“Girls now!” grunted the fair young man, and Nun realized that the next team consisted of maidens, with flowing, bright-colored scarves over their shoulders. They stood solemnly round the bull and greeted him gracefully. The bull stood a little bewildered, breathing heavily. Tired by the galloping first figure of the dance, he was lured into a formal ballet, a gavotte. He trotted after the whirling scarves appearing docile, but Nun looking intently could see that the sweeps and hooks of his horns were as vicious as ever, and that the serious-faced girls were all the time very carefully watching their distance. As a climax, two girls held out a wreath of flowers between them. The bull charged, and at the end of the charge he was standing rather foolishly, wearing the wreath round his great neck. But Nun’s heart missed a beat as he saw that one of his horns had carried away the scarf from one girl’s shoulders.
The dancing girls retired, and in the ring with the bull there was now a team of three, two young men and a girl, all of them very slim and wiry and light on their feet. They stood before the bull and provoked him with handsprings, cartwheels, and somersaults. The bull, tired by his dances, stood still, baffled by the spinning bodies, but looking as furious and regal as ever. While the bull was watching the girl and one of the men, the other ran to the side, ran lightly toward the bull’s flank, sprang, and with his hands on the bull’s spine flipped over in a neat handspring on to the other side. The animal whipped round indignantly and hooked with his horns, but the acrobat was out of range. The crowd clapped and cheered.
Next, the two men held the bull’s attention while the girl ran to the side and performed a handspring over the bull’s back. Then she executed a whirling one-handed cartwheel in front of the bull while the two young men approached from opposite sides and flipped over simultaneously.
The crowd cheered, and then was silent, expectant, as if they knew what was coming next. Now all three acrobats stood some distance in front of the bull, one of the men in the middle. The man advanced at an easy run straight toward the horns of the bull. What was this? Everyone had been avoiding the bull’s horns—was this one sacrificing himself by throwing himself on them? Nun looked open-mouthed at the fair young man. “What—?” he gasped.
The Northman grinned back. “Man charge bull!” he laughed.
The acrobat seemed to hurl himself on to the lowered horns of the bull. Nun shut his eyes so as not to see the sharp horns goring the man’s body. There was a shout from the crowd and enthusiastic applause. Nun forced himself to open his eyes. There was the acrobat, very much alive, on his feet behind the bull and facing away from the bull’s tail, while the animal looked even more baffled and enraged. How had he got there? What had happened?
The team of three was again standing in front of the bull. The girl this time was in the middle and seemed to be preparing to take her turn. She was thin and boyish with hard muscles, and very much resembled the two young men: indeed, they might have been sister and brothers. The men were watching the bull carefully, and by calling and clapping their hands, were trying to lure him toward them. The acrobat runs to the bull, or the bull runs to the acrobat, it’s the same thing, Nun reasoned, watching closely. The team provoked the bull to attack at a gentle canter; Nun’s heart stood still as the girl stood her ground and reached for the lowered horns; her body arched and her legs went up; the upward thrust of the bull’s powerful neck lifted her into the air; heels overhead she flipped over, came down both feet together on the bull’s back and hopped off behind its tail on almost exactly the same spot as she had taken off. The spectators applauded—fellow acrobats warmly, knowing how difficult the feat was, the court languidly, politely approving the elegant spectacle.
Nun was almost tempted to think the whole thing was easy, if a mere girl could do it so gracefully. But the second man’s attempt at the same trick came near to disaster. The bull was moving at almost a gallop when acrobat and animal met, and at the last moment it hooked sideway instead of upward. The man twisted awkwardly and fell beside the neck of the bull, who whipped round and made to gore him. Immediately, the other two ran in; the girl slapped the bull’s muzzle to distract it, the brother hung on to its horns until the one who had fallen was able to spring to his feet. Nun applauded the courageous rescue, but most of the other teams were silent, and looking at the court, Nun could see frowns of displeasure at the clumsy performance. The performer was badly shaken, but clearly determined, to try again to retrieve his reputation. He ran before the bull, provoked it to a furious charge, and then started running toward it at full speed. When they met their combined velocity was so great it was difficult to see what happened; the man gave a great leap right over the bull’s lowered horns, landed with his hands on the bull’s back, and leap-frogged to the ground behind it. Even the court applauded enthusiastically. The honor of the team was saved, and they and the bull were allowed to retire from the ring.
Nun sat back in his seat and relaxed, with the feeling that the Minoan Bull-dance was a more pleasant spectacle than he had feared. But just then a haughty young Guard ensign came up. “You next. Northmen and the Giblite!” he said, and Nun’s heart plummeted again to his sandals.
Ag sprawled in his seat and looked at the officer. “You wish we should dance with the bull? We not pretty girls, nor circus men. What we do?”
The officer sneered down at him. “You don’t think the Earth-Mother will be satisfied without some blood, do you? And the court wants to know what color yours is. Is it white? Are you afraid?”
Ag showed no emotion. “No, we not afraid of your he-cows. Nor your Godmother neither.” The officer eyed him, wondering whether this was deliberate blasphemy; but deciding the man was a northern barbarian oaf who knew no better he merely snapped: “In the ring all of you! You too, Giblite! The court didn’t think much of your performance last night. Now’s your chance to please them—so long as you don’t actually run away.”
Nun stood up shakily. If he had to go in the ring with a bull, there was some comfort in being with these huge, red, unconcerned men. But he could not see them skipping lightly aside from a charge, or turning nimble somersaults. They were too ponderous and slow-moving.
“What are we going to do?” he asked Ag as they walked toward the entrance to the ring, trying to make his voice sound unconcerned.
“Not to worry! We have plan. You not run, though. They kill, if you run,” said Ag, indicating the guards. Nun wished he knew what the other rules were, and what the plan was they had prepared. Perhaps they had hidden arms—but at the ringside the guards searched them to make sure they had not. If there was to be blood, the Cretans wanted to make sure it was not the bull’s.
The Northmen lumbered casually into the ring, saluted the crowd perfunctorily, and gathered in an untidy group to exchange last-minute instructions. But as it was all in the outlandish murmuring northern tongue it was still no comfort to Nun. As they stood talking, the trumpet sounded, the door opened, and another bull entered the arena. It seemed to be twice as big as the last one, and Nun recognized the great beast they had overtaken in the cage the day before. The Northmen went on talking, until Nun nudged them and pointed out the animal standing switching its tail at the other end of the ring.
“Oh, yes,” grunted Ag. “Come. Cattle market begins.” They all moved off at a shambling pace toward the bull, who stood pawing and snorting and shaking his horns at them. The bull lowered his horns and took a few steps forward as if thinking of charging. Still the men took no notice but advanced toward it at a walk. “Heigha! Gerrup!” called the big red-bearded Ug, flapping a large hand. The bull stopped uncertainly. Ug walked up to it, slapped it playfully on the nose, and it turned tail and ran away from them round the edge of the ring. When the bull stopped on the other side of the ring, the men stopped where they were and shrugged their shoulders. There was a stunned silence at first from the crowd, then catcalls and cries of disapproval. The men ignored them and stood talking as if they were disc
ussing the price of beef, as indeed they may have been.
But Nun saw that a soldier at the ringside was jabbing at the hindquarters of the bull with a long lance, trying to stir up its cowed fighting spirit. The bull whirled round, but seeing nobody because the soldier hid behind the parapet, faced the team again, and the soldier gave it another nasty jab that sent it charging angrily toward them.
“Look out!” cried Nun. Must not run, but no harm in getting out of the way. He skipped aside from the path of the charge, but facing the bull all the time, hoping that he looked poised and defiant. The others looked round. They had not bothered to notice the way the soldier had goaded the bull, and this unprovoked charge did not seem to fit in with their plan. They scattered clumsily, and to his horror Nun saw that Ag had stumbled and fallen over his big feet right in the bull’s path. The bull was passing Nun and he was the only one who could save Ag. Nun the sailor knew little about animals, but he knew a lifeline when he saw one. He made a desperate grab at the bull’s tail as it whisked past, hung on, and dug his heels into the sand of the arena. The braking effect was sufficient to allow Ag to get to his feet and out of the way, but Nun now did not dare let go. There he was, being towed round the arena in a cloud of dust at the tail of the cavorting bull—and he realized that his teammates were merely standing around cheering encouragement to the bull and holding their sides with laughter.
So long as the bull’s horns were pointing away from him Nun felt safe—though far from comfortable. But suddenly the bull came to a halt and started bucking round in a circle, trying to dislodge him with its horns. Nun held on desperately, but a last flying kick made him lose his grip, he was hurled to the ground and the bull was upon him.
But the other men were upon the bull. Four of them tackled the bull at once, grabbing a leg apiece. Ag and Eg each clung on to a horn. Ig got astride the neck. Heads down and arms locked round each other, the rest got their shoulders against the bull’s flank and heaved, and the great beast went over like a house falling down. All that could be seen under the mass of brawny bodies was its muzzle and one despairing eye.
There was a great stillness around the arena. Then the royal trumpeter sounded the call for the end of an event. The Northmen got up and dusted themselves down. The bull scrambled to its feet and made sheepishly for the open gate. Never had a Cretan bull been so humiliated.
There was uproar in the stands. As far as Nun could make out, standing in the middle of the arena feeling foolish and exposed, both court and commons were split. Some were delighted by the exhibition of clowning and sympathized with the tall blond strangers: others were howling for blood. Some of the courtiers, the younger, sophisticated set, were pleased with the originality of the performance, and were applauding, but the more serious councilors were plainly horrified and angered by this act of sacrilege. People started throwing fruit, and the Northerners good-humoredly fielded it and chucked it back. Nun looked at the section of the stand reserved for the priests: there was no doubt their reaction was one of black fury. Much of the solemnity of the rites had been destroyed. Among the priests Nun could see the Chaldean, sitting silent and impassive. Nun could not tell what he was thinking.
They were hurried put of the arena under guard and the games went on. The prize bull was not reintroduced, and Nun supposed that its nerve had been too shattered by the experience. There were some rather botched performances by second-rate bulls and teams, enough blood was spilt to satisfy the spectators, and presumably the Earth-Goddess, but Nun was too apprehensive about what would happen at the end of the games to take much in.
Sure enough, as soon as the final flourish of trumpets had sounded Nun felt a tap on his shoulder. It was what he had been expecting, but he jumped violently. It was the officer of the guard.
“You’re wanted,” said the officer.
“You want us?” asked Ag unconcernedly.
“Not you, cattle-herds,” said the guard contemptuously. “Just the Giblite.”
“What you want him for?” demanded Ag.
“Maybe they give him prize for pulling bull’s tail,” said Ug. “We come with you,” said Ag protectively.
“No, no,” Nun protested. He didn’t want to cause any more trouble. “I’ll be all right. I’ll see you later.”
“But maybe we not see you,” said Ag. “We go back North. Come with us, no?”
But Nun also had business to attend to. So they said affectionate farewells in the palace corridor, in case they never met again, with a special hug for Nun from Ag for saving him from the bull. Then Nun followed the Cretan guard.
“Where am I wanted?” Nun asked as he was again marched along the labyrinth of corridors.
“Royal chambers,” was the curt reply, and the escort would say no more.
As they passed through apartments which, by their magnificence, seemed to be antechambers to the royal quarters, they were stopped by another officer of the guard.
“Is that the Giblite you have there?” asked the second officer.
“Yes.”
“I’ve orders to take him to the Sea Lord.”
“And I’ve orders to take him to the Queen.”
The Queen! What could she want with him, Nun wondered.
“But I have the Sea Lord’s special authority,” said the second guard, and produced a seal ring.
The first guard looked a little confused, and spoke to Nun. “Giblite, haven’t you the Queen’s seal?”
Nun looked blank for a moment, and then thought of the cylinder that had got him into the throne room the night before. He felt in his bag and took it out. “Do you mean this?” he asked.
“Yes,” said his escort. “The Queen’s own seal, the lion and bull. That’s worth more than the Sea Lord’s,” he said, turning to the second guard. “Let me pass, please. You can have this man when we’ve finished with him.” And he led Nun on.
The chamber that Nun was at last shown into was even more beautifully painted than the King’s throne room. There were patterns of great rosettes all over the beams and uprights, and a great panel of swimming dolphins, little fish, and sea plants. But the most beautiful thing in the room was the woman sitting among a few attendants, her great dark eyes on Nun as he came in. He realized that she must be the Queen—and yet something about her reminded him of the girls he knew in Gebal.
“Is this the foreigner who pulled our sacred bull’s tail?” came the cool voice of the Queen. “Let him approach so that I can see him.”
Nun and his escort went up to the Queen’s chair, and Nun knelt before her. It seemed the natural thing to do, and he felt none of the awkwardness he had felt when he had met the King. And she was speaking his language as if it was native to her.
“Are you aware, Giblite, that you have offended my Lord the King and shocked our holy priests and priestesses?” said the Queen in a level voice, with a strange expression in her eyes.
“We must have disgusted you with our rude performance, Your Majesty,” said Nun. “I am sorry for that. But I’m only a simple sailor. I held on to the first thing that came to hand.”
The Queen turned her head, so that Nun could not see her expression, and spoke to her attendants. “Retire!” she ordered them. “As priestess, I must speak to this man alone.” The attendants and the guard hesitated a little, then, after an angry flash from the Queen’s black eyes, moved to the other end of the chamber, looking more than a little shocked and disapproving.
The Queen turned her face back to Nun, and this time her eyes were twinkling with laughter.
“I want to thank you, Giblite. I have not enjoyed the bull games so much for years.” Once again Nun felt taken aback, and this seemed to amuse the Queen even more. “You are surprised,” she went on, “to hear me speak your language perhaps? I was not born a Cretan, but a princess of Tyre, your neighbor state. Oh! I know that Tyrians and Giblites are not always friends at home, but
I like to speak to sailors from that coast. I was tempted to come here by stories of the Bull King—there is even a foolish belief that I swam here on the back of a bull. But I am frivolous, I suppose, and still cannot take our games as seriously as my dear husband would wish. It was good of you and your friends to make me laugh.”
“It might not have been so funny for me if it hadn’t been for the Northerners,” said Nun. “Will they be allowed to go now?”
“Do not worry about your friends,” replied the Queen. “They are barbarians, clowns. What can you expect from people with yellow hair and red faces? They will be permitted to leave. But I am concerned about you, Giblite.”
“Your Majesty is most kind,” said Nun, the anxiety returning within him.
“What I am going to tell you is a secret of state,” the Queen continued. “I am only letting you know of it because you have no possibility of escaping and telling your people. The King my husband has plans to harry the coastal cities with his ships. Gebal and Sidon will be attacked: Tyre is, of course, in league with us. You know how strong our navy is. Nothing can withstand them. They want you as a navigator. If you refuse, they will certainly not let you go, but you will be put to death for sacrilege. They say you know strange secrets of navigation, but that means nothing to me. I merely wish to save you because you are of my race—and because you made me laugh. Here, take this! It is my royal commission, sealed with the seal of the lion and bull, that seal of which there are only two copies. One I sent as a token to Babylon for the Chaldean astrologer, and one I keep myself.”
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