Authors: Tracy Barrett
I burst into the room where the priestesses were taking refreshment. They looked up at me in surprise, some with their mouths full, others taking a sip of wine.
"I still have much to learn." I choked on the words. "Teach me."
I SLEPT HEAVILY the night before the Planting Festival, perhaps because I hadn't eaten in three days; perhaps because the day had been long and arduous.
I had inspected the tiny white lambs brought in for sacrifice, to determine that all were sound and unblemished, so as not to offend Goddess with an imperfect offering. I ordered the loops of garlanded flowers and herbs to be hung in their proper areas, checked that none of the wine had turned to vinegar, decided which children would lead the spring songs, and supervised the cleaning of the inner chamber and the oiling and draping of the Goddess stone, a small ritual in itself. All the while I, and everyone else, kept an eye on the moon as She rose, a tiny sliver against a blue and then a black sky. She would disappear completely when Goddess left Her home and came to the earth to inhabit me.
I had helped my mother with these tasks for several years and had taken over many of them since I had become She-Who-Will-Be-Goddess, so they were soothing in their familiarity. Perhaps it was also this that allowed me to sleep well; I had nothing more to learn, no more choices to make.
Except one, and it wouldn't really be me, but Goddess, making that choice.
When I met the priestesses at dawn, it appeared that I was the only one who had rested. Thoösa in particular looked haggard and hollow eyed. Damia wasn't much better. Even the younger priestesses were pale, and their steps dragged.
Still, Thoösa couldn't seem to stop herself from giving me instructions. She shrilled on and on as two priestesses plaited my hair and then piled it on my head in an elaborate pattern, with knots that were to bring success to the ceremony. I felt oddly dulled, and her words spilled over me like water.
My clothing for the first ritual, the Ceremony of Velchanos, was newly made, unlike the Goddess robes I was to wear later. They had been too small for my mother, so I hoped they would fit me well, as she had been taller than I and lately had been growing stout. I remembered the day exactly one year before when I had tied the laces in the back of my mother's skirt into the complicated pattern prescribed by tradition and noticed that they were barely long enough.
I forced myself to stop thinking about that day and about the Ordeal facing me later. I had too much to do. The priestesses finished dressing me in my new finery and stood back, leaving a pathway to the door. I took a breath, walked between the two lines, hearing the unfamiliar
tap-tap
of my hard shoes rather than the soft slippers I was accustomed to, and entered the corridor.
As I expected, the halls were deserted. Although I would not become She-Who-Is-Goddess until the ritual, on this day nobody would risk a chance encounter with me outside a sanctified area. The priestesses trailed behind. I took one hallway and then another, turning several times, as the noise of many people talking, laughing, singing, arguing, grew louder. For a moment, I hesitated, foolishly hoping that I could still turn and flee, when a hard finger poked me in the back and forced me forward into the arena.
They all fell silent once I entered the stands, of course. Each eye followed me as I climbed to my seat. I was sure that everyone could hear my heart, and my foot in its unaccustomed high shoe nearly caught on my hem as I stepped into the box where the Minos was waiting for me, his two remaining wives, Orthia and Prokris, on his other side. I was so glad to see the friendly smile crinkling his face that I nearly wept.
I didn't, of course, and I was about to say the ritual "You may begin," when I saw Theseus seated next to Prokris. I turned questioning eyes to the Minos. He said, "I thought it fitting that he observe the ceremony from the best seats." He added in a voice just above a whisper, "Show those barbarians a thing or two!"
From the satisfied look on Prokris's face, I thought I knew where the idea to invite Theseus to our box had come from. I could not have them use this sacred ritual for their own purposes, for meeting and being together in public. I leaned around the Minos and said to Theseus, "Come sit by me. You'll have the best view." The Minos nodded approvingly as Theseus, followed by his large dog, stood and inched past the two women and then the Minos and, finally, me. He squeezed between me and a fat courtier. With Theseus seated on my right and Artemis on the floor between us, her head above his knee, I said to the Minos, "You may begin."
The Minos stood. Silence fell as he spoke the ancient words of the opening of the men's ritual, and tension rose. Everyone strained forward. We heard the odd squeaking blare of a conch shell, and then the door was flung open. The audience cheered as the boys streamed in through a path of golden sunlight. They were so beautiful that my breath caught in my throat. I stole a glance to my left; if the sight moved me, what must the Minos feel as he saw this group of the finest boys of Knossos, his acolytes, rise to their proudest moment?
The twelve boys were now parading around the arena, tossing their multicolored banners aloft and catching them by their sticks, to the rapturous shouts of the crowd. I caught sight of Lysias leaning on the rail that surrounded the arena. He glanced behind himself as someone spoke to him, and his face didn't betray any of the tension that he must feel. Only the tautness of his back muscles and the way he bounced up and down on his toes showed his inner heart.
Enops marched in, his white teeth flashing; he looked even handsomer as a youth than he had as a boy. I caught sight of Glaukos. He had grown; his shoulders were starting to broaden, and his large hands and feet showed that he was about to shoot up in height. I was surprised that he had been considered fit to serve, with his eye that turned out, but pleased that he should have the honor.
I could guess how old they all were by the length of their hair, from Glaukos, whose scalp was nearly visible after his recent shearing when he turned twelve, to the long locks of the oldest boys. Some must be close to the upper limit of eighteen years, judging by the length of the black curls that hung down their backs.
The parade ended with all the boys standing in two lines facing me and the Minos. We rose together, and the Minos blessed them with the ancient words that had been repeated at this moment since time was time, and sprinkled them with dark wine. I knew that more red splatters would mar some of their clothing that day, but before I could do more than begin to think about that, the boys turned as one and faced the door. It opened again, but the light that should have poured through it was blocked by a huge form. The crowd moaned with pleasure as the hot, heavy smell of cattle wafted in.
This year's bull was the most magnificent I'd ever seen, of a rich red-brown with sacred white and black markings, and gilding on his hooves and horns. His neck was broad, and as he strode forward with three trainers holding the rope that ran through the ring in his nose, his shoulders rippled like wavelets at the edge of the sea. He seemed so calm and mild that at first, I was afraid he would not perform as required (which would be a disaster), but then I noted the distance that his handlers kept from him, and I saw how intelligent his eyes were and how his nostrils flared at the scent of the crowd. He tossed his head, and the handlers flinched, but they kept their hold on the ropes. His great-grandsire, I had heard, had been the famous bull that had gored Lysias, and they were right to be afraid.
I had so completely forgotten my surroundings that when a warm hand closed over mine, I almost shrieked. "Sorry," Theseus said, the crowd nearly drowning out his voice.
I swallowed and willed my heart to slow down. It had recovered from the shock of his touch, but while his hand remained on mine, my pulse would continue to race. I slid my hand out and pretended that I needed to arrange the shoulder of my robe. Theseus's half smile told me that I hadn't fooled him, but he didn't try to touch me again.
The conch shell bleated once more, a mournful, haunting sound, and as its discordant note faded, the three trainers stepped forward and hastily slid the ropes out of the bull's nose ring. When the huge animal tossed his head, relieved of the annoyance, they fled to the stands and leaped over the rail, to the laughter of the audience. The Minos uttered a single word in a harsh voice: "Now!"
The boys scattered, whooping, waving their banners—blue and yellow and orange and green streamers like the long fins of the deep-sea fish that sponge divers sometimes found. The bull stood still in the center of the arena, gazing at them calmly, and this either emboldened or infuriated the boys, because the bravest among them darted in and poked at him with the ends of their banner poles.
People shouted encouragement, gasping as a daring youth ran by and slapped the bull's hindquarters. The crowd cried out when one of the boys skipped out of the way just as the bull tossed his head and sharp horns in his direction. The spectators cheered, and flowers rained down on this boy, the first to score a reaction from the beast.
The bull was now trotting in a tight circle. The arena was too cramped for him to be able to move freely, and he must have been agitated and confused by the swirling mass of youths and banners and flowers. One of the smaller boys performed the spectacular move of diving under the bull's belly and coming up on the other side before the animal realized what was happening. I found myself on my feet, applauding and cheering. The Minos shook a triumphant fist in the air, and I recognized Glaukos, of whom he had always been fond.
Glaukos's example was contagious, and soon I lost count of the number of times one of them pulled the bull's tail or slapped him with a banner or teased him into a direct run, only to hop out of the way at the last instant.
A flying hoof knocked tall Enops off his feet. The crowd gasped as the bull wheeled faster than I would have thought possible, his horns lowered, but before he could gore his victim, two of the boy's comrades had seized Enops and dragged him away while others flapped their banners frantically in the bull's face. The beast bellowed in frustration. Several spectators groaned, whether out of relief or disappointment that they hadn't seen the expected glorious death I could not tell.
Enops turned to salute the crowd, which roared its approval as he rejoined the others.
The bull began to tire. He was huge and powerful but clearly more accustomed to spending his days in a sheltered paddock than turning and running in short bursts. Lysias was keeping a close eye on the beast, and he said something to one of his attendants. The man nodded and opened the case at his feet. He pulled out a bristling armful of spears. The boys dropped their banners and armed themselves.
Everyone leaned forward, and a hush came over the arena. Even the bull seemed to know that something was different. He stood still but for shifting his weight from one huge hoof to another, his head thrown back, his little eyes glaring. I could have sworn I heard his heavy breathing as he stroked the dirt with a hoof.
The boys were much more solemn now; their jeering and teasing were over. This was the most important and difficult part of the ritual. They circled the bull, each boy holding a spear in his right hand. They found their rhythm, and soon they were dancing in a circle, one foot in front of the other, that foot behind the first. They bent and dipped. Someone began to clap in time with the dancers' feet, and then someone else, and then everybody was clapping, smacking their hands on their thighs, stamping until the stands shook like a gigantic heart beating. I joined in; I couldn't help it. I glanced at Theseus. His face was bright with excitement, and he clapped and stamped with abandon.
The dance continued longer than I remembered it ever lasting before. Was this because the boys were awaiting a reaction from the bull, or was it because I was so tense, so alert, that time stretched out for me? Whatever the reason, the bull appeared to have turned to bronze. Perhaps that is why the boys grew careless, why they dropped their guard. Or perhaps what happened was the will of Velchanos and no matter what they did, the outcome would have been no different.
ARTEMIS SETTLES herself and leans against Ariadne's leg. The girl looks different; her hair is piled on top of her head, and its weight makes her slender neck look fragile. Under her enormous eyes are delicate greenish shadows, which make them look even darker.
I recognize the smell of the arena and the excitement of the crowd. The bull baiting at home isn't on such a grand scale, and many people consider it a low-class entertainment. It's never been my favorite sport—I'd rather see a good footrace or a javelin toss, and it positively sickens Konnidas, so he never took me as a child—but this is one Kretan entertainment, at least, that will be familiar.
Or so I think. It turns out that like everything else here, bull baiting on Krete is bound up in tradition and ritual, and I don't understand most of what is going on. Even so, it's exciting. The boys are well trained and highly skilled, and they are frighteningly bold. The spectators gasp when the gilded horns flash within a palm's breadth of a slender torso or when a powerful hoof stomps the ground where a long foot had danced just a moment before. Enops has a narrow escape, but his teammates pull him out of reach, and he shows remarkable courage by plunging right back into it. His face has gone almost as white as Ariadne's.
Before the bull appears properly exhausted, the boys are suddenly armed with long, slender spears. I nudge Ariadne to ask why they don't wait until the sport is over before the killing, but she either doesn't feel my elbow or is concentrating on the spectacle. I turn to the man next to me, a court functionary who has traveled extensively and has been helpful in explaining Kretan customs to me. I shout my question into his ear over the rhythmic clapping and stamping of the crowd.
He appears unwilling to yank his attention from the scene in front of us, but he is too courteous to ignore me. "They can't wait until he's exhausted, sir," he shouts. "The god has to be given his chance."