But he had been totally unprepared to fall wildly in love with a glamorous enchantress and be rejected with contempt, all in the space of a few short moments on the quay at Amnisos. He was as stunned as though Zeus himself had struck him down with a thunderbolt from the heavens.

Not Zeus, he thought suddenly. Aphrodite.

The Delphic Oracle had been right, after all. It was a reminder, a sign from the world of the gods. In some way he could not understand, this game was Aphrodite's. And She had unexpectedly caught him with Her glance of passion, throwing all his careful preparation into disarray.

It made him acutely uneasy, and his alertness was heightened. How could a warrior go to battle under Aphrodite's sign?

It was almost a relief when the soldier-guard arrived at the quay, though even that was so unexpected it startled him. In the five minutes since he had first set foot on the quay, everything had been different from what he expected, and the arrival of the guard was not an exception.

From the end of the quay he heard a shout arise, a cheer from the long lines of bearers. Beneath the sound of cheering voices he could hear the fast, rhythmic slap of leather sandals on the paving stones.

Running at a fast trot toward them was a double line of soldiers, their quick steps perfectly synchronized. The astonishing thing was that the entire platoon of a dozen men was black. Not black-painted, but black-skinned.

The Minoan officer who led the platoon was dressed, like his warriors, in a simple loincloth, leaving the rest of his body naked except for the high-laced sandals. Belted at his waist was a short dagger, and each of his black warriors carried a thrusting spear.

The black men were slim, as slim as the thin-waisted Minoan officer, and powerfully muscled. They were so nearly identical they might have been cast from the same mold a dozen times. Their dark, curly hair was clipped close to their heads, and only the officer had the Minoan long curls that fell in front of his ears.

The fast trot brought them quickly down the quay, moving through a wave of cheers from the ships they passed. Theseus involuntarily admired the perfect, synchronized discipline of the black platoon, almost like a troop of dancers.

Theseus had heard there were men in Africa, far to the south of Egypt, whose skin was naturally black, but had dismissed it as traveler's fables. Yet, here they were, in Kheftiu.

The two lines of black soldiers came to a precise halt on either side of the small group of Athenians, turned smartly about face at a command from their officer. The officer, a youth of no more than twenty, came to the fore.

"Who is the leader here?" he said.

"I am," said Theseus, stepping foward.

"I am sub-captain Kalinnos," " the Minoan said. "We will escort you to the Traveler's House of Knossos."

Glancing over the sub-captain's shoulder, Theseus saw a long, four-wheeled wagon coming down the quay. It was much more heavily built than the fast chariot the Priestess had driven, and was pulled by a pair of asses yoked together. The asses' manes were precisely tied into three separated tufts, each tuft decorated with a bright colored band.

The wagon and yoked team could not turn easily on the quay, and there was considerable amused uproar as the charioteer backed and filled to turn the large vehicle around. The platoon of black warriors were the only people on the quay who were not laughing and calling advice to the charioteer. They stood at silent, precise attention, with not a muscle moving, their dark skins shining in the after-dawn light.

The sub-captain gestured for the Athenians to mount.

"We will walk," Theseus said to the Minoan officer. "We are Athenians." He felt the need to establish some degree of independence, some authority over his own people. He wanted the Minoans to know they were not the passive victims they expected.

Kalinnos hesitated. He came closer to Theseus and said quietly, "Athenian, that is not advisable. The Traveler's House is more than four miles up the valley of the Kairatos. It is a steep climb."

"We will walk," Theseus repeated. "We are Athenians."

Kalinnos was silent for another moment, looking at the white-robed group of Athenians. Theseus felt the pride of a small victory. He had taken the advantage over the Minoan officer, he had established his own position.

After a moment, sub-captain Kalinnos smiled slightly, and turned to call an order to the waiting charioteer. The man looked startled, then shrugged, and started his team back along the quay the way he had come. The same good-natured cheering accompanied his departure as had greeted his arrival.

Kalinnos waited silently until the wagon had cleared the quay, then turned back to Theseus.

"Athenian," he said in a low voice. "If this is your wish, I will honor it. You are guests on Kheftiu. But understand, this is the Black Platoon." He gestured at the twin lines of black warriors.

Theseus nodded, thinking the sub-captain was warning him against an attempt to escape. He was unprepared for Kalinnos' next words, which were said with a deep and quiet pride.

"The Black Platoon does not walk. We run."

Within ten minutes, Theseus felt his heart was bursting in his chest. The Black Platoon set off at the same quick trot, a pace the Athenian thought they could not maintain for more than a thousand yards.

But the black warriors never faltered, never missed the perfect synchronization of their step. They ran swiftly through the port city of Amnisos and entered on the stone-paved road that wound up the river valley.

The roadway was smoothly paved in the center, wide enough for the wheels of wagons and chariots. On either side of the center roadway was a strip of rougher paving, easy enough to walk on, but almost impossibly difficult to maintain at the fast pace of the Black Platoon. Enclosed between the precise lines of soldiers, the Athenians were hard put to keep up.

One more humiliation, Theseus thought. His breath seared in his throat, and all the Athenians were panting. They were among the best athletes in Athens, and they could not come close to maintaining the incredible running endurance of the Black Platoon.

And the final humiliation came when Theseus was forced to ask Kalinnos for a rest. The sub-captain smiled again, and called a swift order to his black soldiers.

As the Athenians dropped in near exhaustion beneath the twisted trees of an olive grove half-way up the valley, the Black Platoon did not deign to rest. The black soldiers and their officer continued to run in place, never breaking the rhythm of their run, until The Athenians were sufficiently recovered to begin again.

Twice more on the run, Theseus was forced to ask for a halt. Kalinnos never seemed to object. And the Black Platoon never stopped running. Their breathing was deep, but controlled, and Theseus realized the black warriors had passed a kind of threshhold of physical endurance he had never seen before.

They could run forever. Forever.