“But you will need a ship, provisioned, and oarsmen, too! What can I do in such a hopeless case?”
“Get me the key, Xenodice,” she said.
Was it only a few weeks ago that she sent me into the orchard to steal figs? Now, with the same assurance of my obedience, I was being sent to commit a treasonous act against my mother, my queen, and my country.
“But I may be caught!” I objected.
“That,” said Ariadne, “is why I want you to do it.”
“Oh, but Ariadne!”
Chapter Ten
In the Workshop
“I ONLY MEANT THAT DAEDALUS AND ICARUS ARE BOTH FOND of you, so if you are caught, they won’t tell our mother. Nobody notices what you do anyway. You’re always loitering around Daedalus’s workshop, talking to Icarus.”
“I am not!” I protested.
“Xenodice, listen. The servants still think of me as the heir, so they watch me day and night. If I tried to steal the key, I’d be caught. In fact,” she said, looking apprehensively toward the door, “it won’t be long before they come looking for me.”
“I thought you said that everybody already knew about Acalle,” I said.
“Oh, you know what I meant. The important people knew. Not the servants.”
She sounded impatient. Evidently believing that she had gained her point, she now wanted to move on to other matters. I, however, was not giving up so easily.
“It seems to me,” I argued, “that someone clever enough to get herself pregnant without the knowledge of vigilant watchers could certainly manage to steal a key.”
“That’s the problem.” she said. “They’re getting suspicious.” She got up, moved to the door, and peered out into the hallway. Satisfied, she came back and stood by the bed. “I nearly had to force wine down the throat of that stupid Salamis just now to keep her from following me.”
Salamis was the slave girl who waited on my sister.
“You got her drunk? How could you—?” I stared, aghast, imagining my sister forcibly pouring enough wine into Salamis to render her incapable.
“It was drugged, of course,” Ariadne said impatiently. “How else do you think I’ve been getting away? Ever since she caught me coming back to bed at dawn she simply will not leave me alone. I’ve been putting poppy juice in her wine every evening for weeks. Only, after a while it doesn’t seem to work as well.”
“No, I suppose not,” I said.
“You stay here for a bit after I leave,” she directed. “If they guess that I have gone to the trouble to drug Salamis in order to talk to you in private, they’ll start watching you, and that will ruin our plans.”
I followed her unhappily to the door. As she entered the hallway she paused and turned to look at me.
“Not a word to anyone, do you hear? If you open your mouth it will be your undoing, as well as mine and Theseus’s.”
She had gripped my injured wrist again, but I did not protest this time. The hall was shadowy; the lamps were unlit at this time of day. Her face looked different—older and haggard. I was seized with a sudden terror, not for myself but for her.
“Oh, Ariadne, are you entirely certain that you are doing the right thing? Reconsider, I beg of you!” I cried.
Was there ever anyone in the history of the world who changed a cherished course of action upon hearing such a plea? No one with Ariadne’s mind and spirit, at any rate.
“Don’t be such a goose.” To my amazement, she put her arm around me and kissed my cheek. “Oh, Xenodice, we are going to be so happy I He has promised to teach me how to interpret the winds, and he’s going to whittle me a reed pipe and show me how to play music on it. He knows everything; he can do everything! And he says“—her eyes softened—“he’ll give me a bear cub for my own, when next he kills a nursing mother.”
What a descent was this! Ariadne, whose chariot had so lately been drawn by winged cheetahs! Ariadne, proud daughter of a nation so rich in wisdom, the land of magicians, healers, and seers! To be dazzled by the promised gift of a bear cub and the tricks of any sailor or shepherd! It broke my heart.
Still, I could see that there was no persuading her, and I found myself much moved by her kiss and caress. I sighed and uttered promises of discretion.
“Do it quickly, Xenodice!” she said, releasing me. “Every moment that passes brings Acalle closer, and the day my mother regains her heir, Aegeus will lose his. I know it,” she said in response to my questioning glance, “because she told me so. That’s why she hasn’t had him put to death yet. It’s symbolic or something—I don’t know. But Acalle will be back soon, and then . . . Oh, Xenodice, you must hurry! Remember: the day of Theseus’s death will be the day of mine also.”
I frowned as she walked away. Did she love him so much that she would make an end to herself if she lost him?
If Icarus were to sink into the Underworld, I asked myself, would I seek to follow him? Perhaps—I could not say. But that was quite a different matter. My life had been intertwined with Icarus’s for so long that if I were suddenly torn from him it would be like losing a limb. Ariadne had known this man for only a few short weeks. Still, she had lain with him and believed herself to bear his child. That must make a difference.
Musing on these matters, I slowly made my way
