Claiming Ariadne (18 page)

Flesh split, blood welled up, and she winced at the burning sting. “Please, stop!”

“The only thing you’re going to do,” said Taranos, “is kill her.”

Yes, yes he would. “Let me go. I don’t want to lose it here. Not down here. It’s so dark, and I can’t breathe.” She concentrated on hyperventilating, on trembling so he could feel it.

“You should have stayed home.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right.”

By degrees, his hold on her loosened, and the knife withdrew. “In the morning, take the medicine. It isn’t too late.”

Ariadne put out her hand, grasped at empty air. “I can’t see anything. The lamp, Elaphos,
where’s the lamp?
”

At her scream, Taranos bellowed, “How much longer are you going to drag this out? She’s delirious with terror. She can’t stay down here. Take her upstairs!”

“Then I’ll have the priestesses of Eleuthia give her something and put her to bed, since her own women certainly can’t be trusted to watch her.”

She saw her chance—the only chance she might ever have. Loosening her cloak, she gasped for air, shivered a little. Then she bolted. Fingers grasped at her, slid through her hair, but not fast enough. A muttered curse followed her.

In that fraction of a second it took her to get away, Taranos barreled past her in all his raging, roaring fury. Two bodies collided behind her.

Leaning against a
pithos
, she watched bronze flash in the weak lamplight. Blood sprayed the
pithoi
, spattered the floor, and Elaphos, trying to shield his face, unable to stop the blade which impaled him, slumped onto his back. A gurgle escaped his lips, along with a bloody froth. Taranos wrenched out the sword and stomped him again and again, so savagely Ariadne heard bones cracking. Then with a snarl, Taranos set his foot on the still-heaving chest and plunged the blade in one last time.

Elaphos twitched, then lay still.

Ariadne, realizing what Taranos had just done, caught her breath. He’d killed a priest of Poseidon. Now the ground would lurch, the upper stories would come crashing into the storerooms, and she and Taranos would be crushed in the darkness. Their mangled corpses would never be found. She clamped her eyes shut, wrapped her arms protectively about her head, yet as the seconds passed and nothing happened, she didn’t know what to think.

Cloth dropped onto her head, making her flinch. Her cloak.

Taranos stood over her. “We can’t linger here. You have to come with me now, whether you like it or not.”

She understood. The moment someone found Elaphos’s body, they would guess at the truth. Shaking, muffling herself in the cloak, she retrieved the lamp from behind a
pithos
, while he dragged the corpse from the doorway and dumped it across his blanket. “Now lead the way.”

As she passed under the lintel, she gave a start. Blood pooled around her feet; it was still warm. Taranos gently but firmly nudged her. “There’s no time.”

Up the stairs she went, leaving sticky footprints as evidence of her bloodguilt. Through corridors lined with hulking
pithoi
, up more stairs, past stirrup jars and their cloying fragrance, past the wine amphorae to the ten steps leading out into the night air. Before she began the ascent, Taranos took the lamp and extinguished it. Absolute blackness enveloped them.

“What is the quickest way out of Knossos?” he asked.

“The east entrance is closest, but...”

Taking her hand, he led her up. “Then that’s how we have to go.”

At least one sentry watched that approach. Ariadne didn’t ask what Taranos meant to do. Images flashed before her in the darkness: Taranos driving Pelinos onto the point of his own dagger, Taranos kicking and stabbing Elaphos in the storerooms below. Even now, the dead priest’s shade seemed to follow at their heels, reproaching her, threatening to bring down the roof with the god’s anger.

Once outside, they kept to the shadows. Ariadne guided him around the twisting maze of the temple workshops, always going south, until they came to the wall just below the schoolroom. She found an entrance, then led him inside, along a gallery illuminated by just enough moonlight pouring down the light-well to reveal a long fresco of saffron gatherers. She knew where they were now: directly north of the High Priest’s apartments. Tall doors faced east.

Taranos drew her aside into the shadows. “Wait here.”

Ominous silence brought back her fear. Someone might come. Through one door, slightly ajar, she heard a muffled scuffle, then nothing.
What have I done?
She thought she would faint. She wanted to vomit. She’d never meant to go this far.

When a hand fell on her shoulder, she jumped.

“Come with me,” said Taranos.

“The sentry—”

“I’ve hidden the body. There’s nothing to see.”

They crept out the door, which Taranos nudged closed behind them, and down the walkway they’d traversed weeks earlier on the trip to Archanes. Fear pricked at Ariadne’s back. At any moment, she expected someone to call out from the east bastion. Ten more feet to go, five more, then they were safe in the darkness behind the hedgerows and cypress trees lining the road.

“The stable is nearby.” Taranos indicated a shadowed building. “What are the chances of stealing a chariot and a pair of horses?”

Was he serious? “There are too many sentries.”

“I’d rather you didn’t have to go all the way to Katsambas barefoot, Ariadne.” Taranos peered over the brush at the low, distant outbuildings. “Stay here. If I manage to get the chariot hitched without drawing attention, you’ll climb in behind me and we’ll be off toward the coast before they even know what happened. But if I’m discovered, you will have to go on alone.”

He couldn’t possibly mean that. A knot formed in her throat. Gods, he
was
serious. “Taranos, I can’t.”

Strong hands gripped her shoulders. “You have no choice. It’s not difficult, Ariadne. You can do it in a few hours. Just keep to the ditches and shadows. Follow the river, and don’t stop till you reach Idomeneus’s camp.”

“But I don’t—”

“When you get there, the guards will challenge you. They’ll think you’re another camp follower and try to lay hands on you—no, listen to me, Ariadne. They don’t speak Cretan, so you must say exactly what I tell you. Repeat after me—
ije-reja
. It means
priestess
.
Ije-reja
. Say it, Ariadne.”

She did, stumbling over the strange word.

“Tear your blouse open and show them your breasts if you have to, but say those words.”

Goddess, what was he sending her into? Trembling hard, she swallowed and nodded.

“Then tell them:
Idomeneus wanax
.
Wanax
means
king
. That’s what my uncle will be calling himself now.
Idomeneus wanax
. Say it till they take you to him. He’s the only man who can protect you. Do you follow me?”

“Does he—does he understand Cretan?”

Taranos’s reply offered little assurance. “Yes, he does. Tell him your name. My father has complained so much these past few months, my uncle ought to know who you are.”

With the dagger he’d taken from Elaphos, he sliced the hem of her cloak into strips and bound them around her feet. “That should help. Take the knife and wait for me. If I’m lucky, you might not have to remember any Achaean at all.”

And with a wink, he left her.

Ariadne waited, gathered her courage, and crept a little closer. How long did it take to harness two horses to a chariot? Too long. Her heart filled her throat. Sweat made her fingers slippery as they grasped the knife hilt.

She saw the stable door standing open just a hair’s breadth. Then, with a tremendous noise, it flew back, and slammed into the wall as Taranos bolted out. Not on a chariot, but mounted, head low and gripping the horse’s flying mane, galloping across the road and over a ditch, where he vanished into the black countryside. Shouts rang out; running footfalls tramped through the stable. Armed men appeared, sighted the distant figure, then ran back for horses and torches.

Ariadne pulled her hood over her head and curled into herself. Everywhere men were running. Soon the commotion would rouse the town below.

Riders took up the pursuit. Taranos must be long gone, halfway to Katsambas or Amnissos, but still they pursued. An Achaean spy, she heard them shout. He couldn’t be allowed to reach the coast with his secrets. How much longer before they found the dead sentry at the east entrance? She had to move, and she had to do it now.

This stretch of road was too dangerous. Instead, she kept to the protective shadows, skirting hedgerows, darting across patches of moonlight like a shadow herself, until she came up against the outbuildings. Archers had climbed the roof and were scanning the dark horizon for any sign of the intruder; she heard their frantic conversation up above. It was all she could do to go quietly, shrink into black crevices and corners, and hold her breath when men ran past.

Still sweating, not daring to hope, she gathered her courage around her as she moved toward her goal. She needed to skirt the lower wall leading down the hill and, if she could make it unnoticed, vanish into the night. To her left, the low circuit wall continued, delineating the town. To the right were vineyards and olive groves, and beyond them the river Kairatos flowed toward the sea.

Ariadne crossed the road, where the grapevines and olive trees might afford her cover should anyone approach. She knew Katsambas wasn’t far, just a short chariot ride from Knossos, but she was about to attempt it alone and on foot. A High Priestess didn’t walk. She didn’t trudge exhausted in the dark, fearing discovery. That stupid, foolish man. No doubt
he
could make the trip to Katsambas in a few hours. Whatever possessed him to think she could do the same?

Dawn would come long before she got there. Her priestesses would realize she was missing, and Elaphos would be found dead in the storeroom. All Knossos would know Taranos had escaped. Chariots would thunder up and down the road from Katsambas to Archanes, and they would find her.

Keep going
. She descended to the track leading along the riverbank and headed north. It was too late now to go to the Minos and ask his protection. Once someone discovered Elaphos’s body and her bloody footprints, once they found Taranos gone and his sword missing from his apartment, they would know she was no innocent.

Her only hope lay among the Achaean invaders.

Ije-reja. Wanax
. As she stumbled over wagon ruts, wincing and stumbling, squinting in the thin moonlight to see the road ahead, she memorized the Achaean words. Repeated them endlessly until they lost their shape and seemed to her the ravings of a madwoman.

She’d never meant to kill anyone this night. She only meant to set Taranos free to go where he would. Now, alone in the dark, beset by uncertainties and horrors, she felt like her great-grandmother running from her family and everything she’d known to escape the god’s anger.

But Iphame’s lover had gone with her, given her strength when hers began to falter. How could Taranos be such a fool to think he could steal a chariot and horses when they could have easily run past the north bastion in the dark? What did he expect would happen to his pregnant consort when she arrived alone in the Achaean camp?

Rape made her think twice about going any further. She froze, lifted one foot to rub the sore arch, then the other. How could she possibly go into that camp, an unescorted Cretan woman, and convince anyone she was the High Priestess of Knossos? The Achaean warriors would fall on her like crazed animals. No, she couldn’t do it. Better to stay where she was and let the search party find her. Better to face the consequences among the priests than be defiled by brutes.

But the priests would kill her child, too. After tonight, they would have to cut her throat to calm the god’s anger; they couldn’t afford to wait until she gave birth. Death didn’t frighten her so much as losing Mother Rea’s precious gift.