by Glyn Iliffe
‘And Troy needs all the allies she can find now,’ Paris added. ‘With Hector gone, the future of our city could rest in the hands of these women and the army of blacks marching up from the south. If they fail us, then all our hopes may fail with them.’
‘Well, they sound perfectly vile to me!’ Helen replied. ‘But now they’re here I suppose we should go and see if all these rumours are true.’
They found King Priam already in the courtyard before the palace, awaiting the arrival of the Amazons with Apheidas and Antenor. The two older men were dressed in their finest robes – the first time Priam had worn anything other than sackcloth since the mourning for Hector had begun – and Apheidas wore his ceremonial bronze-scaled armour, which reflected the watery pink of the late evening sky. As Helen, Paris and Deiphobus joined them, they heard a series of shouts followed by the clatter of hooves on the cobbled streets of the lower tiers of Pergamos. Moments later, the guards at the top of the ramp that led up to the courtyard were being brushed aside and thirteen horses and riders came galloping on to the open space before the palace, quickly forming a line opposite the small group of Trojans. Helen looked at the riders with disbelief, though she hid this behind a display of haughty indifference. All were dressed like warriors: half-moon shields and bows across their backs; leather caps on their heads, with flaps of fur to cover their napes; and swords and daggers hanging from their belts. Though they wore no greaves, their shins were protected by layers of fur tied around with strips of leather, while in place of tunics and breastplates they wore thick animal skins. The mounds of their left breasts could be seen beneath the fur, but the right sides of their chests were flat, proving the rumours Deiphobus had heard were true.
Two of the riders dismounted and crossed the finely raked soil of the courtyard. The older of the two was around thirty years of age, while the younger was perhaps half that. Both were tall and long limbed, with finely honed muscles, but though their facial features could have been considered beautiful, Helen thought, the effect was spoiled by their severe, hard-bitten expressions. The eldest stopped opposite Priam, planting her legs apart in the soil and thrusting her fists on to her hips.
‘I am Queen Penthesilea of the Amazons, daughter of Otrere and Ares,’ she announced, fixing the king with her light-brown eyes. ‘This is Evandre, my cousin.’
Priam nodded genially to them both.
‘It’s been a long time, Penthesilea,’ he said. ‘You were but a young girl when I purified you of your sister’s death, and now you are a strong and fierce queen of your people. Welcome to Troy.’
He opened his arms and the queen’s aloof stance melted away as she stepped forward and embraced him.
‘Priam, my old friend,’ she said, pulling him into her and thumping his back with the heel of her hand. ‘It’s been too long and these are not the circumstances I would have chosen to have returned under. But here I am. Where’s that big-headed braggart, Hector? Your son would sire fine daughters and I’ve a mind to mate with him while I’m here.’
Priam drew away, though he left his wrinkled hands on Penthesilea’s shoulders.
‘You passed my son’s barrow as you rode in. He was killed before the Scaean Gate by a man called Achilles.’
Penthesilea stared at Priam and nodded sagaciously.
‘Then I am pleased for you and for Hector – it is a much greater thing to die in battle than in bed. But Hector was my friend once. I will be pleased to avenge his death for you.’
She passed her gaze over the others until it rested on Helen. The princess shifted a little under the scrutiny of Penthesilea’s cruel eyes and was quickly forced to look away, albeit with a sneer.
‘So this must be the woman who started everything,’ Penthesilea said scornfully, walking up to Helen and taking her chin between her thumb and forefinger. Helen frowned harshly, but said nothing as the Amazon forced her head first one way then the other. ‘Beautiful indeed – to the sentimental eyes of men, who love to dwell on baubles. But such finery would soon find itself at a loss among us Amazons. Any woman who cannot fight is a burden on the rest and must be disposed of quickly.’
This raised a laugh from her companions, in whom there was not the least intimation of femininity. Helen looked at them with hateful derision, angry that the potent charm of her beauty was powerless against them.
‘Mock me if you like, my fair queen, but never forget that you Amazons are simply women masquerading as men. What are you but an abomination? At least I am true to my nature.’
‘Your nature?’ Penthesilea scoffed. ‘You should be ashamed to call yourself a woman!’
‘She’s more of a woman than you are!’ Deiphobus snapped, stepping forward and pulling the queen’s hand away from Helen.
Penthesilea immediately reached for her sword, followed by her twelve bodyguards. Deiphobus, Apheidas and Paris did the same, but Priam raised his hands with a gesture for calm before laying an arm across Penthesilea’s shoulders.
‘Come now, all of you, save your aggression for the Greeks. And on that subject, when will the rest of your army arrive? How many horses and men – forgive me, women – will we need to provide for?’
‘Army?’ Penthesilea replied. ‘Our army is at home in Thermiscyra, fighting our own wars and keeping an eye on the men. We and the forty riders waiting outside the gates are all the aid you will receive from the Amazons, my lord.’
Priam’s jaw dropped. Antenor and Apheidas looked at each other in silent surprise, while Paris and Deiphobus let their hands slip limply from their sword hilts. Penthesilea smiled reassuringly.
‘And we are all the aid you will need, old friend. The Greek leaders are all men, yes?’
‘The whole army is, of course.’
‘Then they will be arrogant and conceited, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. Their pride won’t allow them to refuse the challenge of a few dozen women, will it? Tomorrow morning we are going to ride to their ships and invite the best of the Greeks to face us, man against woman. And when their leaders come out to fight us we will kill them all. How do you think their army will function when we have cut off its head?’ She thumped the flat half of her chest with pride and grinned at the old king. ‘And now we will stable our horses and eat. I assume our arrival has warranted that much?’
Priam shook his head in dismay at his own lack of hospitality. ‘Of course. Apheidas here will show you to the stables, while my son, Deiphobus, will send for the rest of your escort. Antenor and I will await you in the great hall. And, Penthesilea, my thanks to you for coming.’
He hugged her once more, and only those who knew the king would have been able to read the disappointment in his eyes.
Paris wrapped his arm about Helen’s waist as they watched the Amazons dismount and lead their horses to the stables, following Apheidas, Penthesilea and Evandre. The army they had expected had not arrived, but the fact the Amazons had only seen the need to send so few warriors was a greater stain on the city’s pride than if they had arrived in full force and filled the streets with their obnoxious arrogance. Paris sighed.
‘And so the manhood of Troy is finally and truly undone,’ he said.
The next day the Greek kings and leaders were gathered around a large table in one of the annexes of Agamemnon’s tent. Outside, the wind was sending ripples through the cotton and flax sheets that in turn were casting strange, rolling shadows over the table and the odd assortment of objects that were spread across it.
This is the valley I mean,’ Nestor said.
He pointed to two baskets that had been turned upside down to represent hills. A trail of oats passed between them, running from a small circle at one end of the table that had been formed from a belt, to a larger pair of circles – one within the other and also formed from belts – at the other.
The road from Lyrnessus in the south to Troy in the north,’ he continued, tapping the smaller circle, then the larger pair of circles, ‘runs straight through the middle of it. The slopes on the
western side are scree-covered with plenty of rocks and trees. You can hide a thousand archers there with ease, and as many spearmen beyond the ridge as you like.’
‘And if these Aethiopes want to reach Troy, they have to go directly through this valley?’ Menelaus asked.
‘Certainly, if they want to follow the main road and don’t want to be delayed by the hills on either side.’
Eperitus looked at the crude re-creation of Ilium that had been mapped out on top of the table and tried to picture the different terrains in each part. Though he had informed Odysseus of what Astynome had told him, and Odysseus, in turn, had told Agamemnon that an army was approaching from the south, the King of Men had dismissed the intelligence as worthless (especially as Odysseus had been forced to say he was told by a local farmer, so as not to mention Astynome’s visit to the camp). Only when a horseman had found his way to the camp that morning, claiming to be the lone survivor from the garrison at Lyrnessus, did he decide to call the Council of Kings. Here they had heard from the exhausted rider of how a force of warriors, each one as black as night and as tall as an afternoon shadow, had stormed Lyrnessus and put every living thing to the sword, including the few Trojans who had found their way back to their homes. He had also reported the army to be in its thousands upon thousands, but this was dismissed by most of the council as the exaggerations of a frightened man. The garrison itself was only a few hundred strong and could easily have been taken by a thousand attackers; and where, they argued, could Priam find such a powerful ally this late in the war? At most, two or three thousand mercenaries were approaching from the south, and the plan was to ambush them before they reached the Dardanian Gate and swelled the defenders of Troy.
‘Then we’ll send a force to intercept them,’ Menelaus announced. ‘A thousand Thessalian spearmen under the command of Podarces, supported by a thousand Locrian archers under Little Ajax. That should be more than enough to deal with these southerners.’
‘I agree, Brother,’ Agamemnon said, taking a swallow of wine. ‘We’ll crush these Aethiopes and the last hope of Troy will die with them. Then we can bend all our efforts to taking the city itself !’
‘You’ll need more soldiers.’
The men around the table looked at Odysseus.
‘A lot more,’ he continued. ‘Eperitus and I have visited the valley and it’s a good place for an ambush, but it has its disadvantages too. A determined force could quickly storm the slopes and sweep your thousand Locrians away, and if there are enough of them, they’ll push back the reserve force of Thessalians too. It’s a long way from there to the safety of the Greek camp, and if the survivor from Lyrnessus was correct about the numbers of these southerners, then we’d be lucky if any of our own men make it back at all. You should send three or four times the number, or none at all.’
‘We’re severely under strength as it is,’ Idomeneus countered. If we send a larger force to ambush the Aethiopes, there’s a risk they could be caught by Trojans from the city and wiped out. That would leave the rest of the army too few in number to continue the siege. It would end the war with one blow.’
Odysseus opened his mouth to speak, but raised voices at the mouth of the tent stopped him. The interruption was followed by the appearance of Thersites, the hunchback whose provocations and vulgar taunts at the assemblies of the army had always proved a scourge to the members of the council. Today, though, he was red-faced and short of breath, the usual antagonism absent from his hideous features. He shuffled in on his club-foot, his left shoulder so badly deformed that his arms dangled unevenly at his sides and his cone-shaped, balding head sunk almost down to his chest. One of his eyes was set in a permanent squint, while the other was as wide as an egg, the dark pupil revolving this way and that as he stared at the council.
Agamemnon shot him a stern look.
‘Well?’
‘My lord,’ Thersites replied, ‘there’s been an attack on the gates.’
‘An attack? What do you mean?’
‘A small group of cavalry appeared a short while ago and shot half a dozen guards before wheeling out of range. Then they did it again and now no man dare put his head above the parapet, my lord.’
‘And why is this important enough to bother me?’ Agamemnon said, his icy blue eyes narrowing. ‘Isn’t it obvious I’m in discussion with the council?’
‘But no armed sorties are permitted without your permission, my lords. Are we to give up command of the plains to such a small force?’
‘You’ve always thought yourself a great warrior, Thersites, using the Assemblies to tell us how to run the war,’ Diomedes mocked. ‘So why don’t you take fifty archers out and deal with this small band of horsemen yourself. We give you our permission.’
‘But, my lord, I don’t think they’re men at all,’ Thersites replied, wringing his hands. ‘They look like women.’
There was a sudden discord of different voices as the kings and princes reacted in shock. Only Odysseus and Eperitus stayed quiet, recalling Athena’s warning in the River Scamander and exchanging glances. Achilles, too, kept his silence as he looked thoughtfully at the messenger.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Menelaus scoffed. ‘Women can barely ride, let alone fight!’
‘I’ve struggled with a few in my time, but most of them succumb in the end,’ Agamemnon added, raising a laugh. ‘Send fifty men out to deal with them, as Diomedes ordered. And if they think it beneath themselves to fight women, then tell them they can do what they like with any they take alive.’
There was a roar of laughter and Thersites gave another bow and left. Odysseus watched him go, then turned to Eperitus and whispered: ‘Follow him and see what happens. I have to stay with the council, but I want you to watch from the battlements and observe how these women fight. Hopefully Thersites will see them off, but that oaf’s all scabbard and no sword; he’s bound to make a mess of things.’
Eperitus nodded and followed the hunchback out into the bright sunlight. Arceisius and Polites were waiting by the entrance, playing dice with a group of Athenians.
‘Arceisius, come with me,’ Eperitus ordered.
The two men left Polites looking puzzled and set off in Thersites’s wake. Despite his club-foot, he was surprisingly quick on his legs and they were soon at the walls of the camp. Here, a large group of soldiers had gathered to investigate the rumours of female warriors dealing death from horseback. They were staring curiously at the bodies of the dead guards laid out on the ground, all of whom had long, feathered arrows protruding from their bodies. Their collective voices formed an angry drone that only died a little at the approach of Thersites.
‘I need fifty men,’ Thersites shouted. ‘And Agamemnon says we can do whatever we want with the ones we take alive.’
The angry drone became an aggressive cheer as crowds of men surged forward. Though all were armed to some degree, they were not prepared for battle and very few had full armour. Thersites stared at the collection of soldiers from all the Greek nations, muttering indecisively to himself until, finally, he waved away the men at either edge of the central group and ordered the remainder to form up and turn about to face the gates. There was a frenzied borrowing of shields and helmets from those who had not been selected, and then the guards swung the tall wooden portals back on their hinges.
‘Thersites,’ Eperitus called. ‘Diomedes said to take archers. If those women can pick men from the walls while on horseback, think what they can do to your rabble of spearmen.’
Thersites looked doubtfully at the men he had gathered, who had already begun to exit the gates without waiting for his order, then waved a dismissive hand at the Ithacan captain and followed them out, belatedly shouting the order to advance.
‘What’s this all about?’ Arceisius asked.
‘You’ll see,’ Eperitus replied, pointing to the battlements, where a handful of soldiers were crouching behind the parapet to avoid being shot. ‘Come on.’
They ran up the steps to the na
rrow walkway and looked out over the plain. Thersites’s company of spearmen had crossed the causeway and were forming into a line three deep – more from experience and training than because of Thersites’s powers of command. The grasslands before them were dotted with sheep and goats from the army’s livestock that had been taken out to pasture earlier that morning; the bodies of half a dozen herdsmen lay scattered among them, face down in the dust with black arrows jutting up from their backs. Further out were the fifty or so archers who had shot them down, every one dressed in furs and seated on a fast pony. They had formed a line beyond bowshot of the walls and were waiting patiently for the force of Greek infantry to march out to them.
Arceisius leaned over the parapet, shielding his eyes from the sun and squinting.
‘Surely . . . surely they’re women!’
Eperitus nodded. His arms were folded as he studied the faces of the Amazons, his superior eyesight enabling him to see the brutal, disdainful looks on their features. They seemed to scorn any armour beyond their shields and leather helmets, and though each carried a tall bow the swords hanging from their hips also spoke of a readiness to fight hand-to-hand. Their limbs were muscular and sun-tanned, and while they did not possess the bulk of male warriors, their hardy aspects nevertheless belonged to seasoned fighters. At their head were a handsome, dark-haired woman and her younger companion, both tall and proud as they surveyed the force of Greeks gathering before the gates. Eperitus wondered whether the Council of Kings would still laugh if they could look on the faces of these women, battle-hardened and filled with calm self-confidence.
The soldiers who had been hiding beneath the protection of the parapet now stood, shamed by the bold presence of Eperitus and Arceisius. Soon they were being joined by the men who had not been chosen to join Thersites’s sortie. As they pressed against the rough, sun-baked battlements, Thersites shouted an order and the small body of spearmen began to move. The Amazons waited until the distance between them had been halved, then the older of the two women at the front gave a signal and the whole company turned and galloped westward towards the shoreline. Thersites’s men gave a shout and wheeled about to follow, quickening their pace in their eagerness to come to grips with the women who had shot down their comrades.