by Judith Hand
A great roar rose from the watching warriors and the assembly on the wall. Derinoe heard a woman’s shriek and was certain it was Andromache’s.
Hektor stood a moment, and then fell backward like a great tree.
Cassandra started moaning. And Derinoe stood unable to move, her mind detached from her body.
She watched, as fascinated as she had been the first time she watched a snake swallow a mouse, as the men around the two warriors struggled over Hektor’s body. The Trojans intended to retrieve the body so Hektor might be buried properly. Without burial, his spirit would never find peace. But they were driven back. Finally they fled toward the wall.
Achean warriors pounded Achilles on the back. He drew his sword and raised it toward Priam, thrust it into the air, full of his triumph.
He signaled to two men to help him. They stripped Hektor’s armor from his body to take as trophy. Each piece Achilles waved in the air toward Priam. Derinoe could only imagine what Priam had to be feeling, seeing his magnificent son so disrespected.
Achilles signaled again, and a length of rope was brought to him. “What is he doing?” Cassandra grabbed Derinoe’s arm. Her hair hung loose in a mess. Her eyes were red with tears.
Derinoe looked to where she had last seen Andromache. To her horror, Andromache turned and stared back with a look of raw hate.
Derinoe whipped her gaze once more to the battleground. Achilles had bound Hektor’s feet together. He handed the rope to his charioteer. The charioteer took it to the chariot and tied it to the back of the chariot car.
“What is he doing?” Cassandra screamed.
As suddenly as the detachment of her mind from her body had taken her, it released her. Derinoe screamed, “Hektor!”
Achilles stepped into his chariot and took the reins himself. He turned to the wall and yelled, “For Patroklos!”
He flicked the reins, the horses lunged forward. Achilles dragged Hektor’s body by the heels.
“Hektor!” she screamed again, and tears burned themselves down her cheeks.
His body bumped across the ground. His head struck a rock. The chariot went ever faster. Derinoe grabbed her head, closed her eyes.
She was surely going mad. His beautiful body was being dragged through the dirt. Ripped. Torn. His beautiful body. She sank onto the wall, shuddering, crying, rocking.
47
STANDING AMONG PENTHA’S COMMANDERS, DAMON waited for her to step from her tent. Beside him stood Trusis and Phemios.
Phemios had been deeply shaken by Hippolyta’s death, but his loyalty to Pentha never wavered. The men liked Phemios. They merely respected Trusis, primarily for his skill with the sword, although they also extended grudging admiration for his tenacity in pursuing any goal. Grudgingly, because his means could include stepping on others.
Close on Damon’s right, Bias fidgeted with the excess energy of youth.
After a thirty-four day march and three days of hard work, the forces of Themiskyra were well entrenched outside Troy. The site had access to water, a view of the surroundings, and high ground where Pentha could place her tent. Priam had suggested the location. Four days earlier the Trojan king sent an advance message of welcome and indicated where they might be most comfortable and secure. He said that Troy, although still in deep mourning for his son, Hektor, eagerly awaited their arrival.
Bremusa and Clonie appeared at the tent’s entry. They took up positions on either side of it.
Pentha stepped out in battle gear, dressed in short tunic, knee-high boots, and golden girdle. She lacked only her white fur hat and her weapons. Her butchered hair, although so short Damon often felt like weeping at the look of it, crowned her head in red-gold waves. The men bowed their heads. The Amazons saluted with fist to brow.
“We’ve had a long march,” Pentha said. “We made it to Troy in even better time than I hoped. I thank every one of you for what you have accomplished.”
Trusis called out, in what Damon considered a fawning tone, “It is you who led us and gave us the encouragement we needed.”
The commanders let out a cascade of whistles, the sound treating Damon to a fabulous pink and green aura.
When the whistles stopped, she said, “Tomorrow we enter the city. And soon thereafter, with the blessing of Artemis, we will join with the Trojans and finally overwhelm the Achean forces. Rest well tonight. Enjoy tomorrow.” She gave them a mischievous smile. “You can be sure that even though the Trojans are in mourning, there will undoubtedly be feasting and some fun.”
She saluted them and then walked toward Damon. She drew him aside, so only he could hear, “Tomorrow is the beginning of the end of this thing.”
“I’m not thinking about tomorrow. I’m thinking about tonight and about how I haven’t been able to make love to you for so long I can’t remember.”
“No Amazon on duty or campaign—”
“I know. No lovers. Only after victory. Making love weakens resolve”
She clapped him on the shoulder, as she might any man, but her gaze reached the depth of his soul. “And within weeks, perhaps within only days, we will have our victory and this campaign will be over, and you and I will have each other again.”
He smiled, but he felt fear, not hope. Not once during their entire march to Troy had she expressed any doubts to him. Not once had she acknowledged that they were going to attempt something Priam had been unable to do in nine years. Not once had she confessed the possibility that one or both of them might die.
She left him and returned to her two commanders. They reentered her tent, and he began walking with Trusis, Phemios, and Bias back to his own.
Suddenly Trusis said, his voice hot with accusation, “What are you doing?” He stared at Bias.
There in Bias’ hand lay Trusis’ knife, obviously pilfered from the sheath on Trusis’ belt. Trusis had caught the boy in the act.
Damon laughed. “Bias, you are impossible. And terrible at lifting.”
Trusis, still angry, said to Damon, “Doesn’t he have something better to do with his time? Seems you could put him to better use.”
To Bias Damon said, “It has been two days since you exercised Dia. Tomorrow, when I am in Troy, take her to the hill overlooking the valley I pointed out yesterday. Work her well.”
“But Damon!” The boy turned around, half skipping and half walking backward while looking into Damon’s eyes with pleading. “I want to go to Troy with you.”
“She has to be worked regularly. You know that.”
Trusis said, “I have often admired your falcon, Damon.” Trusis actually sounded sincere.
“Please Damon,” Bias persisted. “Let me go with you.”
“We won’t leave until mid-morning. You could come if you rise very early and work her and be back in time to help me do what I have to do before we leave.”
Bias turned back around, grinning. “Done!”
Damon added, “Day after tomorrow we’ll work her together. I want to see her condition for myself.” He slapped the boy’s shoulder. “Just to see that you’ve been doing right by her.”
They reached the tent used by Trusis and Phemios. Trusis put a hand on Damon’s arm. Bias had gone a few steps further but also stopped.
Trusis offered a warm smile. “I would like to see how it’s done. And maybe, when we have time, perhaps you could teach me how to man a hunting bird. Could I perhaps accompany you when you next go with Bias to fly her?”
Behind the backs of Trusis and Phemios, Bias made a sour face, waved his arms frantically, and shook his head with great exaggeration.
Damon grinned. He looked back at Trusis’ quite eager gaze. “Of course, you are welcome to come.”
Bias used his thumbs to pull back and corners of his mouth in a demon’s grin, and quickly let them go and pasted on a smile as Trusis turned to him and said, “So, Bias. Let me know the next time you and Damon will fly the bird.”
After Trusis and Phemios walked into their tent, Bias said, “The man
is a right good fool.”
“Trusis has his good points.”
“Are you really going to let him come with us?”
“There is no harm in letting him come once. He will see how much work is involved. He will quickly lose interest”
“So I really should tell him the next time we fly her?”
“Yes.” Damon had another thought. “And I strongly suggest you don’t use Trusis for lifting practice. He has no sense of humor.”
48
CARRYING A WARM CUP OF APPLE JUICE, PENTHA crossed from her tent to the small one beside it. Today the forces of Themiskyra would enter Troy. All around she heard carts and horses being prepared for the parade and restless men and women chatting with eager animation as they put last minute touches on their clothing or weapons. She must also make final rounds to be sure that all was in order, but first she must check on Gryn.
The smell of wood fires and warm breakfasts momentarily buoyed her spirits. She lifted Gryn’s tent flap and stepped inside.
Gryn, sitting on her bed, bare feet on the rug and still dressed in her sleeping robe, looked up.
Pentha said, “How do you feel?”
“Dreadful.”
“I thought you might like a warm drink to start the day.”
Taking the cup, Gryn offered a weak smile. “You are a good girl.” She took a sip, then another. “Could you rub my head again? It helped last night.”
Pentha stepped behind Gryn and used both thumbs to rub her temples.
“That does feel so good.” Gryn patted Pentha’s hand. “I can’t come with you today, and I am devastated. It will be a grand parade. Priam will heap honor on you, and I would love to have seen it.”
“This trip has been hard for you. I’m sorry I couldn’t somehow make it easier.”
“My dear daughter. I am the one who insisted that I would not remain in Themiskyra. It is age, not you, that is at fault.”
“Well, I’m grateful to have you with me. Your company gives me strength. I worry, mother. All the time.”
“When you sacrifice to Artemis today, I want you to offer a pair of white doves in my name.”
“There will be no sacrifice to Artemis today.”
“But there must be.”
“Not today.”
Gryn’s eyes narrowed with disapproval. “Why not?”
“You know as well as I that many Trojan elites not only don’t worship Artemis, they are hostile to her.”
Gryn stood. “What, my daughter, does that have to do with whether we offer sacrifice?”
“I want this day to go well. I want our leaders to meet the Trojans and establish good will.”
“And to serve that end you will not honor the source of our strength?”
“I have prayed, mother, and the Goddess has spoken to me. She sees wisdom in waiting. That way the Trojans will see that we respect their feelings. Day after tomorrow we will sacrifice to Artemis in Troy.”
Gryn nodded. “I misunderstood. I thought you meant not to sacrifice at all.” She lowered herself slowly back onto the bed. “Yes. What you say is best. It almost always is.”
“I prepare now to meet the Trojan king.” Pentha knelt by Gryn’s knees. “Give me a hug and your blessing.”
Strong, warm arms embraced Pentha. “I am honored to be your mother,” Gryn said, her breath warm on Pentha’s ear.
The next hours passed swiftly. Pentha made only one significant change. She decided that a display of the infantry, led by Damon and his commanders under their pennants, should enter Troy first, behind the war drums, not the cavalry. The infantry would be followed by a cavalry display. She strode from her tent, in full battle gear, and headed for Valor.
Her warhorse’s halter was encrusted with bronze, inlaid by Damon. And Gryn had woven a riding blanket of scarlet wool that was also emblazoned with bronze images of Artemis, stags, boars, and axes. Pentha’s battle pennant was a scarlet field against which two golden stags reared against each other with antlers engaged and below them a pair of crossed battle axes. “The blanket matches the pennant,” Gryn said upon offering her gift, the comment being a sort of female logic suggesting that a woman should never go into battle to kill people unless all her gear matches. Pentha had laughed out loud, as did Gryn when she saw the irony.
Pentha vaulted onto Valor’s back and then heard Damon’s voice. “Pentha!” he called. “Pentha. Wait.”
He strode up to her and gestured for her to dismount. Drawing her aside, he said, “The scouts returned from the Achean moat and wall. It can be breached. We can take the Acheans down.”
A hot rush of anticipation warmed her throat.
He continued, his own fast breathing exposing an excitement like her own. “It’s as we hoped. The horses will make the difference. They will let us bring big enough logs to the moat swiftly enough to span it and let the infantry pass quickly across, under the cover of archers. And we won’t make Hektor’s mistake and breach the wall in the center. We will hit them from both ends, and once inside their perimeter, we can kill them from both sides at once.”
She grabbed him, squeezed him. She fought to keep from kissing him in front of her troops. Now she could show the Trojans how to win. She could lead the Trojans. She could kill Achilles.
She let him go. “Say nothing yet to anyone. You and I must talk more details before we meet tomorrow with the Trojan commanders.”
He led her back to Valor, grabbed her at the waist and lifted her to the stallion’s back. She leaned down to him. “We’ll fight, and we’ll win.”
49
DAMON TOOK HIS PLACE AT THE HEAD OF THE COLUMN of milling men, women, and horses, Trusis to his right and Phemios to his left. For a moment he felt a strange embarrassment. He was a fraud. He had not sought this battle. He felt no excitement. No joy. Not even anticipation of winning. Just resignation.
Phemios said, “Soon we will enter Troy again as victors.”
“Perhaps.”
Phemios cast him a wide-eyed, shocked look. Damon realized he had spoken true but not wisely. ‘Perhaps’ was not a word that would animate men soon to follow him into battle. He amended, “Or we may just rush back to the city to celebrate and skip the parade.”
Phemios grinned, satisfied.
But in fact, “perhaps” was the right word. The right thought. Perhaps, if they were very fortunate, their efforts would give the People of Artemis the security Pentha so passionately wanted. Perhaps. But no guarantee existed. In his experience, one war simply begat another. One act of revenge bred yet another round of passionate hatred.
He nodded to the head drummer. The man signaled, and the fifty drummers set up a marching beat and advanced. The vibration from the drums reached into Damon’s chest.
The infantry commanders’ pennant bearers followed the drummers. Then Damon was swept into a grand display of force.
Bias came running and fell in, with Wolf tethered by a long leather strip to his arm. Although Wolf obeyed all of Damon’s and Bias’ commands, they agreed that the animal’s wild spirit was a risk, and that Wolf must be tethered around other people, especially strangers.
Trusis frowned and looked to Damon, perhaps expecting him to banish the boy to walk with the foot soldiers. Damon simply smiled back.
They quickly reached the edge of the town where a Trojan delegation in ten chariots awaited them. The Trojans turned the chariots around and led them through the city. As they passed along the central street leading to the citadel’s southern gate, the crowds grew, and so did their cheering. And virtually every Trojan face had a smear of ash on the forehead, a sign of mourning for Hektor.
Gone were the encampment’s smells of horses’ flesh and urine. Damon smelled incense and freshly baked bread.
At first the city seemed no different than he remembered, a place of fine workmanship, like the expert white stucco of the buildings, many of which were three and four stories high. But at closer inspection, signs of the long siege showed everywhere—walls n
eeded repair, he saw only limited selections of vegetables in street vendors’ bins, and unrepaired damage marred almost all community water fountains. Still, the street was as he remembered it: remarkably wide and well laid out, as good as any in Themiskyra, which he thought the finest he’d ever seen.
At the citadel wall, the head of the Trojan reception directed the Themiskyran troops to a nearby park. Damon imagined the space customarily being used for Trojan military training and for festivals. Here the Themiskyran rank and file would spend the day and then celebrate with the people of Troy through the night. Themiskyran commanders and their aides had been invited inside Priam’s famous wall.
Damon waited beside the chariot of one of their hosts as the infantry marched to the park. Only a small portion of the infantry was on display, and a still smaller portion of their cavalry. The nature of their full strength must not be revealed lest spies take the information back to Agamemnon. Most particularly, the numbers of horses must be kept secret.
Then, as the first of the Amazons began arriving on horseback, he heard, in the distance, a great noise. It grew, came closer. Clapping, shouting, stomping, whistling, pounding on pots and drums and their wooden shutters, on anything they could find, the people of Troy welcomed Pentha.
And in spite of all his misgivings, his own heart was pounding in anticipation. Yes, even hope.
Finally, he caught sight of her pennant.
50
NOT FAR OUTSIDE THE CITADEL’S SOUTHWEST gate, Derinoe waited with Nausicaa to watch the Amazons. Leonides, now nine, and Myrina, now four, stood in front of her. Nausicaa’s daughter, a girl the same age as Myrina, stood beside them. Nausicaa had given bone whistles to the children, to use when they saw something that particularly pleased them.
The Amazons had arrived at Troy with a surprise. Men serving as infantry.
“Aren’t you glad, Deri, that you came with me?” Nausicaa said as fit men paraded past and war drums lent their strides a determined air. “Doesn’t seeing fresh troops give you at least a little feeling of hope?”