Claiming Ariadne (21 page)

“You mean raped.”

That gave him pause. “I regret that, but these men are entitled to keep what they take. All I can say is most of them are quite well behaved, at least when they’re at home.”

“Do you think that matters to the two women who took the medicine this morning? Or to the little girls the men violated? Or to the poor, half-witted girl who kept the Great Mother’s shrine and does nothing now but cry and hide under her bed because half a dozen men held her down and raped her? Just because you brought Meri to visit doesn’t mean these women wouldn’t happily kill you. And believe me, I wouldn’t stop them.”

His nostrils flared in anger. “I’ve done everything I can, Ariadne. There’s nothing more I can do without coming to blows with my uncle and his followers.

“Let me tell you right now that sooner or later those women will find new husbands. Their situation isn’t as bad as you might think. As long as they don’t make trouble, they’re safe, and they’re hardly about to be carried back to Tiryns and Mycenae as menials when Idomeneus is going to stay here in Crete. But they can’t continue to live alone, without male protection. In fact, I personally know several very good men who want Cretan wives.”

Ariadne poked an admonishing finger into his chest. “
Don’t
even suggest it.”

“Those women need husbands.”

“Not Achaean husbands, they don’t.”

“Ariadne, once the army moves inland and the business of the port goes back to normal, things will improve. The women will eventually forget all this.”

How could Taranos be so colossally stupid? “No, they’ll never forget—not in a year, not in a lifetime. I see it in their eyes. I feel it in my bones. So would you if you knew what to look for. Or maybe men simply can’t understand. How many women have
you
raped, Taranos? How many children have you killed?”

Grasping her wrist, he shoved her hand with its stabbing, accusing finger aside. “Enough, Ariadne! I told you: I’ve done all I can. Don’t think I haven’t been jeered at for taking the women’s part and urging Idomeneus to make better provision for them. I might be his nephew, but I have no place here. I’ve been away too long. I have no gold or horses or chariots, only my sword, and that isn’t good enough. Everywhere I turn I have men mocking me for being a Sacred King, and throwing flowers at me and calling me the Prince of Lilies. So stop needling me, woman!”

Any pity she felt for his plight was outweighed by her festering outrage. “Why would you need your war gear? I thought you knew these people and didn’t want to kill them. Or do you really want to be at your uncle’s side, seizing towns and carrying off gold and women?”

Taranos’s jaw tightened. Torment burned in his eyes. “What I want doesn’t matter! I am a prince of Tiryns, and that’s what’s expected of me! An Achaean woman would have understood that.”

Taking half a step forward, Ariadne slapped him hard. “
You
chose to woo
me
. You can either have me or you can be a mighty Achaean warrior prince and conqueror—but you can’t have both. I won’t have a man who inflicts suffering and death on others.”

She felt the sting of his hand cracking across her cheek moments before she realized he’d struck her. A High Priestess of Knossos, slapped by a mere man, an arrogant, uncouth Achaean—

“Don’t you
ever
strike me again, woman.”

Tears burned in her eyes. Her pride ached more than his blow. “Choose,” she said, then turned on her heel and retreated inside, slamming the door after her.

Chapter Ten

Dried blood and other debris littered the floor of the sanctuary. The ceramic figure of the Great Mother lay smashed across the altar. Beautiful ceramic bowls and vessels containing the bloodless offerings, were overturned, cracked, or shattered.

“Taranos said they worshipped the same gods.” Turning her head, Akuro spat in disgust. “He lied. They have no respect for the Mother.”

Ariadne made no attempt to defend her consort, whom she hadn’t seen in three days. Let him stew. She had more pressing concerns than his wounded pride.

One woman lingered over the broken doors. “We need a man to fix these or make us new ones.”

Akuro marched over to inspect the damage. When the old priestess and her assistant barred the doors during the attack, the Achaeans had battered them down. “Only a Cretan carpenter. I don’t care if the Achaeans have ten thousand men who can do the job, we won’t have them pollute this place further.”

“What about the Sacred King?” Imena had a daughter among the Achaeans and wanted Taranos’s help getting the girl back. “He knows how to work wood, and he’s consecrated, isn’t he?”

When all twelve women looked at her, Ariadne merely shrugged. After killing Elaphos, she wasn’t altogether certain how ritually pure he was. “Go ahead and ask him if you want.”

Imena noted her disinterest. “You won’t do it?”

“I’m not speaking to him right now.”

Taranos met them in front of the sanctuary the next morning. While Ariadne and five others gathered the scattered potsherds and scrubbed the floor and desecrated altar with wood ash and lye, Taranos righted the overturned horns of consecration, then examined the broken pier-and-door partitions before announcing two new doors would have to be made. “I can install them, but others will have to help make and cart them here.”

“No Achaeans,” Akuro said firmly.

“I don’t see how—”

“No, wait.” Leaning her broom against the altar, Ariadne came over. “Do you know the men who violated this place?”

Taranos became visibly uncomfortable. “I might be able to find out their names.”

Either help, or go away!
“Then go to Idomeneus and tell him that these men have a blood-debt to pay. Let these men be purified. Then let them craft new doors for the sanctuary.”

“Perhaps the High Priestess should personally convey the Goddess’s wishes to the
wanax?
”

“Are you going to help at all?”

“Yes, I’ll bring you a cart for all those potsherds and repair the minor damage. Let me fetch some tools.”

A half-hour later, Taranos returned with a handcart, borrowed tools, and an audience. Several bored Achaean sentries found sport in teasing the Sacred King. Ariadne couldn’t follow their jeering comments, which Taranos did his strained best to ignore, but when one man darted forward to plop a crown of withered irises on his head, he spun around and punched the offender so hard the man spat out a bloody tooth.

Shouting filled the small square as the injured man’s adherents harangued Taranos, who looked prepared to fight them all. Had the women not intervened, hurling loose pebbles and potsherds at the invaders, he might have had to do so.

“
Stop this at once!
”

All commotion abruptly ceased. Flanked by six armed men, Idomeneus entered the square. Middle age did nothing to sap his vigorous appearance. He wore a rich red woolen tunic and a golden armlet encircled one broad bicep. Gray hair hung to his shoulders; his beard and moustache were closely trimmed. Only the scar across his nose marred his natural elegance. “What is going on?” A thick accent flavored his Cretan.

Eight female voices and seven Achaean ones clashed at once.

“
Quiet!
” When Idomeneus shouted, everyone shrank back in terrified silence. His gaze raked the crowd before settling on Ariadne. “I will hear from the High Priestess.”

Not from Taranos, his own kinsman. Ariadne marked how Taranos’s jaw clenched at the slight. She drew a deep breath before speaking. “These women of Katsambas have come to repair and purify their defiled sanctuary. However, there is some work which needs a man’s hand. Since there are no Cretan men, and the Achaeans who desecrated this place are unacceptable, the women will only accept help from the Sacred King. These others...” She gestured to the Achaean troublemakers. “These others came to tease him and interfere with the work of the Great Mother and her servants.”

Turning to the offenders, who visibly withered under his scrutiny, Idomeneus sharply questioned them in Achaean. After a few moments, he said, “High Priestess, these men say they know nothing about what happened here.”

Once again, the female chorus of protests filled the square. Ariadne lifted her hand for silence just as the
wanax
opened his mouth to yell at the women. Mollified, he acknowledged her with a nod.

“I suppose they know nothing about the maiden attendant who was raped here, or the old priestess whose blood and brains we scrubbed off the floor this morning. Perhaps
they
are innocent, but somewhere in your camp are men stained with the pollution of these crimes. I suggest they come forward and make offerings to cleanse themselves of their blood-guilt and placate Mother Demeter.”

Idomeneus studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Here was a man who had no time for women or their concerns. Ariadne expected nothing from him now. In fact, the longer he stared at her, the more intimidated she felt. “Lady, you are a guest here. I suggest you change your tone.”

Ariadne softened her tongue but did not back down. Adrenaline and outrage gave her more courage than sense. “While you are here, perhaps you could explain why you allowed your men to sack the town?”

Eyes widening with surprise, he tightened his jaw. “Are you
questioning
me, High Priestess?”

From the corner of her eye, Ariadne spied Taranos taking a protective half-step toward her. “As Mother Demeter’s most holy servant, I have the right to ask.”

Frowning, Idomeneus waited a long, tense moment before giving his answer. And when he did, it was in that same soft, deadly tone he’d just admonished her with. “I assume you want Knossos to remain untouched? My men can take their spoils either here in Katsambas or at Knossos. I prefer to leave the seat of the Minos untouched.

“I have not enslaved these women or their female children. I have not burned their houses. Any further demonstrations of unrest and I may change my mind.” Shifting his attention to the sanctuary doorway, he nodded as the women cringed and averted their eyes. “Now, then, I have every intention of honoring Mother Demeter. What offerings must these men make?”

They must die. Give them to the women, and let them execute justice
. “We need precious oils and incense to purify the sanctuary. In addition, we need new doors to replace those the men broke down. I am told you have many skilled carpenters with you.”

Idomeneus stroked his beard and nodded. “As you wish, High Priestess. Demeter will have new doors, and other offerings to placate her anger. I will have the guilty men found and brought to you, but I want no more disorder.”

When he withdrew, the sentries went also. Taranos came over. “What were you thinking, Ariadne?”

A dozen thunderstruck women also wanted to know. “He could have killed you right there!” Akuro exclaimed.

Taranos didn’t defend his uncle. “Ariadne, don’t do that again. He might not kill you, not while you’re carrying my child, but I don’t think you want him to strike you in front of everyone.”

Now that she had space to reflect, Ariadne wondered how she could have been so foolish. “He’s agreed to give us what we need.” She struggled to still the quaver in her voice as she addressed the women. “We’ve got a lot more work to do to get the sanctuary ready.”

Heat clung to the air. At noon, deciding they’d done enough for one day, the women went home to rest. Ariadne lingered, tidying up the swept floor and altar, so she was the last to leave the sanctuary.

Passing the well, she found Taranos brooding on the stone curb where a plane tree offered shade. “You haven’t said much. Are you still angry with me over what happened this morning?”

“No,” he answered. “I know you won’t do it again.”

She sat down beside him. “Then what is it?”

“You see now what I have to endure every time I go into the camp? I should have been the first one my uncle addressed. Instead, he never even acknowledged me.”

Taranos rose, drew up a full bucket from the well, and sloshed water onto his face and head. As he shook out his dripping hair, Ariadne marked how the water droplets clung to his bare chest, slicking his dark pelt, dancing off the very tips of his brown nipples. A fine time to think about sex! “Is that what this is all about?”

Rubbing a damp hand over his face, Taranos sat down again. “I don’t want to be shamed in front of my kinsman, and I don’t want to be mocked.”

“Then what do you want? Make up your mind, and try to do it before the baby is born.”

Sighing, he punched his fist against his knee. “I spent half my life wandering and fighting. I’ve grown tired of it.”

“Then you’d better learn to put up with a few jeers.” Ariadne twined her arm through his. “I don’t see anything wrong with being a peacemaker.”

Now, tilting his head sideways, he gave her a hopeful look. “I suppose you’re talking to me again?”

Where the water should have washed him clean, it clung to his pores. As Ariadne leaned in to kiss his cheek, she smelled his sweat. Tonight he needed a proper bath, with a woman scrubbing his back in a cool room. After that, who could say? “You’re forgiven,” she murmured sweetly into his ear, “but don’t ever slap me again, or you might find that mighty bull’s horn between your legs has shriveled into a pathetic little twig.”

* * * *

Sometime between noon and sunset, Taranos found a sponge, a strigil, and clean clothes, and so had the two older men who accompanied him. Both were neatly dressed and groomed, and armed only with short daggers.

Spying the strangers through the open doorway, Akuro intercepted them at the threshold. “What is this? You can take your friends somewhere else.” She pointed her wooden spoon at the men, who exchanged bemused glances while letting Taranos answer for them.

Taranos turned on the charm. “These, dear lady, are two gentlemen from Mycenae who miss good home cooking. As you can see, they’re very clean, and I assure you that they know how to behave. No drinking or brawling from these men. In fact, they’ve been asking me for days how the lovely ladies of Katsambas are getting on. Now put that spoon down, Akuro, and let me introduce you. This is Argurios, and this fine fellow is Glaukos. Unfortunately, they don’t speak much Cretan.”

That evening, most of the townswomen congregated at Imena’s house, leaving only Akuro, Ariadne and Erawa to welcome these strangers. Ariadne, who had been helping young Kanako set places around the hearth, glanced up in astonishment. Taranos was playing matchmaker.

“Sit down,” he urged, gesturing. “Kanako, dear, bring two more cups and plates.” When the little girl hesitated, he patted her shoulder reassuringly and then hugged her. “It’s all right. These are good men. They weren’t the ones who killed your papa and brothers or looted your mother’s things. Now you see the old silver-haired one? Argurios means ‘silver’ in Achaean, just like your mother’s name means ‘silver’ in Cretan. And Glaukos, why he has gray eyes, just like his name says.”

Hearing their names and seeing the child’s apprehension, both men took obvious pains to smile and look inoffensive. When they noticed Ariadne, each foreigner respectfully touched his hand to his forehead.

She looked to Taranos. “Does the entire Achaean camp know who I am?”

“How could they
not
know about the lovely priestess who smacked the impertinent Amphimedes when he tried to touch her naked breasts? Ekhinos has been telling that story since the day you arrived.”