by Judith Hand
“There’s the Trojan commander, Aeneas,” Bias said, pointing to a spot where warriors had stopped moving at random. Several hundred of them, Achean and Trojan, had formed a huge circle, and in its center—
Derinoe’s heart clenched and a great lump in her throat shut off her breath. Valor lay on the ground, a great bloody-red pool around his neck and head, his legs kicking. Damonides stood not far from the stallion, Phemios restraining his commander by the arms. And in the center of the circle, Achilles and Pentha. Achilles held Pentha by her hair.
DETERMINED TO BREAK FROM Achilles’ grip before he could draw his sword, Pentha grabbed her head with her hands and wrenched herself to Achilles’ left. Her hair pulled free and she spun away from him, her scalp burning. They circled, taking each other’s measure, Achilles’ now armed with sword and shield.
Damon had said Achilles was huge, but still his size stunned her. She snatched off her quiver and threw it down, grabbed up an Achean shield, drew her battleaxe from her girdle, and charged. She came in fast and low. She’d sever his leg at the knee.
He was also fast. His shield blocked her swing. She brought up her shield barely in time to take a fierce blow from his sword. She followed up with a backhand at his other knee. She broke skin, saw blood, but felt no meat.
But she had surprised him. He pushed her back a step with his shield, looking at her with wide-eyed amazement. As he swung his sword downward, she caught his sword wrist with the top of her shield. His sword spun into the air. The shouting and screaming and yelling from onlookers faded. She no longer heard it, fired only by that look of amazement in Achilles’ eyes.
He ran to his right, away from her, and as she had snatched up a shield from the ground, he grabbed up a sword sticking out of a man’s belly. Watching her again, his eyes no longer held surprise. Jaw clenched, he crouched, wary. Battle rage seemed to magnify the size of his eyes.
She dropped her ax and drew her sword. He attacked, hacking downward toward her left shoulder. Her practice with the Achean shield paid off when the shield took his sword’s bite. His violent twisting of his sword to free it from her shield wrenched her arm like a bone being shaken by a dog. Off balance, her swing with her sword at his neck hit his helmet and glanced away.
He smashed his shield into hers, threw his whole weight behind his charge, and with a fist clenched around his sword’s hilt, struck her on the side of the head. The blow lifted her off her feet. She dropped her shield, and when she hit the ground, her sword hand struck a chariot wheel and the sword spun from her grasp.
Achilles sprang toward her. She rolled. Snatched up her sword. Scrambled to her feet. As she rushed him, Achilles dropped his sword, grasped a spear from the ground, squared his body, and thrust the spear into her left side.
The force of the blow shoved her sideways. With her left hand she grasped the spear’s shaft as she staggered backward and fell against Valor’s belly. She looked down at her side and the spear sticking out of it.
Strange. Knowing the gesture was futile, she nevertheless pulled at the spear. It didn’t budge.
I don’t feel pain. But this wound. This wound I cannot survive. Like Hippolyta.
77
AS PENTHA FELL AGAINST VALOR, PHEMIOS RELEASED Damon. Damon ran toward Pentha with Phemios and Bremusa right behind him.
“Feed the bizarre woman to the dogs!” he heard someone yell. “Throw her into the Scamander,” came another cry.
He was entangled in a sudden rush in Pentha’s direction, with men shoving, pushing, and yelling. He fought with others to get to her. Then a loud, booming voice reached over the throng. “Let her be!”
Damon pushed past two more warriors to find Achilles standing not far from where Pentha lay against Valor, her head lolled on the horse’s belly, her eyes closed, her hands lax on the ground. The ice-water chill of seeing death ran waves of gooseflesh across his skin.
Achilles raised his arm, fist clenched. “Don’t touch her! Look at her. Look at a beautiful face. It would have been better for me to have possessed such a woman than to have killed her. What arrogance to think she could defeat me!”
Sword drawn, Damon stepped forward. Phemios checked him. “Damon! She challenged him.”
Damon drove his sword into the ground. He wanted to drive it through the Achean. Cut Achilles in half. Feed him to the dogs. But, it had been a fair fight. He would not shame Pentha. “Not arrogance.” He spat the words at Achilles. “Hate.”
“Damon, she isn’t dead.”
He and Achilles turned. Bremusa, kneeling next to Pentha, had called out. Damon ran to Pentha. Bremusa moved aside.
He looked at the wound, huge and bleeding swiftly. Rage. Futility. His light, his joy, the center of his world lay bleeding to death on a filthy, stinking battlefield. “Pentha,” he said softly
She opened her eyes.
At first she stared, then slowly focused on his face. “I don’t feel you. Hold my hand.”
He was already holding her hand. Now he pressed it to his chest. Biting back tears, he said, “We won. The enemy is fleeing.”
“Good. Good.”
“You were fierce. Magnificent.”
“You were right. He’s very big.”
Her eyelids fluttered, her gaze became unsteady.
He choked out, “Pentha.”
“Your hand feels … safe.”
He tasted blood. He had bitten the inside of his cheek. “I love you. Always.”
“You are … .” She struggled to snatch a breath. She searched for him with eyes no longer able to focus. “ … my peace.”
A small breath, but then no other. The profound stillness of death settled onto her.
Someone screamed, “Take the Amazon’s girdle!”
Damon leapt to his feet, turned, drew his dagger, and spread his arms.
The shoving barely started when Achilles bellowed, “The right to claim her weapons is mine. And I say this woman fought with skill and courage. We will honor the Amazon Queen.” He cast a fierce look at one of the Achean warriors, presumably the one who had shouted last. “Let the Trojans honor her with proper rites.”
Bremusa pulled the spear from Pentha’s side. Blood gushed out. Bile burned the back of Damon’s throat. He turned away.
Aeneas stepped beside him and said, “I would be honored to take her to your camp.”
Damon forced himself to turn to Pentha again. He lifted her, and with Achilles and the men and women from both forces watching, he carried her to the general’s chariot and, still holding her, stepped up into the car.
78
SQUARING HER SHOULDERS, PRAYING THAT SHE would not start weeping again, Derinoe stopped outside Gryn’s tent. Lamplight poured from the seams around the opening flap.
“Gryn,” she called out. “It’s Derinoe. May I enter?”
After a bit of stirring, Gyrn pulled back the flap. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her gray hair disheveled. She gestured Deri inside.
“I ask you to forgive me for coming to you now. I know your pain is fresh. But my purpose is urgent.”
Gryn led to a pair of chairs, and as they sat she said, “It doesn’t hurt to have my mind distracted. You just missed Damon.” She nodded to the table beside them, on which lay Pentha’s golden girdle. “He brought me her girdle. Heracles battled with Hippolyta—my daughter’s namesake—over this girdle. And now it is in my care.” She started to cry, but pressed her hand to her lips and stopped the tears. “Damon left to keep vigil with my daughter.”
“My mission is urgent, so I will be quick. I come because Pentha asked me to. You make a poison for Amazon arrows. You can make it strong enough to kill a deer. I want you to make some of this poison for me.”
Gryn frowned. “Why do you want it?”
“I can’t tell you why.” Gryn started to shake her head. “But Pentha asks it.”
“No Amazon can use this poison to take human life.”
“I am not Amazon.”
The stillness of deep thought
held Gryn. She bowed her head, clasped her hands. Deri waited. What if Gryn said no? What other choice was left if Gyrn said no?
Finally Gyrn looked up. “I loved her like my own. She was extraordinary.”
Gryn stood. Deri also. Wise, kind eyes looked deeply into Deri’s heart. With her face composed and solemn, Gryn said, “Come back tomorrow afternoon.”
LIGHT FROM LAMPS INSIDE Pentha’s tent escaped into the night’s darkness. The guard pulled the flap open, and Damon stepped in. The outer room lay empty except for another guard at the entry to Pentha’s bedchamber. He couldn’t remember ever seeing so many lit lamps in a room. The resinous scent of frankincense created a sacred feeling in the space.
He walked to the guard. “Go outside. Keep watch there. And let no one enter here tonight except the woman who keeps the lamps lit.”
She saluted and left.
He entered where only two nights ago he had slept with Pentha. She lay on the right side of her bed on top of the fur cover. This room, too, shown brilliantly with lamplight. On legs that felt like wooden stumps, he approached her body.
She had been cleaned and dressed in a red tunic. Golden sandals were laced to just below her knees. Her white fur cap lay on the pillow beside her. In two days she would wear it at her funeral.
A belt he had made for her cinched her tunic. He remembered the labor, the love, he had put into making the belt. Tears finally won their battle with his will. They flooded down his cheeks, dripped onto his chest. “Pentha,” he croaked. His chest heaved as he fought to smother gasping sobs. An animal howl clawed its way up from his belly. It escaped. He fell to his knees and clutched his arms around his chest.
He stayed on his knees until the tears slowed, the heaving of his chest turned to normal breathing, the tears stopped.
He stood, left the room, went to the entry and said, “One of you bring me a perfume vial. A new one that has never held scent. Small enough that I might hold three in one hand.”
He returned to the sleeping chamber, brought a chair to the side of her bed, and sat that way until a guard entered. She gave him a vial fashioned of pink quartz so finely thinned he could easily see the lamplight through it. The guard saluted and left.
Damon reached down the neck of his tunic and fished out Pentha’s arrowhead. He untied the knot and took the arrowhead into his hand. For the first time he approached the bed close enough to Pentha to touch her. He didn’t. He had touched the dead too many times. He did not want that memory of her—cold, still, spiritless.
Instead he took a lock of her hair and twisted it around one finger. Using her arrowhead, he cut off the lock. He sat in the chair, laid the lock on the bed beside her, and then used the arrowhead to cut a length of leather from its thong. With the leather, he tied the hair in a small bundle so it wouldn’t scatter.
He started to put it into the vial, hesitated, put it to his nose and inhaled. The scent of her still lingered. Tears burned the backs of his eyes as he slipped the bit of Pentha into the vial and set it on the table beside her.
Holding her arrowhead tightly in his hand, he began the night vigil. At one point he realized he’d clutched it so tightly his palm was bleeding.
SOMEONE PUT A HAND on Damon’s shoulder. He looked up. Gryn stood beside him, her gaze fixed on her daughter. They remained in silence for a while, then Gryn said, “It’s morning.”
“We had won the day. Why couldn’t she let that be enough?”
“Dear Damon.” Gryn patted his shoulder, then hugging herself, she studied him. “When Pentha first came from Tenedos, she had many bad dreams. Rightly or wrongly, she lived with great guilt and great hate for Achilles. I don’t think she could have stopped herself—not even for loving you.”
“But we had won. I planned to challenge and kill him.”
“In the morning, as my daughter dressed for the battle, she told me of Achilles’ plans to attack Themiskyra. She said that Achilles must die. I knew then that if he did not call her out, she would challenge him. Someone had to kill him.” Gyrn’s face filled with sympathy. In gentle tones she said, “Do you think she would have left that risk to you when there was a chance she might succeed?”
For Themiskyra. For me.
Gryn squeezed his shoulder. “We came here not just to stop one man but to reaffirm our strength. If you will, Amazon ferocity. We have done that. Themiskrya is secure because of my daughter’s vision and courage. None of this Achean hoard will dare to even think we are weak. Tales of Amazon strength are already spreading. In death, Pentha has the victory she longed for. She achieved the goal she lived for. Pentha grasped her destiny willingly. And you helped her. Don’t let your grief hide that worthy truth.”
He retied the arrowhead around his neck, rose, picked up the perfume vial. “I leave her with you, Gryn. And I thank you.”
THIS EVENING’S TRIP WOULD be Derinoe’s last journey into the citadel. Tomorrow evening, after Pentha’s funeral, she would never set foot again in Troy. Troy was the past.
But there remained this one last task. She carried a special package, long and narrow, wrapped in green silk, tied with a dark green silk ribbon. A delicate-looking package.
After checking the public hallway and finding it empty, she stepped from the secret passage into it. She hurried to the door she sought and knocked three times.
Paris opened the door. He smiled and gestured for her to enter. Nodding to a chair, he said, “Would you like something to drink?”
“No.” She laid her package on the table.
Paris said, “I have been told that the Amazon Queen was your sister.” Even his voice was soft and soothing. “I offer you sincere sympathy.”
“Thank you.”
“I am most curious to know how that could be.”
“The story is not something I’m prepared to tell. It also has nothing to do with why I asked for this meeting. I prefer to come directly to the point.”
“And that is?”
“You are a fine archer. Famous for your skill. I bring you the means to destroy your people’s greatest enemy, Achilles. And of course, by doing so, you will win fame, glory, and the undying gratitude of all Troy.”
79
DERINOE APPROACHED A LOW HILL OVERLOOKING a gentle bend in the Scamander River’s course in search of Damon. He sat at the top, side-by-side with Bias.
As she climbed up, she studied Damon’s back. His hair, tied with a thong at his nape. His broad shoulders. Soon, unless he granted her wish, her path might separate from his. The thought made her chest tighten with profound sadness.
They heard her, turned, and hurried to rise.
She said, “Gryn told me I’d find you here.”
Damon’s falcon perched on a leather glove on Damon’s arm, her white head covered with the small leather helmet and its plume of red feathers.
She said, “I hope I’m not out of place or intruding.”
Bias said, “We’re getting ready to let Dia go.”
Damon stroked the bird’s nape. “We may as well do it now.”
Derinoe watched the boy remove one and then the other leather jess from the bird’s legs. Dia ruffled the feathers of her back, but still sat quietly.
Uncertain as to what was happening, Derinoe asked, “If you let her go, won’t she just come back?”
Damon shook his head. “She really only comes back for food.”
Bias, his lanky young body restless with enthusiasm, said, “She’s been stuffed, yesterday evening and this morning. Right now she’s not even a little hungry.”
Damon looked at Bias. “Ready.”
The boy nodded.
Damon used his free hand to loosen the leather thong holding the tiny helmet in place. He lifted it smoothly off Dia’s head. She blinked. Blinked again. But didn’t move.
“Fly free,” Damon said. He lowered his arm then heaved her skyward. Wings beating, stirring air that ruffled Damon’s hair, the beautiful creature shot forward, swooped down the hill, banked, and wings on
ce more in a flurry, gained height as she flew around them in a wide circle.
They sat in silence and watched the bird rise. When she had become a small dark speck, she stopped circling and headed inland to the east.
Derinoe asked, “Will she be all right?”
“Yes.” Damon paused. “And more. She’ll be free. Great things have to be free to find their destiny.”
They stood and started back to camp. Derinoe said to Bias, “Gyrn has been taking care of Leonides and Myrina all morning. Please go ahead of us, and take them off her hands for a while.”
“Sure.” Bias thoroughly enjoyed Leonides’ company. He took off down the hill at fast run.
To Damon she said, “I’ve come to ask for something.”
He seemed not to have heard her. “The Acheans are smarting from their defeat. They are eager for another battle to change the score and purge the bitter taste they now have in their mouths. Agamemnon and Aeneas have set tomorrow as the day.”
“Priam asked for a ten-day truce so we can have the funeral for Pentha in peace and then a nine day mourning celebration to honor her. This morning Agamemnon accepted. There will be no battle until well after the funeral.”
“Fine. I will fight Achilles then.”
“You won’t need to.”
“Yes, Deri, I do. Achilles remains a threat. We came here to protect Themiskyra. To make absolutely certain, Achilles must be killed.”
“Pentha has already assured Achilles’ death. But a death in honorable battle at your hands is too good for him. He will have a different fate.”
Damon frowned. “I will fight him, and I will kill him.”
“Bring him honor? Burnish his name with glory because he dies in battle with the great Damonides? Or is it to win glory and honor for yourself?”