My father had had his dues; now they closed the great bronze-bound doors and filled in the trench that led to them. His shade would have crossed the River now, to join the troops of the dead. Soon grass would clothe the barrow and goats would graze there. The young men trooped back from the river-meadow to bathe and dress, their voices lifted freely; the elders, who had not warmed their blood with contests and still felt the chill of death, clustered together. But soon there came from them too a cheerful buzz like that of grasshoppers in a fine autumn, when the frost seems far away.
I went to dress for the feast. It was a warm evening; the royal robes felt thick and smelled stale. I thought of Crete, where only old men and low ones cover up their bodies, and a prince goes nearly as naked as a god. Not to seem too foreign, I put on Hellene short-drawers of scarlet leather, and a thick belt studded with lapis; above it, only the royal necklace, and rings for the upper arm. So I was half king and half bull-leaper, and the outside matched the man within. It made me surer of myself.
The young men were all eyes. Since I was first a wrestler, I had clipped short the hair across my brows, so as not to be grabbed by the forelock; they had taken that up (the cut is still called a Theseus) and I saw this would be next. But my mind was on the guests, to see who was missing. It was time to count my enemies. I found that all the great lords were there but one; and he the strongest. He was a man I had heard much of. It was a heavy matter.
Next morning I called them all to the council chamber. For the first time I sat upon Erechtheus’ throne. Along the painted walls, on benches draped with fine patterned rugs, sat the lords of Attica. I tried to forget that many of them had sons older than I, and came to business quickly. Minos was dead; also his heir, the Minotauros; Crete was in turmoil with a score of masters, which is to say with none. This news will run like fire through the Achaean kingdoms. If we want to be lords of the Isles, and not some new Minos’ vassals, we must put to sea.”
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.