The King Must Die: A Novel

10

IN THE MORNING THE old woman came again with her warm oils. I had slept like a log; my leg wound was drying cleanly, and not much deeper than a scrape. The muscles I had thought were torn were only strained; all I needed now was to move about. Tonight I would go up to the sanctuary, and find whether Ariadne knew that Minos was dead. If they had locked up his door, she would have no remedy, without betraying the secret way. But, I thought, even when she knew, what could she do, or Perimos, or Alektryon, or any of us in the Bull Court? Whoever owned knowledge of the death would be charged with the killing. Yet every day we waited, Asterion would gain strength.

After I had limbered up at exercise, I felt well enough; yet all this weighed on me. I stood with the Cranes, and Thalestris, and another team leader, young Kasos of the Sparrowhawks, a Rhodian pirate’s son, enslaved when they hanged his father. They were eager for some action, and I put on cheerfulness, ashamed to feel so low when nothing was wrong with me. Across the Court, the Dolphins had got a cockfight on. The mounting noise went through my head, and I longed for it to be done. At last I cried out in spite of myself, “Make them stop that din!”

“What is it, Theseus?” said kind Thebe. “Does your head still ache?”

“No,” I said, for I had that moment understood myself. “It is a warning. The earth is going to shake again. I think it won’t be much. But noise is bad, when the god is angry.”

They hushed their voices. I saw Kasos glance at the great ceiling beams, and fidget his feet. “It doesn’t feel,” I said, “like a bad one.” For it did not press hard on me, but only prickled. “But make them be quiet, and stand off from the walls.”

Nephele had gone over to the cockfight; the team came running, while the cocks by themselves bounced up and down, pecking and spurring, then stopped and stood with bunched wings, looking uneasy, as if the god had warned them too. My head tightened, and every trifle made me angry; there were pins pricking my feet. Just then up came Aktor, whom someone, I suppose, had passed on the warning to. “What is the matter with you, Theseus? Why don’t you get back to bed, if you still feel shaky, instead of setting the Bull Court by the ears?”

I could have struck him. “Get away from that column,” I said softly. I could not bear to raise my voice. Just as he opened his mouth to answer, the earth rumbled and jarred, and a big molding from the column-head burst into bits beside him. Pots crashed in the kitchen; the Palace beyond echoed with shouts and squeals and invocations. Around us the dancers called on the hundred gods of the Bull Court, outlanders lay on their faces shielding their heads, lovers clutched each other; and Aktor looked at me with his jaw so wide that you could count his teeth.

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.”

I stopped with a gasp. Holding the madness off had been worse than holding a boar upon one’s spear. I heard through a daze the priestess promising to birch the girls if they would not leave romping like trulls with the boys and come away.

They ran off; and the voices of the youths dinned in my ears, shouting questions and asking each other what I had said; for most of them had only heard a single cry. Chryse was gone and the noise tormented me; the warning surged and roared and crashed through my head, or withdrew leaving a dreadful hollow hush filled with the tread of the approaching god. The awe and terror which it is man’s nature to feel before the Immortals goaded and spurred me to fly for my life. And when I held my ground, the madness burned me up, and the warning would not be contained within me. I shook Amyntor off and leaped on the table among broken winecups, and shouted it aloud.

“Poseidon is coming! Poseidon is coming! I Theseus tell you so, I his son. The sacred bull was killed and the Earth Bull has wakened! The House of the Ax will fall! The House will fall!”

Then there began a clamor that went through my head like hot black spears. People ran about calling on their gods or for their lovers, snatching up their jewels or other men’s, trying to run away or to head off the runners, fighting and grappling on the floor. They only felt the fear I told them of. I felt the fear itself. I had drawn a great breath to shout again, when through the tumult a far, clear voice, like a singing bowstring, seemed to say within me, “Know yourself. Do not forget yourself. You are a man, a Hellene.”

I paused, and knew that those who fled in panic without arms would be trapped within the Labyrinth. I took a long bull-leap off the table and hurled myself among them, cursing them and telling them to wait. But even as I spoke, thick shouting sounded along the Court, and in came the two guards from the inner door. They must have been drinking in the guardroom, it being a feast day, and slow to heed; there was always noise in the Bull Court, and their work was only to keep the door. Now they stood bawling and staring, asking if everyone was mad. They were full-armed, with seven-foot spears.

The sight of them almost brought me to myself; but I was giddy still. As I walked forward, I heard Telamon, who was always level-headed, say, “The boys have been drinking; someone gave them some unmixed wine. It’s only horseplay.” One of the guards said to the other, “The trainer can deal with this. Find him; he must be at the dancing.” Then he broke off and said, “What’s that?”

The sound drew nearer; a yelling and screeching like mountain cats in moonlight. A horde of girls rushed in, their arms full of weapons; bows and daggers, quivers and sawn-down spears. In the van, their arms bloodied to the elbows, were Iros in a woman’s skirt and scarf, and Thalestris stark naked, her bow and quiver at her back, her hair like black war-smoke streaming behind her. The girls had stripped to their bull-dress to free their limbs for fighting; I suppose in the scrimmage the weak link of her belt had gone. She took no notice, which among Amazons is the modesty of the field.

They ran up the Bull Court shrieking their war cries; and at one look the door guards flung down shield and spear, and fled. But they might as well have run from the hounds of Artemis. Swift feet outran them; a twisting heap of slender limbs engulfed them; bright-honed bronze flashed up and down. When the girls scrambled up from the prone bodies, not only the Amazons had breasts dabbled with blood.

Now the boys ran at the girls, demanding weapons, snatching and shouting, treading the dead men underfoot. And all of myself that was myself was in a rage with the panic I myself had made. I had meant to plan our breakout like a war, with stealth and coolness, and the time fixed with our friends outside. But it is not for men to see as far as the gods. I stood half crazed before my troop of madmen, knowing nothing clearly but the god’s wrath gathering and brooding, like the dense air before a storm. And yet there was a soul within my soul, free of the madness, which stood apart and whispered, “You are the King. Remember your moira. Do not lose yourself; you are the King.”

I pressed my hands to my brow. With covered eyes I prayed to the Sky Gods, to King Zeus and to Serpent-Slaying Apollo, for wit to save my people. Then I looked about me. I did not feel much better; yet I was answered, for I knew I could do what I must.

I stood before the mob, and shouted for silence, and my voice was like my own again. So they heeded me and stood still, those who were saner calming down the wildest. Then I could hear far off, from the northern terrace, the sound of the flutes and strings; for all this had passed swiftly, since first I had cried aloud.

I went among them, making those with spare arms share with those who had none, and thinking where we should go. I knew all the ways from the Bull Court into the Labyrinth, but those would not serve us now; we must reach the open beyond the walls, and soon, for my head was bursting with its burden of dread. There was only one way: to storm the great outer gates of the Court, which we had never seen opened; they looked to have been locked and barred for a hundred years. There was no knowing if they would be guarded, or even walled up on the other side; there was no key. They must be broken down.

I looked for a ram. The benches and the table were lighter than the doors; there would be long battering, great noise. The time was passing, the god was near. Then I saw the Bull of Daidalos, his oaken platform set on solid wheels, and his horns of bronze.

Among us we pointed him at the door. Then, shouldering and heaving all together, we brought him to a crawl, to a lumbering run. His platform struck the doors; they shook, and gaped, and burst right open. Out we ran, the bull nosing before us, into a pillared portico; flaking frescoes showed in the moonlight. The Bull Court must once have been a hall of state, in another age of the Palace. There was no guard.

We tumbled past the great red king-column, and down the steps. Before us was a tangled garden, with tall black cypresses; beyond, torchlight and music. Now we were out it sounded loud and wild, with cymbals clashing, and I saw why only the guard had heard our noise. As we ran across the garden, and put three or four spear-casts between us and the walls, I heard the Cranes around me cry out with relief. But I was tighter than a lyre-string, for I knew the god was near.

We looked about us, grasping our weapons. Amyntor beside me said, “Where are all the Cretans? There were servants in the Bull Court, when this began.” Someone said, “I saw them run for it. I suppose the rest are watching the women dance.”

I struck my hand against my head. Truly and indeed the god’s madness had possessed me utterly. In all this while since it seized me first, I had not once thought of her.

The ragged garden was sweet with the scents of spring. Behind us the great pile of the Labyrinth, bright with lamplight, stood against a cloud-flecked sky where moon and stars ran like driven ships before the wind. Before us the cypress-tips leaned against a rose-red glow of torches. Hands and drums and cymbals beat, flutes shrilled, a thousand voices were singing. And it was a horror to me; for in the midst of it was Minos’ daughter, the Mistress of the Labyrinth, her little feet striking the angry earth, her ears hearing the pipes and lyres, but deaf to the voice of the warning god. The sky was pressing on my head with its flying moon and all its stars, as heavy as a king’s burial-mound. The ground under my feet sent thrills of fear up through my sandals, shuddering in my belly and my loins.

“Amyntor,” I said, “Thalestris, Kasos. Keep everyone together, there in that grove. Hide in the bushes. Then do not move; it will be soon. I will come back quickly; pray to the god and wait.”

They asked questions; but there was no time. “Wait,” I said, and ran toward the torches.

I came up unheeded behind the crowd. High wooden stands enclosed the floor three sides; the fourth was open, but blocked with standing men. They were Cretan peasants; not many; there were few Cretans anywhere, but I had other things to think of. I had just heard the Palace doves fly up, and all the birds of day rise chattering from their roosts. The god was breathing on my neck, so near that I feared neither Cretan nor Hellene, man nor beast, but his coming only.

The Cretans let me through. They were used to being pushed aside by fair-haired men. Here and there one knew me and called out my name surprised. I reached the coping round the dancing-floor, and sprang upon it, and stared about to find her.

A thousand torches, set on high poles, were streaming sideways in a rising wind. The smells of burning pitch and dust, of flowers and perfume and warm flesh, swam through my head. I saw before me the great paved maze of Daidalos, its magic pattern inlaid with black and white stone, smooth and bright and wide between the columned stands with their glittering people dressed for the feast. The women sat with their jewelled boy-dolls in their arms. On the edge of the floor was the music, the tambours and the cytheras, the cymbals and Egyptian harps, the skirling pipes from the aulos to the little flute of ivory whose fine sound flickers like a snake’s forked tongue. The music shrilled, wounding the deathly silence in which the dark god stood waiting. And in the midst of the maze, strung along the crooked path of scoured white marble, hair and skirts and jewels swinging, arms entwined and slim waists swaying to the beat, was the wreath of women, weaving and twisting and turning on itself, like the house snake who sloughs his winter skin and is made new again. It bent about and came toward me. I saw her face, gay and flashing, touched by no dread, no shadow, leading the dance.

I saw her; and all my soul and body, scourged by the god’s anger and ridden almost to death, longed for her breast and her warm arms as a child flies to its mother from the terrors of the dark. I leaped out from the parapet upon the checkered floor; and even as I leaped, the mighty voice of the god cried to me, “I am here!”

The earth lurched beneath me, grinding and shuddering. The marble flags I ran on tilted endways, flinging me down on hands and knees. There was a mighty crashing and roaring, shrieking voices, cracking wood. My fingers grasped an edge of paving that worked to and fro like a living thing; I was rocked and tossed about as the strong-laid floor of Daidalos broke like water and surged in waves. And deep below, as he tossed the groaning land upon his great black horns, the Earth Bull boomed and bellowed, louder than the shouts of terror, louder than the thunder of falling column and floor and wall.

There was someone with me sobbing and crying like a woman as she gives birth. The sobbing shook me; it was my own. I had been with child of this great doom; now it was as if I myself had brought it forth with tearing of my body and the sweat of agony. As the broken marble settled under me I clutched it gasping and trembling. Everywhere around me the things that man had raised above the earth returned to it again, shaken back to their beginnings by the furious god. Shouts and moans came from the broken stands; from the Palace a wild howling of dogs and women, the squeals of children mad with pain and fear, men calling each other or crying for help, loosened blocks rumbling and crashing. I lay in the storm of this infernal noise; and felt flooding into me, as I lay, a strange white empty bliss. For I was delivered of my warning. The great hand of the god loosened about me, his madness cleared from my head. I was weary, bruised, and fearful, but neither more nor less than man. While flying feet stumbled over me and the greatest of all kings’ houses fell about my ears, I gave a great sigh of ease; it seemed almost that I could have slept.

I raised my head. The wind blew dust and grit into my eyes; a woman rushed past me shrieking, with her skirt on fire. At that I remembered why I was here, and got upon my feet. I was sore and aching, as after a great shaking in the ring; but the giddiness had left me, my head was clear. I looked about me.

The dancing-floor was like a sea-strand where a wreck has carried. The drunken torches leaned on their poles, or guttered on the ground; the tilted flagstones were strewn with a rubbish of garlands and trampled harps, shoes and scarves and bloodstained fans, broken dolls and the ordure of men in terror. The fallen stands were loud with cries and curses and splitting wood. One of them was on fire, where a torch had fallen. And in the middle of the maze, all cowered together as bright birds huddle in thunder, were the dancers.

I ran toward them, picking my way in the mess and rubble. Some were kneeling and beating their breasts, some swaying with covered faces as they wailed, some waving their arms and crying for their menfolk. But in the midst I saw a girl standing alone, with wild bright eyes, silent, staring about her. She was mine, looking for me; against sense and reason knowing I would come for her.

I reached her and caught her up. Her arms gripped me, her face thrust at my neck, her breast crushed upon mine panted and thudded with her beating heart. I ran with her off the floor, picking my way over prone bodies wailing, sputtering torches, trampled flowers, my feet slipping in I knew not what. We ran into the gardens, where the thorns of roses tore us as we fled. Then there was soft earth with sharp spring flowers in it. I put her down.

I had had no thought but to save her. But men are straws in a torrent, when the mighty gods move on the earth. We learned then what it means, when they say that Earth-Shaker is husband of the Mother. We lay a moment in staring stillness, clinging and gasping; then we fell on one another like leopards coupling in the spring.

This passion, being god-inspired, was healing. The earth was moist and sweet; the wrath of Poseidon had stirred its scents like the gardener’s spade, but now it was quiet, a friendly bed. There we lay, I suppose not long, drawing in strength from the Mother’s breast. Then we got stumbling to our feet. She looked at me with dazed, swimming eyes and cried, “My father!”

“He is dead,” I answered. “A good quick death.” She was too stunned to ask me how I knew. “You must mourn later, my bird. My people are waiting, let us go.”

We shook the earth from us, and I led her by the hand. As we came out of the garden-close, we almost fell over a pair lying as we had lain. They did not heed us. Then we faced the Labyrinth, and saw what the god had done.

There where the tiered and terraced roofs had marched one above the other, lifting their proud horns to the sky, was a broken line as ragged as mountain rocks. The columns of the colonnades had fallen, the windows which had been soft with lamplight were black empty caves, or blinking eyes of fire. You could see, through the broken porticoes and through arches from which balconies had crashed away, the flames from the spilled lamp oil running along the floors, leaping up curtains and canopies, eating the wood of bed and chair and fallen rafter, roaring already and crackling as the strong wind swept it on.

Women passed us flying and wailing. One of them carried the child Phaedra clinging about her neck. Ariadne called, but they rushed by unheeding. I hastened on to where I had left the dancers.

They were all there. Some were still calling on the god as I had told them to. They saw us and came running. The grove was bright with firelight now, and I saw tumbling out from under the flowering thickets those whom Mother Dia had stricken with desire. People called to each other that I was here, and ran up, and caught at me. Amyntor indeed embraced me; all this seemed natural, at the time. Not one had been harmed in the earthquake, beyond some grazes when they were flung down.

I said to them, “The god has heard our prayers. Now we will go down to Amnisos, and seize a ship to get off in when the gale eases. But first, look here! Here is the Mistress, Minos’ daughter, spared from Poseidon’s anger. Help me to care for her; she will be my wife. Look at her well and know her. Here she is.”

I swung her up on my shoulder; in the Bull Court one learns the knack. I wanted to be sure they knew her face, lest she should be lost in the tumult, or ravished by the young men; it was a time of wildness. So I lifted her, as one lifts one’s standard for one’s troops to see and remember.

They cheered. The noise amazed me, that so few mouths could make it. And then I saw that all around us, in the mounting glow of the fires, the walks and lawns were black with Cretans. They came swarming and clambering up the slopes, from the open places where they had fled to abide the wrath of Poseidon. The servants in the Bull Court had heard my warning, and run out to warn their friends. All through the Palace, Cretan had told Cretan; they had put down broom and pot and lamp and trencher, and slipped away. They did not hold the gods so light as the courtiers of the Labyrinth.

They had fled and lived. Now they beheld in ruin the proud house of Minos, where they had known heavy labor and slight esteem. They saw the broken doors, the smashed chests and closets spewing out silks and goldwork; the tilted wine jars, the tables spilling their feasts; the precious cups and rhytons they had filled and carried, always for the lips of other men.

So they had crept near, meaning to make themselves the heirs of Labrys. Then just as they reached the upper terrace, I had lifted up before them the Goddess-on-Earth.

She stood to them for the prayers King Minos had answered; for the oracles that had sweetened their coarse bread with mystery and hope; the little Cretan goddess, whom tall fair-haired Pasiphae had been ashamed of bearing. She was their own, their stake in the glories of the Labyrinth. She was the heart and kernel of the old religion, nearest to the Mother who takes men to her breast and soothes them like whipped children after her husband’s wrath. She was the Thrice Holy, the Most Pure, the Guardian of the Dance; and, seeing her, they remembered the sacrilege done before her in the ring, which had waked the Earth Bull to ravage Crete.

They thronged about us, roaring like the sea. They had seen who held her, and remembered the oracles, the ring in the harbor, and the warning that had brought them out. Some of them began shouting the marriage cry, whooping and dancing. But most were pointing to the Palace shaking their fists, or waving sticks and knives. As they pressed forward, sweeping us along with them, a voice howled, “Death to the Minotaur!” and a hundred answered, “Death!”

Amyntor and Telamon closed up beside me, locking their arms across my back. All together we bore up the Mistress; we dared not set her down, lest she should be trampled in the milling press. Remembering the wrecked stands by the dancing-floor, I thought it ten to one Asterion was dead; I was angry at all this hindrance, thinking only how to get my people away. And then, of a sudden, just like the oil flames running along the Palace floors, I felt a fire leap from the Cretans to the bull-dancers around me. A spark of it fell on my soul, and it burst into a blaze.

We thought of our distant homes, our parents weeping when we were snatched away; some of us had been courting, some betrothed, some in love with a craft or with the good land of our fathers, some with our hearts set on renown; from all these things, from the places and the customs of our kin, we had been torn away to die for the sport of the painted Labyrinth. We thought of the haughty envoys coming for tribute who had held our people light. But those of us who by now were bull-dancers to the bone, remembered before everything how Asterion had made merchandise of our courage and our blood. The gods were held cheap in the House of the Ax; but we had been brought from places where gods are honored. Though we were slaves, yet we were a proud people, the little calves of Poseidon. We did not take kindly to being any man’s cattle.

High above the shouts of the Cretans rose the Amazon battle scream. Closer, about my ears, Amyntor and Menesthes were yelling, as they had yelled at the Isthmus and at the storming of Sounion Head, “Ares Enyalios! Ah-yah-yah-yah Enyalios! Hai-ai-ai Theseus! Theseus! Theseus!”

I threw back my head, and gave the war cry.

We began to move faster. I remembered my dive in the muddy harbor, crawling among ships’ garbage to find the ring. I remembered how he had bought me like horseflesh, after I had defied him like a warrior; how he had shown me at his feasts like a dancing dog; how he had made me sing. And I said within me, “Let him dare to die before I come! Wait, Minotauros, wait. Wait for the mainland lad in the leather breeches; the mad bull-boy good to turn somersaults and nothing more! Ares of the Battle Call, Father Poseidon, keep him for me!”

I could feel Ariadne’s fingers clutching my hair, as our charge bore her forward. Presently we came to some carrying-chairs, which had brought nobles to the dancing; we throned her in one of these, and the Cretans lifted the poles. As she rose above the mellay, I looked to see if she was frightened; but she was leaning forward, grasping the chair-arms, her lips parted as if she drank the wind.

A roar broke forth like spring snows rushing down a mountain; but the spate streamed upwards, and was made of fire. The flames had found an oil store. As they met the breath of the gale they were flattened, and blown streaming to the north. By this huge cresset the House of the Ax was lit like day, and I saw that one block still stood entire. It was the western wing, where the great stair led down to the sunken shrine and the white throne of Minos. I thought, “If he lives, he is there.”

They had found a second chair, and tossed me into it, lifting it shoulder-high. I made them turn it round, so that I could stand as in a chariot, with the high back for a rail. I did not want the bull-dancers to lose me. On I rode like a ship on a tossing sea, the Cranes close around, the Cretans cheering. To them I was Theseus the bull-leaper, whom the Mistress fancied; the odds-on favorite who had saved their bets. But to myself I was once more Kouros of Poseidon, Kerkyon of Eleusis; Theseus son of Aigeus son of Pandion, Shepherd of Athens, riding to my enemy. “Ahai! Ahai!” I shouted, as one leads the battle line. The war calls answered. My blood sparkled and sang.

As we came near and the fire-glow warmed our faces, I thought of Minos, for whom the god himself had raised a burial-mound and fired the altar. Minos had sent the tribute-galleys forth. Under his seal the mainland cities had been assessed: so much corn and wine, so many mares in foal, so many bull-dancers. I would have ripped his soul from his breast upon a battlefield, if our threads had crossed there. But it is a king’s work to rule, to widen his lands, to win spoil for his warriors and feed his people. And he had greeted me by my title, though I was a slave. Asterion had offered me gold; he had put wine and dressed meat before me to the sound of music. But he had made my standing mean, and hurt my pride in myself when it was my whole estate. It is what any man will have blood for, who is half a man.

We came in from the east, and saw a place that was not burning. It was the Bull Court. The lamps had been smothered by the falling roof; the shell still stood, and one or two columns; in the portico the Bull of Daidalos kept his sturdy feet, with painted plaster up to his hooves. I made them put me down, to lead the way.

We climbed over the fallen roof beams, and the prone inner doors. In the passage beyond lay the floor from above, broken chairs and women’s paint-pots, and a child’s body curled upon a toy. Fiery sparks floated over us on the wind, and the air rippled with heat. Behind me ran the bull-dancers, who had kept with me while the Cretans looted; working together was in our blood.

Presently we came out on a wide space of ruin. It was the Great Courtyard, where on smooth pavement cool to the feet nobles and envoys had walked among pots of lilies, and flowering lemon trees. Three of its sides had fallen in on it, the south right to the ground; to the east were leaning floors with flames licking along them. But the west wing stood. One of its balconies had fallen; the crimson pillars had smashed through the flagstones, and painted flowers stood bare upon the wall. But in the lofty entrance porch the huge king-column upheld the lintel above the stairs, and at the top of them I saw armed warriors.

I was going to shout for the charge, when I heard groaning. Though the air was full of screams, from people trapped in the ruins, this caught my ear. It was quite near; as I looked about, a heap of rubble moved, and I heard my name.

It was Alektryon. He lay with his curled black lovelocks white with dust; his gaping mouth was scattered with flakes of plaster. So had the boy-dolls of painted clay, which the Cretan ladies deck in springtime, lain on the dancing-floor trampled and unstrung. One hand hung limp; the other moved and fluttered over a great column-drum that lay across his belly. A rag hung out from under it; yellow silk stitched with turquoises, but it was mostly red. As I looked down, two Cretans shouldered each other to snatch his jewels.

I flung them off him, and knelt down, with half an eye for the porch where the troops had seen us. His grimy hand gripped my arm. “Theseus,” he said. “Don’t leave me for the fire.”

I looked at the great column; then at his eyes. We understood each other. I brushed the rubble from his breast; he was slender, and weakly as it beat one could find his heart. “This will be quick,” I said. “May the Guide lead you kindly. Shut your eyes.”

He put his hand on my wrist, and panted as if he would speak again. I paused, and he jerked his head to the west wing, saying, “The Minotaur.” Then he shut his eyes as I had told him to. Seeing him bite his lips with pain, I left him in it no longer. He caught his breath and died; and I turned away, for there was much to do. So I never saw who got his necklace and earrings.

Men were coming down the steps, holding up shields against the stones the Cretans were throwing. Forth stepped Phoitios, with his boxer’s nose, and standing before the king-column called out in Cretan, “Be quiet, good people. You have a king to mourn for. Minos is dead in the earthquake. How he sinned against the god, and incurred this vengeance, you will be told when there is time. But first the new Minos must be hallowed, who can make our peace with Earth-Shaker and avert his anger. Now while I speak to you the sacred rite is being done; the time is too desperate for public shows.” There were boos and howls of anger; but Phoitios was a man who could face out a lie. He flung up his hand palm out; he was a man used to command, and the sign had power. “Take care! He is in the presence of Mother Dia! It is sacrilege for men unpurified to approach the shrine. Have you not had enough misfortune? Stand back, and escape the curse.”

They drew back muttering. They were not warriors, and had good cause to fear the gods. Then in the pause, a high clear voice sang out across the courtyard. “Who are you, Phoitios,” it said, “to curse for the Mother?”

She stood on the platform before her chair, her right arm raised, the flame-light flickering on the dress she had led the dance in. Phoitios’ mouth set, and his men looked at each other. I too gazed in awe. Never before had I heard her speak with power; it made me shiver.

She said, pointing toward the sanctuary, “In there is the curse upon the Labyrinth! I call all gods to witness, he has murdered Minos! There is the killer, in the holy place, uncleansed of blood-guilt, standing before the Mother. And you speak of sacrilege!” There was a dead hush, but for the rush and crackle of fire. She stretched both hands out over the earth and cried aloud, “May the Mother curse him and all gods below, and may Night’s Daughters hunt him down into the ground! And on the hand that sheds his blood let there be a blessing.”

The silence broke in roaring. The Cretans surged forward. I cheered them on; a warrior does not forget the battle. But my mind was troubled. I thought, “She does not know who struck down Minos. Will her curse fly home to me?” And then I thought, “No, for Minos himself freed me of it,” and then again, “But she would have known who killed him, if she had spoken in the power of any god.” Then I felt better. As to Asterion being her own mother’s son, there is no holier duty than to avenge one’s father. One could only praise her, if she wanted to see his blood.

The Cretans were hurling stones again and pressing nearer; behind us was the fire, and before the enemy. I jumped up where the bull-dancers could see me, and gave the call of the bull ring, when everyone is needed to turn the bull.

A boy’s shout answered mine. Thalestris scrambled up the rubble, the firelight turning her strong limbs all to gold. She reached back over her shoulder to her quiver, and nocked an arrow to her string. It spoke, and Phoitios fell.

“Well shot!” I called, and turned to smile at her. But she did not look. She was giving at the knees, and sinking backward, with a javelin standing up under her breast. She fell; the blood of her wound was bright as scarlet, and there was a rattle in her breath. A red-haired Amazon who had fought at her left hand knelt down beside her wailing. Thalestris pushed her away, to struggle up on her elbow; she scanned the battle line, and pointed out the man who had thrown the javelin. The red-haired girl leaped to her feet again. Under the glowing sky her eyes seemed to glitter with tears of fire; she blinked them away, and steadied her hands to aim. The man clutched his throat, and I saw the flight of her arrow between his fingers. Then she turned back; but Thalestris’ stare was set, and she lay still, with her black hair spilled among the crocks of a painted vase.

The red-haired girl gave a scream that drowned all the din of the burning Labyrinth, and rushed toward the spears. I shouted my war call and sprang ahead. I liked her spirit; but I was not going to have a woman get there before me.

The bull-dancers came swarming over the broken stones. Our feet were light, from dodging bulls in the thick sand of the ring; and the weapons in our hands were like food in famine, to us who had flirted with death unarmed. The troops on the steps had spears and shields; but Cretan bulls have long horns, and stronger fronts than a plated war helm. We were used to unequal matches; it had been our life.

They were still hurling javelins, and ours could not be thrown; they had all been shortened, to smuggle into the Bull Court. Amyntor was by me. We grinned at each other, with the love of men in battle who know each other’s minds. Each of us picked his man, and waited till a stone made him throw his shield up; then we ran in and grappled him round the middle. Each of us came away with shield and seven-foot spear.

We pressed up the wide stairway. Not far off I saw the red-haired Amazon, with Phoitios’ arms and helmet. The guards upon the steps had locked their shields; but we bore them back and back, past the painted frieze of noble youths bearing gifts to Minos, up and back toward the hall above. Sometimes they would trip as they felt for the stair behind them, and pitch down into our hands. The steps grew slippery, but it was worth it to get their arms. I saw some at the back beginning to steal away, and raised a yell to put the rest in fear.

Suddenly, like water from a sink, they trickled back into the shadows. They had gone to hold a narrower pass. We gave a loud triumph call. Among all the voices, there was one that made me turn. It was Ariadne, borne high by the cheering Cretans, her hair dishevelled, her eyes wide, crying us on to the kill.

As we tore up the stairs, I looked at the red-haired Amazon, whose spear arm was dyed now with a crimson wound; and my heart hid from its own thought. For war frenzy is honorable in a warrior girl, who sheds her own blood and risks her own life beside you. I know, who once had such a comrade, no man better than I, how as a bright torch it lights the battle. But in a house-woman with soft hands, whose painted feet have scarcely felt rough ground beneath them, it is not the same.

“Well,” I said to myself, “wrong has been done her, and worse wrong threatened. She has a right to vengeance. And it is a time to do, not think.”

At the top of the stairs was a hall, and beyond that an entry where light showed through from a staircase open to the sky. But while they held the outer steps, those I thought had fled had been building a barricade, of fallen stones and chests and such heavy stuff. It looked good for a long while. They shouted at us from behind it, bidding us begone, and leave Minos to his sacred task.

I said to Amyntor, “Sacred task! There is only one thing the gods still want from him. If he were half a king, he would offer it himself, not leave us to take it.” Then I looked through at the staircase, and remembered the place below and how the land lay there; and I had a thought.

“Kasos,” I said, “keep up the attack here. Press them hard; don’t let them think you are playing for time. There is a way I know; but it may be blocked by the earthquake. If I get in, you will hear my war call.” I looked for the Mistress, and saw her safe among her guardian Cretans. Then I rallied the Cranes to me, and said, “Follow me.”

I led them down the steps again, and along the courtyard, toward the northern block beyond which was the Bull Court. There was a little warren there of kitchens and stillrooms and paint stores and blending rooms for oils and scents. There too was the old lamp room, with its trapdoor to the vaults.

The face of the block had fallen, and the upper floors had caught the fire; but below were thick walls and pillars, and at ground level one could get inside. I must own I did not like it Poseidon’s great rage might have deadened me for a lesser warning; and the place looked ready to fall if one only breathed. Before we entered, I prayed him for a sign if he was still angry. Nothing stirred but the fire above us; so we went in.

The lamp room stood. The shelves had fallen, and the lamps lay smashed on the floor. There were oil jars broken too, and we looked at each other, knowing fire might close the way behind us. But below were the strong pillars of Cretan Minos, which had withstood two great earthquakes. I thought it was a chance worth taking; and the Cranes trusted me.

Below, all was thick darkness. We made wicks from our garments for two lamps which would still hold oil; there was no lack of kindling. I found the secret thread still tied about its pillar. I took it in one hand, and a lamp in the other, and led the way.

The place had changed. We had to paddle in wine and oil, in lentils or in sesame, where the shock had thrown down the cysts and shelves. And once, as we crossed the ancient armory, we saw beyond it, through a narrow chink, wild tossing torchlight, and heard the shouts of men fighting like beasts. I guessed the vaults of treasure lay there. But the Cranes kept with me, sure and silent. Our minds were single; we did not take that sickness.

At last we came to the Watcher. Great stones had fallen from the pillar by him, and he had risen a little out of the ground. You could see his jaw now and his fine strong teeth; he must have been young. The Cranes started, but he was an old friend to me; I saw no malice in his grin. It was his shaky pillar I did not care for; I put finger on lip, and we trod cat-footed.

At last we saw before us the upward door, and under it a crack of light. We crept up softly; and laying my ear to the wood, I heard a sound of chanting.

I tried the door, fearing to find it jammed out of the true. But it opened smoothly, still oiled from the last time. We grasped our weapons, and slipped within. The anteroom was full of a flickering glimmer. We crept across it; beyond was the great stairway, all dusky red with light thrown back from the burning sky. But there were lamps below, and mixed with the smoke a swirling cloud of incense. I signed for silence, and looked through.

I saw before me a rite scrambled up out of fear and wreck: priests and priestesses in their daily clothes, with some rag or scrap as symbol of sacred raiment; rich pedestals bearing lamps of common clay, a boy with a dirty face holding the fretted censer; cracked vases of precious work laid leaking by, and the holy oils in pots from the kitchen. The white throne of Minos stood empty between its gryphons. The daggled crowd faced the other way, to the sunken earth court. White-faced hierophants stood round it, their gold-stitched robes torn and soiled, like mountebanks in rich men’s cast-offs bought from chamber grooms. Their incantations, shaky as the plaints of beggars, filled the place with a gabbling drone; sometimes they coughed, as wind-blown soot caught their throats.

Down in the earth court a man was standing, naked down from the neck; broad-bodied, thick-legged, thatched with black hair on chest and groin and shins, a-straddle before the sacred Labrys. His trunk glistened with the chrism a shaking old man and woman smeared on him with half-palsied hands. From the neck down he was man, and base; above the neck he was beast, and noble. Calm and lordly, long-horned and curly-browed, the splendid bull-mask of Daidalos gazed out through the sorry huddle with its grave crystal eyes.

Above the chanting, half muffled by the walls, I could hear the fight still raging; the clatter of weapons and of stones, the shouts of men, the Amazons yelling. Our friends had kept faith with us. Now it was time. I gave the war whoop, and rushed out among them.

The celebrants screamed and scattered. There was a rush for the staircase, old men and women knocking each other down, while those who were stronger trod them under. From outside came the shouts of the defenders, as they heard they had been taken from behind. A few wild-eyed guards, who had been stationed about the Throne Room itself, rushed in disordered. I thought the Cranes could hold them. As for me, I had one thing to do.

He stood at bay, against the high wall that carried the stairway above the pit. It was too deep for him to climb out of it except by its steps. I stood at the top of them, and called his name. I wanted him to know me. The gold mask turned, and the curved eyes faced me. Fixed with that kingly gaze, which lent majesty even to what hid within it, I lifted my arm, and gave the salute of the team leader to the bull. Then I leaped down to him.

For a moment he stood with the wall behind him. Then his arm shot out grasping. A shape like a black thunderbolt whirled round him in the air. He had snatched up Mother Labrys from her stand, the King-Eater, the ancient guardian. On the stairs above us, a priestess screamed.

He had denied me my warrior’s standing; so I had been ready to kill him unarmed as one kills wild beasts. Yet it stirred my heart, to see there would be a fight. I danced about him, feinting with my spear, while he waited, half crouched, with the ax laid back to his shoulder. And it seemed wrong to me that either of us should be armed, save he with his long horns, which presently I must grasp and vault on, while the gamblers called the odds, and the people shouted in the painted stands.

The old priest and priestess had scrambled out; now the small space was clear. I lunged, to make a quick end. But fear had quickened him too. Down came the stone blade upon my spear shaft, a foot from the head, and it drooped like a switched grass stalk, cut half through. Then we two were alone in our little bull pit, as in the days of the primal sacrifice; the armed beast and the naked man.

I heard his heavy grunting in the hollow mask, as he came forward lifting the ax to strike. There was strength in those fleshy shoulders. Above in the Throne Room was a battle raging; there could be no help yet. He had worked round me, to head me off from the steps, and was driving me back against the further wall. Then, when there was nothing more to do, my body thought for me, as it does in the dance. I stood up against the wall, and when the ax came at me, dropped like a stone. As it struck the wall where I had been, I seized his leg and threw him.

He fell heavily, on the hard glazed floor of the earth court. I heard the muffled clang of the gold mask striking; and when I grappled him and saw it askew, I knew he was fighting blind. He still had the ax; but now we were in-fighting, and he could not swing it. He shortened his grip and, as we rolled and twisted, beat me with it as one might with any stone. But I hampered his arm, so that it did me no great hurt. And I thought, “Labrys will never fight for him.” She was old, and used to dignity; and once again she had fed upon a king. She would not like to be taken lightly.

And I was right. If he had let her go, and used both hands to wrestle, he would have had a chance; he was twice my weight, and had not labored that day like me. But he was no wrestler, though Cretans are well taught; he could not give up the hope of cracking my head. So as he raised the ax blade, I had time to grab my dagger out of my belt, and drive it home with all the strength left in me. It had a long way to go, through his thick carcass; but it reached his life. He doubled up with a great grunting cry, clasping his midriff. I stood up from him, with the ax in my hand.

A cry went up from the people on the stairs; but more of awe than grief; and a deep hush followed it. Looking up, I saw the Cranes all safe, and the guards already fled away. Before me he lay writhing, scraping the noble mask of the Bull God on the floor; I drew it off, and held it up to the people.

Now I saw his face, grimacing with bared teeth. I stepped up to him, to hear what he would say to me. But he only stared at me as at some shape of chaos, seen in a dream where nothing makes sense. He who had thought to rule without the sacrifice, who had never felt the god’s breath that lifts a man beyond himself, had nothing to take him kinglike to the dark house of Hades. And yet, mixed with the blood and sweat that smeared his breast, I saw the oil that had made him slippery while we grappled. He had been anointed, when we broke in. So after all there was a rite still to do.

I lifted the mask of Minos, and put it on. Through the eyes of thick curved crystal, everything looked little, far and clear; I had to pause awhile, to get the feel of it and judge my distance. Then I swung Labrys back, and brought her down, my head and shoulders and body coming round with the blow. The force of it tingled through my hands; and the voice at my feet was silent.

From the Throne Room above I heard the cry of the Cranes; and from the porch the din of rout, as the news reached the defenders. But I stood still, seeing through the crystal a small bright image, such as a god may see who looks down from the sky, far down and back for a thousand years to men who lived and suffered in ancient days; and in my heart was a long silence.