made my way to the corner of the garden where the little-used door was open a crack. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. That was an illusion, I told myself firmly. There was no blood pooling at Theseus'sfeet that time. It was a shadow. I pushed the door open.
They were seated under a tree. Theseus leaned back, his eyes half-closed, and chewed on a long stalk of grass. Prokris had her arms clasped around her knees; it was cool in the shade, and she must have been trying to keep warm. She rose gracefully and extended a hand to me.
"However did you manage to get away?" she asked as we settled next to each other on the ground.
"I just left," I said. "They didn't try to stop me."
"Good," Prokris said. "They fear you."
I considered. The priestesses, of course, knew how limited were the powers of She-Who-Will-Be-Goddess, and they also knew that my mother had not finished teaching me, yet they were treating me with more deference than they ever had before. Perhaps this was why I craved the company of Prokris and Theseus—they were still relaxed and friendly.
I was about to respond when Prokris held up her hand. She cocked her head, listening.
"What is it?" Theseus asked, but Prokris was already on her feet.
"The Minos is calling me. Poor thing, he's practically alone in there now."
I hadn't heard anything, but Prokris seemed sure as she trotted to the door. Her feet in their fine leather shoes tapped on the paving stones as she crossed the courtyard.
After a moment, Theseus asked, "How are the preparations coming?"
"Well. I should be there practicing." I felt a twinge of guilt, but it wasn't strong enough to make me return to the chamber where the priestesses were surely discussing my bad behavior in their shrill tones. Stronger than the guilt was fear. Why did they stop the rehearsal each time after I removed the Goddess ball from its chest? What would happen when I was alone with the Minos? And what was the Ordeal of the Snakes? I bowed my head and willed my fears to retreat. He loves me, I told myself. He won't let any harm come to me. But I knew that he was just the Minos, not Velchanos, and he didn't control what happened there.
"And tomorrow is the ceremony?" Theseus asked.
I nodded, not trusting my voic
e. I could perform it in my sleep. Grudgingly, I admitted to myself that the repeated rehearsals had served their purpose; no moment was unscripted. Nothing unexpected would happen to make me falter and thus render the ritual ineffective. I remembered the year that my mother had stumbled over the threshold to the inner chamber. After she held a long consultation with the Minos, the ceremony was allowed to proceed, but the crops that year had been so bad, the storerooms under the palace were emptied long before the next fall's harvest was in, and many people had died.
That was the year my brother had been moved into his prison. When those forgotten inner rooms were stripped of their contents to feed the people, ancient, fading paintings of a Minos-Who-Was wearing his ritual bull head had been discovered on their walls. Daidalos had constructed more walls, but my brother broke them down—though he didn't seem able to destroy the painted ones—and that was when my mother had finally been forced to tie him there with a spell.
The silence between us lengthened, and I raised my eyes to Theseus. He was looking at me with a half smile. Had he read my mind?
"You'll be perfect." He took my hand and raised it to his lips. They were warm and soft, and I wished their touch to linger. "How could you not be?" He moved closer so that his thigh pressed against mine. A fluttering in my stomach made me tremble. With his free hand, he lightly took my shoulder and turned me to face him, and his mouth moved to my lips, pressing first gently and then more firmly. I was flooded with an unfamiliar warmth, and I found my hand moving to the back of his neck. His tongue lightly flicked on my mouth, and it opened to a sweetness I had never before tasted.
I was gripped by a new fear. I put my hands on his chest and pushed him away, then stood up. "I have to go back," I said shakily. "The priestesses want me to repeat the prayers one more time."
He, too, stood. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
I waved a hand to brush away his words. I fled back through the door, across the courtyard, and into the palace, to the safety of the corridors with their damp air and closed-in smell, through the chamber where the painting of Goddess holding the snakes and wearing her enigmatic smile seemed to simultaneously welcome and mock me as I ran past Her.
I burst into the room where the priestesses were taking refreshment. They looked up at me in surprise, some with their mouths full, others taking a sip of wine.
"I still have much to learn." I choked on the words. "Teach me."
Chapter 31
I SLEPT HEAVILY the night before the Planting Festival, perhaps because I hadn't eaten in three days; perhaps because the day had been long and arduous.
I had inspected the tiny white lambs brought in for sacrifice, to determine that all were sound and unblemished, so as not to offend Goddess with an imperfect offering. I ordered the loops of garlanded flowers and herbs to be hung in their proper areas, checked that none of the wine had turned to vinegar, decided which children would lead the spring songs, and supervised the cleaning of the inner chamber and the oiling and draping of the Goddess stone, a small ritual in itself. All the while I, and everyone else, kept an eye on the moon as She rose, a tiny sliver against a blue and then a black sky. She would disappear completely when Goddess left Her home and came to the earth to inhabit me.
I had helped my mother with these tasks for several years and had taken over many of them since I had become She-Who-Will-Be-Goddess, so they were soothing in their familiarity. Perhaps it was also this that allowed me to sleep well; I had nothing more to learn, no more choices to make.
Except one, and it wouldn't really be me, but Goddess, making that choice.
When I met the priestesses at dawn, it appeared that I was the only one who had rested. Thoösa in particular looked haggard and hollow eyed. Damia wasn't much better. Even the younger priestesses were pale, and their steps dragged.
Still, Thoösa couldn't seem to stop herself from giving me instructions. She shrilled on and on as two priestesses plaited my hair and then piled it on my head in an elaborate pattern, with knots that were to bring success to the ceremony. I felt oddly dulled, and her words spilled over me like water.
My clothing for the first ritual, the Ceremony of Velchanos, was newly made, unlike the Goddess robes I was to wear later. They had been too small for my mother, so I hoped they would fit me well, as she had been taller than I and lately had been growing stout. I remembered the day exactly one year before when I had tied the laces in the back of my mother's skirt into the complicated pattern prescribed by tradition and noticed that they were barely long enough.
I forced myself to stop thinking about that day and about the Ordeal facing me later. I had too much to do. The priestesses finished dressing me in my new finery and stood back, leaving a pathway to the door. I took a breath, walked between the two lines, hearing the unfamiliar tap-tap of my hard shoes rather than the soft slippers I was accustomed to, and entered the corridor.
As I expected, the halls were deserted. Although I would not become She-Who-Is-Goddess until the ritual, on this day nobody would risk a chance encounter with me outside a sanctified area. The priestesses trailed behind. I took one hallway and then another, turning several times, as the noise of many people talking, laughing, singing, arguing, grew louder. For a moment, I hesitated, foolishly hoping that I could still turn and flee, when a hard finger poked me in the back and forced me forward into the arena.
They all fell silent once I entered the stands, of course. Each eye followed me as I climbed to my seat. I was sure that everyone could hear my heart, and my foot in its unaccustomed high shoe nearly caught on my hem as I stepped into the box where the Minos was waiting for me, his two remaining wives, Orthia and Prokris, on his other side. I was so glad to see the friendly smile crinkling his face that I nearly wept.
I didn't, of course, and I was about to say the ritual "You may begin," when I saw Theseus seated next to Prokris. I turned questioning eyes to the Minos. He said, "I thought it fitting that he observe the ceremony from the best seats." He added in a voice just above a whisper, "Show those barbarians a thing or two!"
From the satisfied look on Prokris's face, I thought I knew where the idea to invite Theseus to our box had come from. I could not have them use this sacred ritual for their own purposes, for meeting and being together in public. I leaned around the Minos and said to Theseus, "Come sit by me. You'll have the best view." The Minos nodded approvingly as Theseus, followed by his large dog, stood and inched past the two women and then the Minos and, finally, me. He squeezed between me and a fat courtier. With Theseus seated on my right and Artemis on the floor between us, her head above his knee, I said to the Minos, "You may begin."
The Minos stood. Silence fell as he spoke the ancient words of the opening of the men's ritual, and tension rose. Everyone strained forward. We heard the odd squeaking blare of a conch shell, and then the door was flung open. The audience cheered as the boys streamed in through a path of golden sunlight. They were so beautiful that my breath caught in my throat. I stole a glance to my left; if the sight moved me, what must the Minos feel as he saw this group of the finest boys of Knossos, his acolytes, rise to their proudest moment?
The twelve boys were now parading around the arena, tossing their multicolored banners aloft and catching them by their sticks, to the rapturous shouts of the crowd. I caught sight of Lysias leaning on the rail that surrounded the arena. He glanced behind himself as someone spoke to him, and his face didn't betray any of the tension that he must feel. Only the tautness of his back muscles and the way he bounced up and down on his toes showed his inner heart.
Enops marched in, his white teeth flashing; he looked even handsomer as a youth than he had as a boy. I caught sight of Glaukos. He had grown; his shoulders were starting to broaden, and his large hands and feet showed that he was about to shoot up in height. I was surprised that he had been considered fit to serve, with his eye that turned out, but pleased that he should have the honor.
I could guess how old they all were by the length of
their hair, from Glaukos, whose scalp was nearly visible after his recent shearing when he turned twelve, to the long locks of the oldest boys. Some must be close to the upper limit of eighteen years, judging by the length of the black curls that hung down their backs.
The parade ended with all the boys standing in two lines facing me and the Minos. We rose together, and the Minos blessed them with the ancient words that had been repeated at this moment since time was time, and sprinkled them with dark wine. I knew that more red splatters would mar some of their clothing that day, but before I could do more than begin to think about that, the boys turned as one and faced the door. It opened again, but the light that should have poured through it was blocked by a huge form. The crowd moaned with pleasure as the hot, heavy smell of cattle wafted in.
This year's bull was the most magnificent I'd ever seen, of a rich red-brown with sacred white and black markings, and gilding on his hooves and horns. His neck was broad, and as he strode forward with three trainers holding the rope that ran through the ring in his nose, his shoulders rippled like wavelets at the edge of the sea. He seemed so calm and mild that at first, I was afraid he would not perform as required (which would be a disaster), but then I noted the distance that his handlers kept from him, and I saw how intelligent his eyes were and how his nostrils flared at the scent of the crowd. He tossed his head, and the handlers flinched, but they kept their hold on the ropes. His great-grandsire, I had heard, had been the famous bull that had gored Lysias, and they were right to be afraid.
I had so completely forgotten my surroundings that when a warm hand closed over mine, I almost shrieked. "Sorry," Theseus said, the crowd nearly drowning out his voice.
I swallowed and willed my heart to slow down. It had recovered from the shock of his touch, but while his hand remained on mine, my pulse would continue to race. I slid my hand out and pretended that I needed to arrange the shoulder of my robe. Theseus's half smile told me that I hadn't fooled him, but he didn't try to touch me again.
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