Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons (7 page)

“We have many enemies,” Dares said evenly. “It is their number that decides the height of our walls.”

Hippolyta continued to stare at the stones, measuring them with her eyes.

“Gaze well upon these walls, little princess, and think what sort of man must have built them,” Dares said. “That man is our king. Laomedon. Do you still want me to keep my promise?”

Hippolyta took a moment before answering, then said, “I
must
see him.”

They rode closer, and soon to the west of the walls they could see a blue sea sparkling in the noonday sun. Hippolyta put her hand up to shade her eyes and stared. Half a dozen ships were beached on the sand, their masts dismantled, their sails laid out to dry. As she watched, men busily loaded sacks and jars from the ships onto wagons. Overhead a single black-and-white tern flew by.

“The Aegean Sea, princess,” Dares said. “Across those waves pirates sail, seeking plunder and slaves. Our walls keep
them
out as well.”

Hippolyta shuddered. Amazons never entrusted themselves to the sea.

They fell behind the convoy of wagons and followed them through the main gate. Seven guards saluted Dares as they passed.

“Hail, Captain,” one called. “Good hunting?”

Inside Troy the people were as strange as the houses. Hippolyta saw men and women the color of sand, of earth, of tree bark, of mustard flower. She heard the oddest accents as the merchants loudly traded in the street: silks from Colchis, spices from Egypt, elaborate pottery from Crete.

On her back the baby laughed and cooed, waving his little arm at the banners and bangles. She laughed with him. Even if she was more prisoner than guest, Troy was quite a sight.

Soon Hippolyta became aware that she was not the only one staring. She was drawing some curious looks herself. Sitting straighter in the saddle, she turned her head slightly to whisper back to the baby, “Be quiet. You’re the child of an Amazon queen. You’re the king’s child.” But it did not stop little Podarces from his cooing appreciation.

They passed by a marble temple, high and magnificent. Hippolyta looked for signs of which gods ruled here. Over the lintel was the face of a woman in a warrior’s helmet. Hippolyta drew in a quick, audible breath.

Dares saw her staring. “Pallas Athena,” he said. “Inside the temple is a statue of the goddess.” He smiled. “As long as the statue remains, Troy can never fall.”

“You place your safety in a woman’s hands,” Hippolyta said thoughtfully.
Then surely their king will give me what I want in exchange for his son. Weapons and warriors to free my mother.

“Our king knows how to use the gods to his advantage” Dares said with surprising bitterness.

“No one
uses
the gods,” Hippolyta replied.

Dares didn’t answer, but his lips were like a dagger’s slash across his face.

The royal palace now lay directly before them. Compared with it, the Amazon palace was indeed little more than a hole in the ground.

The palace rose up three full stories. Garlands of flowers decorated the windows; painted shields were affixed to the walls.

“To celebrate our victories,” Lyksos pointed out, grinning and showing his bad teeth.

On one side of the courtyard Hippolyta saw a team of four enormous horses being unhitched from a golden chariot.

“The king has returned from his morning ride, I see,” said Dares. “That’ll put him in a good mood. Lucky for you, little princess.”

Hippolyta unstrapped the baby from her back and handed him down to Dares. Then she dismounted. Turning, she saw the captain staring deeply into the child’s face. She saw that he’d figured out exactly why she was here.

Without a word, Dares handed the child back to her. Then he gave his shield and helmet to Nyctos, saying, “I’ll see all of you for sword practice before the sun is half down.”

Hippolyta stared into the baby’s face, as Dares had done. Podarces looked exactly like Antiope at that age. In fact the baby looked like all of Hippolyta’s sisters: coppery hair and brown eyes.
Only I am different,
Hippolyta thought,
being black-haired and blue-eyed.
She’d never wondered about that before.

When she glanced around for Dares, he was already halfway up the steps to the entrance to the palace. He beckoned Hippolyta to follow.

She caught up with him, and they passed a line of pillars painted with lifelike eagles and serpents. Then they went through a wide doorway into an entrance hall. It too was painted, only the subjects of these walls were hunting and war.

In the entrance hall stood many men. Courtiers, she supposed, for they looked at ease and were all dressed alike, in graceful tunics with pleated skirts and high-laced sandals.
Certainly not the garb of warriors.

Dares acknowledged their greetings with a curt nod and led Hippolyta on into the main body of the palace.

They walked along a gallery lined with statues: men wrestling, throwing javelins, fighting with short swords. Hippolyta tried not to stare.

Suddenly a boy came skipping around the corner. He was about nine years old, with russet hair and bright amber eyes. Eating a pomegranate and humming to himself, he was so lost in his own thoughts he almost collided with Hippolyta. She jerked aside to avoid the collision and almost lost her hold on the baby.

“Curse you!” she cried.

The boy pulled up short, swallowed a mouthful of fruit, and glared at her from heavy-lidded eyes. Then he noticed Dares.

“You’re back!” he cried.

Dares bowed, little more than a head bob really.

“Did you fight any battles?”

“No battles, Prince Tithonus,” Dares replied. “I think the Lydians are keeping to their side of the border after the ambush we caught them in last week.”

“Like you,” Hippolyta said, still angry at the boy, “the Lydians need to watch where they’re going.”

The boy turned to her, and this time he stared without any disguise. “Are you a barbarian?”

“An Amazon, my prince,” Dares said quickly.

The boy wrinkled his nose and announced loudly, “She’s dirty. Someone should give her a bath.”

“And someone should teach you manners,” Hippolyta said.

Dares gave her a warning frown, but the boy wasn’t at all put off.

“Do your men let you talk like that?” he asked. “I thought barbarians beat their women and kept them in cages.”

“We have no men,” Hippolyta answered, “and no need of them, either.”

“You’re very savage for a girl.” He considered her carefully. “Better not talk to my father that way.”

“I will if he talks to me the way you do,” Hippolyta declared. The baby in her arms began to fuss, for the sound of argument frightened him.

“Calm yourself, girl,” Dares advised. “For the baby’s sake, if not your own.”

Hippolyta shrugged him off and walked down the hall. Dares followed after her.

“How can you bow and scrape to that spoiled brat?” Hippolyta asked.

“He’s a prince,” said Dares. “You’d best remember that.”

“Well,
I’m
a princess,” she replied. “You’d best remember
that
?”

“She’s going to get in trouble, isn’t she?” Tithonus called, running after them. “I’d like to see that.”

Dares turned. “Prince Tithonus, please return to your quarters.” His voice was low and respectful, but there was no arguing with it. “Your father will want to see this girl alone.”

The boy raised his eyebrows. “Will he? I wouldn’t. She smells.”

“I
don’t
smell,” Hippolyta protested.

“She smells no more than any of us who’ve been out for days sleeping rough,” Dares said, keeping himself between the two. “And less than most.” He gave the boy a gentle pat on the shoulder to speed him on his way.

The prince kept glancing back as he walked away, but Dares let out a sigh of relief when the boy was finally out of sight.

Around the next corner was a pair of great doors guarded by two men carrying long and cruel-looking spears. They glowered at Hippolyta but gave way at Dares’ command, turning to push open the heavy wooden doors.

This room was even more elegant than the rest. The ceiling seemed supported by the slenderest of carved pillars. A series of mosaic tiles, arranged in patterns, made up the floor.

In the center of the room was a pool of bright blue water. There two pretty young women in delicate silken robes were dabbling their feet.

On the far side of the pool a man as golden and maned as a lion reclined on a couch. He looked up languidly, like a great beast roused from sleep, his gaze settling on Hippolyta.

“Prisoner of war, Dares?” He sounded both self-assured and amused.

“No, my king,” Dares answered, keeping his eyes firmly lowered.

The king looked searchingly at Hippolyta and the baby. Then he said, “People usually bow when they come before me.” He said it softly, but even to Hippolyta it sounded like a threat.

“I am a princess of the Amazons. I bow before no man,” she replied.

The king’s head went back, and he roared with laughter. When he laughed, the rough planes of his face resolved into something resembling beauty.

Then he stopped laughing as suddenly as he’d begun and looked at Hippolyta again, his eyes narrowing. “I know what you are, little Amazon. I have seen many of your sisters. Even loved a few. What I don’t know is why you’ve brought your little bundle here.”

He stood and walked over to Hippolyta. He was tall and wide-shouldered. His golden beard poured down his chest like a glittering wave. His long white robe was trimmed in purple and cinched in by a silver belt studded with red and green stones.

In spite of herself, Hippolyta was impressed.
Surely Zeus himself looks no more kingly.

“She’s here because of the baby,” Dares said.

The king leaned over and looked at the child, who reached out for his beard. “Why should this child concern me?”

“I must speak privately with you, King of Troy,” Hippolyta said. “My mother, Otrere, commands it of me.”

At her mother’s name, King Laomedon looked up, for a moment startled. Then he snapped his fingers to summon one of the girls.

“Take the child, Artemesia. Treat it well till I ask for it again,” he commanded.

“It’s a boy,” Hippolyta said, handing the baby to the girl. “His name is Podarces.”
Strange,
she thought,
how reluctant I am to give up this little burden now.

“All of you but this little barbarian leave me,” commanded Laomedon.

“Your Majesty, are you certain—” Dares began.

Hippolyta wondered whether he wanted to stay for her protection—or the king’s. She was about to say she could handle herself when Laomedon interrupted.

“Check the defenses on the north wall, Dares.” He waved his hand. “I need no help from you here.”

Dares bowed low and, with a final warning glance at Hippolyta, left the chamber.

T
HE KING WALKED OVER
to a table and poured himself a cup of wine. He did it with deliberate slowness, like a great beast deciding its next move.

When at last he looked up, he asked, “What is your name, daughter of Otrere?”

“Hippolyta,” she answered. “Princess of the Amazons.”

“But not the oldest of Otrere’s brats,” he said.

“Second oldest,” she admitted.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment but drained the cup of wine halfway. Hippolyta felt every bit of the time stretching out, like a leash around her neck.

“Otrere,” Laomedon mused. “Lovely copper hair. Amber eyes. Nice smile. We spent some time together. Twice.” He grinned, and the wine glistened on his lips.

Hippolyta hated the way he spoke of her mother, as if she were a broodmare he’d owned.

“We last met some months ago, on the Phrygian border by Aphrodite’s grotto.” The smile grew broader as he remembered. “I asked her to stay longer, for she matches me in spirit. I like that. But she would not. You Amazons are a restless lot.” Now the smile was incandescent, like a candle before it burns down a house. “Take her my warmest regards when you go.”

“She needs more than your”—Hippolyta spit out the next two words as if they were some filth in her mouth—“warmest regards.” Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “She needs more because of that child of yours.”

“The child you brought?”

He’s toying with me,
Hippolyta thought.
He knows very well the child is his.
But she couldn’t think why he should be doing so.

“Yes,” she said, “your son. Do you deny that he is yours, King Laomedon?”

He shrugged, finished the wine, and set the cup back on the table. “I saw a resemblance to her. Not to me. Still, she has no reason to lie about such a thing. So, you’ve brought him to his father’s house, as is your custom. Very well, princess, you’ve done your duty. If you go to the kitchens, they will feed you before you leave.”

He reached across the table to a bowl of grapes and plucked several, ready to pop them into his mouth.

Hippolyta walked over and almost put her hand on his arm, before thinking better of it. “My mother needs your help,” she pressed. “The mother of your son, Podarces, needs your help.”

He paused, a grape halfway to his lips. “
My
help? Amazons never ask for help from men. They just use them to beget children and leave.” There was an undertone of anger in his voice, as if some anger with Otrere’s refusal to stay with him lingered.

“Because Mother wouldn’t sacrifice the boy on Artemis’ altar but sent him here instead, she’s been cast in prison,” Hippolyta told him.

This time the king looked at her with great interest. “But when she sent me Tithonus, there was no such trouble,” he said.

Tithonus! That little … brat? The other brother?
Hippolyta could not believe it. But she had to answer quickly and not show her surprise.

“It’s against our laws for a queen to bear more than one live son,” Hippolyta said, her voice barely a whisper. She would not tell him why.

A mocking smile lit Laomedon’s handsome face and changed it horribly. “Now we come to it! You Amazons thrive on superstitions, like crows feeding on dead flesh. Ha!”