C043

Hippomenes hastened to the throne and knelt before the king. The king asked wearily, "Are you another of that foolish band who wish to race against my daughter?" "I am!" cried Hippomenes. "Let the race begin!" The trumpet launched them forward. Fifty yards were run, and already Atalanta was ahead. Hippomenes drew a golden apple from his pocket and tossed it ahead, to one side of her. She turned aside, snatched it up, and sped after Hippomenes. As he touched his hand to the spear at the turning point, he felt the maiden's fingers beneath his. He dropped a second apple. Atalanta stooped and picked it up. The joyful shouts of the people told her Hippomenes was nearing the goal. She bounded forward, swift as the wind. Hearing her at his heels, he dropped a third apple, and she stooped again-once too often. Hippomenes had won the race and her hand in marriage.