Trying War Page 7

  Cadmus looked and saw that his brother was right. He shrugged. “Perhaps they were all boys.”

  Very quickly it seemed the entire village had emptied into the temple. It was time.

  The Herdsmen looked starward briefly and, with the constellation they had been calling Agelaus above them, they climbed down from the cypress and began their infiltration of the Amazonian stronghold.

  The sons of Agelaus stayed in the shadows and moved with the stir of the wind. They kept their swords sheathed lest the bronze should catch the light. They had little chance, they knew, but that little was dependent on being undetected.

  Machaon reached the living hall first, on the side furthest from the coiled dracon. He studied the walls of tree and vine. If they could penetrate the wall they would not have to face the creature at the entrance. But they would have to hack through in silence or all would be lost. There was a hiss and the slithering rattle of scales. The dracon was on the move… they didn’t have much time. It screeched as it caught their scent on the wind.

  Machaon motioned to his brothers, who were now beside him, and removed a dagger from his belt. He pushed himself gently into the mesh of vines, and carefully, stem by stem, he began to cut.

  Cadmus and Lycon chose places a few lengths on either side and did likewise. With this precise cutting they were able to disappear into the wall just heartbeats before the dracon passed in its protective circle. And so they made their way into the wall—it was a slow, painstaking task. The barbs of thorned vines challenged their silence but still they persevered with gritted, unflinching determination.

  From within the dense living wall they began to hear sounds and voices from inside the hall as well as the hunting cry of the dracon outside. And then a voice and temper they recognised.

  “No, no! I will not! I listen to your deranged, witless entreaties, and suffer your base presence because I am forced to, but that I will not do!”

  Hero.

  First relief. Their sister was alive. The unspoken fear they had all harboured was unfounded.

  Tensed, they listened.

  “It is your destiny, Bremusa, your duty.”

  “My name is Hero.”

  “You are a spoiled ingrate.” The voice was brittle now. “This is a destiny for which your sisters would gladly give their lives.”

  “Then let them take my place or give their lives—I care not which! I will not lie with him!”

  Independently the sons of Agelaus froze in shock and horror. Of all the fates which awaited their sister, they had thought that, here among the Amazons, she would be saved that particular outrage.

  “It is not our way to chain our queens, but we shall continue to do so if we must. You will submit. Who are you to refuse him?”

  “Do your worst, I will not lie with him.”

  Machaon had now cut far enough into the wall that only a thin veil of foliage remained between him and the inside of the hall. Careful not to disturb this last curtain of leaves, he moved slowly until he could see through them.

  The living hall was as magnificent inside as the temple was outside. At its centre stood two great stone effigies as tall as the trees themselves: Ares the god of war, and Artemis the huntress, mistress of the wild things. They seemed to cast a shadow even without the sun, and both gods held the Amazons beloved. The flickering light of torches caught the gold and bronze of the axes and shields which lined the walls. Machaon could see Hero, small beside the giant statue. She wore the short tunic of the Amazons, her hair was braided and interwoven with gold, her arms adorned and decorated. Only the chains spoke of her captivity.

  Machaon was relieved to see her thus, but bewildered.

  It was the scarred woman who spoke with Hero.

  The derision was plain on her disfigured face. “You would do well to accept what must be. This is not an honour we would have granted to a creature so flawed and weak if there had been another choice. But there is none.”

  “No! I will not.” Hero said, though she trembled as she lifted her face in defiance.

  The woman lashed out, with her hand the first time and then with her staff. Hero’s brothers would stand for no more. They burst out of the wall simultaneously. For a moment the Amazonian woman was frozen, her mouth gaping. The sons of Agelaus used that moment. Cadmus clamped his hand over the woman’s mouth, cursing as she tried to bite him. Lycon seized her arms and Machaon took her weapons. Quickly they bound and gagged her, leaving her trussed and grunting on the hall’s floor.

  And then they turned to their sister. Hero stared at them, beyond words. Cadmus grabbed her first and hugged her to him.

  “Cad?” she said, confused.

  “Yes it’s me… all of us.” He released her and looked into her eyes, fearing suddenly that they had failed her entirely. “Can you not see us, Hero?”

  She wept. “I can see… I just can’t believe.”

  Machaon embraced her now. “You must have known we would come for you, Hero,” he said. “Are you all right? Did she hurt you?”

  Hero held onto Machaon unable to speak. She released him only to embrace Lycon, the youngest of her brothers, and then she seemed to gather herself. “What are you doing here? Are you crazy? They’ll kill you! Why can you never listen…”

  Cadmus laughed. Here was the Hero they recognised.

  Lycon looked around at the hall. “Is there no one else guarding you?”

  “They are at prayer. I am chained, guarded by the dracon.” Hero looked at the woman her brothers had bound. “Derinoe comes when the sun sets to persuade me to accept.”

  Lycon turned Hero around and noted the bruises and welts on her arms and back. “To accept what exactly?” he said angrily.

  Hero said nothing, and Derinoe grunted through the gag and twisted in rage.

  Machaon spoke gently to his sister, sensing her fear. “Who did they wish you to lie with Hero? Is there a man in this village?”

  Hero folded her arms tightly over her chest and her eyes welled with tears. “Ares—they say I must lie with their god.”

  Her brothers looked blankly at her.

  Cadmus shook his head. “They’re stark-raving mad.” He rapped his knuckles on the giant effigy of the god of war. “It’s made of stone.”

  Derinoe screeched through the gag.

  “What do you mean, Hero?” Machaon took his sister’s hand. There was more to this than some deranged religious rite.

  Hero took a deep breath. “When Pentheselia died there was no one to rule the Amazons. I am the only girl-child of her womb. The royal line ends with me.”

  “So now they want you to be their queen?” Lycon said, connecting the conversation between his sister and Derinoe.

  Hero nodded and coloured. “Since Pentheselia died no children have been born of the Amazons… They believe they are cursed.” She closed her eyes. “Ares is father of the Amazons. They want him to be again.”

  “And what does Ares think of this arrangement?” Cadmus asked sceptically. It seemed to him that the Amazons were treating the war-god like a breeding bull.

  Hero shook her head and answered almost hysterically. “I don’t know, I haven’t seen him.”

  Cadmus smiled. “Perhaps he too is afraid of the Amazons… probably saw that poor stallion and ran for his life.”

  “You are talking about a god!” Hero responded angrily. “Are we not in enough peril without invoking the wrath of the immortals with blasphemy?”

  Cadmus smiled more broadly. “As much as I have missed your theological tirades, Hero, we should get out of here.”

  Machaon nodded. “Cad’s right.” The increasingly frustrated screams of the dracon were ever audible as it circled the hall in search of them, moving faster and faster. “Getting out may not be so easy.”

  Hero glanced towards the doors fearfully. “The Amazons would have heard by now. They will come for you.”

  “How do they get past the dracon?” Lycon asked. Perhaps the knowledge of the Amazons would help the
m escape the beast.

  “They sing to it.”

  “What?”

  “It’s an incantation I think… it summons Hypnos to mesmerise the creature until they pass.”

  At that moment they heard the first strains of the song. It was strange, low and pulsing, rendered by many voices outside the Hall.

  Hero clutched Lycon’s arm in panic. “They’re coming—they know you’re here.”

  Machaon reacted quickly. He used his blade to cleave through the chains which secured Hero. “Ly, take Hero through the wall—quickly, whilst the dracon is stilled. Find the horses and ride back—don’t wait—we’ll catch up.”

  “What are you going to do?” Hero demanded even as Lycon dragged her into the wall.

  “We are going to negotiate with your people… or at least distract them for a while,” Machaon replied grimly as he took Medea’s flask from his belt. He nodded towards Derinoe. “Cad, remove the gag.”

  The Amazon gave full voice to her fury as soon as he did so, but not for long. Medea’s potion was powerful and two drops sent her immediately to the realm of Hypnos, where in slumber she could not reveal the details of Hero’s escape to her sisters.

  Cadmus and Machaon drew their swords. They had no time to plan their next move.

  The doors burst open and the Amazonian warriors surged in.

  The elder sons of Agelaus stood with their backs to each other.

  “Farewell, Mac,” Cadmus muttered as they faced a hundred blades. “I’ll see you in Hades.”

  The first to speak bore a serpent on her breastplate. Her hair was white but she was not aged. Her body was lithe and strong. “What have you done to Derinoe, man-beast?”

  “She swooned,” Cadmus said innocently.

  “She is not harmed,” Machaon said, shooting his brother a warning glance.

  The woman snarled and then casting her eyes around the hall, “Where is our queen, man-beast?”

  A reply came from one of her own sisters. “She has fled again, Molpadia!”

  The Amazons seemed more annoyed than alarmed.

  “Even in the day her eyes are weak, she will not get far at night,” said the one they called Molpadia. Her gaze narrowed on the Herdsmen and she said pointedly, “We will not punish Bremusa, if we find her quickly.”

  “We cannot give you our sister,” Machaon said evenly. “She does not belong here, but we offer you her mother in exchange.”

  A gasping pause and then the Amazons roared. White-haired Molpadia held up her hand to stay her sisters as she regarded Machaon sharply. “Pentheselia fell at Troy—the last of our great queens.”

  “And she received no honours in death, given neither rite nor tribute,” Machaon replied. “Her shade has known no rest.”

  “The man-beast speaks true.” A massive woman with close-cropped hair stepped forth. “I, Clyemne, fought with Pentheselia at Troy. What we allowed the Greeks to do to our queen’s body in death is the greatest shame of our people. Surely this is why Ares has not come for Bremusa. Why we have borne no children since that day. He has turned his face away!”

  “The Amazons are beloved of the war-god!” another replied angrily.

  “I can give you Pentheselia,” Machaon said clearly before the words got any more heated.

  “It is a trick! He can give us nothing.”

  Slowly Machaon took off the pack strapped to his back and from it he extracted his mother’s skull. Only Cadmus heard him murmur “Forgive me” before he held it up for the Amazons to see. Cadmus produced Pentheselia’s breastplate, now greened with age and neglect, but still bearing the royal arms of the Amazonian queen.

  For a moment there was nothing but the sounds of recognition and horror.

  Machaon spoke again, vaguely aware of the weight of Cadmus’ hand on his shoulder.

  “We can tell you where to find the rest of Pentheselia’s bones, but we will need to be alive to do so.”

  The warriors began to mutter angrily.

  A voice came from the back of the gathering. It had authority and the warriors parted to make way for the speaker. “I have known the basest of men, and yet I have not before found a man-beast willing to horse trade his mother’s bones.”

  Machaon was startled. This Amazon was old, her grey hair was thin and frayed from her lined face. She still wore the short warrior’s tunic and bronze armour, though it seemed heavy on her ageing frame. She pointed at Machaon. “You are surprised, man-beast? I know who you are—unwanted brat of a low-born shepherd.”

  Machaon stiffened. “Yes, I am the son of Agelaus.”

  “Yes, Agelaus.” The crone shuffled forward. “Agelaus who seduced a queen. I told Pentheselia to fling you from a cliff, or better still, to slit your soft throat herself… but she was young and you were her first. Would that she listened then, rather than be subject to this desecration by the ill-born issue of a peasant.”

  “What do they call you, mother?” Cadmus asked.

  “I am Doris and no mother of yours, man-beast!” the old woman spat.

  “I am relieved to hear it,” Cadmus replied pleasantly. “If you know who my brother is, then you know he speaks the truth. We can give you Pentheselia.”

  “You will do so,” Doris said furiously. “Just shortly before you die.”

  Machaon laughed. “We are Herdsmen. For generations we kept the secrets of Troy’s tunnels. We can take this to our deaths… however slow they may be.”

  A murmur ran through the hall. The loyalty with which the Herdsmen of Ida had guarded the tunnels that breached the walls of Troy was legend. In hundreds of years those secrets had not once been betrayed.

  “We are wasting time,” Doris snapped. “Kill them and let us find Bremusa.” Many Amazons pressed forward, eager for blood.

  But the giant Clyemne disagreed. “Bremusa will be of little use to us if we do not appease Pentheselia’s spirit. This is why Ares does not come, why we are left with a flawed child on our throne. There will be no honour in the line of the double-axe until Pentheselia is given her due.”

  “Pentheselia is dead,” Doris replied coldly. “We require a living queen.”

  “And so we let this man-beast defile her bones as we allowed Achilles to defile her body!” White-maned Molpadia joined Clyemne’s call to honour Pentheselia first. Many of her sisters agreed.

  Machaon glanced at Cadmus, both aware that every moment that passed would help Lycon and Hero get away.

  The crone, Doris, approached Machaon. “Where is she then, man-beast?” she said, reaching tenderly for Pentheselia’s skull.

  “First, our sister,” Machaon said, allowing her to snatch it from him. “Your oath that we will be allowed to take her home.”

  “Bremusa’s home is here,” Doris said, her eyes transfixed upon the red strands which still adhered to the skull of her dead queen. Her thin lips pressed together in thought. “We will give you this oath, man-beast, which we will swear by the almighty gods. When we find Bremusa we will not punish her…” The old woman’s gaze strayed to unconscious Derinoe. “We will not beat Bremusa again. That will be your gift to your sister… and we will not turn our blades against you.” She studied them, sly, assessing. “You may remain here with your sister in the service of her people.”

  “What service exactly?” Cadmus asked, thinking immediately of the hobbled stallion.

  “We accept your terms,” Machaon interrupted.

  “Mac…” Cadmus whispered, alarmed. Already the murderous gazes of the warriors were tinged with lust. Both he and Machaon had known the arms of women but on those occasions they had done so willingly. These arms would not be soft.

  “We are in the village of the Amazons… this is the best bargain we can hope for,” Machaon said clearly. “If we have your oath we will tell you where to find Pentheselia.”

  Doris smiled faintly and made the oath on behalf of her people.

  Grimly, Machaon told her where they’d buried the remainder of Pentheselia’s bones.

 
; Doris’ smile stretched to resemble a leer. “You think us simple, son of Agelaus. You think you will escape us with your sister, now that we are sworn not to kill you.” She laughed, exposing the gaps in her mouth where teeth once might have been. “Keeping you alive is what will bring Bremusa back to us. She fears us, yes, as she fears her destiny, but for her brothers she will return and for their lives she will agree to anything.”

  “You have sworn not to hurt her, or to kill us,” Machaon challenged. “Is an Amazonian oath worth nothing?”

  “There will be no need to hurt Bremusa when we can hurt you. You will not die though you may want to… and she will do whatever we ask.”

  Large Clyemne broke in. “Let us retrieve Pentheselia first. Let us make her remains whole and inter her as a queen should be interred.”

  Molpadia raised her voice in accord. “The moon’s face is full. Let Pentheselia lie not one more night outside the embrace of her village. We will go as a united people, as we were when Pentheselia was our queen. Let us appease her spirit and the gods themselves with the entirety of the honour we show here. Bremusa’s eyes are all but sightless—she will not get out of the village at night without her rescuers… we have all heard her weep for her brothers, she will not leave them at our mercy.”

  Molpadia’s words were well received. The Amazons shouted praise of Pentheselia and celebrated her return to them. Machaon and Cadmus did not resist as their weapons were seized, and their hands bound before them.

  Clyemne cupped her hand beneath Cadmus’ chin and looked long at his face. “They are comely beasts,” she said, laughing. “They may serve us well.”

  They were taken out of the hall to an iron cage, which was placed between the pillars of the living hall. They could now see the three Amazons who sang continuously to keep the coiled dracon at bay.

  “The dracon is guardian of the Royal Hall,” Molpadia said as they were thrown into the cage. “Outside the protection of these bars you will be devoured.”

  A horn was sounded and the Amazons called their mares, who it seemed were trained to respond to the summons. They mounted en masse and formed two fearsome, sombre lines to ride for the place where much of Pentheselia remained. Even the women who sang climbed upon steeds though they did so without breaking their song.