“We will eat something soon,” soothed Briseis. “Go back and sit down.”

“But I’m hungry now!” he insisted.

“Food will be brought when it is ready. Now go back and sit down.”

Guistan shambled back to his seat, and Charis frowned after him. Why did I have to have any brothers at all? she wondered. They ruin everything. I would be perfectly happy alone.

Charis did not have time to pursue the thought further. The trumpets sounded another flourish, the arena doors were flung wide, and into the ring bounced a troupe of young men and women, tumbling and cartwheeling, their supple bodies glistening as they somersaulted through the air.

“The bull dancers!” cried Charis with delight.

The dancers were bare except for the white leather clout, and, for the women, a narrow band of white linen across their breasts. Their hair was worn in a long braid wrapped in strips of white linen; several wore flowers in their hair, others chains of plaited flowers around their necks.

They made their way to the center of the arena where they were joined by the High Mage of the Temple of Poseidon, who carried an ewer of water and a bowl of wine. The wine was served around the group, standing in a loose circle around the Mage, who took the ewer and poured water over the heads and hands of the dancers.

Their ablutions finished, the dancers performed a series of intricate acrobatic figures, twisting and spinning as they flew over one another in high, graceful arcs.

They were so engaged when the first bull appeared, an energetic young beast, heavy of shoulder hump and chest, but light in the hind quarters. Its horns were blunted and the stumps bound in leather. The animal trotted toward the dancers, gaining speed as it came. At the last second it charged. The dancers spun away, leaving the confused animal standing alone in the center of the arena.

Two female dancers took advantage of the animal’s confusion to vault across its back, while a male dancer grabbed its tail and tugged. The animal Bellowed and whirled, but not before another pair of dancers leaped high over its back. This went on for some time, the dancers having fun with the young bull, warming to their art.

Eventually the beast had enough of chasing shadows, turned tail, and ran from the arena as soon as the wooden doors gapped to let it out. The stadium roared with laughter, and Charis thought the animal appeared relieved to escape.

The bull dancers, limber and loose from their play, tightened their handstraps and linked arms with one another, singing a song which Charis could not hear. But she saw their heads thrown back and the expression of rapture on their faces, and she understood why people considered them touched by the gods. Theirs was a difficult and dangerous art, with intricacies little understood by those who watched and applauded and threw their coins and bracelets into the ring.

The dancers accepted these gifts, but danced for the gods and for themselves alone. This set them apart.

As they sang, the doors opened again. Out charged another bull: a monstrous creature, a mobile mountain, black as pitch, its massive ribs gleaming with the oil that had been rubbed into its velvet hide. Its horns were painted red, with tips of gold that flashed in the sun as it tossed its head. The bull made for the center of the ring and stood flinging sand into the air with a forehoof.

The dancers backed away slowly, leaving one of their number, the team leader, standing alone to face the bull. The dancer walked slowly toward the beast, hands outstretched. The animal snorted and raked the ground with its hoof, lowered its head and charged. Charis did not imagine a creature that size could be so quick. She gasped and threw her hands over her eyes.

But the dancer stood unafraid and as the bull closed on him, simply raised his foot and stepped onto the careening animal’s forehead, allowing the beast’s momentum and the toss of its head to propel him up and over the broad back.

The crowd sighed and Charis peeped between her fingers to see the bull skid to a halt, the dancer touching down lightly behind him. Before the bull could charge again, two more dancers came running from either side to handspring across its flanks. The bull swung its head this way and that, but the dancers were already gone.

The bull Bellowed its rage and gathered itself for another attack. Head lowered, it charged, hurtling across the arena with the speed of an onrushing chariot. Three dancers quickly took places behind the leader. The beast, its head nearly touching the ground, closed on the dancers who, without the slightest effort, seemed to fly up, and over the flashing horns, tumbling through the air to the shouts of their companions. The bull spun, scattering sand in a white shower across the arena.

One of the female dancers ran up, grabbed the horns, and swung herself into the air. The bull raised its head and the girl kicked into a handstand that lasted until the beast shook its head angrily to dislodge her, whereupon she simply collapsed into a ball and rolled down its shoulder.

The next dancer took the center of the arena. He whistled and clapped his hands to draw the animal’s attention. When the bull came for him, he turned his back and waited, motionless, the churning mountain of fury streaking toward him.

The crowd groaned. Women screamed. Charis watched it al! this time, fascinated, her heart in her throat.

At the last possible instant, there came a shout from one of his comrades and the dancer bent his knees and jumped, swinging his hands over his head. Back bent, he rose into the air with his hands catching the bull’s horns as they sliced the air where he had been standing only a heartbeat earlier. The bull reared its head and threw the spinning dancer high into the air where he tucked himself into a ball and somersaulted to the ground.

The bull, tired now and spewing white foam from its mouth and nostrils, roared in frustration as the bold dancer tumbled to earth behind him. Other dancers vaulted over the beast’s shoulders and rump. When it spun, they disappeared. It spun again, futilely, when they leaped upon its back to stand three together, arms linked, while the heaving hillock beneath them tried its best to shake them off.

Charis laughed and cheered as wildly as the rest. The dancers were so agile, their movements so swift and sure, it seemed as if they had only to step into the air and fly. She wondered what it would feel like to be able to move like that, to perform with such arrogance and grace, to dance the bulls beneath Bel’s golden disk.

She was still laughing when one of the dancers, a young woman, racing in full flight toward the bull, planted her feet, jumped, and sailed over its back, her body straight, turning slowly, arms outspread. She came down on her feet, legs slightly bent. The momentum of her jump carried her forward and she fell onto her hands.

It was a small error, a minor miscalculation. The bull whipped its head around just as she dodged to the side. The near horn caught the inside of her arm and threw her down on her back. Quick as a blink, her teammates leaped to her defense, but it was nearly done.

The bull lunged and the woman rolled. The beast’s right horn found her side and she was hooked and flung, arms and legs dangling awkwardly, blood spilling out in scarlet ribbons onto the white sand.

Impaled on the horn, the mad bull drove her forward, head down, to gore her on the ground. Charis’ mouth held a silent scream. The team leader attacked the animal, snaked his arm around a horn, and thrust his fingers into the beast’s nostrils. The bull squalled and reared, shaking its head furiously, but the young man clung to its neck. Two other dancers sprang forward and lifted the limp body of the female dancer from the bloody horn.

The crowd moaned when they saw the wicked tear in the dancer’s side. Her torso was stained a deep, brilliant red and her skin had gone deathly white.