Claiming Ariadne (23 page)

Ekhinos appeared inside the tent. “Is there trouble?”

Ariadne catalogued their complaints. “Why are these men lying in their own filth? Tell these useless slaves to take their armor off and bring hot water so we can do what we can. And, good Goddess, why are the men lying in the sand? Don’t you know it’ll get into their wounds?”

Faced with questions that were not his responsibility, the captain demurred. “Priestess, we have healers to stitch up the wounds and splint bones, but it’s difficult to find slaves skilled enough to prepare the poultices, or sit with the men and keep them cool and clean afterward. We have menials here, but you’ve seen most of them aren’t very sensible. We’re always short when it comes to good help.”

A shrill scream from an adjoining tent sent the women into a fresh panic. Imena and Sasara squealed and hid their faces. Akuro blanched. Even Ariadne felt faint.

Ekhinos grimaced. “Tros’s bone broke through the skin. We can’t set it, so he has to lose the leg. We’ll need an herbal plaster once the wound is cauterized.”

He found them a place to work outside, away from the worst carnage. A translator stayed near to issue commands to the slaves, who exited the tents under armfuls of bloody clothes, rags, and armor. Eight women labored over two boiling cauldrons, into which the hastily rinsed linens and clothing went, while Akuro, disgusted at the flies which buzzed inside the tents, insisted the slaves remove the soiled sand, too; she went from tent to tent to stand over them as they worked. Ariadne set other women to chopping, grinding, and steeping herbs. Early on, she realized this work would take what stores the town had. Idomeneus would have to supply more and compensate the women, who now had almost nothing for their own use.

“There are plants in season nearby,” said Erawa, “but we haven’t been able to go out and harvest them.”

That night the women went home exhausted, wondering how all this waste of blood and lives made war worthwhile. Far behind them, funeral pyres blazed against the darkness, and when the wind turned, it carried the tang of ashes and charred flesh.

The next day brought lighter duties. Some women cooked and did laundry as they had done before. Others tended the injured and mended torn clothes. Ariadne asked Ekhinos when the women could venture into the hills to gather herbs and wildflowers. At first, the request baffled him, for in the warehouses the Achaeans now controlled were spices and unguents aplenty. When Ariadne explained that these were local remedies, he obtained permission for an excursion and arranged for guards to escort her and a handful of other women outside the town.

Taranos later visited the outdoor shelter where she prepared her pastes and poultices and powders. “All this will soon be gone.” Half turning, he made a sweeping gesture toward the tents and campfires. “Some men are staying on here to guard the port. Others will go east to Amnissos and Malia. Idomeneus promised them rich spoils in the east and south. He’s granting land to his chief followers and installing his sons and other key men as governors. They’ll fortify their positions and wait for the local towns to submit, then the following year they’ll move against anyone who refuses to pay tribute. I suspect Phaistos and Kommos will both resist.”

Ariadne suddenly thought of her great-grandmother, with her large house and farm. Without a husband or strong family to defend her, what would happen when an Achaean decided he wanted her property?

When she mentioned it to Taranos, he could do little to alleviate her concerns. “I might be able to work out a settlement with the new governor of Archanes, but I can’t make any promises. Iphame’s holdings are a very tempting prospect.”

Iphame would never leave her land. She would stand her ground and beat off any invaders with her walking stick until they hacked her down.

Erawa ducked under the awning for an herbal compress. “Sorry to disturb you. Glaukos has a wounded thigh. They stitched it up clean and gave him something for the pain, but he’s such a big baby. Do you realize that just a few inches higher and—pfft!—there goes his cock?” Sighing, she shook her head. “Men can be such idiots when they think they’re doing it for glory.”

Ariadne handed her a folded square of linen soaked in fennel-infused water. Since her arrival, she hadn’t failed to notice the familiarity with which these women addressed her. Another priestess might have reprimanded them for it, yet Ariadne welcomed the opportunity to throw off her ritual constraints. “So you’re going to keep him?”

“As long as he stays out of trouble.”

When she returned to the town to rest, Ariadne found Akuro hunched beside the hearth and weeping into both hands. She still wept for her dead husband and sons, though in the last week her grief had seemed a little less. “What’s the matter?”

Akuro looked up, sniffled. “Argurios was here before.” She held up her right hand. A jasper bracelet encircled her wrist. “He even brought sesame balls rolled in honey for Kanako.”

Just what an earnest suitor would do. “Why, that’s lovely. What’s wrong with it? He didn’t take it off some poor dead woman, did he?”

“That’s the first thing I asked him. The man didn’t understand a word, of course, but after I refused to let him put it on me, he made the sign for ship. Then he made the sign for a woman, like this.” Akuro described female curves in the air. “And then he slapped his hand and laughed to let me know he’d behaved himself in Knossos. I don’t think there was any pillaging or rape at all this time. He got the bracelet from a trader.” She wiped red-rimmed eyes with the back of her hand. “I let him put it on me, and he kissed my hand and left. I know that he needs a wife. I know he’s going to stay here in Katsambas. Of course I’m going to say yes. I’d be a fool not to. It just feels strange to be doing it this way, with an Achaean.”

Ariadne drew close enough to cradle the woman’s head against her belly and stroke her frizzled graying hair where it escaped her severe bun. “Do you have to decide right away?”

“Argurios seems to expect me to. I know Erawa will go with Glaukos, but she wasn’t married before.”

“You seem to like him, Akuro. Do you really think he’d be so terrible?”

“No, don’t you think it’s a sin to take another man like this?”

Ariadne sat down beside her. “You forget: as High Priestess, I lose a consort about once every year. I bed the new one the same day I bury the old. I’m accustomed to it by now.”

“Did you have children with any of those men?”

“Four children: two girls and two boys.”

Akuro stared at the bracelet, heavy on her wrist. “Did you care about those men?”

All Ariadne could do was shrug. “I didn’t choose them.”

“I didn’t choose Poros either, but sometimes, after many years, a woman can grow to like a man she didn’t want. I know I could come to
like
Argurios. I just don’t think I have time.”

“I will tell you a secret, Akuro.” Ariadne leaned forward and, clasping the other woman’s hand, dropped her voice. “I couldn’t stand Taranos when I first met him. Argurios and Glaukos were polite. Even Ekhinos is polite. But Taranos seduced me the very first night we were together. Told me to wipe off my paint, and
then
told me he was going to fuck me the way a woman ought to be fucked.”

Akuro gasped. “You must have hated it!”

“I smacked his face for his presumption. So he grabbed my hands and pinned me down and took me until I forgot all about wanting to hit him.”

“So you liked him ever since?”

“Hardly!” Ariadne laughed. “He was just as rude the next time I saw him. We went walking along the edge of the Western Court. People exercise there in the morning, and you can stand there and look out over the fields and vineyards. We argued—about what, I don’t remember—then he just grabbed me and kissed me. Right there in front of everybody!”

“He’s a good man. Don’t let him know I said that, but he is,” Akuro insisted. “What will you do when he goes to sacrifice next spring?”

Until Akuro mentioned it, Ariadne realized she hadn’t thought about that in weeks. “I don’t know what will happen now. Taranos and I are no longer living at Knossos. Perhaps we will stay here.” Here she hesitated, for she truly didn’t know. “Or we might go across the sea to his family in Tiryns.”

Akuro gaped at her in open amazement. “But you’re the High Priestess and he’s the Sacred King. There’s always been a sacrifice in the spring.”

Ariadne recalled how Taranos planned to avoid that eventuality. “Things may change now that the Achaeans are here.”

“I don’t like the way they do things.”

Once again, she remembered Taranos’s lovemaking. “It isn’t all bad.”

Chapter Twelve

In her paint and jewels, in her rich turquoise garb with the purple bands, Ariadne looked every inch the High Priestess. As she, accompanied by a chaperone priestess, emerged from Akuro’s house, the women in the town square gaped in awe. Even the men, who had seen her dressed for ritual once before, touched their fingers to their foreheads in dumbstruck amazement.

Taranos wore his light blue tunic and sword; the only concession he made to his rank as Sacred King was a poppy crown topped by peacock feathers. His thunderous glower stifled any guffaws from onlookers. Only Ariadne knew his displeasure stemmed more from his uncle’s disregard than the humiliation of having to wear a headdress designed for a Cretan youth.

When Knossos had sent a messenger on the fourth day after the battle, Ariadne received the order to return in silence. Taranos, however, fumed at the missive his uncle dispatched along with the runner.

“
Uncle
Idomeneus,” he growled through clenched teeth, “says that I knew full well what I was doing when I became Sacred King. He isn’t going to interfere, except to have me taken back to Knossos by force if I refuse to go. Now that the priests have capitulated and acknowledged him as the new Minos, he isn’t going to do anything to antagonize them.”

“What did you ever do to offend the man?”

Taranos didn’t smile. “I’m beginning to wonder that myself.”

Ariadne regarded her own situation with similar pessimism. It was difficult not to when the priestess of Hera assigned to bring her clothing and remind her of her duties did so with such an icy air of disapproval. Onome soon alienated the women of Katsambas with her superior mannerisms, wearing out her welcome at Akuro’s hearth so quickly that Ariadne offered to move elsewhere just to keep the peace. Akuro wouldn’t hear of it.

Neither Onome nor the messenger mentioned Elaphos, and the omission left a cold void in the pit of Ariadne’s stomach. By now, they must know Taranos had killed him, just as they must know the role she had played. There would be recriminations.

When the time came to return to Knossos, Taranos took the chariot reins from his escort and insisted on driving. Ariadne lingered to say goodbye to the women. “I will send you a priestess from Knossos.” Casting a wary glance at Onome, she added, “She will be agreeable.”

Riding in a chariot alongside Duripi, Ariadne spent the journey studying the countryside. Where she expected to see bodies littering the fields and groves, she saw only people working. She didn’t even see sentries.

“Oh, they’re there,” said Duripi. “All over Knossos Town, and up and down the fields when they think there might be trouble. A few townsmen and guards were killed as an example to the rest, and a few well-to-do families were put out of their houses when the new Minos decided to reward his best men. It’s more of a mess than you know, High Priestess.”

Just a taste of what would come to Amnissos, Malia, Phaistos, and all the other towns and palaces throughout Crete. Ariadne focused her gaze ahead, and tried not to dwell on her great-grandmother in Archanes. Taranos wouldn’t be able to do anything.
I will go to Idomeneus myself
, she decided. “What will happen to the Minos’s wife and daughters?”

“They’re safe for now with the priestesses.” Duripi twitched the reins. “This Achaean king wants the daughters for his sons.”

A delegation led by Aktaios met them at the north entrance. Kitanetos was nowhere in sight.

Aktaios waited until Duripi helped Ariadne to the ground before speaking. “It is the judgment of Minos Idomeneus that you both be confined to the public spaces of the complex. You must be purified, and you must give account for yourselves in the matter of Poseidon’s most holy servant Elaphos.”

Most holy, indeed! Ariadne suppressed a snort.

Minos Idomeneus. Aktaios wasted no time siding with the new king. Ariadne wondered what Kitanetos’s response was, and whether his absence was in protest or due to something more sinister.

“I bear the blame for the priest’s death.” Taranos stepped down from his chariot. “The High Priestess carries no blood taint.”

Amid uneasy murmuring, Aktaios raised an eyebrow at this sudden, unsolicited admission. “Your statement has been heard and witnessed, Prince Taranos. However, we know you did not act alone in escaping. Therefore, you and the High Priestess will be kept in comfortable confinement in rooms above the Throne Room. Your case will be heard within a few days.”

Ariadne didn’t expect to share an apartment with Taranos. In their two rooms overlooking the Central Court, they were closely guarded but not forbidden to take exercise in the public spaces of Knossos. Ariadne had her loom and her spinning to occupy her; she couldn’t resume her ritual duties and couldn’t confer with her priestesses to ensure the rites were being conducted properly. Whereas Taranos spent much time exercising in the Western Court, Ariadne soon chafed at her confinement. She could have waited more easily in Katsambas.

Potinia waited until the third day to visit. Gazing up at Taranos, she twitched her nose—a sure sign of displeasure. “So you’re the Achaean.”

“And you’re the mother-in-law.”

Ariadne winced over her spinning. Potinia merely harrumphed. “My daughter is not your wife.”

To make matters worse, Taranos folded his arms across his chest and stared the woman down. Judging it time to ignore the posturing male, Potinia turned to Ariadne. “I haven’t forgotten you have yet to let me place the sacred serpent on your womb.”

Ariadne abruptly stopped the spindle whorl. “And I haven’t forgotten that I told you I won’t have the ritual.”

“What ritual?” asked Taranos.

Potinia ignored him. “A little fear now is nothing compared with the anguish you will feel should the child sit wrongly in your womb or be born too soon. The snakes have never made a mistake.”

At this, Taranos hesitated and glanced from one woman to another. “Is this true?”

Potinia narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t your Achaean priestesses know anything? Did you think your house snakes were good only for carrying messages to the gods? The Snake Goddess protects all mothers who look to her.”

A moment more, Ariadne knew, and Taranos would insist she suffer the ritual. “No matter what the snakes tell you, there’s nothing I as the High Priestess can do. I can’t end this pregnancy. It’s too late now. The result will be as the Great Mother and Eleuthia will. So no, Mother, I won’t have it forced on me.”

Aktaios appeared in the open doorway. “Snake Priestess,” he said, bowing stiffly toward Potinia. “You must excuse this interruption. There are matters which I must discuss with the High Priestess and Sacred King.”

“Remember, Ariadne, the Snake Goddess protects all mothers.” Potinia withdrew, leaving an uncomfortable pause in her wake.

Aktaios managed a sympathetic look. “I don’t much care for the serpents myself.” Then, clearing his throat, he was all business again. “I am here to inform you your matter will be judged tomorrow. As the new king wishes to hear the case, we have had to delay until he could be present.”

“Won’t that be awkward?” asked Taranos. “Idomeneus is my uncle.”

“A Minos defers to the judgment of the most senior priests and priestesses. This newcomer has already given his word to abide by Cretan tradition.”

Ariadne remembered the absent High Priest. “Where is Kitanetos?”

“You will see him tomorrow.”

“Then you haven’t deposed him?”

Perhaps deposed was too strong a word. Aktaios started in surprise. “High Priestess, why would you think such a thing? I have absolutely no desire to be High Priest. Kitanetos still governs here. He hasn’t come to visit you by choice, not because some imagined coup kept him away. Idomeneus doesn’t have the authority to interfere with what goes on here.”

Ariadne didn’t know what to think. “Is Kitanetos angry with me?”

“I would not say that, only that he has been deeply affected and troubled by recent events. When the servant went down into the storeroom to bring the Sacred King his breakfast and found Elaphos...” Aktaios acknowledged Taranos with a meaningful glance. “It had been several hours, and the mice had gotten to him. You can imagine how awful the scene was.”

Aktaios gave them a moment to picture precisely that. “No matter what sins Elaphos might have committed in life, his death was a grave affront to Poseidon. The gods must be placated, High Priestess, and when they are angry it often means we must make terrible sacrifices. Kitanetos is simply trying to prepare for what in all likelihood he will have to do.”

When Aktaios withdrew, it seemed he took every last shred of reassurance with him. Ariadne wrapped both arms around herself and sat down shivering, though it was late afternoon and the day’s warmth still suffused the sitting room. Within twenty-four hours it would be over. Death, or life—they would both know their fate.

“So this is it.”

Was that all Taranos could say? “I hate it that Kitanetos has to bear this burden. He isn’t to blame for any of it.”

“Whatever he does, he won’t harm you.” Taranos laid a hand on her shoulder. “As for me, I won’t hold anything against him. It might be easier, knowing I consent.”

Consent. That reminded her of something else. “Taranos, you shouldn’t have referred to Potinia as your mother-in-law. She isn’t. I haven’t consented to be your wife.”

Dumbfounded, he stared at her. “You’re carrying my child.”

“That doesn’t make me your wife.”

“I am the Sacred King.”

“Yes, you’re the year-consort, not my husband.” Telling him now tore at her heart so much she began to regret mentioning it at all. “You never asked me to be your wife.”

Now it was too late. She could have said something in Katsambas. For what little it was worth, just for a while, they could have been married in the traditional way. Now there could be no bride-gifts, no feasting. “Taranos, forget what I said. I meant only...”

When he knelt before her, the words stuck like honey in her throat. “Ariadne, you know that after tomorrow...”

“I’d rather not think about it.”

His hand touched her knee. “You once told me Kitanetos would send my son to Tiryns.”

Swallowing, fighting to hold back her tears, she nodded.

“Then hold him to his word. I will leave my sword here for him.” Taranos bent down, kissed her thigh through the summer weight wool. “Call him Akamas.”

“Taranos, they’re not going to...”

“You don’t know that. I only know they won’t harm you. Yes, you brought me my sword and set me free, but as my wife—if you will consent to be my wife—you did what any woman would do for her husband. You bear no guilt for what I did in my anger. Elaphos threatened you and our child. Priest or not, it was my right to kill him.”

“They will find you guilty.”

“Then you won’t see me again. They’ll take me directly to the Pillar Crypt and make me kneel before the altar, as they did when they let me stand for the honor of Sacred King, only this time when Kitanetos lowers the
labrys
he truly will cut off my...”

Ariadne clumsily pressed her fingers against his mouth. “Please
stop!
”

His lips moved against her fingers. Then, lifting his head, he grasped her wrist and turned it over to kiss her pulse. “Ariadne...”

Groaning, she cupped his chin in one hand and kissed him hard on the mouth so he wouldn’t talk anymore.

Still kissing, they stood. Taranos waited a heartbeat, then took her by the hand and led her into the bedchamber. Frustration and worry had smothered their desire until now, when fate left them no other choice.

Taranos loosened her clothing before shedding his. Ariadne lay down on the cool linens. Through the open shutters, she heard distant voices. It was the golden hour before sunset, a quiet, dreaming time. And now, lying here in this isolated room, she wanted to forget all that had taken place and all that was to come.