The Bull from the Sea by Mary Renault Page B

to and fro; then one went flying. It was the bull, living up to his forefathers. But the odds were against him; presently they got more halters on, and pricked him along with spears. Counting the horns, I saw they had taken only the Cretan stock, and the cream of that. They could be well away, before the footmen could catch them.
    I shaded my eyes. There was a man apart, waving his arm, giving orders. His helmet gave off a flash of silver. “That’s Pirithoos,” I thought. “The man who is off to range the Hellene coastlands, boasting of how he pulled Theseus’ nose.”
    I turned to the boy and said, “You can get down now. I am going after him.”
    He cried, “Oh, my lord, no!”
    “Why not?” I said. “A man must fight when he is challenged. I daresay the fellow hasn’t reckoned on my coming alone; but if he is a warrior and cares about his standing, he must meet me, not set on me with his band. If he is no gentleman, I am out of luck. But it only comes once to us.”
    “But, sir!” he said. “I only meant don’t put me down.”
    “This loses time,” I told him. “You have heard me. Out!”
    “But I am your man now,” he said, grabbing at the rail and going red as if he would cry. “You took me for the horses. I have to go into battle with you, or lose my honor.”
    “Well, you have a fair case there.” I had to admit it. “This is no way to go on, to make old bones. Very well, then, let us go with our fate. Hold tight.”
    We clattered down the slope on to the flat plain. Then we could go. The light car hopped and bounced over the salty clods. The sun shone brightly. Marathon always has the feel of luck for me. The horsehoofs pounded; my arms rattled about me; my shield tugged in the wind and I slid it off for the boy to hold. He clutched it with one hand and held on with the other, drinking with open mouth the air-wash of our speed.
    The pirates had turned to stare. They were big hairy men, with the bowlegs Lapiths have from getting off their mother’s back straight on to a horse’s. They pointed, shouting, at my team; I remembered they are famous horse-thieves, and thought it would be a comedown if they killed me just for these. Their words were half lost in hair; at sea they do not shave their upper lips like Hellenes, nor their cheeks, but let it grow down like bears before and behind. Some had it to their middles.
    The herd milled about; the Lapiths hailed each other in their bastard speech, antique Hellene and pirate slang. With all the noise, the leader had not seen me; the herd was between. It was odds-on one of these ruffians would have me with a javelin first. Remembering the bull knew his own name, I yelled out, “Oinops!” and for a moment he stopped dead.
    The bright-helmed leader came running; just in time, too; one of the pirates was an archer, and had an arrow fitted to his string. The chief shoved him toppling backwards, and beckoned his armor-bearer, who brought his spear and shield.
    He was about four-and-twenty; taller than the rest, and barbered like a Hellene, with a black rakish short-clipped beard and the rest shaved clean. He had dark brows just like the wings of a hawk, with that upward curve at the outer tips; and his eyes were light green, almost golden: wild, bright and watchful as a leopard’s, only beasts do not laugh. He balanced his spear and called, in true Greek but with a broad up-country lilt to it, “Hoy, get back there. Who are you?”
    His clothes were rich, but with something antique about them: great studs of worked bronze, a helmet of burnished silver, a lionskin cloak with the teeth and claws. Round his right arm a long blue snake was twisted, stained into the skin as the Thracians do it. But the Lapith kings have married often into Hellene houses; they know the right names of the gods, and the famous battle-lays, and the rules of war.
    I called out, “I am Theseus, the man you have come to see.”
    He grinned, and the corners of his brows shot