The Lost Sisterhood

by Anne Fortier

  “I am shocked!” said Rebecca, refusing to touch the bag. “This is a unique find. Should it not be … in a museum?”

  Mr. Telemakhos’s woolly eyebrows shot up in dismay. “When my work is done, I will make it public. But for now, I am saving these irreplaceable treasures from the stupidity and greed of bureaucrats and other thieves.”

  “Roger that,” said Nick.

  I put a shaky hand to my forehead, wondering if one could develop a fever from shock alone. “I don’t understand,” I said. “How can you be so sure these bracelets belonged to Amazons? Couldn’t they just be ordinary jewelry, worn by ordinary people? The jackal motif is not that unusual.”

  Mr. Telemakhos jiggled the bag before my eyes. “This jackal is special and you know it. But let me tell you what happened.” He stretched to put the bag back in the safe. “When I found this bracelet, I sent out inquiries. I was careful, but still, a few people found me. Such as”—he nodded at Nick—”your friend Chris Hauser.”

  “And what did he want?” asked Nick. “My friend Chris Hauser.”

  Mr. Telemakhos suddenly looked self-conscious. “Well, as a matter of fact, he was the one who told me it was an Amazon bracelet. And he wanted to know if I had ever seen others like it. Which, at the time, I hadn’t.”

  “But later,” I insisted, “you discovered more of them?”

  Mr. Telemakhos gently closed the safe. “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “That is what I want to show you.” He started toward the stairs. “Tomorrow. There is someone you have to meet—”

  “Just to be clear,” said Nick, casting one last glance at the safe. “Why do you think Chris Hauser was so interested in this bracelet?”

  Mr. Telemakhos paused with his hand on the light cord. “What do all men want? To be ravished by an Amazon, of course.”

  Nick didn’t exactly laugh, but it was close. “Speak for yourself.”

  For once, Mr. Telemakhos was unamused. As he stood there in the basement, surrounded by the evidence of a lifelong devotion to a subject that clearly, by his estimation, ought not be exposed to the light of day, the old Amazon hunter reminded me of the weather-beaten Scots I had seen so often on television, stubbornly maintaining the Loch Ness monster existed, despite all scientific evidence that it couldn’t possibly.

  “I still don’t get it,” I said. “How did Chris Hauser know it was an Amazon bracelet?”

  The question did nothing to smooth the lines of defiance on Mr. Telemakhos’s face. “He wouldn’t say.”

  I looked at Rebecca and saw that she, too, was staring at our host with disbelief. Could it really be that the man she called “the Oracle” had based his life’s work on something as insubstantial as this, the flimsy fancy of a young man from Baltimore? Glancing at Nick, I expected to see headshaking skepticism to match my own. But his eyes were fixed on my wrist, and there was not a trace of amusement left on his face. To us all, I suddenly realized, so much more was at stake than the mere unraveling of an old legend.

  “You are young,” Mr. Telemakhos said at last, squaring his shoulders and looking at us one by one. “You have lots of time to find what you are looking for. But to someone like me, there are more days in the garbage can than on the calendar on the wall. That is why I am impatient”—he nodded at my bracelet—”and why I want more, more, more.”

  “More what?” asked Nick, leaning over to scrutinize one of the many pieces of paper hanging on the wall.

  Mr. Telemakhos made an impatient snort. “I’ve spent three decades trying to prove not only that the Amazons did exist”—he gestured at the mess on the table and on the walls all around—”but that they still exist. Every week I find more evidence.”

  “Of what?” asked Rebecca, her voice uncharacteristically feeble.

  Mr. Telemakhos walked over to one of the bulletin boards and took down a scrap of paper. “A girl is molested by a rapist on parole. Two women—strange women, unknown to the girl and her family—find the man, knock on his door, and cut off his testicles.” Mr. Telemakhos looked up appealingly. “If that doesn’t have ‘Amazon’ written all over it, lock me away in a padded room.”

  “Interesting,” said Nick, displaying a surprising capacity for forbearance in the face of what must surely, to him, seem like utter folly, if not downright insanity. “I have to say, I like the idea, and I hope you are right. But let me ask you this—” He walked a few steps along the wall, scanning the news clippings. “At what point does it become more than just a feeling? Where is the proof? Where is the UFO in Hangar Eighteen?”

  Mr. Telemakhos bristled. “I am not talking about aliens! The Amazons, my friend, walk among us. But they are sly, and they don’t want to be found out. Some say they never use telephones or email when they communicate with one another … that they use a medium that can’t be traced—maybe a printed pamphlet of sorts.” He held out his arms as if to say that although he was convinced he was right, sadly, he had no proof. “Think about it. They break the law; they are what we would call vigilantes. Imagine how many people want to find them and stop them. Not just the criminals, but governments, too. Remember, the state has a monopoly on justice. Even when it does a bad job—when the policemen whose salaries are paid by Mr. Telemakhos’s taxes do nothing but sit around on their fat asses waiting for Mr. Telemakhos to drive a little too fast on the motorway—even then we are not allowed to do what they should be doing and chase the real criminals. That is why the Amazons don’t want to be found out. That is why you will never recognize them in the street. In fact”—he pointed a finger at me—”how do you know Diana is not one of them? She is wearing the bracelet, isn’t she?”

  Nick turned to look at me with an expression I couldn’t quite make out. In the meantime, I saw Rebecca grimacing at Mr. Telemakhos to let him know we were entering treacherous territory, and, thankfully, he got the hint. “But it’s getting late!” he went on, clasping his hands abruptly. “And tomorrow morning we want an early start. Adventure awaits!”

  For some reason, everyone’s eyes turned to me, and I said, with some regret, “Tomorrow is Tuesday. I really must be on my way.”

  Mr. Telemakhos gave me a long look. “You can’t come this far and not see where it all ends. Can you?”

  “Where what ends?” asked Nick. “The trail of the Amazons?”

  Our host looked at us all with a mystical squint. “I will say to you what the scientists say about the small particles in the universe: I can’t show you where they are, I can only show you where they were. If I have learned one thing these past thirty years, it is that the more you want to find the Amazons, the less they want to be found.”

  Curiosity and duty were at war in me. I wanted desperately to stay in Mycenae until I had extracted every last snippet of information from Mr. Telemakhos, and I was aching to see where he wanted to take us and why. But I knew I couldn’t. It was bad enough that I had abandoned my students for over a week; to postpone my return even further would be unforgivable. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t,” I said with a sigh. “I have to be back in Oxford by tomorrow evening.”

  Mr. Telemakhos’s temporary gloom gave way to a delighted smile. “Tomorrow evening? But that’s excellent! We’ll have our excursion in the morning, and you can get a flight in the afternoon.”

  “But I really need—” I began.

  “Stamata!” In a rare burst of irritation, Mr. Telemakhos held up a hand to silence me. “I know what you need, Diana Morgan. And you will get it, I promise.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MYCENAE, GREECE

  MYRINA’S EXCITEMENT AT SEEING LILLI ALIVE AND SEEMINGLY UNscathed was so violent that Aeneas had to put a warning hand on her shoulder. “The king says this girl is the only useful thing his son brought back from his trip,” whispered the Trojan, interpreting the royal court’s odious dialogue while holding Myrina still as best he could. “She speaks with the voice of a spirit, says the king, and what she says comes true. Apparently, she pred
icted our visit, saying she foresaw the arrival of friends.”

  Eager to provide a demonstration, King Agamemnon had the servant take Lilli about the room that she might touch the palms of the dinner guests and read their fortunes. Watching her sister with narrow eyes, Myrina could see the girl was not fully herself; had the servant not been there to steady her, Lilli would have been unable to keep her balance. And yet she was smiling, as if nothing too terrible had befallen her, and the auspices she gave the Greek chieftains sitting around the king’s fire were clearly kind, for whenever the servant translated them, the recipients looked suitably pleased.

  When she reached the Trojans, Lilli gave Paris’s companion to the left—whose name was Dares, and whose frame was so massive he could barely fit on the bench—the same gentle attention she had bestowed on everyone else. Her expression changed as she felt the lines of his enormous hand, eventually settling in a smile. “You are a man of great courage,” said Lilli, and now Myrina could hear that her sister spoke the language they had learned at the Temple of the Moon Goddess. “Your glory will live forever. Thousands of years from now, men will still speak your name with admiration.”

  Dares chuckled and replied to her directly, before the servant could translate. “I would have settled for a happy life, but thank you all the same.”

  Lilli looked surprised, then let go of him to turn to Paris. “And you, sir,” she said, swaying slightly, “do you care to know your fortune?”

  “Is it good for a man to know his destiny?” Paris reluctantly gave her his hand. “I am not sure.”

  Lilli ran her fingers over his palm as she had done with Dares, her features settling back into feigned amiability. But it was not long before her expression changed, first into a frown of incredulity, then into pure and utter amazement. “Myrina!” she exclaimed, her face erupting in joy. “Myrina?” She reached up for Paris’s cheek, feeling her way around his evening stubble with growing horror, as if wondering what deforming malady had befallen her sister. Then, without another word, her unseeing eyes rolled away into oblivion, and she collapsed at Paris’s feet, her head in his lap.

  The incident occasioned a great burst of laughter from the men around them. “See?” Agamemnon looked mightily pleased as he switched away from the Greek language to tease his guest. “A sweet little oracle, that. Sees right into a man’s heart.” He raised his chalice at Paris. “And now we know what’s in yours.”

  Paris moved uncomfortably on the couch, not sure how to best accommodate Lilli’s limp body. “An intriguing girl,” he agreed. “I should like to see her take a turn about my father’s court. She might help him read the minds of his wives.”

  The king laughed and leaned back on his chair. “Not even the gods can do that. But next time your father visits here, I will have her feel his fortune.”

  “He would appreciate it,” said Paris. “He is a man of far-reaching tastes. In fact”—he motioned at Dares to take something out of a leather satchel—”I had to sail to the very edge of the world for this exquisite gift. I am confident it will awe even him. Have you ever seen anything like it?”

  The object was passed reverently around the circle of dinner guests to end up in the hands of Agamemnon. It was a golden face mask, embossed with the features of a bearded man and complete with ears and a protruding nose.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” Paris watched closely as the king admired the mask. “Pure Egyptian gold. But in truth, I wonder if my father would not be even more amused by your little soothsayer.”

  The king raised his bushy eyebrows. “You would trade this for that little witch?”

  Paris hesitated. “Maybe not. And yet … I was commissioned to purchase house slaves, not return home with useless finery.” He gestured once again for Dares to take something out of the satchel—this time a pair of golden earrings forged in the shape of dragonflies. “My mother always complains that she has more gold than she can carry … but no hands to help her put it on.”

  “A sad situation,” agreed the king, eyeing the earrings across the room. “What manner of house slaves are you looking for?”

  Paris leaned back in contemplation, his hand still resting on Lilli’s head. “Your account of these women amuses me. I suspect my mother should like to surround herself with such exotic creatures. She was never a friend of the fearful and demure—”

  “Say no more!” The king threw up his hands, the golden mask still resting on his knees. “They are yours. All of them. Seven plus the girl. I shall be happy to see the end of their surly presence—” A sudden clamor silenced the king, and Myrina saw the villainous prince step up to his father and speak out indignantly against the bargain.

  A brief, but harsh exchange later, Agamemnon turned again to the Trojans, arms out in a casual apology. “Did I say seven? Six is the number. Six plus the girl. As it turns out, my son has taken a liking to one of them, and what father can deny his firstborn a toy?”

  AS SOON AS THE deal was struck, Paris motioned for Myrina and Animone to remove Lilli from his lap and carry her outside. His expression was one of absolute indifference, as if the whole thing were nothing but a temporary diversion, already half forgotten. And yet the look in his eyes when Myrina knelt down to pick up her sister was so dark, so full of words unspoken, she knew he was just as anxious as she to gather everyone and return to the ships before Agamemnon had a change of heart. But protocol demanded the men remain seated, enjoying honey cake and music, until the king tired of their company and bade them farewell.

  Meanwhile, in the courtyard outside, blushing evening turned to murky night. Myrina descended the staircase slowly, insisting on carrying Lilli by herself while Animone led the way. Neither dared open their mouths until they were safely on the lower terrace, where they found Pitana greeting them with a nervous wave. “Egee ran off to scout and has not yet returned,” she hissed. Only then did she notice the limp body in Myrina’s arms. “Who is that?”

  “Lilli.” Myrina knelt down to carefully set her sister on the ground. “I think they have drugged her. But she will be herself again soon, I hope.”

  Seeing Pitana’s alarm, Myrina and Animone hastened to lay out the events that had allowed them to carry away Lilli just like that, under the auspices of the gold-grubbing king. And when Egee eventually returned, sweaty from stealth and excitement, she could confirm that news of the negotiation over the enslaved women was already at large throughout the palace. “There is great confusion,” she said, undoing the scarf around her head with eager fingers. “As far as I can tell, they have already heard that some of the slaves are to be taken away by new masters, and everyone else is sick with jealousy.”

  “Did you happen to learn the name of the one who has caught the fancy of the king’s son?” asked Myrina. “For she alone must stay behind.”

  Egee shook her head. “But I saw the room where he keeps her. That is, I saw the door and the guard posted outside. An old woman who knew our language let me understand that the prince comes and goes whenever he pleases, day or night, and that everyone dreads the sounds—” She sat down heavily on a stone step. “I did not realize that behind this door was one of my sisters. What a terrible fate. Apparently, the women he locks in that room never leave it alive.”

  Their distress was only pushed aside when the Trojans returned. For between them walked six women whose arms were bound, but whose faces were lit, radiant with hope. And when they recognized their four sisters—all with fingers pressed to their lips to prevent an outcry—they ran headlong into a silent embrace, a jumble of interlocking arms that grew denser for every rope severed by the Trojans.

  Not until they were well outside the palace gate did the freed women dare speak. Judging from their nervous glances they all fully expected Agamemnon’s men to come after them, spears in hand, to cut short their freedom. Down the hill they went, and through the sleepy streets below, their steps so eager they nearly outpaced the horses.

  Safely back on the Argos Plain, they were met b
y the horsemen Paris had posted there in the event they would be needed on the return. Lilli’s limp body was carefully handed over to the solid Dares, and the rest of the liberated women were quickly distributed among the other riders. Few words were spoken save the obvious exclamations of gratitude. For what was there to say? They were free, and blissfully so; only one of them had had to stay behind.

  Kara.

  NONE OF THE PRIESTESSES could sleep that night. After a late meal and much thanksgiving, the Trojans bade the women good night and went below, to rest before their daybreak departure. “Must we leave so soon?” Myrina asked Paris as she followed him out on deck. “Your men are surely tired—”

  “My men,” he said, holding up his lantern so she could see his face, “are as keen to leave this place as you are. This has all been far too easy. Either the Greeks or their jealous gods will soon regret our luck.”

  Myrina stepped closer. “How can I ever thank you?”

  Paris reached out to touch her cheek. “What you owe me and I you is a subject far too great for one brief good night. Do you not agree?”

  She leaned against his hand. “After what you have done for my sisters, I am determined to please you in any way I can.”

  “That is unwise of you.” Paris ran his fingers over her lips. “For I have nearly run out of grace.” With that, he turned away, going below deck with brisk strides.

  Returning to her sisters, Myrina found them all drawn together, whispering about the fate of poor Neeta, lost to cruelty, and the plight of Kara, still alive. Happy as they were to escape the destiny of slaves, the freed women’s relief was tempered by regret at having been unable to save the other two.

  “Kara’s pride piqued the prince,” said the liberated Klito, who had once looked so wholesome, so ready for adventure, but whose beautiful face was now marred by suffering. “The Greeks cannot tolerate women who refuse them. He would surely have thrown her overboard on the first day had not the crew been laughing at him. And so instead, he beat her senseless and—” She shook her head, swallowing the details. “But all of you know Kara. Once she was recovered, she refused him again, even spitting in his face. And since, he has been obsessed with dominating her.”