The Amazon and the Warrior

by Judith Hand

  “Are you sure the wolf is safe?”

  “With Bias and me, he is safe.”

  “That would be exceptional,” Leonides said.

  Damon set Myrina on her feet, and she smiled at Bias, apparently happy enough to go with the two boys and the wolf.

  Bias walked up to her and said, “You know, I think you have something in your ear.” He paused, took a depth breath, and intoned, “Badamus Flax!” then reached beside Myrina’s ear. He pulled his hand back, and there in his palm lay four pale blue, red-speckled robin’s eggs. One, though, had broken.

  Myrina’s eyes popped wide. Then she looked, little mouth ajar, at Bias. Damon chuckled.

  Pentha said, “You are improving, Bias. But—well, you still clearly need some work.”

  As Bias shepherded the children out, Damon stood. “I will also give the two of you privacy.” He was uncertain whether to stay or go. He wanted to stay. But offering to leave felt right.

  “You don’t need to leave,” Pentha said, and it sounded more like a serious request that he stay than a casual pleasantry. The thought occurred to him that perhaps such a sudden appearance of her sister had shaken Pentha somehow. She wanted a buffer. Some time to absorb the shock.

  The beautiful, dark-haired sister then said, “And I am also happy to have you stay.”

  That settled it. Listening and seeing the sound of the two of them talking was like watching a fluttering of yellow butterflies in a sunny room.

  He sat again. He was also thinking that this visit could not last much longer in any case because he and Pentha must meet with the Trojans.

  As if she had read his mind, the guard, Saya, entered and said to Pentha, “You must begin dressing soon. Shall I send a girl in?”

  “Not just yet. I will call you.”

  Saya retreated to her post.

  Pentha said to Derinoe, “So, how did you know I would be in these quarters?”

  “My life has been … unusual. You will learn that I have been a dancer here, for many years. But, I was also the mistress of Priam’s son, Hektor. I know most, if not all, of Troy’s back passages.”

  Hektor’s mistress! Damon thought. She had said her life was unusual. Unusual would appear to be a grand understatement. She was admittedly attractive. And maybe even an exceptional dancer. But what extraordinary things must have transpired to take a young girl from Tenedos into the very highest levels of Trojan society?

  Pentha exclaimed, “You have been living here, at Troy all these years? As Hektor’s mistress!”

  “Not all. But for a long time. I am also close to Cassandra.”

  Pentha stood and took several steps from the table, and then turned back to face her sister. Her smile had vanished. “I’ve seen how they treat women here. You accepted this?”

  “It’s not a case of accepting.”

  “So you never accepted all this fawning on their men. Serving their every whim?”

  Derinoe hesitated. She stiffened. Distress lines creased her brow and her shoulders drooped. Pentha’s words pained her.

  “Hektor cared for me and protected me,” she shot back.

  Pentha persisted. “Cassandra you say. She is the high Priestess of Athena. Have you gone so far as to abandon Artemis? Please don’t tell me—”

  “Sisters,” he interjected, alarmed at the building acrimony. “This is perhaps not—”

  Pentha said testily, “Let her answer, Damon.” She looked back at her sister. “Have I grieved for years for a woman who would shame our mother and the Goddess.”

  “I shamed no one”

  “Then how could you have become the mistress of a prince of Troy?”

  Derinoe leapt to her feet, her face without color and her hands shaking. “It was a great mistake for me to have come here.”

  Without another word she left swiftly, following the route Bias had taken with her children.

  “Pentha,” Damon said, “what in Hades has possessed you? The woman is your sister. You thought her dead or worse for years. You grieved for her.”

  She strode up to him. “I know what it means to be the mistress of one of these men. It means collaboration.”

  “Collaboration is an ugly word. And it shouldn’t come out of your mouth when you speak of your sister.”

  She slapped him. His cheek burning, his heart having skipped several beats, he shook his head and gave her a smile of sad disappointment.

  They stood in silence a moment. Pentha clenched her fists, turned away from him, walked three paces, and spun back to face him. He watched her shoulders droop and she unclenched her fists. She bit her lip and her eyes glistened, on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

  “You should be equally unhappy with yourself for attacking Derinoe. You gave her no time or opportunity for explanation.”

  “For an Amazon, there can be no explanation—excuse—for collaboration”

  “Derinoe is not an Amazon.”

  “Her mother was. Her heritage is.”

  He wasn’t going to reach Pentha on this matter. Not now. And maybe not ever. “Not everyone, Pentha, has your iron will. I love you for it But don’t let it rob you of a sister who very likely merits understanding, not criticism.”

  Saya entered the room. “You must dress at once, Pentha, or you will be late. Shall I send in the girl.”

  Pentha nodded. Damon said, “I will see you when you’re dressed. We can go to meet Aeneas and the others together.”

  56

  ACHILLES SAT, LEGS STRETCHED BEFORE HIM, IN the shade of an olive tree. His bulk nearly overflowed one of two high-backed camp chairs placed in this secluded olive grove, a site carefully chosen for this meeting. With approval he watched the Themiskyran commander, Trusis, as Automedon brought the chariot to a halt. Apparently this Trusis was a punctual man, a trait Achilles admired. He had not been waiting long.

  The meeting required secrecy, so Achilles had sent Automedon to fetch Trusis, who would be on foot. They met outside Troy, well away from the Themiskyran camp. And as instructed, Trusis had come alone. The man had courage.

  Trusis stepped down from the chariot and the breeze fluttered the edges of his cloak. He drew the cloak tighter, protection against any chill, but also a sign he felt vulnerable, so far from his own forces. It seemed that the Hittite Merchant had been right. Trusis was a man of ambition, and apparently willing to take risks, but not stupid. He must be relieved that only Achilles waited for him. On the other hand, while Trusis was armed with dagger and sword, Automedon had met him unarmed. The agreement had been that the moment Trusis caught sight of any Achean soldiers or more than one other man, he could kill Automedon.

  Achilles rose. He said, “I appreciate your willingness to risk meeting in an isolated place.”

  “Your terms were convincing. Automedon is well known in Troy. As is your reputation as a man of your word.”

  Achilles gestured toward the chairs. They sat. Achilles let Trusis study him.

  Finally, Trusis spoke. “Your messenger said that if I wanted to rule Themiskyra, you could make it happen. I am here. But for all you know, I may learn your plans and take the information straight back to my Warrior Queen.”

  “I mean no harm to your Queen. Let me assure you of that”

  Trusis simply stared at him.

  “What I propose is an alliance. I want two things. To ensure that the Trojans do not win this coming battle. To do that, I don’t need to destroy your troops, I only need to find a weak spot I can use to defeat them. Second, I want access to Themiskyra. I want access to Amazon horses—a steady supply so I can sell them. I would, of course, share the profits with you, as its ruler.”

  “You want horses. And for this you would put me in place as head of Themiskyra?”

  “No. Not just horses. Iron.” Trusis needn’t know—at least, not yet—that he also intended to take prime Amazon women to sell. “I see you are surprised. Yes. I have learned that the Hittite source of iron is Themiskyra. I want access to that same sour
ce. And I will share profits far more generously with you, as my ally, than the Hittites do.”

  “You apparently know nothing of Themiskyra Our Amazons would fight to the death to prevent anyone other than our Hearth Queen from ruling there. And we also now have men under arms.”

  “Before we go any further, I want to know if ruling Themiskyra, and sharing in the bounty we could have through my trading resources, is something you want badly enough to spill blood. If not, our discussion can end.”

  Achilles studied the Themiskyran’s face, weighed the silence fallen between them. Trusis did not immediately reject the proposal. That failure alone Achilles took as a resounding shout of weakness.

  “Whose blood?” Trusis asked finally.

  “The blood of any who choose to fight my forces.”

  “Fight? You have no troops at Themiskyra.”

  “I think you know that I do. Not at Themiskyra itself, but not far to the west in the Euxine Sea. By next summer, I will have many more. To be blunt, I am going to attack Themiskyra next year and take it. You can either ally with me and become ruler. Or you can be brought down with any others who oppose me.”

  “You propose to kill every Amazon there?”

  “Only those, women or men, who choose to fight. Since you say that is the likely action of all of the Amazons, a lot of blood could be spilled. But perhaps you, as commander, a man known to them, would convince them it is better to cooperate with a force they can’t defeat than to die. By accepting my offer, you could save many lives.”

  Achilles could almost see thoughts circling ‘round in the Themiskyran’s lowered head. Now was the time to add what the merchant had said would be the ultimate incentive. “What this requires from you is actually very little. I need to defeat your army here, now. Not destroy, I repeat. Simply a resounding defeat. I know how I can do that if I can get my hands on your commander, Damonides.”

  Trusis’ head jerked up. “Damonides?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you propose to do? How can having him assure you of our defeat?”

  “That I will not tell you. I will only say that he will not survive.”

  “What about Penthesilea? Do you propose to kill her, too?”

  “That’s not essential.”

  “I would insist that she not be killed. Not harmed.”

  “Insist?”

  “Yes, insist. I will not help you unless you tell me, on your honor, that she will not be harmed.”

  Achilles had prepared for this demand. And honor must be served, so he had given care crafting his reply. “I give you my word, it is not in my plans to kill your Warrior Queen.”

  “She will be free to return with me to Themiskyra?”

  “Of course. I will depend on you next summer to convince her, and her Amazons, to surrender rather than die. At that time, you will become king in Themiskyra.” He paused, then added, “Lord Trusis. It has a fine sound.”

  “I need time to think”

  Achilles’ shook his head. Giving anyone time to think when selling them something they might later regret was bad strategy. “It is simply too difficult and too dangerous for us to meet again. You, also, are a man of honor. Take time, now, to decide. But a decision must be made before we leave here.”

  Silence. Achilles tolerated it, as he must, but he knew the outcome already. He had been virtually certain of what Trusis would do from the moment he learned that Trusis agreed to this clandestine meeting. Trusis was one of those many men who talked of honor but had none.

  It was never pleasant to deal with such men. That reminded him. He must remember to double his payment to Muttalusha. The merchant had, at last, paid off grandly.

  Trusis pondered a while, tapping his knee. He stood. He paced. He sat again. Finally he said, “I accept. We have an agreement.”

  They settled in to discuss specifics. Achilles beckoned to Automedon, who was waiting near the chariot, and Automedon brought wine.

  57

  DERINOE BOLTED TO FULL CONSCIOUSNESS OUT of a restless sleep. Someone had opened her front door. Every night, after tucking the children in and before retiring herself, she placed a small copper jug on a table in front of the door so that, should anyone try to enter from the outside, the pot would fall. She felt certain that she’d heard its tinny clatter.

  Since the day Hektor had been killed and Andromache had hurled at Derinoe that venomous look, Derinoe had taken several precautions to reduce her vulnerability. In addition to the pot, she slept fully dressed, kept the sleeping room door closed, and left a tiny lamp lit within the chamber.

  She leapt up from her pallet and in two steps knelt beside Leonides and Myrina. She covered his mouth at the same moment she shook him. His eyes flicked open. “Right this instant. To the roof!” she whispered. “Understand?” He nodded.

  She had rehearsed this desperate measure with both children several times and now uttered a silent prayer to Artemis that she had done it often enough.

  Leonides scrambled up, and as Derinoe awakened Myrina and whispered again, Leonides silently slid what appeared to be a heavy cabinet far enough to reveal the window behind hit. The wicker cabinet was, in fact, easily light enough for him to move because Derinoe had taken everything out of it. As she had taught him, he did not hesitate but climbed out the window.

  A flash of pride, and hope, swept through Derinoe at how perfectly quietly her son acted. “Don’t be afraid, love,” she whispered to Myrina as she lifted her daughter through the window. “Just be very, very quiet. Just like we practiced.”

  Leonides was already at the roof. Myrina climbed up after him. Derinoe’s heart pounding against her ribs, the words “Hurry, hurry” in her mind, she snatched up the bundle of the children’s street clothes. She still had heard no other sounds, no footsteps, as she herself scrambled through the window and slid the chest back to cover it. But she didn’t expect to hear anything. Andromache would use only professional killers, and professionals did not make sounds. They simply struck, did their work, and disappeared quietly back into the night.

  Derinoe stood on the barrel she had placed below the window and raised her foot to begin the climb when she heard the squeak of the sleeping chamber door. She froze, pressing one trembling hand on her chest near her throat, as if to still her blood’s racing. Soft rustling sounds came to her from inside. She rested her foot lightly on the ladder’s first rung, remaining rigid.

  Silence.

  For agonizing moments she stood awkwardly, straining her whole body to hear the slightest sound. Her back and raised thigh ached. Finally, when she could no longer remain still, she crept, rung by rung with long pauses, toward the roof.

  Someone had entered the house, and they would know by now no one was there. And surely they would immediately check the sleeping pallets and know by the warmth clinging to them that she and the children must have left only moments ahead of them. Her hope, her plan, was that they would think the three of them had left by way of the alley entrance.

  Still not a sound. She began to doubt. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps the sound that awakened her was not the pot at all, but something from outside their rooms.

  As the racing of the pulse in her neck slowed, she strained to hear anything from their rooms or on the street. Still nothing.

  She reached the roof. Still no sounds. Leonides and Myrina stood looking at her. Leonides said in a whisper, “I saw them.”

  “Who?” she whispered back.

  “Two men. I saw them from the wall.” He pointed to the section of roof wall that overlooked their front entry. “Two men came out and ran away. While you were climbing.”

  She grabbed and hugged him. Then she said, “Hide under the blanket. We wait. It’s too soon to go downstairs.”

  Leonides took Myrina’s hand, led her to a blanket in a corner, helped to cover her, and then crawled under himself. Derinoe sat down her bundle of clothes and shoes and sat beside the blanket. She tucked the cover under their chins and stroked a stra
y curl away from Myrina’s face. They settled in to wait.

  What she guessed must be an hour passed. The children had fallen asleep. If she was to take them away, she must do it during darkness, and night was quickly approaching dawn. Finally she decided she must know one way or the other if someone waited below. For certain her life here was over, and much sooner than she had planned.

  Derinoe climbed back down the ladder, and biting her lip, moved the chest aside and then listened for any movement within. Hearing nothing but her own breathing, she climbed into the sleeping chamber.

  The lamp still burned, the chamber was silent and empty. But the door to their main room stood open.

  She froze for a moment, then forced her feet to move. Their main room was empty, the front door ajar, and the copper pot lay on the floor.

  She closed the door. This attempt had failed, but there would surely be another.

  She wakened Leonides and Myrina, and well before Helios’ arrival and a new dawn, she hurried the three of them away from the place that had been their refuge in Troy. Not far from the eastern gate she stopped and knocked several times on the door to a modest set of rooms. She knocked again.

  “What is it?” came Nausicaa’s familiar voice.

  “Deri.”

  The door opened a bit, then wider. “Whatever are you three doing at my door. It’s not yet morning.”

  “I—we—need a place to hide. May we come in. Just for a while. I don’t believe there is any possible way Andromache can know that I know you.”

  “Ah,” was all Nausicaa said as she took Deri’s hand and led her inside.

  Nausicaa’s daughter come to the door of their sleeping room, treating the three early visitors to a sleepy and surprised face.

  “A WOMAN WISHES TO see you,” the guard said to Pentha, who had just sat down with Damon to grab a piece of fruit and bread for a quick lunch before they left to meet again with Aeneas. “She says she knows your sister, Deri,” the guard added.