foot of a rocky bluff. Stairs led up it to the terrace where the Palace stood: red columns with black bases, and yellow walls. The cliff below it was undercut; the hollow looked dark and gloomy, and had a deep cleft in its floor that plunged into the earth. The breeze bore from it a faint stench of rotten flesh.
She pointed to the level place before it, and said, "There is the wrestling ground." I saw the Palace roof and the terrace thick with people. Those who had come with us spread themselves on the slopes. I looked at the cleft and said, "What happens to the loser?"
She said, "He goes to the Mother. At the autumn sowing his flesh is brought forth and plowed into the fields, and turns to corn. A man is happy who in the flower of youth wins fortune and glory, and whose thread runs out before bitter old age can fall on him." I answered, "He has been happy indeed," and looked straight at her. She did not blush, but her chin went up.
'This Kerkyon," I said; "we meet in combat, not as the priest offers the victim?" That would have been against my stomach, seeing the man had not chosen his own time. I was glad when she nodded her head. "And the weapons?" I asked. "Only those," she said, "that men are born with." I looked about and said, "Will a man of your people tell me the rules?" She looked at me puzzled; I thought it was my Hellene speech, and said again, "The laws of battle?" She raised her brows and answered, "The law is that the King must die."
Then, on the broad steps that climbed up to the Citadel, I saw him coming down to meet me. I knew him at once, because he was alone.
The steps were crowded with people from the Palace; but they all hung back from him and stood wide, as if his death were a catching sickness. He was older than I. His black beard was enough to hide his jaw; I don't think he was less than twenty. As he looked down at me, I could tell I seemed a boy to him. He was not much above my height, being tall only for a Minyan; but he was lean and sinewy as mountain lions are. His strong black hair, too short and thick to hang in lovelocks, covered his neck like a curling mane. As we met each other's eyes, I thought, "He has stood where I stand now, and the man he fought with is bones under the rock." And then I thought, "He has not consented to his death."
All about us was a great silence full of eyes. And it moved me as a strange and powerful thing, that these watching people did not feel even themselves as they felt us. I wondered if for him it was the same.
As we stood thus, I saw that after all he was not quite alone. A woman had come up behind him, and stood there weeping. He did not turn to look. If he heard, he had other things to think of.
He came a few steps lower, looking not at the Queen but only at me. "Who are you, and where do you come from?" He spoke Greek very foreignly, but I understood him. It seemed to me we would have understood each other if he had had none at all.
"I am Theseus, from Troizen in the Isle of Pelops. I came in peace, passing through to Athens. But our life-threads are crossed, it seems."
"Whose son are you?" he asked. Looking at his face, I saw he had no purpose in his questions, except to know he was still King, and a man walking in sunlight above the earth. I answered, "My mother hung up her girdle for the Goddess. I am a son of the myrtle grove."
The listeners made their soft murmur, like rustling reeds. But I felt the Queen move beside me. She was staring at me; and Kerkyon, now, at her. Then he burst out laughing. His teeth were strong and white above his young black beard. The people stirred, surprised; I was no wiser than they. All I knew, as the King laughing turned my way, was that his jest was bitter. He stood on the stairs and laughed; and the woman behind him covered her face in her two hands, and crouched down and rocked herself to and fro.
He came down. Face to face, I saw he was as strong as I had thought. "Well, Son of the Grove, let us do the
She pointed to the level place before it, and said, "There is the wrestling ground." I saw the Palace roof and the terrace thick with people. Those who had come with us spread themselves on the slopes. I looked at the cleft and said, "What happens to the loser?"
She said, "He goes to the Mother. At the autumn sowing his flesh is brought forth and plowed into the fields, and turns to corn. A man is happy who in the flower of youth wins fortune and glory, and whose thread runs out before bitter old age can fall on him." I answered, "He has been happy indeed," and looked straight at her. She did not blush, but her chin went up.
'This Kerkyon," I said; "we meet in combat, not as the priest offers the victim?" That would have been against my stomach, seeing the man had not chosen his own time. I was glad when she nodded her head. "And the weapons?" I asked. "Only those," she said, "that men are born with." I looked about and said, "Will a man of your people tell me the rules?" She looked at me puzzled; I thought it was my Hellene speech, and said again, "The laws of battle?" She raised her brows and answered, "The law is that the King must die."
Then, on the broad steps that climbed up to the Citadel, I saw him coming down to meet me. I knew him at once, because he was alone.
The steps were crowded with people from the Palace; but they all hung back from him and stood wide, as if his death were a catching sickness. He was older than I. His black beard was enough to hide his jaw; I don't think he was less than twenty. As he looked down at me, I could tell I seemed a boy to him. He was not much above my height, being tall only for a Minyan; but he was lean and sinewy as mountain lions are. His strong black hair, too short and thick to hang in lovelocks, covered his neck like a curling mane. As we met each other's eyes, I thought, "He has stood where I stand now, and the man he fought with is bones under the rock." And then I thought, "He has not consented to his death."
All about us was a great silence full of eyes. And it moved me as a strange and powerful thing, that these watching people did not feel even themselves as they felt us. I wondered if for him it was the same.
As we stood thus, I saw that after all he was not quite alone. A woman had come up behind him, and stood there weeping. He did not turn to look. If he heard, he had other things to think of.
He came a few steps lower, looking not at the Queen but only at me. "Who are you, and where do you come from?" He spoke Greek very foreignly, but I understood him. It seemed to me we would have understood each other if he had had none at all.
"I am Theseus, from Troizen in the Isle of Pelops. I came in peace, passing through to Athens. But our life-threads are crossed, it seems."
"Whose son are you?" he asked. Looking at his face, I saw he had no purpose in his questions, except to know he was still King, and a man walking in sunlight above the earth. I answered, "My mother hung up her girdle for the Goddess. I am a son of the myrtle grove."
The listeners made their soft murmur, like rustling reeds. But I felt the Queen move beside me. She was staring at me; and Kerkyon, now, at her. Then he burst out laughing. His teeth were strong and white above his young black beard. The people stirred, surprised; I was no wiser than they. All I knew, as the King laughing turned my way, was that his jest was bitter. He stood on the stairs and laughed; and the woman behind him covered her face in her two hands, and crouched down and rocked herself to and fro.
He came down. Face to face, I saw he was as strong as I had thought. "Well, Son of the Grove, let us do the
Similar Books
