by Judith Hand
FIFTEEN DAYS AFTER ARRIVING at the bay, their united forces, under Agamemnon, attempted to take the citadel. The battle was a disaster. Reaching the security of his encampment, exhausted and furious, Achilles called to Patroklos, whose chariot had pulled up beside his own, “You go yourself to Odysseus’ encampment. I thought I saw him go down. And I don’t want lies others might offer.”
Automedon was bleeding from a superficial cut on his forearm. “Get that wound cleaned right away,” Achilles said to his charioteer, giving his friend a thump of gratitude. Automedon was nothing short of brilliant with the horses.
Achilles leapt down from the chariot’s car. Patroklos joined him and they strode into their tent. Achilles continued. “After you’re bathed and rested, I want you to see whether Odysseus is alive and what condition he’s in so I can rest tonight. The ‘Sacker of Cities’ is my strongest ally against Agamemnon’s endless vacillations.”
Patroklos shook his head. “We can be grateful to Athena, to Zeus himself, that the Trojans didn’t breech the wall.”
Two slaves rushed to remove their armor.
As Patroklos’ man unstrapped his cuirass, Patroklos nodded toward the bleeding cut on Achilles’ leg. “You’re wounded,” he said. Concern softened his voice.
Achilles remembered the javelin’s glancing strike. “It’s not serious.”
“Master Achilles,” came a voice from the corner to his left.
Achilles swung around to find the Hittite merchant, Muttalusha, bowing, almost cringing.
“What are you doing here?” he bellowed at the little man.
“You summoned me, sire.”
Ah yes, he had. The battle had distracted his thoughts. He dropped one foot on a footrest and the slave removed his greave. When the other was also off, he strode to a chair, saying to the slave, “Wine.”
With a sigh, Patroklos took another chair and put both feet on the footrest. Achilles gave the merchant a hard stare. “So, you have returned from your first trip this year to Themiskyra. What news do you bring me?”
Something was definitely wrong with the merchant. When Achilles first saw him, he exuded an overweening confidence often displayed by men of his trade. The second time had been just before winter set in, and Muttalusha confirmed the rumor about iron, something Achilles had turned over in his mind all winter long. But now the merchant’s shoulders drooped, as did the lines of his face.
“Speak up!”
“I fear I cannot add much beyond what I have already provided.” Muscles in Muttalusha’s cheek quivered, putting Achilles in mind of the twitchings of a cornered mouse.
“Nothing?”
“I have not been able to gain access to the men’s compound and it is the men who work the ore. The truth is, while the women at least seem friendly and open, the men of Artemis are a closed bunch. I’ve not been able to successfully befriend even one so as to bind him into my debt.”
“I don’t want you to befriend them, by Zeus! What about a bribe? What about a man with a weakness who can be blackmailed?”
The little man actually wrung his hands as he shuffled his feet. God’s blood! It was beginning to look like he’d get little more than minnows from this pond. “Knowing that they have the secret of making iron will not help me take the city. I need something useful. Like exactly how many women they have under arms.”
“I’m sorry, sire, …”
“I don’t require sorry. I can’t use sorry. Where do they keep their weapons?”
“The town women are talkative, but never the Amazons. I have only three times spoken with one.”
Patience exploded. Achilles leapt to his feet, strode to the merchant, grabbed the man by his coat, and pulled him close. “I did not pay you for nothing. When you return from your next trip, I will expect results.”
He felt the man shaking, crown to sole. Muttalusha nodded.
“There has to be some inner weakness, some jealousies among them that I can exploit.” He spun the man toward the tent entrance and then shoved him with the force of the disgust he felt, causing the little weasel to stumble. Muttalusha quickly scrambled back into balance.
“I assure you,” the merchant said, “I will return with what you require.” After bowing low, he darted from the tent like a chased hare.
With the irritating, and seemingly ineffective, merchant gone, Achilles returned to his chair. Wine awaited him. He took a long swallow, felt its smooth, comforting slide to the center of his stomach. “I may have thrown away valuable property on that Hittite.”
“I’ll repeat myself,” Patroklos said. “Why stir up the hornet’s nest Themiskyra is likely to be? Is it that the little Amazon burrowed so deep into your mind that her escape fuels this crazed urge to take on the whole race?”
Crazed! Achilles tightened his grip on his wine cup. “It’s a case of profit, nothing more. Don’t try to make it personal.”
Patroklos shrugged, then downed another swallow.
Achilles pressed on. “Not all the news is bad. I have captured ten sons of the Thracean family of Grammeron. I’ve informed the family head that they will pilot my ships to the Euxine from now on or lose a son at every refusal.”
Patroklos simply took another swig.
A powerful need seized Achilles. He felt his pulse quicken. He must bring Patroklos into favor with his desire to reach the Euxine Sea and eventually the Amazons. He and Patroklos were almost always in agreement. They had been since childhood. His friend’s good will was more valuable than gold.
Perhaps Patroklos’ attitude came from jealousy of a sort. Achilles had cared for Derinoe more profoundly than any other of the many female war prizes he’d taken or been given. Perhaps Patroklos sensed the difference. Perhaps for the time Derinoe was present in their camp, Patroklos had felt shut out. Achilles hadn’t intended any change in their relationship. Patroklos had never before been jealous of a woman. But then, the Amazon had been very different in spirit from other women.
Patroklos stood. “I need to bathe.” He strode to the door leading to his own tent and turned. “I presume you have considered that even though the Thraceans may bend to your will and act as pilots, we may not be able to muster enough rowers with sufficient strength to take very many ships through. Maybe not enough to mount effective raids. Even if we can find exceptionally fit men in sufficient numbers, man-eating demons live beneath the waters. Many rowers refuse to attempt the passage.”
Achilles felt himself warming. Patroklos had used the word we. He smiled. “We need to think not on the problems, but on the possibilities. I’ve already set our best rowers to strength and endurance training. Twelve ships are enough for a successful campaign.” In reality, until he had better in information, he could not be certain how many ships would be needed. But the information would eventually come, he felt certain. “We will get enough men through—and in battle force. By mid-summer, early fall for certain, we will be in the Euxine Sea.”
23
ONLY A LIMITED NUMBER OF PLACES MADE FOR good hunting with Dia. Her wings weren’t built for quick turns required for forest hunting. Hers were long and narrow. She needed open space bordered with woods, the hiding places for her avian prey, and plenty of open land for the burrows and warrens of her favorite catches, rabbits and hares.
So Damon, with Bias and Wolf, had hiked to this ideal spot, not far from the Euxine Sea and the Themiskyran border with Kaska country. They stood on a hill overlooking a wide valley. Dense stands of oak flanked the valley’s floor. At mid-morning, the early September day felt calm and warm, but the chill in this morning’s washstand water hinted at an early fall.
At the valley’s far end, streams of smoke from a Themiskyran settlement’s home fires curled upward into a sky full of towering cloud palaces. Now and then whiffs of burning wood reached their hill.
Dia sat on Damon’s arm. Bias carried her travel cage, just in case, but when she was put into it, she ruffled her feathers in a way that indicated she didn’t like it. Wheneve
r possible, Damon carried her.
“Put on the glove,” he said to the boy.
Bias’ face glowed with anticipation. “I’ve waited a long time.” At thirteen, he had shot up at least the length of Damon’s thumb in just the last several months. Apparently his appetite hadn’t been enough to match his growth. His arms and legs were too thin and too long for the rest of him. In time, he would probably grow as tall as Damon.
“You see how I’m holding her,” Damon instructed. “Keep your arm level, and steady.”
“I’m ready.”
Damon brought his arm up behind Bias’ arm, then slid his slowly under, forcing Dia to step onto the boy’s gloved wrist. The two small bells attached to the base of her tail jingled. The bells made it easier to find her when she took prey in dense grass or brush. Damon placed the leather jesses into Bias’s hand.
“Royally fearsome!” Bias said, his eyes fixed on the falcon in wonder. “How long before I can fly her.”
“That depends on how hard you are willing to work. What we will do, come next spring, is capture a smaller bird. One easier to handle, so you can learn for yourself everything necessary to train and care for a hunter.”
“Thank you, Damon. I give you all the thanks in the world.”
“The person you should thank is your mother. She is generous to agree to let you live with me.”
“Guess some good has to come from having three brothers.”
For some months, the boy had begged and begged, with both determination and yet respect for Damon’s privacy. Bias even went to the great length of swearing he would never set foot in Damon’s house and would sleep outside in the shed with the nanny goat if Damon would only teach him how to hunt with a bird. Damon laughed then and gave in. How could he say no to such passion. “You will sleep in the cabin,” he had said. “And I will teach you what Noemon taught me.”
He asked Bias, “How does her weight feel?”
“For her size, it doesn’t seem much. But I don’t think I could have carried her here all this way, like you did.”
“Your arm will get stronger and used to staying at that angle.”
To Wolf, Damon said, “Sit!” then “Lie down.”
Wolf immediately obeyed. He was over a year old, no longer a pup. More than a year had passed since Damon had watched a little wolf pup sitting happily in Pentha’s lap. He lingered a moment on that sweet image, then forced his thoughts to return to now. The Warrior Queen was never going to be a part of his life. Better that the memories of her be allowed to die.
He rubbed Wolf behind the ears. The pack hunter learned fast and was keen to please. If directed, he followed at Damon’s heel, and waited without moving when Damon left him.
Damon put his arm in front of Bias’s and slid the boy’s arm under his own. Dia stepped once more onto Damon’s wrist.
“Feel the muscles here in her breast,” he said, and showed Bias how.
“You must learn to keep her at the right weight. And you best judge her condition by knowing how the breast feels. Not too fat. Not too lean. She must be exercised daily. You have to keep on muscle for flying and killing. But she must always be lean and hungry. Otherwise, she won’t return. She’ll just take off and disappear into the distance.” He ran two fingers down the soft, dark-streaked white breast. “Because they are so beautiful and so courageous, we love them. But they do not love us.” That was the very first lesson that Noemon had taught him.
In a swift, practiced move, he slipped off her hood. The membranes keeping her eyes moist flicked over her black, piercing stare. Damon let the jesses hang loose and lifted his arm, coaxing her into the sky. She took off. Her wings created a great whirring and stirred up their own wind, which ruffled Damon’s hair.
At first she headed down the valley, but quickly banked several times to gain elevation.
“You will learn that she doesn’t see the world the way we do,” he said.
Bias waited for an explanation.
“She will see prey too small and too distant for me. She’ll swoop on something, strike it, and go to ground while I’m thinking I’ve seen absolutely nothing. It’s a bit frightening, but also exciting. Maybe one of the reasons I am so attached to her is because she’s like me. She experiences the world differently.”
“Like you?”
He thought about telling Bias about the sounds and colors. Decided not to. “She’s a loner.”
He sat beside Wolf to watch and wait for Dia to find a target.
Bias dropped down beside him. “You will go into Themiskyra soon?” Bias asked.
Damon nodded. “I think next week. You will have to go home to get Pleasant for me.”
Themiskyra. Pentha. He touched his tunic, felt the arrowhead beneath it.
“Got ya!” Bias said, a huge grin lighting his face.
“Got me?”
Bias pointed to where Damon had touched the arrowhead. “The fearless woman, right? The one you said made the arrowhead. You’re dreaming of seeing her.”
“I’m not!” Damon’s neck was actually warming. The heat spread to his face.
“Yes, you are.”
He returned Bias’ grin and boxed the boy’s ear. “You are way too smart, do you know that?”
“Smart enough.”
“I should keep all my thoughts to myself.”
“Let me spend this winter with you and Dia and I won’t tell your secret.”
“Very smart, indeed. Except, to whom would you tell it? The goat? The ferrets? Wolf?” Damon stroked Wolf’s head.
“Mmm. Well.” Cocky grin turned sheepish. “Right.”
Damon stared over the valley. He was dreaming of Pentha.
“Look,” Bias said, his finger aimed off to their right.
One valley over, black smoke rose from the forest.
They watched, and the amount of rising smoke grew quickly.
Damon stood and studied the horizon. Bias also jumped up. “You know,” Bias said, “that’s about where the Kaskan village is.”
They watched in silence, then Bias added, “It could just be a fire in the woods.”
“Maybe.” Damon’s scalp prickled. “But I think your first guess is right. Too much smoke, and too quickly.”
“Shouldn’t we go see?”
“I don’t get involved with people, Bias.” They continued to watch a few moments more. The smoke grew thicker. “Demon’s piss!”
Damon carried a leather pouch slung from one shoulder, his falcon kit. From it he fished out the wolverine-bone whistle and blew it. He also took out and unwrapped a bit of raw squirrel and held it in the glove.
He whistled again and searched the sky.
“There,” Bias said, pointing at the black form against white clouds.
She came in high, then tightened into her startling dive. Beside him, he heard Bias exhale an “Ooohhh!” as she hurtled toward Damon’s gloved hand, and then as she landed, the boy said, “Royally fearsome!”
Damon quickly hooded her again and as he put her in the travel cage, said to Bias, “We have to run.”
24
DAMON ESTABLISHED A LOPE THAT HE KNEW would let a fit man run a long time. Dia was too valuable to leave alone and unprotected, so he carried her in her cage. Wolf ran to his right, and Bias stuck close on Damon’s heels. He wondered if Bias had the stamina to make it all the way to the village.
A trail led from this valley to the Kaskan village, which hugged a bay along the coast. Damon slowed only slightly when they went uphill. Bias gradually fell behind.
Damon’s breathing came with labored effort, sweat stuck his tunic to his chest, and his arm ached from carrying Dia when he reached the ridge that overlooked the Kaskan site. The village straddled a small stream. His breath caught, as if he’d been punched in the stomach.
Flames ate at more than half of the structures. He could hear screams. Soon Bias trotted up and stopped, panting hard.
Damon didn’t have to guess about the fires’ origin. He count
ed five ships at sea, moving west. He squinted at the ships, took in the shape of the prow and aft deck. Still panting hard, he felt a sickening twist in his gut.
“Achean,” he said to Bias, who was bent over beside him, gasping huge gulps of air.
Achean!
The screams from the village drove out all other thoughts. Damon set Dia’s cage on the ground.
“Stay here!” he commanded.
He bounded down the hill, Wolf at his side.
Nothing but empty homes met him at the village’s outer boundary, but as he raced toward the screams—he knew those sounds well, the sounds of men in terror and pain—he quickly found scattered bodies. Five men here. Seven there. Several old women.
The screams came from the village’s center. He passed a long hut, it’s wooden roof ablaze. It most likely had been the women’s meeting place because he raced past the dead bodies of infants. Nursing infants and very young children were nothing but a nuisance to Achean raiders. That, too, he knew well.
At the village center he reached the source of the sounds searing his mind, tearing at his heart. Leaping and crackling fire tongues engulfed half of a large, rectangular wooden structure, doubtless the community meeting hall. Around him, in pools of darkening blood, lay the dead bodies of some twenty men and boys.
Kaskans built their buildings so that openings placed high up, one on each side, let in light and let out smoke. These openings would be too high for the men inside to reach without something to climb on, and when Damon raced around the front, he found what he knew he would. All the wooden tables and chairs were outside, most laid up against the only door. Wolf darted frantically back and forth, frightened yet unwilling to leave Damon.
Damon dashed to the pile, grabbed a chair, tossed it backward. The sound of fists beating on the door, male voices yelling, screams of pain, all fired his body. Many screams he could now tell were those of boys. He grabbed a table, too big for him to lift but with strength beyond normal, he dragged it backward.