III
WHILE 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.