The King Must Die: A Novel

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THE WAR IN ATTICA lasted nearly a month. It was the longest war since the time of Pandion my father’s father. As all men know, we scoured the Pallantids off the land. We took South Attica, pulled down their stronghold on Sounion Head, and raised the high altar to Poseidon there, which is seen from ships at sea. And we took the Silver Hill hard by it, with the slaves who worked the mine, and fifty great ingots of smelted silver. So the kingdom was doubled, and the plunder very rich. The men of Eleusis went home as well-found as the men of Athens, with cattle and women and weapons and everything we took. I had cause for pride in my father’s bounty. It was true, as Medea had said, that he had a name for being close-fisted; but he had always had the next war to think of. I can testify before anyone that he opened wide his hand to me.

We lived well that winter, for we had got in our crops before the war, and taken Pallas’ too. All the feasts were richly kept. When there was a festival in Athens, the Eleusinians came to see, and turn about; there were many hearth-friendships made, and many marriages. Because I had brought the kingdom safety and wealth, they thought in Eleusis that the Goddess favored me; and with my father’s counsel to help, I began to get things in order. Sometimes I went my own way, because I knew the people better. But I never told him so.

I spent a good deal of time with him in Athens, and listened when he gave judgment. It made me feel for him; for the Athenians were very quarrelsome. Time out of mind, the Citadel had never fallen; but the plain had been overrun in old days by all sorts of people, Shore Folk at one time and Hellenes at another, so that Attica was as mixed as Eleusis, yet had never blended. You got patches of people under chiefs like petty kings, who had not only their own customs, which was natural, but their own laws, so that neighbors could never agree on what was just. As you may suppose, blood-feuds were nearly as common as marriages, and no feast ever went by without someone being killed, that being a time when enemies waited for their man to show himself. When they had got themselves to the edge of a clan war, they might come at last to my father to judge between them, with a tale twenty years long. No wonder, I thought, his face was lined and his hand unsteady.

It seemed to me he would wear himself out before his time. I don’t know why, seeing he was a wise man and had kept the kingdom all those years; but I felt dangers threatened him everywhere, and that if any ill befell his life, the blame would be mine for not taking better care of him.

One evening, when he had come from the judgment hall dead tired, I said to him, “Father, all these people came to the land of their own will; they all own you as High King. Can’t they learn they are more Athenians than Phlyans and Acharnians and so on? I reckon the war lasted near twice as long as it should, because of their bickering.”

He said, “But they are fond of their customs. If I take any away, they will think their rivals are being favored, and then they will help my enemies. Attica is not Eleusis.”

“I know it, sir,” I said, and fell to thinking. I had gone up to his room to drink a posset by the fire. The white boarhound nudged my hand; he always begged for the lees to lick.

Presently I said, “Have you ever thought, sir, of calling all the men of good blood together? Some things they must all want: to hold their lands, keep order, get in their tithes. In council, they might agree on a few laws for their common good. The craftsmen too, they all want a fair price for their labor, not to be beaten down to what the hungriest man will take; the farmers must need some working rule about boundaries and straying stock, and the use of the high pastures. If these three estates would each agree on some laws for their own sort, it would draw them together and break the pull of the clans. Then, if chief disputed with chief, or craftsman with craftsman, they would come to Athens. And in time there would be one law.”

He shook his head. “No, no, there would be two causes of strife where there was one before,” and sighed, for he was weary. “It is well thought of, my son; but it is too much against custom.”

“Well, sir,” I said, “just now they are well shaken up, with all these new southlands joined to the kingdom. They might take it better now than ten years hence. In summer, there is the feast of the Goddess, whom they all worship under one name or another. We could have some victory games, and make a new custom of it, and they would come together for that. Thus you would have them ready.”

“No!” he said. “Let us have rejoicing for once instead of blood.” His voice had sharpened, and I reproached myself for troubling him when he was tired. Yet all the while there was a beating in my head, like a caged bird’s, which said to me, “A lucky time is being wasted, a great chance let go by; when my day comes, I shall have to pay for it.” But I said nothing of this to my father; for he had been good to me, and rewarded my men, and done me honor.

There was a girl in his household, a prize he got in the war, dark-haired and high-colored, with bright blue eyes. She had belonged to one of the sons of Pallas, in the house at Sounion. Seeing her among the captives, I had had half a mind to her, and had meant to pick her out when the spoil was shared. I had never thought of my father choosing a woman. He saw this girl and chose her before anything else. Now Medea had gone, there was no one about him fit for a king’s bed; but when it happened, being young and foolish I was surprised, and even somewhat shocked, as if I could have expected him to choose a woman of fifty. Of course I put such thoughts aside. I had my Isthmus girl Philona, a good enough girl and indeed worth ten of the other, who proved a baggage, always with one eye for a man. I did not care to warn my father. One day, I remember, on the terrace, she came hurrying out of a side door and ran right into me. She begged my pardon; and leaned so hard on me that she might as well have been naked. Her shamelessness filled me with anger. I threw her off (she would have fallen, if she had not struck the wall) then dragged her to the parapet, and held her half over. “Look well, Bitch-Eyes,” I said. “That’s where you’ll go, if I ever catch you playing my father false, or doing him harm.” She crept away frightened, and was more modest after. So I had no need to trouble my father with it.

Between Athens and Eleusis, and riding about Attica to bring order after the war, winter passed and the snow-streams ran down the mountains. In the wet banks you could smell violets hidden. Young deer came after the green crops; when I went hunting them, I urged my father to come too, and get the good air; he never went out enough. We were on the foot slopes of Lykabettos, and had ridden up through the pines to where it gets stony, when his horse stumbled, and threw him on a rock. A clod of a huntsman had set up a net there, and gone away and left it. Up he ran excusing himself, as if he had cracked a kitchen pot, instead of nearly killing the King. I got up from helping my father, who was badly bruised, and knocked three or four teeth down the fool’s throat, to make him remember. I told him he had got off lightly.

One day my father said to me, “Soon ships will be taking the sea again, and women can make journeys. What if I send for your mother? She will like to see you; and it would be good to look on her face again.”

I saw him watch how I took it; and guessed he was not speaking all his thought, because he was a careful man. He had it in mind to make her Queen of Athens; and for my sake, too; for she had been younger than I when last he saw her. “For sure,” I thought, “when he sets eyes on her, he will want to take her to bed again. Except when she is sick or tired, her skin is like a girl’s still, and she has not one gray hair. And this is what I have so long wished for, to see her honored in my father’s house.” I remembered how when I was a child I had looked at her in her bath, or wearing her jewels, and thought that only a god was worthy to embrace her.

I said, “She could not leave till the House Snake wakes with his new skin, and she has made the spring sacrifice and received the offerings. She has a great deal of business then. After that she will come.” So he put off sending, because it was too early.

I remember a fright my father gave me about this time. There is a corner of the upper terrace straight over the rock-face. When you look down, the houses below are as small as if children had pinched them out of clay, and the dogs sunning on the roofs no bigger than beetles. There is a prospect over half the kingdom, right out to the mountains. One day I saw my father leaning there, and right beside him a great crack in the stone balustrade. It shocked me so much that I stopped breathing. Then I ran and pulled him back. He looked at me startled, for he had not seen me coming; when I showed him his danger, he made light of it, and said the crack had been always there. So I sent for the mason myself to mend it, in case he forgot. Even afterwards, to see him stand there made me uneasy.

My father liked to have me often in Athens, to sit with him in Hall or go among the people. I had nothing against it, except that it took me from Eleusis, where I could do things my own way. In Athens I looked on, and sometimes saw people I doubted put too high, or people put too low who were able for more, or things done with trouble that might have been made easy. My father had had too many cares to see to it, and now had grown used to things as they were. If I said anything he would smile, and say that young men would always build the walls of Babylon in a day.

There was a woman in the Palace, who had belonged to his father before he was born. She was more than eighty years old, and did not work much, but used to blend the bath-scent and the oil, and dry the sweet herbs. Once, when I was in the bath, she came by and pulled a lock of my hair, and said, “Come back, lad. Where have you flown off to?” She was allowed her liberties because she was so old; I smiled and said, “To Eleusis.” “And what does Athens lack, then?” “Athens?” I said. “Why, nothing.” My father had given me two fine rooms, and had the walls new painted with mounted warriors, and with some very good lions, which I liked so well I have kept them to this day. “Athens lacks nothing,” I said. “But there is work in Eleusis I ought to be at now.”

She picked up my hand from the side of the bath, and turned it palm upward. “A meddling hand. Always doing, never letting be. Wait, Shepherd of the People, wait on the gods; they will send it work enough. Have patience with your father. He has waited long to say, ‘Here is my son’; now he wants to live thirty years in one. Bear with him, lad; you are the one with time before you.

I snatched back my hand into the bath. “What do you mean, old scritch-owl? He has thirty years to go, before he is as old as you are; and you look good for another ten. Why, before the god sends for him, I myself may be as old as he is now. Are you ill-wishing him, or what?” Then I was sorry, and said, “No, but you should not talk carelessly, even though you mean no harm.”

She peered at me under her gray wrinkled lids. “Be at peace, Shepherd of Athens. You are dear to the gods. The gods will save you.”

“Me?” I said staring. But she had shuffled off. She was the oldest woman in the Palace, and her wits were failing.

Spring came on; there were pale green buds on the black vinestocks, and the cuckoo called. And my father said to me, “My son, about this time of year you must have been born.”

I said, “Yes, in the fourth month’s second quarter. My mother said so.”

He struck his fist into his hand. “Why, what have we been about? I must make a feast for you. Your mother should be here! Now we can’t wait for her; all Athens knows when I passed through Troizen, and if this is not your birth-month, you are not my son. Well, well, it is not strange I forgot. You grew into a man ahead of your years, and I have missed your boyhood. It will be your victory feast as well.”

I thought of my mother, and what was due to her. Presently I said, “We could sacrifice on the day, and send for her to Troizen, and make the feast later.” But he shook his head, saying, “It will not do. No, it would be coming on tribute-time, and the people would not like rejoicing then.” What with the war, and all that had happened since I came to Athens, it did not come to my mind what tax he meant, and thinking about my mother I forgot to ask him.

When the day came, I was early up, but he had risen earlier. The priest of Apollo trimmed my hair, and shaved the down from my cheeks and chin. I had more to dedicate than I thought; it had not showed much, being fine and fair.

My father smiled, and said he had something to show me, and led me to the stables. The grooms flung wide the doors. Within was a new chariot, of dark polished cypress-wood, with ivory inlays and silver-bound wheels, a craftsman’s masterpiece. Laughing, he bade me look well at the axle-pin; I should not find wax this time.

It was a gift beyond my dearest wish. I thanked him on one knee, putting his hand to my brow; but he said, “Why this haste, before you have seen the horses?”

They were matched blacks, with white-blazed foreheads; strong and glossy, sons of the north wind. My father said, “Aha, we slipped them up here, as neat as Hermes the Trickster lifting Apollo’s steers. The chariot while you were in Eleusis; and the horses this very morning, while you still slept.”

He rubbed his hands together. I was touched at his taking all this care to surprise me, as if I had been a child. “We must take them out,” I said. “Father, finish your business early, and I will be your charioteer.” We agreed that after the rites, we would drive to Paionia below Hymettos.

There was a big crowd waiting on the slopes around the shrine of Apollo. As well as the chief people of Athens, those of Eleusis had been bidden to the festival, and all the Companions. While the priest was studying the victim’s entrails, and taking a long time about it, I heard a buzz among the Athenians, as if some news were being passed along; and it was like a dark cloud crossing the sun. I am a man who likes to know what goes on around me; but I could not leave my place to question anyone, and we went on to the sacrifice of Poseidon and the Mother, at the household shrine. Afterwards I looked for my father, but he had gone off somewhere; to finish his business, I supposed, as we had planned.

I changed my clothes for a driver’s tunic and tooled leather greaves, and tied back my hair; then I went out to my horses, and gave them some salt, and made much of them, to let them know their master. I heard some bustle and stir in the Palace beyond, but it was to be looked for on a feast day. There was a young groom, a graceful lad, polishing harness; someone called him to come, and he put down his rag and beeswax, and went off with a face of fear. I wondered what he had done that had found him out, and thought no more of it.

From the horses I went to the chariot, and looked at the inlay-work of dolphins and doves, and felt the balance; till even these pleasures I had had my fill of, and could not help thinking, “How slow old men are! By now I could have done it all three times over.” I called a groom, and told him to take the chariot down the ramp; as for the horses, I could not bear to let them out of my sight. It seemed to me he looked at me strangely as he went; I shrugged it off, yet began to feel uneasy.

I waited and waited, till the horses grew restive, and I resolved to go and see what kept my father. Just then he came up, alone. He had not even changed his clothes; I could have sworn he had forgotten why I was waiting. He blinked and said, “I am sorry, my son; that must be for tomorrow.”

I answered that I was sorry to lose his company, which was true, though I thought too that now I could race the horses. Then I looked at his face again. “What is it, Father? You have had news, and bad news too.”

“It is nothing,” he said. “But business keeps me. Take out your horses, boy. But have them brought round below the postern, and go down yourself by the stair. I don’t wish you to cross the market place.”

I stared at him frowning, and said, “Why not?” It was in my mind that I had just fought a war for him; and this was my feast of manhood.

He straightened his neck, and answered sharply, “Sometimes you must obey without asking reasons.”

I tried not to be angry. He was King, and his counsel was his own to keep. But something of moment was going on; it drove me mad to be in ignorance; besides, being young and cocksure I thought he would bungle it without me. “And I shall pay for it,” I thought, “when my day comes, if I live so long.”

I felt anger take hold of me, and put myself in mind of my duty and his goodness, and closed my teeth and hands. I found I was shaking all over, and even sweating, like a horse that is both reined and spurred.

“You should trust me,” he said fretfully, “to have your good in mind.”

I swallowed, and said slowly, “It seems we have counted wrong, sir. I am not a man today, but still a child.”

“Do not be angry, Theseus.” There was even pleading in his voice. I thought, “I must do as he says; he has loaded me down with kindness; he is my father, he is King and priest; thrice sacred to Ever-Living Zeus.” And then I thought, “He has not strength to face out even me; what work does he mean to put that shaking hand to?” But I felt myself shaking worse than he. I was afraid of myself, and of I knew not what, as if some dark shape hovered between me and the sun.

While I stood silent, a man came out from the Palace; one of the House Barons, a dull slow fellow. “King Aigeus,” he said, “I have looked for you everywhere. The boys and girls are all ready in the market place; and the Cretan captain is saying that if you do not come, he won’t wait for the lottery, but will choose fourteen for himself.”

My father drew in a harsh breath and said softly, “Get out, you fool.” He stared and went. We were left looking at one another.

Presently I said, “Father, I’m sorry I was hasty, when you’ve trouble enough. But why in the world did you not tell me this?” He did not answer, but passed his hand across his brows. I said, “To run off down the postern, and slip away; what kind of fool would that make of me? Thunder of Zeus! I am Lord of Eleusis. Even Cretan insolence won’t reach to carrying off a king. Why should I hide myself? I ought to be down there now, in my old clothes, showing the people I don’t feast while they are mourning. And, besides, I must send my Companions home. It is not seemly to have them walking about while Athenian boys are taken; such things make ill-feeling. Where is the herald? I want them called in.”

Still he stood silent. My skin crept, like a dog’s before a storm. “Yes?” I said. “What is it?”

He answered at last, “You cannot call them now. The Cretans came early: they were rounded up with the rest.”

I took a step forward and said, “What?”

I had spoken louder than I meant. The horses were startled; I motioned the groom to take them away. “Father,” I said at last, “was this well done? I am answerable for them to my people.” Trying not to shout, I was almost whispering; I could not trust myself. I said, “How dared you keep this from me?”

“You are too hot,” he said, “to meet the Cretans in anger.” I saw he was close to tears; it put me nearly beside myself. “There was a brawl here once before, and one of their princes was killed. This tribute is the fine for it. Next time, they would send a hundred ships and lay waste the land. What could I do? What could I do?

This sobered me. I felt he had judged me justly. “Very well, Father, I will take care not to make trouble. But I must go at once and get my men away. What are they thinking of me, all this while?”

He shook his head. “King Minos hears everything. He knows the kingdoms are joined now. I don’t think he will forgo his claim.”

“But,” I said, grasping my dagger hilt and trying to be steady, “I swore to them they should not join Athens to their loss.”

He stood in thought, rubbing his chin. “If the lot should happen to fall on a man of yours, you would have a good case for having your own tribute remitted. Sometimes, Theseus, it is expedient one man should perish for the sake of the people.”

I lifted my hand to my head. My ears were ringing. He went on, “They are only Minyans, not Hellenes, when all is said.”

The ringing dinned in my ears, rising and falling. I shouted, “Minyan, Hellene, what does it matter? I have vowed to stand for them to the god. What does this make me? What am I?”

He said something; that I was his son, and Shepherd of Athens. I could just hear him, like a voice beyond a wall. I pressed my clenched fist against my brow. “Father!” I said. “What shall I do?” But once the words were out of my mouth, I knew it was not to him that I had spoken. Presently my head quieted a little, and then I could hear him, asking if I was sick.

“No, sir,” I said. “I am better; I see what I must do, to save my honor. If they will not free my people, I must take the luck of the draw myself, just like the others.”

“You?” he said, opening his mouth and eyes. “Are you mad, boy?” Then his face closed up again, and he stroked his beard. “Well, well,” he said at last, “you were right when you went back to Eleusis. You have a feeling for such things. It will make the people patient, if you stand among them. Yes, after all, it is a good thought.”

I was glad to see him calm again. I put my hand on his arm. “Don’t be anxious, Father. The god won’t take me if it is not my fate. I’ll change these clothes and come back.” I went off running, and flung on the first thing that came to hand, a hunting-suit of undyed doeskin with green tassels down the sides of the thighs. I hardly looked at it then; but I got to know it later. My father was where I had left him; a chamberlain he had been giving orders to was hurrying off.

From the North Terrace one could see down to the market place. It had been cleared of its stock pens and stalls for the festival. The boys and girls were standing on the north side, where the altar is to All the Gods. As we went down, we heard the wailing.

By the time we got there, the Cretans had been over them. The tall ones and the fat ones, the sick and halt and lackwit, had been let go; the little quick ones, the strong and slim, remained; youths on the right and maidens on the left. Or so it had begun; but some had run together in the middle, and you could tell, from the way they stood, which had been openly betrothed and which had kept their secret till today. Many of the girls were almost children. Only virgins could be bull-dancers; there was a rush of weddings before tribute-time. The Cretans always brought a priestess with them, to settle arguments.

A good third of my Companions were there among the boys. As I came nearer, they waved their hands. I saw they looked to be free at once, now I was here. I waved back, as if I thought so too. Then I felt eyes in my back, and saw the Athenians looking at me. I knew what they were thinking, as they saw me walking free at my father’s side. Penned up for the lottery I could see boys not sixteen years old, the same height as I. I remembered my grandfather telling me I was just the build for it. My heart felt sick with it all, sick and angry. I turned to the Cretans.

At the first sight of them I started; for they were black. I had forgotten Minos’ foreign levies. They had on leopardskin kilts and helmets made of horses’ scalps, with the manes and ears. Their shields were black and white, from some striped beast unknown to me. Their glossy shoulders gleamed in the sun, and they rolled up their eyes to look at the Citadel, showing the whites. Otherwise they were quite still, as I had never seen troops still before, shields and javelins all in line, one body with a hundred heads. In front was the Captain, the only Cretan there.

My notion of Cretans I had got from those who came to Troizen. I should have guessed that those were merchants, aping the airs of Knossos Palace where no one knew the difference. Here stood the pattern; and I saw the copies had been poor.

This one too looked girlish at first glance. He was dressed for parade, bareheaded; a pretty black boy held his helmet and shield. His dark hair, rippling and sleek like a woman’s, fell to his waist behind, and his face was shaved so smooth it took time to see he was near thirty. His only garments were a thick rolled belt round his slim middle, and a loin-guard of gilded bronze. Round his neck was a deep collar of gold and crystal beads. All this I saw before he deigned to look at me; this and the way he stood; like a painting done on a wall of a princely victor, whom words do not touch, nor time and change, nor tears, nor anger; but he will stand so in his ease and pride, uncaring, till war or earthquake shakes down the wall.

I went over, and he looked up at me under his long black lashes. He was about two thumbs shorter, and let me see clearly that this was the proper height for a gentleman. Before I had opened my mouth, he said, “I am sorry, but unless you have exemption in writing, I can do nothing at all.”

Feeling myself get angry, I kept my father’s words in mind, and said quietly, “It is no such matter. I am Theseus, King of Eleusis.” He said, “I must beg your pardon,” with cool civility and no pretense of shame. “You have over there,” I said to him, “a dozen young men of my bodyguard, all those who are still beardless. They are guests in Athens. You will have to wait, while I fetch them out.”

He raised his brows. “I am instructed that Eleusis is in vassalage to Athens now; a feoff of the King’s heir, whom, I take it, I have the honor to speak with.” It was like talking to a man of polished bronze.

“I am no one’s vassal,” I said. “Eleusis is my kingdom. I killed the last King according to custom.” He lifted his brows into his curled hair. “And,” I said, “our tribute, paid two-yearly, is corn, so much, and so much wine.” I have a good memory for such things.

“Well,” he said in his light hard voice, “if you had applied in writing to the Treasury, it might have been looked into. I am not an assessor; I collect where I am told. Kings, after all, are a good many in these parts. In Crete we have only one.”

My hands itched to pick him up and break him across my knee. But I remembered the people. He saw I was angry, and said without any heat, “Believe me, Prince, this lottery is no choice of mine. It is an inconvenience I put up with. I consider the customs of the place, wherever I can. In Corinth, when I come into port I find the boys and girls ready on the quayside. It saves me time and trouble, as you may suppose.”

“No doubt,” I said. “Whereas in Athens you must wait while justice is done, and the people witness it.”

“Yes, yes; that is understood. Clearly, then, I cannot consider what you ask. See for yourself how it will look, if you go about picking out this lad and that. The people will suppose that at your age you will hardly act without your father’s knowledge; that the sons of his friends are being begged off, or perhaps some youth dear to yourself. Then we shall have trouble. I am putting up with all this delay; but a riot I cannot do with. Believe me, I know something of these things.”

I kept my hands off him, and even my voice down. I only said, “You have not been half a day here. Are you telling me what the people think?”

“No offense,” he said lightly. “I am telling you what I know. You, or your father rather, chose this custom. Well, I consent to it, cumbrous as it is; but I will see it carried out. That is my last word, I am afraid. Where are you going?”

His voice had changed; a ripple went through the line of black warriors behind him, like the ripple on a leopard’s back before it springs.

I turned back, and said so that I could be heard, “I am going to join my people, and share the lot of the god.”

I heard a deep sound of voices, and saw my father looking here and there. As I walked on, a touch on my shoulder made me start. I turned; there was the Cretan Captain. He had left his men in line, and run after me on his small light feet.

Speaking softly in my ear, he said, “Think again. Don’t let the glory and the glitter fool you. A good bull-dancer lasts six months at best. Listen; if you want to see the world, I can get you employment in the Little Palace; you can sail with us free.”

I had nothing now to lose by pleasing myself, so I said, “Send me your big brother, little lady, and let him ask me to serve Minos for pay.” As I turned from him I saw his quick dark eyes, not very angry but sharp and reckoning.

I crossed the market place, and stood with the Companions. They reached out and drew me in, and clapped me on the back, just as in the old days when I was only a year-king. A sound ran round the market place, dull at first, then loud. The Athenians were cheering; I was amazed at it, seeing their trouble. “Truly,” I thought, “these are my people too; now I can stand for all of them.”

They set a table before my father, and put on it two great round bowls with painted borders. He said to the people, “Here are the lots, Athenians, with your children’s names. And here is the lot for my son.” He dropped the potsherd clinking into the right-hand bowl, and the people cheered again. Then he called the Cretan Captain, as a stranger without kindred here, to stir the bowls. As he did it with his spear butt, looking as if he found it tedious, my father lifted his hands and invoked the god, asking him to choose the sacrifice himself, and hailing him as Earth-Shaker, Lover of Bulls. At these words, the witch’s curse came to my mind, and my neck shivered. I looked at my father, but he kept his countenance well.

They drew first for the girls. The Priest of Poseidon, blindfold, put his hand into the bowl, and gave the sherd to my father, who gave it to the herald to read the name. Each time I saw the faces of the kindred, fixed on the sherd, so that the line of faces was like one long pale serpent filled with eyes. Then the name would be read and a family would cry and wail, or a man run out from somewhere and start fighting the guards till they knocked him down. And for a few moments all the rest would be glad, till the next sherd was drawn. Only the last girl was so fair and gentle-eyed and young that not only her own folk, but everybody, wept for her. The blacks formed round them in a hollow square, to keep off the people. Then it was time for the youths.

Two were drawn from Athens; and then I heard the name of one of my Guard, a lad called Menesthes, whose father was the master of seven ships. He went out firmly, only looking back once at his friend and once at me. Next came an Athenian, whose mother made an outcry as if she were being torn in pieces, so that the boy went white, and trembled all over. I thought, “Mine would never have disgraced me so. But it is my father I should be thinking of. It is worse for him than for most of them, seeing he has no more sons.” I looked over to the dais where he was standing. The Priest of Poseidon was just putting his hand in to draw again. At that same moment, there was some stir in the crowd, a woman fainting or some such matter. I saw my father look aside, to see what it was.

Stillness fell on me, as if Helios drew rein in the midst of heaven. If a man could prevent knowledge before he has it, I would not have known. But it was there, before I could forbid it. From ten years old, I had sat in the hall of judgment, looking at people. Before I could understand the cause, I knew already who was concerned and who was not. I looked at the line of eyes, fixed on the urn, all together like the soldiers’ javelins. But my father was not afraid.

It came home to me slowly, creeping on the heart. My belly and loins grew cold; shame seemed to coat my very flesh, like a skin of dust. My mind ran to and fro, coursing a rank scent. “What was on the lot he dropped in for me? Not a blank; someone might see it. Some other youth has been given a second chance. Perhaps he is drawn already; I shall never know.”

So I thought. Then anger leaped on me like a storm-wave, drumming in my head and shaking my body, so that I was almost mad. I stared out before me, and saw on a high dais a man wearing a kingly robe and necklace. And it seemed I looked upon my enemy, on a stranger who had spat in my face before the people; my fingers longed for his throat, as they had for Kerkyon’s while we wrestled for the kingdom.

I stood half out of my wit, with Night’s Daughters black about my head, clapping their wings of bronze. And then Apollo, Slayer of Darkness, came and freed me. He took the shape of the youth beside me, who touched my shoulder saying, “Theseus, steady.”

The red cleared from my eyes. I could speak, and answered, “These Cretans make me angry.” Then I could think.

I thought, “What was it? What has my father done? What every father here would do if he could. And he is King. He has to think for the kingdom. It is true enough that I am needed here. I ought not to think like a warrior only. Has someone else gone to Crete for me? I have led such lads to war, and never thought I wronged them, though some were sure to die. Why then do I hate my father, and myself still more, and feel I cannot bear my life?”

Meanwhile a lot had been called; it fell on Amyntor, a highborn Eleusinian, wild and proud. Unlike the last boy or because of him, he came out gaily, waving to friends and joking. The priest made ready to draw again.

“What hurts me?” I thought. “What is this anger?” I looked at my father; and remembered how he had invoked Poseidon, praying him to choose the victims. And I thought, “Yes! That is it!

He has mocked the god, the guardian of the house, who brought him to beget me. Well may I be angry! This man has mocked my father.”

Now I understood myself.

I could not speak the thing aloud to the god, for all the people to know it. So I kneeled on one knee, and set my hands on the earth, and whispered so that only he could hear. “Earth-Shaker! Father! If you have been robbed of any offering, tell me, and show me what to give.”

I waited, to feel if the earth would tremble; but the dust under my palms was still. Yet I knew he had a message for me, and did not want me to go away. So I bowed my head lower, till my hair trailed in the dust; and then he spoke to me. I heard, as if it rose from the depths of earth, the sound of the sea-surge, waves that mounted and broke in hissing foam, and their sound said, “The-seus! The-seus!”

Then I knew what the god was asking.

It was like a spear in the heart. I had come here to take a chance of one in thirty. Now when I saw before me the certain thing, sorrow fell black upon my eyes and the sun grew cold. I thought of what I had planned to do in Athens: small things I had hoped to force my father’s hand to, great ones when my own time came. I knelt where I was, with my hanging hair hiding my face and my name sounding in my ears, and thought of my life; of hunting with the Guard, of feasts and dances, of my room with the lion walls; of a woman I wanted, and had meant to speak to at the festival; of my beautiful horses, who had scarcely felt my hand; of the war paean, the bright rage of battle, and the triumph song. And I thought, “The god cannot mean it. He sent me here to be King.”

“Father Poseidon,” I whispered, “take something else from me. I will not ask to live long, if I can make a name and be remembered in Athens. Now it will be as if I had never been born. If you want my life, let me die here in battle, and leave some record, a bard’s song and a tomb.” I heard the name called of some Athenian. It was the last of the seven. “Lord Poseidon, I will give you my horses, the best I ever had. Take anything but this.”

The sea-sound grew fainter in my ears. I thought, “He will accept the horses.” Yet it was not fading as always before, dying in air, but with a long sound of withdrawal, ebbing and slow. And I thought, “The god is leaving me.”

I listened. It had a note that said, “Do as you please, son of Aigeus. Look, there is your father. Forget my voice, which you will not hear again, and learn to reign as he does. Be free. You are not mine, unless you choose.”

I looked back at my life, as far as my childhood. “It is too late,” I thought, “to be Aigeus’ son.”

I got up, and threw the hair back from my face. The last-drawn boy was being fetched out. He had not come of himself, being afraid; now as they led him off, he kept looking about, as if he could believe in this happening to anyone but him. “He will be surprised,” I thought, “when he finds he is right.” I almost laughed; for I had felt the god return to me.

My heart had lightened. It felt secure, as on a lucky day. I breathed bright air. The threat had lifted, the bronze wings and talons hovering to pounce. Fear fell back from me; all was well with me; I walked with the god. As I went forward, an old man’s voice said in my memory, “The consenting sets one free.”

I walked with a light step to the dais, and leaped upon it, and said to the herald, “Give me that last lot.”

He gave it. There was a voice speaking my name, but I kept my face turned away. Drawing my dagger I crossed out the name scratched on the sherd, and wrote “Theseus.” I gave it back to the herald, and said, “Call again.”

He stared. A hand I knew reached over and snatched it away. So I shouted to the Cretan, “That call was wrong, Captain. The name on the lot is mine.”

A noise began among the crowd. I thought they were going to cheer again. But instead I heard a great wail of mourning, lamenting to heaven, as when the herald cries that the King is dead. I did not know what to do with these sounds of grief. In my heart was a solemn music. As I stepped out toward them, a hand clutched at me, but I shook it off, and called aloud to them, “Don’t grieve, Athenians. The god is sending me. He has called me to the bulls, and I must obey his sign. But don’t weep for me. I will come again.” I did not know these words till I had spoken them; they came to me from the god. “I will go with your children, and take them into my hand. They shall be my people.”

They had left off weeping, and their voices sank to a hush; only here and there you could still hear some mother sobbing, whose child had gone. I turned, and faced my father.

I saw the face of a man who has got his death-wound. It was like the shape of a frightful dream, from which one has thought to waken. And yet, as if his eyes mirrored my own, he too looked like a haunted man who has shaken off the pursuer.

He suffered, that at least was sure, and it broke from him in anger. With no care who heard, he asked me why I should hate him, and abandon him in his last years to his enemies; how had he wronged me; what had he done? It must be witchcraft, he said; he would have me exorcised, and what I had done in madness should be annulled.

“Sir,” I said, “do you think I would have done this of myself? I know the voice of Poseidon. You must let me go, or he will be angry. It is bad dealing, to rob a god.”

When he looked away, I was ashamed. He suffered enough already. “Father,” I said, “the god means good to us. Everything is well. If the bulls kill me, he will accept the sacrifice, and take off the curse. And if I come home again, that will be good too. All is well; I feel it.”

The Cretan Captain was edging up to listen. My father gave him a look that made him move off, humming and playing with his wrist-seal. Then he said quietly, “It seems no man can outrun his fate. How did you know your name was not in the bowl?” Our eyes met. Then he said, “I could not do it. I fancied men saying for ever after, ‘He feared his son, who was a leader and a warrior. So at tribute-time, he sent him to the bulls of Crete.’”

His words amazed me, that such a thing should have crossed his mind. “Father,” I said, “it must be the Goddess. She is angry with us; she hates all men who rule.”

I heard a cough near by. It was the Cretan, getting impatient. It came to me that now by my own act this man was my master.

I unslung my sword, and put it into my father’s hands. “Keep it for me,” I said, “until I come again. What the god wants me for, I do not know. But if a man came back from the bulls of Minos, he would have offered his life many times for the god to take, and many times renewed his dedication. Then perhaps some power might come to him, to lead the people. So I was taught, while I was a child. I will be such a king as that, or else I will be nothing.”

He came near and took my face between his hands, and looked in it long. It was seldom I thought of him as a priest. But now I felt it. He said at last, “Such a king will be King.” Then he paused in thought, and said, “If that day comes, paint the sail of your ship with white. I shall post a lookout on Sounion Head. When his beacon burns, the god will have a message for me. A white sail. Remember.”

“My lord,” said the Cretan in his high cool voice, “it is all one to me whether your son comes or not, provided there is no disorder. But kindly settle the matter now. These women will be tearing each other’s eyes out.”

I looked round. The mothers of the chosen youths were disputing which of their sons should be released in place of me. Their menfolk were coming up; he was right in fearing trouble.

“There is nothing to dispute,” I said. “The last lot carries my name. Herald, proclaim it.”

The last-drawn boy came up and knelt and put my hand to his brow, and begged to do me some service. He seemed a poor creature. I looked past his shoulder, and saw Bias weeping. He had more sense than any of the Companions; but I saw in his face a tale he had never told me. There was nothing to do but take his hand.

“Father,” I said, “let the Eleusinians have their own Assembly, unless the women try to seize power again. Everything is in order.”

I had not finished; but the Cretan had had enough. He yapped at his troops, sharp as a dog-fox, and they formed a hollow column, all stepping in line, a wonder to see. My father embraced me; I felt from his touch that he never looked to see me more. The mothers of the victims were bringing little bundles of food, put up in haste for the voyage. The last boy’s mother came up shyly, bobbing with hand on brow, and gave his bundle to me.

As I fell in line, I remember thinking I would have looked a better suit out, if I had known I was going to Crete.