The King Must Die: A Novel

5

IT IS A LIFE OUT of life in the Bull Court.

One wakes often at night, in a hall where fifty-odd youths are sleeping, who come from everywhere, and have manners not all to a Hellene’s taste. There was a scuffle once, and some trouble, when I broke a Tyrian’s nose. People said I was uncivil. But as I told them, if he had a right to his customs so had I to mine; and it was a custom where I came from, if a stranger came creeping to your bed at midnight, to take him for an enemy. His nose set somewhat askew; which reminded others I was one to let alone.

Once I asked Helike what it was like in the girls’ place, after they were shut away. She said it was a world to itself, and I would not understand it; but she did let fall that sometimes the girls would fight like young warriors, if two were rivals for another. More than once I saw bruises on girls who had not been in the ring. I did not think hardly of them for it; it was the life they were trained to, and I like a woman to have spirit.

As I say, the nights were broken with such things as this, or with someone dreaming aloud, or crying out, sometimes, in fears he would not own by day. One did not ask people their dreams in the Bull Court; nor what they thought about when they were wakened and lay silent in the dark. I know I thought of many things: of death, and fate, and what the gods want of man; how far a man can move within his moira, or, if all is determined, what makes one strive; and whether one can be a king without a kingdom.

Then I would ask myself what would happen if Iros, or Helike, or Amyntor should turn out a better bull-leaper, and lead the team. The Bull Court is a world to itself, with laws which spring from its own nature and cannot be gainsaid.

Thus I would trouble myself, in the first weeks of training. But once we were in the bull ring, I forgot such cares. For the dance took hold of me, head and hand, heart, bones, and blood. To be a bull-leaper seemed enough for one man’s life; I was so filled with it that my danger leaned the other way: only by striving could I remember I was a king. But I remembered I was team leader, and often that served instead.

For a bull-leaper to last three months, though it is not bad, is not-remarkable. But the old men of Knossos said they had not known such a thing in all their days, a whole team to last three months and none to die.

We lived because we all knew what each was good for, and that it would be there at need. Even those who had been careful of themselves, like Phormion and Nephele, had kept their oath; first from fear of Night’s Daughters, who visit perjurers, and even from fear of me; then because they saw it paid the best; and at last, like the others, from pride in being Cranes.

It is a saying of the Bull Court that the longer you live there, the longer you may. You know the dance, and the dancers; and you know your bull. Indeed, there is no woman I have shared a bed with, save one alone, whose moods I have known as I knew old Herakles’. Poor Helike; she never forgave him for being a beast and not a man. In spite of all her skill, she was never more than a middling bull-leaper. Thinking him mindless, she would not try to learn his mind. When she did leap, she was so polished that the people always cheered her. But I often had to cover for her, or go in instead, whereas Chryse never faltered. Everyone loved Chryse, even in the Bull Court; she had come, I think, to take love as in the nature of things, and half expected it from Herakles too.

Amyntor too had the courage of lions. I have never done a harder thing than tell him, as I had to, that he must let the bull-leaping alone. He was too big for it (he had grown even since we came) and too slow; it would have ended in someone’s death. He took it like a gentleman, but very hard. Yet, after, he proved the best catcher I ever saw, the steadiest and most daring. I myself, and every Crane who did the bull-leap, owed him our lives over and over.

After four months, the last bull-leaper died who had been there before us. From then on, when a new batch of dancers came in, still wearing the clothes of their own land, huddled together or staring open-mouthed, it would be a Crane who would hide in Daidalos’ bull to make them jump; and when I came to look them over, people would wait and watch, to see what I thought.

One never knew what would arrive. Egyptians we never got, for they are a strong people: Minos sent gifts to Pharaoh, jewels of gold and crystal, carved rhytons and rare flowers and precious dyes, rather than demands for tribute. But all others we had, from every shore the stream of ocean washes, and further yet: Persians pale as ivory, with blue eyelids, graceful and frail; Minyans from all the islands; wild barbarians, dark like polished cornel-wood, from the forests of Africa, who would be fierce and merry, or grieve to death, sinking into the earth without laying hands on themselves, only by a wish. And it was in the Bull Court that I first saw Amazon girls from Pontos, proud-faced and slim, free-striding, with slender fingers hard from the bow and spear, who looked you in the eye as cool and measuring as young princes at war. They were much prized in the bull ring, and the Cretans got as many as they could. Whenever I saw such a girl, my heart would stir and quicken, I could not tell why. Men would be as gods, if they had foreknowledge.

All kinds of outlanders we got, by ones and twos, from unheard-of places, caught on a journey perhaps and sold as slaves. One such, though he did not last long, I remember for his strangeness; a son of wandering cattle herders in the back hills beyond Jericho. He had a hatred of the Goddess; or, rather, he denied that she was anything, only a doll that men had made. When I asked if he was mad to mock her in her own precinct while he was in her hand, he answered that his people served no she-deities at all, but only the Sky Father, whose name he would not pronounce, that being forbidden them. He called him the Lord. They hold like the Hellenes that he lives for ever; but they say he has neither father nor mother, brother nor sister, wife nor child, but reigns all alone in the sky, and there was never a time when he was not. Stranger still, it is unlawful among them to make an image of him; when I asked what countenance he had, this youth said that his face was made of fire. I could not learn how they had offended him, to make him appear to them so dreadfully. But they have an oracle that he will someday beget one son to be their guardian hero. Finding the youth so ignorant, I told him Zeus had got many sons on earth, from one of whom I was descended myself. But he did not like it. He came of up-country people, frightened of towns, and so simple that they think Ever-Living Zeus is concerned with no one but them.

His team thought him unlucky, and I myself advised them to get rid of him; but after all he took it out of their hands. For the very first time he came into the bull ring, he pulled out a knife he had hidden in his loin-guard, and rushed at the bull like a madman, shouting out that he would smite the god of the Philistines (so he called the Cretans) in the name of the Lord. I don’t know if he thought the bull would stand and wait for it. No bull is such a fool as that, even in Crete. But Zeus the Merciful did him a favor, in return for all his offerings; he was killed outright. If there had been any life left in him, he would not have got off quickly, that is sure. We were glad to see the last of him. The fingers of two hands would hardly count the gods he had offended; and in the Bull Court, the bulls are hazard enough.

By now most of us had a scar or two from Herakles; he had his brisker days, which one got to know from the switch of his tail as he came out of the bull gate. Then there was no foreseeing him as long as he was fresh. I used to go in first a time or two to take the edge off him; it seemed only right, as I did not really expect to die without a sign from Poseidon first. When I had got the feel of him he would steady a little, and I could put in some of the turns that people knew me by, such as throwing a second somersault off his back. Often those days turned out the best. I can still see his wicked eye saying to me, “I have been too soft with you, and let you get insolent. Don’t think so well of yourself.” There was a little dance I used to do with him before I went in, which I polished up because it amused the people. One had to be careful, because it gave him a better chance than the leap itself. Once he nearly plugged me straight through the breast. I just turned in time to get it glancing; it gave me the biggest scar ever seen in the Bull Court, clear across me from right to left. There was a wise woman I used to go to, the best of several who knew salves for wounds. She would put all kinds of filth upon them, spiders’ webs, or green mold; but she knew earth magic, and they always healed.

After we had been five months in the ring, dancers were living longer even in other teams; they saw how we worked, and one or two swore vows of fellowship, which they mostly kept as far as was in them. But they did not know each other’s minds as we did. By now we had forgotten we were ever Athenians or Eleusinians, or that the same womb had not borne us all.

Whenever before the dance we stood before the shrine, and dedicated ourselves to the Goddess-on-Earth in the ritual words, we would stretch our hands palm down toward Mother Dia herself, to purge us of impiety. But one had to look up, out of respect. Often I stared at her eyes to see if they would move. But she stood like a gilded image, stiff and still; even when she lifted her hands, she hardly seemed made of flesh. After a while, having my mind upon the dance, I almost forgot she was alive.

Such was our life in the Bull Court. But once one’s name gets known there, it is little of the Labyrinth, outside the royal rooms, one does not see sooner or later. One no longer needed to go looking for a woman at night, but rather to fend off the importunate; a man cannot afford excess in this or anything, who has the bull-dance for a wife.

Even the women could write in Knossos Palace. This I say of my own knowledge, for some of them wrote to me. And I am not speaking just of messages scribbled on a leaf of wet clay, telling one where to meet them, or when the husband would be out. These were whole histories, filling as much as two sheets of Egyptian paper, long as the record of a war. I could not make out above half, and often not so much. They had a hundred ways of stringing things together and knotting them up; I will swear they knew more words than a harper does, though he has only the sound to learn.

But it was not only the bedchambers one went to. Lords and princes would invite one to their feasts, and ask no return beyond one’s presence. As to the food and drink, to look at so much was only vexing, for weight is death in the bull ring. But I used to go, from curiosity, and from vanity, and for the sake of what I could learn. Since the gods had spared us so far, we did not yet despair of getting away from Crete.

Cretans are full of fine manners and fanciful customs; thinking, for example, that a man’s own fingers are not good enough to serve his mouth with food, but he must use a tool. At first I went in fear of mockery; for they think anyone uncouth who is ignorant of these toys. But I had too much pride to show it. If I could not learn their customs by watching, I used my own as if I chose to. Soon I found this pleased them, especially the women. They love nothing so much as what is new.

All kinds of lords and nobles had houses in Knossos Palace, built right into it, or at least within the precinct. As I say, it was almost a town. But though it was so rambling, it was very well guarded all about, and no one passed the gates unchallenged. At first I thought this was only to keep us in.

Though the name of Minos is old Cretan, and the kings have borne it time out of mind, this house had only a strain of the ancient blood. Ever since the great raid from Mycenae, when the royal kin were put to the sword and the Lion King’s brother married the Goddess-on-Earth, the kings had ruled in their own right as well as the Queen’s, and were no longer sacrificed in the ninth year. Many of the victors had taken Cretan women, so that most of their customs were still of the old religion; but after that, their houses married among each other, and now they held the native Cretans, who came of the land both sides, in the greatest scorn. I could see no sense in this, for they were not barbarous, being as everyone knows the best craftsmen anywhere; it was they indeed who taught these half Hellenes to write. They are small-made, like most Earthlings, and reddish-dark, but not unpleasing to look at; and some of them came from very ancient lines, though now brought down and poor. As far as I could see, they were being humbled only to make their masters think better of themselves. It set my teeth on edge to hear them miscalled by scornful nicknames, Scabby or Bandy or Squint, and talked of in their presence as if they were dogs. At home, my grandfather would have thrashed me till his arm was tired, if he had heard me so insolent. They were harshly taxed too, though one heard little of such matters in the Bull Court and cared less. One feels another’s grief most where it touches one’s own.

When we had been about six months in the bull ring, and I had almost forgotten him, I had a summons from the patron, bidding me to a feast.

I stared at it frowning, at a loss what to do. If I offended him now, he had power to break up the team, and they would begin to die. Yet I felt it would choke me to sit at a man’s board whom I meant to be revenged on if I could; it was a question of my honor. After a while, I opened my mind to Amyntor, who understood such matters better than the rest. He was pleased at being asked for counsel, and sat considering. At last he said, “It seems to me, Theseus, that you can eat at his board without being his guest. It is the bread of captivity there, just as it is in the Bull Court; you are getting it served with sauce, that’s all. I don’t see how that can hurt your honor, even if you kill him. Look at his message. He orders you; he does not ask.”

This satisfied me, for Amyntor had the feelings of a gentleman, and more sense than had first appeared. The Bull Court had steadied him.

The Little Palace stood southwest of the great courtyard, with its own gate and guards. I put on my best, since there is no sense in half doing things. When I went visiting in the House of the Ax, I used to wear the Cretan kilt, and had two or three of them; this one was made of a thick blue silk from east of Babylon, and had a bullion fringe. A general’s wife had given it me, my chief mistress at that time, and a good one for a bull-leaper, easy and gay. One cannot afford to be worn out with tears and tantrums. But sometimes gifts would come without any name, and then one had to be careful. If one wore them, the giver would point it out to friends and rivals and claim to be one’s lover; and the women had no more shame about it than the men.

Often one’s richest presents came from lords and princes who had made a good win. All sorts of wagers were laid upon the bull-dance: how long it would last, whether blood would be drawn, how many leaps and how perfect, besides the betting on life and death. Bribes do not tempt a man whose life is the stake already; but a showy gift was the fashion. I had more necklaces than I could wear at once, wrist-seals, and rings for the arm and finger. But the only jewel I never took off was the crystal bull from the Corinthian. Always, in the Bull Court, our most precious trophies were the gifts of the dead.

That night I put on most of my things; I was enough a bull-leaper now not to think myself dressed unless I sounded with gold. Also I had myself freshly shaved. I had yielded, though grudgingly, to this Cretan custom. From fifteen years old, like any growing lad, I had waited for my beard, trying to nourish it with boar’s grease and all the other nonsense boys pass on to each other; it seemed absurd just when it was growing to take it off. But here it was the mark of a barbarian; women would shrink at it, or wriggle and laugh. Sometimes I pictured my grandfather staring in disgust at my smooth chin, and asking if I had been gelded. However, he was far away; and it was allowed in the Labyrinth that I had not.

I thought I had seen some rich rooms by now; but they were nothing to the Little Palace, as I found when they led me through. I passed one whole room set out only for gaming, with ebony tables and checkerboards inlaid with gold. But I did not look much about me; Cretans think less of you, if you seem to wonder.

There was a splendid feast laid out in the great guest-hall, and a high-born company was gathering. Most of them knew me, and spoke to me as I went to salute the host. He greeted me with such loud jesting compliments as are meant for the party and mean nothing. I saw he had invited me to please the guests, as he might have hired a dancing-girl. Amyntor was right; I was not his debtor.

We ate off fine painted ware; Cretans cook fish food better than any other people. But I was in no danger of overeating. It killed one’s hunger to see even great lords (some of whom I knew to hate him) fawning upon Asterion, changing their faces in time with his like soldiers drilling. While he cracked his coarse jokes, his eyes missed nothing; I saw him watch guests out of hearing as if he could read their lips, and his stewards lingered like spies. Beyond my hatred of him, there was something about him that sickened me. Any man will want power to get what he desires: glory, or lands, or a woman. But this man wanted it for itself, to put down other men, to fatten his pride with eating theirs like the great spider that feeds upon the less.

A brown juggler danced for us, a Sidonian; he had a monkey that helped him with his turn, and understood all he said. At the end, Asterion threw down his gift for him to grovel after; but the monkey picked it up and handed it to his master, bowing with hand on brow. The guests laughed. After he had gone, Asterion spoke to a steward, who went out. I heard another servant ask him where he was going; he answered, “For the monkey. My lord will have it.” Just so, I thought, it had been with me.

Sweetmeats came in, and Rhodian wine. I sat at the table’s foot, talking to some guests who had moved down to speak with me; when of a sudden he leaned forward in his chair, and bawled, “Theseus! Here!”

I felt the blood rise in my face. It was in my mind to be deaf. But then I thought, “No. If I am not his captive, then I am his guest.” So I left my place, and walked up without too much haste, and stood before him.

“Well, Theseus,” he said grinning. “How is it to be cock of the ring? It’s a different lad now from the one who came from the mainland in leather breeches, hah? Do you think better now of Crete?” I did not answer. He flipped my necklaces with his finger. “Look at these!” he said, speaking to the guests. Me he hardly looked at. “I’ll wager not all these were won for leaping bulls. Hey, boy?” Still I was silent, and kept command of myself. I was studying him. It concerned me to know him. I looked at his heavy mask, wondering how one became such a man as this. Before long he looked away. “A jewel,” he said, “from every lord in the Labyrinth. Of the ladies I say nothing. Their mysteries must not be profaned.” And he winked at a lady not long married, whom I had had no dealings with, and who blushed right down to her breasts. “All this, yet nothing yet from the patron. I’ll swear you wondered why.”

He grinned, and waited. I said, “No, my lord.”

He gave a great bellow of laughter. “You hear that? He thought I had a rod in pickle for him, because he was unruly in the harbor. You young fool, what do you think we look for in a bull-dancer? We have our divinations, we who follow the ring.”

I stared at him, I who had faced him that day with his eyes a handspan from mine. This time he did not meet them. He looked at the guests. “Well! You agree Asterion can pick a winner?” There was a gust of acclamation. I was ashamed for them, more than for myself; they passed for free men.

He clapped his hands. A servant brought upon his palms what I took for some dish or other. For a moment I wondered if he meant to poison me; I pictured him staring about, daring the company to remark upon my death. Then I saw it was a little tray, lined with purple leather, on which was spread a great collar of gold and gems. The servant held it out to Asterion, who, without touching it, waved him to give it me.

I felt an itching in my fingers. They ached to pick it up and slash it across his face. I had sworn to hold every Crane’s life as dear as mine; but no dearer than that, and my honor was dearer. It was not my oath that held me. I suppose it was the habit of being king, and answerable for people to the god.

I held my hand, and spoke quietly. “You are too liberal, Minotauros. But have me excused; I cannot take it.”

The slave wavered the tray about, not knowing what to do with it. I heard a soft stir along the table, and women’s dresses rustling. But Asterion, after one hard look from his round eye, said heartily as if he were presenting some show to them, “You cannot, eh? Why not?”

“I come of the royal Kindred,” I said. “It would hurt my standing, to take a gift from a man who struck me.”

Everyone was listening. But this seemed even to please him. He waved a hand, displaying me. “Hark to him! Still as mad as when he came. For that I backed him. They are all wild and mad, all the great bull-leapers. Born for the bulls, and good for nothing else. It is their daimon leads them to Crete.” He clapped me on the shoulder; he was like a man who owns a dangerous dog and boasts of its fierceness. “Very well, have your way then.” He snapped his fingers at the servant, who took the gift away.

You would have supposed that having faced out this affront, he would have kept me out of his way. But not at all. Every so often he would command me to one of his feasts, and go through some like pantomime. I would even hear him, beforehand, saying to someone, “Only watch, and see how proudly he will answer me. He is wilder than a mountain hawk. Have you heard how he loosed the bull? I saw it when he came raw from the mainland.” He had turned even my honor into a mountebank’s act for his guests to laugh at. I never told even Amyntor what I put up with on these days. I was ashamed to speak of it. I only said, “I have paid for my supper.” He knew what I meant.

The other noblemen I found civil enough; among the younger indeed I was a kind of fashion. Any bull-leaper may be taken up so; but they found me curious because of the blood I came of, not having had a king or a king’s son in the ring before. Some of them asked me why, if the god was angry, I did not sacrifice someone else to him, rather than go myself; if I dressed him in my clothes, they said, he would stand for me. Being a guest, I did not ask if they took the gods for fools, but only said I had been called by name. They would stare at this, then catch each other’s eyes. Nearly all their rites have grown frivolous and like play, just as with the bull-dance.

These young lords and ladies were full of nonsense, having almost their own language, like children’s games. And they held their honor as light as they held their gods. The deadliest insults passed for jest among them; and if a husband would not speak to his wife’s seducer, it was considered something great. Once, when alone with a woman, I asked her how long it was since any of them had washed out a slight with blood. But she only asked me how many men I had killed myself; as if, through two wars and a journey overland, I should have kept a tally. Even in bed, the women would keep one talking of such things.

Chiefly these people took to me as something new. New things were their passion, and hard for them to come by; Lukos, I found, had spoken the truth about their records going back a thousand years. They would stand on their heads for the sake of newness, if nothing else new was left. You could see this in their pots and vases. No one needs telling that Cretan potters lead the world, though you must go to Crete to see the best. There were many in the Palace, working for the King; the great nobles too maintained their own. I never tired of looking at the work; the colors are more and richer than ours at home, the patterns gay yet free, and full of harmony. They are fond of drawing sea-creatures, starfish and dolphins and squids and shells and twining weeds. It was a pleasure only to take their pots in your hands, to feel the shape and the glaze. But lately they had begun to spoil them with all kinds of gaudy stuck-on finery, flowers and dangles which might show their skill, yet gave the thing a look of being fit for no use and good for nothing, but to gather dust. The truth is that what had not been tried in a thousand years was not worth doing. But even beauty wearied them, if it was not new.

I remember one lord I dined with, taking us to see his potter’s workshop and the latest work. There was a great deal of talking, which I could not follow, for they have many more words than we. So, finding a lump of raw clay, I amused myself for a moment by pinching out of it a little bull, such as children make at home when they play in mud, but not so good, since I had lost the knack of it. Just as I was about to roll it up again, there was crying and twittering, my host and his friends holding back my hand, and crying out that it must be fired. “How fresh!” they said, “How pure!” (or some such word). “How he has understood the clay!”

I felt affronted at being so made light of. Even though I might be from the mainland, still I was a guest. I answered, “Clay I do not understand; I was not born in a craftsman’s house. But bulls I understand, and that is no bull. At home just as here, a gentleman knows the look of good work, though he cannot do it. We are not so backward as you suppose.”

At this they begged me not to be offended; swearing they had spoken in earnest, and that I had done what their very newest craftsmen were winning praise for. To prove it they led me to a shelf, covered with such wretched botched things as you will see at home far up in the back hills, offered at a little shrine of no reputation, the work of some ham-fisted peasant who never saw inside a workshop, but can sell them for a handful of olives or of barley, because the place has no one better. “You see,” they said, “how we learn strength from the early forms.”

I said I saw they had not mocked me, and was sorry; then I could think of no more to say. Presently, seeing me stand in thought, a woman touched my arm. “What is it, Theseus? Are you angry still? Or is it thinking of the bulls that makes you look so grim?” I laughed, and said what such ladies wish to hear. But the thought in my mind had been, “If I had my Companions here, and a few thousand warriors, I could sweep Crete from end to end. These people are in second childhood; fruit for the plucking; finished, played out.”

Meanwhile there was still the ring. We Cranes, being of one mind with trust in each other, polished our dance till the oldest men preferred it to their memories. We had had close calls; by now there was not one of us who did not owe his life to the team. Between Phormion and Amyntor, who had each drawn off the bull from one another, there was no more talk of insolence or of clay-streaked hair. In the Bull Court both were chiefs and both were craftsmen. One day, when Chryse lost her balance and was left clinging on the horns, I had to take that same leap which had been death to the Corinthian. But Hippon was there at once on the other side, and we all got off with a graze or two, though we had a shaking.

After this same dance, I was on my way to the bath when a waiting-woman stopped me in the courtyard. “Theseus, come at once, do come, and show yourself to my lady. She got word that you were dead, and is in such grief that she is sick with it. She has been crying and screaming quite beside herself; poor little Madam, she is more soul than body; a turn like this could kill her.”

I was somewhat impatient, having already more women on my hands than I could well do with. “Salute Madam for me,” I said, “and thank her for her concern, and say I am very well.”

“It will not do,” the woman said. “Last time she was in love with a bull-dancer he died, and she found I had kept it from her. Now nothing will do but she must see you herself.” I raised my brows. “By now,” I said, “you will find her consoled again.” But she tugged at my arm, crying, “Oh, do not be cruel, do not kill my lamb. Look, it is hardly a step out of your way.” And she pointed to the royal stairway.

I stared at her. “What!” I said. “Don’t you think the bulls will kill me quick enough?” She bridled just as if I had insulted her. “You ignorant boy! Do you take me for a bawd? What next, these mainlanders! She is not ten years old.”

I went with her as I was, in my bull-dancer’s dress and jewels. She led me up the broad stairway, lit from above through a hole in the roof, and upheld by crimson columns. After much turning round and about, she brought me to a big light room, with a child’s bed in one corner, a bath of alabaster, and dolls on the floor. The walls were very pretty, painted with birds and butterflies and apes gathering fruit. I was looking at them when I heard a squeal as high as a bat’s, and the child was running across the room to me, mother-naked from her bed. She leaped straight into my arms, as light as one of the painted monkeys, and clung about my neck. The nurse who had brought me, and another who was there, cackled with laughter and cracked their jokes. But I was sorry for the child; I saw she had really been in grief. Her face and even her hair were drenched with tears, and there were stains like crushed purple under her eyes. She was one of those thin-skinned girls you find in very old houses; light-brown hair as fine as silk, little hands carved from ivory, and eyes of a clear green. I kissed her, and said this would teach her not to cry ahead of trouble. Her body was as delicate to touch as a fresh lily flower, and her breasts were just beginning. I carried her back to her bed, and put her in.

She curled on her side, hugging my hand to make me sit by her. “I love you, Theseus, I love you. I am almost dead with it.”

“The omens say you’ll live,” I answered. “Now go to sleep.”

She rubbed my hand with her wet cheek. “You are so beautiful! Would you marry me, if I were old enough?”

“Why, for sure. I would kill all your suitors, and carry you off in a golden ship.”

She looked up at me; her lashes were all stuck together with weeping. “Aketa says that when I am a woman you will be dead.”

“That’s with the god. I shall be too old for the bulls, that’s certain. Then you fine ladies will all forget me.”

“Ah, no!” she cried. “I will love you for ever! When you are an old man, twenty, thirty years old, I will love you still.”

“We shall see,” I said laughing. “This I’ll tell you; when you are grown, if I live I shall be a king. A gamble for you, Brighteyes. Will you bet?”

“Yes, I will. So now we are promised, and you must give me a token.” I offered her a ring, having plenty more; but she shook her head. “No, rings are only gold; I must have a piece of your hair. Nurse, come here and cut it off.”

“My hair?” I said. “No, that I can’t give you; I have offered it to Apollo. Besides, someone might get hold of it, and use it to do me harm.” Her mouth drooped; and I heard one nurse whisper to the other, “You see? He is still a barbarian, under the skin.” So out of pride, though I did not like it, I said lightly, “Oh, yes, take it if you want.”

The nurse brought a woman’s razor, and cut the lock for her, “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I will take good care of it. No one shall have it but me.” As I went, she had laid it in her palm, and was stroking it softly with the tips of her fingers.

I paused at the door to wave to her. “Good-by, Brighteyes. You never told me your name.”

She looked up from the hair, and smiled. “Phaedra,” she said.