by Henry Treece
Once Aegisthus came to see me at this, after he had been drinking. He had four companions with him, all heavy with wine and half-hoping to make a jest of the new goddess. Had they been sober, they would not have dared. But, this hot afternoon, their senses were a little over the hills. I could see this, squinting at them under my lids, as they entered the Hearth Shrine.
They stood swaying for a while, giggling and trying to make me break my silence and laugh with them. But I set my mind on Hermione among the hot lavender, and they could not break through the walls of that dream.
Aegisthus came forward at last, showing off to his fellows, and took the lowest flounce of my skirt, though hesitantly I noticed.
‘See, mates,’ he said, ‘no lightning has struck me yet!’
Then he began to raise my skirt, to show my legs. ‘Look,’ he called again, ‘we have got as far as the knee and the goddess has held her hand. Let us go farther, and find out if there is anything to be afraid of!’
I felt his hand and smelled his over-sweet, wine-laden breath. It sickened me to have this man exposing me, to bolster up his cowardice before his friends; but for the moment I could do nothing, having no weapons in my hand and no guards about me. He was doing it all so slowly, so deliberately, although his fat hand shook and made my ornaments chatter against each other like hissing serpents.
There came a moment when I was almost afraid myself, and when I heard the watchers beginning to cry out in mockery. Just then, I think the Mother must have spoken to me, in her strange way, for out in the pastures I heard the deep bellowing of a bull. The sound came to my ears like a message.
I said in as low and steady a voice as I could find, ‘The king is brave. We all see that his courage lets him unveil what should be hidden. Only the bravest man may do thus. He has shown that he is the master of the goddess, has he not?’
They all began to cheer then and slap one another on the back. Aegisthus thought very well of himself and was about to go farther, when I said, ‘Now he must take the next step, to prove himself. Will he do that?’
‘Yes! Yes!’ he bawled, thinking something different from what was in my mind.
‘Very well,’ I said, so that all should hear, ‘I call on you men as witnesses. King Aegisthus shall dance with Poseidon’s bull this afternoon—then no one can deny him anything, for he will have shown his mastery both over goddess and god!’
‘The drunken companions roared with delight at this turn of the game, not realising the gravity of it all. But Aegisthus saw well enough how the dice had fallen, and he shrank back, wanting to withdraw, but fearing to lose face with his friends.
He waved them away at last, then came to me humbly and whispered, ‘For the god’s sake, Electra, release me from this thing. I am too old for that sport; look, I am fat and out of condition. That black devil will hurt me.’
I still stood upon the altar, but now I let myself smile as I said,’ What, the Kin of Thyestes frightened of a little sun-dance! I should be ashamed of you, King of Mycenae, if I did not know you jested.’
He knew what was in my heart and left the shrine-room, beating his hands on his head. When I told my sick mother about this, she looked at me calmly and said, ‘So, you have decided which way he shall end at last. Now I see that you have outgrown any advice I can give you. I was never so well able to manage men as you are, at your age, or any other age, for that matter.’
I kissed her thin hands and said, ‘That is because men are nothing to me, dearest. They are no more than the little tortoises that wicked boys catch on the shore and switch the heads off with willow wands.’
Clytemnestra held me to her and whispered, ‘You love your girl cousin, don’t you, daughter?’
I nodded but did not speak. I was crying in my heart for sweet Hermione, and there was no language to describe such a yearning.
At last the queen said, ‘One day, soon, you must make the journey to Delphi to ask Apollo where Hermione may be. I cannot have you waste away with longing, if it is within our power to bring your lover back to you.’
I went from her bedside then and walked out to see the bull-ring made ready for the afternoon’s games, for this was the Festival of Europa, to mark the day when the god became a black bull and swam across to Crete with the daughter of Egyptian Agenor. Usually, at. this festival, a dark-skinned girl danced with the bull, but this day I had Aegisthus garbed like a girl, and had the women put a black wig over his bald head.
He came out trembling with fear and drink, into the hot day, and was straightaway swept off his feet by young men and carried to the dancing-pit. I must describe this pit, doctor, because you will see the meaning of it all the better for my words.
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our dancing-pit or bull-ring was more ancient than the city itself. The first of the first-folk had used it, our poets said, and they called it the Womb of Hera, because of its shape. It lay in a narrow little valley that sloped steeply at the back of the palace, and was hardly more than a basin of rock, whose sides fell almost straight down, and then came together more gradually, to form a flat base. This base, or bull-dancing floor, was no more than five paces across, which gave little room for dancer or bull when the pace got furious.
Once this basin had been all rock, like the hills that rose about it, like the palace itself, which grew from the rock and was part of the rock; but over the many generations dust, and clay, and bull-dirt had fallen into it, covering the limestone with a sort of natural cement, that had become smooth and shiny with the years, and with the treading and slithering of many feet. When the bull-ring was not In use between festivals, the small boys of Mycenae would use it in their play, sliding down it on their bottoms, then scrambling up its steep sides again, like gay little frogs. Only the strong and agile could clamber from base to lip without falling in again; and few men could do it easily, unless they were trained athletes.
This was the Womb of Hera. The tread of many years had made the floor dark brown and gleaming, like Libyan ebony-wood. And so close clustered the hills about it that the crowds could gather there and see all that happened. There was a wooden platform, or ledge, at the lip of the basin, where kings and queens and goddesses took their stand. This was made of oak so old that the poets said it had first come from Dodoma, from the same grove where Jason’s prow had grown. Some said it was part of the one wagon-load of oak that was used when Argo was built. Truly, it was old, and the worm had been at it for hundreds of years; and it was riddled through and through. Yet it was as sound as ever; twelve heavy men could jump up and down upon it and never make it budge or shudder. This was always done before a bull-dancing, so that the safety of the kings am! queens would be assured, as they gathered on it, watching.
I stood on this ledge that afternoon, with Rarus close behind me, and a waiting-woman to hold the feather fan over my head, for it was a very hot day. On a little stool beside me, sat Aegisthus’ young, daughter, Helen. She was about two at the time, I would guess, and beginning to take notice of life. Before the dance started, I turned to her and whispered, ‘Your father the king is a great hero, is he not?’ Helen grinned up at me in the sunlight and nodded, her thin hair blowing in the faint breezes. I thought at the time what a shame it was that she, who was after all my half-sister, would never grow to be a woman. But such thoughts must not be allowed to nest in the heart like pigeons; they must be driven away before the mating starts. I turned from her and gazed at the crowds who lined the hillside, their arms about each other, their brown faces gleaming in the sun, their hard hands passing the wine-skin from group to group.
Herdsmen drove the bull in first. A black four-year-old, with horns that came out before him, longer than swords, in a great curved sweep. In the sunshine his hide glistened like wet silk.
As he slithered down the slope and gained his footing below, I said to Rarus, ‘Look, he has been fed, or drugged; he almost seems to smile. This is no way for a bull to come into the ring.’
Rarus came closer to me and whispe
red, ‘I think the chief citizen, Tyndareus, had the tending of him. He would not want Aegisthus hurt, he makes too much profit from the king for that.’
I never liked Tyndareus; he was too much like Aegisthus—fat and bald, and crafty. His dark bright eyes moved everywhere, and spoke a different language from his lips. He had been in the Shrine when the king lifted my skirt, and had laughed louder than the rest. I had set this down in my mind, against the time when Tyndareus’ own reckoning should be paid.
Then I signed for the soldiers to blow the horns, and as the blast echoed over the stone hills, Aegisthus came into view. He was not happy, but I must confess that he put on a good show, especially when he saw that his little daughter was on the platform with me.
He held his right hand up in salute and called out, ‘Lady, this we do to celebrate the glory of Hellas!’ It was a formal speech which all bull-dancers were required to make, and he made it well enough, In a loud clear voice which carried up to the crowd on the highest part of the hillside. They cheered him and flung wine-skins into the blue air.
Little Helen clapped her hands as Aegisthus slithered slowly down the slope. ‘Look! Look!’ she said. ‘The king goes bravely!’
Poor little fool—she did not see the sweat of terror on his brow, or the great effort it cost him to make his fat face smile, as though he delighted in his task. But I did, and I said to Rarus, ‘Well, if we see nothing worse than this, friend, we shall have seen a king afraid.’
Aegisthus stumbled and lost his footing when he reached the bottom, because of his lame leg, but the black bull only gazed at him with great damp eyes, hardly interested in him. This gave the king courage, for he went to the hull and patted his rump, well out of reach of the long horns. The crowd called out in praise at this; so Aegisthus plucked up still more heart, and climbed on the bull’s broad back. It took him great effort, but the beast stood very still while he did it. The king had to kick his heels into the creature’s flanks a dozen times before it would begin to lumber round the small ring. Once more the crowd cheered, though a little less heartily now;
they felt that the show was almost over. Tyndareus, the chief citizen, who stood on a rock about ten paces from me, called out, ‘Goddess, we have seen the king’s valour now. He has proved himself, lady. Shall we throw the ropes down to bring him up again?’
But I ignored him, and stared downwards as though I intended the game to go on. Aegisthus glared up at me as he jolted round the ring, the sweat coming off his brow and chest. Then, as though he felt angry because I had not listened to Tyndareus, he swung off the bull’s back and took him with both hands by the left horn, swinging his whole weight on it, his feet off the ground.
The bull tried to shake him off, but he was a young animal, and
Aegisthus was a heavy man. For a while the bull stood still, as though trying to think what he should do next, stupidly, puzzled. Then suddenly he gave a little lowing cry that bubbled deep down in his chest, and began to swing round, in a tight circle, towards the left. Aegisthus kept his feet clear of the ground and began to laugh, like a boy who feels he has the mastery of a game.
The crowd up the hillside laughed too, and so did Helen. It looked as though this could go on for ever, without anyone getting hurt.
Then all at once the young bull in his twirling lost his footing and fell with a heavy thud on his side. It shook the earth. Aegisthus, by some luck, dropped clear and rolled away, safe and grinning.
Tyndareus shouted out to his servants, ‘Come, now, fling the ropes down, the show is over.’
I turned this time and said, ‘Since when has a mere citizen ruled this ceremony, Tyndareus?’
The crowd did not like this, nor did he like being mentioned by name among the people, and his brown face flushed. But he answered me as politely as his anger would let him and said, ‘Lady, you can see that the bull has hurt himself. One of his legs is bruised; he cannot get up!’
I waited a moment, to show my dignity, then said for all to hear, ‘Then the king has no more to fear, citizen. We will raise the bull and let them dance their way out.’
Young men slithered down to get the creature on its hooves again. I beckoned Rarus to me and put a little horn-box in his hand. ‘Here, friend,’ I whispered, ‘get some of this powder in your palm and rub it on the tender part, near the black beast’s tail. He will forget his lame leg then.’
Rarus slipped down into the Womb of Hera and mingled with the other youths. Suddenly the bull gave a high bellow and began to throw greenish dirt behind him, over his legs and over the youths. They scattered from his flailing horns and, as the beast got angrily to his knees again, scrambled quickly up the slope.
This was a very different bull, and Aegisthus sensed it. He stared at me for a moment, his eyes wide and white, then he had to set his mind to other things, for the beast came at him, swinging his horns like vicious scythes, blaming the king for the sharp pain he was feeling.
The crowd stopped laughing and was silent. The wine-skin was forgotten. There was no breath to blow the flutes with, even.
Now the ring seemed to shrink in size, and it was as though the bull was always on the king’s heels, however tight the circle he ran. The dark mess still issued from the creature, fouling the ground, and colouring the lower walls of the basin. Aegisthus went down on one knee once, losing his footing, and he rose scarcely in time, his legs stained, the horns curving up only a hand’s breadth behind him.
Tyndareus shouted out, ‘This is enough, lady. His blood be on your head if he dies.’
Then, to my great amazement and anger, many folk among the crowd began to shout the same, as though Aegisthus was their hero, as though they did not wish him to die down there. As though they loved him above me.
Soon the bull had put one horn into the king’s tunic, and had ripped it from him with one sweep, letting us see the king’s fat waist drooping over his thong-belt. I would have thought all Mycenae would have laughed at such a sight—but no one did, except little Helen, who thought her father was doing all this to amuse her.
A gasp of shock passed up the hillside, like a flock of wild geese on their way to the south. And by this sign I knew that if I let Aegisthus die that day, I was as good as dead myself, and so was my mother, who lay on her sick-bed in the palace. I still could not understand why Aegisthus was so well-loved in Mycenae. But I put the best face on it I could, and I moved to the edge of the platform and called down,’ It is finished, Aegisthus. Take care now and we will have the ropes down to you in an instant. You have done most bravely, my king.’
1 do not think he heard me, for he suddenly ran out of the track of the bull and tried to scramble up the steep and slippery wall of the basin, the bull close behind him. It seemed that the king would do it, for, as the bull lost its footing and fell back, Aegisthus’ fingers scratched at the wall only a sword’s length from my feet. If I had bent I could have dragged him up to safety; but my disgust of the man kept me from doing this, though the crowd expected it. His great eyes, brimful with terror, gazed into mine, imploring, and I smiled back at him without moving. The king shouted out, something wordless and afraid; little Helen clapped her hands again and crowed with glee; Tyndareus yelled, close in my ear, ‘Hold fast, Aegisthus, the rope is coming!’
But then the king’s finger-hold broke away and he slid back, his heavy body plummeting down the greasy slope, to where the furious bull now stood, tossing his mad horns and slavering, and breathing like a bellows.
I do not think the beast even knew that he hit Aegisthus, for his threshing head was rising and falling without meaning now. But we saw the sharp horn go into the king as he lay helpless and spread eagled on the lower slope, and we saw its red point come out again just above the buttock. Then Aegisthus began to squeal like a stuck pig and the gore to spurt over the bull’s nose as he tried to get rid of the unwanted burden on his horn.
Now the whole hillside was on its feet, screaming out. Stones began to fly about me. One of them struc
k Rarus on the back even as Tyndareus’ noose fell round the king’s shoulders and they slowly dragged him up off the point, groaning and trying to reach backward to his wound. As the horn withdrew, it made a sound like a hungry mouth.
A group of the loyal palace guard came round me with their oxhide shields over my head, to keep the stones from me. They took no heed of my title or my fine clothes, but bundled me away without ceremony, along the back path that led up to the palace. I heard Rarus gasping, and the stones still clattering about us, even when we had got a good distance from the Womb of Hera.
I glanced back only once, between a space in the shields, and saw the citizens carrying Aegisthus on their shoulders, as though he were a great warrior wounded in battle.
Then the lieutenant of the guard gave me a hard push in the back and grunted, ‘Get on with you, lady, or they’ll throw you down to that black beast! That’s the way they are, at the moment.’
I was so afraid just then, I confess, that I took no exception to the man’s hard pushing or to his rough speech.
I went straight to my mother and told her what had happened. She gave orders to the lieutenant that the palace guard should be trebled and that no soldiers should be allowed leave until the city was quiet once more. Then, when we were alone, she gazed at me sternly and said, ‘So, now you have tested your power, daughter. And see what it has brought you! The title of goddess and a flounced skirt, do not mean quite as much to the citizens as you thought. A queen must always be prepared for the crowd to change its mind, you see. “We of the royal blood live for ever on the edge of a chasm. It only needs a little wind to push us off, into the sea, at any time.’
Remembering what the bull had done, I went on my knees beside the bed and wept on my mother’s breast. She stroked my head and said mildly, ‘There, there, daughter; so now you know how it feels to hurt a man, even an enemy. It is not all glory, is it? Now, perhaps, you will understand what the great warrior-kings have felt, walking the battlefield in the morning, seeing what wounds their merest words can bring to men. Even the greatest heroes weep as you are doing, to think that they have caused such agony, such mutilation. The god himself must weep, at times, to see his children so ruined, my love. Come, dry your eyes and drink some wine. That is what the great kings do; it is the only way. We cannot blame them for it, the wine-warriors.’
