Tessa Rae wrote a sequel to this story, based on a premise by Anne Carr, called Taemon's Cuckoos

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PART ONE:
THE HOUSE OF THE AXE
He awoke to a rolling pitch in the world around him and sounds of piercing incomprehensible shouts. Lying on his stomach, he was on a thick pallet, probably comfortable when the padding was fluffed and dry, but under the steady deluge of rain it had congealed to a soggy lump. Brianhet pushed away from the offending mass and sat up, half blinded by driven water, completely disoriented, and finding no help from the confusion around him.

He was on a ship, a large vessel with the black sails of the Cretian traders, and the storm that whipped them had a fury that could only have come from a god. He wondered vaguely who had insulted whom and grabbed instinctively at one of the posts nearby when a wave spilled over the deck, carrying anything unanchored along as it retreated into the sea.

Shrill cries echoed through the wind and he shook his head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to separate him from reality. He remembered his arrival in Memphis, remembered delivering his father's message to that city's temple of Amon-Re, dinner, and later the brothel and the wine. He had fallen asleep in the arms of some girl and awakened on a Cretian ship in the middle of a tempest.

Another wave swept over him, threatening the ship itself, and he forgot about everything but the necessity to hold on.

Over his shoulder he could see the ebony skinned rowers straining in ragged unison amidships, and above them a large set man stood stolidly, shouting orders that were lost in the wind. The captain, Brianhet presumed, and reeled, barely retaining his grip as the ship rolled into the next wave.

His fingers slipped and he skid across the deck, gaining momentum as the ship tilted. The rail bit his stomach and water behind him shoved. His feet left the deck, only to return seconds later as a firm grip settled on his bare arms and pulled him back. The wave receded and Brianhet turned to meet the flashing eyes of a bare chested Nubian.

"Thank you!" He yelled it over the din and felt himself held tightly against the huge black body. "Poseidon already tries for his gift," the accent was heavy but Brianhet understood the words if not the meaning. "Here!"

A rope was placed in his hand, the other end tied to a sturdy mounting, and by the time he had lashed himself securely the man was vanishing into the rain.

"Wait!" Brianhet yelled after the Nubian, "Come back here! Tell me what's going on!"

But again he was alone on the afterdeck, helpless and confused in the hands of the angry god.

It went on for hours, then suddenly ceased as the early morning sun broke through scuttling clouds. The sea calmed to a steady roll and the wind settled to a warm westerly breeze. Flapping sails filled, sending the vessel ahead at a sharp pace and the rowers were finally given the command to set their oars and rest. More than one fell asleep instantly where he sat.

Brianhet eased his cramped fingers from their death grip on the rope, automatically thanking Amon for his deliverance from the deep, and unleashed himself. Already the trader was becoming a hive of activity and men scurried from one end to the other, assessing the storm's damage and beginning repairs. There didn't seem much wrong, the voices were cheerful and when someone began a lively ribald song the others joined the chorus unabashedly.

The Egyptian found he was completely ignored, a state of being entirely foreign to him, and his efforts to gain the attention of anyone who could tell him anything at all were fruitless. The sailors to a man behaved as if he simply did not exist. More bewildered than angry, still half certain this was a dream or someone's idea of a jest, he turned toward the bridge and eyed the man he took to be the captain. Finally deciding that, if nothing else, the man would have to tell him who was behind this trick, he moved to the wooden steps leading to the bridge.

Immediately two burly Nubians stepped in front of him and Brianhet felt his control begin to slip. "Out of my way," he pushed roughly at one man with no effect. "I want to talk to the captain!"

It was an order and Brianhet was used to being obeyed. But apparently these men didn't know who he was. They merely stood in his path and looked through him.

"I said..." Brianhet began through gritted teeth.

"Stand aside."

The command came from above, softly authoritative, and the Nubians melted away. Brianhet met the dark eyes of the captain and found that now his path was clear he was hesitating.

"You will have questions," the man continued in the same soft voice. "Come up."

The view from the bridge encompassed the entire vessel and Brianhet could see for the first time the strength of this ship that had taken the pounding of the sky and sea and survived intact. He had seen traders of this type many times in the sheltered harbours of his land, but had never been interested enough to go aboard. He mentally compared the slender lines of the trader with the heavy single-masted sails of home and half-smiled. It was no wonder Crete controlled the seas.

The captain waited, giving several quiet orders to a series of minions while the newcomer looked his fill, then motioned Brianhet to one side. "I am Thetor, captain of this vessel, in service to Deltanar, King of Crete."

Brianhet found the accent smooth and had no trouble understanding the Cretian dialect.

"I am Nebrianhet, son of Menanhotep of the Thebian Temple of Amon-Re," he returned the heavy politeness and was surprised to see a flicker of something like pity in the captain's eyes.

"Not any more," Thetor pointed to the black sail, now stretched to full splendor in the wind. In the exact center of the canvas a perfect bull's head was stitched in gold. "Now you are Nebrianhet, son of no one, gift to the Earthshaker Poseidon and the Mother Goddess of Crete. You have been sold into service... and for a very high price, I might add."

"That's impossible!" Brianhet glared at him, "The joke's gone far enough. Turn this ship around and take me back at once! I order you!"

"We're a long way from Thebes, Nebrianhet. The drug they gave you in Memphis was strong. You order nothing, command nothing. You are a slave."

Under the impassive gaze of Thetor, Brianhet closed his eyes. It was Amenhet, it could only have been Amenhet, the wily son of a worm. But Amenhet played for keeps in games of chance as well as politics. "I should be dead..."

Thetor half-smiled. "And so you would be if I hadn't needed a gift and that brothel keep hadn't liked the sound of my gold. From his actions I would say he was well paid to murder you as you slept. He was most anxious that we spirit you away immediately."

"So," Brianhet looked at him consideringly, "you have bought me. What happens now?"

"Well, first you can get that look off your face. You'll not murder me here. And what would be the use? Save your anger for those deserving of it." Thetor's smile grew. "I'll make a good profit from you. You're built for the bull and pretty enough for the crowds, though you are a bit older than I'd have liked. Nikta has given you a dry pallet. We've a ways to go yet. Eat and drink and amuse yourself. Gifts to the gods are sacred and very well treated, you'll find."

By the tone of the captain's voice Brianhet knew he had been dismissed. Thetor was right. It would gain him nothing to make a fight of it now. 'Wait, watch, listen and learn;' the words of Menanhotep came clearly to his mind. The strength of knowledge and the strength of the body used together will succeed.

Brianhet left the bridge and returned to his allotted space. Settled on the clean, dry pallet with a rich awning above him he determined to follow his father's advice. He would go along with Thetor, would wait and learn, would always watch, and when the time came he would set himself free. He had no intention of dying under the horns of some bull on a far off island. Somehow, someway, with the god's help he would return to Thebes. "And when I do," he said the words aloud and in his own language, "you'll pay for this, Amenhet. You will definitely pay."

Across the deck two Nubian sailors heard the barely leashed strength in the words of the fair-skinned offering and made the ancient sign against evil before returning with renewed effort to mending the broken rail.

For the most part they sailed in sight of land; either island or mainland, almost always to one side of the ship or the other there were dark shadows rising above the green sea.

Two days after his awakening they passed close by a rough looking bit of land and Brianhet watched, amused, as a pirate vessel sailed from behind a reef in majestic splendor, only to turn in undignified haste and scurry for home when the black sail and golden bull's head were identified. The Cretian's revenge on pirates was prompt and vicious, and their ships too strong to fall easy prey. Brianhet settled back, knowing he was safe at least until the island kingdom itself was reached.

They put into harbour at Tirkos on the mainland, and again Hestris and several ports. Each time the hold was opened, goods bought and sold, and one or two more slaves like Brianhet collected. Sometimes the young man or girl was a part of the trading merchandize, but once Thetor made a special deal and the new "gift" was brought aboard sleeping. Wrapped in his own problems Brianhet kept to himself and only joined the others when it was a feeding or sleeping time.

The slaves were a confused lot; young and frightened, like a bunch of stupid sheep needing a leader, and he found them both boring and depressing. Besides, he didn't want to know them or like them. They were meant to die for the appeasement of a god. No one lasted long in the Earthshaker's ring.

At first he watched for any means of escape, hoping that if he could only get off the trader he could find help and a way home. But Thetor was experienced and the slaves kept well guarded while the bartering went ahead. Brianhet admired and despised the captain in equal measures and bided his time uneasily, listening to the newcomers' talk of bulls and ceremonial sacrifices. Most of the stories he dismissed as hysterical jabber from cowardly children, but what was left added to what little he already he knew was still enough to make his blood run cold. Thebes and safety seemed a long way away. He sat to one side or paced along the decks, learning the wisdom of keeping his face blank of expression, and refused to speculate on his own future.

After a half moon of port hopping the trader turned directly south and began the trip home. Now there was only sky and sea and dolphins and boredom, and Brianhet found himself joining in dice games for imaginary stakes and other similarly simple pastimes. Anything to allay the pressure of doing nothing. In Thebes his life was planned down to the minute, regimented, interesting. He found himself actually looking forward to Crete and began to eye the girls with interest.

But at night the women were kept separate. Female dancers for the bull were virgins, he learned, though with boys it didn't seem to matter; so he shrugged and took care of his own needs if the discomfort of abstinence became too great. He had no interest in the other males and never noticed when they looked his way.

The sea turned from emerald green to blue to a beautiful odd color and he thought of a long-forgotten chanter. The poet was right. The water was "wine-dark", mysterious and fascinating, and the tiny islands they sailed among were like "bright colored jewels". If only he had something to do, he thought, he would almost enjoy the voyage. Now there was nothing to occupy himself with but his own thoughts, and they were rapidly becoming unpleasant.

They stopped once more, in a pretty little cove. Brianhet drifted close to the Nubians who were so used to his silent presence by now they never noticed him. They spoke of Thera and he wondered how everyone seemed unconcerned at the smoke rising from the mountain behind them. Then after a while he too forgot. Thetor was making another deal and from the snatches of conversation the wind blew his way Brianhet could tell this was a prize package being bartered for. Apparently an agreement was reached, for Thetor passed over a heavy bag and used his bracelet seal to ink a tablet. The jabbering circle of men parted and the Egyptian caught his breath.

The latest purchase being pointed toward Thetor's group of slaves was male. He was quiet, acquiescently following the directions given him by the captain, but moving with an innate superiority that held him above and apart from the rest. In the sunlight his brown curly hair shone with gold and red lights and his walk was sensuously graceful, proclaiming to all and sundry that this was no frightened boy facing death but a man... young, but a man nonetheless. His body was slight, but muscular, and he wore the red banded tunic of his people. As he came closer Brianhet briefly met the clear jade green gaze of the man's oddly slanted eyes and was sure. Somehow the people of Thera had captured an Atlantean and had sold him to the mercies of the Minoan bull.

Close by them now, the man paused and his eyes flickered over each of the slaves in turn. He looked last and longest at Brianhet who met his gaze with an assessment of his own. After a minute the Atlantean moved to sit beside him and said something incomprehensible pointing to his own chest. Brianhet shook his head and the words were repeated with emphasis on the final syllables.

Understanding, Brianhet pointed to his chest, "Brianhet." He motioned to the Atlantean. "Damon."

A languorous smile crept over Damon's face and he relaxed back on his elbows, stretching his legs full length. Brianhet watched as he closed his eyes and seemed to immediately fall asleep. He felt as if he had been accepted and dismissed in one gesture. Not knowing whether to be amused or insulted, he settled for following the man's example and lay back to take an afternoon's nap under the warmth of the sun.

They made home port at Knossos late the next afternoon. Brianhet stood by the rail, out of the way of the sailors, with Damon beside him and watched the dark haired Minoans gather on the docks to see what pickings Thetor had to offer this time. The knowledge that he was part of the merchandize did not add to his pleasure and he found himself saying just that to his companion. Damon gave him a long look but remained silent, as he had done since his arrival. Brianhet shrugged and turned back to the docks. They had been rowed to within a few yards of the pier and ropes were flung and caught, pulling them the rest of the way to anchor within plank distance of the dock.

Thetor turned the command over to his second and climbed down to join the slaves. "Line up and behave yourselves," he ordered and led them off the ship to an area set aside for them on the pier.

It was the first time Brianhet had set foot on anything that didn't sway beneath him in over a moon. He reeled and would have fallen but for a steely quick grip under his arms. Damon loosened the hold immediately but kept his fingers in place until the Egyptian was steady. The entire motion passed so quickly and quietly that the gesture went unremarked, but Brianhet was reluctantly grateful to the Atlantean for preventing an embarrassing fall. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, smiling his thanks, and Damon treated him to another of those long slow grins.

Two of the other slaves had immediately collapsed on the pier and were forced to climb unaided to their feet with the titters of unkind laughter from the Cretians jeering in their reddening ears.

The pier was rapidly becoming crowded with slave-borne litters and more could be seen winding down the hill on the smooth red dirt road. Chattering women with the long curling locks of the Minoan style and the open breasted bodices that Brianhet found interesting and oddly revolting together, ordered their litters closer so they could gossip and discuss the virtues of the latest shipment of slaves. The tattered group was led to a staging area and made to stand in a line slightly above and in full sight of the crowd.

There were gasps of astonishment as Damon came fully into view, but he remained impassive, relaxed and detached as he was turned and prodded by the curious vulgar hands of the surging crowd. One young man, drowned in gold bracelets and bangles, ran his hand lingeringly up the Atlantean's thigh and across his groin. He whispered something to the lady beside him and they giggled obscenely.

"Don't be taken by the bull too soon," she said to Damon. "Oh, I think we'll like you."

"If you want a big cock," another woman told the first. "I suggest you stick to your dog and leave the men for us."

Disgusted, Brianhet looked away, ignoring hands that moved over him now, lifting his head in an unconscious parody of Damon. The crowd moved on. The rest of the slaves were lingered over, some longer than others, then the curious fell back, the real buyers turned to Thetor, and the sale began.

All the bargaining took place to one side, out of earshot of merchandize and onlookers alike, but Brianhet and Damon both watched the faces of the customers. One by one they looked harassed, or angry, or resigned as suited their pockets and their natures until only two men were left.

Brianhet heard a nearby lady say quietly, "That's odd. Delineas hasn't bought an offering in ages. What's he doing here?"

"Replacing those two he lost last feast day, I imagine. He always does sponsor the best teams." The lady laughed, her ribboned curls bouncing across her bare breasts, "If I had his money I'd sponsor the best, too. Which ones do you think he's after?"

"Which do you think, Leandra? Those two on the end of course. And it looks like he's got them, too."

With some amazement Brianhet realized the women were talking about he and Damon. Out of this lot they were the best? Damon maybe, but as for himself? They were the oldest of the group, long past the age of spots and voice changes. He glanced at the Atlantean and remembered the strong grace of the man. "You, at least, have a chance," he told Damon but only got a puzzled look in reply.

A hand touched his shoulder and one of the sailors motioned him and then Damon aside. The two buyers had come to terms with each other and Thetor. The Egyptian and the Atlantean went to Delineas, the others to the second man. Brianhet didn't catch the other buyer's name and didn't really care. It wasn't that one who concerned him, but instead the man Delineas, who stood now before them, eyeing them like a pair of mismatched horses.

They gazed back at him silently and stood quietly as he stepped nearer. Brianhet steeled himself for the physical inspection, remembering how he once had casually examined new slaves. Never again, he promised himself, and stared ahead to the mountains in the distance. It was an owner's right and privilege. But though Delineas walked around them, viewing his purchases from every side, he made no move to touch.

There was a long silence, then at last he spoke. "Your names?"

"Brianhet."

Damon was silent.

Delineas repeated his question and Brianhet replied hastily, "He doesn't understand. His name's Damon."

"You know why you're here?"

Because I'm a political threat to the enemies of my father, Brianhet thought, but merely nodded. "And this one... Damon... does he know?"

"I don't know."

Delineas pursed his lips. He was a tall man, lean, and wore much less in the way of jewellery than the younger members of the crowd. Brianhet detected a momentary trace of humor in his new master's eyes, but it was immediately gone.

"Never mind, he'll soon learn. You will be taken to my rooms in the palace and prepared, then to the Lower Chambers for the Gifting. After that you'll become members of my team, the Wolves. Do well and you'll be rewarded. Do poorly and you'll die that much sooner. Do you understand?"

Brianhet nodded again.

"Good. This Is Letris. He'll guide you."

The road to the palace was not long, nor was it especially steep, but Brianhet was breathless nonetheless. For as they walked, the full splendor of Knossos came into view and it was unlike anything he had seen before. Thebes, with all it's temples and gigantic structures, was his home, but this style was different... lighter, airy, and unbelievably colourful. The palace sprawled across the land, rising four and five stories in some places, and glowed gold in the late afternoon sun. There were no defending walls, no water barriers, no plethora of guards. Crete was an arrogant master and depended on the sea it ruled to protect it.

As they drew closer Brianhet could see the two points he had taken for a marker to be the stylized horns of a bull. Huge, cast in bronze, they represented far more than the entrance to the palace. He glanced at Damon and was surprised to find the Atlantean's eyes on him. Damon looked back at the horns, gestured, and made a face. His meaning was clear and Brianhet found himself agreeing fervently.

They entered the city side-by side and were immediately surrounded by children. Mostly nude, the brown-skinned urchins hung off the two men, chattering and taunting... laughing at the couple who were destined to be sacrificed. Brianhet held himself with stiff dignity, a red flush of embarrassment staining his cheeks. He found this just as bad, if not worse, than being bought, but Damon swung a little girl to his shoulders and laughed with the children until Delineas' servant chased them away.

The streets were narrow, the structures on either side made of cedar and stone in one, two, and three stories. Often the bottom floor had no openings at all, the entrance gained by climbing retractable wooden ladders. Smoke curled from holes in the flat roofs and there was an aura of peace.

There was also little smell. In Thebes, the mud hut-lined outer city roads were pervaded by the odors of human waste, unwashed bodies and old cooking. Here a light breeze blew constantly, washing the smoke away, bringing in the perfumed breeze from the cedar forests that lined the foot of the mountains in the distance.

Beside him, Damon was looking around, his jade eyes curious. Once he tapped the Egyptian's arm and pointed, and they paused to look through the narrow space between two buildings. They were on a slope and Brianhet could hear the sound of rushing water. In back of the row of houses a stone trench had been built, and as they watched, a woman lifted a pot of garbage into it, letting the flow of water carry the offal away toward the sea.

Brianhet was impressed, but Letris, the guard, motioned them on and they turned a corner, out of the lower class area, straight to the palace gate.

---

In my years since the time spent in the Cretian place of the bull, I have often been asked to tell about the life there. Did I meet King Deltanar? Was I well treated? How did they live, these masters of the waters, worshippers of the earthshaker god? At the time I could only compare Knossos and its people to my beautiful Anise and, like every place I have been since, Anise came out the winner.

This is not to say that Knossos was not beautiful. Accustomed as I was to the white walls of my Atlantean city, decorated with pink and white blessed "lovers vines", the brightly painted frescos that covered every portion of Cretan stonework fascinated me. Much of the paint seemed fairly recent and it was all of a similar technique, lacking the intricacy of an Atlantean mural, but so vivid, so full of life, that I found myself liking the new style far better, it seemed, than the blue-eyed Egyptian who walked beside me.

He was called by the completely unpronounceable name of Brianhet and held himself stiffly, like one of the old ones of Anise, so wrapped in their own importance they have no time to stop and savor the beauty of a spring day. I tried to imagine Brianhet in the dance of the bull and railed utterly. It was not that he did not have the body for it... no, the Egyptian's figure was smoothly muscular, well cared for and full of the promise of slender grace. It was his mind that lacked the necessary frame. His attitude was all wrong and even then I worried that he would be the first to die.

We were led up the wide steps at the back of the palace (not for us the ornate front terraces), down a dimly lit corridor into the e bathing chamber.

Several young men with painted faces and beautiful nude bodies waited there and they took us in hand, stripping off our clothes, leading the way to the scented baths. Brianhet was reluctant, but I rather liked the attention. The chamber held two stone pools, one for each of us, both so large you could paddle or float with plenty of room to spare. One of the young men assigned to me pointed and I slid into the silky clear water, glad to wash the red Cretan dust away. The water was warm as it came from a natural hot spring and it came up to my chin even when I stood. Two of my attendants bathed me, refusing to let me lift a finger for myself. They used a musky scented oil that foamed white and left me clean, if rather odiferous. When one of the men became a little familiar with my cock, stroking the length long after it was necessary, I made no move to stop him. Perhaps this was the custom, or perhaps he was just being kind... whichever, it felt good and I enjoyed it until he was called away.

My impossible hair was washed last, rinsed with a jar of clear water, then the men led me out of the baths to a little courtyard where I was carefully dried and clothed. There were no undergarments and the little swathing held by a leather tie at the waist barely attempted to cover me to my thighs. It was comfortable, soft against my skin, but no protection.

Whey they gave Brianhet his he was hard put, I could tell, not to throw it back at them and demand his old, more modest, kilt.

There were stone benches in the courtyard and we sat there while the young men puttered, bringing in sandals that were tied and moulded and exchanged until they fit perfectly. Once we were suitably dressed they brought us wine and food. I ate hungrily, pleased at the change of slave fare. I had been on the Cretian ship only a day, but before that had been two full moons of salted beef, soft fruit and boiled water.

One of the men, a little older than the others, began talking to Brianhet in a low voice, waving his hand expressively, apparently explaining what would happen next. But no one here spoke the drawling Atlantean language and I was left to copy the Egyptian's moves, hoping he knew what he was doing. I wondered how our former shipmates were faring and thought of my mother's pies when I was leaving her house before this last ill-fated voyage.

"Go and have an adventure," she had said. "Make your life worth living."

Somehow I didn't think this was quite what she had in mind.

---

It was evening, the sun long since fading past the horizon, the sky still pink and grey with the lingering light, when Delineas appeared in their little courtyard.

Brianhet set aside the remains of the meal he had been too nervous to enjoy and stood, inclining his head proudly. This man might own him, but no son of Menanhotep would bow to a Cretian lord. He glanced at Damon, ready to signal the Atlantean to rise, but he was already waving aside the boy who had been hovering since the baths. They stood side-by-side and watched as their new-found owner came forward.

He was dressed formally now, wearing a wig of dark locks, and heavy gold chains glinted in the lamplight. Surveying them dispassionately from several feet away, he nodded.

"Presentable. Barely." Delineas looked Damon up and down then turned to the Egyptian. "Has my servant explained the Gifting?"

Brianhet inclined his head.

"Though you belong to me," Delineas told him, "you are nothing more than a gift to the God, and Deltanar himself has made the pledge."

"We're sport for a mob of bored rich people who are too lazy to do it for themselves," Brianhet countered rudely, reacting instinctively to the tone in the Cretian's voice. Beside him Damon made a sudden move, then went still.

But Delineas was not angry. On the contrary, he merely smiled thinly. "Unfortunately, you are quite probably correct. My father used to tell of the days when the youngsters of Knossos were the Dancers of the ring. Nonetheless, things are as they are and the bull must have his chance with you. If you are strong and as smart as you look, then you may live longer than the ones you are replacing. Your Atlantean friend here even longer, I imagine."

Brianhet glanced at Damon who was darting his bright green gaze back and forth between them curiously. He seemed to glow with life as if he drew energy from an inexhaustible well. Even his curls gleamed with a healthy vigour.

The Egyptian looked back at Delineas. "I make no argument."

"How very wise of you."

Despite himself Brianhet smiled a little at the dry voice.

After a moment the Cretian went on, "When the ceremony has been completed I will take you to the Hall of Dancers where you will be given into the care of Radar. He is a fair man and wise... if you listen to him you will be able to meet your team bull with honor."

Brianhet remained silent, not wanting to risk voicing his thoughts again.

Delineas continued, "The bull leapers' halls for the males and females are separate, of course, and are within the confines of the palace, but not part of the palace itself. You enter the hall at the rank of novice and you will remain at that level until you have taken part in the actual event. As a novice you are not allowed into the palace and the penalty is instant death. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Attempt," Delineas commanded, "to explain it to the Atlantean. There are no exceptions to the rule and not understanding the language is no excuse."

"Sir."

"Radar will instruct you on all other rules. Now. Come with me, it is time for the Gifting."

Their shipmates, the motley collection of wide-eyed teen-agers, went through the Gifting before them. Damon and Brianhet stood in the shadows of the underground Lower Chamber, the cool wet lair of the Goddess, and watched the ceremony with Delineas.

The room itself was circular with open archways at intervals, well-lit by candies only in the center. There were frescoes, of the Goddess in her tiered skirt, huge dark bulls, and the leapers themselves, arching over the horns and soaring above the broad hind quarters of the beasts. Brianhet eyed the pictures and knew there was no way he could begin to master the skill.

Damon looked at everything once then focused his attention on the ceremony itself.

The ritual began, and was conducted, almost entirely in silence. Only the human embodiment of the goddess moved, the twin snakes that undulated around her bare arms seemingly a part of her. She was masked, naked but for a tiered diaphanous gown, and as she anointed each of the novices the snakes hissed sharply, the sound echoing around the rock-lined chamber.

She finished with the first group and their new owner shepherded them away, bowing out of the Goddess's presence with unctuous care.

Ignoring him, her eyes, the only part of her face visible behind the gilt mask, went to Delineas and his pair for her bulls. One hand lifted, a command to come forward, and Delineas whispered to Brianhet, "Go, and do as you were told."

The Egyptian was accustomed to temple functions, had served in them with his father for as long as he could remember, both in the great halls and the secret chambers; ritual held no mystery for him. He went forward confidently to stand between the rows of candles and Damon followed, still watching the Goddess and her snakes through his lashes.

She motioned for them to turn slowly, one at a time, a full circle. When they faced her again she mouthed the ancient rite of words though only her snakes' hissing could be heard, and dipped her fingers into a pouch tied to one of the rare iron sconces. Opaque droplets fell from her fingers down Brianhet's chest, the heat of the room and his body bringing out the odor. It was pungent and he recognized it from his own experience as a mixture of snake milk and herbs.

When it was Damon's turn to be anointed the Atlantean wrinkled his nose but made no other move. Then the Goddess nodded to Delineas and they were led away silently, through a maze of corridors and up, into the cool night air.

Brianhet took a deep breath, glad to be out of the oppressive room and its hissing echoes. Delineas paused as if he too was pleased to be well away.

Above them the palace gleamed with light, and merry voices echoed through the night as the Cretian nobility partied. As he watched, Brianhet saw two figures slip out onto an upper balcony and immediately come together in a passionate kiss. Damon followed his eyes and grinned. He was absently wiping away the sticky moisture left by the Goddess from his chest, and when Brianhet's eyes briefly met his, he deliberately winked.

Brianhet frowned and turned away, ready to follow Delineas to his new abode. After a moment Damon shrugged and leisurely tagged along.

---

He wasn't sure what woke him. It was never totally dark in the common quarters of the male dancers and there were always sounds... of bad dreams, of lovers, of the fire. But in the six weeks since his training had begun he had learned to sleep through them all.

Moonlight streamed in through the uncovered windows, lighting his way to the door. Several of the beds were empty, the male leapers who had passed the rank of novice had the run of the palace and there were no dances tomorrow. They would be with their noble lovers.

Brianhet slipped easily past the dozing guard, drawn by chance or the gods into the night, around the barracks, directly to the practice ring of the bull. The moon was full and the sky free of clouds. The light was almost as bright as day and in the glow he could see a figure by the stationary practice bull. The Egyptian stood silently in the shadows of the gate and watched, knowing long before he saw the curling hair and slender body picked out in silver that the man was Damon. No one else would be out here at this hour. And besides, like it or not, he seemed to have a sixth sense with this man. The Atlantean strolled to stand in front of the spreading bronze horns, and almost without hesitation sprang to meet them. His body seemed to suddenly float and rise high over the bull. His feet touched, for ceremony's sake, the broad wooden back then he rose again, twisting into a ball, rolling and straightening with time to spare before he landed lightly onto the sandy floor of the ring.


It was beautiful, perfect in form and grace, and executed with a pride and joy that awoke in Brianhet something the instructors had failed to touch. It lifted ceremony to art and higher and Brianhet moved forward without realizing it, his breath caught in his throat as Damon began another leap.

This time he was ready and made the catch, eager to steady Damon's landing. It was unnecessary... but he had a sudden and overwhelming desire to be part of the act, to share in the skill of the Atlantean.

Damon accepted the grip easily, then turned in his arms, his muscles sweat slick under Brianhet's fingers. "Thank you, Brin't."

He spoke the words softly and with only a trace of accent, and the slow smile that started in his strange green eyes spread over his face. "Don't look so surprised. Of course I speak this language."

"But why..."

Damon moved away to stand in front and to one side of the practice bull. "It's amazing what people will say in front of you if they think you don't understand. Stand to the left, Catcher, and be ready. I'm not very good on this one yet."

There was no problem that Brianhet could find in that leap, or the next or the next. Damon seemed tireless and all the time he danced, he talked, giving breathy instructions to his catcher, humming a crooning sound between snatches of speech.

"We do this at my mother's home in Anise," he told the Egyptian. "You should see it Brin't, the walls are high and white and covered with flowers..." he made the leap and landed laughing against Brianhet's chest.

"Well have to work on that one, Egypt, or you'll kill us both before the bull does. Now go there," he pointed.

It never occurred to Brianhet to resent the orders. In Thebes no one ordered him but his father and Thutmoses, but in the ring under the Cretian moon he listened to a master athlete and obeyed without question.

Damon positioned himself, "None of this stupid sacrifice to a bull in Anise. There it's done for sport. We don't humiliate the animal..." he twisted up and over the horns, bounced and landed "...and they don't hurt us."

After a time Damon indicated he'd had enough and led Brianhet out of the ring to the side garden, fed by one of the man-made springs. "We need to cool off a bit."

They drank from the tepid water and sprawled in the grass, letting their bodies relax.

Still amazed that Damon spoke both Egyptian and Cretian without difficulty, and more, that he had dropped his stand-off air and seemed ready to be friends, Brianhet asked about his capture.

Damon lay back against the trunk of an olive tree, chewing negligently on a mint leaf. "These things happen. I was on a ship of my people's, making the yearly voyage to the Coves... don't ask, Egypt, it's one of our stranger customs. Anyway there was a storm, we were blown into the rocks and I survived. And you?"

Brianhet made a face, "Politics. My family is close to the Pharaoh and I stand in line for a position. I was meant to die." He told Damon only the basics and the Atlantean listened, a slight smile on his round face.

"It all seems... I don't know... we just don't behave like that back in Anise."

Ruffled, Brianhet growled, "You're not at home now."

"Neither are you. While you were throwing incense about and lighting candies, I was learning how to stay alive in the ring, so don't get all priestly with me!"

They glared at each other, then Brianhet remembered the soaring body and relaxed, "Do you think you could teach me? I've no wish to die for some god that isn't even mine."

"All gods are the same," Damon reluctantly smiled, "and you'll never be a good leaper. You're too heavy and too old to learn the trick of it. Besides, you have to sing to your animal and I've heard you sing. Any bull in his right mind would gore you to shreds the minute you opened your mouth."

"Thanks very much," Brianhet made to stand only to have Damon touch his arm.

"But you're the best catcher I've ever seen."

Surprised by praise after the half-hearted contempt, Brianhet paused.

Damon was serious now, "The leaper can somersault and bounce, and any number of things, but without a good catcher he won't last an hour in the ring. Jumping on the practice bull is one thing, a real animal is entirely different."

His grip tightened on Brianhet's arm. "I'll teach you. At night, just we two, because I think... well... just because."

Intrigued, Brianhet pressed for motives, but Damon had said all he was going to on the subject. They made their way back to the common room and entered with some late returning party goers. What was left of the night Brianhet spent dreaming of strange sullen caves and odd clay statues that looked at him with sad, slanted eyes.

---

I'm not sure when I fell in love with Brianhet, the Egyptian. Oh I remember, I will always remember, the moment I realized it. It was in the early days on Crete. We were in the practice ring of the bull, taking turns doing the simple leaps the Cretians think so difficult, and for a moment he was separated from the rest. He has a way of lifting his face to the sun with his blue eyes narrowed and his features blank... as if he is taking strength from the light. He was standing apart, even in a crowd he is solitary, and I suddenly thought, You need never be alone again, Egypt. I'll be there for you. If you'll let me.

I must have made some movement for he turned then and saw me staring. He smiled... would he have smiled if he had known what was in my mind? I think not. But the smile was enough. From that moment I gave my life to him.

I wanted to take him far away from the others, pull him to the ground beside me and spread whatever small skills I had for him like a feast. But the moment passed, he turned away again all innocence, and anyway we couldn't leave. That night Teran, the leader of the Wolves, attempted to join him in bed and when Brianhet kicked him out I was only half pleased. Never before had I been jealous, but lying on my pallet, watching the Mycenaean snuggle against Brianhet's still sleeping body I could have killed. When he awoke and was angry I was relieved, but only for a moment. It didn't take much in the way of brains to know that if Teran had been tossed aside I would be as well. Brianhet was a man for women and though I could and would change myself for his pleasure, that was something I could never become.

I'll have to get him used to me, I thought. For the moment I would settle for being friends.

But even something this simple was difficult. In Anise, the beautiful capital of Atlantis, I had many friends. We were drawn together by childhood memories, by family ties, and common interests. We shared our lives so easily, far too young to think beyond tomorrow, and sex was a by-product, something to be enjoyed with whomever was willing. I thought, in Crete, that Brianhet could never have known a childhood such as mine, and it was no joy to find I was right. He was raised not to enjoy life but to accept it, and we had nothing in common but an uncertain future.

In my own way I had kept apart from the others as much as Brianhet. What they thought was a language barrier was a wish to remain informed but uninvolved. They thought me stupid or snobbish, but it had not kept Brianhet as far away as the rest... his own barriers were higher than mine could ever be. The leapers bored him with all their petty squabbles and cockish preening. Frankly, they bored me, too. The trick was... how to get him to see that I was different?

In Anise I could have given him so much; land, servants, gold or jewels. Here I had nothing to offer but myself and I was afraid it wasn't enough. I know better now. Riches he already had in abundance, of love he knew nothing. So, in my ignorance I plotted, watching him as he slept, encouraged by that one smile. First he must notice me, I must shine in his eyes, then we would go from there.

One night I lay awake, full of the energy of frustration, until finally I had to rise. I went naturally to the ring of the practice bull that was so familiar and began the leaps as we did them in Anise, thinking all the time of Brianhet. When suddenly he was there to catch me it seemed so much a dream I almost shouted for the sheer miracle of it. But it would have frightened him away forever so I made some easy remark and stood away from the temptations of his body.

There was a look on his face... the dance of the Atlanteans touched him as the Cretians' way had never done. He noticed me, maybe even admired my skill a little, and when he asked me to teach him I was satisfied. It was something to build on.

---

They practiced every night, going over the leaps Damon specialized in again and again, until Brianhet could tell exactly where the lithe body would land by what seemed like intuition alone. In the daylight, in the same ring with the other novices they made the moves they were taught, walking through it with nothing setting them apart from the rest. At night they came alive.

Radar, the head instructor, shook his head over them and the nobles coming to check the quality of the merchandize before laying down their bets were heard giving odds over which would die first. Brianhet and Damon shared a look and continued to play dumb. It had almost become a game... them against the world. Of their patron they saw nothing.

Their team mates, the Wolves, began to practice with them; first on the wooden animal, and finally with the team bull. He was a fearsome looking beast with perfect curving horns and a sloping back, but he was bred for size rather than speed, body rather than brain. Called Petro, he had chosen the team only months before and had killed two members, and maimed three others already.

From the safety of the stands Brianhet watched the narrow eyed Teran tease the bull with his dance. "He's very good."

Behind him Damon leaned forward and rested his arms on the Egyptian's shoulders. "He's wooden."

"Looks all right to me."

The Atlantean ruffled the short dark waves under his fingers, "You'll learn," was all he said. Even with Petro Damon kept up his act, making his leaps clumsy, his movements jerky. After a time Brianhet realized that only the Atlantean's superior skill kept him alive when they played their game. Teran and the others didn't bother to hide their contempt, and at night Damon would laugh delightedly as he told what they had said about him, thinking he didn't understand.

"Being dumb has it's uses, but I can't play it forever," Damon explained as they relaxed in the gardens after practice. "The only reason I've been able to keep it up is because they don't figure I'll live past the first dance. Nobody's all that anxious to teach me."

Brianhet raised one dark eyebrow. "What of me? How do they think we communicate?"

Damon moved closer, cupped the Egyptian's face with long fingers and kissed him fully on the lips. "Without words, Catcher," he whispered.

Brianhet pushed him away and wiped his mouth. "Don't do that!"

Damon gave a soft chuckle, "It's what they think already. I'm lucky and you're shy."

"Eh?"

"Remember when Teran tried to come into your bed?"

"I kicked him out."

"Which only makes him want you more," Damon waved a hand. "And then you leave with me at night... every night... and we come back all sleepy-eyed hours later. What do you think they think? For an all-seeing priest you're awfully blind."

"You know, if you keep up this constant praise it'll go to my head. What makes you so lucky then?"

"Oh I get you all to myself for now," Damon eyed him and his tone became seductive. "You have an air. Blue eyes, dark hair, pale skin... all with a sign that says "don't touch". I'm lucky. I get to touch."

Brianhet felt an arm come around his waist and Damon said softly, "Play along, we're being watched."

Soft lips nibbled along his neck and too surprised to protest, he was pulled against Damon's hard body.

"Come on, d'you want them to find out now?" He could barely hear Damon's whispered words.

Slowly he reached to hold the body, but his grip was loose, and after a minute Damon raised his head. "They're gone," he announced. "By the heavens, Brin't, if that's all the better you can do no wonder that girl drugged your wine!"

Nettled, Brianhet forgot about asking where the watchers had been, how Damon had known they were around when his own ears had heard nothing, and opened his eyes. The Atlantean was still sprawled above him, his full weight pinning Brianhet to the ground. In the starlight he could barely see Damon's half-closed eyes, but they glittered mockingly, daring him. Brianhet let his quick temper unleash for an instant and held the man still, "I never liked boys much," he said and pulled Damon's head to meet his.

The kiss should have been vicious, but the Atlantean opened his mouth and used his tongue to lick sensuously over the hard lips that claimed him. Brianhet faltered and his anger slipped into something else as he felt his heart begin to thud and the familiar tightening that heralded sexual response. His fingers relaxed their hold in the brown curls and slid of their own accord over Damon's shoulders, down his bare back to his waist. Damon's breathing accelerated and he probed at Brianhet's mouth with his tongue, urging him to open his lips for a deeper exploration.

Brianhet felt the Atlantean's rising hardness against his thigh and it brought him back to reality. Abruptly he shoved. "Stop it!" He tried to order to order but his voice was shaking.

Damon lay to his side where he had rolled for a long moment and when he finally spoke Brianhet could hear the smile in his voice. "Sorry, Egypt. In Anise we don't worry about these things. If the body is in need the mind is slow."

Brianhet drew a ragged breath, "Damon, I..."

"Come on. Well go back now. Our first dance is tomorrow. If we plan to give them a show we'd better get some rest."

Almost reluctantly Brianhet followed his team mate back to the common quarters. In Thebes he had been encouraged to try both men and women, had been rich and powerful enough to lay wherever he chose. But after once with a man he had stayed with girls, preferring the softness of the female form beneath him. The man, another priest from the Temple of Montu, had hurt him and never until now had his body responded to a male touch. It was a little frightening, exciting, and all together against his better judgement. He would be very glad, he thought, to get away from the novice rank and be allowed the run of the palace full of beautiful, bare-breasted women. But when he slept he dreamt again of the caves, only this time Damon was with him and they made full and satisfying love under the empty gazes of the strange statues that stood in the walls around them.



The dance. The sun at its peak, the sky brilliantly blue and cloudless, and the stands surrounding the Earth Shaker's ring filled to capacity and overflowing. The nobler ladies of the court gossiped together under the rust and pale blue awning, dripping with gold and precious jewels, eating daintily at the fruits and sweets provided, while their servants fanned away the heat and flies.

The men mingled among them, making private bets on the outcome of one team or another, wagering on the number of lives to be lost in the ring today. They shouted back and forth, laughing at their friends, bringing themselves to the attention of their ladies. The noise level rose as the hour drew near.

Inside the quiet common room the din could be easily heard. Brianhet adjusted the barely adequate leather loincloth... the only thing besides his skill that stood between him and the bull... for the hundredth time, absently chewing on his lip. He had never been good at waiting, and the air in here... a heavy hand clapped on his shoulder and he jumped.

Teran smiled, "Just a bit nervous?"

Brianhet pursed his lips and didn't answer.

"You needn't be. I've had a little talk with the team. You needn't worry,"

"Throwing Damon to the Wolves?" The pun was heavy and intended, but Teran's smile merely grew meaner.

He indicated his gold laden body. "You can share in all this if you're nice to the right people."

"The right people being you, of course."

Teran moved closer, "That's right."

The Egyptian's eyes narrowed, but he had not spent his years in politically turbulent Thebes for nothing. It wasn't necessary to antagonize the Mycenaean now. He'd be angry enough when he saw Damon in the ring. "We'll talk about it later, all right?"

Satisfied, Teran turned away end Brianhet watched him go, disgusted at the man's attitude. Coming up beside him Damon commented, "I've never actually seen anybody do that before."

"Do what?"

"Curl their lip. You're very good. Consider me impressed."

Brianhet relaxed under the gentle teasing. "He makes me sick. He's ready to trade half his jewels and you for..." he waved an expressive hand.

"You?"

Brianhet nodded.

"That's it then. I prefer cremation."

"Oh, shut up."

The high eerie sound of flutes filled the room and the men straightened. No more waiting, the rite was beginning.

Damon took a long breath. "You scared?"

Looking into the depths of the Atlantean's eyes Brianhet couldn't lie. "Yes. You?"

Damon nodded, "Every minute," he said soberly, then his gamin face crinkled, "Makes life worth living, doesn't it?"

Brianhet followed him out the door, "Just makes me nauseous."



They paraded to the ring in a double line and each pair paused at the Altar of All Gods to pay respects. Brianhet imagined the Temple of Ra and bowed low, then eyed Damon as the Atlantean touched his forehead, then each side of his chest with his right hand. He'd have to ask what the gesture signified. Somehow religion was a subject they hadn't explored.

But it was not his gods they were being offered to, or Damon's. They were here to be sacrificed to the Bull, the Earth Shaker's manifestation on Crete, and the Mother Goddess of the Snake awaited them in the ring.

The crowd hushed as the three performing teams made their entrance and formed a line before the Goddess. She raised her arms, her ceremonial mask covering her face, her uplifted breasts bare and tipped with rouge. For a long moment the human Goddess stood perfectly still, only the breeze in her tiered skirt and the snakes encircling her arms moving. Then she murmured the ceremonial words, her arms fell, and the crowd roared approval until the sound threatened to rival the Bull himself.

The Wolves were to dance last and they waited in a place set aside for them in the stands to watch the Dolphins and the Goats practice their artistry. After working with Damon, to Brianhet they were nothing. His gaze strayed to the opposite stands and he amused himself catching the eyes of one noble beauty, then another. When the crowd roared and stood he was slower to his feet and had to crane around the figure in front to see.

He wished he hadn't bothered. The girl, the only female leaper of the Dolphins, wasn't quite dead yet and the bull had returned for the kill. No one moved to pull her from the horns and the animal came away with gore dripping from the tips.

Brianhet swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat. He didn't even know her name, but he remembered her at practice, and once she had shown him a trick to make a difficult catch easier. He glanced at Damon and was not surprised to find the Atlantean's eyes elsewhere. Somehow it pleased him to know his friend had no blood lust for the ring.

There was break while the body was placed on a silken covered bier and carted away. She would be buried with honor, bride of the bull, then forgotten. The ring was resanded and now it was the Wolves taking the stage.

Petro entered, shaking his horns at the dancers, and trotted to the center. Now was the seduction, the enticement of the dancers. Brianhet felt clumsy under the scrutiny of the crowd and held back, more nervous than afraid. From across the ring Teran smiled and twisted close, drawing Petro's attention, but only until the next dancer lured the bull aside. It came time for Damon and he went forward smoothly, his slender body just brushing the bull's flank before he glided away. On the other side of Petro he looked up and caught Brianhet's eye.

His look invited. "Come, play with me," his gaze seemed to be saying. "It's a foolish game for children and women, but we'll indulge them... you're good at this..."

Brianhet forgot the body of the girl, the hungry audience, and moved to join the game. Life and death merged with the rush of adrenaline, giving him the grace he needed and he stroked the neck of the bull before he was away.

They began to circle the beast, feinting left and right, always just out of reach of the gold painted horns, until Petro lifted his head and roared his frustration, pawing the arena floor with sharpened hoofs.

Teran's leap was sure; he had the weight of experience, knowledge of his bull, and he bounced easily off the back into the catcher's waiting arms.

It was a classic leap. The crowd cheered approval and his smile deepened, accepting their praise as his due.

Another leaper, not as skilled but just as practiced, went forward and Petro turned to meet him.

Brianhet found himself keeping one eye on the bull and the other on Damon. When? The game always went on until the animal grew tired or blood was spilled. Petro showed no signs of boredom, instead his temper grew.

Teran leapt again, then again, before he fell back with a wave, conceding the stardom, if only for the moment, to the others.

Damon straightened from his almost casual stance. Petro was facing away, preparing to charge another leaper, when the sound began. The Atlantean was crooning to the bull, a low strange noise that seemed soft but filled the ears. It did not travel far, only the leapers could hear, and with the single exception of Brianhet, who had long since grown used to the eerie song, they paused in mid-step and listened.

Petro turned to the only one moving in the ring. Damon slid slowly closer, his feet barely touching the ground, his hands spread wide apart.

Petro shook his horns and roared, trotted a few steps forward and suddenly went into the charge.

A hundred screams came from the stands as the watched what was surely to be a kill. But Damon met the bull head on, grabbed the horns firmly and was up.

Brianhet didn't remember moving. His eyes were on Damon's floating body as it twisted, curled and rolled for all the world like it had no need to ever return to earth. He soared, barely deigned to touch Petro's sloping haunches, then somersaulted again. The Egyptian was ready, knew by the pitch and timber of the song which leap would be performed. He held up one hand, steadied Damon's landing and released him quickly. Already Petro was searching with beady red eyes for his victim.


If the crowd had shouted before it was nothing to the cheers they voiced for Damon. He ignored them so completely Brianhet thought he must not be hearing. Someone shouted, "Teran's met his match in this one!" and Brianhet glanced over his shoulder.

The Mycenaean had also heard and his smile faltered then disappeared altogether.

"Serves you right, you bastard," Brianhet thought. "My Damon's worth a hundred of you." He met Teran's furious gaze with a bland look, but only for a second. Petro was moving forward.

Damon glided ahead and again the low sound reverberated through the ring. The bull sidestepped, confused by the noise from the stands, and Atlantean wheeled to stay face-to-face. There were words in his song now, but the language was his own and what he told the bull was secret between the two of them.

The team circled, staying well away from the center, stunned into leaving the bull to the novices alone. Petro lowered his horns and when Damon reached and caught hold the bull, twisted. He was flung to the side, landing spitting in the sand, but Brianhet could see the twinkle in his eyes. The Atlantean wasn't hurt. The danger now lay with both horns and hoofs, until Damon could regain his wind and feet. Thinking only that Petro must be diverted, Brianhet slid along the animal's blind side and thumped him hard by his tail.

Petro spun and Brianhet danced lightly to the side, luring the bull from Damon. He was not a leaper, simply had no talent for the horns, and he had no idea what he would do if the beast charged. Running was out of the question, both for pride and practicality. Brianhet made a mental prayer to any god who might be listening and immediately an idea presented itself.

He slowed, noting that though Teran and the others were coming to his aid they would be far too late, and faced Petro. Rather than the ready crouch of the leaper he stood straight, hands on hips and dared the bull to take him.

Petro didn't hesitate. Lowering his head once more, he charged, gaining momentum as he crossed the arena to claim his prize. Nebrianhet waited, deaf to the warning cries of the crowd, until the bull was a hair's breath away, then he simply turned his body sideways, sucked in his stomach and let the animal's own speed carry him past.

A shocked hush fell over the crowd and Petro skid to a halt, shaking his head as it surprised to find no meat dangling from his horns. In the silence Brianhet could hear the hiss of the Living Goddess's snakes as they curled in the royal loge. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and Damon came to join him. They had each done something new in the ring today and they stood together to receive their desserts.

The Goddess waited to see if Petro would renew the attack, and when she was satisfied that the Earth Shaker had had enough she stood and signed the keepers to catch and lead the bull away.

The Wolves gathered in the arena at the foot of the royal box and she looked at each of them for a long moment, her dark eyes glinting from behind the high mask. Lifting her arms she delved among the encircling snakes and pulled free two of the bracelets at her wrists, then pointed to the newest members of the team, beckoning them forward.

Brianhet raised an eyebrow at Damon and they stepped to the front, bowing low. The Goddess murmured but the words were unintelligible and she dropped the bracelets... one each to the ground in front of them. Then she turned and was gone, disappearing back into the palace through the portal that was for her alone.

Damon picked up the slender strand of gold and held it high over his head for all the crowd to see. The Goddess had honored them, the people could do no less. They began to applaud, then call, and their noise shook the birds from their nests and sent them into the air overhead.

Brianhet picked up his gift from the Goddess and looped it about his wrist as he followed the Wolves from the arena. He was smiling broadly, tired but elated together, and only Teran's dark face was there to spoil the moment.

---

I had never in my life set out to ensnare anyone and I made more than one stupid error. It was just that I didn't always understand Brianhet's mind and was too anxious for his body. Never once has my love for him faltered. But despite my mistakes he never turned away from me and as our training days went on he even began to seek me out, sitting next to me at meal times, or standing beside me during the days' practice. When we sat in the stands and watched the Wolves I would stay behind him and lean to touch and he accepted me, more easily each time.

The others began to notice and draw their own conclusions when we left the common room at night together. Brianhet was so used to doing whatever he pleased he didn't see their sly glances in our direction, and of course they spoke more freely in front of me since they thought I couldn't understand.

When, in the garden one night I took my courage in both hands and kissed him, I felt his response, but he was frightened of it and pushed me away. It didn't matter...the feel had been there, I could wait. I determined more than ever to make him proud of me in the ring and kept a quiet distance.

I will never forget our first dance in the bull's arena. We have done much, seen much, and shared many adventures since... but that memory stands alone. It was then he first put my life before his, in a way only he could have done. The Mother Goddess honored us herself and I still wear the bracelet from her wrist. Brianhet laughs at my "silly superstitions" but I'll never part with the strand. It's not an omen, but a memory, and therefore all the more precious.

Once we had danced we left the novice rank and the palace, with all its delights, both legal and illicit, were open to us. Brianhet immediately began an affair with some noble beauty. I had expected it, but had not reckoned for the bursting pain. It spread through my body, made me clumsy and stupid when I saw them together, so I kept away. Another lady invited me to her chambers and I went and spent my passion there. I was easier when next I saw him.

---

The men sat together in one of the many rooms allotted for travelling dignitaries at the Knossos palace. They spoke quietly among themselves, nodding occasionally, never raising a voice louder than a whisper.

"I still can't believe it's him," one of them said.

"You saw him. There's not another one looks like him in the world. Besides, who else would have the gall to do what he did with that bull? And the name's the same."

"Brianhet," the man's voice was edged. "That whore-keeper must have sold him off instead of killing him. By the gods I'll have his head on a platter for such treachery."

"Never mind that now," the third man spoke for the first time. "What's to be done?"

"Just leave him," came the suggestion. "He can't escape from here, can't do any harm... the bull will get him sooner or later."

"We can't take that chance. As long as Brianhet's alive he's a threat."

There were rumbles of agreement all around, then the first man spoke again, "There's no way to get at him now. When he starts knowing his way about the palace maybe, but until then..."

"Wait." The third man lifted a negligent hand for silence. "Why not let the bull kill him?"

"Oh? And how do you propose to do that, eh? Point him out and give the beast a sugar lump for encouragement?"

The third man merely smiled. "Something a bit more subtle. Didn't you see the face of the Mycenaean when the Atlantean made that leap? There was death there if I've ever seen it."

"So?"

"Heptos, you are truly simple. The Atlantean and our Brianhet are obviously partners in the ring. And from all the gossip, not just in the ring. Think! If the Atlantean dies..."

Heptos' face lit up. "Then Brianhet will be quick to follow!"

"So all we have to do is have a little talk with this Mycenaean boy. It won't take long, I'm sure he'll be easily persuaded to influence the team. We'll tell him we just want to get rid of the Atlantean. Then poof!" He spread his fingers, "Gone! One Atlantean, closely followed by one Egyptian. To be buried and forgotten just like all the others."

Heptos was pleased. "Very neat. May I suggest we invite the Mycenaean for a private chat? Well have time to convince him and make it to the party tonight as well if we hurry."

Smiling, they stood and went their separate ways, each contemplating the bloody body of Brianhet and the rewards it would bring.

"The water's getting cool."

"So? Let it."

Brianhet sighed and reluctantly lifted Casia off him before standing up in the bath. "You'll be late to your own dinner," he told her severely. Picking up a long sheet he handed it to her, then wrapped the second one around himself.

"I don't care," Casia allowed him to pull her up. She rubbed her wet naked body against him and giggled when she felt his response. "You don't care either."

"Yes I do. Go on," he slapped her rump sharply and watched with undisguised interest as she wiggled into her dressing chamber. Casia was a beauty, with her Cretan dark ringlets, flashing eyes, and off-island pale skin, but her insatiable appetites were beginning to pall.

Brianhet dressed himself quickly and went to the window. His noble lady's room was high, away from the smells of cooking and animals on the lower floors, and faced the islands almost spinal mountains. He gazed at the sunset reflecting oft snow covered peaks, so lost in thought he didn't hear Casia come up behind him.

"What is it Brianhet? What makes you look like that?"

"Look like what?"

"Sad, angry... I don't know."

"It's your imagination. You look very nice." She spun, laughing, already forgetting his problems. "It's new. Almost Egyptian, so they tell me. I had it made in your honor."

Brianhet refrained from telling her that no Egyptian lady would be caught dead in such a gaudy costume. If he had learned anything since leaving the novice rank the week before, it was that immodesty seemed the style among Cretian nobility. Who was he to throw back the sight of so many brightly clad women if the gods offered it?

Casia had been the first to invite him to her rooms after the Dance. In fact, her messenger awaited his return from the ring. Her wealth, or her father's, he hadn't yet figured that one out, seemed as unlimited as her sexual appetites and he had taken advantage of both. It seemed an equal trade and he smiled at her preening, "I'm not used to so much color."

"Oh, you Egyptians! Everything so white and bland. Come in!"

The servant bowed her head, "Your guests are arriving and dinner's ready."

"Oh good," Casia tucked her arm through Brianhet's briefly. "Shall I see you after?"

"Maybe."

She laughed, "Well, if you're not here I shall start without you."

"You do that."

He didn't watch her go and followed minutes later, knowing his way well enough now. The dining hall door was open, the sumptuous room already crowded. He could see Casia at the main table surrounded by her high born friends. The new dress, it appeared, was causing talk, and she was carrying it off with an air. By next week they would all be wearing the style. He grimaced and looked away.

"I didn't think you'd be here, Egypt."

Brianhet didn't bother turning. Damon's voice was as familiar as his own now and only the Atlantean had such a pleasantly odd accent. "Where else would I be?"

"Recouping your energy. Sprawled face down on your pallet too exhausted to move."

"Very amusing."

"I thought so," Damon drifted away and Brianhet didn't see him again until the meal began. The plates were made of gold, the cups as well, and the food was abundant and well prepared. Brianhet let the hovering servant pour more wine and found himself watching three men across the room. They were dressed as Mycenaean, but they looked Egyptian and surely he had seen the tall one somewhere before. Frowning, he lowered his eyes and tried to place the man. Not the temple, the whorehouses, not in Thebes at all. Tanis? Maybe...

Damon sat beside him, watching him silently, his eyes for once serious. After a moment Brianhet felt the stare. "Sorry. Were you saying something?"

"No," Damon leaned closer. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, for Amon's sake! Why does everyone keep asking me what's wrong?"

Damon merely sipped at his wine and looked away.

Brianhet looked at his friend and saw concern, not curiosity. "Damon," he touched the Atlantean's arm. "Please. I'm sorry."

Damon nodded. "Is it Casia? Is it because you can't be with her up there at the table?"

"Good heavens no! What would I do up there? Simpering is not one of my attributes."

"Hmm. I just thought perhaps..."

"Company's better here anyway," Brianhet said gruffly. "No it's those three by Teran, across the way. I could swear I know one of them. And note their eyes. Those are not Mycenaeans. They're Egyptian."

"Friend or foe? Or neither?"

"I don't know, but I wish I did." Brianhet leaned back, replete, and changed the subject. "Where've you been this last week? You're never around."

"Neither are you. We probably just missed each other. Are you busy after this?"

"What'd you have in mind?"

"A little practice, if you can move after all that food. There's a rite next week and I've thought of something."

Brianhet was intrigued, "All right. Shall we slip away before the music?"

"Please. I swear these Cretians studied voice at an Egyptian school. They're worse than you."

Brianhet's laughter sputtered. "You never let up, do you?"

"No," Damon hesitated then asked, "You know what they'll think, don't you, when we leave together? Casia and the others?"

"Who cares? Let them think what they like." His eyes were on the trio across the room again. Something was whispering a warning, but when he tried to pin it down it had slipped away. He met Teran's eyes and felt again the desire in them, then the Mycenaean's gaze slid to Damon and hardened. "Let's get out of here," Brianhet said, and led the way under cover of the arriving entertainers.

The trick Damon had thought of was pure acrobatics and difficult. They worked at it every night and Brianhet happily let Casia find a new lover. Their time had been intense but she liked variety and went on to the next without a thought. Brianhet found that whereas Damon simply had not been around the week before, now he was always near, ready with a quick biting joke, full of stories about Anise. The Egyptian began to look for him; for the first time in his heretofore regimented life he had a friend, though it took slavery and possible death to do the deed.

Three days before the next dance Teran stopped Brianhet outside the common room after the practice.

"What is it?" He was hot, sweaty and irritable for lack of sleep. "I want a bath, can't it wait?"

Teran shook his head. "No longer."

"All right then... where?"

The Mycenaean led him along the outer path to a tiny garden. There was no spring, but the flowers were all in riotous bloom and bees made a pleasant background noise.

Brianhet stopped in the middle and turned, "What do you want?"

"You know well."

Teran pulled him close and kissed him lingeringly. Brianhet stood still, thinking not of the man holding him, but of Damon, Damon's mouth, Damon's body, Damon's breath in his ear. If Damon had roused him, shouldn't Teran do the same?

No. Teran stroked and Brianhet felt nothing. After a moment he pushed away a little, "Teran! Wait, this isn't any good. It's not you," he added at the sudden nasty look on the leaper's face. "It's me."

"No, it isn't you, it's that misbegotten Atlantean!" Teran growled. He shoved the Egyptian aside, mumbled something and strode away, leaving Brianhet alone, shaking his head after him.

He had a sudden notion to be with Damon and went searching, finding him in the dancer's baths. The Atlantean took one look at the troubled face and yanked him in, clothes and all.

Brianhet came to the surface, spitting and shaking water from his eyes, "Why'd you do that?"

"It was safer than saying "go soak your head," Damon splashed him. "You're bigger than me... you could hurt my delicate figure. And besides you looked mad and I'm not in the mood for it."

Damon's smile was angelic and Brianhet found himself grinning back. "You've ruined my tunic," he sold and slipped out of it, tossing the soggy mess aside.

"All in good cause. You can have one of mine. Great God, did I do that?"

Brianhet glanced at the livid bruise on his shoulder. It had more like been Teran, but he shrugged. "See? You don't know your own strength, you delicate thing you."

To his surprise Damon gave him an odd look, leaned and kissed the mark. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's a catcher's prerogative." Brianhet slipped under the water hoping Damon hadn't seen the rising bumps of flesh his kiss had caused.

That night Damon said he was tired, they'd rest and not practice if it was all right with Egypt? Brianhet agreed readily, knowing the Atlantean's concern lay with his shoulder. He assumed Damon was worried that when the time came the pain would mar the trick, and didn't see his friend's green eyes follow him to his pallet, their look unreadable.

---

I had made up a trick and it seemed to me that Brianhet's lady couldn't hold him, for he left her without a thought and came with me. I made him laugh; something he wasn't accustomed to, and he liked it.

Again we practised at night, perfecting the new moves, which called for me to somersault to his shoulders, and after we would go to the spring to sluice off and relax before returning to the others. I talked of Anise... he liked to hear the stories, always wanting more. In those days I was anxious to speak of my city, having a secret dream of someday showing it all to him in the flesh. Now we don't talk of it at all, the feeling is too deep and he spares me the pain. In my dreams I remember, but only the good times, the Great God spares me in my sleep.

Teran made another play for him, as I had been sure he would. Though our methods and motives were different, the goal was the same. I had not given up, he didn't either. I followed them and watched from the shelter of a bush when Brianhet said no. Teran was angry and blamed it on me. His eyes burned holes in my back after that; I had taken, or so he thought, both his stardom and Brianhet. It was no wonder he hated me. Perhaps if he'd known the truth...

I barely made it back to the baths in time and when Brianhet entered with a troubled face I teased him happy again. He had a mark on his shoulder (only Teran could have left it) and he was bone weary. I cancelled our practice that night and guarded his sleep from my pallet. He dreamed and spoke of caves but settled again without waking. Across the way Teran made use of another and watched Brianhet the whole time. In the end he looked at me, and our eyes met and held. I had made an enemy there and he had a plan. In the common room he could do nothing, but I knew to watch him in the ring. Even petty squabbles were solved there; the bull was an excellent alibi, and death satisfyingly painful.

After the night of Casia's banquet Brianhet had not mentioned the three travelling dignitaries again. I asked my lady but all she could discover was that they had arrived on a ship from Tyros and that was no help at all. They seemed harmless enough. I was terribly innocent in those times. And I forgot them until the day of the second dance.


We were up early, having foregone practice to be well rested, and Brianhet was remarkably sweet tempered. We took our light breakfast to the palace's South Portico steps and ate under the eyes of the frescoes. I told him about food in Anise and asked of Thebes.

"Plainer, but plentiful," was his only reply. He never spoke of his home without shadows coming into-his eyes. Lately there was confusion there as well and he spent a lot of time staring at the mountains rising sharp in the distance. I brought his attention back to me with an insult and he smiled... but still his eyes strayed to the peaks.

The dance began when the sun reached its zenith. This time the Wolves were first in the ring and the crowds were avid for blood.

I was right. Teran used every trick he knew to turn Petro to me. Between us we took all the leaps and when I did my new leap, landing standing on Brianhet's broad shoulders, I saw the Mycenaean's face mutate into something ugly. I remember feeling sorry. I didn't want him to hate me. Brianhet saw the look too, and he muttered a warning as he slid me down to the sand. The crowd was roaring for my leap but it meant nothing. I danced for the pride in Brianhet's eyes. When he suddenly looked to the sun I was caught and it almost killed me for Teran had come up behind and his foot caught between mine. I toppled as he danced away.

Petro's eyes were on me and he had begun the charge before I was on my feet. I should have died then, would have if Brianhet had been an instant slower. But he was fast and strong and he grabbed Petro's left horn and held on until the others came forward to help him. They had not been fast enough. He had a bleeding injury somewhere. I saw the red smears and knew then that Teran had to die. It was one thing to be after me; another altogether to have Brianhet hurt.

I got to my feet, drew Petro's attention with a song and waited until the last second to step aside. Teran was again behind me and he had expected me to leap and redeem my clumsy fall. The bull took him head on and he screamed. More from surprise than pain I expect. His eyes were glazed and fixed before the echoes had died away.

Brianhet came up panting beside me, clutching the scrape on his flank, and looked at the body. "Nasty," was all he said, but he squeezed my arm in support.

They led Petro away and took Teran out; our part in the dance was over. In the common room a healer met us to attend to Brianhet's wound. He had been sent by our sponsor, whom I had heard had made a second fortune backing us in our debut. The medical man seemed to know what he was about and shooed me away when I hovered. Brianhet told him to let me be and gripped my hands while the wound was cleansed and stitched. It wasn't deep, he healed easily with a small scar. Sometimes now I will touch it and he always smiles... I have my gold bracelet, he the scar, the memories are shared.

After the doctor left Brianhet slept, drugged by the draught he had drunk to kill the pain. One of the Wolves brought me a bowl of stew for dinner and I ate it sitting by the Egyptian's pallet. The boy, Lexios, who was agile but easily led in the ring, hung around looking worried until I asked what was wrong. To them my Cretian words were stumbling but improving daily.

"The others," he hesitated and I smiled for encouragement. "It's just... Teran was our leader and he's gone... well, they want you to be leader now."

I thought of how they would have let me die and Brianhet, too. But that was under Teran's influence. Safety in the ring could only come if we all worked together, and even then it wasn't sure.

"All right," I answered slowly and his face lightened. He turned to go but I caught his arm. "Wait. Earlier I heard the crowds. They were cheering..."

Lexios nodded. "The Earth Shaker was hungry today. Each team lost a dancer." He looked at Brianhet's pale face, relaxed in a drugged sleep, "Is he bad?"

"No, he'll be up tomorrow."

"There were three men asking for him earlier. Radar told them to go away."

Three men. "Cretians?"

"No. I don't think so. They're the ones Teran had been seeing. Probably Mycenaeans with news from home."

Lexios took himself off, leaving me alone with Brianhet. I remembered Teran by the three men at the banquet. Mycenaeans? Brianhet had not thought so and had recognized one of them. Inside me warnings went off and I bit my lip until it bled. Was Teran's attack on me more than jealousy? It was certainly obvious Brianhet and I were a team and while my Egyptian had saved me twice from the horns, so I had saved him. Without me he wouldn't last a single dance...

He moved then and groaned a little.

"Egypt?" For all my language I still couldn't pronounce his name. He licked at his lips and I held his head for water.

Briefly his eyes flickered open and he smiled his thanks before drifting back to sleep. I went to find Leander and exchanged my pallet with its extra padding my lady had given me for his bare one next to Brianhet. He thought he had the better deal, but I imagine I was the most satisfied.

---

"So, it didn't work," Hektos looked around at the others. "That damned Atlantean was better than Teran."

"What now?"

"He was injured," one of the others pointed out.

"A scratch. Already he's up walking about. I saw him yesterday in the palace. There's not even a dressing over the stitches."

"And all the ladies are making much of him," Hektos growled. "Never mind. He uses the palace now. Very well, it just leaves him more open."

"You have a plan?"

"Assuredly I do." Hektos held up a small vial. "There are banquets, and where there are banquets there is wine."

Brianhet bent without thinking and grunted. The scrape wasn't deep but it hadn't quite healed. Just enough to make him forgetful.

"Here." Damon seemed to appear out of nowhere and knelt to lace the sandal.

"I wish you wouldn't."

"Nonsense. If you keep straining yourself you'll never get better. Come on, other foot. I'm not that fond of kneeling to your sacred personage,"

Obediently Brianhet handed him the thong. "Are you coming to the dinner?"

"Hadn't planned on it, why?"

"No reason," Brianhet shrugged, irritated to find that if Damon wasn't going the festivities seemed suddenly far less interesting. "What are you planning?"

Damon smiled and didn't answer.

"Like that is it?"

Sighing with great exaggeration the Atlantean rose, "Well, if you won't have me..."

"Oh, stop it," Brianhet turned away.

"That reminds me," Damon began to dress. "Did those men ever find you?"

"What men?"

"From Mycenae...or not. They were asking after you when you were hurt."

"Haven't heard a thing. What's that?" Brianhet reached to finger the chain Damon had just fastened around his wrist.

"A gift from my lady. Some kind of identification bracelet. See? My name and all."

"I didn't think slaves could have them," Brianhet turned the carving and read it. "'Damon - of the Bull'. Well, that's plain enough."

"Gifts," Damon told him, "are allowed. Look at yours. You've more gold now than you'll ever be able to wear."

"I don't plan to wear it. I plan to sell it."

"Whatever for?"

Brianhet led the way to the door and pointed to the distant mountains. "When the time is right I'm leaving and I'll use the gold to buy what I need, and passage home as well."

"You can't leave!"

Surprised, Brianhet glanced at Damon's stunned face. "Why not?"

"Because..." Damon stopped, took a long breath, and pulled the Egyptian to the side. "Don't you realize how you stand out in a crowd? An Egyptian with blue eyes, and a scar. They'd find you in no time and you know what would happen then."

Brianhet shook him off. "You may like it here. I don't. And I'm not staying a moment longer than I absolutely have to. I'll see you later."

With that he strode away and Damon stared after him, his pugnacious face a mixture of emotions.

---

I went to my lady's that evening with a mixture of emotions. Brianhet had expressed a desire for my company and it was not in me to refuse him, but I knew she had planed something nice and I had promised. Promises to Atlanteans are as sacred as the bull leapers are to the Cretians. I felt the heaviness of my tread as I went through the corridors of Knossos to Elysia's chambers.

She was high born, it is true, the illicit product of a liaison between my sponsor Delineas and a true Cretian. Small, dark, and vivacious, she had smooth skin, good even teeth and uptilted breasts that showed to advantage with the Cretian styles. Her hair, however, was thick and long and she was again despairing of it as her servant let me in. I laughed at her attempt at ringlets and pulled out the combs, letting the whole mass tumble down her back. It was soft and smelled of perfume and when I buried my face in it she stopped protesting and laughed with me.

"Oh, but Damon! I wanted to look nice for you!" She paused as I pulled her to her feet, then toward the bed. "Do you understand?"

I still stumbled over my speech and mixed words for them. "I am Atlantean, Elysia. You look best with nothing between us but skin."

As always she responded with passion, and after, as the servant served us dinner while we still lay half entwined, she was heavy-eyed but talkative. I had learned much during these relaxed times... far more then I really wanted to know... for Elysia was a gossip and knew just about every piece of palace news five minutes before it happened.

Now she spoke of this and that... someone's new hairstyle, who was bedding with whom... and I only partially listened, with the rest of my attention split between her body and her food. The bull leapers' common cooking pot was just that. Common.

There was a plump grape and I popped it into my mouth, then nearly choked as she prattled a name.

"Say that again."

"What? About Casia and..."

"No, no. The other bit... the ship."

"That's what I meant. Casia's getting a new silk from the trader Andreas. She ordered it from his samples a full year ago and he's due anytime now. He comes every year, you know..."

She went on but I had stopped listening, for Andreas was well known to me, and the worms that had spun Casia's silk very likely came from one of the plantations by Anise. Oh Brianhet, I thought, I'll get us out of this yet!

I should have known better. Nothing on this side of life is that easy.

I peeled gropes for Elysia and let chewing silence her flow while I plotted and planned. I would have to get a message to Andreas at the docks as I was not allowed to leave Knossos and he must not come upon me suddenly. Andreas was not always as diplomatic as he should be... so lost in thought was I that Elysia had delved below the covers and started some plotting and planning of her own before I noticed.

I left her late and wandered the long hallways for awhile before going back to my pallet. I wanted to think -- to lose myself in my thoughts. Of all the places I've ever been, the Cretian palace was the best for just that purpose. Knossos is called The House of the Axe and the labys was everywhere, either in symbol or reality. It is said that every King of Crete must go under her double head before burial. I don't know if it's true, but there were certainly enough of the things. Even the corridor frescoes and carvings over the doors carried the theme.

I was used to such wanderings and by now the guards knew me well. We leapers were gifts to their Earth Shaker and therefore allowed almost everywhere. I presumed the royal chambers, the Goddess's Temple and the underground treasure labyrinth to be off limits, but I can't swear as I never tried to enter.

Finally I came to the South Portico where Brianhet and I had taken our breakfast before the last dance. I remembered his eyes on the mountains. Even then he had been planning to leave. Up there, despite the summer heat, snow still capped the peaks. We would never survive. If we made it that high. They'd be after us before we'd gone a mile and escapees were not let off lightly. One had run not long after we arrived in Knossos. When they caught him they used the double-headed ax on his hands and feet then left him for the bull to finish. We were made to watch. The whole palace heard his agonized screams.

No, the mountains would never work. I'd have to convince Brianhet to wait for Andreas and his trader vessel. We could...

I smiled mirthlessly to myself... we? I had not been invited to join Brianhet in the mountains and he might not wish to join me with Andreas. Like a lovesick fool I was taking for granted he would return my feelings. A few smiles, a touch, and I was lost. With Brianhet it was different.

One of the guards came to join me and we spoke idly for a few minutes. He was young, with an innocent face and an untried body. All the palace guards were less than twenty summers and pretty. It was said the King enjoyed them. I doubt if any had ever seen action on the field of battle. Crete was mistress of the seas in those days. The biggest excitement in Knossos was an occasional drunken brawl.

I don't remember his name (may his spirit forgive me), but then I knew it, and was not surprised he knew mine.

"That was some excitement at the banquet tonight, eh Damon?" he said after a time.

"Oh? What happened?"

"Don't you know? The Egyptian leaper ate something that disagreed with him. They had to carry him out I hear."

I didn't wait to listen further. There was only one Egyptian dancer and I ran to him, my heart in my throat.

The healer was just leaving as I arrived and I grabbed him before he could slip past. "Brianhet! What happened? Is he all right?"

He peered at me in the darkness, "Oh yes, it's you is it? He's been wanting you. Nasty bit of food poisoning. Funny... I never saw it work that quickly."

"Food poisoning?"

"It must have been mold on the avocado. I've warned the cooks... we had a case last year." He would have prattled on forever; I've never seen such a race for talking. "How is he?"

"Still feverish, but he brought up the lot, I think. He's sleeping now."

Only partially reassured, I let him go and made my way to Brianhet. Lexios was sitting by his pallet, but stood when I neared.

"Damon! We sent to find you. He was asking. But you weren't to be seen anywhere." He spoke in a lisping whisper and looked a little frightened.

"I only just heard. What happened, do you know?"

"Only that he was suddenly taken sick and collapsed on the floor. They brought him straight here and Radar fetched the healer. He's been out of his head at times, though he seems to be sleeping now. The doctor gave him a draught."

"You go to sleep," I told him. "I'll stay."



He departed so quickly he seemed to disappear under my nose; glad, I suppose, to escape my anger. But I wasn't angry, only terrified. I knelt by Brianhet and held the shaded lamp closer, the better to see his face.

His skin is naturally pale, even in the desert he barely tans. But now he was white as the sheets on Elysia's bed. His eyes were sunken, with dark circles underneath, and two bright red patches stained his cheeks. I touched his face and found him burning hot.

"Egypt? Brin't?" I stumbled over his name once again, but he responded, turning toward my touch.

"So cool," he mumbled in his own language. "That's nice."

There was a bowl of water on the table by my bed and I bathed his face with the tepid liquid. He slept on, his breathing raspy in the night-quiet.

No moldy avocado had done this. More like it was bad water and the Cretians covering up for fear of offending the Earth Shaker. They really were a rather silly bunch of people. I sat and watched him, having the time for once to look to my heart's content. His eyebrows grow differently, one arches naturally more than the other, and his mouth is incredibly sensual. I looked and dreamed until my head drooped and sleep overcame me.

I couldn't have slept more than a few minutes when he began to toss. He kicked the thin covers away and turned his head from side to side, mumbling incoherently as if he was fighting some monster from beyond time.

Wishing I had paid better attention to my teachers who talked of treating fevers, I tried the wet rag on his face again. He pushed my hand away, said crossly, "Don't!", then retched violently.

I knew enough to pull him to his side, but there was nothing left to come up and choke him. He heaved once more then relaxed, shuddering all over in reaction.

"Quiet down over there!" one of the others yelled end I gathered Brianhet's trembling body to me and rocked him, not knowing what else to do.

Gradually he stopped shaking, but when I would have released him he clutched at me, so I urged him aside and stretched out on the pallet, cradling him, whispering soothing nonsense in his ear.

He snuggled closer and sighed, then opened his eyes, and recognition was there in the blue depths. "Damon. I'm glad you're here," he whispered.

It was all he said before sleeping again but had I been given all the gold in Crete I could not have been more happy. He wanted me near, was letting me hold him close. I kissed his dark head and rested my cheek against the soft hair before I dozed.

---

It was not the noise but the sudden silence that woke him. Brianhet blinked and his eyes adjusted to the sunny common room. From the slant of the shadows it was midmorning and the chamber was empty. The dancers would all be at practice.

For a moment confusion ruled, then he remembered and tried to sit straight on his pallet. He was stopped by a tangle of sheets and a pair of rock hard arms that tightened around him.

Damon? That he did not remember. Surely the Atlantean hadn't taken some sort of advantage of him in his illness? No, the slim body was still clothed. And besides, Damon was not the type to play unfair games.

"Egypt? Are you awake?"

The voice was soft in his ear, full of concern, and gentle breath tickled his cheek as Damon lifted his head. For a moment green eyes stared into blue and something flared between them. Brianhet felt an unexpected melting in his belly and fire spread from his center to every pore. He shifted, laying back, pulling Damon to him, acting on instinct alone.

Damon searched his eyes, read the bewildered want in them and made a sound low in his throat. He leaned closer and his mouth touched Brianhet's, gently at first, then with hunger. The lips parted eagerly and Damon took the invitation, delving deeper with his tongue.

There was a rattle and clank at the door and Damon broke the kiss slowly. "It's the doctor. Shall I tell him to go away?"

"Yes," Brianhet whispered, but when Damon returned he was sitting up, pulling on his tunic, looking pale and flushed together.

Damon paused but said nothing.

Brianhet kept his eyes on his hands. "What happened?"

"When, now? Oh, you mean last night. You ate something bad, so the doctor says," Damon sat on his own pallet. "They said you collapsed on the spot."

"It was convenient," Brianhet said obscurely. He rose quickly and swayed. "Amon! I'm as weak as a babe."

"Where do you think you're going?" Damon went smoothly to his side. "What's going on? Come on, sit down and tell me." He read the stubborn look on the Egyptian's face and sighed, "Surely you can trust me?"

"Can I? Can I trust anyone in this place? No, don't look like that. Of course I trust you. It's just, while you were getting rid of the doctor, I remembered."

Damon pushed him down on the bed end busied himself rearranging the contents of the chest between their pallets. "Remembered?"

"I didn't eat bad food last night. I was poisoned. Deliberately. And I know who did it."

Damon stared at him, eyes wide, "But that's impossible! No one would dare!" But even as he spoke he pictured the three men with Teran. "The Mycenaeans that aren't?"

"I saw one of them talking to the wine boy... his hand passed over the cup just so," Brianhet demonstrated. "It's an old method, I was taught it by my father when I was ten. I watched just to see who he planned to do in. When the boy brought the cup straight to me, I knew."

"Surely you didn't drink it!"

"Only a sip. The rest got poured into one of those awful potted plants they insist on putting in everyone's way."

"Still, you were ill."

"It must have been a very concentrated poison," he shrugged, "I couldn't fake symptoms of an unknown poison."

He left the rest unsaid and met Damon's eyes unblinking. The Atlantean touched his arm. "What shall we do? You know about these things, Egypt, I don't."

"You're not involved, Damon. Stay out of it. Be glad Anise doesn't have such intrigues. Amenhet must truly hate my father to go to all this trouble to make sure I die."

"Yes, even to making it look like a death in the ring. Move over and listen to me a minute." Reluctantly Brianhet stilled and Damon went on, "Those men were seen with Teran more than once, did you know that? I didn't think so. That day in the ring he meant me to die."

"He was... well..."

"Jealous?" Damon smiled. "Yes, maybe. And I'll wager they used that to sway him, too. We work together in the ring, Egypt. I die, chances are you'll die, and vice versa."

"Teran must have known that.

"He would think you'd turn to him. That in the ring he could work to protect you and get the others to as well."

Brianhet thought it over silently for e long time. Damon merely watched him, noting the unguarded, still pale face changing expressions with mounting satisfaction. Brianhet believed him.

There was, Brianhet thought, probably a great deal of truth in Damon's words. It all made an obscure sort of sense. And even if the Atlantean was mistaken this time, the plan itself was entirely too available for use. That would put Damon in danger and Brianhet suddenly realized that no political plotting was worth his partner's life. Every minute he stayed in Knossos brought disaster closer. For Damon as well as himself.

"All right," he got slowly to his feet. "Then it's best I leave now. Tonight."

"You can't. You're too weak yet, we'd not get halfway to the lowest slopes before they caught us."

"Me, Damon. This is my battle. And I'll just have to take that chance."

Damon grabbed his arm and shook it like he would a recalcitrant child, "Would you stop being so donkey-headed?! Teran was after me, remember? I'm in it, whether you like it or not!" He lowered his voice and glanced around, then added quickly, "There is a way out. Safer, better than the mountains. Andreas, the Atlantean trader, comes through once a year and he's due anytime now. I know him well, Egypt. Hell take us on, no questions asked."

"Just like that? Be reasonable Damon, nobody does anything for nothing. Though I suppose..." Brianhet motioned to the chest. "Would he take the gold? Would it be enough?"

"Andreas doesn't need gold, he lives on excitement. It's like a drug he can't do without. He'll do it for the thrill."

"That's sick."

Damon grinned at him and the look in his eyes was unholy, "Don't be so high nosed til you've tried it," he said and merely raised one eyebrow at Brianhet's astonished glare.

---

I made him promise me, and give his hand on it, that he wouldn't slip away yet; that he would wait awhile for Andreas and would tell me when he planned to go. All this he gave oath to, with one aside.

"If there's ever a clear chance at the mountains before your Andreas gets into port, I'll go."

It was good enough for now. I left flowers on the Altar of All Gods and requested favorable winds for the trader.

Gossip was like oil in the Knossos palace, spreading into every crevice and pit, refusing to mix with the waters of truth. Before nightfall I heard from three separate sources that Brianhet had died of the poisoning. I wondered what the three not-Mycenaeans thought and wasn't eager to pass on the news that the blue-eyed Egyptian lived.

On the second day after his poisoning he was back out in the practice ring, wary but unafraid, and the walls were lined with the curious, many of whom had seen his collapse. The three who dealt in poison were there as well, but he made no sign to them and never faltered in his practice. I was teaching Lexios my leaps and Brianhet worked with the catchers.

"I simply cannot wait until the next dance," I heard one of the more fashionable men say to another. "This is the best team in years." He paused for breath and it was no wonder. The way they cinched themselves into their clothes it was a constant amazement they could talk at all, let alone so much. I didn't wait to hear more but passed the comment to the others. You could see how the praise stoked their ability. They held themselves straighter and became more graceful with every leap. Going to their deaths with pride, I thought. It all seemed very stupid to me.

There were few women watching us under the hot summer sun and perhaps I noticed Elysia sooner because this was so. She was sitting on her cushioned seat, surrounded by a gaggle of friends.

Some might say her popularity in the palace was due to her father's importance or their money, but I had seen a little deeper into my lady. She had charm and wit and knew the trick of being a friend. I waved and she blew me a kiss while her hair melted in the heat. Two half-naked servants erected a brightly colored awning over her crowd. I felt my smile as I turned back to the leapers. I truly liked her.

"Now I see why you missed the dinner."

Brianhet had come up beside me and I nodded.

"She's a pretty little thing," he commented and went away again, but not before I heard the edge in his voice. Rather astonished, I fear I gaped after him, wondering if, just possibly, the tone was lent by jealousy. That was not a game I wished to play, but there was no way to tell him that. I got on with my duties and kept my gaze to my fellow slaves and away from the stands from that moment on.

The days passed and though each held a special something that I relived again and again lying on my cold pallet with Brianhet only his arm's length away, now they are a blur... melded into a haze by the coming events.

The three men stayed in the background, watching, waiting... the first to cheer Petro on when he charged. They made no efforts to end Egypt's life, that I knew of anyway. Poison again so soon after his last illness would assuredly cause undue speculation and any leaper murdered outright was revenged by the Earth Shaker's own bull without mercy, his body gored, then hacked and thrown to the dogs for scrap.

I grew to hate them and what had seemed an exciting game before turned to grim reality. Brianhet could die...there was no place but the common room where he was safe, and even there I watched him.

He laughed at my precautions, my insistence that I always be around, but underneath I knew he was glad of me for never once did he tell me to go away. And always he stared at the mountains.

A month passed, full of much and little. Three dances, a festival of candles and ritual sacrifices, days of sweat and dirt in the ring, and lovely nights lulled to sleep by the sound of his breath. It went on forever and no time and still Andreas did not come.

Elysia sent messages, first of inquiry (why wasn't I at her party?), then of anger, and finally of sadness. I could take all but the last and feigned tiredness one practice day to see her. Brianhet should be safe in the ring of the wooden bull.

She received me icily in her outer chamber. The room was painted to look like the sea with splashing dolphins and starfish mixing among sea anemones and twining reeds. I looked at the painted blue water, thought of Brianhet's eyes, and somehow found the words to tell her the truth.

Halfway through my tale she stopped pacing and by the end she had settled on the seat beside me, wide eyed and concerned. Her understanding unnerved me, and I faltered to a halt.

"I have to protect him," I added when she was silent. "Do you see?"

Slowly she took my hand and held it, stroking each finger that overlapped her small palm. "I see," she said finally. "He looks to the sun and you to him. I hope someday he'll see the light in you." She caressed my cheek once with gentle hands then became brisk. "Now, tell me again of these men. I think I know who you mean, didn't you ask me about them once? But just to be sure."

My lady. I have rarely met a better woman. I remember thinking at the time that she must be part Atlantean and that was the finest praise I could give.

We did not spend much time together... I was anxious to get back to Brianhet. The Great God alone knew what he might take it in his head to do if I weren't around to prevent him. I left her with a kiss and she did not cling. When next I saw her she was on the arm of one of the palace guards looking happy and well pleased.



Another week passed. Brianhet began to fidget and was cross tempered with all who came near him. I let him get away with it for a day or so, knowing that only his promise to me kept him in the House of the Axe. I was nearby when he snapped at young Lexios for no reason.

The boy stood rigid, biting his lip, near to tears, beyond answering.

"What's the matter, Egypt? Didn't he bow low enough? It's easy Lexios. Just pretend you're fit to tie his laces..." I bent over, bowing way too far and Brianhet jerked me upright.

He opened his mouth, met my eyes and sighed. "Forgive my sharp tongue, Lexios. Ignore it, please. My side... it catches."

He said the words charmingly though his eyes stayed with mine. Lexios mumbled and departed rapidly. Into the ensuing silence Brianhet whispered, "I can't wait much longer."

"I know," I said and thought with violent hopelessness, Andreas hurry.

---

PART TWO:
JOURNEY BETWEEN
That night I lay awake for a long time. Thoughts twisted in my head as much as my body turned on the pallet and I finally rose to go to the window. The night was clear. I leaned my elbows on the ledge and looked past the flickering lights in Knossos to the mountains beyond. The moon was bright enough to reflect off the snow topped peaks and the absence of stars outlined the black ridges. I looked for a long time then turned back to my pallet and sat there, staring across at the man I loved more than life. Finally, taking one long breath, I dressed silently and knelt at his side, touching his arm.

"Egypt," I hissed and covered his mouth with my hand. He came from his dreams with a jerk and tensed until he had blinked sleep far enough away to recognize me. When his hands that had flown to tear my grip on him relaxed I released him.

"What is it?" he mumbled and his fingers slid down to hold my arms.

I leaned over him and hesitated. In the scattered moonlight his face was clear, his eyes half open and his lips parted. I wanted him in that moment so intensely I shuddered with the longing. To feel him against me, holding me...wanting me. But I had not awakened him for this and already he was tensing again. I straightened a little and spoke his language. "Egypt, come on. Get up and dressed and get your gold."

"Is Andreas here?"

He sounded confused, stilt more asleep than awake and I resisted the temptation to stroke his stubbled cheek. "No. But you can wait no longer. So we'll go."

"How?" he was already sitting up, reaching for the chest.

"Well find something. Hurry. It'll be light in a few hours and I've got a feeling..."

He paused, "What feeling?"

"I..." I shrugged. It was something I could not put into words: an overwhelming sense of impending doom, of terrible destruction, and a call from the mountains. I had long since learned to heed this extra sense. In Anise it had caused me to leave a house in the middle of a storm and the place was hit by a twister not five minutes later; and on the ship that had gone to the sacred caves I had refused to lash myself to the deck. When she went down in the storm I was the only survivor, thrown clear and left on the Theran rocks to be sold to the Cretan bull. Listening to my inner voice had brought me to Brianhet. He didn't question then and he never has since. We're alive and together; and I still listen.

We left the common room in less than five minutes (after all there was nothing to keep us) past the sleeping guard, out into the darkness.

"All right," Brianhet still whispered. "Now what? And..."

But my attention was caught elsewhere, "Look! No, up there!"

He followed my pointing finger, "Where?"

But there was no need to say more, for he too saw the burning star. It crossed the sky as it fell, getting brighter each second and followed by a fiery tall. Over our astonished gazes it disappeared into the horizon and the sky again turned black and diamond.

Everything was quiet. Even the animals were silent and I felt Brianhet's tight fingers on my arm. "An omen!" he gasped and I laughed shakily.

"Just a close view of a falling star more like," I told him, but my inner voice was shrieking and I moved ahead with renewed energy. "Come on, Elysia will help."

He frowned and released me. It was late, but there were still parties going on in the palace. The guard waved us in with a knowing smile and never noticed our small bundles.

We passed through the corridors without seeing anyone we knew. I kept a special watch for the three men who weren't from Mycenae, but they were not about, it seemed. At least not in this part of the palace.

We climbed the first three flights of one of the long staircases and Brianhet grinned at his wavy reflection in the mirror. "We're hardly dressed for visiting."

"Elysia isn't picky."

"I know that. She's your lady."

I laughed at him and pointed the way towards her chambers. This could be tricky. She might not be there, or worse yet, be with some man. I decided to face that problem when and if it arose and we went ahead.

Brianhet, who has ears as sensitive as a bat, heard the sound before I did. He paused midstride and cocked his head, motioning for me to listen. It came from the west like thunder rumbling, and the noise grew louder, rolling close, and I waited for the final clap. But just as I remembered the clear dark sky I saw the oil lamps in front of us flicker, the pots tumbled, then the floor beneath me heaved and I fell sideways, pulling Brianhet with me.

We lay in a tangled heap and I heard the screams begin.

Around us running footsteps mixed with the sound of shattering pottery and stone, and the earth continued it's rumbling shake. One of the overhead rare iron sconces crashed nearby, narrowly missing my foot. I scrambled up next to Brianhet and by unspoken consent we worked our swaying way forward, against the surging crowd.

We stayed by the inner wall of the corridor, dodging falling masonry, trying to stay out of the way of the panicking Cretians who would have trampled us as easily as they did their own. Brianhet bent once and helped a grey haired, jewel bedecked old woman to her feet. She just stared at him blankly then ran past without a word of thanks. He shrugged and went on. Her rudeness did not stop him from helping the next or the next. And always the ground shook.

The dust was beginning to rise as the wails cracked and fell around us, and it eddied and swirled, reflecting the light of the spreading oil fires. Lamp after lamp crashed to the floor. I saw the beautiful body of a frescoed Minoan cup bearer blackened in an instant into nothing by the smoke. As always, once the disaster began my little inner voice no longer spoke... it wouldn't have mattered, I couldn't have heard it over the din anyway.

We were at Elysia's door and almost past before I realized it, "Brin't! Here!"

She was inside, struggling to dress, and some man slipped past, his face a blur of terror. I stumbled to her side and Brianhet and I together hauled her under the most convenient door frame as the far wall tumbled inward. It was the entrance to her bed chamber and already hangings were ablaze.

"Quickly, Elysia... we all have to leave here!"

"I know... but I knew you'd come. Here." She handed me her identification bracelet made of onyx and gold. "Show it to anyone in the stables and they'll let you have two of my father's horses. If there's anyone about, that is!" She had to shout it twice before we heard and even as we ventured back across the room and into the corridor Brianhet was protesting.

"We can't take your horses!"

She gave a look that silenced him. The shaking ceased abruptly, but the eerie feeling of the solid ground beneath my feet moving persisted. The sudden silence gave me chills.

"Come," Elysia led the way to a back staircase. "The whole level's going to go any second. Oh dear..."

This as we came across the light clad body of a slave. A large chunk of ceiling had fallen directly across him and his eyes gleamed white and fixed in the lamp light. One hand protruded from the stone block and lay clenched and blood streaked by Elysia's small foot.

The fires and quake had not unsettled my lady, but the bulging eyeballs and congealing blood were rapidly making her ill. Brianhet and I shared a look that bespoke the uncertainties of women and lifted her over the body.

We hurried on down the steps. This way was dark and narrow, without decoration and therefore not burning. It was a mixed blessing. There were no trampling crowds, and the air was breathable, but the steps were steep, worn slick with time and the countless feet of slaves, and cluttered with the still falling debris.

"Where does this go?" Brianhet was panting. He led the way now and we kept Elysia between us. Her feet were bare. They must have been bleeding by now, but her voice was fairly steady.

"To the far side. It won't be much more to the stables. I just wish I could see!"

"There's a light ahead. Look down there. Hurry..."

The rumbling had begun again. The stair beneath me rocked and I swear we slid more than climbed most of the rest of the way to the bottom.

The door was blocked and my heart nearly stopped. Brianhet heaved against it and when I went to help. It scraped open a few bare inches. The second quake ended as we squeezed through.

We emerged into hell.

I once stood on a hillside end watched on Eastern city consumed by fire. Brianhet says it's the most horrible thing he's ever seen, but I don't agree. The fall of Knossos was worse. In the East we were strangers, the people dying were faceless, nameless, and downwind. The House of Axe crumbled around us and the terrible screams were voices I knew.

One of the outer walls had fallen, crushing everyone in the courtyard beneath it. I began to think the slave on the stairs was the lucky one. Pitiful cries echoed from under the rubble and parts of bodies were flung about like children's toys.

Fire gouged out of windows like sheets in the wind and the smell of burning flesh was everywhere. Beside me Elysia sobbed, "Hurry..."

The stables were behind the naming palace. I concentrated on gripping Brianhet's hand on one side, Elysia's on the other, and we began to skirt the remains of the courtyard. Suddenly Elysia cried out and jerked free of me, stumbling to a mound of fallen masonry. I shouted to Brianhet and he turned back.

"What is it?"

I pointed. "Elysia! Come on!"

"It's my father!" Her voice was tortured and she dug at the stones ineffectually.

Delineas. Our owner... sponsor. The man who sent the healer for Brianhet's wound and unlike most masters expected nothing more from us than our all in the ring. I glanced at Brianhet and saw my own indecision reflected on his face.

"Please..." Elysia was crying. "He's alive! Please! Help me!"

"I'd better live to regret this," Brianhet told me and went to help.

Delineas was conscious and cursing fluently, attempting to push free of the heavy stone that pinned him. Elysia smiled through her tears when she saw us coming and pointed, "If we can move this one the others are small. They saved him being crushed but they'll not hold much longer."

She was right, of course. Another quake would bring the block straight onto him. There was no time to do the thing property. Instead we simply stood one on each side and heaved long enough for our owner to roll free then, with a nod from Brianhet, we let the block crash to the earth. It dug a hand span into the soil and lay there, malevolently reflecting the flames at our backs.

"Can you stand?" Brianhet had gone to Delineas' side.

"Yes." The reply was grim and when we helped him up he gasped sharply and bit his lip. His right leg was bloody, but functioning.

Elysia slid under his arm and took what weight she could. "You two go ahead. Now, before the wind shifts and the fires get to the stables."

Delineas lifted his head and his eyes locked with Brianhet's. They stared at each other for a long moment. I could only guess at the messages being given and received. Then our sponsor sighed heavily, "The Earth Shaker had his chance. Go. May the Goddess be with you."

I swallowed and half choked on the dust, "Elysia..."

"He's right," she said. "Go. Hurry. We'll be all right."

Still I hesitated, but Brianhet tugged at my arm. I leaned and kissed her, nodded thanks to Delineas and followed the Egyptian toward the stables.

I looked back once and they still stood, the old man and his beautiful daughter, outlined by light of fire, watching us leave. I lifted my arm in farewell and they waved back. I never saw them again.

---

It was far more quiet behind the palace. Brianhet called out but no stable slave answered.

"They've long since gone," he said and pointed to the tumbled bowls of stew mixing with the dirt on the ground. "I wonder which horses are Delineas'?"

"Does it matter?" Damon stepped over a fallen wooden beam. "If the wind shifts this place'll go up in no time."

The horses were plunging in their stalls, terrified by the quake, the fires and the smell of burning flesh. Damon ran to the end, called a warning to the Egyptian and began opening the heavy doors.

Brianhet narrowly missed being trampled by the first two steeds, and braced himself against a pillar, "What in Amon's name are you doing!"

"If it burns they'll be fried alive! Come on. These two look good enough. Let the others go."

"You're crazy," the Egyptian muttered but he began tugging at the nearest door.

When all but the two horses Damon had chosen were out they found serviceable halters and took time to quiet their animals. The horses were wet with sweat and danced nervously, but both men had ridden before. Damon clamped his knees firmly against the grey's sides and headed towards the nearest city gate, Brianhet just behind.

There were people everywhere, milling confusedly, calling the names of missing loved ones, or looting the burning houses. Bodies lay where they had fallen and the horsemen were forced to go slowly. No one tried to stop them. Apart from the plunging hoofs, the grim and smoke blackened faces were enough to halt anyone interested enough to notice.

The city gate was open; they plunged through like a cor