Read B. Alexander Howerton for Free Online Page A

The bull turned and charged again, not breaking its stride at
all as it rammed its horns into the boy’s abdomen. It flipped its head again,
and the boy flew through the air again, more like a sack of wheat than a living
thing.  He landed hard, his arms and legs jutting away from his body at odd
angles.
    The bull turned to charge again, but Menelos jumped out from
the crowd of huddled boys and clapped his hands sharply, calling, “Oy! Oy!
Oy!”  The bull turned and looked at him.  Menelos called, “Yaaaa!”  and waved
his arms frantically.  The bull scraped the ground with one hoof, then charged
at Menelos.  He stood stock still, waiting, waiting.  At the last possible
instant, when it looked as if the bull would overrun him, his hands shot out
and seized the horns.  The bull once again flipped its head, and Menelos shot
straight up.  At the apex of his flight, he tucked, flipped and extended his
legs to land expertly on the small of the bull’s back.  He balanced there for
several seconds, then leapt high again, letting the bull run from underneath
him, and landed expertly on his feet.  He turned to receive the adulation he
expected to hear, just in time to see Alena being launched into the air.  She
had run up to the bull behind him and grabbed the horns.  He watched as she
performed and expert flip, landing in the same spot on the bull’s back.  After
a few second’s pause, she jumped again, executing another flawless flip, and
landing solidly on the ground.  Cheers broke out from the gathered boys and
girls, as the bull trainers captured the enraged bull with ropes and nets, and
assistant coaches rushed to the boy who had been gored.  It was apparent that
the boy had not survived his first encounter with the bull.
    Artaxes called the youths over to the stone platform which
lay before the great statue of the mother goddess.  After assembling them in
rows, he called Menelos and Alena forward.  “I am very proud of both of you,”
he said, his chest swelling.  An assistant brought him an urn of olive oil, and
he dipped two fingers in and anointed the pair on their foreheads and
shoulders.  “You are our best bull-jumpers.  You will jump the bull in the
ceremony tomorrow, then you will be ritually married and offered to the gods. 
You should be very proud.”  Menelos grinned broadly at the coach, then turned
to face Alena.  She was obviously happy, returning his wide smile.
    That evening, after a sumptuous feast and much reveling,
Menelos lay in his straw bed in his tent with five other boys, and could not
sleep.  He was too excited with the prospects of the morrow.  Suddenly, a thought
struck him. He was to marry Alena, but he knew nothing of her.  Even though
they would not live long past their marriage, yet he wished to know who his
betrothed was.  He quietly sat up and left the tent, sure that he had not waken
the other boys.  He knew it was a grave violation of the rules to enter the
girls’ camp, but a strange compulsion drove him on.
    He walked between two of the girls’ tents and called softly,
“Alena.  Alena.”  There was no response.  He called again.  A girl stuck her
head out of a tent.  “Who is that there.  Menelos?  I recognize you.  What do
you want here?  You know it is not permitted.”
    Menelos stared at her, fearful he might be betrayed. 
“Alena,” was all he said.
    The girl hesitated a moment, then pointed to a tent opposite
hers and one further down.  Menelos nodded in thanks and rushed to the tent.
Without hesitation, he burst in and glanced around.  He found her sleeping in
the corner and rushed over to her.  The other five girls, hearing the
commotion, awoke from their slumber.  “What is it?”  What’s going on?”  “Oh, a
boy!”  Menelos hissed through his teeth and made a downward gesture with his
hand.  Alena had propped herself up on one elbow and was staring groggily at
him.  He grabbed her other wrist, tugged a little, and