The Amazon and the Warrior

by Judith Hand

  She hugged him, taking care not to squeeze where he was hurt. “You want me to send someone to bring Dia back?”

  “Yes, please.”

  65

  DAMON, BOUND AND BLINDFOLDED, LAY ON THE floor where he had fallen. One of the men who shoved him pulled him into a sitting position and pulled off the blindfold.

  Small room. A wooden stool sat in one corner.

  And wooden rings in the wall opposite were a familiar sight, rings where one might tie a prisoner, for punishment or torture.

  No windows. Illumination came from two oil lamps sitting on a shelf. Only one was lit; the room’s corners lay in shadow.

  Legs moved in front of him, and looking up, he saw Trusis. Grim. And smug.

  Trusis stepped forward and kicked Damon in the side. A fire raced from Damon’s ribs to his heart and snatched his breath.

  The soldiers looked to Trusis, awaiting orders.

  Trusis seemed to be waiting for Damon’s response. So Damon simply stared at him, smiling, disgust putting a bitter twist to the smile. Again, Trusis stepped forward, and this time he smashed a fist into Damon’s temple.

  The small room reeled.

  Trusis said, “That seems to have taken that smirk off your face.”

  A cold rage sent chills rippling over Damon’s back. “It seems you have found your natural place in life, Trusis.”

  Trusis squatted in front of him. “Yes. I am going to take my proper place. When this battle is over, I will return to our camp. My ‘escape’ from the Acheans will be quite impressive. And it is me, not you, who will go back to Themiskyra with Pentha.”

  “You’ve lost your mind.”

  “You think so?”

  “What do you hope to gain?”

  “I have Achilles’ word that Pentha will not be harmed. I will explain our plans to him, and that will allow him to defeat us without killing her. Or too many of our troops, for that matter. It is not his intention to destroy us. He simply wants to ensure that the Trojans don’t win.”

  “And then?”

  “As I say, I return to Themiskyra with Pentha.”

  “What if, because of our absence, our troops are so disheartened we lose? What if Pentha is killed? You will have nothing to return to and no one to return with.”

  “Pentha will not be harmed.”

  What if the other royals overrule Achilles and decide to kill her?”

  “Archilles assures me that he alone is planning to take Themiskyra. That none of the other royals are involved or even know of his plans.”

  “And what if Achilles is like you and can’t be trusted?” His face a twisted mask of hatred, Trusis stood. He said to the soldiers, “Tie him to the wall.”

  66

  HER BLOOD RACING AND HER THOUGHTS SWIRLING so that she felt disconnected, Pentha strode into her tent, then stopped in place and clutched her head in both hands.

  “Sweet Goddess, Pentha, what is wrong?” Derinoe asked.

  Pentha dropped her arms and stared at her sister. Deri sat in a chair opposite the entry flap, a piece of embroidery in her hands. She laid her work on the low table next to the chair, stood, and rushed to hold Pentha by both arms. “You look ill. What can I do?”

  “Damon may be dead.” Pentha forced the words out, and the word ‘dead’ released the tears she had been fighting. They flooded down her cheeks.

  Derinoe, her eyes widened in shock, released her. Pentha swiped at the tears. But they weren’t going to stop. She rushed to her familiar chair, threw herself into it, and bending over, clasped her head again as the tears continued, her body heaving with sobs. She sensed Deri kneeling beside her, felt Deri’s hand on her knee.

  When her sobbing began to ebb, Deri said, “Please tell me what has happened. It can’t be so.”

  Pentha nodded. She sucked in a trembling breath. “It’s possible.”

  She took another breath, this one steadier, and took another swipe at her face.

  “Here,” Deri said, and handed her a piece of cloth from her sewing basket. Pentha sat up, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  “Now tell me!”

  “He had taken Bias and Dia, his falcon, to a hill to fly the bird. Usually Bias exercises her, but Damon goes when he can. They were attacked. Bias was wounded, badly, but returned. He says all who were there were dead. There is some hope. Damon and Trusis were not among them. It’s possible they were taken captive.” The tears started again. She brushed them with the cloth. “But it’s entirely possible Damon is dead.”

  “I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it. And you mustn’t either.”

  “I am terribly afraid.”

  Deri took both of her hands and squeezed them.

  Pentha could barely speak, her words more like a whisper. “I cannot imagine life without Damon. When Bias first spoke as though Damon were dead, I emptied, as if all meaning poured out of me. This weakens me. This is exactly why no Amazon should become close to any man.” She looked deeply into Deri’s eyes. “I am so terrified of losing Damon that I can’t think. When I most need to act, I am paralyzed.”

  “The paralyzing fear will pass. I had such fear once. When I was escaping Achilles, I thought I couldn’t think, but fear of dying was greater. If anything, fear only sharpened my mind. Give yourself a few moments.”

  Deri let go of Pentha’s hands, stood, and fetched a goblet of water.

  Pentha drank it all.

  Deri returned to her chair. Her face full of hurt and concern, she sat silently, watching.

  Moments passed. The paralysis passed. Pentha rose and went to the tent opening. To the guard she said, “Fetch Phemios.”

  67

  AENEAS SAT IN PENTHA’S CHAIR. PENTHA INSISTED. She liked this Trojan commander and was especially pleased he had come in person and quickly to bring her what information he had about the Acheans and Damon.

  She herself paced as Gryn made Aeneas comfortable and offered him drink. Others seated in camp chairs were Bremusa, Clonie, Evandre, Phemios, and Derinoe. Two other Amazons she had selected for this raid stood, arms behind their backs. It was late afternoon now, and before the early evening they must be in the Achean camp, while they still had daylight.

  To her amazement, Marpessa entered the tent and approached. Marpessa saluted, then said, “My Queen, I know you are making plans. And I understand why you didn’t include me.” She paused, and memories of their shared, not always pleasant, history hung in the air. “Now is the time for me to tell you I have watched these months what you and Damonides have accomplished. I could never have equaled your efforts. I would be deeply honored, Penthesilea, if you would allow me to help you in this raid.”

  Pentha had rarely seen a gentle look on Marpessa’s face. Now she saw both sincerity and gentleness. “I accept your offer, sister.”

  Marpessa saluted again and moved to stand by Evandre.

  Aeneas placed the goblet of mare’s milk back on the stand beside him. Pentha noted that he tasted little of it, and recalled Damon once laughing and saying that “Fermented mare’s milk is something you must grow used to.”

  Just imagining Damon laughing brought the scratch of threatening tears, and she pressed her hands to her eyes to cut off the weakening memory at once.

  The Trojan general said, “Although my instincts make it hard to envision you succeeding, since you are taking only women, I nevertheless like your plan. Indeed, the reason it has some hope of working is precisely because the Acheans simply will not expect women. As I already said, your men were taken by Achilles. Also, there is so far no word about them in any of the other camps. All the Acheans know you and your Amazons are here and that they will be fighting you day after tomorrow. But I doubt they comprehend the reality of fighting women any more than I can, including Achilles. The idea is something in our minds but not in our bones.”

  “Good. Excellent. We need every advantage. We will use every advantage.”

  Aeneas nodded. “It is also a great advantage that Achilles does no
t know you are aware of what he’s done. They won’t yet have put up any special defenses. But I warn again. Damonides and Trusis are in Achilles’ camp, but my spies don’t know where or for how long. The stockade, being in the center, is in the most secure area, but it’s mostly for men who’ve gotten into drunken fights. Achilles may put your commanders somewhere else.”

  Pentha stopped pacing. “What is most important, and I am most grateful for your help, is that we know the camp’s layout.”

  “We, of Troy, are grateful you have come to assist us. This information is little enough thanks.” Aeneas stood. “I will await word of your success.”

  HEARING THE SOUND OF feet walking down the hallway, Damon called out, “Guard!”

  The room had long since fallen into darkness.

  It surprised him when the door actually opened and a squinty-eyed soldier peered in. Light from windows across the hallway poured into the room. The guard took note of the leather rope that bound Damon to the rings in the wall.

  “I’m thirsty. Will you give me water?”

  From the quality of the light, Damon guessed it must be late in the afternoon or perhaps early evening. His ribs, where Trusis had kicked him, ached, but at least he had no pain breathing. He’d not had anything to eat or drink since early morning. And sitting in one corner was a bucket of water he had watched thirstily until the lamp flickered out.

  The man leered at him. “Bein’ thirsty’s nothin’ to what you’ll feel when you can’t stand any longer and hang from your wrists and the rope starts cuttin’ in.” He slammed the flimsy door.

  “REMEMBER,” PENTHA SAID. SHE sat, as if resting, with the four Amazons chosen for this raid—Bremusa, Clonie, Marpessa, and Evandre. Their party waited only a few steps off the narrow track leading into the Achean camp. “The secret is to feel you belong. If you feel you belong, you will look like you belong. Don’t look any man straight in the eye and keep your shoulders down and you will be ignored.” She grinned at them. “Though I will say, I think you all look just lovely.”

  They chuckled.

  All wore clothing of Achean slave women: simple, calf-length woolen robes and crude sandals. All but Pentha wore their hair in two braids over their shoulders. Pentha had stuffed hers inside a woolen cap pulled down over her ears, and on top of the cap she had stuck a felt, wide-brimmed sun hat used by slave women working in the fields. Her hair color was in itself distinctive, but its odd cut—short and in waves all over her head—was unlike anything worn by any women. It had to be disguised.

  Each woman carried bundled firewood on her back. And strapped high on each Amazon’s thigh was her dagger.

  Bremusa said, “Gryn.” She nodded toward the rutted lane leading into Achilles’ encampment, an access used by the women and supply venders. Even the bridge crossing the moat here could not accommodate a chariot.

  The path led to and from the spring where the women drew fresh water and washed clothes, and now, in the late afternoon, twenty or so figures plodded toward the camp on their day’s last trip. Many carried water jars on their heads. Others toted firewood.

  Gryn drove a narrow, wooden donkey cart carrying rushes and tins of olive oil, ostensibly for cooking. Hidden under the rushes were battle-axes and fire-starter packets.

  The Amazons separated. Pentha, with Evandre and Marpessa, went first, falling in line not far behind Gryn’s. cart. In a few moments, Bremusa and Clonie would join the string of returning women.

  Watching Gryn approach the narrow bridge over the yawning Achean moat—its depth that of perhaps three men and its width twice that—Pentha held her breath. Her mother reached the guard post, manned by two Achean soldiers. As Aeneas predicted, the guards paid Gryn no attention at all. Old women with gray hair didn’t stir the smallest worry in their minds.

  Nor did the guards say a word to Pentha or the two shy-eyed women with her. She stepped onto the narrow bridge and, looking ahead, watched Gryn and her cart pass through an arched doorway in the massive wall. Pentha estimated that the wall stood at least eight times the height of the cart.

  In only moments, she and Evandre and Marpessa followed Gryn into the Achean stronghold.

  Gryn headed the cart for the wooden building storing sailcloth and sails.

  The camp had been laid out in orderly fashion with enough space between the rows of tents and buildings so three chariots might pass side-by-side. Between adjacent tents, one chariot could pass. Gryn stopped the cart in the narrow space beside the sail shed, climbed down, and pretended to examine her donkey’s right rear leg.

  Pentha and her companions followed closely, but not so closely that they appeared to be with Gryn or the cart. Pentha glanced behind. Bremusa and Clonie were also inside now, and headed for the lumber storage area.

  Men and women came and went or were seated outside various tents at work or simply talking. Many more observers than she had hoped for. But it couldn’t be helped.

  “Follow my lead,” she said.

  She strode up to Gryn’s cart, grabbed two tins of olive oil as if this were something she had been directed to do by someone of importance. She snatched up two rushes, and from under the rushes, a fire starter kit. She tucked them under one arm, and strolled around the side of the building and into the entry.

  Openings high up near the wooden roof lit the good-sized room, a space about four times the size of her command center in the Amazon barracks. Because it was early evening, only dim light lit the interior. She stopped, letting her eyes adjust.

  A soldier, stacking cloth, paused and turned to her. “What do you want?”

  She sat the oil tin, rushes, and starter kit on the plank floor, stepped to him, put one arm around his neck, and as she reached under her skirt for the dagger said, “I’ve been watching you. I like you.”

  He started to pull back, and she plunged the dagger into his side. He fell to the floor writhing and moaning softly.

  Evandre and Marpessa entered carrying their own supplies. Pentha turned to Evandre. “Gryn?”

  “On her way to the lumber storage.”

  Another soldier came forward. Evandre dropped her tins and rushes. Seeing his companion on the floor and bleeding, the soldier stared wide-eyed at the three women. He sucked in a breath to shout but both Pentha and Evandre slammed into him, knocking him flat. Evandre leapt onto him and cut his throat.

  “Be quick!” Pentha urged.

  They spread out, draped sailcloth across large swatches of stored sail, opened the tins, and used every drop of olive oil to soak the sailcloth. Each Amazon untied the leather around the bark of her fire kit, broke the kit open, and using dandelion fluff, raised a flame. They set the rushes on fire and dashed from place to place, torching several sections of the oil-soaked cloth.

  “That’s it,” Pentha called out. “Now to the stockade.”

  Together, the three of them walked out of the storage shed, not too fast, and headed toward the place where Aeneas’ spies had said Damon would most likely be held. If all was proceeding as planned, Gryn had reached the lumber storage, Bremusa and Clonie had taken their supplies from her cart and were firing the lumber, and Gryn would soon be waiting for Pentha’s team at the stockade.

  68

  ACHILLES LEFT HIS TENT, HEADING TO WHERE he’d secured his new prisoner. A meeting with the Themiskyran commander could be interesting, especially if this was the famed Damonides.

  The merchant, Muttalusha, blocked his path. “Lord Achilles,” the merchant said, smiling effusively. “I—”

  Achilles walked past him. Muttalusha trotted alongside “You will be going into battle shortly. I really would like, I really think it would be prudent, if I might receive my payment. Now.”

  “I have something to attend to. Wait for me in my tent.”

  The merchant stopped. Achilles walked on.

  THE DOOR TO DAMON’S cell opened. He had little doubt of the identity of the enormous man who entered, accompanied by a guard. The guard carried two lighted oil lamps, which he
placed on the shelf.

  Achilles strode to the center of the room, crossed his arms, and stared at Damon with critical eyes, as if judging the quality of a horse. He wore a red tunic belted at the waist with thick, beautifully worked, silver and gold inlaid leather. His massive presence seemed to expand into all the room’s available space. The light entering from the hallway was that of early evening.

  “I’m thirsty,” Damon said.

  Achilles gestured to the guard. The men fetched a ladle of water from the bucket and let Damon drink half, before he spilled the remainder down Damon’s chin.

  Achilles approached to within arm’s length. He smelled of rose-scented oil.

  In a deep voice, darkly tinged with muddy brown, Achilles said, “My best informant, the Hittite Muttalusha, says you are Achean trained. Are you the Damonides who fought for Iolkos?”

  Muttalusha! The greedy little rat.

  When Damon remained silent, Achilles said, “Knowledge of Achean skills and tactics won’t be of any good to your troops. The day after tomorrow will be a Themiskyran slaughter.”

  The ropes on Damon’s wrists seemed to tighten from the mere presence of the Achean legend. In spite of himself, knowing he could not get free, Damon clenched his fists and pulled against the restraints. If Aeneas was correct, here was the one man the Acheans most depended upon for their spirit. If Achilles could be killed, Aeneas was of the view that Agamemnon would eventually win over the other royals and take the Acheans home. If Achilles could be killed, at the very least the Achean fighting spirit would suffer a grievous blow and if Trusis was correct, if Achilles could be killed, the source of the Achean threat to Themiskyra would be eliminated. If Achilles could be killed … . And there Achilles was, only a step away. Damon felt his heart straining against his chest as his wrists strained against the ropes.