Something caught my ear. I put up my hand for silence. Then I heard it, low and far down, the thing I had heard tell of: the great muffled bellow of the Earth Bull in his secret cave. Every sound else was hushed. Friends reached for each other’s hands. The earth settled, and the sound died slowly. My head felt better, and I could speak aloud.
“Wait!” I said. “While the god is here we will pray to him.”
I stretched my hand palm downward over the earth. “Earth-Shaker, Father of Bulls, you know us all. We are your children, your little calves who danced for you. You have heard our feet, you have tasted our blood in the dusty sand. We have taken the bull by the horns; we have leaped for you and not run away; we always gave you a show. Wrong has been done here, but we did not do it. We have lived in your hand. Hold us up now, when we have need.”
So I prayed; and those not in the secret thought I was asking him to spare us in the ring. But he knew my meaning. I felt my words sink deep, through the flags of the Bull Court, and the vaults below, down through the rubble of the ancient Labyrinths, through the virgin earth and the living rock, down to the sacred cavern where the dark lord stands in his bull shape, long-horned and curly-browed, with great eyes glowing red as embers in the night.
The House of the Ax fell quiet. In the Bull Court, people stood about looking at me and whispering; then the talk and the games began again, the ruffled cocks were matched, the bull-leapers swung themselves over the wooden bull. As for me, I took Aktor’s advice after all, and went to bed. I did not feel myself yet, and wanted to be let alone. Yet when I was there I did not like it; my pallet was uneasy to me and I wished to be on my feet. I got up and watched the next cockfight, and played Five Fingers with the Cranes. But my head ached, just as if the earthquake had not cleared it; my spirits were oppressed, and sudden sounds went through me, so that I wondered if I was going down with fever. I felt my wound, but it did not throb nor burn, and my brow was cool. I had not been sick since I was a child, and could not remember much of it. I thought, “Have I been poisoned?” But no dancer was served with food in the Bull Court; we took our own from the common dish. Neither my chest nor my belly pained me. My limbs did not shiver. Yet a kind of horror crawled on my skin, and my eyes saw thick darkness mixed with the light.
Supper came, and I played with a mutton bone; I did not want the other bull-leapers to see me off my food a whole day after a shaking in the ring. The Cretan servants cleared the food and brought the wine, and the dancers gossiped with them in the way of the Bull Court. I heard them with half an ear talking of that night’s festival; the spring moon was full, and the women would dance on Daidalos’ Maze by torchlight. But the darkness would not lift from me. I thought, “It is the shade of Minos, complaining of his wrong. I am the nearest thing he has to a son; he wants me to bury him, and set him free to cross the River. Be patient, poor King; I have not forgotten.”
The weak wine went round. People were laughing. I was angry with them, that they could be merry. In the high windows the sky was pink with torchlight; I heard the music of flutes and strings begin, and wished it away. The old steward, who had served the tables of the Bull Court fifty years, came for the wine jars; and Melantho asked him what the people were saying about Herakles’ death. I roused myself to listen.
He answered softly, “They don’t like it. They misliked it yesterday, and today they like it less. They’re saying he was doctored, to beat the book. They don’t name names, they know better; only yours, Theseus, for the man who saved their bets. But they’re saying today no good can come of it. They say the Earth Bull won’t stand still to have his tail twisted, not by the greatest in the land. Two shocks since it happened; no great harm done, but they take it for an omen. And now there’s the harbor.”
I jumped round on the bench, saying, “The harbor? What do you mean?”
“You should be keeping your bed,” he said, “by your looks tonight.”
“The harbor! What is it there?” I felt suddenly maddened; I could have shaken it out of him with my hands. And yet, something in me dreaded to hear.
“Gently, lad!” he said. “You’ve had a bone-shaking and no mistake. I can’t speak for my own eyes, but the runner from Amnisos says the sea’s sunk down to half a fathom there, and all the ships are aground. People are saying it’s a warning of bad luck.”
The Bull Court spun and went black. There was a winecup shoving at my mouth, and the old man’s voice saying, “It will do you good.” I was standing bolt upright, grasping the table. The honey-sweet taste of neat wine was on my lips; all round were staring faces, open eyes and mouths. I flung the cup away and heard it break on the flagstones. People caught at me, as if I needed holding up; I felt as light as fire. My skull seemed open and streaming with blue flames. I gasped for air, filled my chest wide with it, and let go. A cry like a wolf’s filled the echoing Bull Court, and the voice was mine.
Faces closed in on me, and hands and arms, which I fought away. My fist was up to hit again, when my eyes half cleared and I saw the eyes before me. It was Chryse with her scarred cheek, clinging to my shoulders. I dropped my arm, and heard the sound of my own panting, while some shred of sense in me thought by itself, “She has grown again. She is as tall as I.” Then I heard her saying, “Theseus! Speak to us. Tell us what it is. You know us, Theseus; we are the Cranes. We will not harm you. See, we are your people.”
I struggled with the frenzy, though I felt it must tear me in pieces. Somehow I must hold together; no one could save them now but I. I kept myself whole, though I shuddered all over, and it seemed my very soul would burst and be lost in darkness. And after such a struggle as made the fight with that other bull seem like children’s games, I grappled the madness, and felt that I could speak. But first I took Chryse’s hands and held them fast in mine; they seemed to link me to myself.
“Chryse,” I whispered, “call the Cranes.”
Voices shouted, “Look, we are here.” I kept hold of Chryse’s hands and my eyes on hers.
“A warning!” I said. But it came out like the croak of the dying, and they cried out, “What?”
“Hush!” said Chryse softly. “It is the god in him.” They waited, and I tried again.
“It is a warning. Great and terrible. It hangs like the shadow of a mountain; I have felt it through those others, it falls far ahead. Poseidon is coming in black anger, stamping on the cities, we have not seen such anger since we were born. Not yet. But soon. The god is coming. I feel him in the ground.”
There were voices somewhere gabbling; but Chryse’s hands of a bull-girl, steady and hard, were warm in mine and her voice said quietly, “Yes, Theseus. What shall we do?”
I had seemed to myself only a burning shell; yet at these words something within me thought. I said, “The house will fall. We must break out or die.” I blinked, and shook my head, trying to clear it. “Is Thalestris here?”
Beside me her deep boy’s voice said, “Here I am.” I said, “The arms; you must get the arms.”
She said, “Look, they are fetching the girls to bed. Most of us are shut in already. We are the last.” I could hear, now, the scolding voice of the priestess. “The doors are bolted outside,” Thalestris said. “How can we get back?”
I was giddy, but someone was holding me up. It was Amyntor, the good catcher, ready as in the ring. I said, “The fancy-boys; where are they?” I was past choosing words. Hippon and Iros said, “Here, Theseus. We know what to do.” I suppose they knew I would not have insulted them in my right mind. I said, “Leave the girls just time to arm. Have you something to give the guard? Thalestris, have the girls all ready to rush the doors. Waste no time; if anyone stops you, kill them out of hand. When you come we will fight our way out together. Hurry, hurry, the god is nearer.”