by Judith Hand
Damn Pentha!
Wolf began his rounds, checking the cabin’s boundaries, sniffing and marking. Lonesome bleated again. Damon had once asked Bias, shortly after Damon traded a harness for the goat, why Bias’ father had named the goat Lonesome. Bias had simply shrugged.
Damon strode to a fresh spot at the thorn hedge and relieved himself, creating a bright yellow streak in the new, white snow. Marking my territory, he thought, just like Wolf or a polecat.
He threw chunks of meat caught yesterday to the two ferrets, then entered the shed and placed a couple of handfuls of hay on the ground for Lonesome. She quickly lipped some up and started chewing.
Yes, there was nothing Damon could do to protect Pentha in a wood at night that she couldn’t do for herself, but she was right that there was much he could do to protect her if she chose to fight Acheans.
“Damn her!” He grabbed the milk jug from the shelf, squatted next to Lonesome, and gripping a teat, squeezed. Warm, white fluid whizzed into the jug. Lonesome kicked his milking hand.
“Sorry,” he muttered, and his next strokes were more careful.
Pentha shouldn’t have come. She shouldn’t have undressed in front of him. She shouldn’t have made love with him. She shouldn’t be beautiful. Or courageous. Or determined. And she sure shouldn’t have asked him to leave the peace he had created to make war!
Lonesome kicked his hand again, harder.
“I really am sorry,” he said.
Damon stopped milking. So was this what he wanted? Did he even have peace here any more?
After he finished milking, he patted the goat and said, “You know what? I’m lonesome, too.”
36
EXCEPT FOR WOLF AND DIA, DAMON TOOK his animals—Lonesome, the rooster, and the hens—to Bias’ parents. The ferrets he’d released. The cabin stood quiet, covered in snow, prepared for its owner’s leaving.
He had told Bias’ mother, “If you don’t hear from me within a year, the cabin is yours. I hope you give it to Bias, when he’s old enough.” He thanked her for letting the boy come to assist him and care for Wolf and Dia, and then said, “I swear on my own life, no matter what happens to me, I will see that your son lives to return to you.”
The cabin door burst open. Bias rushed in, excited and eager. “Wolf and Dia and me, we’re ready. Let’s go!”
Damon put his arm on Bias’ shoulder. They walked outside, and Damon shut the door. At the gate in the thorn hedge, he turned and one last time studied the home that had sheltered him when he had crawled up the mountain like an animal that had chewed itself free from a trap.
“I had peace here,” he said, “but it was the peace of the half-dead.” He gave Bias a friendly shake. “You brought life into that peace. And so does Pentha.”
“You don’t want to leave. So why do you?”
“Sometimes we don’t get to do what we want to do, but what needs doing. You heard Pentha. I can’t convince her to quit, so I have to do what I can to protect her. I don’t want to live with more guilt than I already have. How would I feel if this mess kills her and I did nothing but sit in the cabin?”
37
THINGS VERGED ON THE EDGE OF OUT-OF-CONTROL. “Let’s avoid shouting,” Pentha said. She spoke firmly to Evandre whose voice had been climbing to an ever higher pitch and who had interrupted Clonie for the third time.
Four days after Damon rejected her plea for help, Pentha and her twelve commanders sat for their second day in the barracks meeting room, struggling with how to proceed. The stark benches set the perfect mood for sharp words and dire circumstances. Evandre was furious that Clonie seemed convinced that without Damonides’ help, the People of Artemis could not hope to meet the Achean challenge.
But Pentha’s internal fire raged with fury at Damon. He had refused them aid when he knew so much and they knew so little. Twice she’d nearly shouted herself, something that would have been so shockingly out of character it would only have upset these confused proceedings even further.
And the time for talk was about up. Shortly, she must make the hard decisions on which they would all live or die.
“This discussion is pointless,” Clonie continued bitterly, her face flushed and her eyes on Pentha, “if we don’t have better intelligence. What difference does it make who trains the men if we don’t know what nature of enemy we must defeat? What difference does it make who is in charge of developing better arms and protection if we don’t know what kinds of arms we must protect against?”
Hippolyta added, “The only Achean arms we have are forty years old. It is certain they have made changes. Improvements.”
Damon, curse him, had always avoided discussing anything military. Certainly not details of battle and strategy. Pentha said, “I’m afraid I agree with Clonie, Evandre. We are woefully without adequate information.
“Well then,” Evandre huffed, “do we prepare to concede defeat?”
“First, there is a way for us to get current information. The priestess of Artemis at Troy, Semele, has long since planted a spy in the Achean camp. I am sending you, Clonie, to Troy. By boat. That’s fastest. You will meet with Semele’s spy. Gain what knowledge you can of the Achean encampment, manpower, abilities, and tactics. No more than three months and you must be back so we can put what you learn to good use. It would be to our advantage if we had that information now.” They knew she was thinking of Damon, because she had told them about her failed attempt to recruit him. “But we will do the best we can.”
Heads nodded. Clonie gave her a broad smile.
Pentha rubbed the back of her stiff and aching neck. “Now we return to the question of who will train the men. I have decided first of all that, contrary to what many of you have suggested, the heads of each of the men’s divisions must be a man.”
Several women stiffened, faces doubtful or displeased. Bremusa frowned and crossed her arms. Pentha quickly raised her hand to silence the open mouths, and then explained. She would announce a series of testings. Based on the results, she would assign group leaders among the men, and providing that Trusis held up well, she would make him Chief Commander of the Infantry. He would help her make other choices involving the infantry. “The men must have great pride in what they will do. This is the way it was done when our men served in the past. That’s how it will be now.”
Slowly, Bremusa uncrossed her arms. She nodded. Pentha watched other bodies relax, the other warriors taking their cue from Bremusa. Thankfully, determination was replacing chaos.
Hippolyta said, “When do we begin?”
38
THE AMAZON ENCAMPMENT SMELLED OF WOOD fires, rain-soaked ground, and horse piss. Snow had not yet reached the plain. Damon had left Bias and the animals with the carpenter’s family because he must first know if he was accepted. If Pentha agreed to his help, he would insist on moving into quarters in the men’s compound, and then fetch the boy. Damon would have to become part of the world of Themiskyra, no longer separate.
He strode into the Amazon compound and headed for the barracks. He was halfway to the gray, weathered wooden building when a girl trotting on horseback arrived at the same moment as two women with spears dashed up. The two Amazons crossed their spears, blocking his path. “It is against custom for men to enter here,” said the taller one, who reminded him vaguely of Pentha’s commander, Bremusa.
“I come by order of Queen Penthesilea.” He met the tall woman’s gaze without blinking.
She returned his gaze with an unblinking one of her own. “Men are not allowed, Damonides.”
So she knew his name. He was recognized. The women probably knew also that he had refused to give them aid. “If Penthesilea accepts my help, many customs are going to be turned upside down. We might as well begin now.” He reached out a hand, pushed against the crossed spears, and walked past the guards.
The women hesitated a moment. One ran ahead. The taller one followed him to the barracks.
He walked inside. Hearing voices, he headed for
them, sucking in several deep breaths against nausea. Pentha sat at a round table, her back to him. As the women opposite Pentha stared at him with various amazed expressions, Pentha turned and then jumped to her feet.
“Damon,” she said, almost a whisper. Then louder, “Companions, you all know the warrior Damonides. You all know I asked him to help us.” She shook her head, and to him said, “To see you here, Damonides, is to say the least, startling.”
Profoundly glad he made this decision, he said, “Amazons, if you wish to use the knowledge I have of Achean warfare, I am at your service. In whatever way Penthesilea thinks best.”
Hippolyta stood and saluted him, clenched fist to brow. The other women, without exception, followed her example. He broke another tradition. He, a man of Themiskyra, did not bow. He returned their clenched-fist salute. That earned him a barrage of grins and smiles.
Pentha, too, saluted him. Relief coming in waves off her body warmed his heart. She said, “My commanders have made it clear they welcome your help.”
She ordered that a chair be brought and a place made for him. The place she indicated lay directly opposite her. Bremusa remained to her right. He felt himself sweating, but the nausea was surprising light, perhaps because Bias had been living with him.
She said, “My women understand your value to us. To the strong infantry we will create. But none of this generation of Themiskyran men of fighting age have fought a single battle. My first decision is to appoint you infantry commander.” She paused long enough for him and the women to absorb her choice. Then she said, “Very likely at first the men may not understand my decision. You were born here, but initially the men will see you as an outsider. I expect rough going. With time, though, your experience and knowledge will win them.” She folded her hands on the table. “So tell us, how does our new infantry’s chief commander intend to proceed?”
Thus began an intense fall and winter. He explained that he would arrange trials for all men of warrior age, to determine their level of fitness and skills. She had planned to do the same, and her one recommendation was that, if at all possible, it would be prudent to select Trusis, their current headman, as his second in command. “The less you upset the current hierarchy among the men,” she said, “the less friction will likely develop.”
He agreed, and in the days of testing he found that Trusis was intelligent and physically fit. Damon did as Pentha recommended, although he would have preferred a man whose spirit more matched his own. Hippolyta was fond of a smithy, Phemios, and because Damon also liked him, Phemios would have been Damon’s first choice. Instead, Phemios became third in command.
When Pentha first presented Damon to the men, he particularly watched Trusis. Trusis turned bright red in the face and looked as though he might explode from the effort to keep his protests stuffed inside. Since he had no option but to accept Damon’s authority, Trusis had, by the end of the hour, put on a bright smile. From that point he cooperated. Still, his spirit was essentially a sour one. He had a ferocious temper that Damon occasionally needed to curb when it was directed improperly toward the troops.
Damon did insist on his own quarters in the men’s compound, where he and Bias made themselves comfortable. The boy struck up a friendship with Gryn, who had moved from the city to the camp, something quite uncommon for a retired Amazon but to which Pentha agreed. Damon first discovered Bias’ attraction to Gryn when Wolf hurt a paw. Damon went looking for Bias to have the boy soothe Wolf while Damon tended the cut. Clonie said, “You’ll find the boy in the barracks dining hall with Gryn.”
He found them sitting opposite each other at the end of a long trestle table. Between them, lying on the table, was an assortment of round, blue stones, the size of dove eggs. Seeing Damon, Gryn said, “Come. Let me use you.”
She stood, walked to Damon, and showed him empty hands. She then reached beside his head, near his ear, dramatically pronounced the incantation familiar to children and adults—“Badimus Flax!”—opened her hand, and there lay four blue stones, apparently conjured from his ear.
“Royally awesome!” Bias exclaimed.
And Gryn was just that—awesome—as conjurer and storyteller. Damon had already seen her pull a hare out of an empty pot. And one night around a campfire he had listened, fascinated, as she told the story of Artemis and Actaeon to a hardened lot of Amazon archers who cheered when his own hunting hounds tore the disrespectful Actaeon to shreds.
Still beaming Bias said, “Gryn’s going to teach me.”
It eased Damon’s mind that Bias found something to do that amused him besides caring for Dia and Wolf.
Damon suffered his greatest unhappiness because Pentha would only spend the night with him every four days or so. So close to her, and yet so very far. He had argued, “I’m here. You’re here. Why can’t we be together at least at night. I see you so rarely during the day.”
“It’s not the Amazon way to become too attached to a man. We would set a bad example. Morale would suffer. You can change some things, Damon. But not all things.”
The moon cycled again and yet again and as he watched Pentha with her troops, he came to understand that this was, indeed, her destiny. With bow and spear, she was strong and accurate. With the ax, she had no peer. Horses and women responded with the desire to please her when she worked with them to learn skills like lying quiet for long periods, coming from full gallop to abrupt halt, pivoting and changing direction, and charging at a gallop down a steep incline. Twice, villagers who had suffered attacks from rogue leopards begged for her to come to their aid. She was famed for killing these dangerous predators.
Her intensity and dedication evoked similar passion in others. He sometimes worried about this fever driving her because he could not understand where it came from. Now and then he would think of her odd statement, “I don’t deserve to be happy.” The secret to Pentha lay there somewhere.
But whatever drove her, she was a primal element, like the wind from the north. Nothing would stop her. And his destiny was to help her achieve the goal of protecting her people.
Sometimes, though, he felt choked with the urge to take her away, by force if necessary, to protect her from what would come.
39
WHEN CLONIE RETURNED FROM TROY, SHE REPORTED no changes in Achean tactics and weaponry from Damon’s own days that he thought of major significance. The measures he had already taken had been the right ones.
Clonie’s assessment of the numbers of Acheans gathered at Troy, however, stunned him. “They have roughly five thousand fighting men.” If even half such a hoard descended on Themiskyra, nothing the People of Artemis had at the moment would stop them.
When their own fifteen hundred men reached satisfactory fitness and had mastered the basics of their weapons—swords, spears, and bows for most, but also some trained in sling and ax—Damon moved to something new, something that might help counter any potential Achean superiority in numbers. In more than one battle in the past, he’d felt that the Acheans might have been defeated had their victims been more organized. He trained the Themiskyran men to fight in teams, staying tight together, not in the Achean or Trojan every-man-for-himself way.
In early spring, the Hittites mounted three almost simultaneous incursions. In two instances, the local Themiskyran cavalry proved adequate. His male infantry would, in any event, have taken too long to arrive to be effective, but still he regretted that his men missed the chance to gain firsthand battle experience.
But in a third encounter, the local Amazon border troops requested Themiskyran reinforcement, and he and his men accompanied the cavalry. This battle brought him two great surprises. Just seeing Pentha fighting unsettled him profoundly, but at the end of the battle, the Amazons were killing the wounded, a practice he once told her he would never do, and there she had been, standing over a wounded Hittite. For some reason she saw Damon or sensed him watching. She looked him hard in the eye. And then she slit the man’s throat, and without giving Damon a second l
ook, moved on to the next fallen warrior.
“Amazons do not take prisoners,” she had told him. More than once he had heard Amazons shout, as a rallying cry, “The female bear is deadly in defense of her young!” Their fierce reputation was more valuable to them than gold. But for several moon cycles he could not watch Pentha doing even the simplest things without seeing that killer look in her eyes.
His second surprise involved Trusis. He found himself fighting side by side with Trusis and, even in the midst of the chaos, he saw that Trusis excelled with the sword. He was as good, if not better, than Damon. At one moment, a Hittite attacked them both. Together they struck the man two deadly jabs to the stomach. As the warrior fell at their feet, Damon’s gaze met Trusis’ in a shared moment of victory. Trusis had, at last, won Damon’s grudging respect.
Soon after these incursions, the People of Artemis gathered to celebrate the earth’s reflowering. They would sacrifice to the goddess, pray, and then feast.
Damon walked to a large natural amphitheater in the foothills with Trusis and his other infantry commanders. Pentha walked with the Amazon commanders. Themiskyra’s people paraded, leading the sacrificial bulls and sheep. Cymbals and drums roused spirits. The happy mood reflected the earth’s own joy in the rebirth of plant and animal life.
Harmonia offered the first sacrifice of fifty white sheep to the Goddess, and then Pentha rose before the crowd. “As we celebrate the return of the sun, let us also offer thanks to our protectress, the divine Artemis, for bringing Damonides to us. Because of Damonides, the People are ready to meet any foe:’
An explosion of male whistles and female clapping followed.
Even as he expressed his appreciation for their enthusiasm, Damon wasn’t exactly sure how he felt. He hadn’t taken on this task with pleasure, so its accomplishment brought only modest satisfaction. But the acceptance of the People warmed his heart, a strange, forgotten, unanticipated feeling this—acceptance.