by Glyn Iliffe
After a final display in which the youths climbed on each other’s shoulders – with the three girls topmost – they bowed to further clapping, then ran back to their original positions around the edge of the square. Their smiles became more forced now, and Heracles sensed their tension as they prepared for what came next.
Again, the gates opened and a liver and white bull trotted out to the cheers of the crowd. Even Minos shot to his feet and applauded. Now, at last, Heracles understood the enormous space between the tables and the need for the ring of shields. But what he did not understand was what they intended to do to the animal. It was small – only a young bull – but if they were to fight it then where were their weapons? And even with a dozen of them, he doubted they would kill it without one or more of them receiving injury.
A girl ran to the middle of the square. The other two skipped out towards the bull, which had come to a halt and was eyeing the high walls of the surrounding palace and the great crowd before it. They waved their arms and shouted, their voices high and light. Taking the bait, the bull trotted towards the nearest of them. As it began to lower its head, she ran back towards the arena formed by the shields. Meanwhile, her companion clapped her hands and raised her voice. The bull changed course towards the second girl, who also retreated into the square, with the animal running slowly after her. The other girl now turned back, waving and calling to regain the bull’s attention. By this method, they soon had it in the centre of the arena, where the crowd had quietened down and were watching keenly for the next phase of the performance.
The third girl now broke into a sprint from the centre of the square, running directly at the young bull. The others had fallen silent, and seeing the girl’s approach, the beast lowered its head and charged towards her. Heracles’s eyes widened and his fingers gripped the edge of the chair. The two approached each other at speed. At any moment, he expected to see the long grey horns of the animal punch through the girl’s naked stomach. Then, a moment before the inevitable impact, she leaped into the air, her body level and her chin high, her arms thrown out wide and her legs locked together behind her. Heracles looked on in astonishment, feeling the passage of time drag almost to a halt as he watched her soar gracefully over the bull’s horns, which it had tossed upwards in an attempt to impale her. An instant later, she landed on her hands, rolled over and bounded to her feet again.
Heracles stood, punching the air and roaring his approval. All around him, the guests cheered rapturously. The bull turned in confusion, then saw one of the other girls raise her arm in the air and run towards him. He lowered his head and charged again. This time, as its wide-set horns were almost upon her, she leaped high in the air, tucking her elbows into her body and twisting as it dashed beneath her. She landed on her feet facing the rear of the beast, then, lifting an arm to acknowledge the wild applause of the crowd, walked casually to one side. By this time, two of the men had caught the bull’s attention with waves and shouts, while the third girl jogged towards it. Again, the animal lowered its head and rushed forward. Breaking into a sprint, the girl jumped, raising her legs straight before her and touching her toes as the tips of the bull’s horns passed a hand’s breadth beneath her thighs. Landing easily on her feet, she somersaulted away to the edge of the arena before turning to the ecstatic crowd with both arms raised high.
More jumps were performed, sometimes with the men taking their turns, sometimes with two leaping the bull at the same time. Heracles looked on in disbelief, breaking into enthusiastic applause at each new feat.
‘This is nothing,’ Minos said, leaning in confidentially, as he clapped another daring jump. ‘Girls playing with a young, inexperienced animal. Wait until you see what the men can do with a real bull.’
Soon, the young women led the tired bull back to the gate through which it had entered, using the same tactics they had employed to draw it out. As the gates closed on the animal and the girls returned, slaves handed the bull-leapers cups of wine and cloths to wipe away the sweat. They spoke briefly to one another, their voices low and solemn as they discussed whatever was to come next. Heracles reached for his own cup, the wine smoothing the soreness in his throat from cheering.
As he drained the last mouthful, the gates were pulled open by slaves to leave a dark void in the south wall of the courtyard. The chatter of the nobles died down to an expectant hum and all eyes turned to the empty gateway. Heracles squinted against the failing light. Then he heard a snort, and slowly a pair of curved horns emerged from the shadows. The rest of the bull followed: as black as night, taller than the slaves hiding behind the thick oaken doors, and with each hoof as big as a human head as it trotted out, kicking up clouds of dust.
Three men ran forward, but they barely had time to shout or wave their arms. The bull ran at two of them, almost catching the nearest before he leaped over the wall of kneeling spearmen. To the gasps and screams of the crowd, the animal pursued him through the line of shields, brushing the men aside as they struggled to hold it back. Immediately, four or five of the bull-leapers ran towards it from the arena, shouting and whistling. The massive beast turned, ignoring the soldiers cowering beneath their shields and the nobles pushing each other aside in their attempt to flee. Pawing one hoof through the soil, it gave a snort and sprang forward. The men retreated noisily, drawing the animal away.
At the same moment, a tall youth stepped forward, both arms raised in the air as if in worship. The bull saw him and lowered its head, its long horns curving viciously forward. Jumping with one knee raised high, the youth broke into a run. While the gap in the shield wall was hastily reformed and the spectators hurried back to stand on the benches they had vacated, the rest of the crowd stuttered into silence. Heracles clenched his fists tightly, feeling the thud of the bull’s hooves through the wooden dais and wondering how any man could leap over such an enormous beast. Surely, a mere flick of its head would rip his innards out, or punch a hole through one of his limbs. The man thrust out his arms as he ran, crossing his palms as he leaped into the air, his body arching over the thrusting horns and his hands pushing down against the animal’s shoulders. As the bull’s momentum carried it forward, the youth launched himself up from its back, at the same time flipping his legs over to land squarely on his feet in a spray of dirt.
He sprang away into a somersault, then turned and threw his hands theatrically into the air as a tumult of cheering washed across the arena. Heracles’s voice was not the least among them, shouting out his appreciation of the youth’s courage and skill. But as the furore faded in preparation for the next act of daring, he felt Pasiphaë’s eyes upon him.
‘Still think you can capture the Great Bull?’ she asked, with a slight grin.
Despite the sneer in her voice, the smile and the flash of her white teeth enhanced her beauty. It was deliberate, he felt sure. She was playing with him.
‘I know I can,’ he replied. ‘It’s not like the Ceryneian Hind – a creature I couldn’t even harm, for fear of bringing the wrath of Artemis down on my head. I can wound and maim this Great Bull of yours – and I intend to. A few arrows in the flanks to weaken it, and when its strength fails I’ll hack off its horns so it can’t gore me, and then its hooves so it can’t run away. And then I’ll muzzle it with bands of bronze to stop its fiery breath––’
‘Enough !’ Pasiphaë snapped, drawing looks from the surrounding nobles and slaves. Then another cheer erupted as one of the youths turned a mid-air somersault over the bull, drawing their attention back to the display. ‘That’s enough,’ she continued. ‘The Great Bull is a noble animal – as sacred as your precious Hind – and not some mindless brute to be dishonoured and despised by you.’
‘You forget the destruction it has brought on our people,’ Minos cautioned in a low voice.
‘Destruction that was a result of your disobedience to the gods.’
‘Then you would prefer I’d sacrificed it instead?’ Minos retorted, letting his temper slip. He checked it quickly
. ‘Besides, the beast has to be captured, for all our sakes. Heracles must do that in whatever way he thinks best – Zeus knows, the task will be difficult enough anyway.’
‘Difficult? It’s impossible ,’ she spat back. ‘And I wonder if our guest’s other feats weren’t a little exaggerated. Perhaps my lord Heracles is nothing more than a boaster, whatever the tales about him might say. Tales he probably started himself! I doubt you have the strength or the courage to face even an ordinary bull,’ she told Heracles, pointing at the huge beast in the arena, ‘let alone the Great Bull itself.’
Heracles had listened to her accusations with growing anger. Whatever attraction he had held for her before was thrust aside. He pushed his chair back from the table and stepped down from the dais, making his way towards the line of soldiers.
‘What are you doing?’ Iolaus shouted over the furore of the nobles, as they watched another youth leap over the back of the bull.
Heracles ignored him. With a last glance at Pasiphaë, who was watching him uncertainly, he pushed his way through the shield wall and stepped out into the arena.
The bull was now trotting in a wide circle, teased on by three of the youths, while others slipped away behind the shields for protection. The animal was snorting loudly and its black coat gleamed with sweat, but it showed no signs that its strength was flagging. As Heracles walked across the dirt, the crowd broke into cries and gasps of disbelief. Then someone began to boo. The jeering was taken up quickly as a couple of bull-leapers jogged towards him, shouting for him to go back to his seat. He waved them aside, then called to the bull in a loud voice.
It stopped circling and stared at Heracles. The onlookers fell silent. One of the girls ran towards him, pleading for him to leave the arena at once. He ignored her and strode towards the beast, calling to it a second time.
It lowered its head in response and began to run. The run became a charge, the drum of its hooves sending tremors through the earth beneath Heracles’s feet. He looked at the white horns, each longer than a man’s arm, twisting forward into dull points that would drive a hole through his chest in an instant. Then, with a furious shout, he thrust one foot back into the dirt and spread his arms, ready to meet the attack.
It came quickly – much quicker than he had expected. With a thunder of hooves it was upon him, its great black bulk thrusting the tips of its horns at his chest. Somehow, he managed to grab hold of them, hanging on with all his strength as the momentum of the bull’s charge drove him backwards. He dug his heels into the soil, kicking up great clouds of dust that filled his mouth and forced him to narrow his eyes. And then with a spiralling movement, he twisted the beast’s head to one side and forced it down into the dry earth. His sandals found their grip at last, and the bulk of the animal came sliding round to a halt in a wall of dirt. The beast struggled as he pinned it against the soil, then accepted that it had been mastered and lay still.
And as the dust settled, the arena erupted with wild cheering.
Chapter Twelve
PASIPHAË
The gates were thrown open and a troop of fifty spearmen marched out, with Tydeus at their head. He smacked the flat of his sword against the backside of a boy who stood in his way, sending the child crying into a nearby passage. The rest of the crowd that thronged the main road fled into their homes or pressed themselves into the shadows, trying to avoid the soldiers as they passed.
Tydeus turned left, leading his men into a narrow side street. The poorly made hovels were so close to each other that there was barely enough room for them to squeeze through two abreast. A beggar tried to pull himself to his feet as they approached, only for Tydeus to shove him aside with an impatient grunt. The old man fell into the mire of accumulated filth that carpeted the street and was walked over by several of the soldiers as they followed their captain.
Others were quicker, pulling themselves and their children into their homes and shutting the doors behind them, praying that the guards would pass them by without trouble. As the troop forged a path through the maze of slums, they found the streets increasingly deserted and the doors and windows shut against them.
They reached a small square, where several twisting alleys came together. There was a blacksmith’s hut at one corner, where the smith was leaning over his anvil and beating a piece of white-hot metal into shape. The man paused to look up at the company of soldiers, and then spat contemptuously in the dirt before resuming his loud hammering. It was a sign of a growing defiance among the rabble, and another time Tydeus would have seen the man’s insolence punished. But at that moment he had more urgent matters to deal with: a bigger ego than the blacksmith’s needed humbling.
He led his men into a long, straight side street that sloped back up towards the city walls. Soon, they were standing before the hut that Heracles occupied on the few occasions he was in Tiryns. Looking about himself, Tydeus saw that the rumours from Eurystheus’s spies were true: the surrounding hovels had been repaired and enlarged; new shelters had been erected, and there was even the sound of running water from the crude aqueduct Heracles had constructed to bring fresh water to the slums.
The king feared his cousin’s ambitions, and Tydeus was inclined to agree with his fears. If Heracles gained the support of the people, it was possible that even the city guard could not keep Eurystheus on the throne. And if he was toppled, Tydeus would fall with him. So the nascent flicker of revolution that Heracles was trying to fan had to be snuffed out. The people had to be reminded of their place. Those were the king’s orders, and Tydeus would carry them out with ruthless efficiency.
‘Tear it apart,’ he said, turning to his men. ‘All except Heracles’s hut. Knock down the walls and kick in the doors; smash whatever they own to pieces, and if anyone resists then give them a beating they’ll not forget. But don’t kill them. I want them to remind the rest of the scum where the true power in Tiryns lies.’
A harsh shout was followed by the sound of wood splintering and a woman’s scream. More doors were broken down and more cries of distress rang out. Tydeus heard Heracles’s name shouted, as if the mere mention of him would throw the soldiers back in fear. But Heracles was far away, and nothing would prevent the destruction of everything he had tried to achieve among the slums of Tiryns.
* * *
The room was large, hot and steamy. Torches hissed in brackets on the walls, their light hazy and pulsing as they fought against the shadows. Two stone baths were being filled with hot water by male slaves, while four maids waited in the centre of the room, dressed only in plain, knee-length skirts and with their brown skin damp with sweat. As Heracles and Iolaus entered, they immediately walked up to them and began undressing them.
One removed Heracles’s sandals and another unclasped his heavy, lion-skin cloak, grimacing at the ferocious features of its maned head. She folded it into a square and deposited it on a wooden stool, before helping her companion with his belt and tunic. As the male slaves emptied the last buckets into the baths and left, the two girls eyed Heracles’s vast torso without shame or embarrassment. The first reached out and ran her fingers along the parallel white scars on his shoulder.
‘How did you get these?’
He nodded towards the lion-skin, and the girl’s eyes widened a little.
‘By all the gods on Olympus, this is so good,’ Iolaus announced, slipping down into the steaming water. ‘It’s as if I haven’t bathed for a month.’
Like Heracles’s, his clothes were neatly piled on a stool behind the bath. His maids kneeled either side of him, plunging dampened sponges into the water and rubbing them over every part of his body. Iolaus laid his head back on the stone rim and closed his eyes, while the two girls glanced at each other and smiled.
Heracles was taken by the hand and led to the waiting bath. As he stepped into the water and felt the thrill of its heat against his skin, the first girl ran her hand over the hardened muscles of his abdomen and chest, smiling at him as she did so. He eased himself into the ba
th, which was redolent with herbs, and instantly began to feel the aches of the sea voyage and the walk to the palace slip away. Like Iolaus, he laid his head back against the rim and closed his eyes.
As his thoughts faded to silence and his mind’s eye darkened, he sensed the slaves kneeling either side of him. The one who had removed his cloak and fingered his scars was close enough for him to hear her breathing, which was gentle and excited. She was the younger of the two, and made no effort to hide her attraction for him. The other was more sober, and if her eyes had roamed over his naked body with as much interest as her companion’s, she was more in control of her passions.
He heard the sound of sponges being raised from a bucket and wrung out. The first plunged into the bath and rubbed over his right thigh, up to his knee and then down his shin to his foot. The other was held in the water for a moment to warm up, then pressed lightly against his chest. He enjoyed the sensation of it rubbing over his shoulder and back down to his ribs. The first sponge was applied in a functional manner – not rough, but not too kind, either, as it rubbed away the dried sea spray and dirt from his legs. The second was more sensuous, moving gently, as if intended to arouse rather than clean. He tried to block out the scrubbing of the first and focus on the touch of the second, as it moved over the clearly defined ridges of his stomach muscles and down to his groin. He forgot about Iolaus – who would be busy with the attentions of his own maids – and let the smile broaden across his face as the sponge slid down to his genitals. Then another hand took hold of his wrist and laid his fingers over something round and soft.
He opened his eyes. The younger slave was smiling at him as she held his hand against her right breast. In an instant, the older girl released her sponge and pulled Heracles’s hand away.
‘He’s not for you,’ she hissed, slapping the girl hard across the face. ‘He’s not for any of us. You know that. Now, get back downstairs before I report you to the queen.’