The Queen of Sparta (19 page)

A moment later, the two young Helots, who had scrubbed Sherzada on the day of the Gerousia arrived, carrying a large wooden chest. They placed it before Gorgo and Sherzada.

“There is something I want to ask you,” she said, as she opened it.

Sherzada got up and looked inside the chest, recognizing his satchel and his dagger. The chest was full of his belongings.

Gorgo explained that Euro had recovered these from Plataea.

“But I am curious about something,” she mused. “You told me that after the battle of the Iron Gates the Sakas selected the battle-axe as their weapon of choice. But according to Euro, at Plataea you were the only Saka who fought with a sword rather than a battle-axe.” She reached inside the chest and brought out Sherzada’s long-sword, sheathed in its scabbard. “I have indeed found this long-sword in your belongings … but I found no axe; none, whatsoever.”

Gorgo took the sword out of its scabbard, and slashed it through the air as she moved nimbly around the room. “This is a very strong and sturdy sword,” she said, “yet very light; so light that I could use it easily. If I am not mistaken, it seemed as if this sword were made for a woman.”

Sherzada sat down on his bed with a wistful smile on his face. He saw Gorgo looking at him, expecting an explanation. “It belonged to my late wife,” he said simply.

“Your wife? A warrior woman? An Amazon?” Seeing him nod, she continued. “We Greeks have many stories about the Amazons, including the time they invaded Greece and besieged Athens in order to recover their kidnapped queen. I have also heard stories about their relationships with Scythian men. Perhaps yours was a similar story?”

Sherzada laughed. “The truth is that the warrior women you call the Amazons are in fact also Scythians. Scythian women have a tradition of fighting alongside their men. In fact, the Greek word
Amazon
comes directly from the Iranic word
Hamazan
, which in our language means ‘warrior’. Amazons are merely Scythian women warriors, not a separate tribe.

“It is true that Scythian women have formed separate communities at times. But that had more to do with wars or pestilence, where the menfolk had been wiped out or somehow separated from them. I encountered one such community of women in the extreme north of your continent. And that is where the story of this sword starts,” he said, taking it from her gently.

Sherzada rose and walked to the window, gazing upon the compound’s beautiful garden; in his mind’s eye, travelling back in time. “It was springtime, some fifteen years ago, and I was traveling through the vast North-western plains of Scythia. I had been inflicted by this wonderful condition that Germanic tribes call
Wanderlust
– a love for travel and adventure. I wanted to explore the earth and see as much of it as I could …”

CHAPTER 23

THE SWORD OF THE VALKYRIE

European Scythia

Spring, 494
BC

“I had joined a group of intrepid Scyths, taking a caravan north-west in search of a rare stone called amber. Although not as precious as gold or diamond, amber is very much in demand throughout the Mediterranean, in Greece as much in Phoenicia and Egypt. Most of it comes from the extreme north of Europe by a sea called the Baltic.

When I set off with the expedition, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

The winter snows had begun to melt as we set out into uncharted territory. After only a few days of riding, we encountered a tribe of fierce warriors, wearing black cloaks and hoods. They attacked us near one of their settlements, but we easily beat them off. Not wanting to meet a larger force of “Black Cloaks” up ahead, we changed course and began to skirt westwards around their territory.

Once we thought we had put some distance between ourselves and these warriors, we lowered our guard. We had entered an area of great beauty, mysterious and yet completely desolate. That night, we made camp on a high hill above a vale. However, we were attacked by a considerable force. These creatures wore skins and covered their bodies in war-paint, their faces painted like human skulls. No matter how many we killed, more kept on piling in. In the midst of battle, they dragged away two of our party and withdrew. I, and some of the others, wanted to rescue our friends immediately. But our leader forbade us.

He said that our attackers were the
Androphogoi
– “the eaters of men”. It would be a mistake to pursue them in the dark in their own territory. If we followed them, they would certainly have us for dinner, if not breakfast. In spite of my conscience urging me otherwise, I obeyed. The next morning, when we moved out, we found the remains of our two companions on a nearby hill. We decided to move north-west this time and at speed to avoid further attacks. We soon came across a large river flowing through a deep gorge. We continued to ride northwards along the river as fast as we could, looking for a place to cross it. But all the time we had the feeling we were being watched and followed.

We finally reached a point where the river could be forded. But many of my party were afraid of what might lie across it. The dense forest beyond the river did not look too hospitable. I volunteered to go across and take a look. I crossed the river and rode into the forest, careful to glance back every now and then over my shoulder, in case danger lurked.

Finding nothing, I turned my horse to tell my party all was clear. However, when I approached the fording point, I saw my companions across the river being attacked by a large force of Androphogoi. Those of my companions who tried to cross the river were brutally cut down and their bodies dragged away. I wanted to join the fray, but my instincts of self-preservation kept me hidden under cover of the forest.

I decided to ride up along the gorge, and follow the river northward to see if I could make contact with the survivors of my party further upstream. After riding for several miles, I heard shouting and screaming down below. I climbed to the tallest spot above the river to get a better vantage point. Downriver, I saw a group of riders trying to cross the river and the Androphogoi pursuing them. I started to descend towards the river, firing my arrows at the pursuers. I killed several during my descent. But when I came down to the river bank, I saw some Androphogoi on horseback crossing the river, closing in on the riders they had been chasing. As the Androphogoi closed in, the riders turned in their saddles and fired volleys of arrows at them in true Scythian fashion. Many of the attackers fell, but a few continued the chase. At that point, I fell upon them from behind and dispatched them with a few blows from my battle-axe. Yes – I had an axe then. The remaining Androphogoi rode back across the river.

I tried to catch up with the riders in the hope of finding who they were and hearing news of my companions. As I approached, the lead rider swung around, knocked me off my horse and lassoed me. I lay helpless on the ground, trying to make out who the riders were. They wore fur-lined clothing and cloaks and their faces were covered by the masks and the iron visors of their helmets. As I managed to sit up, the leader of the horsemen dismounted and began to question me. What surprised me was not the questions or the language they were asked in, but the voice of my interrogator. And soon enough, as the leader’s helmet came off, everything became clear. She was a young woman with long blonde hair that dropped most of the way down her back.

She spoke to me in heavily accented, broken Greek, asking who I was. I told her I was a Saka. She reacted angrily, saying I did not look like a Saka. She turned to her companions to ask what to do with me, speaking in a dialect of Scythian which I could make out with some difficulty. At that point, all the riders removed their helmets and masks. The riders – nine of them in all – were all young women, and amongst the most beautiful I had ever seen. One of the women, responded to their leader by saying that they had a choice of either killing me or setting me free.

‘We cannot let him ride with us,’ the leader said.

‘But I am one of you,’ I shouted back in Scythian. ‘I am also a Scyth.’

‘Like hell you are,’ the leader said, as she rubbed her hands roughly across my face. ‘This dark colour of your skin does not come off. You are not a Scyth.’ Turning to her companions she said, ‘I think we should just kill him.’

One of the riders, who seemed to be the youngest and was by far the prettiest of them, said, ‘I don’t think any of us would have made it this far without his help. And he does fire arrows like a Scyth. He is even dressed like one. And he does speak our language … well, sort of.’

The leader thought for a moment, and looked at me. ‘Very well. Ride with us, but one wrong move and I shall kill you myself. I have a feeling you will bring us nothing but trouble.’

As I rode with them, the leader, who called herself Hild, asked why I was traveling across these lands. I told her of the amber expedition. ‘I don’t know what people see in that stone,’ she said, ‘but we can take you to a place where there is plenty of it.’

I thanked her for that.

‘But you must leave us as soon as you have collected the amber,’ she instructed me. I told her I wanted nothing more.

Then it was my turn to ask Hild what she and her party were doing in the area. She said that she and her companions had been separated from their tribe while chasing a herd of wild white horses. While they were trying to return north, they came across the Androphogoi. The Androphogoi were attacking a party, dressed similar to me. But then they turned their attention to Hild and her party, so they rode across the river to escape them. It was there that I had met them.

That night, we set up camp under the light of a bright full moon. Once again, I began to have a feeling that we were being watched. I told them we should find a more defensible site to make camp.

Hild responded contemptuously. ‘You worry like an old woman. There is nothing I and my girls cannot take care of. Now, go to sleep.’

Sure enough, we were attacked in the middle of the night, this time by men wearing wolf skins and dark leather. The attackers were tougher than the Androphogoi, and they fought with considerable skill. But still we beat them off.

I thought it was over, when one of the women cried out, ‘they have taken Rán.’ She was the pretty one who had earlier urged Hild to spare my life.

Hild said it would not be wise to go after the attackers, whom she called the
Neuri.
They might have set up an ambush for us, she insisted. We had to at least wait until first light. I told her that if we waited until then, Rán would be dead. I was going after her, even if I had to go alone. As I took off in search of Rán, I looked behind and saw the women silently following me. The bright moonlight and fresh footprints on the muddy ground helped me track the
Neuri
to the place where they had taken Rán. When we arrived, we saw Rán lying tied up on an altar outside a cave, being prepared for some sort of sacrifice. Growling noises were coming from inside the cave. As they grew louder, the wolf-skinned men moved away, leaving Rán alone and struggling to free herself from her bonds. A tall man emerged out of the cave, wearing the head of a large wolf. As he began to move towards Rán, I charged at him. At that instance, the other warrior women let loose a volley of arrows, killing several of the wolf-skinned men, and then they followed me towards Rán.

Before the wolf-headed man could touch Rán, I struck him a violent blow in the chest with my battle-axe, leaving a considerable gap in his chest. He fell down but continued to groan. The wolf-skinned men were terrified to see what had happened. But one of them, dressed as a sort of priest, said something that caused the men to calm down and turn once again towards us in a menacing manner.

As we tried to untie Rán, the priest shouted at me, this time in Greek, ‘you have not killed our lord, the Werewolf. Only a weapon of silver can destroy him.’

At that, I smiled. I struck the Werewolf another piercing blow in the chest, and with my hand, ripped out his still-beating heart. I raised his heart and my battle-axe above my head and shouted, ‘behold the heart of the Werewolf and my axe with blades of silver!’ The silver of my axe gleamed brightly in the moonlight as I sliced open the Werewolf’s heart.

Pandemonium broke out as all the men, including the priest, fled in panic. I took off the wolf’s head to find underneath it the face of a man with unusual hair growth, seemingly sharp teeth, and a terrifying appearance. His breath had a revolting but familiar smell. Hild ordered her women to burn the ‘monster’. Even though I told her that he was a man and I wanted to examine him more, his body was set alight.

The smell on ‘the Werewolf’s’ breath was similar to that of a powerful intoxicant drink the Amyrgian Sakas consume before battle. It makes them think that they are invincible and immortal. And in battle, they go berserk. This hallucinogenic concoction also sometimes causes a rare condition that temporarily effects a change in appearance, giving a horrifying aspect. To me, the ‘Werewolves’ were mortals who used fear to control their
Neuri
war-bands, terrorize neighbouring communities and carry out extortion of every kind.

The following day, Rán came to thank me for saving her life from the ‘monster.’ And when I told her what I thought about the ‘Werewolf,’ she laughed. ‘Must you always try to rationalize everything? I suppose you are also going to tell me that Androphogoi don’t eat humans.’

I told her perhaps they were using their cannibalistic reputation to scare off potentially hostile strangers.

Rán also asked me if my battle-axe really was made out of silver. I told her it had been specially ordered for me by my grandfather, and its blade was an alloy of iron and pure silver. In part to protect the axe against rust and give it a stainless quality and in part to appear as shiny and impressive as it had that moonlit night.

As we rode together, I asked her about her companions and why they spoke Scythian though they looked Germanic. She said that five generations before her, a Scythian tribe had gotten separated from its confederation. Hostile tribes had forced them to continue to travel north. During this time, their menfolk died off, mostly in battle, but also from disease. Many of the old and the weak did not survive the bitter cold. The tribe and its security were in the hands of the young warrior women who had guided it to the lands of the north. There they met a tribe of a Germanic people who lived in the lands and islands called Scandia, across the Baltic Sea and beyond, but often came across to the mainland for war and trade. The women agreed to marry the men of the Scandians as long as they were allowed to keep their warrior traditions.

The Scandians knew nothing of horses or archery and were only too happy to have women warriors protecting their flanks and provide supporting fire in battle. In return for this service, the warrior women demanded that all their female offspring and even the female offspring of their sons and grandsons be allowed to serve in their
Skyle
– the war squadrons. Additionally, it was the Scythian women who would choose their men, not the reverse. The final condition was that these women would preserve their mother tongue from generation to generation, which they use as part of their military communications. The Scandians readily agreed to all these conditions. However, the Scandian warriors also asked the women to carry out an additional task.

Germanic tribes ritually mutilated the bodies of their enemies after battle and collected their skulls as trophies. At the same time, it was equally important for the bravest of their warriors to enter their paradise –
Valhalla
– in one piece. What was the point of turning up at the feast of their chief god Odin at Valhalla, Rán asked, ‘without one’s head?’

So the Scandians asked the Scythian women to observe the battle closely and to pick out the bravest among their warriors. Once these warriors fell, the Scythian women would charge into battle and recover their bodies. These Scandians were later given a heroic funeral. When the Scythian women started carrying out these tasks in battle they were given a new name –
Valkyries
– “the choosers of the slain”. This was the name Rán and the other warrior women shared.