Trying War

by S. D. Gentill

  Soon they were close enough for Hero to see that they were no longer surrounded by endless ocean and just moments away from that welcome shore. The water was cast in rose and gold by the sun, which slipped towards the sea in their wake.

  And then came the scream, strange and agonised. Confusion stilled them.

  “Gods, it’s the ship!” Lycon gazed in horror at the flaming arrow which protruded from the arched prow. The Phaeacian craft shuddered and reared.

  Machaon moved quickly, swinging over the side as he reached for the arrow. Cadmus held grimly to his brother’s arm, while Machaon pulled out the shaft and cast it into the sea before the flames could spread. A second arrow just missed his head and embedded itself in the hull. The ship bucked in pain. Cadmus dragged Machaon back onto the deck. Another arrow hit the mast. Hero screamed. Lycon clambered out of the hold with their weapons.

  “Hero, get into the cabin!” Machaon shouted as he notched an arrow into his bow. He hesitated, unsure of where to aim.

  “Mac!” Cadmus pointed. Two ships came up behind their own, from around the headlands.

  “What in Hades…?” Lycon ducked as yet another missile whistled past his ear.

  “Hero, get into the cabin!” Machaon retuned fire, but with the attacking ships at their rear they had no choice but to continue to the beach. They were being herded to shore.

  Cadmus howled, this time with no jubilation. It was a cry for help, a call to whomever remained of their brethren in the mountains.

  “Gods!” Machaon’s eyes were turned upon the beach. Armoured lines had streamed out from behind the trees. The warriors stood to receive them, chanting “Bremusa, Bremusa, Bremusa…”

  “What is Bremusa?” Lycon’s eyes were wide.

  Hero was curled into a ball on the deck, her hands over her ears, weeping.

  Machaon carried her bodily into the cabin. “Stay here.” He threw a blanket over her. “Whatever happens, Hero, stay hidden.”

  He returned quickly to his brothers.

  “They’re women,” Cadmus uttered, stunned. “All of them.”

  Machaon’s knuckles whitened on the side of the shuddering boat. “Amazons.”

  A howl echoed on the wind.

  “That’s Kelios.” Machaon pulled Lycon down as arrows rained again. “The Herdsmen have heard us. We’ll have aid.”

  The Phaeacian ship hit ground in the shallows, her wails keening over the screeching mantra, “Bremusa, Bremusa…”

  The howls of their kinsmen became louder. The beach was now in battle as the Herdsmen of Ida answered Cadmus’ call. Amazonian warriors began to board the Phaeacian ship. The sons of Agelaus unsheathed their swords. Machaon met the first who swung her leg over the side. They grappled as he tried to force her back into the foam. She snarled like a beast and left a dagger in his shoulder before she fell. Machaon staggered.

  “Mac!” Lycon steadied him, reaching for the hilt to remove the blade from his brother’s body.

  “No, leave it,” Machaon gasped, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to ignore the pain. “I’m all right. Go.”

  Lycon did as he asked because there was no choosing—they were under siege.

  Several warriors climbed on board, ferociously taking the deck. The ship trembled and moaned. The sons of Agelaus stayed in front of the cabin, desperately fending off the frenzied advance. Hero lay terrified within it. Cadmus crumpled when an Amazonian blade sliced his thigh. Machaon still fought, but he was fading, the left side of his tunic soaked red. Lycon struck out fiercely, though he was convinced now that this day would be their last.

  The Herdsmen on the shore were forcing the warriors there back towards the sea and the red-hulled ships that had brought them, but the wounded boat of Pan was in the midst of the Amazon fleet. Lycon was tackled to the deck from behind. Machaon tried desperately to reach him but, weakened, he fell to his knees and was soon under sword. For a moment nothing happened, the clash seemed to lull, and then a warrior more fearsome than the rest stepped forth. She was tall, powerful; her face may once have been beautiful but was now a rigid mask of scars. She wielded a heavy double-headed axe with which she traced a line across the back of Lycon’s neck, cutting him in the process. Lycon cried out in pain. The sound pierced the fog of Hero’s shock and fear.

  The disfigured Amazon lifted the axe above her head. “Keep your hands clear of his neck,” she warned her sisters.

  “No!” Machaon lunged towards Lycon and was repelled with a kick.

  The axe glinted in the last light. Lycon closed his eyes.

  “Stop! Don’t… stop!” Hero scrambled out of the cabin, pale as death and shivering uncontrollably. In her shaking hand was a dagger. The weapon was almost laughable in the face of the force before her.

  “Spare them and I will come with you.”

  Cadmus and Machaon stared at their sister in disbelief. Hero had lived in the Amazonian village as a small child, before her mother had brought her to Agelaus. She had never spoken of that time without fear and anguish, without a kind of dark horror. The Amazons had driven her out when she was just five years old, a flawed child who was of no use to them—why would they want her now? Surely terror had maddened her.

  “Hero… no…”

  “Spare them,” Hero said again.

  “You are in no place to bargain,” spat the Amazon, but she did not bring down her axe.

  Hero looked at the sons of her father, bleeding and defeated. She turned the point of her dagger to her own breast.

  Her brothers tensed. “Hero…”

  “Spare them and I will come.”

  Cadmus tried to get through to her. “Hero—this is not your doing… you cannot help us…”

  Hero sobbed. She could barely breathe as panic pressed down on her breast. She gagged as if her own words made her sick. “I am Bremusa.”

  Who would ever seek out a stranger from abroad, unless he be one of those that are masters of some public craft, a prophet, or a healer of ills? For these men are summoned from all over the boundless earth.

  Homer, The Odyssey, Book 17

  BOOK III

  MACHAON ATTEMPTED TO STAND BUT it was futile. Instantly, he was kicked down again.

  “Mac, please…” Hero’s face was wet with tears, but her voice was firm. “Let me go. Don’t die.”

  “Hero, you can’t… we can’t…”

  Hero faced the Amazonian woman who still stood poised to behead Lycon. “You will spare them, or I will die with them.” The words came between wracking sobs in a voice choked by raw fear.

  Machaon and Cadmus moved towards her again. “Hero, no…” Once more they were kicked aside and left writhing in agony on the deck.

  Slowly the woman slipped the axe into the scabbard on her back. She studied Hero thoughtfully. “Give me your oath that you will not take your own life.”

  “If you spare my brothers and my people you shall have it.”

  “Your people are the Amazons, Bremusa, and we have no brothers.”

  Hero put both hands on the hilt of her dagger. “Spare them.”

  The woman lifted her arm and signalled. The Amazons still on the beach fell back, wading out to the small flotilla which was now in an arc about the ship of Pan. One of the red-hulled vessels pulled alongside, scraping against the Phaeacian craft which wailed in sorrow as well as pain. The sons of Agelaus tried to reach their sister again, to no avail… but they were not killed as they could have been. The Amazons had made their bargain. Hero was carried, weeping, but passive, onto the other ship. The Herdsmen of Ida stood on the beach, confused by the sudden withdrawal, unaware of what Agelaus’ beloved daughter had done. When Hero was safely aboard the Amazonian vessel, the woman unsheathed her axe again and hacked a hole in the hull of the Phaeacian ship, which screamed at this final assault and began to take water. The woman smiled, the expression stiff and grotesque on her scarred face. Crowing triumphantly, she leapt onto her own boat and shouted for her warriors to row.

  CADM
US INSPECTED THE NEAT needlework on his thigh. The wound had been doused in wine and smeared with bees’ honey. Lycon, too, had been stitched. The healer was seeing to their brother now.

  Cadmus closed his eyes, trying hard to ignore the clenched grunts of Machaon as he was held down and the dagger cut carefully from his body. The blade was not long but it had been barbed, designed to do most damage when it was removed. Extracting it was a tricky and painful business.

  They were in their father’s cave for the first time in many cycles of the moon. The torchlight seemed to draw movement from the images that adorned the ceiling of the cavern, painted by Agelaus and those who dwelled here before him. The most recent, depictions of the fall of Troy, had been painted by Lycon in those first unreal days after the death of their father when the citadel still burned at the base of the mountain. A mound of stones marked the place where they had buried gentle Agelaus. Cadmus could not look there. He felt sick with shame and grief. They had promised to protect Hero, and they had failed.

  Lycon moved to sit beside him, wincing as he turned his head. A row of stitches on the back of his neck marked the line from which his head may well have been cleaved if Hero had not spoken.

  They said nothing for a while as they waited for Machaon to be freed of the dagger, helpless to do anything but wait while the healer dug out the hooked blade.

  “Should we trust Oenone?” Cadmus whispered. The extraction of the dagger seemed to be taking a long time. The healer’s face was impassive, pitiless despite the obvious agony her ministrations were inflicting.

  Lycon’s brow furrowed. Cadmus had a point. “Do you think she still bears us ill will?”

  “Paris abandoned her.” Cadmus was worried. “She promised we would all pay for that.”

  Oenone had once been the wife of Paris, their brother, and the first of Agelaus’ acquired sons. For a time they had been happy and then Paris gave his heart to the Queen of Sparta and forgot his former love. Oenone had never forgiven him. Her fury had once been indiscriminate, directed at all the Herdsmen.

  Cadmus glanced at the healer. A slight sheen of exertion moistened her brow as she worked on Machaon. Oenone might have been cutting a fig for all the compassion on her face. For a breath he thought she smiled. “Do you remember what she did to our herds?” Cadmus whispered, his eyes hardening with the memory. “She slaughtered sixty-four bulls the night Paris married Helen—mutilated them.” That had not been the end of it. For all the years that Paris had lived with Helen, Oenone had caused havoc on Ida.

  Lycon flinched as Machaon gasped and cursed again. “The others seem to trust her now, Cad. Kelios brought her to us.” He looked down at Cadmus’ thigh. “She sewed us both back together.”

  Cadmus sighed. “You’re right. Perhaps the fall of Troy appeased her wrath… Gods, we’ve seen enough angry women today.”

  Finally, it was done and the healer worked instead to stem the bleeding and close the wound. She did so with the same severe indifference with which she had cut out the blade.

  Eventually, Oenone washed her bloody hands in a basin of water. “He will heal well,” she said. “The blade did not do any lasting damage.”

  Cadmus nodded. “Thank you, Oenone.”

  “I must go,” she replied, without lifting her emerald eyes from the instruments she cleaned. “There are others who need my skill… the Herdsmen have many wounded.” She gathered the knives and needles and other tools of her trade. Machaon attempted to sit up. His brothers moved to help him. “Bathe in the sea twice a day,” she instructed. “It’ll be painful at first but it will speed the healing.”

  Kelios entered the cave in Oenone’s wake. The men who had restrained Machaon relit the central fire which had been cold all the time the children of Agelaus had been away.

  “We had planned a more fitting homecoming,” Kelios said quietly as he squatted by Machaon. “The Herdsmen owe you much.”

  Machaon tried to sit comfortably. Oenone had bound his arm to his chest to keep the shoulder immobile. “Pan’s ship, Kel, how is she?”

  “We have brought her onto the beach.”

  “Can she be repaired? How soon can we make her seaworthy?”

  “Seaworthy? Mac… you can’t—”

  “We have to get Hero.”

  Kelios stared at him. “You want to challenge the Amazons? Mac, if they hadn’t withdrawn they might have killed us all. This is not the time to try our hand at war.”

  “We can’t leave Hero.” He clenched his dark hair in his fist. “Gods, she was terrified.”

  “We’ll leave as soon as the ship is ready,” Cadmus said, putting his hand on Machaon’s undamaged shoulder.

  Kelios saw that all the sons of Agelaus were determined. “I will gather the uninjured men and we will go with you.”

  Machaon shook his head. “You said yourself that they could well have killed us all. We can’t besiege them, Kelios—we will have to somehow steal Hero back. We can do that better if we are few.”

  “Well then I will come, and my brother.”

  “Thank you, Kelios, but the Herdsmen need you here.”

  “You cannot hope to do this alone.”

  Lycon spoke. “Cad, Mac and I were born of the Amazons.” He smiled faintly. “For all we know it was my mother who tried to behead me…”

  Kelios sighed. The story of their births was not a secret. Pentheselia Queen of the Amazons had brought three male infants to Agelaus. The first, Machaon, had been their natural son. The younger two were the unwanted issue of her Amazonian sisters. “Pentheselia is dead.” Kelios did not wish to be unkind, but his words were plain. “She was probably the only thing that kept the Amazons from killing you as babies. But for her, your mothers might have slaughtered you then, and they will do so now.”

  “Perhaps,” Machaon said quietly. “But Pentheselia left Hero in our protection as well as Agelaus’. Hero went with them to save us…” He faltered as he remembered the fear on her face. “Whatever the Amazons want with our sister, they can’t have her.”

  “They called her Bremusa…” Kelios frowned.

  “That might be her name,” Cadmus said. “They took her Amazonian name when they drove her out… Pentheselia gave her a man’s name instead.”

  Machaon rubbed his face. “Why would they want her now?”

  Cadmus shrugged, his jaw tensed. “Don’t know, don’t care. Let’s just go get her.”

  Kelios looked at them dubiously. “The three of you are in pieces,” he said. “You’re not in any state to go after her.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Machaon said, touching his shoulder gingerly. “Kel, please, just fix the boat. Need will hasten our recovery.”

  “It’s not as easy as that Machaon. We are not boat builders and this is a very special boat. She is like a wounded animal—we don’t know where to start.”

  “Ask Oenone—ask her to help heal the ship,” Lycon said suddenly.

  Kelios pressed his palms together thoughtfully. “I don’t know that she will be willing… you are Paris’ brothers…”

  “I will speak to her.”

  Though familiar, the voice startled them with its presence. It was deep and ancient and wild, and they had not noticed its owner in the cave. But that was the way of things. The words came from well above them, for the god, Pan, stood at twice the height of man.

  He looked down at the sons of Agelaus, leaning casually against the cavern wall. “You boys look terrible.” He sat, crossing his bestial legs and warming his hands at the fire. The flames cast a warm glow on his ebony skin. “Have you not organised food, Kelios? We are all of us hungry.”

  Kelios smiled. “Of course.” He nodded to the Herdsmen who had built the fire, signalling them to fetch food. “Things are not as plentiful as they once were,” he said apologetically. “The Greeks sacrificed most of our breeding herds to their gods.”

  Pan nodded. “The Pantheon can be greedy.” He gazed intently at Machaon and put his arm around Lycon’s shoulders. “I am
happy to see you. You must tell us of your travels.”

  “We are happy to see you too, Pan, but we don’t have time to…”

  “I will speak to Oenone,” Pan interrupted. “But it will take some days to heal the ship. You have time.”

  “But Hero…”

  Pan nodded sadly. “Were I a powerful god, I would bring the little one back to you, Machaon, but I am not.”

  “Hero’s powerful gods have been of no use to her thus far,” Cadmus observed. “At least you came with a boat.”

  Pan laughed. “You are lucky that I do not require my ship right now or I might have been annoyed that you returned her broken. As it is I will make sure she is healed for I rather think the little one belongs to me and not to Ares. He can have the rest of the Amazons but your sister is not quite savage enough to be a child of the war-god.”

  Cadmus smiled ruefully. “Oh Hero’s plenty savage, but she’s Agelaus’ daughter.”

  Paris, black-hearted Paris, fair to behold, but woman-mad and a liar. I wish that you had never been born, or that you had died unwed.

  Homer, The Iliad, Book 3

  BOOK IV

  OENONE PLASTERED THE DAMAGED HULL with a poultice of herbs, crooning in some ancient tongue as she did so. The repair of the Phaeacian ship was being attempted with tentative carpentry and the healer’s craft. The injured vessel shuddered and wailed with every touch.

  Machaon kept watch on the beach. One arm was still bound to his chest, immobilising his wounded shoulder, but he gripped his sword tightly with the hand of the other. His eyes moved restlessly over the rippling sea, vigilant for any sign of the red-hulled ships. Cadmus limped over to him, leaning on the staff he would normally have carried over his shoulder.