“Why do you wear that red rag?” he said harshly, pointing to Byssa’s short petticoat. “Haven’t I given you long robes?”
“The sun is so hot—and I was alone at my weaving,” stammered the poor young wife with a burning blush.
As she spoke, confused and abashed, she put her foot on the lowest step of the rock-stairs and was going to hurry up the cliff. But Lyrcus seized her and hurling her behind him so that he concealed her with his own body, shouted sternly to his companions:
“Forward!”
Then he himself went up after them, watching rigidly to see that no one looked back, but left Byssa and the slave to follow as best they could.
VI.
On the cliff above there was great joy among the Cychreans over the splendid game. But when the animal was flayed and its flesh cut into pieces all, not merely the hunters themselves but their friends and relatives, wanted a share of the prize. From words they came to blows, and Lyrcus needed all his authority to restrain the infuriated men.
Meantime the sun had set behind the mountains of Corydallus. The olive-trees on the plain cast no shadows, the whole of the level ground was veiled in darkness. Everything was silent and peaceful, ever and anon a low twittering rose from the thickets.
The Cychreans lingered gossipping together after the labor of the day. Some of them asked Lyrcus and his companions whether anything had happened during the hunt. Lyrcus replied that small parties of Pelasgians had been seen passing in the distance, but he seemed to attach no importance to the matter, and many of the Cychreans were preparing to go to rest—when a child’s clear voice cried in amazement:
“Look, look! The hills are moving!”