He did not risk following the players and returned to the road. He decided that it would be better to seek hospitality from these people in their own homes.
For a distance of several stadia the road continued dead straight and then turned suddenly southwards, to the sea, and the trees along the verge gave way to dusty bushes. By the time Pandion reached the bend in the road his shadow had noticeably lengthened. He heard rustling noises in the bushes and stopped to listen. A bird, he could not say what kind, as the sun was in his eyes, flew up and again dived into the bushes. Pandion’s fears were allayed and he continued on his way, paying no further attention to the sounds. From a distance came the soft, melodious cooing of a wild dove. The call was answered by another two birds and then all was silent again. At the moment Pandion turned the bend in the road the cries of the dove were repeated very near him. The youth stood still, trying to get a glimpse of the bird. Suddenly he heard the beating of wings behind him and a pair of wood-pigeons sailed into the air. Pandion turned round and saw three men with heavy cudgels in their hands.
With deafening cries the three newcomers threw themselves on Pandion. In a second he had unsheathed his sword but received a blow on the head. Everything went dark, and he staggered from the weight of other men jumping on ‘him — another four men had appeared from the bushes behind him. Pandion was almost unconscious, but realized that he was lost. He defended himself desperately, but a blow on his arm caused him to drop his sword. The youth fell on his knees and threw the man who clung to him over his head; a second man fell from a blow of his fist while a third flew away with a groan from a kick of Pandion’s foot.
The attackers, apparently, had no intention of killing the stranger. They dropped their cudgels and again fell on Pandion. Under the weight of five bodies he fell face down in the dust that filled his mouth and nose and irritated his eyes. Panting from the strain Pandion rose on to all fours in an effort to throw off the attackers. They threw themselves under his feet and pressed his neck downwards. Again the bodies writhed in a heap on the ground raising clouds of dust that turned red in the sun’s rays. The attackers realized the unusual strength and endurance of the youth and ceased their shouts — the silence of the deserted road was broken only by the sounds of the struggle, the groans and hoarse breathing of the combatants. Their bodies were covered with dust, their clothing dirty and torn to shreds, but still the struggle went on.
Several times Pandion threw off his assailants and struggled to his feet, but again they fell on him, grasping him by the legs. Suddenly cries of victory rent the air: reinforcements had arrived and another four men joined the struggle. The youth’s arms and legs were bound with strong thongs. More dead than alive from exhaustion and despair, Pandion closed his eyes. His conquerors, speaking in lively tones in an unknown language, lay down in the shade beside him to rest after the strenuous struggle.
When they were rested they made signs to the youth to go with them. Pandion realized the uselessness of further resistance; he decided to reserve his strength for a more, opportune moment and nodded. They unbound his legs and Pandion, surrounded by his enemies, staggered along the road. Soon they came to a group of wretched houses built of undressed stone. The people came out of the houses to meet them — an old man with a bronze band on his head, some women and children. The old man went up to Pandion, looked him over approvingly, felt his muscles and said something to Pandion’s captors in merry tones. The youth was taken to a small house.
The door opened with a piercing shriek — inside there was a small furnace, an anvil with tools thrown down around it and a heap of charcoal. Two large, light wheels hung from the walls. An evil-looking old man of small stature, but with long arms, ordered one of Pandion’s escort to blow up the furnace while he took a metal hoop from a nail in the wall and went over to the captive. The smith struck Pandion roughly under the chin and began measuring the hoop for his neck; he muttered something in dissatisfaction and then went to the far corner of the smithy and with a loud rattle dragged out a metal chain; he put the end link of the chain in the fire — and set about bending the bronze hoop on the anvil, adjusting it to the required size by frequent blows of his hammer.
Only then did the youth realize the full extent of the disaster that had overtaken him. Images of all that was dear to him flashed through his mind one after another. Thessa was waiting there on his native shore, she believed in him, in his love and in his return. In a moment they would fasten the bronze slave’s collar on his neck and he would be riveted to a strong chain without any hope of early deliverance. He had counted the last days of his stay in Crete… Soon he would be able to set sail for the harbour of Calydon whence his fatal journey had begun.
“O Hyperion, my ancestor, and thou, O Aphrodite, send me death or deliverance,” whispered the youth in a low voice.
The smith calmly and methodically continued his work; he measured the hoop a second time, flattened out the ends, bent them over and made holes in them. He had only to rivet the chain to the collar. The old man grunted a brief order and Pandion was seized and told by signs to lie on the ground beside the anvil. The youth mustered all his strength for the last attempt at escape. Blood spattered from under the thongs that bound his elbows but Pandion forgot all pain when he felt his bonds weakening. In another second they had burst.. With his head he butted the chin of the man who was trying to make him lie down and the man fell to the ground. The youth knocked down two more of them and dashed off along the road. With howls of fury his enemies gave chase. The cries of the pursuers brought more men armed with spears, knives and swords; the number of the pursuers continued to grow.
Pandion turned off the road and, leaping over the bushes, made for the sea, his angrily screaming pursuers hot on his heels.
The bushes grew scantier and the ground rose in a short slope. Reaching the top Pandion halted — far below, under a wall of steep cliffs, lay the sea, sparkling in the sunlight. A red ship, sailing along slowly some ten stadia from the shore, could be clearly seen.
The youth ran along the edge of the cliff, trying to find a path leading downwards, but the vertical wall of the cliffs extended far in both directions. There was no way of escape, his pursuers were already clear of the bushes, extending as they ran into a long crescent in order to cut off Pandion on three sides. He looked towards his pursuers and then down at the cliff. “Death is before me and slavery behind,” was the thought that ran through his head. “Forgive me, Thessa, if you ever find out…” No further time was to be lost.
The rock on which Pandion was standing extended beyond the cliff face. Some twenty cubits below him there was another ledge on which a low pine-tree was growing.
Sweeping his beloved sea with a glance of farewell, the youth sprang into the thick branches of the lone tree. For a second the infuriated cries of his enemies reached his ears. Pandion crashed through the tree, breaking its branches and lacerating his body, flew past the rocky ledge on to the soft resilient ground of the lower slope. The youth rolled some twenty cubits farther down the slope and came to rest on a ledge damp from the spray that reached it at high tide. Stunned and still unaware that he had escaped, the youth rose to his knees. The pursuers above him were trying to hit him with stones and javelins. The sea splashed at his feet.