It would have been nothing from some place-seeker at Athens; but here it was good, as when they called out “Sing again!” at the valley farm. I answered, “Well, it seems that is for proving.”
As we neared the village, the beacon-smoke rose higher, and the sound of the horns; people were beating too on basins and pots and anything they could find of metal, as they do to ease their feelings when an alarm is on. At the chief’s steading, the top of the tower was full of craning women. Further on were shouts, and the bawling of cattle.
The chief met me at the gate. He had seen from afar I had few men with me; he was afraid I would strip him of his, lose them in battle, and leave him naked. I took none, but sent a horseman to scout. He came back, having been no further than the pasture. Two wounded men were there; the rest of the cow-wards had run away. The gate of the fold was broken and the Sun Herd gone; and the pirate band had turned towards their ships again. The boy had been right.
Time is short,” I said. “Have you two fresh horses?”
He gave me two, the only chariot-horses he had. I saw the riders would not keep up far with me; the great Thessalian breed were rare then in the southlands, and none of theirs would carry a man for long. But one could not sit doing nothing.
As we went down along the olive-slopes towards the plain, I saw the chief’s son running down a path and waving. “Sir, sir! I have seen them, I climbed the pine tree. Take me up, my lord, and I’ll show you where.”
“This is war now,” I said. “Have you your father’s leave?”
He swallowed, and said strongly, “Yes, my lord.” At his age I would have said the same. Seeing me pause, he said, “Someone must hold your horses, sir, while you are fighting.”
I laughed, and pulled him up. It is better to learn war early from friends, than late from enemies.
I drove on, and when the riders flagged, waved them back before their ponies foundered. Presently from an open place on the slope one could see the plain. The boy pointed.
On the curved shore of the bay were three long snake-headed pentekonters, riding as pirates do, close in with a stone anchor, which they cut to get quickly away. They had left a strong ship-guard. Pirates do not carry oarsmen who are not spearmen too, and about half their strength must have been there, some eighty men. The rest must have planned an inland foray, to need this care. Mostly they go for what they can see offshore.
The sound of bawling reached me. I drove to the next turn, and then I could see the raiders. They were driving the herd, like men who know how. While I watched there was a check; they clustered, heaving to and fro; then one went flying. It was the bull, living up to his forefathers. But the odds were against him; presently they got more halters on, and pricked him along with spears. Counting the horns, I saw they had taken only the Cretan stock, and the cream of that. They could be well away, before the footmen could catch them.
I shaded my eyes. There was a man apart, waving his arm, giving orders. His helmet gave off a flash of silver. “That’s Pirithoos,” I thought. “The man who is off to range the Hellene coastlands, boasting of how he pulled Theseus’ nose.”
I turned to the boy and said, “You can get down now. I am going after him.”
He cried, “Oh, my lord, no!”
“Why not?” I said. “A man must fight when he is challenged. I daresay the fellow hasn’t reckoned on my coming alone; but if he is a warrior and cares about his standing, he must meet me, not set on me with his band. If he is no gentleman, I am out of luck. But it only comes once to us.”
“But, sir!” he said. “I only meant don’t put me down.”
“This loses time,” I told him. “You have heard me. Out!”
“But I am your man now,” he said, grabbing at the rail and going red as if he would cry. “You took me for the horses. I have to go into battle with you, or lose my honor.”
“Well, you have a fair case there.” I had to admit it. “This is no way to go on, to make old bones. Very well, then, let us go with our fate. Hold tight.”
We clattered down the slope on to the flat plain. Then we could go. The light car hopped and bounced over the salty clods. The sun shone brightly. Marathon always has the feel of luck for me. The horsehoofs pounded; my arms rattled about me; my shield tugged in the wind and I slid it off for the boy to hold. He clutched it with one hand and held on with the other, drinking with open mouth the air-wash of our speed.
The pirates had turned to stare. They were big hairy men, with the bowlegs Lapiths have from getting off their mother’s back straight on to a horse’s. They pointed, shouting, at my team; I remembered they are famous horse-thieves, and thought it would be a comedown if they killed me just for these. Their words were half lost in hair; at sea they do not shave their upper lips like Hellenes, nor their cheeks, but let it grow down like bears before and behind. Some had it to their middles.
The herd milled about; the Lapiths hailed each other in their bastard speech, antique Hellene and pirate slang. With all the noise, the leader had not seen me; the herd was between. It was odds-on one of these ruffians would have me with a javelin first. Remembering the bull knew his own name, I yelled out, “Oinops!” and for a moment he stopped dead.
The bright-helmed leader came running; just in time, too; one of the pirates was an archer, and had an arrow fitted to his string. The chief shoved him toppling backwards, and beckoned his armor-bearer, who brought his spear and shield.
He was about four-and-twenty; taller than the rest, and barbered like a Hellene, with a black rakish short-clipped beard and the rest shaved clean. He had dark brows just like the wings of a hawk, with that upward curve at the outer tips; and his eyes were light green, almost golden: wild, bright and watchful as a leopard’s, only beasts do not laugh. He balanced his spear and called, in true Greek but with a broad up-country lilt to it, “Hoy, get back there. Who are you?”
His clothes were rich, but with something antique about them: great studs of worked bronze, a helmet of burnished silver, a lionskin cloak with the teeth and claws. Round his right arm a long blue snake was twisted, stained into the skin as the Thracians do it. But the Lapith kings have married often into Hellene houses; they know the right names of the gods, and the famous battle-lays, and the rules of war.
I called out, “I am Theseus, the man you have come to see.”
He grinned, and the corners of his brows shot higher. “Well met, King Theseus. Don’t you feel lonely, so far from home?”
“Why should I,” I said, “if I can find good company? I have come to fetch back my cattle. Leave them where they are. As you are strangers, I will remit the fine.”
The pirates bellowed, and started forward. But he barked at them, and they pulled up like well-trained hounds.
“Your bull knows you, it seems. Have you missed each other?” He added a joke so rustic that it shocked the boy. I could tell from his men’s laughter that they loved him dearly.
I said, “What are you, Pirithoos? A lord of men, or just a cattle-lifter? I have come to see.” And I reached for my shield.
“Call me a cattle-lifter,” he said, “who likes to pick and choose.” His bright open eyes were insolent as a cat’s are: without malice, and lazy, until it springs.
“Good,” I said. “That goes with what I heard of you. Well then, there is a matter of standing for us two to settle.” I gave the reins to the boy, who grasped them as if his life were in them. Then I leaped from the chariot with all my arms.
We stood there face to face. Now I had got what I wanted, I found myself thinking I had never seen a man I should be sorrier to kill.
He had paused too, idling on his spear. “You seem in love with trouble,” he said. “Well, you want it, I have got it to give. I will make dogs’ delight of you or any man who comes to me asking civilly. And what a squealing of women over your body! Oh, I have heard.”