Then she sighed and her fading blue eyes gazed into the distance, where Penthesilea was energetically putting the Moon Riders through stick-twirling dances before the sun reached its full heat.
“What is it, Old Woman?” Myrina asked.
Atisha smiled. “You could always see into people’s hearts, Myrina. That’s why I know that you are the right one for this tricky job. You will snake your way inside the walls of the citadel and you’ll bring much comfort to the Trojans, but . . . my heart is heavy, for I know that Penthesilea is likely to rush headlong into battle with these Achaean raiders. I have given my advice, but I doubt that she’ll have the patience to wait for Memnon and his Ethiopian warriors. All we can do is slow her down as best we can. I’m fearful of the outcome and I want you to do something that you may find very difficult when the time comes.”
“What?” Myrina was puzzled.
“When our allies arrive at Troy . . . you, Myrina, must not go out to fight alongside them.”
Myrina frowned at that. From an early age she had been trained, like all the Mazagardi women, to defend her home-tent and her tribe whenever necessary. In recent years she’d taken part in many skirmishes as a Moon Rider, fighting against Achaean raiding bands. She was skilled with her bow and arrows and not afraid to fight. “You’d have me turn coward?” she asked, shocked.
“There are many different kinds of courage,” Atisha snapped back. “Look at it this way: if aught should happen to Penthesilea, who will lead the Moon Riders then? I will not be there with you. It must be someone with a quick brain and resourcefulness, and that is you, my Snake Lady.”
“But . . .” Myrina started to protest, but then remembered her own words of comfort to her grandmother and nodded thoughtfully. “I said something like that to Hati myself—that it might be good to hold back, so that you are there to clear up the mess and . . . and save what can be saved.”
“Exactly. You see”—Atisha’s wrinkled monkey face lit up—“you understand so quickly. I hope desperately that Penthesilea will win victory for the Trojans, but I am not like Cassandra, I have no pictures of the future in my mind and we must plan for whatever the fates may bring. If the time comes for you to act, do not fear to follow your instincts, or to break the rules. The ancient traditions of the Moon Riders have served us well for many generations, but now, though it breaks my heart to say it, I think that time is coming to an end. We must look for new ways to live. . . . We must simply find a way to survive.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Yildiz
MYRINA WAS AWED by the seriousness of Atisha’s words, but soon the Old Woman became practical again and took her over to speak to Peiroos, who had promised them three light carts so that they could gather produce along the way and arrive with some stocks of food for the hungry Trojans.
“Have you seen aught of a young Mazagardi warrior named Tomi?” Myrina asked Peiroos. “He went to Thrace to act as a messenger, riding fast from tribe to tribe.” Myrina had looked again in her mirror for Tomi and saw him riding through a landscape that was unknown to her; sometimes he was alone, sometimes he led his horse through rough terrain accompanied by dark-skinned men in turbans.
The old warrior smiled and gently touched her cheek. “There’s a touch of blush on that fierce body picture,” he said. “I know well the young man you speak of and he is worthy of a Moon Rider’s concern. Your Tomi rides far to the east, looking to meet up with King Memnon and guide his army back to the walls of Troy.”
“Ah.” Myrina blushed again and thanked the old man. At least she understood now why she saw him traveling through strange lands. The coming of the Achaeans had changed the marriage plans that Myrina and Tomi had made. The Moon Riders had been desperately needed to act as messengers, translators, and warriors, keeping the nomadic tribes in touch with one another. The Moon-maidens had become a strong symbol of unity, bringing together most of the Trojan allies in their reverence for the Great Earth Mother, Maa. Myrina, like many a Moon Rider, had stayed with the priestesses much longer than her seven years, setting aside her marriage plans to swell the ranks of warrior women to more than one hundred. Few recruits were taken on, and, sadly, many intended marriages had been spoiled by the deaths of young warriors, both men and women.
Peiroos had seen much hardship in his long life, and he felt great sadness now in his waning years. The fight in defense of the tribal traveling lands had turned so many young lives bitter. “I hope that you will find your warrior man,” he told Myrina gently. “If all goes well with the Ethiopians, your Tomi will arrive with them, but when, I cannot say.”
The time for leave-taking came and Myrina had to hold back the tears as she kissed Phoebe’s soft, warm forehead. Hati was agitated because she couldn’t find Yildiz and felt she should say good-bye properly to her aunt. “I couldn’t see her anywhere when I woke up,” she said. “I fear she’s wandered off and got lost, for I swear her mind has gone all misty.”
Myrina was unwilling to leave with this uncertainty, but then a small figure came out from behind the tents, leading one of the few remaining Mazagardi horses, with raw blistered flanks; her right hand she held behind her back.
Yildiz led the horse right up to Myrina and said in a small but determined voice, “Snake Lady, I come with you.”
Myrina took the young girl’s face in her hands, deeply touched. “No, I must leave you with Hati, Little Star, for Atisha has given me important work to do. I must help the Trojans get rid of these Achaeans who destroy our lands. It is far too dangerous for one as young as you. No one can join the Moon Riders until they’ve seen thirteen summers.”
But Yildiz stood her ground, her words quite clear and measured. “Older Mazagardi girls are dead. There are none left to join the Riders—only me.”
Myrina looked up at Hati with concern, but the old woman shrugged her shoulders. Though Yildiz had seen only eleven springs, the truth of her words could not be denied.
Penthesilea came to see what the holdup was. “Let her come with me to the Place of Flowing Waters—I will make a Moon Rider of her, though she is so young.”
But Yildiz shook her head. “I ride with the Snake Lady. She is my aunt and I make her my mother now. I kill Ant Men—it’s my right. I’m not afraid to die.”
Penthesilea drew in her breath sharply, hissing through her teeth in admiration.
Myrina looked at the horse that Yildiz led. It was a sturdy bay mare, small enough for a young girl to ride. She touched her blistered muzzle and sniffed closely. “Who treated these burns with lavender oil?”
“I did,” Yildiz told her, turning to stroke the muscular neck. “She is Silene and I’ve been riding her all through the Bitter Months; she knows me well and I know her.”
Myrina walked around the mare, prodding gently at her raw, but treated flanks. “Hmm! Silene is a good strong steed,” she had to agree.
“She will never leave me,” Yildiz insisted.
“I think she has proved that already. Why do you hold your hand behind your back? Is it injured?”
Yildiz slowly brought her hand around to the front to show Myrina a freshly made body picture on her forearm, wrist, and thumb. The skin was swollen and sore, but the crude shapes of a crescent moon, a star, and the sun could be seen, the star’s lower point coming down onto her thumb. “I have made my own body picture,” Yildiz said.
“You did this to yourself?”
Yildiz nodded. “I took Hati’s picture juice. I must have a body picture if I come with you. You have your snake, which makes you the snake lady. I must have my star, but . . . my bow and quiver were all burnt up in the home-tent.”
Myrina took the swollen hand in hers, finding it hard to speak, but she forced out the words, “On the day that you were born, Yildiz, I held you in my arms and I welcomed you with the sacred dance. The sun, the moon, and the evening star looked down on you and me. Now, I will be your mother and you will ride with me and be my daughter.”
“Ha!” Penthesilea
was delighted.
Hati nodded solemnly and kissed them both, then she lifted over her head the quiver full of arrows that she always wore strapped across her chest and slipped from her shoulder the bow that she carried ready strung in these dangerous times. “Take my bow and quiver, Little Star,” she said. “You may take my place as a warrior woman, and all who cross your path had better watch out!”
Penthesilea bent to kiss her. “I salute you, warrior woman. If any Achaean harms a hair of your head, he will have Penthesilea to deal with. Go with the blessings of Maa!”
As they traveled west Myrina’s gang passed through small fishing villages. The people, who lived in hovels and had been continually robbed by Achaean raiding bands, were cheered to see a small group of Moon Riders. The spring dances so long neglected were performed that year, bringing back hope to their lives, and though they were struggling to feed themselves, they managed to find some grain and salted fish to spare for those inside the walls of Troy.
There was so much to think about during the day that Myrina had little time to spend with Yildiz, but every evening she made space for them to talk together. Her doubts about taking the child along were soon put to flight. Yildiz, though still very solemn and thoughtful, was willing to talk, and as they sat together remembering happier times Myrina came to understand that Yildiz had grown up very fast indeed. Sometimes she comforted her adopted daughter, but just as often Yildiz gave practical and simple advice to her Snake Mother. Now and again a bitter, quiet mood overcame the young girl and she would not speak for a while; when at last she did, she growled out her anger. Myrina allowed her to do so, thinking that such terrible feelings were better let out than held in. Yildiz needed action just as much as her new mother, and she was willing to ride all day. The hard riding and energetic pleading for supplies brought some kind of comfort to them both. Myrina also saw that the presence of a young girl gave them a less threatening, less warlike aspect, so that the hard-pressed shore dwellers were reassured.
They traveled on down the coast and at last reached a small peninsula where the land stuck out into the sea like a pointing finger, catching the warmth of the sun. This area was green and pleasant, the hillsides rich with perfumed roses and oleanders, small pink sage flowers adding sharpness to the warm, scented air. Humps of islands in the Sea of Marmara could be seen in the distance, the green tips of their hills making them shine like a necklace of emeralds set in a turquoise sea. It seemed the Achaean raiding parties had not ventured so far north. This verdant coast and islands looked beautiful and peaceful in the bright sunlight; it was hard to believe that, just over a day’s journey to the south, a fine and ancient city was besieged and all the surrounding countryside laid waste.
Myrina’s gang breathed deeply, with much-needed pleasure, looking longingly across the sea toward the islands.
“They look so lovely in the distance.” Coronilla spoke with feeling. “I want to step away from this war and float across the sea to them, to a land of peace and plenty.”
Myrina smiled. “That is the Isle of Marble out there. I once went there to dance at King Daris’s wedding.” Daris had insisted on marrying Ira, a young bride from the common folk, whom his uncles had scorned but whom he himself adored.
The Isle of Marble, though small, was rich, for the cities of Anatolia traded with the islanders, giving gold and jewels in return for the fine marble that came from the quarries there. Though trade had waned while the fighting raged, still the island must thrive, for it was also rich in sheep and cattle and grain. It was even said that the old adventurer Jason had stopped there for supplies of grain and wine. He had passed through the Sea of Marmara, seeking to trade with Colchis, bringing back a fine breeding ram from their flocks of golden-fleeced sheep.
Myrina turned suddenly thoughtful. It would slow them down for a day or two, but King Daris had welcomed the Moon Riders in the past and he might well have better supplies to offer than the poor fisher folk along the shore. Marble Islanders honored a goddess of the earth called Dindymere, but they readily acknowledged that she was simply Mother Maa by a different name.
“Ask those fishermen,” Myrina told Coronilla. “And if you can make them understand our language and find any willing to carry us across, you shall have your wish for an island visit.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Isle of Marble
CORONILLA FOUND THE Marmara dwellers’ language difficult, but she smiled broadly and went off to speak to the fishermen, determined to make herself understood. “They’ll be willing,” she said. “I’ll make them. You’ll see!”
Myrina watched her, chuckling, as with a great deal of arm-waving and laughter, Coronilla managed to get their assent. They were indeed prepared to offer their boats in the service of the Earth Mother, for what better way to bring down her blessings on their watery harvest?
Myrina followed Coronilla, striding over the rocks to rescue her and offer her own language skills to make the arrangements now that Coronilla had succeeded in her mission. But as Myrina spoke to them, explaining their purpose in detail, they looked uncertain and shook their heads.
“Bad time to ask anything of King Daris,” they said.
“Very bad time!”
“Queen lady Ira is sick and like to die.”
“King and queen have wanted child year after year, but none came; now at last son is born to them, six days ago, but Ira has terrible fever after childbirth and all say she will die. King Daris is distraught and will not look at child. He is very angry with everyone.”
Myrina frowned. She remembered the young queen whose wedding they’d danced at; Ira had been little more than a girl and the king a boy. Myrina stood on the hot sands, gazing uncertainly toward the Isle of Marble, surrounded by the pungent smell of hot seaweed. Reluctant to leave this pleasant spot, even though there were other pressing needs, she turned and looked back longingly at the green hillside sprinkled with fragrant, pink-flowered sage.
Then suddenly she smiled. “A remedy for childbed fever!” she murmured. “Ah, yes, Atisha would have known at once: the means of saving Ira is all around us. Get ready the boats—and, Coronilla, can you find good stabling for the horses? I shall be back very soon.”
While the fishermen and Moon Riders prepared to board the boats, Myrina wheeled Isatis around and cantered back to the hillside that sloped to the sea. It was covered with roses and sage plants. She dismounted and quickly stooped to pick handful on handful of fresh sage, then stopped for a moment’s thought and used her knife to dig up some of the plants, taking care not to injure the roots. She took off her cloak and made a bundle of the sharp-scented herbs, carrying them carefully to the waiting Isatis.
She arrived back to find the boats ready. “I swear I shall soon have Queen Ira back on her feet,” she told the fishermen.
They shrugged their shoulders and wished her luck; Moon Riders were known as good medicine women and perhaps if anyone could help the queen, it was this young warrior priestess who led her small gang with such confidence.
Leaving the horses in stabling, they crossed the stretch of water in the evening and arrived as the light was fading. Myrina told her gang to make camp beside a small spring that bubbled out of the hillside below the palace steps. She took the rooted sage plants from her bundle and handed them to Polymusa and Coronilla. “Plant these carefully around the spring and water them well,” she told them.
“Blessings of Mother Maa!” they whispered, giving Myrina the priestess’s salute.
She marched toward the heavily armed guards at the main gates of the palace, Yildiz following her like a dog.
Myrina turned to her, a question on her lips, but Yildiz forestalled her. “You are my Snake Mother—I go where you go,” she said.
Myrina bowed her head and smiled. There was no time to argue about it; she would very likely need some help and she couldn’t be sure that the palace servants would be of much use.
“Tell King Daris that Myrina the Moon Rider has come,
bringing her healing magic,” she told the captain of the guards.
He had drawn his sword at their approach, but he replaced it at once and bowed respectfully. “Too late.” He shook his head.
“Is there life still?” she demanded.
The man shrugged his shoulders.
“If there’s life there’s hope,” she insisted. “What will the king say if he knows you have turned away his last hope?”
The other guards put away their swords, too. “Let her try,” they said.
The captain sighed and nodded. “There is nothing to lose by it,” he agreed. He opened the gate and led her inside and up the magnificent marble staircase to the queen’s bedchamber, Yildiz still following determinedly behind.
The captain knocked on the door and Daris himself opened it, his hair and clothes awry. “I said not to disturb us!” he growled.
Myrina pushed in front of the guard, taking the king by the shoulders as though she were his mother or aunt. “I am Myrina the Moon Rider,” she told him. “I danced at your wedding feast. Now I bring you our magic woman’s medicine. I can help!”
He stared at her for a moment, too surprised to be angry; then at last he nodded and pulled her into the chamber.
Ira, the young queen, lay on an elaborate gilded bed hung about with gossamer drapes in rich colors. She muttered through dry lips, her eyes rolling, her face puffy and red and her skin mottled. As she turned this way and that she threw off her soft, woolly sheepskin covers. Waiting women fussed and fretted all about her, offering wine, strange smelling powders and rich jewels to touch.
Myrina went straight to the young woman’s side and put her hand on Ira’s burning forehead; then she turned back to the boylike king and grabbed his arm. “I have the medicine that’s needed here in my magic woman’s bundle,” she told him. “But I must have peace and quiet if I am to make my healing work and I must be left alone with my assistant here.”
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