The Bull from the Sea (3 page)

Crete is a land of gold; it was not hard to get a hearing. One man stood up and said it was a great land to conquer, we should need allies in such a war. This was sense and I had an answer. But there was a stir at the outer door; a ripple ran along the guests, half fear, half expectation. A few changed secret smiles, like men who wait for a show.

There was a sound outside of a troop piling its arms. A man came in. It was he who had failed the feast; he had come, late, to the council.

His excuse was cool, mere insolence; I heard it in silence, while I studied him. I had never seen him till now. He came down seldom from his castle on Kithairon, where he preyed on the travellers of the Theban road. I had pictured him black-browed; but he was round, smooth and smiling.

I said, “You were missed, Prokrustes. But you come from rough country, and I daresay the ways were foul.”

He smiled. I told him the business shortly. My father had let him be for twenty years, sooner than risk a war with him. Every man here knew it. Since he came in not an eye was on me, and, I guessed, hardly an ear. It was plain they feared him more than me, and it chilled my heart.

While I was still talking, I heard a yelp from near his seat; my dog Aktis limped out, holding up a forepaw, and lay down by me trembling. I had seen nothing done. As I stroked the beast’s ears, the man smiled sleekly. And I thought of a sudden, “By Zeus! He is trying to frighten
me.”

All these fawning faces had cast a damp upon me. Now I was as warm as a man can need. I have seldom been so angry and sat still in a chair. But I kept it within, and waited.

This man and that had spoken, when he rose and took the speaker’s staff. You could tell he had been reared in a princely house. “I vote for war,” he said. “Men who will risk no battles will never leave to their sons a household rich in gold and home-born slaves.” He bowed about him as if this time-worn speech had been his own. No one dared smile. For myself, I was past joking.

“And so,” he said, “before we talk of ships and men, we ought to follow custom and choose a war-leader, seeing the King is under age.”

There was a hush full of hidden whispers. Not a man spoke up for me. A little while before, it would have weighed upon my soul. But that had lightened, as the spark does in the updraft of the fire.

“We have heard you, Prokrustes,” I said. “And now hear me. I am leading the ships to Crete, and these lords who sail with me will not be losers. For I know the Labyrinth, as well as you do the passes of Kithairon, you carrion jackal with your den of stinking bones.”

His smile had stiffened. He had really thought I would not defy him, in my own hall. He had come to smile at my shame. I wondered what my father could have swallowed from him, to bring things to this.

“You missed our feast,” I said. “A man who is host to many travellers should have hearth-friends everywhere. I hear your guest-room bed is such a masterpiece that no man will leave it, unless he is carried away. I must come and see it. Don’t put yourself out for me. You have given it up too long to strangers. When I visit you, by the head of Poseidon you shall lie on it yourself.”

He stood a moment staring, from face to face. But the Attic lords sat eased, as if their itch had been scratched for them. Suddenly someone gave a shrill laugh; then all joined in loudly, as men do who have been at stretch. The sound rose to the rafters.

He swelled like a snake full of poison, waiting to spit. His mouth opened; but I had had enough of him. “You came under my roof,” I said. “Get out and you can go alive. If you are here when I have told my ten fingers over, I will throw you off the Rock.”

He gave me one last hangman’s smile, and went. And none too soon. There were old javelins on the wall behind me, and I had feared I would forget myself.

So I had that war on my hands, before the great one. But it paid me well. The chiefs had long hated themselves for putting up with him; if I had given ground, they would have shifted off their hate to me.

As it was, most of them followed me. He knew I would be coming, but not so soon; he had not even burned the cover about his cliffside hold, when we stormed the walls. What we found in his guest-room would do no one good to hear, nor me to remember. We saw his famous bed, and in the prison guests who had lain on it, waiting their next turn. Some clasped our feet and prayed for a quick sword-thrust. Indeed it was the best thing left for them, so we bound their eyes if they still had any, and set them free. The rest, who could get about, begged another gift from us. They wanted their host, to return his kindness. We had got him bound, and by then I was feeling sick; so I left them together and closed the doors. After some hours he died, and they asked me if I would like to see the body; but I had heard enough as it was, and told them to drop it down the gorge. His sons had been thrown off the walls already. It was a stock to be rooted out.

So died Prokrustes, the last of the mountain bandits, the greatest and the worst. I had known, before he opened his mouth in council, that he would be a bad man to have with me in Crete, and a worse to leave behind in Attica. He was in my way, and had let me see it; it was foolish of him to make me angry as well. But he was a slave to his pleasures, such as they were; he did not know me, nor consider how much I had to gain by putting him down. As it was, he came like the vulture who brings a lucky omen. My barons were all behind me now, and ready to follow me overseas.

W
HILE MY FLEET WAS
getting ready news began to come in that Crete had a new Minos. I knew his name, Deukalion, and, from what I had heard, guessed him for a man of straw, put up by those lords whose strongholds had withstood the risings. But he came of the royal kin, and his army, scrambled up from masterless spearmen of fallen houses, had seized back the Labyrinth from the rebel serfs. Something like this had been sure to happen; but it meant there was no time to lose.

For all that, I did not go at it like a charging bull. I knew Cretans, and made my plans remembering their subtlety. What I had forgotten was their insolence. They sent me an envoy.

He came into my hall, his lovelocks sleeking his bare shoulders, his willow waist gold-belted. Before him black pages carried gifts of courtesy: a gold necklace with crystal pendants, painted vases of sweet oils, a rare rosebush in flower streaked with blood and amber. Nothing was said, this time, about a tribute of boys and girls from Attica.

As we went through the courtesies, I thought, “Have I seen you before, little peacock? Well, you will have seen me. You have smoothed your mouth with oil since you yelled at me from the ringside.” He met my eye unblinking, proclaimed his master, and asked for my allegiance. I did not laugh. To deal with Cretans like Hellene chiefs would be taking a boar-spear after foxes. They had made me live a year among them, when I should have been learning kingcraft. Instead I had learned the bull-dance, and their minds.

I asked where was Minos’ body (which they would not find) and the royal seal, which I had brought away myself though I did not say so. All I needed was a little time. I said, “Your ship is at Piraeus?” knowing he would have seen nothing there; to hide my plans I was mustering my ships at Troizen, across the gulf.

He answered smoothly, but with some eagerness below: “No, my lord, at Marathon. I beached out of the city, because I have another gift from my master still aboard, something more worthy of your fame. It would not do in the streets; it might scare the people. King Theseus, since the bull-dancers are scattered and the dance is over, my master has sent you as a gift of honor Podargos, King Bull of the sacred herd sprung from the Sun. He is yours; do as you think fit with him.”

“Podargos!” I could not keep my face from lighting. Every bull-dancer in the Labyrinth had known Big Snowy, that great white portent among the piebald herds of Crete. He had been the bull of the Dolphins, and as tricky as he was beautiful; the Dolphins were a short-lived team. He would give good sport, charge straight forward, was a fine bull for the leap; but when he killed, all we trained watchers would argue how he did it and not agree. If our team had had him, I doubt if I could have got them all safe home. But I had always had an itch to tackle him myself; and even now I quickened at his name.

I came back from my dream, to find the Cretan smiling. “A kingly gift,” I said. “But for a god, not a man. Such bulls are sacred; Apollo would be angry if I put him in my herd.”

“He would be troublesome,” said the Cretan, looking put out, “to carry again to Knossos.” I nearly laughed out loud. I could believe it. I would have liked to ask how they had got him here; but I was not a bull-boy any more.

“There is no need,” I said. “The Sun Herd is Apollo’s. We will give him back to the god.” In any case I could not take such a gift from a man I meant to make war on. This way would save my honor, though it would go to my heart to do it. At least I would mate him first with some of my cows. He was the last of the Bull Court; he would hand on a spark of that strange year’s life. The roar of the ring under the Cretan sun; it lingers long in the ear.

The Cretan bowed himself off. I sat remembering, then shook myself and took up my daily business. Later, I saw a runner come in from westward. I could see Amyntor, the captain of my Guard, tearing, himself, up the ramps like a man possessed. He was the best of the lads who had been with me in Crete; a little young for his place, but then so was I. He scratched at my door; then fell inside, and panted out as if we were still in the Bull Court, “Theseus! Theseus! Podargos has got loose!”

“Get your breath,” I said. “He will have to be caught, then.”

“He is running wild. Those Cretan ninnies let him go, and he is running amok in Marathon. Three men killed outright; four more and a woman dying. And a young child.”

“Old Snowy?” I said. “But he never was a rogue. He never charged before the Dolphins had played him.”

“He has had the sea-trip. And been played too for that matter, by the men of Marathon trying to catch him. Three horses he has had besides the people; and the mules and dogs, no one has counted.”

I cried out, “Dogs! The ignorant fools! Don’t they know what he is?”

“I doubt they do. We got used to these great beasts in Crete, but the home breed must look like calves beside them. They take him for a monster.”

“Why did they meddle, the stupid oafs, before they sent for me?”

“They have done meddling now and started praying. They say he’s been sent by Poseidon to destroy them; they call him the Bull from the Sea.”

The words rang like a gong. I stood there silent. Then I began to strip my clothes. When I was naked, I went to the chest where my bull-leaper’s things were laid away. The ornaments I did not trouble with, but strapped on the loin-piece of tooled and gilded hide. One gets used in the ring to playing about with death; but no one wants to be gelded.

Amyntor was talking. But the words in my ears were the words of old Mykale. I had known at my father’s bierside that she spoke with the Power. It had hung in my mind, a secret shadow; a waiting fate, moving to me slowly with its meeting stars. Now so soon it was here, while I had my strength and swiftness still, the fire of youth and my bull-boy’s strength of arm. Within the day I would be free of it or dead.

Amyntor grabbed my arm, then remembered and let go again. “Sir! Theseus! What are you doing? You can’t tackle him now, a bull that has been baited!”

“We shall see,” I said. I was rummaging the chest for my lucky piece, a crystal bull on a neck-chain; I had never been in the ring without it. I spat on it for luck, put it on, and shouted for my chamber-groom.

“Send a herald posthaste to Marathon. He must cry the people to let the bull be, to go indoors and stay there till I send them word. Have Thunderbolt saddled for me. I want a bull-net tied to the pommel, and the strongest bull-tether they use at the sacrifices. Make haste. And no guard, Amyntor. I shall go alone.”

The groom opened and shut his mouth, and went. Amyntor struck his hand upon his thigh, and cried out, “Holy Mother! Where is the sense? After a whole year in the ring, to throw your life away? I’ll swear the Cretans played for this! I swear they had orders to loose the bull! This is what they hoped for. They knew your pride.”

“I should be sorry,” I said, “to disappoint the Cretans, after a year in the ring. However, Amyntor, this is not the Bull Court. Do not shout in my ear.”

Nonetheless he followed me down all the stairs, begging to call out the Eleusinian Guard and kill the bull with spears. Maybe he could be killed that way, by those who were left at the end. But the god had not sent this fate to me, for me to meet it with the lives of other men.

In Athens word had got about. People stood on housetops to see me pass, and some tried to follow. I had my riders turn them back and stop at the gates themselves. So presently the road grew quiet; and when I came down into Marathon between the olive groves all blooming with green barley, there was no one; only a hoopoe calling in the silent noonday, and the gulls upon the shore.

There was a road between tall black cypresses, leading to the sea, and by it a little wineshop, such as peasants seek at evening when they unyoke their teams, a mulberry tree above the benches, hens scratching, a couple of goats and one young heifer; and a little house of daub-and-wattle, old and tottering, all drowsy in the quiet sun. Beyond was the flat sour sea-meadow, the long harsh plain between bay and mountains. The blue sea lapped on a beach piled high with wrack and driftwood; slow shadows of clouds, grape purple, swept the sunny mountains. A thin poor grass, with yellow coltsfoot, stretched from the shore to the olive trees. Among the flowers, like a great white block of quarried marble, stood the Cretan bull.

I hitched my horse to a cypress and went softly forward. It was Old Snowy, sure enough. I could even see the paint of the bull ring still upon his horns. The gilt stripes caught the sun, but the tips were dirty. It was turned noon, the hour of the bull-dance.

You could see he was on edge, if you knew bulls, by the way he looked about him as he grazed. Far off as I was, he saw me, and his forefoot raked the ground. I went off to think. There was no sense in stirring him up before I was ready.