Last of the Amazons (19 page)

Raped and kidnapped!

Borne in bondage across the sea!

Of course I knew this to be rubbish. Yet the people devoured it as fact. The host thundered in approbation. At one stroke all trepidation fled the corps, supplanted by hate and
lyssa,
war fury. The nation clamored for vengeance, shrilling Antiope's name as its battle cry, and calling upon Eleuthera to lead it in avenging her abduction.

Over succeeding days, reports corroborated Eleuthera's story. Drudges who had served the Greek camp were produced and tortured; they repeated her account word for word. Eyewitnesses came forward of our own people, swearing mighty oaths that they had been present upon the strand where Theseus' ships lay beached; they had seen Antiope dragged from her horse by a mob of men whence, her will vitiated by the narcotics with which her predator had enfeebled her, she fell resisting to the last.

More troubling to the people was this dispatch from the east: the pirate Theseus' vessels, far from sailing west toward home, had beyond sight of shore put about toward Colchis and the river Phasis. There even now, the report declared, the Greeks traded for iron with the Chalybes, grain with the Royal Scyths, and gold with the Rhipaean Caucasians. In each land (so these reports told), possession of our queen had elevated Theseus' prestige spectacularly, while painting us as impotent and vulnerable.

North of the Mound City is an eminence, the Hill of Ares, upon which the Council convenes, in a pavilion erected for such occasion, to debate and declare war. To this site Eleuthera and her Companions made, myself among them, ten days subsequent to Antiope's flight. We purified the ground and set up the Council tent. Past dark on the eve of assembly, chance set me at Eleuthera's shoulder within the pavilion. My heart was afflicted and she saw it.

“Spit it out,” my friend commanded.

I obeyed. “You have spoken falsely before the people.” From my breast burst this indictment: “Antiope was not raped and you know it. She fled willingly. You compelled her with your two hundred. You meant to murder her!”

The Companions drew up in astonishment at this outburst from me. Eleuthera responded for all to hear.

“Do not confront me, Selene, with the fatuous indignation of a child. We are women now. Antiope had to die. I took the step to effect it. I miscalculated one factor only—the power of her presence. Two hundred I sent, and she cowed them all!”

My mate met my eye with a look I had never seen. “Understand this, Selene. From the moment our lady sought clemency for the foe at the Tanais, her doom was sealed. She knew it. All that wanted was the site and the hour. Let her be slain by her sisters; this would be well. The nation may grieve and grant her honor. An orderly transition of power may take place. More important, our enemies will perceive no crisis. One outcome alone could not be permitted, the very one which has eventuated: that Antiope flee or be stolen alive by such pirates as the Greeks.

“Nor is this the worst of it, my friend. But Antiope has abandoned us, not for love of a man (which I could admire, after all, as it is founded on passion and ecstasy) but because her heart has rejected the way we live and who we are. She has named us savages. Our society she abhors as unnatural and condemned.”

Two pages chanced to enter at this moment. Eleuthera banished them with a glower. She turned back, not to me alone but to the others of her circle—Stratonike and Skyleia; Alcippe and Glauke Grey Eyes, Tecmessa, Xanthe, and my sister Chryssa, as well as Electra, Adrasteia, and Pantariste.

“Antiope believes Theseus superior to us. She warrants his way worthier than ours. And here is a further truth, Selene, since you prize candor so highly: if the people learn this, it will crush them. Do you doubt? Then tell your tale. Tell the people there was no rape. Tell them our lady flew, uncoerced and unabducted. And while you're at it, tell them she is with child. Theseus' child. Tell them that knowing herself to be impregnated, she fled to bear her babe at Athens. Tell them that. Do you know what will happen? They will not believe you. They will take your life on the spot for offering such slander, which in their hearts they know to be true but cannot bear to hear spoken.”

Eleuthera addressed the Companions. “Understand, my friends. Tal Kyrte's ways are pure but they are also vulnerable. The stainless heart is most easily corrupted. As Antiope fell, so others may, and by the same contagion. So I keep it simple for the people. I tell them the foe has forced Antiope's flesh. This is enough. This they understand.”

I sought to protest. Eleuthera cut me off.

“You have imbibed too much of civilization, Selene. Your sojourn among the shopkeepers of Sinope has estranged you from tal Kyrte's simple ways. This is why you take Antiope's side against me. It is why you have found a lover among men, as she did, and surrendered yourself to him as she to Theseus. Your devotion you have withdrawn from me, Selene, whom once you loved beyond all others.”

Eleuthera turned away. I saw that the loss of Antiope's love—and perhaps mine as well—had stricken her to the quick. I would have felt pity for her had she been less formidable. One might as well dole leniency to a lioness.

Voices could be heard outside the tent. The elders entered for their convocation and, discovering Eleuthera and her Companions in the posture of conflict, held up at the portal, preserving our dignity by affecting not to see. In moments we had hustled the site into shape. The council reentered and took their places, seventeen in all, including male chieftains of the Maeotians and Gagarians, the body as a whole presided over by Hippolyta as peace queen and ranking elder.

A page attended each councilor. These set before their mistresses the low four-legged altars tal Kyrte calls “smokers.” The pages piled sweet herbs atop each, lit the mounds and withdrew. The elders, sitting cross-legged, plied the ascending vapors with their palms and their raven and eagle wings, drawing the wisps over their crowns and shoulders, inhaling. None spoke, but each convened with her own spirit, while the priestess chanted the invocation and call for counsel. The chamber thickened, blue with smoke. At last, by a look Hippolyta indicated Eleuthera, directing her to begin.

Eleuthera spoke from her seat, cross-legged, within the circle. She did not plunge at once into matters as a Greek would, but offered first prayers for the free people's well-being. She acknowledged her own shortcomings as a commander, praised the elders for their forbearance, and supplicated heaven for guidance in the days to come. The council looked in every direction except hers; they seemed barely to attend her. Yet they missed nothing. Observing, one marked only the graceful plying of palms and raven wings, and the smoke passing over each listener in purifying purpose. Eleuthera spoke of Antiope and the loss the nation had suffered. She remarked the consternation into which the people had been cast and assailed those who sought to underportray its moment. Then, speaking calmly but with emphasis, she arrived at the meat.

“In the absconding of Antiope, I perceive an epochal overthrow which threatens the very survival of the nation. Here, my heart tells me, is the most critical reverse since the champions fell before Heracles, not only for the blow it deals the people's self-certitude, but, far more gravely, for the evil it will inspire in our enemies. The nations of the steppe are superstitious. They will perceive in Antiope's flight evidence of heaven's disaffection. With her has perished our
aedor,
they will believe, our soul and power. The princes of the plains will be emboldened to make trial of us, perhaps not at once, perhaps not in force, but by degrees they will be nerved to step up their aggression along our frontiers, to poach more aggressively upon our herds. Nor may we except our foes across the sea, Hittites and Armenians, Medians and Cappadocians, not to say Pelasgians and Greeks, who will be drawn like wolves smelling blood.

“Our enemies reckon us vulnerable. They will test us. If we are slow to respond, they will strike with greater boldness. Remember, they hate us as no other nation, for we are to them that which they fear beyond all: women unmastered by men. We need not attack to elicit enmity. Our very existence makes them abominate us, for it calls their own wives and daughters to aspire to freedom. They would drink our blood if they could. Only one thing prevents them: our strength at arms.

“As the days pass and Antiope's loss is felt more keenly within the tribes of tal Kyrte, those qualities which she accorded us will be missed more and more. I reckon my limitations. I am no Antiope. I am a fighter not a queen—and we need a queen. We own none Antiope's equal, save you, Lady Hippolyta, and if you will forgive the harsh finding of my speech, your years prevent you from acting as a war queen must. Hear, sisters and elders, what my heart tells me:

“The nation of tal Kyrte possesses many strengths but also weaknesses. Most pernicious is this: we do not act but react. It is our way to tarry and dilate, awaiting signs of heaven and the ancestors. Our enemies don't. They act!

“Theseus acts.

“He beyond all our foes hatches schemes and lays designs. He strikes with vigor and audacity. Tal Kyrte must learn to fight as its enemies do, behind a commander unafraid to employ cunning and art, and whose will is iron to drive the people to victory. When we played at war as girls, did we rehearse ourselves as deer? No, lions! I would rather have an army of deer commanded by a lion than an army of lions commanded by a deer!”

Here Eleuthera drew up, perceiving that the fire of her speech had distressed the elders, that they read it as a strike for more power, even absolute power, for herself. Reining her zeal, Eleuthera addressed this head-on:

“Hear, sisters, what my heart proposes. Let me not stand alone as war queen but be yoked with Hippolyta as co-commander, abolishing the office of peace queen, and making two mistresses of war, peers and equals. By this stroke, lady,” Eleuthera addressed her elder directly, “your vision may be coupled to my passion, in that way which may best serve the free people. Perhaps together you and I may make one Antiope, until that day when our arms restore her and bring her home.”

This motion found approval. Eleuthera followed up, urging war on the Iron Mountain Scyths and their allies, not alone, but in concert with other nations who hated Borges and wished to see him fall. “This has been coming since Heracles. Let it be decided now, while we are still strong, and by blood, which alone our enemies understand.”

Others of the Council spoke, some seconding the course of militancy Eleuthera urged, others counseling restraint. At last the staff came round to Hippolyta. The peace queen had then sixty-one years; her hair, iron-colored, fell in a plait to her waist. As eldest her word bore the most weight. No motion would be passed in the face of her resistance; conversely, few causes she championed could fail to prevail.

Hippolyta elected to speak now, not with words but by sign. She indicated Eleuthera.

“I have watched our sister, whose name means Freedom, since she was so small she could be set within the bowl of this smoker. Always my heart has shown me: she beyond all of her generation craves honor, setting it before love, happiness, life itself. In warlike virtue none is her equal. She bows to no man, but ever sets the weal of the free people before all.”

As Hippolyta's hands spoke, the elders acknowledged. Eleuthera held, still as stone.

“Yet,” Hippolyta continued in sign, “I discovered our sister deficient in temperance and self-command, rash and easily provoked to anger, headstrong, stubborn, and violent. Like a racing colt she bolts to the gallop and bites the bit at every stride. In times of peace, one of her nature must be reined by wiser heads, or her love of strife may lead the people into reckless adventures.”

Hippolyta shifted now and spoke in words.

“These, however, are not times of peace.”

The lady Hippolyta rose. From around her neck she unbound the raven's wing, signalizing the priestesshood of Ares, and, crossing before her younger compatriot, cinched it about Eleuthera's throat. Tears stood in the younger woman's eyes. She dropped upon one knee before her elder.

“I second your accession, child,” Hippolyta spoke, “and accept your proposal of joint command. Take this Raven Wing, which has marked the Society of War time out of mind.” She set one hand upon Eleuthera's head and elevated the other, palm upward, to heaven. “I thank thee, Ares, god of war and progenitor of our race, and thee, Great Mother, Hecate Dark Moon, Black Persephone, and all lords and ancestors who stand sentry over the free people, that they have brought forth at this hour such a champion as this.”

The Council assented with raps and murmurs. The co-commanders resumed their places, Hippolyta retaining the staff. Long moments passed; the councilors made smoke and held silence. At last Hippolyta straightened and resumed.

“Captains of the rising generation,” she spoke toward Eleuthera and the Companions, “I honor your war plan with this sole reservation: it has not gone far enough. Let tal Kyrte not content herself with skirmishes against the tribesmen on her borders, but carry hell's bane to that state and its monarch which has set our survival at hazard.

“I mean Theseus.

“I mean Athens.”

Citations of approval growled from the gorges of the Council.

“It was my folly that brought this necessity upon us.” Hippolyta meant the surrender of her virgin girdle to Heracles, which act decades prior had prompted the bloodbath of the champions. “By my appeasement of the Greeks, two generations gone, has their aggressiveness grown wanton and inflamed. To this offense I own. I ask you now to let me make it good.

“Let us enlist hate now, as we should have then.

“Let us invoke Ares now, as we should have then.

“Let us make war now, as we should have then!

“Athens!

“Let us strike there, at the belly of the beast, and bring it low!”