did not allow disobedience or disrespect from any of her children. As things were, I was too far away, sitting on the floor in a corner of the throne room nursing my damaged arm and playing quietly with Phaedra and baby Molus. The servants who normally cared for them were busy, preparing a feast to mark yesterday's arrival of the new Athenians. Ariadne paid my worried glances no heed.
"I said that you might be allowed to keep one of the Athenians if nothing further came up. Something further has come up. The last Athenian will go to Polyidus." Mother made an abrupt gesture of dismissal. "You may go now, daughter."
Stony-faced, Ariadne executed a sketchy salute that barely escaped insolence in its brevity. She turned and moved stiffly toward the door.
"By the bye, Ariadne," my mother said softly, "you are not my heir. Acalle is my oldest daughter."
Ariadne halted, as though a rock had struck her squarely between the shoulder blades.
I closed my eyes and prayed that my sister would keep silent and go.
Praise the Lady, my prayer was heard. Ariadne stood still for a long moment. Then she walked away without a word.
I regarded my mother with some surprise. She had not the look of a woman who believed her oldest daughter dead or beyond recall; she was smiling a little, unmindful of my eyes upon her.
But where could Acalle be? Had my mother recent tidings of her, that she smiled so? Why not then announce them? Perhaps she had known all along where Acalle was. What if Acalle were absent at her request and conniving? My mother had not wept a tear when this oldest, most precious daughter had disappeared.
"Speak no more about it. She is gone."
That is all she ever said on the subject, in my hearing at least, from that day to this. When one considered the many years of mourning and the vengeance exacted against the Athenians for the death of Androgeus, who was only a boy and could therefore never sit upon the throne, that fact was remarkable.
There were as many opinions on the subject as there were inhabitants of Knossos. Some said that Acalle, like many a royal heir, had grown querulous and discontented, tired of waiting for the day when she would be given some measure of real power, and had therefore been sent away to learn humility elsewhere. Some said she had died of a dreadful disease and been quietly buried. Others said that Acalle had fled south across the sea without her mother's consent.
For several months before she disappeared, the young king of Libya had been visiting Knossos to negotiate a trade agreement. All could see how my proud sister grew red and white by turns whenever he came near. Libya was a poor and desert land. Acalle would never have received permission to marry the ruler of Libya.
But why, if any of these things were true, would we not have heard after all these months?
I myself believed that our mother in her wisdom had discovered a spell aimed at her daughter and heir by some malignant magician and had therefore sent Acalle secretly away to a place of concealment until the spell was counteracted or the magician was discovered and destroyed.
But then, what would happen when Acalle returned? What a whirlwind that would bring!
I found myself hoping that Acalle was happily married, a queen in her husband's land, without designs on the throne of Kefti. I wished her well, but far away. She too was my sister, but, being so much older and the acknowleged heir, we had never been on terms of intimacy. It was Ariadnes happiness that most affected mine.
Ariadne would not be able to bear the loss of the throne. She had not the temper to accept having high estate snatched away from her. Even this loss of the Athenian slave was a bitter fruit she could not easily swallow.
The keeper of the granaries now entered with a complaint about the way the records were kept, and I decided to remove myself and the children. The need to understand proper accounting practices for all the great store of treasure and goods
"I said that you might be allowed to keep one of the Athenians if nothing further came up. Something further has come up. The last Athenian will go to Polyidus." Mother made an abrupt gesture of dismissal. "You may go now, daughter."
Stony-faced, Ariadne executed a sketchy salute that barely escaped insolence in its brevity. She turned and moved stiffly toward the door.
"By the bye, Ariadne," my mother said softly, "you are not my heir. Acalle is my oldest daughter."
Ariadne halted, as though a rock had struck her squarely between the shoulder blades.
I closed my eyes and prayed that my sister would keep silent and go.
Praise the Lady, my prayer was heard. Ariadne stood still for a long moment. Then she walked away without a word.
I regarded my mother with some surprise. She had not the look of a woman who believed her oldest daughter dead or beyond recall; she was smiling a little, unmindful of my eyes upon her.
But where could Acalle be? Had my mother recent tidings of her, that she smiled so? Why not then announce them? Perhaps she had known all along where Acalle was. What if Acalle were absent at her request and conniving? My mother had not wept a tear when this oldest, most precious daughter had disappeared.
"Speak no more about it. She is gone."
That is all she ever said on the subject, in my hearing at least, from that day to this. When one considered the many years of mourning and the vengeance exacted against the Athenians for the death of Androgeus, who was only a boy and could therefore never sit upon the throne, that fact was remarkable.
There were as many opinions on the subject as there were inhabitants of Knossos. Some said that Acalle, like many a royal heir, had grown querulous and discontented, tired of waiting for the day when she would be given some measure of real power, and had therefore been sent away to learn humility elsewhere. Some said she had died of a dreadful disease and been quietly buried. Others said that Acalle had fled south across the sea without her mother's consent.
For several months before she disappeared, the young king of Libya had been visiting Knossos to negotiate a trade agreement. All could see how my proud sister grew red and white by turns whenever he came near. Libya was a poor and desert land. Acalle would never have received permission to marry the ruler of Libya.
But why, if any of these things were true, would we not have heard after all these months?
I myself believed that our mother in her wisdom had discovered a spell aimed at her daughter and heir by some malignant magician and had therefore sent Acalle secretly away to a place of concealment until the spell was counteracted or the magician was discovered and destroyed.
But then, what would happen when Acalle returned? What a whirlwind that would bring!
I found myself hoping that Acalle was happily married, a queen in her husband's land, without designs on the throne of Kefti. I wished her well, but far away. She too was my sister, but, being so much older and the acknowleged heir, we had never been on terms of intimacy. It was Ariadnes happiness that most affected mine.
Ariadne would not be able to bear the loss of the throne. She had not the temper to accept having high estate snatched away from her. Even this loss of the Athenian slave was a bitter fruit she could not easily swallow.
The keeper of the granaries now entered with a complaint about the way the records were kept, and I decided to remove myself and the children. The need to understand proper accounting practices for all the great store of treasure and goods
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