Jumping the Bull

How do I get myself into these things?

Don’t get me wrong, I had plenty of chances to say no and walk away from this loony idea, but if I’m being honest it did sound like a good idea at the time.

Now I was wishing that I would have heeded my friend’s advice and chosen a less life threatening event to try to win my freedom.

On the isle of Crete there were very few ways for a slave to win their freedom, even fewer if you were a woman.

You could work and save up the measly amount of money given to you by a master and buy your freedom, if you didn’t die of old age first.

You could participate in less lethal events celebrating the gods, and maybe be released for a good performance before you had a mid life crises.

And then there’s the choice I brilliantly decided for, jumping over the back of a charging bull.

That’s right. I’m not talking about jumping over this thing from one side to the other. I’m talking about jumping it snotty nose and pointed horns to bristly tail.

Seven slaves were chosen out of the volunteers to be put in the arena in the middle of the palace to attempt this feat.

The rules were simple: the bull was never to be harmed, it was a sacred bull after all, jump the animal without being gored by its horns and then get the heck out of the arena.

The reward was also simple: if you are the first one to jump the bull successfully you would be freed after seven years, second successful jump, six years, and so on.

So why the rush to be the first one to jump the bull? Simple, the fewer people there are in the arena, the fewer people there are to distract the bull.

Now, I don’t know if you know this about bulls but they are fast, scary fast, and unlike most domesticated animals they will actively, and single-mindedly, try to kill you.

Standing now in the oval shaped arena pit with my six fellow slaves/competitors, all of us already drenched in sweat both from the beating sun overhead and anxiety at our near possible death at the hooves of a 1,500 lb beast, I again questioned my choice to gamble my freedom.

Sure being set free today or in seven years sounded good before I had stepped in the arena, but now, staring at the red door that separated me from that animal I began to think that maybe spending half my life performing acrobatics didn’t sound too bad.

The door opened. Too late now.

Out charged a black bull with light colored horns shaped like a lyre, growing upright from the animal’s skull.

He charged into the center of the arena with a roaring bellow while we all scattered in the sand.

I had just a moment to admire the animal for what he was, a magnificent beast of pitch black with the only color on his body coming from his white muzzle and white stripe down his back.

I almost missed the irony of the bull having a white line down his back, as if to say to us: “jump this way stupid!” it would almost be comical if the starting gate wasn’t a pair sharp horns capable of running a person through without a second thought.

The bull was charging again and my competitors were attempting their leaps.

I let them, scooping up a handful of sand to dry my trembling hands in its dust. My plan was simple: let the others wear out the bull and attempt my leap somewhere in the middle of the pack.

Now if only the bull would co-operate.

The first three jumpers managed the feat without a problem, but now the bull had caught on to the game.

Instead, the bull had begun to swerve at the last minute or charge us at a curve.

I watched in horror as the other three competitors were either gored or trampled, never to rise again.

I swallowed. My breath came in shaky gasps as the bull stared at me from across the arena, front hooves still on top of the back of the last man he had run down.

I only had one shot at this.

I ran to the right, hugging the wall. The sand was deeper here causing my feet to be nearly buried to the ankle, and to slip and slide around.

The bull charged along the wall to meet me but seemed to dislike the deep shifting sand as much as I did, running instead closer to the center of the arena allowing me to press myself against the wall at the last possible second.

I felt one of the bull’s horns snag and tear at my tunic, nearly pulling me off my feet.

The fates were kind. I saw my chance.

The horn snagging on my clothing had jerked the bull’s head around and, combined with the loose sand, had brought the beast to its knees.

I rushed forward, grabbing the base of the bull’s horns as tight as I could.

He stared at me for a moment, almost appearing shocked that I had dared approach one as magnificent as himself.

In a rage, he righted himself, nearly rearing backwards with the effort, throwing me unceremoniously into the air and crashing down behind him.

I scrambled in the sand to get back on my feet, the bull already rounding to bear down on me again.

I was running just as the bull’s horns scored the sand where I had been downed a second ago.

There was no way I was going to outrun him long enough to reach anything to pull me up out of the arena. I was going to die.

Then, out of nowhere, a leather clad arm reached down from the railing above the arena.

I didn’t think, I just leapt and clung to the hand with both of mine, allowing it to pull me the rest of the way out of the arena as the bull swept by under my feet.

My breath was ragged as I let out bark of half crazed laughter at my miraculous survival before taking any notice of who had pulled me out of the arena.

I stared down in disbelief at Crete’s prince, Andoni.

He only asked me one thing, “Who are you?”