Mood Riders

by Theresa Tomlinson

  The young men took the oars and started to row out into the sea. It was a heavy load with three restive horses and hard for them to row against the strong current flowing southward into the Aegean. The men were sweating and grateful when at last a westerly breeze filled the sails and they could draw up the oars. Then with the wind, the water turned choppy, ruffling the surface.

  “Look to the horses,” Penthesilea ordered, and though the three mares stamped their hooves, the soothing of their riders kept them from panicking.

  Penthesilea and Myrina kept glancing back in the direction of Troy; only Cassandra seemed careless of whether they were pursued or not. The headman saw the agitation of his passengers but asked no questions. When at last the Thracian side of the Hellespont was reached, the three Moon Riders climbed out and mounted their mares as quickly as they could, hurriedly thanking the fisher-people.

  “Blessings of Earth Mother, Maa,” the head fisherman told them. “Nobody will follow you; not in our boat, anyway.” He cackled.

  They galloped north along the Thracian shoreline, stopping only once in the midday heat, when they were grateful for the food that they’d been given. They rode fast until the sun began to sink in the west, then Penthesilea slowed her pace. “I think we’re safe now,” she told them.

  “Yes—we are safe,” Cassandra confirmed it. She drew breath like a swimmer who had feared drowning, coming to the surface at last. “I am hungry,” she announced.

  Suddenly they were all laughing at one another, cheerful with relief.

  They slowed their horses, looking back across the Sea of Marmara as it gradually grew wider and wider on their right-hand side. Ships loaded with copper, iron, and bronze could be seen passing steadily back and forth, after paying Priam’s dues.

  Myrina frowned in puzzlement. “The current flows south to the Aegean,” she said, “and yet the great shoals of fishes swim north toward the Black Sea.”

  Cassandra and Penthesilea both smiled. “There’s another strong current, deep below the surface,” Cassandra told her, full of knowledge. “My father is always discussing it with his sea captains. A deeper current goes northward, making sea journeys difficult.”

  Cassandra seemed to have thoroughly recovered her spirits now that she was safe on the Thracian shore and Myrina felt that their fast ride had been worth it, just to see her happy again.

  Penthesilea led them along the western shore, following their usual journey. They were welcomed as ever, and though no questions were asked, Myrina sensed a touch of curiosity as to why three young Moon-maidens were riding ahead of the Old Woman. They reached Abdera and made camp, deciding to stay there to await the arrival of Atisha. They enjoyed their few days of rest, but were relieved to hear that the lookouts had spied Atisha and the other Moon Riders in the distance.

  When they arrived they were full of worrying news. “Menelaus and his friend Odysseus, King of Ithaca, sailed into the Bay of the City, demanding that his wife be returned,” Atisha told them.

  “So Priam knows now that Cassandra spoke truth?” said Myrina.

  “Oh yes.” Atisha nodded. “Paris and Helen refused to be parted and Menelaus has gone away swearing vengeance, though Odysseus stayed a little longer trying to act as mediator.”

  Cassandra herself admitted that she knew this to be true. “I saw my father in my mirror,” she told them. “He is full of sorrow, but what can he do? Paris is filled with such a passion for Helen he will let nothing stand in his way. He has lost control of his feelings and suffers truly from a kind of madness of desire. At last, I do feel some sympathy for him.”

  “But—your father could order both Paris and Helen to leave Troy,” Myrina suggested. “That might at least keep Troy safe.”

  Cassandra shook her head. “My father will never again send away his dearest boy. For good or ill he will not be parted from Paris.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Who Has Done This?

  AS THE SPRING PASSED the Moon Riders followed the usual course of their journey, heading at last to their summer lakeside camp. Wherever they went there was rumor and fearful gossip. Old people remembered how they’d suffered when Hercules and Theseus came raiding their towns and villages.

  “Is it Hercules come again?” they asked.

  “Is it only Troy they think to seize? Or do the Achaeans want slaves, gold, and iron?”

  The year turned and the Moon Riders packed up their tents and baggage, setting off for Lesbos with some anxiety. The journey through the mountains was always difficult, but it was shorter than taking the easy-going route through the plains. When they descended the southern slopes, they found small towns and villages turned to smoking ruins. Dead men lay unburied by the roadside and the few survivors wandered about dazed and desperate, somehow clinging to life.

  “Who has done this?” Atisha asked, her lined face grim.

  Wherever they went the answer was the same. “Achilles!” They would spit on the ground as they spoke the name. “Achilles and his band of Myrmidon warriors. The man runs riot in our lands and Agamemnon and his brother Menelaus encourage him. Those who trade with Troy are being forced to pay for Paris’s love of Helen.”

  A frightened young girl spoke nervously to Myrina; they’d found her struggling to bury her father and small brother. “I hid,” she said. “Ran to the woods as Father told me. They even killed my baby brother and they’ve stolen my mother away!”

  “And this is the man they wished me to marry.” Cassandra shuddered.

  “Well, whatever happens, you are not going to marry him now!” Myrina growled.

  The Moon Riders did what they could to help the bewildered people; sharing the small stores of grain and oil that they’d brought with them from Elikmaa. When they arrived in view of the Isle of Lesbos, they found more desolation there, though it seemed that a bitter battle had been fought. Telephus, the king of that land, had succeeded in putting Achilles and his men to flight, but they’d lost many of their own warriors and the land was burnt and crops destroyed. Lesbos itself had been plundered.

  Penthesilea looked about her at the ruin of the beautiful peninsula and scattered islands, agitated and angry. She furiously suggested that they leave the late summer gathering of herbs and search for boats to pursue the Achaean robbers. The other priestesses were angry but uncertain of what to do.

  “Turn warrior?” they murmured. “Should we turn warrior?”

  “It is not the time,” Cassandra said.

  “It’s not up to you to decide,” Penthesilea told her sharply.

  But Atisha shook her head. “Listen to the princess,” she insisted. “Besides, the herbs and medicine plants are still flourishing; Achilles’ men had little interest in them. I too want these wicked raiders to feel the fury of the Moon Riders’ arrows but the truth is that they’ve sailed away where we cannot easily follow. Wherever Achilles makes his winter camp, at least we know that he’ll not be raiding again till the spring.”

  “I’m as ready to fight as you,” Centaurea agreed. “But we may be in great need of medicine and ointments in the coming year.”

  Penthesilea listened with frustration, but then at last her smile returned. “Of course you are right, Old Woman!”

  Atisha touched her arm. “I was no fool when I chose you as my successor. Your courage will never be in doubt, but we must gather now as we’ve never done before.”

  They worked with doubled energy, letting anger drive them on. Myrina was bending her back, scooping up armfuls of scented lavender, when the uncomfortable feeling came upon her that she was being watched. She pretended to carry on with her work for a moment then suddenly swung around, an arrow notched in her bow.

  At once her face relaxed: it was the frightened girl who they’d helped to bury her father and brothers.

  “What are you doing here?” Myrina demanded.

  “I followed you,” the girl said, shocked at being caught, but stood her ground, while from out of the bushes three more ragged young women em
erged.

  “But your home was at the foot of the mountains. It’s a full day’s walk.”

  The girl shook her head. “Where is our home now?” she demanded. “Our families are gone. We want to learn how to fight, then we’ll never hide in the woods again. We want to be Amazons!”

  Myrina put down her bow. “What are your names?”

  “I am Coronilla. This is Bremusa—Alcibie—and Polymusa.”

  “Come with me,” Myrina told them. “We will see what the Old Woman says.”

  Atisha listened to their story and after a few moments of thought she agreed that they should join them. “I put them in your charge,” she told Myrina.

  Myrina was a little shaken by that, but Atisha cackled. “If you bring new recruits, then you can train them,” she told her. “Best set them gathering herbs.”

  “But we want to fight!” Coronilla cried.

  “You can fight once you’ve learned to heal the wounds that you cause with your fighting!” Atisha told them stubbornly.

  That silenced them and they seemed to see some sense in what she said. “We will gather,” they agreed.

  The new recruits worked very hard, while Myrina ordered them back and forth. They staggered uncomplaining through the grasslands with bundles big as themselves on their backs and began to call themselves Myrina’s gang.

  When at last the Moon Riders crossed to Lesbos, they arrived with more herbs and berries than ever before. The boatmen who carried them over the water warned that Mytilene had suffered near destruction, but still they were not prepared for the sight of the fine city in ruins, and again, so many people dead or stolen away.

  Atisha wondered if they should travel on and find a new place to camp over winter, for the struggling survivors had enough to do trying to feed themselves, but the people begged them stay.

  “The Moon Riders are our luck,” they told her. “You bring the spirit of Maa back to us.”

  So they did stay over winter and their hard work and care, along with the singing and dancing, put better heart into the reduced population. They managed to rebuild enough of the houses to shelter those who needed it. Atisha insisted that bow practice and stick dancing must be performed every day without fail, and Penthesilea led them with warriorlike enthusiasm. Myrina could feel her muscles growing stronger and tighter than ever before and she rejoiced in the determined progress of her new recruits.

  When spring came the Moon Riders were restless to be on the road again despite their fears of war. Myrina wondered how Cassandra would be received by her family, but the princess seemed unconcerned.

  When the Moon Riders arrived they were greeted, not just by the Mazagardi and the tribes, but by a finely dressed group of Trojan nobles, headed by Priam himself, Hecuba at his elbow. They welcomed Cassandra with honor and also with apology.

  The princess went contentedly back to Troy with her family, exchanging her mare for a gilded litter. Myrina noticed that neither Paris nor Helen was part of the welcoming group, and sadly Chryseis had returned to the temple of Apollo on the island of Tenedos.

  The rest of the Moon Riders arrived at the Place of Flowing Waters to find that trade was a little slack. Some of the herders had sold their best horses to Mycenaean dealers, who were making the best of a bad situation and selling good strong horses to Achaean warriors for high prices.

  Myrina was delighted to see the growth in strength of her little niece. Yildiz was full of lively babble, staggering about enthusiastically, wanting to touch and taste everything in sight. Tomi was still unmarried but Myrina sensed a new restlessness in him. Late one evening as they sat together by the fire, she dared to ask him about it.

  “What is it, Tomi?” she whispered. “Do you love another? Is that what troubles you?”

  He shook his head fiercely. “How can you think that?” he asked, his voice full of pain. “I miss you more with every moon that passes and I try to be patient, but it is very hard. I want to be with you all the time but you go bravely riding away while I sit by our campfire like a tame goat doing nothing.”

  “That’s not true,” she insisted. “You go away trading our horses. The tribe depends on your success and my father values your trading skills; he tells me so.”

  But still Tomi sighed. “I want to ride south and let these Achaean raiders feel the sting of our bows,” he growled. “I want to be a warrior.”

  Myrina touched his arm, feeling the tight muscles beneath his skin. “Be patient, love,” she whispered. “Atisha swears there will be time enough to fight them, but the time is not yet here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  An Evil Dream

  THE SPRING CELEBRATIONS passed all too quickly and when the day for leaving came, Cassandra reappeared, escorted by both of her parents. “My daughter wishes to travel with you again,” Priam told Atisha. “If you are willing, so am I! These are troubled times and she may be as safe with you as she is here with us.”

  Both Priam and Hecuba looked older and grayer. This favored son who’d returned from exile wasn’t making life easy, however much they doted on him.

  Atisha agreed to let Cassandra ride with them again. “Your daughter will know if you need her,” she told them.

  “How did Paris treat you?” Myrina asked as they rode away from Troy.

  Cassandra shrugged her shoulders. “He and I will never be good friends,” she said, “but one thing I do begin to understand. Helen has a magical charm about her; she swore to me that they were sorry for the deception. Paris is desperate to stay with her and I begin to see why. Father will do anything to keep Paris at his side. Hector just shakes his head and prepares for war.”

  “So you managed to be civil to each other?”

  Cassandra nodded. “At least my brother has learned something about war from his support of the great Hittite empire to the east of Troy. Paris fought for the Hittites against Egypt and discovered from them how to make weapons of iron and how best to defend a city. He has set them building new towers to strengthen the walls of Troy.”

  Myrina saw practical sense in that. “And those walls are strong already.”

  The Moon Riders were welcomed in Abdera with renewed warmth, but they soon became aware of the many loads of bronze and iron, carried both by cart and sea, heading for the Achaean mainland. The Ciconi tribe and the Sapei were angry that Troy was threatened with attack and swore that they would rush to Priam’s aid, should a battle fleet be sighted. But it was clear from the heavy trafficking through the mountainous routes and the sea that some of the southern tribes were profiting from the war-gathering of their Achaean neighbors.

  During the night that they were due to travel to the north Myrina was woken by low whimpering sounds and muffled cries. “No, no—please no.”

  She felt about in the darkness. Cassandra was having one of her bad dreams. “Waken, Princess,” she called, gently shaking her arm. “Waken. You are safe here in Thrace with the Moon Riders.”

  “Dream. Terrible dream.” Cassandra roused herself, but Myrina could feel her still trembling.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  “Too bad to tell,” Cassandra murmured. “Too bad.”

  “Tell me,” Myrina insisted. “If you tell then its power will wane.”

  At last the princess managed to whisper the words that brought such dread to her. “Iphigenia,” she said. “Iphigenia looking up and a knife—a great glittering, gilded knife—coming down toward her throat.”

  Myrina shuddered at the picture these words brought to her mind, wishing she hadn’t been so insistent that Cassandra speak out. Perhaps some fears were best unspoken. She sat there for a moment deep in thought, quietly stroking Cassandra’s arm, though the trembling wouldn’t cease.

  “Stay here!” Myrina whispered. “I won’t be a moment.”

  She crawled out through the tent flaps, returning quickly with a pine torch that she’d lit from the turf-banked fire they always left smouldering at night.

  “Now,” she ordered. “I wi
ll hold the light; you look in your mirror. You will see that Iphigenia is safe and this just an evil dream.”

  Cassandra slowly reached for her belt with shaking hands and drew the dark obsidian mirror from its sheath. For a moment she hesitated, as though afraid of what she might see, but then she took a deep breath and looked.

  “What can you see?” Myrina asked.

  “I see her in bed,” Cassandra began.

  “Is she safe?”

  Cassandra shrugged. “She sleeps and all about her chamber hang fine new clothes, rich jewels.” She suddenly gasped. “They are wedding clothes.”

  “But—Iphigenia; she’s just a little girl.”

  “She’s thirteen.” Cassandra spoke sharply. “Quite old enough for an Achaean king like Agamemnon, if he wants to make some powerful alliance.” She turned back to look in the mirror again and the expression on her face changed from anxiety to horror.

  “What have you seen now?” Myrina demanded.

  “Ants. Jeweled ants all over her clothes, around the hems, at the sleeves, and even around the neck—they are ants!”

  “What can that mean?” Myrina was puzzled.

  “Don’t you see? It’s Achilles! His Myrmidon warriors—their symbol is the ant.”

  “No,” Myrina cried, understanding at last. “That brute! We have seen what he can do. You can’t mean that they are going to marry her to him!”

  Cassandra was calmer now, her eyes closed in concentration, her face very white in the yellow torchlight. “They are, and yet I feel somehow that they are not.” Suddenly she shuddered and the trembling returned; she could hardly speak through gritted teeth. “There is something even . . . worse!”

  “Worse than marriage to Achilles?”

  Myrina remembered that both Atisha and Hati had sworn that it was best to take notice of Cassandra’s troublesome gift. “Come.” She put her arm around her friend. “You and I shall wake Atisha and tell her what you’ve seen.”