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Authors: Mary Renault
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covered with fine gold grains, and the blade had running horses done in silver. As we embraced to seal the pledge, I remembered the boy who had come to see a battle. But he did not look downcast; even the Lapiths, when their slow thoughts had come abreast of us, cheered and waved their shields.
I knew, as one sometimes may, that I had met a daimon of my fate. Whether he came for good or ill to me, I could not tell; nor, it may be, could a god have told me plainly. But good in himself he was, as a lion is good for beauty and for valor though he eats one’s herds. He roars at the spears upon the dike-top, while the torchlight strikes forth fire from his golden eyes; and one’s heart must love him, whether one will or no.
VI
W HEN WE HAD SACRIFICED and feasted, I took it without saying he would stay as my guest at Athens. He said, “Gladly; but not till after the hunt at Kalydon. I have come south ahead of the news, it seems. They have one of those giant boars there, that Bendis sends for a curse.” That is an up-country name for the Moon Mistress; there was a good deal of Lapith in him, as well as Hellene.
“What?” I said. “I killed a big sow once in Megara; I thought she was the only one.”
“If you hearken to Kentaurs’ tales, there used to be a mort of them.” His Greek was partly stiff and stilted, the work of his boyhood’s tutor where even the Court did not speak it daily; the rest was the coastwise jargon that pirates talk, and only better than his men’s because his mind was quicker. “They say their forefathers killed them off with poisoned arrows. Kentaurs don’t hunt like gentlemen; they are too wild.” I thought of his Lapith band, and wondered what folk were like who seemed wild to these. “They eat meat raw,” he said, “and never come down off the tops except for mischief. If the pigs had killed their forefathers, it would have been all one to me. Or if their fathers had made a right end to the pigs, that would have been something. Kentaurs are curse enough; and once in a while there are pigs as well.”
I had been offended with him for refusing to be my guest; but he had always some odd yarn to turn one’s anger.
“In Kalydon,” he said, “they sacrificed some virgins to Artemis.” He had remembered her Hellene name this time. “Three they burned, and three they shipped up north to that shrine of hers, where the maidens sacrifice men. But she sent them omens that what she wanted was the boar. How they angered her I don’t know, but she is a goddess needs watching out for. Even Kentaurs look out for her. So the King has a hunt on, and open house for warriors. This, Theseus, forgive me, I cannot miss. Friendship is dear where honor is dearest.” (I could see the tutor, beating the old lays into him.) “Well, no need to part company. We’ll go together.”
I opened my mouth to say, “I have work to do.” But it seemed I had been working harder than a plowboy for months and years. I thought of a foot-loose journey north, with Pirithoos and his Lapiths. It tempted me like a sweet look from someone else’s wife.
He said laughing, “You can stretch your legs aboard, I left deckroom enough for your cattle.”
I was still young. Not far behind me was the Isthmus journey, not knowing at dawn what the day would bring; Crete, and the bull-dance. I had had the sign of Poseidon; I was born to be a king; and while I moved to it, everything within me worked the one way. Now I had got it. The King had enough to do. But there was another Theseus fretting idle; and this man knew him, too well.
“Why not?” I said.
So I put my business by, and went to Kalydon. I saw ships rolled over the peaceful Isthmus, the Gulf of Corinth blue between mountains, and Kalydon by its mouth. And a fine boar-hunt we had there; great deeds, good company and a rich feast. It was good only while it lasted; for it started a blood-feud in the royal house there, and, as happens often, the best man died.
I knew, as one sometimes may, that I had met a daimon of my fate. Whether he came for good or ill to me, I could not tell; nor, it may be, could a god have told me plainly. But good in himself he was, as a lion is good for beauty and for valor though he eats one’s herds. He roars at the spears upon the dike-top, while the torchlight strikes forth fire from his golden eyes; and one’s heart must love him, whether one will or no.
VI
W HEN WE HAD SACRIFICED and feasted, I took it without saying he would stay as my guest at Athens. He said, “Gladly; but not till after the hunt at Kalydon. I have come south ahead of the news, it seems. They have one of those giant boars there, that Bendis sends for a curse.” That is an up-country name for the Moon Mistress; there was a good deal of Lapith in him, as well as Hellene.
“What?” I said. “I killed a big sow once in Megara; I thought she was the only one.”
“If you hearken to Kentaurs’ tales, there used to be a mort of them.” His Greek was partly stiff and stilted, the work of his boyhood’s tutor where even the Court did not speak it daily; the rest was the coastwise jargon that pirates talk, and only better than his men’s because his mind was quicker. “They say their forefathers killed them off with poisoned arrows. Kentaurs don’t hunt like gentlemen; they are too wild.” I thought of his Lapith band, and wondered what folk were like who seemed wild to these. “They eat meat raw,” he said, “and never come down off the tops except for mischief. If the pigs had killed their forefathers, it would have been all one to me. Or if their fathers had made a right end to the pigs, that would have been something. Kentaurs are curse enough; and once in a while there are pigs as well.”
I had been offended with him for refusing to be my guest; but he had always some odd yarn to turn one’s anger.
“In Kalydon,” he said, “they sacrificed some virgins to Artemis.” He had remembered her Hellene name this time. “Three they burned, and three they shipped up north to that shrine of hers, where the maidens sacrifice men. But she sent them omens that what she wanted was the boar. How they angered her I don’t know, but she is a goddess needs watching out for. Even Kentaurs look out for her. So the King has a hunt on, and open house for warriors. This, Theseus, forgive me, I cannot miss. Friendship is dear where honor is dearest.” (I could see the tutor, beating the old lays into him.) “Well, no need to part company. We’ll go together.”
I opened my mouth to say, “I have work to do.” But it seemed I had been working harder than a plowboy for months and years. I thought of a foot-loose journey north, with Pirithoos and his Lapiths. It tempted me like a sweet look from someone else’s wife.
He said laughing, “You can stretch your legs aboard, I left deckroom enough for your cattle.”
I was still young. Not far behind me was the Isthmus journey, not knowing at dawn what the day would bring; Crete, and the bull-dance. I had had the sign of Poseidon; I was born to be a king; and while I moved to it, everything within me worked the one way. Now I had got it. The King had enough to do. But there was another Theseus fretting idle; and this man knew him, too well.
“Why not?” I said.
So I put my business by, and went to Kalydon. I saw ships rolled over the peaceful Isthmus, the Gulf of Corinth blue between mountains, and Kalydon by its mouth. And a fine boar-hunt we had there; great deeds, good company and a rich feast. It was good only while it lasted; for it started a blood-feud in the royal house there, and, as happens often, the best man died.
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