Entering the courtyard, the exhausted Athenians came upon a large, open room. In the center of the gateway, a single bright red, downward-tapering column supported the architrave. A brightly painted frieze ran around the top of the room, with a delicate fresco of partridges and hoopoe birds in a rocky landscape.

Just to the west was a shallow bath, five feet square, and fed by a natural spring.

With intense relief Theseus and his band sat on the projecting stone slabs of the bath to bathe their sore and aching feet.

Throughout the entire run, none of the Athenians had complained even once, and Theseus was intensely proud of them. They had maintained their discipline perfectly, and it had been he himself who had asked for rest, to protect his people.

Inwardly, the son of Poseidon seethed at the indignity. His resentment against the Minoan tyrants boiled just beneath the surface as he watched his own youthful army, relaxed at last, tending to their hot and sometimes blistered feet.

Still, he knew he would never forget the experience of running with the Black Platoon. In all his experience on the mainland, the games, the athletic competitions, he had never encountered men so perfectly disciplined and with such physical condition. It did not mesh well with his conception of the effete, sophisticated Minoans.

As he watched Clymon tending to a blister on Prylis' feet, he was struck by the tenderness the youth showed to the girl. He knew of their affection, though they had always been properly discreet about showing it before the others. But now, with Prylis in pain, Clymon treated her with gentleness and great love, not caring that the others saw him behaving with unmanly consideration.

For a moment Theseus considered reprimanding him -- a warrior would neither show nor want affection at a time like this. But he decided against it. Let them comfort each other.

It had been less than three hours since they had first set foot on the quay at Amnisos. And already, Theseus thought, there were scores to settle, humiliations to avenge.

The contact with the Minoans had been a series of surprises for him. First the flash of Aphrodite's whim, with the Priestess Megara, had shaken him more than he had expected. And then the embarassment that the Athenians, including himself, were not in as good physical condition as the Black Platoon.

Perhaps, he thought, the suffering would bring them closer together, bind them even tighter as an army. Now they knew there would be hardships to face, ordeals to overcome.

And yet, even as he thought these things, he watched Clymon's loving tenderness with Prylis and realized it had not been the Minoans who had subjected his brave band to humiliation.

It had been himself. If it had not been for his own pride, for his desire to show their bravery, they would have come to this Traveler's House drawn by brightly decorated draft animals. They would not have suffered at all.

Uneasy, Theseus walked around the shallow bath, speaking low to his people, putting his hand gently on their shoulders in a gesture of affection he rarely permitted himself.

He was suddenly aware how alone they were, fourteen young men and women in the midst of an alien world, not knowing their fate. It was their faith in him that would see them through their trials.

As they had wound around the hill on which the city of Knossos was built, Theseus had been startled by its size. Almost eighty thousand people lived and worked and fought in this palace-city. Eighty thousand. At least ten times larger than the largest city in Attica. What could the Fourteen do, against the power and wealth that rose all around them?

Even the Traveler's House was a level of luxury completely unknown in Attica. In addition to the shallow, spring-fed bath, another room to the west held terra cotta tubs that could be filled with hot water. Draining and filling the tubs was automatic, fed and drained by an elaborate system of pipes, most of which were underground. The pipes he could see were terra cotta tubes, as long as his arm, tapering from six inches to four inches, the narrow end of one fitting neatly into the large end of the next, and held by a raised ridge.

No, nothing about Kheftiu had been as he expected. And he realized that much of what he had considered to be battle-planning had been, in fact, only fantasies that sprang from his own preconceptions, and his sense of superiority over the soft, feminine Minoans with their love of art and dance and trade. He had not found much softness here. He had found skill, and discipline, and endurance. And, thinking of the Priestess Megara, boldness.

It would take all his power as a leader to bring the Athenians safely through the trial.

As he circled the bath, he looked into the eyes of his army. He found no fear, no resentment. They looked up and smiled ruefully at their own pain. Their eyes were innocent and trusting. They had given him their allegiance and there was not the faintest sign of any failure of faith.

Gradually Theseus' anger against the Minoans subsided. And he realized, bitterly, that he had not been a good leader. He was not accustomed to being responsible for others; he had always gone his own way, bravely, leaving to each man the responsibility for his own success or failure. And yet here, in Knossos, thirteen of his fellow warriors depended on him for their survival.

The realization was sour in his mouth. And yet, at the same time, he felt as though a fog were lifting in his mind.

As he saw how bravely Prylis accepted the pain of her blistered feet, he felt a wave of regret and embarrassment sweep over him.

"You are suffering," he said quietly.

"Suffering is nothing," Prylis said, looking apprehensively at her commander. "I will be fit again soon."

Theseus shook his head sadly. It was difficult for him to find the words for what he wanted to say.

"I - I have not led you well," he said finally. Around the shallow bath the Athenians stopped their murmuring conversations and looked up at him in surprise. None had ever heard such an admission from the Prince of Athens before.

"I have not led you well," he repeated. "Your pain was caused only by my pride. I wanted to show the Minoans how strong we were."

"We are strong," Clymon said, standing up beside Prylis and looking Theseus squarely in the eyes. "We are only sore and blistered. Those black men are not like ordinary people. They run like -- like --"

"Like gods," Theseus finished. "But they are not gods. They are only men."

"Such men," Prylis said wryly.

"They are strong and disciplined. But only men. The failure was mine."

"We have not failed," Clymon protested. "We are here, and alive, and only uncomfortable. It is nothing."

"I have led you to defeat," Theseus said. "I have sacrificed you to my own anger, and to my pride."

"It is our pride, too," Prylis said. "It is we who have failed you. We were not strong enough."

"There was no need to be strong," Theseus said. "There was only the need to watch and be quiet. I made you suffer because I was angry. I did not lead you well. Had it been your choice, would you have walked or ridden in the wagon?"

The dark haired girl, Corydon, burst out, "By Zeus, I would have ridden. And laughed all the way!"

Her comment burst the bubble of tension that was in the group, and they all laughed. Even Theseus smiled.

He waded to the center of the bath, the cold spring water coming as high as his knees. Around him the thirteen young warriors gathered in a circle. Without speaking they clasped their arms around each other's shoulders.

"This will not happen again," Theseus said. "I will lead you well. You will not suffer again for my own anger."

For a moment they stood in silence in the center of the pool, arms around each other in the brotherhood of their purpose.

From the entrance to the inner room, sub-captain Kalinnos of the Black Platoon observed the Athenian group thoughtfully, chewing on a stick of celery he had scrounged from the kitchen area. Silently he turned away and went back into the kitchen, where the cook was preparing food for the Athenians.

"They are not too bad, you know," he said to the cook.

"Barbarians," the cook said sharply. "Cooking for barbarians."

"Yes, but they show the makings of a Team. Their leader is no fool."

The cook snorted, and stirred the huge caldron of lamb and vegetables he was preparing. "You cannot create a team of Bull-dancers in three months, Kalinnos."

"Perhaps not," Kalinnos said thoughtfully. "They are brave, though. They ran with us. Who else on Kheftiu would try to run with us?"

"They didn't know any better," the cook said. "They are barbarians."

"True," Kalinnos said reflectively. "Still, they ran with us. That is something. I believe I might place a wager on this Athenian team. If the odds are not too high."

"You had best wait until you see them with the Bull," said the cook.

"Oh, yes," Kalinnos said. "I shall certainly wait until I see them with the Bull. But they did run with us, and I shall not forget that."