The Amazon and the Warrior Page 7

  With Little Wolf sitting beside him, watching him intently, Damon studied his prize. His forehead burned, so he touched his hand to it. His hand came away bloody. For that matter, both hands bled from scratches. His shirtsleeves were even pushed up so that his forearms bled.

  He started laughing. Tears came to his eyes. Still laughing, he flung himself backward onto the ground, arms outstretched, and stared into the blue sky. Slowly, his laughter subsided.

  No doubt remained. The peace he had created was shattered.

  But maybe this kind of peace wasn’t what he wanted. He would go into Themiskyra. He could buy supplies for the winter. He certainly needed figs and barley for bread. He could also use some raising of spirits with fermented mare’s milk, something he didn’t know how to make and couldn’t store if he did.

  And he would find out what Pentha was doing and where she was.

  He leapt to his feet and retied the arrowhead around his neck. With revived spirits, he lopped off the hare’s other leg and tossed it to Little Wolf.

  “I’ll probably live to regret it. But I’m going to fetch Bias to take care of you. Then I’m going into Themiskyra. I’m going to find Pentha.”

  He stared at the hedge, not seeing it but instead seeing Pentha standing at his gate in front of it. “I want to hear and see her voice again.”

  16

  THE NARROW, TWISTING, AND SOMEWHAT DANGEROUS trail Damon chose to reach Themiskyra seldom saw travelers. Virtually everyone from the territory around his cabin used a broader, gently curving path that led out of the high country in a gradual descent until it joined the flagstone-paved road coming from the bay at the mouth of the Thermodon. Damon chose the high “back door,” faster by two hours or more.

  Providing, of course, that one did not plunge over the side of several cliffs through which it cut. Or did not encounter, as he had just done, a rockfall that must be cleared.

  He studied the rubble. Not really too bad. Only fist-to bucket-sized stones.

  Standing patiently behind him was the donkey he borrowed from Bias’s family for supply and trading trips. Bias brought the donkey to the cabin. Damon gave the boy instructions for the care of Dia, Wolf, the ferrets, chickens, and goat, and when Damon returned, Bias took the donkey home.

  Bias called her Pleasant. That pretty much described her nature. She was also sure-footed, which meant she could not be hurried. Since Damon rarely hurried anywhere, that usually suited him. On this trip, though, he wanted to see Pentha as quickly as he could manage. Several times he urged Pleasant to make an exception—to no avail.

  He secured her lead rope around a boulder, made quick work of the debris on the path, and they were off again.

  He reveled in a clear, bright day that seemed the very essence of his own mood. Now and then he saw the red flash of a linnet or heard the pugnacious calls of jays. From occasional patches of deep woods came the tappings of woodpeckers at work.

  Within the hour he caught a glimpse of a rainbow of bright colors not far ahead on the trail—reds, greens, and yellows mostly—the coat of a man leading three donkeys. How peculiar to see anyone here.

  The narrow trail had few places that would allow two donkeys to pass. He stopped Pleasant and backed her. By the time he found a wide enough spot, the man had reached him.

  “Thank you so very much for backing,” the short little man said. “I fear I took a wrong turn. But this trail will lead me to the mouth of the Thermodon, will it not?”

  “It will.”

  “Well that, at least, is fortunate.”

  “I see you carry pigeons.”

  “Ah, yes. I am Muttalusha. A merchant. And I supply the Hearth Queen with signal carriers.”

  Damon watched the man, who had a Hittite lilt to his Achean, as the man and his three pack animals moved on. Very peculiar. How could anyone possibly make a mistake and take this trail?

  Damon turned and set off again. Perhaps he had lived alone too long. Was he now suspicious of people for no good reason?

  A little over an hour later, at shortly past midday, he turned a corner and there, spread out below, at the end of a trail that descended steeply in tight switchbacks, lay the Thermodon valley. Although the sun shown brightly, the north wind blew cold, especially on this elevated and exposed ridge. It whistled through a narrow spot in the rocks behind him, and the whistling created a shimmering, not unpleasant, green aura.

  Damon stopped. Directly below, lay the grand city, home to three times as many people as the ten thousand residents of Troy. Damon had seen Troy three times, and while its white walls and proud towers jutted in magnificence above the Trojan plain, the vast expanse of unwalled Themiskyra, with its white fountains and colorful gardens, easily matched Troy’s beauty.

  Above the city, staggered at various levels, circled half a dozen birds—Black Kites, suspended unmoving, using a strong midday rising air current to lift them, without effort on their part, to high elevation.

  Far off to the left, the Amazon compound and training grounds stretched along the coast, brown pastures and fields extending as far as he could see. In this compound, the barracks for what he estimated must be three thousand women, drawn from all the cities, towns, and villages of the Thermodon, stood closest to the city. Damon had made this trip once in spring and remembered now that when grasses were fresh and high, the Amazon grounds had been a long strip of vivid green.

  Between the city and Amazon compound lay the men’s compound, with its perpetual black smoke rising from the forges.

  Descent took only half an hour. The home of a carpenter and her family nestled against the bottom of the hill. When he came on these trips, this family let him spend the night bedded down in their barn, allowing him to meet Gryn while avoiding Themiskyra. A daughter, a fifteen-year-old dressed in winter trousers and tunic, ran out to greet him.

  “Damon,” she said, smiling as if the sun had risen after a week of foggy days. She planted a kiss on his cheek. “Shall I take word to Gryn that you’re here?”

  Her voice reminded him again what it would mean to go into the city. “No.” He led Pleasant to a water trough and tied her, then sat on a stump with a good view of the wide dirt road.

  “Would you like mare’s milk?” the girl asked.

  “It’s a bit early in the day for that. Later tonight. For now, just water.”

  She brought water and began chatting about a piglet. His thoughts wandered. He must have winter supplies. And he had come here determined to see Pentha. But going into Themiskyra would be a descent into Hades.

  He stood and paced, uncertainty gnawing at his stomach. Why have I been cursed with these colors! Why must I suffer a lifetime affliction that makes it so hard for me to be with people or to have friends?

  The girl watched with wide-eyed surprise.

  He said, “I’m going into town.”

  He would give much, suffer much, to see Pentha again. He reached where the arrowhead still lay against his chest and felt its shape under his tunic.

  “Care well for the donkey. I should be back by evening.”

  AT THE CITY’S MASSIVE oak gate, decorated with carvings of stags, boars, and hunting dogs, the crush of people and talk began the assault on Damon’s senses. He squared his shoulders, took a steadying breath.

  He had barely passed inside when the babble finally did its work. He backed into a doorway, closed his eyes, and covered his ears. Sweat rose on his forehead. He sucked in several great gulps of air.

  With one or two people, deep breathing sufficed. But deep breathing didn’t touch this nausea. He ran to the alley beside the building, ducked two steps down it before he knelt and threw up. When he’d finished, he stood and wiped sweat from his forehead and face with his sleeve.

  “Blessed Artemis, I need to see Pentha again, but this is a horrible price.”

  From experience he knew that if he remained surrounded with many people, the severe response would eventually pass—it took a day or two. In fact, throwing up had made hi
m feel better already.

  He returned to the main thoroughfare, plowed ahead, craving something to drink so he could wash his mouth. At a taverna he asked for a cup of water. He took it out the back, rinsed his mouth, and spat into the gutter.

  The directions to Gryn’s house were exactly as she had described. But once more along the way, he stopped to withdraw for a few moments into the relative quiet of an alley.

  Gryn had said that after her husband died, she looked for another, but couldn’t find any man that pleased her so much. So she settled for inviting a man to visit at night, until she or the man tired of each other. Her housemaid, a sun-browned crone with a cloud of white hair was dressed in a red woolen gown. She informed him that Gryn was ill. “Perhaps something she ate. She will want to see you. Do you want to wait for her to dress?”

  “No. Tell her I’m glad it isn’t serious. Tell her I will meet her tomorrow.”

  His pulse raced at the mere thought of seeing Pentha. He felt fifteen again, with hands and feet too large for his body. “By any chance, is the lady Penthesilea here?”

  “You can find her at the parade grounds. This morning she and her women put on a show for the Honorable Harmonia. This afternoon, anyone who wants to may visit the Amazons and their horses.”

  Having received directions, he set off. He soon found himself on the western edge of the city. In a large, oval field, women, men, and horses mingled. The Amazons stood out because they wore trousers and tunics and had their hair braided and bound simply at the back of their necks while the ladies of Themiskyra wore fall gowns and shawls and their hairstyles ranged through a variety of elegant efforts favoring curls. Gay music—drums, sistrums, flutes, cythera—set a festive tone. Themiskyrans loved their music. And he realized this was perhaps the greatest pleasure he missed by living in isolation.

  He looked for startling, gold-tinged red hair, but didn’t at once locate his quarry. Then the head and chest of a gray stallion rose above the crowd, his front hooves pawing the air. And right in front of the magnificent beast, Damon saw the red hair.

  He walked, slowly, toward her. Would she be surprised? Pleased? Maybe not pleased. He felt gazes from the crowd on him. He heard whispers. Hippolyta had said that he was talked about here, that he was considered a rebel and odd. Were the whispers hostile? Or just curious?

  Pentha and her horse commanded the center of attention. She looked radiant. At least thirty people stood watching, including Hippolyta and two other Amazons. These two stood nearly as tall as Pentha, one with huge chest and arms and fair-colored hair, the other equally fair-haired and marked by a long scar on her right cheek. Closest to Pentha stood a slender, fit-looking man, a little taller than she. Streaks of gray showed at the temples of his dark black hair. He wore no coat, just winter trousers and a tunic. But his tunic was every bit as impressive as the coat of the merchant Muttalusha. Rather dandy for the average man of Artemis.

  With a flick of a long birch prod, Pentha urged the stallion to rise again. The crowd clapped and breathed sounds of awe and delight. Then she saw Damon.

  She broke into a huge smile. By the goddess, what a smile.

  He walked up to her, nodded, then said, “Your mother’s housemaid said I might find you here.”

  17

  “DAMONIDES! DAMON.” PENTHA GESTURED TO the two Amazons beside her. “Let me introduce Bremusa and Clonie. These are my head commanders, my great strength. Indeed, they are like one.”

  Bremusa possessed the impressive arms and chest. Clonie bore the scar. And Pentha’s clear yellow voice cut through the murky aura around the whole scene. He bowed his head in greeting, and both women touched the back of their clenched fists to their forehead, the Amazon salute.

  All this talk—He sucked in a breath, hoped very much he wouldn’t throw up again. The yellow color could not blot out all other sensation.

  “You know my sister, Hippolyta.”

  He nodded to Hippolyta, who merely smiled back, a warm smile. “And this,” Pentha said, turning to the man beside her, “is Trusis, our headman. Trusis handles all things involving the men.”

  Damon gazed at a man who looked as if he had just eaten something sour. Puckered lips. Creased brow.

  Remembering the look of pleasure on Pentha’s face when she’d first seen him moments ago, Damon knew that this Trusis, if he did not already possess Pentha, wanted her every bit as much as Damon did. The headman did not appreciate her warm response to an intruding stranger.

  “Trusis,” she said, “Damonides once did me a great favor.”

  “I know you,” Trusis said. “You are the recluse who lives with animals in a cabin in the mountains.”

  The words “animals” and “cabin” oozed with the same sourness that wrinkled the man’s face.

  Damon returned the smile with one of his own. “Yes, I’m quite partial to animals.” A pile of fresh horse manure lay just behind Trusis’ left foot. Just how arrogant was the man? Damon added, keeping his tone friendly, “Speaking of animals, don’t step backward.”

  The headman shot Damon the look of a man who would not be told what he should or should not do, and stepped back. He planted his foot in the dung. Slipped. Plopped on top of it. The rich aroma rose around him.

  The crowd burst into laughter. Pentha, Damon noticed, fought to smother hers. Damon reached down toward the headman, to give him a hand up.

  Trusis ignored Damon’s hand. He pushed himself off the manure and sprang to his feet. Face red, the man rushed off.

  Pentha stepped close and laid her hand on Damon’s arm. She smelled of horse sweat and sea. He wanted to make love to her, as soon as he or the gods could arrange.

  He pushed his thoughts back to Trusis. “There are many ways to get close to animals.”

  She and her commanders and Hippolyta dissolved into laughter. When Pentha had caught her breath, he said, “Your horse is astonishing.”

  She stroked the gray’s dark muzzle. “My Valor—there is none like him. Few horses have the great-heartedness of spirit and strength in the legs to do the rise,”

  A dark-haired woman wearing a golden wreath of intertwined arrows approached. She walked with the dignity of a leader, and only the Hearth Queen would wear such a wreath. This must be Harmonia.

  Pentha introduced him. Harmonia accepted the bow of his head with a smile. She had a calming air about her, but when she said, with a faint lisp, “I have seen your workmanship. I’d say there is no finer work in leather,” the aura surrounding her voice was the usual dirty, gray-brown.

  Pentha said, “It is our good fortune, Damon, that you chose to come today. I have a great favor to ask.”

  Damon was inclined to do Pentha any favor she might possibly imagine. He waited.

  “We Amazons are experts with bow, axe, and javelin. But I’m convinced our skill with the sword does not match the skill of some others. Of the Acheans, for example.” She spoke the word Achean with lips twisted suggesting not respect, but distaste. “You fought with the Acheans. Rumors often came back to Themiskyra of your daring and skill in battle.”

  Did rumors also come back telling how many people I killed? Including women and children?

  Pentha turned to Bremusa “Fetch us a pair of swords and shields,” she said. Then turning back to Damon, “I want you to test me. I’ve been practicing, but I have only other Amazons. Clonie is good,” she smiled at her cheek-scarred commander, “but you,” she looked at him again, “you are Achean-trained. I’m willing, right now, to have you make a fool of me if you can.”

  Bremusa returned with two swords and shields. He looked at them, then at Pentha. “I have no desire to make a fool of you. I doubt I could.”

  “Please, Damon. You will be doing me the greatest favor. I want to see your moves, feel your manner of attack.”

  How could he tell her, how could he make any of the men and women now gathering around them understand how profoundly he loathed even the thought of touching a sword? Frowning, he shook his head.

>   Harmonia said, “Do indulge us, Damonides. I, too, would like to see an Achean-trained swordsman in action.”

  Hippolyta laughed. “I am taking bets. I think Damon will either land the first skin touch or will disarm Pentha.”

  Smiling, Pentha said to her sister. “I’m not so bad that you should feel safe betting against me.”

  He could do it. It wouldn’t kill him. And Pentha clearly would be amazed and perhaps insulted if he refused. She had asked as a favor … still. “A long time ago I gave up the life of the sword.”

  She grinned, a wicked grin that put fiery sparks in her eyes. “Then when I best you, you will have a good excuse to feel no shame.”

  She took one of the swords and then held out the other.

  He simply looked at it.

  She frowned. “I need to be as good as any Achean alive.” There was a touch of anger and urgency in her tone. “I need your experience.”

  He took the sword. Tested its weight. It felt at home. He was ashamed at how good it seemed to have his fingers wrapped around the hilt. Years fled and he was in Samos where he had fought his last battle. And where he had promised himself he would never fight again.

  Bremusa gave them shields. They were the larger, heavier Achean ones of wood, hide, and bronze, not Amazon wicker and hide. He wondered, did Pentha have some notion that the Acheans at Troy might, somehow, come as far as Amazon territory? Was she preparing to do battle with Acheans?

  She took a position of readiness. “The rules are, first touch to any part of the body except arm wins. First one to disarm the other, of course, wins.”

  He took his own position of readiness, the first difference between them. She held the Achean shield too high and too far from her body. She at once shifted to the position he had taken.

  He didn’t want to do this.

  She charged him and swung. He took the blow with his shield, amazed that he was forced a step back. Her upper arm was well muscled, something quite evident, but he had underestimated the power possible in the superbly exercised arm of a woman.