Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast by Jane Yolen Page B

creature. It would dare anything.
    They pulled aside to avoid the fleeing people. Behind the runners a cloud of dust billowed up and from it came a ferocious bellowing.
    “That’s not the monster,” Atalanta said, turning to Evenor. “He roars.”
    “Roar, bellow—it’s all the same,” said Labrius, having caught up with them.
    “Papa, you’re too old…” said the stoop-shouldered son.
    “Get back,” his other son said at the same time.
    Just then the cause of the commotion came into view. It was a bull, kicking and snorting and tossing its head from side to side, its sharp horns hooking through the air. It was in a murderous fury. Behind it one man already lay dead, two others cringed, wounded, against a wall. Broken pots, ripped baskets, and a table with its legs broken, lay in the bull’s path.
    “That’s Gallo’s best bull,” Labrius said. “It must have broken free of its enclosure.”
    Atalanta stared at the crazed beast. “It looks in pain.”
    The bull lunged at one of the wounded men, who managed to crawl around the overturned table. Losing sight of its prey, the beast turned away and charged to the other side of the square, snorting. It stamped its hooves against the stones of the village well, knocking half of it into rubble.
    Licking her lips, Atalanta took an arrow from her quiver and set it into her bow. Where is a vital spot? she wondered, knowing that just wounding the bull would only madden it further.
    “Hold a minute,” said Evenor, who clearly had had the same thought.
    Atalanta lowered the bow.
    Labrius cried out, “But we have to save them or there’ll be more dead this day.”
    Hearing their voices, the bull lifted its great head, its small eyes reddened with pain. It pawed the ground three times, then lowered its head and started toward them.
    Atalanta lifted the bow again, thinking that they no longer had a choice. She pulled back on the bowstring and was just sighting on the beast’s eye, when a huge hand pushed her gently aside.
    “Be careful, girl,” came a rich, confident voice “That’s a mighty big bow you have there. Better leave this to me.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE CHALLENGE
    T HE SPEAKER STRODE PAST Atalanta and Evenor, tossing a pair of lances and a heavy pack to the ground. He was the biggest man Atalanta had ever seen, a full head and shoulders taller than Evenor. His long black hair was tied back in a knot and his black beard was cropped short. He wore a deerskin tunic that must have taken the hides of three stags, and a lion skin cloak draped over his shoulders. His muscles bunched alarmingly.
    The bull sighted this new threat, bellowed again, and charged.
    The newcomer stood his ground. Weaponless, he fell into a fighting crouch, arms outstretched. “Come, bull,” he said, pounding his right fist to his chest, “I dedicate your death to the people of this village.”
    Atalanta gasped in horror. Surely the fool will be trampled to death, she thought. He may be big, but the bull is bigger.
    The sound of the bull’s hooves thudding on the ground was louder than thunder, but the man did not flinch. At the last instant he seized the bull by its horns and twisted its neck violently to one side. The beast’s hooves kicked at him, but he forced the animal back, driving his hip into its flank and toppling it to the ground. Falling on top of the bull, the man flexed his bulging muscles and gave the horns a mighty wrench. The bull’s neck broke with an awful crack.
    For a moment everything was silent. Then the villagers burst from hiding, waving their arms and cheering.
    “Who is that?” Atalanta asked as people rushed by her to surround the giant and shake his hand.
    “By the gods, girl,” Labrius said, grinning, “there is only one man it could be. The height, the fearlessness, the lion skin.” He pushed aside the villagers to welcome the giant to Mylonas.
    “It’s Orion,” Evenor said.
    “I thought he was just a story,” Atalanta said.
    Phreneus