Prologue
Knossos Palace, Crete, in the time of King Minos:
A NIGHT BIRD HOOTED mournfully somewhere in the palace gardens. Hearing it, Cleate made the sign of warding. All knew that the cry of the screech owl foretold disaster. Though the night air was warm and filled with the scent of myrtle blossoms, flowers sacred to Aphrodite, Goddess of Passion and Beauty, Cleate shivered and clutched her cloak tighter about her bony shoulders. In vain had she importuned her mistress, the Thrice-Holy Pasiphae, Queen of Knossos, to forget the man that now waited on the shadowed path beneath the myrtle's boughs. What was he, after all, but the son of some barbarian prince of heathen Scythia, lacking even the courtesies of the lowliest Cretan laborer? Cleate snorted. She could not dispute Pasiphae's right to take lovers where she would; such was a queen's prerogative; for she, like the Earth Mother, could choose one consort or many to celebrate the gift of life with her.
In the past, Cleate had been willing, even eager, to arrange such meetings between the queen and a man who had caught her eye, as the current consort's health was failing and the queen had but one healthy girl-child to follow her as Priestess-Queen. One was not enough; Pasiphae needed yet another, in case some ill luck should befall little Ariadne. Cleate made the sign to ward against evil. Minos, Queen's consort and Priest-King, had only managed to give her two children, and one of them but a male, good only for war and mayhem.
But to seek to get an heir with a brute of a Scythian was beyond Cleate's comprehension. The man did not even know enough to eat with a fork and spoon, but used his fingers like Kippa, Ariadne's pet monkey. He was coarse and rude and grew hair on his face like a beast and his small, narrow eyes reminded the old woman of the bulls bred for the arena. True, he had shoulders to rival Hercules, but even at that Cleate could not see what attraction he held for her gentle, proud mistress. My Lady would have done better to mate with one of the white bulls of Poseidon that we use for the sacrifice than that filthy Scythian beast. No good can come of this. Whatever seed comes from that one's loins will be tainted and sick.
But Pasiphae would not heed her old waiting-woman's warnings. She was as lovesick as a girl just newly come to womanhood, that desires the first male to glance her way. The palace women said that the Sea God, Poseidon Earthshaker, had made the queen mad with desire as punishment for not giving him his proper respect along with the Earth Mother at the last harvest festival. Cleate thought it more likely that this mad passion was due to capricious Aphrodite, who delighted in meddling in the affairs of mortals and making them desire what normally would be distasteful.
The servant hurried up the marble steps, nearly stumbling in her haste, as there was little light; the moon was but a crescent sliver in the sky. The queen had conspired with Daedelus, the court artisan, to sneak the Scythian out of the Bull Court and to the queen's private garden. There was no real need for the deception, for not even Minos could forbid Pasiphae from taking a slave to her bed; perhaps, though, Pasiphae was secretly shamed by her desire and did not want to reveal her choice to the whole palace. Cleate could well see the sense in that. And Daedelus was close-mouthed for an Athenian and would not go blabbing all over Knossos like some fishmonger's wife.
Still, despite all of their careful planning, Cleate knew that the secret would not be kept for long. By tomorrow or the next day all in the city would know of the queen's visit to the garden and the lover she took under the myrtle bush. Nothing could be kept secret for long in the Little Palace, the very walls had ears and eyes to spy with.
Cleate entered the tiled hall leading to the queen's chambers; the guards on watch waved her soundlessly through the tall carved wooden doors. In the small anteroom just off the main chamber where the queen slept, Pasiphae waited, idly twirling a ball of flax in her hands. She wore a long dark cloak lined with the fur of a mountain cat about her tall frame, the hood drawn up to shadow her face; one look at her high cheekbones and sea-green eyes would give her identity away immediately, for the green eyes were the mark of royalty.
"Is all arranged?" the queen's mellow voice held only the faintest hint of impatience.
"He waits beneath the myrtle, Lady, as you bid." Cleate replied, trying not to let her distaste show.
Pasiphae knew her waiting-woman too well. She laughed softly and said, "Quit frowning so, Cleate! Tonight I shall make a daughter with Koris, a little princess for Crete. You do not think him capable I know, but this once, old nurse, you are mistaken. He is like no man I have ever seen, rough and wild and lusty. It is too bad he is a slave, what a King he would make!"
Cleate gasped in horror. To even think of such a brute as Priest-King was, why it was sacrilege!
The queen shook her head at her woman's horrified stare. "Come now, I was only teasing. I know full well that only those with the sacred lineage of Zeus Thunderer in their blood may reign as consort and King. Fine though he is, Koris is a Scythian through and through. Neither the gods nor the people would ever accept his rule; besides he does not have the temperament necessary to reign over such a diverse city as Knossos."
"They say that the temperament of the sire will stamp all his offspring, Lady. Are you sure it is wise to bring such wildness as you have spoken of into the Royal House?" Cleate attempted one last time to make her mistress see reason.
Pasiphae frowned in irritation. "The House of Minos grows thin and weak with age; we need new blood to strengthen it. A little wildness is not a bad thing, it shows health and strength, which she will need when it comes time to rule in my stead. Don't worry, such wildness as he has will be harnessed and tamed by the cool logic and patience of hundreds of my ancestors, who came to power long before the first Scythian fashioned a knife out of stone and learned to hunt like a man instead of a beast."
Cleate closed her mouth firmly and said nothing, but thought, That cannot have happened too long ago, the man is little better than a beast still.
The queen bent down and kissed the woman's forehead. "The Goddess has sent me to him. All will be well. From this night will come a child such as all the world has never seen."
Then, without so much as a whisper, the queen left to seek her lover.
Cleate felt a chill wind blow over her at Pasiphae's words. She says the Goddess sent him to her, but does she know which Goddess it is? For all of her wisdom and power, I think not.
The old woman removed her cloak and spread it to dry on the hearth. Then she busied herself stirring up the fire, for she still felt chilled. In the west wing, the rest of Pasiphae's maids slept on, unknowing of the dark destiny that was being woven this night. At last Cleate settled herself on a stool by the fire to await her lady's return.
Somewhere in the dark beyond the palace walls a screech owl hooted.
From this night shall come a child such as all the world has never seen.
Cleate shivered and thought My lady has spoken prophecy, but it is ill. No good shall come of this night. This child, whatever it is, will bring only fire and doom upon Crete until all is laid waste and Knossos is nothing but dust and ashes.
Nine months later the queen was delivered of a boy child. Upon seeing him, she turned her face to the wall and wept, for his face was hideously deformed. His upper lip was split and his nose flattened and his eyes were small and beady. Cleate threw up her hands in horror. "Why his face is like a beast's, all pushed in and flattened with those beady yellow eyes like a bull calf's. He even bleats like one!"
Indeed there was something strangely beast-like about the ugly child, whom Pasiphae named Asterion, meaning Star Bright, for all of her hopes had been with this child. But among the palace women and the people of Knossos he was known as Minotauros, Minos's Bull, for his bull-like features and in mockery of the King, who must accept this child into the royal house as his own; in Crete a child belonged to its mother and she alone had the right to cast it out or to raise it as she saw fit.
So the child remained, raised as a palace son; and he was wild and ungovernable with a ferocious temper, given to sudden fits of cruelty and rage where he would bellow and roar like the bull that was his namesake. In time everyone forgot that his birth name had been Asterion and he was known to all as Minotauros, the half-mad beast-like son of Minos.
Naxos
THE SUN SANK SLOWLY into the sea; sputtering and glowing like the last crimson ember of a dying fire. Rose and lavender tinted the sky, expertly drawn strokes of the master of all artists, nature. The sea was calm, serene, despite the froth trailing from the waves. The fading light turned the sea a brilliant cobalt, rendering the crystal clear waters opaque as a sheet of steel. The wind blew from the west, carrying the faint scent of roses and hyacinths. It curled lazily around the expanse of wind-ruffled sand to tantalize the nostrils of the woman who stood on the shore, looking into the ocean.
The sunset's beauty was familiar to the woman's brilliant green eyes, but she managed a small smile of delight. The laughing wind rumpled her hair, turning the carefully combed ebony locks into hopeless tangles. The woman paid no heed, for all her attention was fixed on the rising waves. In her face, noted by all for its extraordinary beauty, was a stillness so deep and so calm that one might have thought her carved from stone. Only the rapid rise and fall of her chest betrayed the fact that the calm was but a mask to hide the ever-growing excitement and longing inside her.
It was time. At long last, it was time. She knew it with every fiber of her body, every breath she took, every last pulsing beat of her heart. After five long years of waiting, of wondering, of hoping, of dreaming, it was time. Time to return to the one she had pledged both body and soul to. Her exile was ended and at long last the Fates would allow her to return to the one she loved. Loved with a passion beyond denying, beyond reason. Loved perhaps too much.
The years had not dimmed her passion; if anything it had grown stronger. She could only hope that time had done the same for him, allowing the bitterness and sting of betrayal to dim and fade. She could only hope that enough time had passed for him to forgive her.
Her slender, long-fingered hands clenched the smooth green fabric of her robe, the only outward sign of her inner turmoil. Once again her eyes sought the sea—the beautiful, ephemeral, turbulent sea that her love had so admired and worshiped. She had learned to appreciate the sea, though she was a worshiper of the Earth Mother, not Poseidon Sea Lord. Learned to love its ever-changing beauty, learned to adapt to the sudden changes in mood, serene one moment and raging the next. Yes, she had learned to appreciate the sea, even to love it. But she would never understand it, not as she understood the earth beneath her feet.
That was as it should be, since she was High Priestess of the Earth Mother in Crete, and in her Goddess's full favor. Her service to the Goddess had demanded she betray the one she loved, demanded that she leave him for a time, not for another, but in order to prevent his death.
Theseus, can you ever forgive me?
Once again she saw his face in her mind–the sun-bronzed, even features, the aristocratic nose, the teasing grin, the startling aqua eyes that had so enchanted her the first time she had seen them, as a child in a Vision in the courtyard fountain at Knossos palace. She remembered with searing clarity the way he would always brush away his blond hair from his face, with a negligent sweep of one broad hand.
His hands were gentle, so gentle. She remembered their touch, the way he had teased her with those hands, skimming them lightly over her shoulders and back, arousing her to a fever pitch of desire. She ached to be held by him again, longed once more to have his hands upon her body, entwined in her hair. They had made love upon this very beach, in the twilight hours beneath the full moon. Before the warning from the Goddess. The Vision that had told her that she must leave him, for only through that sacrifice would the gods allow him to regain his kingdom.
And so she had gone, slipping away like a thief, leaving him sleeping under the stars, sacrificing love for life, and shattering his trust in the process. But she had not been given a choice. It had been the will of the gods, and she had been pledged to their service since her birth.
He had searched for her, of course. Called and searched until his voice gave out, while she remained hidden from his sight in a small cave not far up the coast, hidden by the impenetrable cloak of Hermes, Lord of Shadows. "Ariadne!" he had called, his voice wrenched with anguish. "Ariadne, my love, where are you? Come back! Come back to me!"
Two tears trickled down her cheeks. She let them fall, uncaring. She had felt as if she had torn her heart out. No, she had torn out both of their hearts, and left them to lie bleeding upon the sand, one last sacrifice to the Fates. Sometimes she felt as if she could feel him still, feel his pain and hurt and bitterness. But she knew it was just a ghost of what they had once shared. His heart and mind were closed to her; they had been since the night she had broken the link between them.
Not once in all those years had she dared to rejoin their souls, to bring to life the bond they had once shared. That would have driven her mad, to feel his pain and grief as well as her own, and be helpless to assuage it. It had been part of her penance, to live without that bond, alone in her mind as she was in her heart, until the time would come when they could be together again.
If it was still possible. If he would still have her back.
Fresh anxiety gripped her tightly, making her shudder. Surely he would have forgiven her by now. He was King of Athens, and Protector of Crete as well. He had a very well-developed sense of compassion and mercy, even when he was a captive of the Bull Court. The responsibility of two kingdoms would have only increased those qualities. But she also knew that she had hurt his pride when she had left him, and the pride of a king was twice that of an ordinary mortal.
He would be furious when he saw her at first. But he had never been able to stay angry with her for long. Neither of them had. The years had been as long and lonely for her as they had for him. Somehow she must convince him of that. Preferably before he called for the headsman, she thought wryly. Which he might well do when he discovered the other thing she had kept from him. She doubted that the years had blunted his temper much.
No more so than they had her own.
He had a right to be angry, even bitter, but that did not mean she would let him walk all over her. She was, after all, the Queen of Knossos, and the High Priestess of Crete. She refused to grovel at his feet, like a common whore, begging his forgiveness. She had done what had to be done, what the Fates themselves had commanded. As had he.
We were the pawns of destiny, my love. As are all mortals, no matter their station. We were parted, but not forever. And now it is ended, at last. Now I am free to return to you, to come to Athens and be your queen and wife, as you had promised so long ago.
She felt her heart quicken at the mere thought of seeing him, feeling his strong arms about her waist, his lips upon hers, making them burn with passion more glorious than wine, hotter than the forge of Hephaestus. Oh, yes, she missed him. Missed his touch, his quiet laugh, the way his aqua eyes lit up when he saw her, the way he could make her want him with the merest glance, with the simple arching of one golden eyebrow.
Busy as her exile had been administrating to the temple of the Goddess here on Naxos, and raising their child, it had not been enough to sustain her through the tortuous hours of the night. She had spent many a night tossing and turning, her hands reaching out even in sleep for one who was hundreds of miles away. Many times she had ended the night weeping into her pillow, wishing the Fates had seen fit to kill her rather than allow her to suffer this crushing loneliness. There had been plenty of available young men who have been more than willing to end her longing, at least in one respect. But she had turned them away, for there was no comfort in their embrace.
There was only one man she wanted, one man who could touch the deepest part of her, one man who could comfort her. Theseus son of Aegeus, King of Athens, once a bull leaper of Crete, and the man destined to be her mate for all of eternity. The man she loved with all of her soul.
Soon she would board the small trading vessel Amphitrite, bound for Athens. Soon she would be sailing through the magnificent Aegean Sea and gazing upon the great granite cliffs that guarded the city of Athens. Soon she would face the man she had left lying on the beach so long ago and discover what remained of their love. But for now she was content to lose herself in the timeless swell of the ocean.
Ariadne, Priestess-Queen of Knossos, leaned back upon the sand, her hands tucked beneath her head, and listened to the gentle hush of the waves. She breathed in the heady perfume of the salt water, strangely mixed with the scent of hyacinths and roses.
Flowers and the sea. The two scents she remembered best from her childhood as princess of Crete. She breathed them in deeply and allowed her mind to travel backwards in time . . .
A/N: This is the beginning of a new retold myth from the legend of Ariadne and Theseus. Told mostly from Ariadne's POV, based loosely upon real customs of ancient Greece and Crete, hope you all enjoy it! Please leave a review, thanks! Will be rated M for some sexual content (not graphic).