“I will obey,” replied Byssa, “but on condition that you don’t lay hands on me again.”
She took her place in the front of the chariot, resting both hands on the top. Periphas grasped the reins, dismissed the slave by a sign, braced his feet firmly against the inner foot-board and, standing behind his enemy’s wife, gave his steeds the rein, swung the whip—and off they rattled over stock and stone.
XI.
Meantime the men had wandered a considerable distance from the fountain. The youths succeeded in driving the hare into a snare, whose owner thought he had exclusive right to it, while those who had driven it into the trap demanded a share of the prize. When the older people came up their opinions differed and, amid the dispute, they did not notice the screams of the women, especially as they often shrieked in sport when they splashed water upon each other.
Suddenly a very young girl, scarcely beyond childhood, came running towards them, beckoning with agitated gestures while still a long way off. The men suspected that something unusual must have happened and hurried to meet the messenger, though without forgetting the hare. Weeping bitterly, she told them what had occurred.
Her hearers were filled with alarm.
“Byssa carried off!” exclaimed the oldest. “Woe betide us! Woe betide us! Curses on the hare, it is the cause of the whole misfortune.”
The walk home from the fountain was very different from usual.
In those days it was not well to be the bearer of evil tidings. Lyrcus’ outbursts of fury were well known; it was also known how passionately he loved Byssa, and no one felt the courage to tell him what had happened. Yet it was necessary that he should hear it.
The party had almost reached the Cychrean cliff, and still no plan had been formed. But an unexpected event ended their indecision.