Claiming Ariadne (5 page)

Toward evening, Erika came upstairs bearing a tray with hot tea and flat bread, the only food Ariadne could stomach. “The Sacred King asked about you.”

“I didn’t know he was here.”

“No, Kitanetos told him.”

The news must have spread throughout Knossos by midmorning, so every one of its three thousand residents now knew the High Priestess was with child. The Minos, in his little palace below the hill, would have been told. Tomorrow, Queen Dicte would probably come pay her respects at the Great Mother’s sanctuary, and everywhere little votive offerings would begin to appear, left by devout peasants who regarded their High Priestess’s increase as a special blessing.

“Taranos would like to see you,” continued Erika.

“I don’t want to see him.”

Erika clucked at her vehement refusal. “Isn’t that how it ever is with the father? Once a man gets us with child, we want nothing more to do with him. Why, if Aphrodite didn’t make sex feel so good, we’d never have anything to do with them at all, would we?”

At least with Erika, Ariadne could laugh a little and begin to feel better.

Just before dawn, her morning sickness returned. This time, the priestesses were up and ready to assist her, so that by midday she felt well enough to venture downstairs and make an offering of honey and wine at the courtyard shrine. Pemo sat with her in the sunshine to spin and sew. “The queen came this morning, you know.”

Pemo was a gossipy creature. Dicte, she said, had offered a necklace of fine golden rosettes to the Goddess in her tripartite shrine and sent a bangle of lentil-sized amethyst beads for the High Priestess, as she couldn’t venture into the private spaces of Knossos herself. “I think Erika has it for you. She’s presiding in the sanctuary today. Everyone’s been bringing little gifts for the altar. Some of the priestesses would have come by, but Erika said you weren’t feeling well.”

Ariadne took a little food that the woman pressed upon her and spun thread among the novices. Had she more energy, she would have worked at her loom. Once she felt well enough to resume her duties, she would have to answer invitations to visit the Minos in his small palace below Knossos and then appear in public everywhere from Archanes to the port of Amnissos. Traveling anywhere while pregnant made her uncomfortable because the last thing she wanted to do was vomit before worshippers. A High Priestess was supposed to be bountiful and radiant, not sick like an ordinary woman.

She wasn’t surprised to see Kitanetos in mid-afternoon. In full regalia, the High Priest of Poseidon waited at the courtyard entrance for the senior priestesses to admit him. Once they ascertained he was ritually pure enough to enter the female domain, he paid his formal respects and then flopped down on the bench beside Ariadne. “Mother Rea smiles on you. I’ve ordered a special sacrifice: a fine bull calf to keep you strong and give thanks for the Sacred King’s vigor. I will send the blood to anoint the horns of consecration in your sanctuary and send the liver to Taranos.”

“I imagine he will become even more insufferable now.”

Kitanetos frowned in bewilderment, then shrugged. “Taranos is a very proud man. It suits him. Taranos is a prince, he’s traveled widely and fought battles on his kinsmen’s behalf, and he’s old enough to appreciate what being a Sacred King means. There were six candidates this year. It may sound strange to you, but Taranos was the worthiest.”

“You’ve got to be joking. Were the others drooling imbeciles?”

“No, and I am serious. Taranos is descended from King Perseus of Mycenae, which means he’s also descended from Zeus. He has a god’s blood coursing through his veins,” Kitanetos answered. “I spent considerable time interviewing him. I listened to his war stories. He even had me try on his boar tusk helmet—yes, Ariadne, I looked ridiculous in it. I know you don’t think much of his posturing and brash ways, but that’s what Achaeans are like. In fact, he’s gentler than most.”

Each autumn, Ariadne sent her women to spy out the candidates. Unfortunately, the priests anticipated her and kept changing the venues. A High Priestess never saw the sacred challenger until the equinox.

No matter which man claimed her, it was an arranged marriage. “Is that supposed to console me?”

Kitanetos turned his headdress in his hands; his heavy
polos
hat was encrusted with pearls and silver rosettes. “I would like to see you happy with a consort.”

Ariadne bit her lower lip. Had Kitanetos been any other man, had he not been old enough to be her father, she could never have stomached having this conversation with him. “I suppose he thinks I’m carrying his son?”

“When I spoke to him earlier, I tried to explain this is a Goddess-child. Its sex will be as Mother Rea and Eleuthia decide. I’m not sure he quite understood.” Kitanetos regarded her solicitously. “Should you continue feeling ill like this, I will sacrifice a second bull calf and send you the liver. You need to keep up your strength.”

 
Ariadne let her grimace show. “The morning sickness will continue for three months. The wise women will tell you it’s normal for a mother. Besides, the liver would only turn my stomach.”

“Taranos insists we send you mulled wine and red meat.”

“I spend my mornings vomiting over a chamber pot, Kitanetos. I am not menstruating.”

“Yes, I know that.” For once, the normally calm priest stumbled over his composure. “I admit, Ariadne, these women’s matters are a mystery to me. No liver, then, but I’ll send you the wine and red meat after the birth. You’ll need it then. There is one thing, though…”

Not knowing whether or not she wished to know, Ariadne hitched her breath. “What is it?”

“When Taranos mentioned sending you meat and wine from his stores, I informed him that his monthly allotment had been sent on to his family at Tiryns. I won’t repeat what he said, as much of it isn’t fit to be heard, but he was quite angry at not being consulted. I warned him not to trouble you with the matter, but to see Aranare.”

Ariadne thanked him for his trouble, knowing even then how futile it was. Taranos would give her an earful when next he saw her, she was certain of that.

Kitanetos rearranged his hat on his head and got to his feet. “I won’t keep you. Karapaso might come later to register the queen’s gift to you. I trust you’ve received it?”

“Erika has it for me.”

He nodded. “I’ve already sent Karapaso a chit for the bull calf.”

In the shifting light of late afternoon, Ariadne resumed spinning. Since Kitanetos’s arrival, the wind had turned; it now blew south and wafted with it the smell of baking bread from the palace kitchens. She wondered how much she’d be able to eat tonight, or how bad the morning sickness would be tomorrow. Some days were worse than others.

When Taranos came, walking with long strides into the courtyard, he didn’t wait for the priestesses to admit him. Just like that, he was there. “You’re avoiding me, Ariadne.”

And he had to say it right in front of the novices, who gawked up at him like they had never seen a man before. “I am with child.”

Taranos scooped her up from the bench, spun her about in his arms, and kissed her full on the mouth. What nerve! None of the other Sacred Kings ever dared display such familiarity with her. Squeals erupted from the novices, even as the priestess Nopina aggressively hustled them all inside. “You!” shouted the woman, pointing at Taranos. “Out!”

Ariadne’s head reeled, and her stomach roiled, but she didn’t vomit. “Put me down. I feel terrible.”

Contrary to her wishes, Taranos maintained his hold on her. Over the top of her head, he bellowed at the retreating women, “You heard the High Priestess! She doesn’t feel well. Get her some wine—she’s far too pale—and put her to bed! No, never mind.” He carried her inside like one would a child. “Where do you sleep, Ariadne?”

Nopina, a stout, grim-faced woman, at once barred his path. “Men aren’t allowed—”

“Get out of my way, woman!”

Half a dozen quavering girls and young women fled wailing from the light-well into the refectory. A Sacred King’s mere presence could impregnate a woman. Virgin girls were especially vulnerable to his virility. Nopina held her ground a moment longer, then drew back. “Kitanetos will hear about this.” Ariadne imagined her wagging her finger.

Taranos ignored her.

“Upstairs,” Ariadne mumbled, “on the top floor.”

So he carried her up three flights of stairs, with Nopina and Pemo dogging his steps, and the timid novices once again clamoring and chattering at the bottom of the light-well. Oh, how they would insist on purifying the house once Taranos left!

In her little sleeping cubicle, he laid her down on the coverlet. Then, glaring back at the two priestesses, he demanded, “Where is the wine I told you to bring?”

“Priestesses do
not
fetch and carry,” Nopina answered haughtily.

“You will bring your High Priestess what I tell you to bring her, and quickly.”

“Please stop.” Ariadne clutched her aching head. Was Taranos this loud and oafish at home? “Pemo, go have one of the novices bring some wine and two cups.”

“Mistress—”

“Just do what the man says. His manners aren’t going to improve, and I can’t bear his shouting.”

Taranos grunted something unintelligible.

With scraping footfalls and muttered curses, the two women withdrew, leaving Ariadne alone with the father of her child. “You shouldn’t have come. You have no business here in a house full of virgin novices.”

“That’s nonsense.” Taranos sat down on the edge of the bed, his thigh crammed against hers. “I have a right to come.”

“As a Sacred King, with the proper rituals, yes. But not like this, entering my house, carrying me about like a bale of cloth and shouting at my priestesses. This isn’t Tiryns.”

“I am not wearing that ridiculous crown of lilies just to visit you. And tell your novices to stop squealing. I’m not about to rape them.”

Ariadne closed her eyes. Her thigh felt warm and snug where his body touched it. Had her head not hurt so, had they truly been alone, she might have been tempted. Oh, why did he have to be so difficult? “Don’t expect any cooperation from the priestesses. We’ll have to fumigate the entire house once you leave.”

 
“You make it sound like I broke wind or killed somebody in here.” Taranos snorted sourly at his own comment. “You should have invited me earlier. I would have gone through all that nonsense just to see you.”

Ariadne covered her face with one hand, as much to shield her emotions as to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Taranos, it’s too early. I just confirmed this for myself yesterday. No matter how many times I’ve done it, it doesn’t get any easier.”

“So you want me to go?”

Why did he have to sound so wounded, so forlorn, asking that question? “You should give me some warning before you come barreling into my courtyard like a warrior on a cattle raid. I’m not a prize to be carried off.”

“Yes, you are.” His hand fell on her shoulder, just above her left breast, just hard enough to exert pressure. “I ought to carry you off to Tiryns so you can be among women who know what they’re doing—”

“That’s absurd!” She tried to sit up, but couldn’t get past his restraining hand. “The priestesses of Eleuthia are the best midwives in Crete.”

Taranos continued despite her protests, ignoring them altogether. “I would be celebrated for abducting such a beautiful, high-ranking woman. You should be tended by my mother and sisters, who will love you. And you should be loaded down with gold and silver and many-colored beads, so you glitter when you walk—”

So he boasted about abducting her. For a moment, she believed he might actually try it someday. “Believe me, this child will be heavy enough without all those treasures. And I will not be walking. I will be waddling, with swollen ankles, an aching back, and belly fit to burst. I will be the ugliest woman you ever saw.”