Ariadne's Diadem

by Sandra Heath

  “Yes, Master.”

  Bacchus pointed his staff at the grass and conjured into existence a marble plinth about four inches high. Then he pointed the staff at the pool. “I grant you the power of communication. Englishman. Have you heard everything?”

  Gervase had indeed heard and was able to reply through thought. “Yes.”

  The answer seeped up through the pool to Bacchus and the fauns. “Do you accept my conditions?” the god inquired.

  “Yes.” Gervase felt he had no choice; besides, it offered the only way to escape from this dreadful petrified imprisonment.

  Bacchus waved his staff, and the water bubbled and seethed as Gervase began to rise slowly to the surface. Naked, white, and dripping, with weeds draped around his arms and another more private portion of his anatomy, he was suspended in midair for a moment, before being drawn to the bank and deposited on the low plinth, for all the world as if he graced the garden of a villa in ancient Rome. He gazed in amazement at the golden magnificence of the young god, whom he had expected would be a much older personage, grown fat from a surfeit of wine. He was also startled to see the immense gathering of fauns peering curiously at him from behind their master. The panther growled, and Gervase flinched, at least he would have done so had he been capable of even the slightest movement.

  Bacchus eyed him critically from head to toe, and then used his staff to remove the waterweed that was draped so embarrassingly around Gervase’s more outstanding lower regions. “Hardly Hercules, but nevertheless a fine enough specimen of humanity,” he conceded, “although whether Miss Anne Willowby will ever think so remains to be seen.”

  “Is there no other way I may make amends for my part in the theft of the diadem? Must I really win her love?” Gervase asked.

  “Yes, you must, but be warned that you have been wrong to dismiss her as a schemer.” Bacchus told him briefly about Anne’s reasons for entering into the match, knowledge he had absorbed from the buttons on the greatcoat, along with everything else.

  Gervase felt chastened, for he’d said some very harsh things about her. “I concede I was at fault, but can you tell me why my father chose her in the first place?”

  Bacchus smiled. “Oh, yes. Her great probity revived memories of his first wife.”

  So that was it. Gervase’s mind cleared. His mother was his father’s second wife and had always known that she stood in the shadow of her predecessor.

  Bacchus turned to Sylvanus. “Well, Faun, it is time to commence. Pick up the duke’s clothes.”

  The faun obeyed.

  “Now climb upon his back.”

  Sylvanus gaped. “Climb? But—”

  “It is the only way to be absolutely certain you both arrive in exactly the same place at exactly the same moment. Climb!” The god’s staff quivered at the faun, who hastened to do as he was told. It was no easy matter with an armful of clothes and a pair of riding hoots to contend with, for his cloven hooves found little purchase, but at last he managed to haul himself up to put his arms around Gervase’s neck, his furry goat legs around his waist, and wedge the clothes between himself and the cold marble.

  Bacchus looked at Gervase. “By the way, I have caused Miss Willowby to fall from her horse and then into a deep sleep perilously close to a riverbank. She will slip into the water and drown unless you reach her quickly. Do not forget that she must live if you are to be released.”

  As both Gervase and Sylvanus wondered to what purpose the god had done such a thing, Bacchus gestured again with his staff, and a great wind sprang up from what had been utterly still. The flowing purple robe billowed, and the company of fauns shrank together as the water of the pool was whipped up into countless little waves. Sylvanus clung on with all his might, and Gervase felt the plinth shudder a little, then suddenly the wind snatched them both, whirling them high into the evening sky.

  There was a roaring and rushing of air, and Naples and its bay fell away behind. The twist of smoke from Vesuvius meandered heavenward for a time, but then Italy itself was lost from view as they swept northwest. They were so high that the air was bitterly cold, but although Gervase felt nothing through his shell of marble, poor Sylvanus’s teeth chattered. He bleated wretchedly, scrabbling with his hooves as he lost his grip for a moment. How he wished he were back in his cozy hiding place. More than that, how he wished he could swim, for then he would never have landed in Teresa del Rosso’s debt, and none of this would have happened!

  A journey that should have taken weeks was over in a few minutes. Suddenly, England was below them, clearly visible in the northern twilight. Sylvanus peered down at an alien landscape of neat fields, lush meadows, and scattered villages, with trees that were just beginning to show their cloaks of spring green. He and Gervase flew above a river that flowed from north to south like a silver ribbon, through a beautiful tree-clad valley that was sometimes rich farmland, sometimes tree-hung cliffs and rocks. Sylvanus saw a gorge with white rapids, a dell with a stone-edged spring, then a house in grounds where there was a maze that was laid out in the same pattern as Gervase’s buttons. In the very center of the maze stood the sort of little white rotunda that cried out for the finishing touch of a statue, and Sylvanus knew instinctively where Bacchus intended them to end their journey.

  They plummeted downward, spinning and swinging wildly from side to side as if some great power were trying to pinpoint an exact spot. In the final moments the faun looked upstream and dimly saw a young woman in a nasturtium riding habit, lying on the very lip of the riverbank, then to the east he saw two bobbing lanterns as old Joseph, Martin, and the lurcher set out in the wrong direction toward the bluebell woods to look for Anne, whose riderless horse had returned only moments before.

  Gervase and Sylvanus arrived with a thud on the floor of the rotunda. After the rushing of air, suddenly everything was silent. Beyond the maze rose the moonlit rooftops and battlements of Llandower Castle, and in the distance they could hear the searchers calling Anne’s name.

  Chapter Seven

  The rotunda consisted of a domed roof supported on elegant Corinthian columns, between two of which it was walled to provide some protection from the prevailing southwesterly winds. Otherwise it was open to the elements, which Sylvanus knew only too well as he slithered down from Gervase’s back.

  For an English spring evening, the temperature was mild and pleasant, but a faun from the Mediterranean found it disagreeably damp and cold. His teeth chattered as he hastily donned Gervase’s greatcoat, which was far too big for him, before taking the rest of the clothes and throwing them across an ivy-covered stone bench that stood in the shelter of the walled portion of the rotunda. Then he paused for a moment, sniffing the air a little curiously before he turned to Gervase and brought him to life by reversing the magic words he’d used in the grove.

  “Come on, for your Miss Willowby is in danger. I saw where she is, so I know which way to go,” the faun said, and trotted to the edge of the rotunda, where he waited impatiently for Gervase to dress in the now rather crumpled pine green riding coat and cream breeches.

  Gervase felt oddly normal as he pulled on his top boots. He wasn’t stiff or awkward; indeed it was as if he hadn’t been marble at all. He straightened at last and looked in dismay at the high, seemingly impenetrable hedges of the maze. “Miss Willowby may be in danger, but fast we have to find our way out of this damned puzzle.”

  “It’s no problem to me because I’m familiar with the defenses of Troy, but I must say I’m surprised that anyone can wear a plan of the maze on his buttons and not know it by heart.”

  “I don’t spend my time contemplating my buttons,” Gervase pointed out a little testily, fumbling with the tying of his neckcloth, which was not at all easy in the dark and without a mirror.

  Sylvanus’s lips twitched, but he said nothing more.

  “Before we go,” Gervase said then, “there’s one thing I’d like to ask.”

  “What?”

  “Why has Bacchus put Miss
Willowby in such unnecessary danger?”

  The faun shrugged. “I have no idea, but my master never does anything without a purpose.” With that he turned up the collar of the coat and left the rotunda. His hooves crunched on the gravel, and as the hem of the costly greatcoat dragged on the ground behind him, Gervase pictured his Bond Street tailor’s reaction to such sacrilege. There wouldn’t be sufficient sal volatile in the whole of London to bring the poor fellow out of his swoon.

  Sylvanus’s sense of direction was unerring, and a few minutes later they emerged from the maze close to the archway into the castle courtyard. The castle was quiet because old Joseph and Martin were out searching for Anne, and Mrs. Jenkins had yet to return from her sister in Peterbury. An owl hooted somewhere, and the sweet-scented cowslips in the park were pale in the moonlight as the faun led the way toward the river.

  Gervase found it difficult to keep up, for Sylvanus’s goat legs were much faster than his own, but he didn’t fall too far behind as they hurried north past the jetty and through the riverside meadows. At last the faun saw the bridge ahead and Anne lying inches above the waiting water. He thought she moved slightly, and with a muted bleat of dismay he made a greater effort, for he was only too aware that if she fell into the river and drowned, neither he nor Gervase would be able to meet Bacchus’s terms. Keeping a wary eye on the lurking river, the faun pulled Anne safely from the brink, watching her closely to see if she was about to awaken, for it wouldn’t do at all if she were to come around to see him, but she seemed deeply asleep.

  Gervase hurried up, and for the first time looked upon the face of the woman he had to win if he was ever to regain his true form. He saw she was slender and unremarkable, with untrammeled dark blonde curls that had escaped their pins when she’d fallen from the horse. The riding habit she wore was stylish enough, but at least three years old, and the top hat that lay nearby wasn’t quite what would have been admired in Hyde Park, although he had to concede that he found the addition of a lace scarf, rather than the more usual muslin or gauze, rather appealing.

  The sound of hooves clattered from the road, and Sylvanus put an urgent hand on Gervase’s arm, pushing him down among the cowslips. They lay there in silence as two farmers rode across the bridge.

  As the hooves dwindled away into the darkness again, Gervase got up and glanced across the meadow to where a small barn stood against the hawthorn hedge. It would afford shelter while he and Sylvanus wondered what to do next. He still didn’t know why Bacchus had chosen to place her in such a hazardous situation, and apart from that he hadn’t had time to invent a new identity or a plan for wooing her. Stooping to gather her into his arms, he carried her to the bam, where he rested her gently on the remains of a pile of hay from the previous year’s harvest.

  Sylvanus collected her hat and followed, and then they both stood looking down at her in the moonlight. The faun hunched himself in the greatcoat. By the Furies, how cold and hungry he was! And how he hated being hundreds of miles away from Italy! He glanced out at the night, where stars now studded the sky. At least he could see the Corona Borealis, just as he could from his grove.

  “What now?” Gervase asked.

  Sylvanus shrugged. “I don’t know; you are the one who must woo her.”

  “Which is all very well, but I haven’t had time to collect my thoughts, let alone anything else.” Gervase ran his fingers agitatedly through his hair as he gazed down at her. Prom the first moment he’d heard Anne Willowby’s name, he’d been convinced she was a brazen adventuress of some sort, certainly a schemer, but the truth was very different, and he didn’t know where to begin.

  The faun hung the top hat on a protruding nail and watched Gervase a little crossly. Why did humans always make such heavy weather out of everything? All this man had to do was seduce a woman. There was nothing to it. Fauns seduced nymphs all the time! Sylvanus hopped impatiently from hoof to hoof. Gervase needed a nudge to send him on his way, and since virginal ladies were notoriously easy to shock, it would be simple enough to prevent this one from remembering anything. Oh, if only Bacchus hadn’t forbidden him to use his power to cause overwhelming sexual desire. If it weren’t for that, this whole business would be over and done with before dawn! Bacchus had to be obeyed, of course, but all the same, it was a very tempting thought. The faun’s lips twitched. His master was hundreds of miles away—would he find out about a few minutes’ disobedience? Sylvanus decided to take the chance, and after a sly glance up at the Corona Borealis, he snapped his fingers.

  As Anne stirred and began to open her eyes, her subconscious re-created the wheat field fantasy that had always meant so much to her. As a result, the first thing Gervase felt was that the spring night had brightened into the warmth of a summer day. He seemed to be standing by a hedgerow at the edge of a waving sea of golden corn, beneath a cloudless sky where skylarks sang. His nostrils were filled with the seductive scent of honeysuckle, but as he looked into Anne’s wide green gaze, he neither knew nor cared that the hour, the seasons, and even his own common sense had been turned topsy-turvy. An erotic charge swept irresistibly through him, and his whole body throbbed with excitement. He was conscious of the sweet invitation of her lips and the captivating curve of her breasts beneath the tight-fitting jacket of her riding habit, and he couldn’t help sinking to his knees to put a loving hand to her cheek. She sighed and moved against his fingertips, and his heart tightened with intense joy.

  Gervase’s face was an anonymous blur, yet Anne knew she loved him more than anyone else in the world. She was reliving the caresses seen all those years ago, and the gratification was exquisite. She smiled sensuously and began to unbutton the jacket of her riding habit. So firm and taut were her breasts that she needed no stays or other undergarments to give shape to her figure, and her nipples were pert and upturned. Her breath caught with almost feline pleasure as he cupped both in his palms. Her hand crept tentatively to his thigh, and then slid slowly up to enclose the fierce erection that now strained the front of his breeches. After a few moments’ hesitation, she dared to stroke the steely shaft through his clothes, and his groan of desire intensified her own. Her whole body ached for the consummation she knew was about to take place.

  The exquisite sensations passing through Gervase were almost painful. He wanted to be inside her, to feel her warmth encasing him, to feel his own final capitulation. He lay down and pulled her against him, finding her lips in a kiss that flamed so fiercely through them both that he felt he would lose his senses. Her mouth was sweet, and for a moment their tongues slid together. She pressed her body to his, molding to his shape so perfectly that she might have been fashioned just for him. His erection felt as if it would explode as she moved against it.

  Suddenly, out of the clear starlit sky, there came a blinding flash of lightning. It struck a tree in the hedge behind the barn and lit everything with vivid electric blue. Bacchus had been watching after all. Gervase and Anne became frozen in mid-caress, their sensuous embrace caught as if upon a canvas, and Sylvanus gave a bleat of dismay as he at last realized why his master had put Anne in danger. It had been to create the very circumstances that might tempt a foolish faun into using forbidden powers. And he, Sylvanus, had fallen into the trap!

  Confirmation of this came immediately. “You have been found wanting yet again. Faun!” Bacchus’s voice was inaudible to anyone except Sylvanus, who squeaked with dread.

  “Be merciful, 0 Great One!” the faun begged, his teeth chattering so much he could scarcely be understood.

  “I was merciful the last time,” Bacchus reminded him severely.

  “I’ve learned my lesson, I swear!” Sylvanus bleated tearfully.

  “I doubt if you will ever learn, Faun,” came the weary reply. “Can’t you be trusted to do anything—except the wrong thing?”

  “B-but if you put an end to me now, the duke will be on his own.” Sylvanus could only hope to appeal to what remained of the god’s better nature.

  There w
as silence, and Sylvanus prayed that this boded well. “It won’t happen again. Master, please believe me,” he pleaded, his tone only just short of wheedling.

  In spite of the faun’s undoubted culpability, Bacchus was disposed to be charitable. “Very well, but you have had your final warning. Disobey me again and it will definitely be the last thing you do!”

  “Yes, Master!” Sylvanus whispered with relief. He waited for the god’s next words, but there was only the silence of the English spring night. The faun stole a glance up at the sky, but all was quiet again.

  Then soft sighs made him glance down, and he saw that Gervase and Anne, freed from their brief immobility, were once again pursuing their white-hot passion. The faun was horrified. “Stop! Oh, please stop! Bacchus is very angry with me!” Their kisses continued unchecked, and at last he remembered to snap his fingers.

  The bewitchment ceased immediately, the summer wheat field was no more, and Gervase looked around in confusion as Anne went suddenly limp in his arms and sank back into the deep sleep of before.

  Sylvanus swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  Gervase began to realize what had been happening, and after lying Anne gently back on the hay, and doing up her buttons again, he scrambled to his feet. He tried to muster his scattered thoughts as he stared down at her in the moonlight. What in God’s name had he been thinking of? He turned furiously on the guilty faun. “That was your fault?” he cried.

  “Yes,” Sylvanus replied, unable to meet his accusing gaze.

  “But what is she going to say? As soon as she comes around, she’ll remember and…” Gervase couldn’t finish, for it seemed the end of everything almost before it had begun! He’d never succeed with her after this!

  “She won’t recall anything, so don’t worry about that. Besides, if anyone should be worried, it’s me. Bacchus knows I disobeyed him and has issued a final warning.”

  “He knows?”

  “Didn’t you see the lightning? Oh, no, I suppose you wouldn’t have because—” Sylvanus broke off and turned as a new sound drifted through the night. It was the swift rattle of a pony and trap approaching along the Peterbury road, and instinctively the faun knew that it signaled Anne’s imminent awakening. Without further ado he grabbed her hat from the nail and ran from the barn toward the bridge. Halfway across the meadow he unwound the lace scarf and draped it prominently over a hawthorn bush, and then at the bridge he tossed the top hat into the middle of the road, where the trap’s lamps would pick it out immediately. Dashing back to the barn, he grabbed Gervase by the arm. “Come on, we mustn’t be seen!” he cried, and together they ran along the riverbank to the hedge of the next meadow, where they hid to watch what happened.