Amazon Moon (13 page)

She told the War Queen that she had been taught to ride in her father's palace stable, and wanted to be trained as a horseback warrior. Soon she was sweating in strenuous morning drills with the other women fighters, then cooling naked with them in the pool.

Horseback combat is difficult, requiring special skills. Riders must balance on surging horses, gripping reins in one hand and wielding sword, spear or ax with the other. Horseback archers must drop the reins and use both hands to launch arrows. Holding a shield is almost impossible. Flimsy sheepskin saddles gave the riders little support, and the women clung to their mounts by gripping their steeds with their knees.

Litha and I sometimes watched the horseback training. Mitha had grown expert in galloping with her companions, spearing and chopping stuffed dummies. Xanthia threw herself eagerly into the daily practice. The trainees glowed with spirit as they rode and swung blows.

The princess was so keen for her new role that she lingered often at the horse paddock and its tack shed. Day after day she worked with the horses and their equipment.

One afternoon she asked the village council to meet at the paddock to observe a change she had devised. I came to take notes. Xanthia led out a mare wearing an odd-looking rig. At the front of the saddle she had added a heavy leather ring for the rider to clutch for greater security. But the most remarkable change was two strong leather loops hanging from the saddle, one on each side of the horse.

"I call them stirrups," she said. "When you stand beside the horse and put a foot into one, you can rise easily into the saddle. When you are mounted with both feet in the stirrups, you have solid control. You feel firm in the saddle. You can rise to half-standing to swing weapons and the horse's movement hardly affects you."

The princess slipped her foot into a strirrup and rose lightly into the saddle. With both feet secured, she cantered in a circle, swinging her sword at imaginary foes. Then she returned to the council and dismounted.

"It looks interesting," the War Queen ventured. But Leeantha was dismissive.

"We have fought many battles with our legs loose at the horse's sides. That method has served us well for years. Gripping the horse with the knees gives Amazons strong legs."

Leeantha grinned at me: "Right, Melos? You've been held by those legs many nights."

Council members laughed and I flushed.

"Let's be logical," the War Queen said. "Let's test Xanthia's invention. She can use her new stirrups in mock combat against three warriors riding old-style: one test with wooden swords, one with wooden axes, one with padded lances. Volunteers must wear helmets and plenty of padding. We don't want to lose eyes or break bones."

The test was scheduled for the following afternoon. My class was canceled and most of the village gathered at the horse paddock. Since Xanthia was a trainee fighter, she was matched against Mitha and two other trainees, not against long-hardened warriors like Leeantha. The women wore thick padding and headgear to avoid wounds.

In the first clash, Mitha and the princess wielded swords. Quickly the advantage of stirrups was obvious. Xanthia rose half-standing and rained blows downward. As the horses wheeled and charged, she had firm control, giving her swift ability to turn and strike. Mitha was whacked by several slashes that would have been fatal in real combat.

Next a sturdy warrior named Comella entered the fray. She and the princess wielded lances tipped with padded knobs instead of deadly metal points. The stirrups enabled Xanthia to lean forward, braced by her feet, with the spear gripped under her arm. Comella had no foot-bracing, and was toppled to the ground at the first exchange of blows. She landed with a thud in the grass and hobbled to the sidelines.

Third, a tall trainee named Kalleen engaged the princess with wooden axes. Again, Xanthia was able to rise and strike downward, then wheel rapidly and strike Kalleen from behind. Being in greater command of her steed, the princess landed stronger ax chops.

The superiority of stirrups was abundantly clear. Queen Saria declared that all Amazon saddles would be outfitted with them, and with the front grips as well. The assembled Amazons cheered and applauded Xanthia. She bowed, glowing with her new feeling of approval.

That night, for the first time, she summoned a male slave to her bed.

* * *

Two days later, Olandra, the Black Sea lookout, returned to the village with an urgent report for the council. I took notes as follows: A Prince Xanthor from Xanthe came to Balaris with twenty soldiers, searching for the Amazons who took his sister, Princess Xanthia. He offered fifty gold pieces to anyone who could tell the secret location of the Amazons. He posted a written notice in Balaris, where he and his troops lodged in the militia quarters.

The council pondered this news and decided that Xanthia should be informed. When she was told, a pang of concern crossed her face. Queen Saria asked her:

"Would you wish to return to your brother and your former life?"

The princess paused, then said deliberately: "No. I have chosen a better life."

"Would you like to attempt to meet your brother to tell him?"

"How would it be possible?"

"Perhaps it might be arranged. Melos could write a note telling Xanthor: 'If you wish to see your sister, come alone at night on horseback to the rock outcropping on the hill above Balaris. Do not bring soldiers or death will occur.' Olandra could slip into Balaris in the dark and post our notice beside his. Then, some of our warriors could meet the prince by the rocks, blindfold him, and bring him here to our village as you were brought. The warriors could follow a circuitous path, crossing and recrossing the Thermodon at shoals to prevent him from remembering the way. After your visit we could take him back in the same manner."

Princess Xanthia pondered a while, then replied:

"That would be hazardous. Xanthor might do something rash. And the strain upon my feelings would be painful. It will be better if I simply write him a farewell note, which Olandra can post for him."

I gave the princess a fine piece of parchment. She wrote:

"Dearest Xanthor: I love you and PaPa with all my heart. But I have chosen a different path. I wish to spend the rest of my life among the Amazons, where I enjoy true freedom. My family will not be the Pasha's clan but the Amazon clan. Please do not attempt to find me, because it would result only in harm. Farewell. Your loving sister, Xanthia."

From her neck, she removed a small silver locket bearing her father's image. She instructed Olandra to hang it with the note so the prince would know that the message was genuine.

The council applauded Xanthia for her wise decision.

18

"Did I tell you about the time I was an oracle?" Octos said after dinner.

We all listened eagerly. Evening storytelling was the only relief available to us male slaves—except, of course, for our command performances in Amazon beds.

"When I was still a beardless boy," the grizzled ex-warrior began, "my father took me to the great oracle at Dodona. It was very impressive. We joined a long line of pilgrims. First we had to bathe in the sacred spring. Then we had to pray to Zeus at length. Finally we were allowed to walk one by one up a path through cliffs to the oracle.

"The diviner was a priestess who sat barefoot in a cleft in the rocks, listening to rustling trees in a spot where the wind never ceased. We weren't allowed to see her. Instead we knelt before the priest in charge. He took our gold and silver coins, or in one instance a pearl, and relayed our questions to the seer. Supposedly she went into a trance and interpreted Zeus's voice in the wind. Then the priest came back with her answer.

"Well, it was hokum. My father asked whether the pain in his joints would end. And the answer came back: 'Fear not. Zeus heals all. Open your soul to Him, that He may bless you. Sacrifice a pig at each full moon.' It probably was the same answer given to every sick person. My dad already sacrificed every month, and it did no good. For the rest of his life he was in pain as he stooped to work in the fields."

Octos grinned at us wickedly.

"I never forgot that lesson in quackery. As I grew older, I heard earnest men tell of saving their coins for a year so they could visit one of the oracles and hear messages from the gods. Even before I grew a beard, I knew that oracles were part of the big fairy tale.

"Well, my cousin and I were exploring hills around our village when we found a cave near a crossroads. It hit me that we could get plenty of money. Here's how we worked it:

"We picked one of the gods that few people know about: Erinys the mist-walker. I spread the word to local peddlers: A miracle has occurred. My cousin crawled into a cave above the crossroads and in the cool darkness, Erinys spoke clearly to him, telling him wonderful truths. Erinys promised to return each month around the full moon to answer all questions.

"Sure enough, as the moon waxed, men began arriving. I greeted them in a long robe like a priest and they knelt before me. I stood outside the cave and called the men's questions to my cousin inside. Because of echoes, he couldn't quite understand me, and I couldn't understand his replies, but I invented encouraging answers that said nothing. The odd part is, I never had to ask for money. The believers thrust it upon me. I pretended to have no interest in reward, and said we merely wanted to serve the gods, but they gave enough coins to fill a purse.

"When the second full moon arrived, the crowd was twice as big and we collected twice as much gold and silver. The more we made the petitioners grovel, the more they begged for divine answers. Begging put them in the right state of piety. My cousin and I laughed together in private. But we felt nervous, worried that authorities might hear about us.

"It happened. Before the third full moon, the high priest of Thessaloniki arrived with three armed soldiers. They went house to house, asking the identity of the young men who had become oracles.

"Our goose was cooked. Before the soldiers reached our end of the village, my cousin and I grabbed some bread and ran into the woods. We didn't stop running for three days, until we reached the small city of Kilkis. We gave fake names and enlisted in the Kilkis brigade.

"So now you know how I became a warrior and wound up fighting Amazons, losing a leg, and entering slavery."

A round of chuckles followed Octos's tale. But one young slave, Admer, an earnest youth who often prayed by the creek bank and wore holy amulets around his neck, was visibly troubled. He sat silent, then blurted defiantly:

"The gods are real! Just because you pulled trickery doesn't make the gods a trick. You should pray for forgiveness."

"Son," Octos began, but he paused and shook his head. Then he looked at Admer with tolerance. "Son, I won't tell you what to believe. If you think spirits are real, just keep on praying to them. If you get any results, I'll be happy for you."

The youth grew angrier: "You are laughing at the gods! You will bring a deadly fever or a terrible drought upon all of us. You may not care about your own welfare, but you have no right to inflict the wrath of the gods on the rest of us."

Octos clenched his teeth. "Admer, you are like a child fearing monsters in the dark, monsters that are imaginary."

Young Admer was beet red. He opened his mouth, ready to protest further, but turned abruptly and left our group, his amulets jangling. An awkward silence fell over us. One by one we drifted to our rooms for the night.

19

The Amazons suffered a loss in mid-summer. As the colony's scribe, I recorded this account:

From her post among trees on high ground by the Black Sea, the maimed lookout Olandra observed a dozen cavalrymen galloping hastily toward Balaris. Curious, she rode to the edge of the port city, tied her horse among bushes, and slipped to the covert Amazon refuge, a home with two vines. The occupants, a pair of aging widowed sisters, told her the news:

Twenty slave women in the Balaris brothel had revolted. It began when a Balaris assemblyman beat a prostitute who displeased him. Others rushed to her aid and pulled him off her. Enraged, he drew his dagger and killed one of the slaves. Swept by fury, the women clubbed him to death with chairs. Then they realized that terrible punishment awaited them. So they used the dead man's weapons to force other male customers out of the brothel—along with the owner, the Balaris militia chief—and barricaded themselves inside. They armed themselves with every cooking knife and sharp tool they could find. They kept a cauldron of water boiling, ready to pour on any intruder who broke through a barred window. Balaris militiamen formed a siege around the building and sent a courier to bring nearby troops.

When Olandra brought this report to the Amazon hideaway, the War Queen crowed: "Those women have enough grit to be Amazons. Let's rescue them."

Warriors cheered and a raiding party was assembled. Mitha, now ranked among fighting women, saddled a horse with the rest. It was agreed that the Amazons would approach Balaris at night when most of the besiegers were asleep. They planned to leave their horses in nearby woods, along with extra mounts for the freed women, then slip into the darkened city on foot, kill the guards silently, rescue the slave-prostitutes, and whisk them away before other soldiers awoke.

But plans sometimes go awry amid combat. Here is what happened:

From the shadows of a Balaris street, the Amazons saw that just two guards were posted outside the brothel. Racha the Nubian crept behind one in the dark and garroted him quietly. The second fell to an old trick: Wearing a loose tunic, the shapely Aletha, once a temple prostitute, approached with her breasts exposed, smiling like a street whore. The guard was transfixed—until the powerful Leeantha struck swiftly from behind, clamping her hand over his mouth and cutting his throat.

Rousing the women inside the barricaded bordello wasn't easy. The Amazons couldn't bang loudly on the locked doors without waking soldiers in a nearby building. They began soft rapping. Fortunately the trapped slaves had posted a young prostitute, barely more than a child, as an all-night sentry in case the besiegers tried to break in. The girl heard the rapping and woke the others. A whispered conference through a shuttered window convinced those inside that it wasn't a trick by the besieging forces, but that the fabled Amazons had come to save them.