“She is no whore,” he began. “She is a dancer. She”

“More the shame! You have caused her to break her vow as well. Maro, what were you thinking of? Today of all days!”

“I-I am sorry…”

“If I were Belrene you would both be scourged and flung down the temple steps.”

“But you said the Belrene gave you permission to deal with us yourself.”

“Shut up, Maro! You make things worse with your whining. Yes, I have the Belrene’s authority to do with you as I please. Do you think I should be more lenient with you because of that? Why? Tell me!”

The unhappy young man hung his head and said nothing.

“You show wisdom, Maro, but too late.”

The dancer’s head snapped up. “You will let me dance? Please, it will never happen again. I swear it! Never! You must Believe me.”

“You violated a dancer’s most sacred vow! How could you!”

The dancer grimaced with pain.

“You know this jeopardizes us all. The others will be put at risk because of you.”

“I will dance alone,” he mumbled hopelessly.

“I should not let you dance at all!” Charis stared at him a long time. “But it seems I have no choice. If I strike you from the group now it will be weeks before I can ready a replacement, and even one inexperienced dancer is too many. Junoi is just now gaining confidence. If I added another new dancer now…” She sighed. “What am I to do?”

“I could dance alone,” Maro repeated. “I would not endanger anyone.”

“Except yourself.” Charis shook her head. “No, it will be best if the others know nothing about it. You will dance with Belissa and me-we will perform the routine I created for the Festival.”

Marophon nodded and kept his eyes downcast. “Thank you.”

“Thank me later. Go now, before I decide to have you flung down the temple steps instead.”

The dancer hurried away without looking back. Marophon must still be punished, she thought; it would not do for dancers to discover they could violate the most holy vow without serious consequence.

But no, it did not matter. After today it would not matter anymore.

It took longer than Charis anticipated to choose the bulls for the day’s dance. Finding a pitman proved difficult, and getting the bullmaster to take her orders seriously even more so. But Charis persisted; she demanded, cajoled, and invoked the Belrene’s authority several times more than she would have liked and in the end succeeded.

She walked through the subterranean chambers, pausing before each stall, peering through the dark lattice as the pitman held his smudgy torch. Each beast regarded her with a docile disinterest which might have deceived a less-experienced appraiser but did not mislead Charis for a moment. She knew most of the animals and had only to glance at the wear of horns and hoofs, condition of the hide, size of hump and hindquarters, the set of the eyes to form an accurate opinion of an unfamiliar beast’s likely behavior in the ring.

After looking at a dozen or more and choosing four which she was sure would allow her bull dancers solid yet spirited performances, Charis found herself unable to find the right bull for her own final performance. One after another, she appraised and rejected each animal until, time running out, she forced herself to make a choice, reminding herself that there was not a bull among them that she could not handle with ease.

The last bull she looked at was a huge red beast she had not seen before. “What of this one?” she asked as the pitman leaned against the heavy iron lattice.

“Oh, ah! Umm,” said the pitman cryptically, screwing up his face in an odd contortion Charis took to approximate a knowing wink. “He is a new one. From the west country, from Mykenea he is.”

“Is he trained to the ring?”

“Oh, ah, yes. Small rings mostly-but aren’t they all?- although we, ah, have it that he was a season at King Mu-saeus’ ring at Argos.”

Charis examined the animal closely. A bull unaccustomed to a large, noisy ring could well be trouble. But an unknown red-his appearance would give the crowd a thrill appropriate for her last performance.

“We, ah, received another from Mykenea. Do you want to see it?”

“No,” replied Charis firmly. “This one will do. I want him last.”

They returned to the bullmaster, who was giving his pitmen instructions about the animals to be readied for the day’s per- formance. “These are my choices for the Gulls,” Charis told him, relating the bulls she had chosen in the proper order. “And the new one-it is to be last. I want it for myself.”

“As you wish,” replied the bullmaster, recording her instructions. “It will be done.”

Charis left the pit and hurried to the ring. Her Gulls would be nearly finished with their exercises and she had not yet begun. At the ring she passed through the dancer’s ready room and pulled off her shift, replacing it with a short, Belted tunic. Still winding the Belt around her waist, she stepped out into the ring. Several other teams were limbering up as well. The Gulls had finished their exercises and were practicing jumps with the wooden standards. Charis began stretching, slowly, gently, pulling the tightness out of her back and legs, all the while watching her dancers with a trainer’s critical eye.

“Knees together, Peronn!” she called, coming across the sand to where they stood. “And keep your chin tucked in. Feel the curve of your spine. Now try it again.” She turned to the others. “Belissa, Galai, Kalili, Junoi-everyone. I want to see seven perfect doubles.”

They all worked on the wooden standard while the sun rose higher, glinting hot and bright off the sand in the ring. The sweat ran freely down the dancers’ arms and legs, soaking their tunics. Charis felt the need of additional exercise for herself but did not want to tire her dancers. The sun would leach away their strength; stamina would flow away like water. Already they were jumping closer to the standard, their arcs tighter, less open and easy.

Charis clapped her hands. “Enough! It is enough. We will rest now. Everyone inside. It is time to rest.”

They trotted off to the ready room, leaving the ring to the other teams of dancers. It was cool arid dark inside. They scraped the sweat from their limbs with bronze strigiis and rubbed themselves with strips of clean linen, sipped water from cups, and talked to one another, moving all the while to cool off slowly.

“Gather around, chattering Gulls,” said Charis, arranging them in a circle around her on the floor. Once settled, she began explaining the order of the day’s performance, giving each dancer his or her instructions and going over the routines one by one.

She concluded by saying, “Let us dance today as we have never danced before. It will be a difficult day. The heat, the sun, is against us and the crowd will be surly, but I want them on their feet cheering as never before. Let no one who sees us dance ever forget this day.”

Joet, the most vocal of the troop, asked, “Is there something different about this day, captain?”

Charis hesitated and her hesitation piqued interest. Maro-phon looked away. “Yes,” she answered finally. “Or have you forgotten?”

Blank stares. “The gold!” she said. “Today we receive half of all that is given. Therefore, I want a never-ending shower, a river of gold poured out for us.”

The dancers laughed and began bantering over whose exploits would earn them the most. Charis moved toward the door, saying, “Rest now. I will return when it is time to dress for the ring.”

Charis went back to her room and lay down on her bed but found that she could not rest. She kept thinking ahead, past the performance to the awful, inevitable moment when she would tell her dancers that they had performed their last.

Was she being fair to them? she wondered. Was there another way, any other way?

Of course, they were free to choose for themselves. If they wanted to remain in the temple, they could join another team. No doubt they would be welcome in any team they chose, unless petty jealousy prevented it. But they would no longer be Gulls. No, that had to end. Without Charis there would be no more Gulls.