For the Immortal

by Emily Hauser

  We passed through an open arch into a smaller courtyard, bounded at one end by two more columns fringed at the top with leaves carved in stone. Theseus snapped his fingers, and a woman emerged from between the columns ahead in red and blue skirts, her hair long and ringleted.

  ‘Theia,’ he said, as she approached, her hem sweeping the floor behind her. She bowed to him, and I saw – memories of Skyros flooding back to me, half painful, half dreamlike – that her eyes were outlined with black, her lips and cheeks reddened, her skin pale as if she had never seen the sun: the complexion of a Greek noblewoman. ‘Theia is of my mother’s family, and serves here in the women’s quarters,’ he continued, as she smiled at me, her eyes warm and welcoming. ‘She will find you what you need. Theia,’ he said, waving in my direction, ‘this is,’ he considered me, ‘Antiope – a good Greek name, do you not think? Not one of those barbarous horse-taming names from the east. She is to stay here in the palace.’

  I felt the smile stiffen on my face, as if he had slapped me. A Greek name. My insides twisted as every fibre of my body revolted against it. In the land of the Saka our names were a thread that connected us to our tribe, like leather straps to a war-belt, to the land, the earth: Melanippe was Black Horse, for her mount; Orithyia – an arrow of pain darted through me as I thought of my brave, wilful sister – Mountain Raging, for her spirit, and I, Hippolyta, Releaser of Horses, as our swiftest rider. How could I lose that? How could he think of taking that from me?

  And yet, I thought, as the slaves marched past bearing sacks from the ship, and my fingers brushed the swelling bruises girding my hips, he has already taken much. Why should his arrogance not lead him to take my name, too?

  And no mention of our marriage. I opened my mouth to speak, but he had turned away.

  ‘Gods,’ he said, ‘I need a bath – Eurydamas!’ he called, his voice echoing down the corridors, and I heard the hurried patter of footsteps.

  ‘Come,’ Theia said, drawing me by the arm.

  ‘Wait,’ Theseus called, turning back as I crossed the court with Theia. ‘I forgot.’ I blinked back at him, eyes fixed on his, hope bubbling inside me, taking in again his dark gaze and the curling beard now covering his chin after the long sea-voyage. Now he will say it. Now he will tell them that I am a queen chosen by the gods, that he has not meant to treat me as he has, that – though I am his captive – he will afford me the respect to which I have a right, as he swore to me in the land of the Saka.

  ‘I will be leaving for Sparta tomorrow.’ His eyes narrowed, sweeping over my tunic, my dark hair plaited over my shoulder, then to Theia, ‘When I return, I expect her to look like a civilized Greek, not a savage.’

  He strode off into the shadows.

  Blazing with mixed anger and shame, feeling more powerless than I had ever done without my war-belt and a blade at my hip to defend myself, I allowed Theia to lead me through a hall and into a suite of chambers – dressing room, a room for bathing with a clay tub inset into the floor surrounded by tiles coloured white and blue, then a bedchamber. Guards stood posted at every door, two each side, armed with long-swords chosen, I was sure, for my benefit: Theseus had no doubt measured, and rightly, that an unarmed woman – even an Amazon – would not overpower four heavy-armed soldiers. The thought did nothing to cheer me.

  The coverlets on the bed of my chamber were folded, decorated with a sprig of lavender, and sage had been scattered over the floor, sending up its scent in the cool dark rooms. I marked that the closets were filled already with women’s clothes – perhaps Theseus had sent word ahead that I was accompanying him – the pots on the dressing-table filled with cosmetics and scented oils, golden earrings and gold filigree hairpins laid out on a cloth.

  Theia led me to the bathing chamber to see a train of slaves tipping cauldrons of hot water and throwing pale rose petals into the tub, steam billowing up to the ceiling and bringing with it the scent of rosemary and olive oil. She waited until the last of the slaves had left, then helped me out of my tunic, saying nothing at the green-blue bruises blossoming over my skin, and into the bath, where the spirals painted on its inside glimmered like waves on the sea. I eased myself into the water, letting the warmth flood my bones, the thick pink petals skimming the surface protecting my shame. We had no baths in my home, only steam-tents heated by vapour over red-hot stones where we sweated the dirt from our skin and covered ourselves in pastes of cypress, cedar and frankincense. I had not bathed like this since Skyros. A sigh escaped my lips, and the steam from the water swirled around my neck and face.

  ‘Theia?’

  ‘Yes, my lady?’

  ‘You may,’ I said, opening my eyes and gesturing to her to sit on the stool nearby, ‘call me Hippolyta.’

  She hesitated. ‘My lord has given the order,’ she said, her gaze flicking aside to the guards. ‘You are Antiope now.’

  I felt a swoop of anger that she would refuse my request, that she would observe this ungodly breach of all honour – But you are a queen no longer. ‘Then call me nothing,’ I said at last, my chest rising and falling, ‘for I am not, and will never be, Antiope.’

  She lapsed into silence and leant forwards, sweeping my hair back from my neck so that it draped over the bath’s edge. It was a caring gesture. And yet perhaps, I thought, my anger slackening a little, in spite of her deference to Theseus, she might be a friend to me. She is commanded by him, after all, as much as I.

  I paused, and the question rose to my lips. ‘Has Theseus taken a wife before?’

  Her eyes softened. ‘He has had many women,’ she said, leaning down to pick up a clay bowl filled with honey and oil. Her speech was rapid as she went on, as if she had had to answer this many times before: ‘Ariadne – he carried her from Crete and abandoned her on the isle of Naxos on his return. Phaedra – Ariadne’s sister, whom he brought here – she still lives in the dwellings of the lower town. He goes to take his pleasure with her when he wishes. Periboea, Phereboea, Iope, daughter of Iphicles …’

  I felt a chill, in spite of the water’s heat, which raised the hairs on my skin as the names went on. What if I am but another on his list of conquests? What if he never meant to be bound by the laws of royal conquest and marriage, as he swore before the gods, but merely to keep me as his slave?

  The muscles of my legs tightened, as if I would run – but where? Where could I go, on the world’s other edge from my people and my home, with no weapon to protect me and no steed to ride upon?

  And yet, another voice within me said, attempting to bring back reason, he wedded you, did he not? He brought you back to Athens. He could have left you stranded on an island, as he did with that other.

  A mercy to be grateful for, indeed, I thought, my mouth twisting.

  ‘You are blessed to be his now,’ I heard Theia saying, her fingers gentle on my skin as she pressed the honey-paste to my temples and my cheeks. ‘He is wealthy and powerful, the lord of all Attica, which he has united beneath his rule. You should enjoy his favour while it lasts.’

  ‘I was a queen, you know,’ I said, my voice unsteady. ‘I ruled my own people. I fought as a warrior on horseback and could ride more swiftly and aim an arrow further than any of my tribe.’

  She picked up an oil jar, poured it onto her palms and rubbed them together, then drew her fingers through my hair, massaging the scalp. The scent of lavender filled my nostrils and I closed my eyes again. It was hard to be fearful with these soft, soothing strokes, and I felt like a steed being calmed by its rider. ‘You are a Greek now,’ she said simply. ‘And a word of warning, if I may, Antiope – my lady.’ I gritted my teeth, but did not reprimand her. ‘Theseus does not take disobedience. If you try to escape, he will have his guards run you through with their swords, without mercy, and no matter how skilled you are with a bow, you will have little chance against them unarmed, and you a woman.’

  A lump of fear rose again in my throat, my fingers quivering at my sides as if longing to snatch up the sagaris from the war-
belt I had given up. There was no escape and, like a hawk that hops into a cage after a mouse, I had trapped myself, tied myself to the falconer’s gauntlet.

  I am trapped.

  That night, I lay alone in my chamber. I told myself that it was not too different from my tent: when I closed my eyes I could hear the wind rustling the leaves outside the window, but the mattress was stiff on its roped cords and I missed the feel of wolf-skins against my cheeks, the woodsmoke scent of the fire. Theia had remained by my side all through the dinner-feast and had talked to me pleasantly enough of the court, while Theseus sat on the hearth’s other side reacquainting himself with the Athenian nobles, drinking deep of his goblet and wreathed in smiles. He had not glanced once at me.

  The door to my chamber creaked open. I sat up, heart pulsing at my throat, clutching at my side for my sword and dagger before I remembered where I was.

  ‘Who – who is there?’ I asked into the darkness, and heard my voice tremble. What if Theseus had tired of me already – if he had sent one of his guards to dispose of me, quick and clean in the night? What an Amazon queen you are now. I clutched my blankets to my chin. Footsteps came towards me, sounding over the tiled floor, then the smell of a man’s sweat, and in a moment hands were clasping around my back and a mouth was bearing down on me, pressing me down so I could barely breathe.

  ‘Theseus!’ I gasped, coming up for air. I saw him move back, saw his eyes glitter in the moonlight raking through the slat-covered windows. ‘It is you, is it not?’

  He let out a throaty chuckle. ‘You are cautious tonight, my eagle?’

  I let out a breath and sank onto the bed. ‘No, only – I was not sure it was you. That is all.’

  ‘And who else would it be?’

  I smoothed the linen of the white under-tunic I wore, embroidered with fine-stitched laurel leaves at the hem. ‘No one,’ I said. ‘You only startled me.’

  A sudden spark of light: he had lit a lamp with a flint and taper. The flame flared and glowed dimly in the deserted chamber, the dressing-table in the corner with a mirror laid upon it, the cupboard and chests with all his other women’s clothes, the chair on which I had draped the tattered, salt-stained tunic I had worn on the journey.

  ‘Unplait your hair,’ he commanded, running a hand over my head and down my back. ‘I do not like it when you look like a barbarian.’

  Obediently, I swung my plait around and unknotted the ribbon holding it, then teased apart the strands with my fingers. He was standing very close to me, and it struck me again how much older he was than my Greek had been. From here I could see the wisps of white in his beard and the soft skin of the pouches beneath his eyes. He was staring at me, his expression hungry, unsmiling.

  ‘Take it off.’ He gestured to my under-tunic.

  Confusion sent a rush of heat to my cheeks. ‘I – my lord—’ I slid my hand protectively across my breasts. Not even the Greek had seen me naked, and with Theseus the act had always been done quickly and sharply in the dark, with my tunic pushed up around my waist.

  ‘Take it off,’ he repeated. ‘I command it.’

  Slowly, shame burning on my face, I raised myself to my feet and undid the tunic where it fastened at the shoulders, my fingers fumbling.

  ‘Faster,’ he said, his breath coming quickly. He pulled at the ribbons and tugged at the tunic. It rippled off my shoulders, catching a little at my hips, then fell to the floor, a pool of white in the moonlight from the window.

  I stood before him, utterly humiliated, the lamp’s flame lighting the contours of my skin, probing, and I longed to hug my arms to me and cover my shame. I am the queen of the Amazons, I thought, and at once a sob caught in my throat. See how the gods have thrown me down. Watch my despair, Theseus. Does it please you? Does my humiliation give you pleasure?

  He was panting now, his eyes darting over my body, lingering on my breasts, the hard muscles of my belly and the dark warmth of my thighs.

  ‘So this is what an Amazon looks like,’ he said. He lifted me and threw me back onto the bed. I tried to twist away, to hold my legs together in a last desperate attempt, but he forced them apart and then he thrust himself into me. I squeezed my eyes shut, but still I could see the flames of the oil-lamp burning on my eyelids as he pushed, feel the pain shoot through my belly, and I could staunch the tears no longer. Silent as a river on a windless summer night, they ran down my cheeks and into the bolster beneath my head. My lip was bleeding where I was biting into it to stop myself crying aloud – I could taste the iron tang of it in my mouth mixed with salt.

  And round and round my head went the mocking refrain: So this is what an Amazon looks like.

  Ἀδμήτη

  Admete

  Melanchlaeni, Scythia

  The Thirteenth Day of the Month of Threshing Wheat, 1265 BC

  Pine needles scraped at my legs and forearms. The air was thick with the scent of damp and moss, and overhead I could barely make out the grey sky, shielded by the webbed branches of the spruces. My eyelids were heavy, my legs rubbed raw, my hips and back aching so that it took all my strength simply to remain seated on my mount.

  ‘Can we not rest?’ I called to Alcides, where he led the train of Greeks pushing through the woodland. At the edge of the territory of the Skoloti the plain had given way to a dense forest of pine – spiny red-trunked trees bending over us and barring our way, brown ferns brushing the horses’ hoofs, and an interminable darkness barely parted by the sun’s rays even in the middle of the day.

  Alcides did not answer, looking forwards as he rode, but I knew from the stillness of his head that he had heard me.

  I let out a breath and looked about, searching for something, anything, to break the dominion of needle-bearing trees. There had been barely any plants to record since we had left the land of the Skoloti, except a few mosses and grey curling lichens. My frustration at not finding herbs for Alexander, as I had hoped, and my growing fear that we might return too late, even if we found what we sought, hardly diminished the discomfort of the ride. I had never felt so far from Tiryns, from my father and brothers, and the comforts of the herb-garden; at this time of year the figs would be ripening, dark purple on the tree in the courtyard.

  My stomach rumbled. Our meals of wood-mushrooms, roots and berries were less than satisfying, and my memory wandered to the figs, the sensation of the small sharp seeds in my mouth, the sweet flesh …

  The cracked cry of a buzzard seared the air, bringing me to my senses. The train ahead had halted, the horses standing nose to tail, tossing their manes and snorting. I kicked forwards to the head of the party, drawing level with Alcides, his horse drawn up side by side with Telemus’, stamping and snorting in the damp air.

  I saw at once why they had halted.

  The forest tumbled abruptly into water edged with grass and reeds, a wide river with slow-moving blue-grey waters that eddied in currents, ducks swimming or diving into the water for fish. On the opposite bank there was a clearing of flooded marsh, brown water dotted with wet-grass, and at the marsh’s edge a gathering of tents, sheltered by the forest, which stretched on behind them.

  ‘The furthest river,’ I said. I would not look at Alcides, not after he had struck me, even after all these weeks, so I turned to Timiades. ‘It is, is it not? Danu Apara – the furthest river – that’s what the leader of the Skoloti said? And beyond it …’

  My voice trailed away. Beyond the river lay the Sarmatians, whom the Skoloti had told us would know how to reach the Hyperborean land. My stomach clenched and I felt my thighs tighten around my horse’s back. And perhaps then I may find the apples, the cure for Alexander’s fever, and we may return to Tiryns, and all will be as it once was. My chest lightened at the thought.

  I glanced over at Alcides. Perhaps I had been too harsh with him. Perhaps he had not meant to strike me in anger. Perhaps I should apologize for what I had said – for I, too, had wounded him with my words.

  He was testing the water with a branch, tr
ying to find the shallowest place to cross. I would speak with him later, I decided, that night, when we made camp. I watched as he leant over the bank, up to his shoulder in the water, feeling for the swimming reeds of the riverbed. At last, after much walking up and down the banks, he and Timiades called to us that they had found a shallow ford. As I rode towards it, I could see the water bouncing and bubbling around rocks, creating disturbances in the river’s surface. We crossed on horseback, slowly so as not to slip, our feet dangling in the cold water, the current tugging at our steeds’ tails.

  When I came to the other shore, wet and shivering, I could make out more clearly some tents I had seen from the other side, clustered together beneath the shade of the trees where the forest opened out into marsh. The people of the tribe were crowded before their dwellings, holding hoes and buckets of water, watching us. They had no swords at their belts and wore the same dark-dyed cloaks as the Skoloti, which had led Perses to refer to them lightly as the Melanchlaeni, the Black Cloaks; somehow the name had stuck.

  Perses had seen them too. His horse sidled over to Alcides, and I heard him say, ‘These?’

  Sthenelus called from his mount, ‘Yes, indeed, Alcides – they are easy prey.’

  Timiades drew his spear from his baldric and weighed it in his hand. ‘Gods, what I would not give for a hunt and a chase after such slow riding.’

  I kicked my horse towards Alcides, where his steed curvetted over the needles of the forest floor. ‘What is this?’

  He avoided my eye. ‘Nothing with which you should concern yourself.’

  ‘Men’s work,’ Telemus said, riding up behind me. ‘Merely some sport.’