Claiming Ariadne (17 page)

All was now dark and silent. Mingled odors of wet clay, heated copper, and wood ash and lye hung faintly on the warm air long after the laborers went to supper and bed.

The guide opened a door and cautioned her and Nopina to proceed carefully. “There’s a flight of ten steps here.”

Narrow steps led down into a passageway stacked floor-to-ceiling with amphorae. So closely were they packed together, so little room did they leave, that her skirts brushed against them as she passed.

A right turn, into a corridor lined with stirrup jars. Faint traces of iris and lily oil perfumed the air. Then left, down four short steps into deeper gloom. Nopina’s lamp cast shadows over rows of massive
pithoi
holding grain and oil. A close, yeasty smell clung to the passageway; scarcely any air circulated here. Cobwebs and dust tenanted the spaces among the giant vessels. Perspiration began to film Ariadne’s upper lip. Kitanetos assured her Taranos was kept somewhere cool and comfortable, but she couldn’t possibly see how.

Another turn, more jars, then down five more steps. Air moved against Ariadne’s ankles and gently stirred the hem of her skirt. “There are vents that let it in from above,” explained the guide. “Otherwise no one could ever breathe down here.”

She saw Taranos crammed into an open space between two
pithoi
. A thick rope ran from the manacle encircling his wrist to a bolt in the floor; he had enough slack to stand and pace the corridor, use the slop jar, or comfortably lie down on the blanket the priests had given him. Although he had no light, he had food and water and clean clothing.

The guide brought a box so she could sit. Ariadne, her eyes still on Taranos, gestured to her companions. Slowly the light dimmed as Nopina and the guide withdrew several paces and left her alone.

“What were you thinking?” she asked him. Taranos lifted his head and squinted at the light. Was he kept in the dark all the time? Ariadne caught herself starting to pity him, then shook her head with the determination to remain resolute. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And you went ahead and did this to me
and
your unborn child? Have you no shame?”

Blinking, eyes glittering with tears—did he cry for shame, or the pain of the sudden light?—he nodded. “I gambled, Ariadne. What else could I do? I’m a younger son, with only my name and royal lineage to call my own. My father doesn’t even rule Tiryns in his own right. It’s King Alektryon who decides who will inherit what. How can Father grant me land or possessions he doesn’t even own? Why do you think I went to sea? I spent fifteen years wandering throughout the lands of the Aegean, searching for my fortune, finding only empty dreams and broken promises. So I gave up raiding and came here to Crete hoping at last to find what I really wanted.”

Ariadne expected him to say, her. Sentimental rubbish designed to sway an angry woman’s sympathy. He would tell her how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her for his wife.

When he spoke, it was something else entirely. “I wanted to settle down. Yes, I knew Idomeneus was coming. Sooner or later, I knew Achaean ships would land on these shores. And I knew better than to expect that my uncle would be generous with me. I had no warriors or chariots or gold to bring him. I couldn’t give him anything more than my sword and shield, and for men like that, the prize is always small. A few trinkets, some wine and a woman or two, but nothing worth very much.”

“Then all that nonsense about seeing me in my paint and finery—”

“That was true! One day last year, I saw Pelinos during the Sacred King’s procession. I took one look at him in that ridiculous crown of lilies and peacock feathers and thought, what a dandy! I shook my head and thought nothing more about it, until I saw you at harvest time, standing on the West Porch to receive the bundled sheaves. I was just close enough to see you, to glimpse the woman under the paint. So, no, I didn’t lie. I saw you were beautiful. I wanted you.

“Then I heard what wealth Pelinos received for being Sacred King. That fresh-faced callow boy had enough in goods to purchase a fine house and land. It was certainly more than I’d ever see from my family. Why do you think I was so angry when you sent my goods to Tiryns?”

Greed. Taranos’s motives amounted to nothing more than simple greed and lust. Ariadne drew in a hissing breath. “You toyed with me just to increase your own wealth. You fool, you’re the Sacred King. You’ve been consecrated to Mother Rea and Poseidon, and you know what that means. Were you counting on your uncle to save you?”

His brow furrowed to reveal his uncertainty. “I suppose I didn’t think that far ahead, Ariadne. My plan never really went much beyond becoming Sacred King and surviving until the ships came.”

“And then what? Did you just expect me to pack up and follow you back to Tiryns like a good little concubine once your kinsman took over? I’m the High Priestess, you idiot. I can’t just simply leave Knossos because you snap your fingers and say come.” She let that sink in for a moment before turning to that which truly ate at her. “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen now?”

“I suppose the priests will kill me.”

Rising, she walked over to him. As he tilted his head up toward her, she backhanded him with all the force she could muster. Blood streamed from his nose; he gaped up at her in wordless shock. “Yes, you stupid, selfish oaf, they’re going to kill you. They’re going to kill your child.”

As he turned ashen, she offered no apology for the half-truth. “I don’t see what you have to weep about! You’ll die quickly. How do you think the gods will punish me? I could be carrying a monster.” Try as she might, she couldn’t help her own tears from welling up. In another moment, she’d start sobbing uncontrollably.
I never wanted this child, and now I don’t want to lose it
.

“You’ve made a mess of things—do you know that?” She turned in the dim, narrow space in search of the light. “You can rot here, Taranos. I never want to see you again.”

Chapter Eight

Sweltering darkness, redolent with Taranos’s familiar scent, overwhelmed Ariadne the moment she stepped into his apartment. For three days, no one had been there; the two rooms lay untouched and airless.

Under her cloak, she had begun to perspire; it was a warm night, too warm for the dark wool shrouding her from throat to ankle.

Ariadne uncovered the lamp, bathing the outer room in weak light as she set it on the table where Taranos displayed his war gear. She touched the boar tusk helmet, then lifted it onto her head before pulling it off again with regret; it was too heavy and large to fit under her hood. Next she tried the figure-of-eight shield. She could carry it, unwieldy as it was, but she couldn’t conceal it.

Her gaze passed over the spear, dismissing it, then lit on the silver-studded sword in its leather scabbard. It must be this or nothing at all.

She wiped her damp brow with one hand. Her breath trembled in her lungs, her every nerve tensed, fearing discovery. She shouldn’t be here, not after the way Taranos had betrayed her.
He meant it all along—he wasn’t toying with me. I was just a prize to be won, a soft pair of arms and breasts to add to his goods
. Bile stung her throat. Never in her life had she felt so used, so outraged as she did now.

He deserves to rot in that dark hole. Or be dragged before Poseidon’s altar and his head struck off
. And it would happen, sooner than she initially thought. Through Kitanetos she learned that the god’s priests saw no other way to avert disaster, and no other choice but to carry out the sacrifice within the week. Waiting risked Poseidon’s awesome anger, and the chance that the Achaeans would interfere.

I should let them do it
. Ariadne picked up the sword; it was as heavy as she remembered, but she could manage.
I should walk away from here and forget all this
. Knossos was asleep, sweating and mumbling on rooftops. No one saw her leave the House of the Great Mother. No one would notice her return.

And yet, try as she might, she simply couldn’t sleep. Since those last moments with Taranos, calm eluded her. She could scarcely concentrate on her duties. She ate almost nothing and dissolved into tears the moment she was alone. Her jumbled passions urged her to try to save him, while in the same heartbeat she wanted to kill him with her own two hands.

All she could do now was arrange it so she never had to think about him again.

She buckled the sword around her waist, then let the cloak fall over it. Shielding the lamp, she fumbled for the latch, opened the door, and slipped out. Night sounds stirred through the light-well. Otherwise, all was quiet. She walked quickly, bare feet making no sound, hissing under her breath as the scabbard collided with her thigh.

Across the Central Court would be the quickest way, yet she risked too much in the attempt. Someone on the rooftop might notice her dark figure against the moonlit white stones. No, she must go carefully, keeping to the shadows until she reached the industrial quarter. Sweat rolled off her brow and clung to her upper lip.

Empty walls and identical turns confronted her. Which doorway was it? Ariadne stalled, looked around in mounting confusion. It had been night the last time she came, too. She should be able to recall.

Stop and think
. A potter’s shop had been nearby; she remembered the smell of wet clay and the narrow double window above the door. Yes, there it was. When she turned the handle, she found the door unlocked. The hinges creaked—too loudly for the still night—as she slipped inside. Just as quickly, she closed the door and uncovered the light.

Ten steps descended into yawning blackness. Lamplight skimmed across rows of stacked amphorae. This was indeed the place. Now she must recall the turnings; the storerooms tunneled under the workshops, a maze that would trap the unwary. Beyond the wine amphorae should be a corridor whose shelves sagged with stirrup jars. Crocus, iris, and lily oil, pine resin, myrrh, saffron, and perfumes which permeated the fired clay and wax seals to scent the dusty air. Ariadne’s nostrils twitched as she crept past.

From here, the corridor diverged. After this point, she didn’t remember continuing straight ahead. So then it must be to the left, and then down four steps.
Pithoi
cast monolithic shadows against the walls. Rustling brought her to an abrupt halt. Then she heard the familiar skitter of mice and breathed again. Snakes sometimes found their way into these subterranean haunts.

Ariadne wished she’d thought to bring her sandals. But no, they’d have slapped against the flagstones and given her away. Bare feet were quieter.

Another turn, down a third and final flight of steps, into a corridor crammed with more
pithoi
. This should be it. “Taranos,” she whispered into the darkness.

Silence stretched out into infinity. No answer breathed back. Had they already taken him away? Ariadne ventured forward a few more steps before she glimpsed the corner of a blanket moving. Then, as she came around the last massive
pithos
, she saw Taranos sitting up, hair mussed from sleep, eyes squinting at her lamp. A bruise swelled his nose and cheek where she had struck him. “Ariadne?”

She nudged him with her foot. “Stand up.” Setting the lamp on the wide stone lip of the
pithos
, she unbuckled the sword belt and dropped it into his lap. “Take this.”

Taranos stifled a yawn. “What is it?”

 
“It’s your sword, you fool.”

His eyes adjusted as his awareness returned. “Did you bring the rest of my gear?”

“Do you honestly think I could manage to slip down here unseen carrying all that?”

Taranos climbed to his feet, slid the sword free from its scabbard, then began sawing the thick rope back and forth across the blade. “Why are you here, Ariadne? Didn’t you tell me you never wanted to see me again?”

“I did, and I still don’t. The priests are going to kill you.”

Taranos paused, even as the first fibers began to split. “I thought you wanted me dead.”

“I never said that. I just said I never wanted to see you again.”

“Then why are you trying to rescue me?”

Was this idiot going to waste precious time interrogating her? “It’s the middle of the night. There’s a watch on the north entrance, but if you keep to the shadows you can make it to the Western Court, over the wall, and maybe down the hill without being noticed. After that, where you go is your business, just—”

“So no one else knows you’re here?” When she shook her head, he grunted his obvious displeasure. “How could you be such a fool?”

“Would you rather stay and be executed?”

“You didn’t answer my question, Ariadne.”

Nor did she intend to. “There’s no time. Will you hurry up with that?”

“You realize you’ll have to come with me, don’t you?”

Go with him? “That’s out of the question.”

Maddeningly, he stopped sawing at the rope and looked up at her. “You can’t stay here. Once the priests discover I’m gone, they’ll know it was you who helped me.”

Ariadne hitched her breath at the realization that he was right. She hadn’t thought beyond giving him his sword, showing him the door, and slinking away back to the House of the Great Mother as though nothing was amiss. But going with him, creeping away barefoot with him in the night—how could she even contemplate it? “They wouldn’t dare harm me.”

Taranos grunted, resumed sawing. “Not while you’re pregnant, maybe, but after that...” Words trailed off into dark possibilities.

The last fibers frayed, unraveled, and snapped loose. Taranos buckled on his sword belt. “Which way leads out of here? It’s such a maze I can’t recall how they brought me down here.”

Ariadne retrieved the lamp. “Follow me.”

Panic jolted through her as abruptly as the hands that seized her from behind. Sharp metal jammed against her throat. She dropped the lamp and it skittered to the floor. An arm tightened around her middle when she tried to bolt. Between it and the knife, she was pinioned.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” said a familiar voice.

Elaphos!
How had he come upon her so stealthily? Poised to hear every sound as she skirted the Central Court, as she traversed the musty storerooms, she’d detected nothing save the mice and her own nervous breathing. And yet he had followed her. “Let me go.”

“So the Achaean can kill me? No, Ariadne, I think not. Now you, Achaean, put down your sword and push it across the floor toward me.”

Taranos didn’t move. “And then what?”

“Then you and I and the High Priestess are all going upstairs. I’ll let the guards and the priests deal with you. I wonder what explanation you intend to give them for this treachery, Ariadne.”

Ariadne felt the knife dig into her soft flesh, and the point bit through her skin. A warm trickle of blood streamed down her throat into her blouse. “Elaphos, you’re hurting me. Please, you’ve cut me.”

It was the worst possible thing she could have said in Taranos’s presence. In the grim set of his jaw and narrowing gaze, she saw that putting down his sword was the absolute
last
thing he intended to do now.

Elaphos’s breath nudged her ear. “What do you see in this man, Ariadne? He lied to you—he used you to make his fortune. Why would you risk your life to save his?” His lips hovered so close to her cheek he could have kissed her. “You wouldn’t have done this for Pelinos or any of the others. Why this man?”

Ariadne squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t tell you that.”

His hold tightened. “You
love
him?” Disgust and disbelief thickened his voice. “I should kill you both.”

She couldn’t break free, and unless she convinced him to let her go, this crazy priest was going to slit her throat. “Elaphos!” She let every ounce of her fear permeate her voice. “I can’t breathe. I’m going to vomit.”

The knifepoint left her throat, pricked through her gown instead; it nudged her swollen belly. “You can lose the brat for all I care,” Elaphos hissed into her ear. “Better now than later.”

Crazy as he was, he couldn’t possibly mean that. “This is a Goddess-child!”

“It’s a bastard he put into you.”

Then she heard Taranos, low and calm, trying to reason with him. “Elaphos, you don’t want her to miscarry. She’s too far along—she’ll bleed to death. Then you’ll have her blood taint on your hands.”

“And what would you know about babies, Achaean?”

Taranos mocked his scorn. “Know? I have a son at Tiryns! I have bastards from one end of the Aegean to the other!”

“Then this is one less bastard you’ll have.” Warm breath heated Ariadne’s ear. Elaphos’s next words were for her alone. “I told you from the beginning he was no good, but you wouldn’t listen. He’s a seducer, a savage. Lose his brat and you can have other children.”

She wanted to spit in his face and claw his eyes out. All she could do was go limp in his arms. Let him think she complied. “With you, Elaphos?”

“Yes, with me, Ariadne.”

Taranos snorted with derision. “Are you courting her?”

“Shut up, Achaean! You’re no fit mate for a High Priestess.”

“And
you
are? What a fine way to woo her, sticking your knife in her throat and threatening her child! Oh, I’d like to see what you accomplish when you finally manage to climb on top of her. Once a woman gets a taste of my big cock, no other man can satisfy her!”

Ariadne groaned. What did he think he was doing?

A moment later, she cried out as the knife jammed harder into her womb. “I’ll carve the bastard out of her womb if I have to! And I’ll fuck her in every way known to man—I’ll fuck her into oblivion if that’s what it takes to drive you out of her mind.”