Voyage of the Snake Lady (13 page)
B
OTH THE INTENDED
victims were young, but strangely neither of them looked scared. Myrina wondered if they understood what their fate would be, but then she saw that the tall, fair-haired boy burned with quiet fury. He knew well enough and he was too angry to be frightened. The other boy was dark haired and his skin was sunburned; he gazed about him with a vacant smile.
“Who is he?” Myrina murmured. She racked her brain, sure that she had seen him before.
But what happened next wiped all such thoughts from her mind, for the dark-haired one began to shake his head slowly from side to side. The vacant look fled and was replaced by one of horror as the shaking grew faster and faster. He began to mutter incoherent words.
Myrina pressed herself up close to the cart, trying to hear what he said. “No—I did not, Mother. No, Mother—I did not!” Then as Myrina still listened, distressed, she seemed to hear him answer himself. “Yes, you did! Yes, you did! No, Mother—it was not my fault. It was the oracle; the oracle told me to do it!”
His words made no sense. The citizens of Tauris seemed undisturbed by his strange reaction, some laughing, others pleased and excited, almost as though they thought he gibbered to entertain them. Rose petals floated around his head, some settling on his hair and shoulders. Myrina felt that she had never seen anything so horrible, but she realized with some relief that he was unaware of either the rose petals or the chanting crowd. He probably had no idea of his intended fate.
“Hail to the Chosen Ones!”
“Young sweethearts! Bring us a good harvest!”
The boy shook his head, his eyes staring wildly at something far away. “No—I didn’t know! Revenge was my duty! Nobody told me what he had done!”
His voice sank low, and Myrina could no longer hear, but she saw how he muttered the words faster and faster. The boy’s mind was completely taken over by some other concern. She guessed that they’d have little trouble getting him to jump. It might be more of a problem if they tried to hold him back!
“Madness,” she murmured. “Poor boy; he is quite mad!”
The procession wound its way up the sloping hillside, through wide streets and narrow, through open squares and alleyways, the great crowd surging after the cart, pushed and hauled more by helping hands than by the little white ponies.
“Stay close,” Myrina hissed. She grabbed Tamsin by one hand and on the other side she clung to Phoebe’s arm. They struggled to keep close to the poor victims in their cart, but somehow they seemed to have lost Katya among the great press of people. Myrina pushed ahead, grim faced. She hated being stuck in the middle of this crazy crowd, but she knew that she was learning a lot. She must store every detail in her head—getting Iphigenia away might depend on what she could remember.
At last, as the sun reached its zenith, the houses and huts thinned out and the procession crossed the stretch of open land that led to the temple. It seemed that nobody wanted to live very close to the sacred spot on the craggy cliff edge. Rows of guards were lined up at the entrance, confirming Myrina’s suspicion that the temple was nothing more than an exquisitely decorated prison.
A strange place for a young girl to be raised, she thought, looking around for Katya. She still couldn’t see her and dared not search for her as the cries of the crowd told her that the priestess from the sea was about to appear.
“Hepsuash, Hepsuash!” The chant began low and insistent; then it grew louder and louder. “Hepsuash! Hepsuash! Come to us!”
At last a movement could be seen, deep inside the dark entrance to the temple. A great fanfare of horns heralded the coming of the priestess. The chanting faded, and everyone waited in silence. Myrina clung to Tamsin’s hand so tightly that she made her daughter wince. Would the priestess be Iphigenia?
Horns blared again, and a small, slender woman emerged from the shadows of the inner temple, smothered in jeweled robes, a golden circlet on her head. Two soldiers escorted the priestess on either side. Despite the heavy robes and the strange surroundings, Myrina recognized at once the pale oval face and dark hair of Iphigenia.
“It is her—our own Iphigenia,” Tamsin whispered.
Phoebe, who had always loved her, whispered fearfully, “If they should hurt her . . .”
“We will not let them, Tiger Girl!” Myrina whispered. “But look around you. I do not think there are many here who wish her harm.”
Phoebe saw that this was true. The crowd pressed forward quietly, eager to get a good view of the priestess, their faces bright with curiosity. Myrina did not know whether she wanted to smile or cry at the sight of her dear friend, but at least she could now be sure that her visions had not been deceiving her.
Iphigenia stood stiffly between her guards, as King Thoas dismounted and climbed the steps to stand at her side. She looked very small beside him, and Myrina saw that she averted her gaze from his. The silence continued as the cart arrived and the two prisoners were released from their ankle bonds, then led up to meet Hepsuash, their hands still tied.
“We’ve got to get closer,” Myrina hissed in Tamsin’s ear. “Can you think, Lizard, and lead us to the front?”
Tamsin’s eyes shone at the request. She took tight hold of Myrina’s hand and dived into the crowd, pulling her mother after her as she wriggled and slid her way through the sea of bodies, smiling with innocence at those she nudged and shoved.
Myrina grabbed Phoebe and dragged her along behind them; then at last she tugged Tamsin back. “Well done—this is close enough,” she whispered. They could see clearly, but were not so close to the front that they themselves might be noticed.
The view they had of Iphigenia was so good that Myrina almost wished they’d stayed at the back of the crowd. The priestess stood on the temple steps, as poised and dignified as ever, but Myrina, who knew her so well, was shocked by the beaten look in her eyes and the pallor of her cheeks. She wanted to rush forward and snatch her away there and then, whatever might come of it. The sight of Iphigenia brought vividly to her mind the ordeal at Aulis. Then, as now, Myrina had stood at the front of a crowd, watching the twelve-year-old Iphigenia facing death with just the same pathetic dignity.
“But this is not Aulis,” Myrina muttered under her breath, forcing herself to be sensible. “And it is not Iphigenia who is threatened with sacrifice!”
Then, as the Snake Lady struggled with her memories, something happened that relieved her of the urgent impulse to leap out from the crowd. The two prisoners were led up the steps to be received by the priestess, the dark-haired boy still muttering wildly, in the throes of insanity. As Iphigenia turned to look at the pair, her whole demeanor changed. Her gaze swept calmly over the angry fair-haired boy, but as she looked past him to the younger one, an expression of intense sympathy touched her face, almost of recognition. Myrina had seen this look before and knew well what it meant. Agamemnon’s daughter had seen that somebody close by was in dire need of care and at once she would forget her own troubles in her concern for another.
Iphigenia turned at once to King Thoas, with outraged authority. “Why are his hands bound?” she demanded, her voice clear and strong. “This suffering is unnecessary! Sacrifice is bad enough, but a victim should at least be shown some respect!”
The king was puzzled and looked around at his guards.
“He is not going to escape from here!” Iphigenia spoke with certainty. “Untie his hands!”
The king hesitated, but a low chant rose from the crowd, a chant of support for the priestess.
“Hepsuash, Hepsuash!”
“Hepsuash has spoken!”
“Untie his hands! Untie his hands! Hepsuash has spoken!”
An expression of irritation crossed the king’s face, but he nodded at the guards. “Set his hands free!”
The crowd murmured their approval and fell silent again. Myrina was cheered to see this interchange; it seemed that Iphigenia was not as helpless as she’d feared. As the young man was released from his bonds, the high priestess strode forward and took him into her arms, hugging him. Tall though he was, he accepted the embrace like a child, still trembling and muttering, his head stooping over hers. Iphigenia patted his back, just as a mother might soothe a distressed infant.
The crowd fell silent again at the sight, puzzled by Hepsuash’s behavior. But the simplicity of the gesture and the calming effect the embrace had on the boy seemed to touch them and win their approval. There were a few murmurs of pity.
Myrina was strangely comforted by the sight of the two dark heads pressed so close together. Iphigenia suddenly looked strong again; this boy’s frightening situation was one that she must identify with as no other could. Concern for him would bring her a new sense of purpose.
Then at last the priestess released the boy and turned to acknowledge the crowd, aware of the support they’d given her. They responded with cheers as she bowed graciously and waved to them, every inch the priestess they wanted her to be. Then, just as she turned to go back inside the temple, she raised her hand and for a fleeting moment she gave the Moon Riders’ salute.
Phoebe and Tamsin both caught their breath, turning to Myrina, eyes shining. They could not answer the salute for fear they’d raise suspicion, but the message was clear.
“She knows,” Phoebe whispered. “She knows that we are here!”
“Yes,” Myrina agreed, smiling at them with satisfaction. “She knows!”
They watched as Iphigenia took the trembling boy by the hand and led him back inside the temple. The other victim followed, his hands still tied—nobody had suggested that he be released. The glance of grim fury that he bore was explanation enough, but Myrina’s heart went out to him, too, as she watched him stumble after his companion.
The people sang out their support, chanting “Hepsuash” over and over again. King Thoas bowed awkwardly to the crowd and then followed Iphigenia into the temple. Myrina could not see clearly how it would help or hinder them, but one thing she had learned today: the people of Tauris loved Hepsuash and respected her; she was indeed their chosen priestess.
Once the king had vanished inside the temple, his guards took their place again at the top of the steps. The show was over—for today at least—and the audience began to move away.
“Now what do we do?” Tamsin looked lost. “How are we going to get Iphigenia back?”
“Our Snake Lady will think of a way.” Phoebe spoke with confidence.
But the Snake Lady had no immediate answer to give and shook her head uncertainly. “We’ve learned a lot,” she said. “Now there’s a lot of thinking to be done.”
They followed the crowd back down through the steep streets of Tauris.
“Where is Katya?” Tamsin wondered.
Myrina frowned at the question, unsure whether they should search for Katya, when the rhythmic clatter of finger cymbals made them look sharply up at each other.
“Could that be . . . ?” Phoebe asked.
They turned a corner into a small square and saw that it was indeed Katya. She’d made the raised portico of a stately town house her stage and clattered her cymbals while she danced in front of it. A small crowd watched her tolerantly, still cheerful from the procession and the holiday atmosphere.
Myrina smiled; it seemed that they would not need to struggle back to their camp alone after all.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A Little of the Truth
M
YRINA LEANED AGAINST
a wall to watch Katya’s performance for a while, content to let Tamsin and Phoebe make their way to the front of the crowd.
As people still flooded past them, away from the temple, some stopped to watch the young dancer; others pushed past, eager to get home. Then one old woman stopped and pointed at Katya, frowning and straining to see her clearly. “Is that the outcast’s granddaughter? The little witch?” she cried.
Those who’d been watching shrugged, ignoring the question.
“No,” her son answered. “The outcast’s granddaughter is a filthy ragged thing! This is a Sinta girl!”
“It is the outcast’s girl.” The woman was adamant, her voice ripe with resentment. “I’d know her anywhere.” She stooped to pick up a stone.
Myrina sensed danger and took a step toward the woman. Tamsin and Phoebe turned around at the disturbance. They saw trouble brewing and both bravely leaped to their feet to join Katya in her dance, ready to protect her.
There was a gasp of pleasure and a ripple of applause from the audience when they saw that two more Sinta girls had joined the dance. The old woman’s son caught hold of her arm to prevent her throwing the stone. “No—see, there are three of them, Mother; Sinta girls! Put down your stone!”
Myrina’s watchfulness was noted by another bystander. “They’re Sinta girls—there’s their mother keeping her eye on them! How well they dance!”
The audience began to clap their encouragement in time to the rhythm of the cymbals, while the old woman was pulled away and led home.
Myrina had been a little shaken by the girls’ quick action, but it seemed to have soothed the crowd’s suspicions, and now the three of them filled their audience with delight. She settled back to watch again. There was no melody to accompany the dance, only the steady rhythm of the clattering cymbals, but the girls danced with the bubbling energy of youth, huge smiles of enjoyment on their faces. Now Phoebe took the lead, imitating the delicate grace of a young foal. Katya and Tamsin watched and followed, their own movements harmonizing with hers as though they’d been dancing together all their lives.
“They prance like Sinta foals!” the audience murmured.
“Half girls, half horses!”
The watchers were entranced, and soon coins rained down at the dancers’ feet.
Myrina smiled with a touch of regret. What a fine Moon Rider Katya might have been.
At last people started to wander away and the girls stopped dancing, scrambling to pick up the coins.
“I’ve never been paid as much as this.” Katya spoke with breathless delight. She searched the pavement eagle-eyed, to make sure that every last coin was found.
Tamsin and Phoebe handed the money they’d collected over to Katya, who took it eagerly at first; but then she paused, her brow wrinkled with uncertainty. “No—you should have some!”
Myrina watched with a quiet smile as Katya snatched up a handful of coins and held them out to Tamsin and Phoebe.
Tamsin’s hand went out eagerly, but then she looked at her mother, doubtful for a moment.
“Yes,” Myrina said. “You should all take your share of the earnings—that is very fair of Katya!”
On the way back they stopped to buy fresh white barley bread, goat’s cheese, and dates. “Wait till Grandmother sees this feast,” Katya crowed.
Myrina smiled again. Disguised as a Sinta girl, Katya looked as though she might well be able to earn her own way again.
When they returned to their camp, they were greeted by cheerful whickers of welcome from Big Chief and the mares. Katya’s grandmother was still sitting there on her rock, grim faced as ever, but it seemed that she’d kept a good watch on their tents and belongings. Myrina bowed her thanks from a distance and was answered with a curt nod. Katya ran up to the cave to display her earnings and the food she’d bought.
Myrina was not surprised when the girl came striding back to them through the grass. “Grandmother says will you come and eat with us?”
“Of course we will,” Myrina replied.
Somehow, without ever meaning to, they seemed to have thrown in their lot with these two strange women.
They washed in the stream and then wandered over to the cave. Nonya solemnly directed them to sit on comfortable rocks while they ate; then she brought out from the cave an astonishing, beautifully decorated golden cup, which she filled with stream water and offered to her guests.
Myrina was so surprised at the sight of such a precious object appearing from the rugged interior of the cave that she struggled for words, uncertain whether to admire its beauty or just drink from it as though it were a plain Sinta beaker.
Nonya watched her for a moment, then opened her mouth and gave a sudden burst of wild throaty laughter. Myrina smiled, still unsure how best to react.
Nonya’s laughter fled as quickly as it had come. “Eat!” she directed them in the Scythian language.
They ate the bread and cheese in silence, but as they progressed to the dates the girls began to grin at each other and exchange words of appreciation at the sweetness and succulence of the fruit. When they’d finished, Katya got up with a touch of delicacy and went to the stream to wash her hands.
Tamsin followed her. “Teach us to clatter the cymbals as you did today,” she begged.
“If Phoebe will show me the horse dance.” Katya glanced hopefully back at Phoebe, who rose willingly to her feet and went to join them.
As the girls wandered away there was a moment of silence, then Nonya turned to Myrina with curiosity. “Why . . . you come here?” she asked.
Myrina smiled; she was ready for this one. “I come to sell horses,” she told her. “I am a widow and must earn my bread, so I deal in horses.”
“Sinta horses.”
“Yes,” Myrina agreed.
Nonya gave her a crafty look. “But . . . you are not a Sinta woman!”
Myrina looked up sharply and again Nonya gave her throaty laugh. This old woman was no fool, and she must be careful.
The laugh stopped as suddenly as before. “Where . . . you come from?” Nonya asked.
Myrina frowned; she sensed that Nonya would know if she lied. Perhaps it would be best to give away a little of the truth and try to gauge the old woman’s attitude.
“I hear that strangers are not welcome here,” she said, hoping that she sounded like a woman who would frankly speak her mind. “So, knowing that, I fear to tell you where I come from.”
“Huh!” Nonya gave a short and bitter laugh. “You are wise to be careful, but these people are stupid—they do not understand their own traditions. It’s only the ones that are washed into the harbor by the goddess that must be returned to her.”
“Well . . .” Myrina took her courage in both hands. “I will tell you then that we crossed the Inhospitable Sea and we were shipwrecked and washed ashore, far away to the east, in the Sinta lands.”
Nonya’s eyes were wide. “You crossed the Inhospitable Sea? Foolish ones! Don’t you know what lies at the bottom of that sea?”
Myrina shook her head, wondering if she’d said too much.
“Every Taurian knows the story from childhood,” Nonya explained. “That’s why we do not often venture out onto the sea ourselves. The Bogatyr was the first man who ever lived and he possessed a magical arrow, a most fearsome weapon that would destroy the whole world if it was ever used. Have you never heard of this?”
“No,” Myrina admitted, but she could not hide her curiosity. Nonya’s words had brought to mind the Old Woman Atisha and the fascinating stories she used to tell.
“Well . . .” Nonya continued, pleased with the respectful attention she was now being given, “the Bogatyr was both wise and strong and while he lived he could trust himself never to use this terrible weapon, but as he grew older he was troubled by the sight of his three sons fighting and quarreling among themselves. He realized that he couldn’t trust any of them to shoulder the responsibility of possessing the magical arrow . . . so . . . one day he took up his bow and he shot his magical arrow right out into the middle of the dark Inhospitable Sea.”
“Aah.” Myrina sighed, recognizing the deep wisdom that was hidden in the story. “It would be safe there and nobody could find it.”
Nonya nodded. “But now . . . do you understand why we do not venture across the water?”
“I think I do.” Myrina paused for thought. “The sea . . . has its own dark secret.”
Nonya smiled fiercely. “It has! The arrow lies there on the seabed in the deepest depths, but sometimes the sea rises up and boils and thrashes, for that fearful weapon still burns with anger and tries to surface and kill us all. The fishermen who dabble at the edges of the sea live with this danger every day; they accept that the goddess takes one or two of them as they struggle to feed their families. But ignorant strangers come sailing far across the sea, with no respect at all for what lies hidden beneath it. If the goddess sees them she washes them into Tauris harbor and there they must answer for their ignorance—they are the Chosen Ones.”
Myrina sat very still, wondering if she had admitted to transgressing the strange rules of this place or not. “And we . . . ?”
“The goddess would have no claim on you,” Nonya told her gruffly.
“I am glad to hear it,” she said with relief.
She relaxed a little, feeling that she was slowly winning some approval from the old priestess, but what came next shocked her again and made both her mind and her body quail.
“It is Hepsuash,” Nonya snarled, and the bitter resentment that she felt was evident in her voice. “It is Hepsuash whom the goddess demands! She was washed ashore and she should have been sacrificed, with her sweet face and her gentle voice.”
Myrina pressed her lips tightly together, not trusting herself to speak.
The sneer in Nonya’s voice turned to anger. “But what do the stupid Taurians do? They claim her as their chosen priestess, just because they found her clinging to the goddess’s image. I know the real reason behind it—that fool Thoas drools over her wan white face. As soon as he set eyes on her I saw it and I had been hoping . . . bah!” Her mouth twisted with bitter disappointment and she turned her head for a moment to gaze out of the cave toward her granddaughter, dancing outside on the grass with Phoebe and Tamsin.
Myrina’s mind buzzed with questions she dared not ask.
But Nonya was speaking angrily again. “The people would follow me if I just had the chance to speak to them and be listened to as I once was. Thoas is so bewitched with Hepsuash that he would make her his queen, so now the people dare not insist upon her sacrifice for fear of upsetting their king.”
Myrina had seen for herself that this was far from the truth, but silence seemed the least dangerous route to take. Her stomach churned as she listened to the poison in Nonya’s words. She must somehow manage to squeeze out a little judicious sympathy for the woman.
“Katya told me what happened and I understand your anger. I know a little of what you feel, for I, too, was once a respected priestess, a Moon Rider, a follower of Earth Mother Maa. I traveled with my sister priestesses about the southern shore of the Inhospitable Sea, bringing the Earth Mother’s blessings with our dances and songs. We fought to defend Troy, and after the city fell we made our homeland beside the River Thermodon, until we were captured by slavers. To lose respect and power when it is not your fault is a hard and bitter thing indeed!”
A flicker of interest crossed the old woman’s face, but then the wicked laugh bubbled up from her throat again and her words left Myrina cold with fear. “Don’t you worry; I have the means to see off Miss Milk face!”
Myrina looked up at her sharply and could not stop herself from demanding, “How?”
But Nonya only smiled nastily in answer and shook her head. “The goddess will get her sacrifice; Hepsuash will fly into the sea, and I shall be Priestess of Artemis once again.”
The girls twirled and leaped together in the distance, happy and laughing, their faces and arms colored pink and gold with the warmth of the sinking sun, but in the shade of the cave Myrina shivered. She forced herself to sit quietly for a while, giving a nod of acknowledgment to show that she’d heard Nonya’s words and understood them.
How could she hope to shift the old woman’s bitter hatred of Iphigenia? How could she bridge the huge gap in their understanding? She must get away from this terrifying old woman and think.
She yawned. “I am weary,” she murmured, rising to her feet. “Tomorrow I take one of my mares into the city to sell. I must rise early to brush her coat and make her look her best. I thank you for your company.”
Nonya nodded, accepting the excuse. “You come and eat here tomorrow night?”
It was the last thing that Myrina felt like doing, but she reminded herself that staying close to the enemy meant knowing when they’d make their move. “Thank you,” she agreed.
