AS THEY WERE LED back down the corridor to the Bull Court, Amnerion sidled up next to Theseus and hissed in the prince's ear, "What was all that about back there?"

Theseus shot him an amused glance. "What do you mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean. What bit of craziness possessed you this time, Theseus?"

"It wasn't craziness, my friend. It was . . . impulse." Amnerion stared. "Come on, Amnerion, don't tell me you didn't notice how beautiful she was. You're not blind yet!"

His friend scowled, but after several minutes reluctantly admitted, "I noticed. But she's the High Priestess, not some visiting baron's daughter! She could have had you killed for kissing her like that. They treat their women like goddesses here, you know."

Theseus shook his head. "Not like goddesses, Amnerion. With respect. It's something we of Athens should learn from. Our women are not so different from these Cretans. They have opinions and minds. I think we should learn to listen to them."

"Listen to them, yes. But surely you aren't proposing we do as they do here, make a woman Queen and ruler over us all?" Amnerion was shocked beyond belief.

"I see no reason why we can't have a Queen as well as King. Especially if she were like the High Priestess. Now there's a woman who would be a fit partner for any man."

"Are you insane? She'd order you killed if she heard you speak so! Theseus, remember that you're a slave now, not a prince. She's not some girl you can woo with sweet words and skillful hands."

"I remember, Amnerion." The prince said shortly, his aqua eyes stormy. "I know what power they have over us. But I will die before I surrender to my masters like a tame turtledove. They may own my body, but no one owns my soul!" He continued in a somewhat calmer tone. "As for the Lady, she knows I meant no disrespect. It was impulse, plain and simple. We are drawn to each other, by desire, by Fate, by the will of the gods. Don't look at me like that, my friend. I can't explain this very well, but I know she is my destiny just as I know that it was my destiny to become a sacrifice to Poseidon."

"But does she know that?"

"Yes. I saw it in her eyes, the first time we met."

"I hope, for your sake, that you're right. If you offend her, you might not live to apologize."

"She could have killed me before, Amnerion, but she didn't. She doesn't kill on a whim. She might wield power, but she doesn't do so arbitrarily. That little scene back there proved it."

Amnerion looked unconvinced.

"She has compassion and sense, that much I know." He lowered his voice. "Which is more than I can say for Minos's beast."

Amnerion nodded. "I agree with that, at least." They had almost reached the great double doors which led into the Bull Court's practice hall and living quarters. "Be careful, Theseus. She is a woman of power, and they are always dangerous. You know we are lost if anything happens to you."

Theseus clapped his friend lightly on the shoulder. "You worry too much, Amnerion. I have no intention of seducing her. If she comes to me, it will be of her own free will." She was as struck by desire as I was. I didn't plan this, it just happened. The gods alone know where it will end. With any luck, it will end with her in my arms.

* * * * * *

The crowd began to cheer wildly and pound on their stone benches as the bull was led into the ring. The huge animal flung up its tail and snorted. The sound echoed in the arena like a brass gong. Muscles rippling beneath the snowy hide, the bull began to move ponderously about the ring, its short curving horns gilded with gold paint and wreaths of flowers. Reaching the center of the arena, the bull stopped. One broad hoof began to paw the sand. The crowd began to yell loudly. "This one has the god's favor, indeed!" "See the wise look in his eyes!" "Do you think the new team can take him?"

Ariadne watched the scene unfolding before her with new eyes, eyes that were not her own. They were eyes that pulsed with excitement and the thrill of danger, eyes that studied and memorized the way the bull moved and reacted to the crowd, eyes which had hypnotized her and held her captive from the first moment she had gazed into them, imprisoning and freeing her soul in the space of an instant.

The aquamarine eyes of the Athenian prince, Theseus son of Aegeus.

Those eyes had drawn a spark from her, one that could burst into a conflagration of passion so overwhelming in its delight and fire that she could be consumed, her soul swept away, never again to belong to herself alone. She desired that union with all of her being, but at the same time she was deathly afraid.

She knew him in a way that was beyond understanding, almost beyond explaining. Knew his deepest secrets, hopes, dreams, and sorrows. Knew him as she knew herself. He was her mirror, she realized with a sudden flash of intuition. But not a reflection, not an image of her. He was not her shadow. He was himself, separate from her, and at the same time part of her, as much a part of her as her blood and bones. It was as if a piece of her soul had broken off on the day of her birth and been transferred to him. Or perhaps it had always been there, sleeping and dreaming unknown until that one instant when he had touched her.

But now it had begun to come awake, that part of her that she had never known. Now she had begun to see, not just with her mind, but her heart as well. And what she saw made her want to laugh and weep at the same time. She wondered if he, too, felt this desire, somewhere deep inside. Had his soul begun to awaken as well, and discover that its other half beat beneath the soft green gown of a Priestess-Queen of Knossos? Did the knowledge fill him with joy or did he want to run from it and pretend that it never existed?

For Ariadne, there was a little of both feelings inside her. She wanted to rejoice that she had found at last the one she had waited for, the man she would share heart and soul and body with. She wanted to sing her joy so that all could hear and share it with her. But at the same time she longed to cut herself off from this outpouring of emotion, these feelings which were strong as the ocean tides and pulled her inside out. She wanted to deny the closeness she felt because she knew that once she recognized it, gave into it, she would never be what she was before. She would be part of him and he of her, and they would be together always until death claimed them. She did not want him to see her as she was, her soul bared and naked in all its glory and shame. Yet she longed for it as well, the understanding of one who was like her, who shared her love of the earth, whose heart beat with compassion and tenderness, whose spirit was as wild and untamed as her own.

I don't have time for this! Her mind fretted, trying to distance itself from her heart. My father is dying and Minotauros is plotting to overthrow the rule of the Goddess and set himself up in her place. My people need me to be strong, especially now, when they will be so divided. I cannot allow myself to be distracted, not for an instant, or Minotauros will have Crete, and all of us shall be as dust beneath his feet.

Ariadne lifted her head, looking around the great amphitheater, the largest on Crete. It was a half-circle of twelve tiers, each section lovingly carved from the purest white marble dug from mines on the mainland. The tiers closest to the arena were the most sumptuous with thick blue cushions placed over the cold marble. These were reserved for nobility and visiting dignitaries only, the rest took seats higher up. The amphitheater could probably hold all the people in Knossos, but today it was about half full—a surprising thing considering that the newest team danced first. But then, everyone was curious to see how the Athenian barbarians would perform in the sacred rite. All eyes fixed on the arena, a glittering expanse of white sand surrounded by the high walls of stone. The sand was drawn from the beaches and later blessed by a priest of Poseidon. Off to the right was a large arch barred by a gate. That was where the bulls were led into the arena. On the opposite side was the entrance for the dancers.

Ariadne, as reigning High Priestess, had the most coveted seat in the amphitheater—a large covered canopy of green cloth with a curtain secured to one side that could be drawn for privacy. The box was meant to hold three people, but today Ariadne sat alone, unaccompanied by her under-priestesses. She felt her stomach curdle in nervous anticipation; she wiped her hands surreptitiously on the fold of her simple green gown.

The crowd was growing impatient, chanting for the handlers to bring out the bulls. Involuntarily, Ariadne's hands balled into fists. Irritated, she reminded herself that this dance was no different from the hundreds of others she had seen. The Athenians were but human; dedicated now to the Sea Lord and the Mother, whatever they had been before no longer mattered. Now they belonged to the Bull Court, to dance for the honor of the god and themselves.

It had not always been so. Long ago, the dance had been held but once a year, and it was a true sacrifice—pitting one dancer against one bull and at the end either animal or man would be dead. And the dance had been a private ceremony, witnessed only by the Priestess-Queen, her consort, and the gods themselves. Back then, the bulls had been more spirited, quicker to charge and quicker to gore and full of savagery. Then, too, the dancer was permitted to carry weapons into the arena.

But as the years went on, the gods no longer demanded a blood sacrifice, and the dance was altered; an offering of skill instead of blood. The bulls began to be bred specifically for the arena; snow-white with legs like pillars and shoulders like Mount Atlas, but they were slow to anger and slower to react, having had most of their wits bred out of them. Their horns were short and curved inward and were often gilded or capped with gold. They never knew a harsh word or a whip or stick, only the firm pats of the temple trainers or the whisper light touches of the dancers as they leaped and cavorted over them. They were the chosen of Poseidon; it was death to harm one.

As with the bulls, so too with the bull dancers. Now they were teams comprised of both men and women and what had once been a test of survival had now been elevated to an art form. Now the dancers trained for months on the sands of the arena, learning how to tumble and fall without injury, to leap and catch and hold with the speed of a monkey and to balance on the back of several thousand pounds of muscle like a cat. They were chosen for grace and quickness, small of limb and wiry, and only the most agile and powerful became bull leapers, the most revered and most dangerous position on a team.

It was a strange life, that of the Bull Court, or so Ariadne had heard. Though they were slaves, they were not treated as such. They were given the finest foods and drink and women, if they were so inclined. The girls were kept chaste, for one who was with child could not perform, and it was their sacred duty to dance for the pleasure of the god. The Bull Court was guarded night and day by the Temple guardsmen, but a chosen few were allowed outside the walls of the labyrinth at night. They knew no harsh treatment, save an occasional switch administered by the Head Trainer Krispos if a dancer was too arrogant or lazy in their performance. And yet, they were bound as surely as if they bore manacles on their wrists and fetters on their ankles. Bound by law, and duty, and power, and the will of the gods. They could not know freedom. To live and to dance the bulls , or to die on the shifting sands of the arena. Such was the way of the Bull Court.

The Most Holy Priestess of Knossos recalled eyes the color of the sea, mischief-laden as they gazed at her, and her heart wept for the proud Athenian who had made himself a slave for his people. It is not right, that this should be so, cried her traitorous heart. But was it right that his countryman slay your brother Aegithros? Her mind whispered venomously. The crown prince of Knossos is dead, why should the crown prince of Athens not suffer? She shook her head violently, almost dislodging her veil. Vengeance is not the way of the Mother. Besides, it is unjust to make an entire people pay for the crime of one man. The choice was not their own, and therein lies the shame of the Bull Court, and the shame of my father who ordered it so. Ariadne went suddenly cold, her whole body freezing in the warm spring sun. If the sacred dance was based upon a lie, then Poseidon's wrath may yet fall upon Crete. Or perhaps it had already, in the person of her twisted half-brother, Minotauros.

Then her thoughts scattered as the dancers entered the arena, limbs glistening with oil, bare save for white linen loin cloths and breast bands. All the dancers wore their hair short, for long hair could become tangled on the horns and bring death. There were seven dancers to a team, mixed male and female. Ariadne did not need the deep bass tones of the announcer to tell her that the team standing on the sand was the Athenian team called the Ospreys, led by none other than the prince himself. They had named themselves, it was said, and she found the name oddly fitting; an osprey was a sea hawk, a fierce bird of prey and dedicated to Lord Poseidon.

The great bull trotted to the far end of the arena and shook his massive head, the gold tipped horns catching the sunlight in blinding flashes. The team waited patiently, moving into position. A deathlike hush settled over the crowd. A fly buzzed near the bull's ear. It flicked it off. Then the announcer's voice cried, "For the honor of You, mighty Poseidon, Lord of the Waves, let the dance begin!" A white rose fell to the sands, the signal to begin.

The bull snorted, steam curling in the air, and went forward. The Ospreys scattered to the sides, moving right and left and behind the behemoth bearing down upon them. All save one. He stood straight and tall before the charge, gold hair gleaming in the sun, aqua eyes bright. Theseus. There were other blondes among the Athenians, but Ariadne knew it was he. No one else had such presence, such poise, such indefinable grace.

Ariadne felt the brush of his mind against hers like golden wings, and she gasped aloud at the heat of his touch. Yet he was unaware of what he did, all his concentration was on the bull. The bull drew nearer, its hooves shaking the earth. Ariadne's hands clenched into fists. Why does he stand like a statue? He must move, now, or all is lost.

Then he moved, all litheness and speed, hands catching the lowered horns, gripping hard like iron, muscles straining up then going taut, body bowed slightly like a crane in flight. Suddenly she was no longer a bystander watching from above, she was in the arena, sweat trickling in warm rivulets down face and shoulders, hands aching in spite of the calluses, the peculiar musky scent of the bull rising to her nostrils. The animal tossed his head, seeking to rid himself of the clinging weight. A slight shift of balance, then over and down, toes brushing lightly and gripping the velvet soft hide, then legs propelling up in one great thrust, to tumble with knees tucked close once, twice, and three times over the broad white back. Then gravity reasserted its hold and she was down in one long controlled fall, being caught by strong sun-browned hands that steadied her feet on the burning sands.

The crowd screamed and cheered, chanting "Theseus! Theseus! The Ospreys!"

There was a sickening, dizzying wrench, and Ariadne was back inside her own body. Shaken, she put a hand to her mouth, swallowing sharply against rising nausea. That had been no simple sharing of emotion, but a true bonding of heart and mind. For those few minutes in the arena they had been one. One with an Athenian bull- leaper who risked life and limb upon the burning sands. For one moment she had been what he was, felt the ambition, exhilaration, and triumph that fills an expert bull leaper when he dances and dances well.

Now the others were going in and hanging on the horns, doing handstands and somersaults over the head and back of the bull, grinning like seals at play in the wild sea. Ariadne drew in a deep breath, wondering as she did so why she could still feel a lingering heat between her toes, despite her moss green slippers. Angry, she felt for the contact, and shielded herself from it. She would not allow her Gift to manipulate her like this. The roar of the crowd was deafening. She felt it rise and break around her like a tidal wave against stone, and she yielded and let it wash over her untouched.

She was safe inside her own mind, shielded by cool marble walls.

Now the bull was being led out of the arena, and the dancers were lined up, arms linked to take their bows. In the center stood Theseus. The screaming mob rained costly bracelets and rings down on them, as well as love notes and flowers. Never had there been a dance such as this one, nor a bull leaper so skilled and so unafraid. A few of the team stooped to gather up the costly things lying on the sand. But Theseus turned his head, ignoring the king's ransom in jewels at his feet. His aquamarine eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd. Until he came to the green draped box of the High Priestess.

Unbidden, Ariadne's eyes found his. And the marble walls crumbled like sand beneath his knowing gaze. He smiled at her, the smile of a lover. Ariadne felt herself flush at his presumption, but heat swept over her in a scalding wave, driving back her angry pride. The others may scramble for the golden trinkets in the sand. They may dance for the roar of the fickle crowd. But I dance for the gods alone. For the gods—and for you, my Ariadne.

His mind-voice was like velvet sunlight, all soft and golden. It reached into the deepest part of her soul where only the Mother had ever seen. It left her vulnerable and aching in a way she had never been before. Almost, she surrendered to it. Almost until she recalled Cleate's words so long ago. In vain did I plead with your mother not to go to that Scythian bull leaper. But Pasiphae had not heeded the warning, and the result had been Minotauros. No! It will not happen again! I am meant to save my people, not destroy them.

Her shields slammed back into place. She saw the shock and anger in his gaze, but turned her head away. The Ospreys left the arena, leaving jeweled tokens scattered behind them. They would be gathered up and given to the dancers later by Krispos. Ariadne felt him withdraw, the warmth draining from her in a slow trickle. She turned around. She was the High Priestess of the Mother, protector and nurturer of her people. She would find a way to depose Minotauros. It was her task, given by the Goddess, and no man would stand in her way, not even if he were prince of Athens and a Chosen of Poseidon.

She watched the rest of the bull dance unseeing, and so missed the glare of envy Phaedra gave her. For her sister had seen where Theseus's eyes had strayed to and she was furious. It wasn't fair, Phaedra thought mutinously. Why should she have everything? Ariadne, always Ariadne. But not in this. In this she would be the victor. Ariadne was a preistess, but she knew less of the arts of love than a ten-year-old. Phaedra had studied under the masters of the craft. It would be a simple matter to turn the Athenian's eyes from her sister's to her own. And once they were turned he would be hers forever.

Well, what do you think will happen now?