Mood Riders (10 page)

The Moon Riders laughed at the name of Amazon as they strapped on their strong leather body armor that flattened and protected the right breast as they drew their bows. The Achaeans had given them the name of Amazon, meaning “breastless ones,” and the story went about that the Moon-maidens were forced to burn or cut off their right breast.

“As if we’d ever do such a ridiculous and dangerous thing.” Penthesilea shook her head, chuckling as she strung her curved bow.

“Ah, but it does no harm to let them think it!” Centaurea insisted. “If we’d cut off a breast without fear, what else might we do? A frightening reputation can do much to protect us.”

“Do we really need all this practice?” Myrina asked. “All we ever do is hunt rabbit or deer.”

“Foolspeak!” Lycippe snapped. She was a young woman with a sharp pointed face, well-suited to the pictures of jackals that adorned her cheeks.

“We must always be ready to fight!” Penthesilea waved her pointed spear in front of Myrina’s nose. “Who knows when we may need to defend ourselves? The journey south takes us through mountains where bears and robbers hide. We must always be ready.”

“All right, all right!” Myrina backed away red-faced, wishing she’d not spoken. They’d answered her just as Hati might.

Everyone knew that Penthesilea loved shooting with her curved bow; each morning she led the dancers in a mounted charge, astride her tireless mare, Fleetwind. They’d come and go in constant waves, never for one moment letting any direction go uncovered, aiming just as accurately behind them as in front. Back and forth they’d gallop at Penthesilea’s command, until every horse and rider was bathed in sweat.

At last Atisha would call, “Enough!”

After they’d rubbed the horses down, Atisha would call for dancing sticks. Though the short, light sticks were gaily painted, the stick dance that they performed also bore a serious purpose. A sharp iron point fixed to one end would instantly turn the sturdy stick into a spear. The Moon Riders’ sticks were free of pointed heads for the moment, but the way that Atisha made them train left no doubt in anyone’s mind that these cheerful baubles might be turned to death-dealing weapons in an instant.

They advanced across the short-cropped grass, twirling their sticks steadily, then swung them fiercely above their heads. The clashing of wood on wood could be heard as the Moon Riders practiced with a partner—attack and defense, attack and defense. There were no holds barred and the dancers gathered many a bruised elbow and cracked ankle.

Myrina swung her stick at Cassandra but then lightened her efforts a little as she saw the princess shrink away.

“No! You’re not helping her,” Penthesilea cried. “Gentleness builds no strength. Sting like a scorpion, butt like a ram!”

Myrina hesitated for a moment, recognizing the truth of this, but while she was distracted, Cassandra advanced, catching her off balance with a sharp whack!

“Ha!” Penthesilea cried. “Well done! Strategy may win the day!”

Myrina staggered to her feet and advanced toward Cassandra with furious eyes.

“That’s better,” Penthesilea cried.

As the Month of Burning Heat came to an end, the Moon Riders’ skills and strengths were honed. Cassandra grew dark-skinned and muscular, but at the same time a deep sense of contentment seemed to flow from her. Myrina grew stronger and more confident than ever. The two were rarely separated now. They both found themselves a little time for mirror-gazing and were content with what they saw.

Reseda seemed to be growing fatter and slower. “There may be a baby next spring,” Myrina told Cassandra. “I think I shall be an aunt. Is all well in Troy?”

“I see that my friend Chryseis thrives, but I rarely look toward Troy,” Cassandra told her. “It is Iphigenia in Mycenae that I fear for, but each time I see her in my dark glass she looks well and pampered. It’s just that I feel she’s not happy.”

The Moon Riders packed up their camp ready for the southward trek, to find their winter quarters in the warmer clime of Lesbos, the Sacred Isle.

They set off riding south, but this time instead of returning to Troy, they skirted Mount Ida’s eastern slopes and headed onward through the mountain pass. The narrow rocky route was hard going, and though the horses were sure-footed, everyone seemed to heave a great sigh of relief as they came cantering down the southern slopes. The sea lay before them and the fertile green lands that bordered the shore. Their pace slowed as they came into sight of the Isle of Lesbos.

“We’ll be making camp here,” Penthesilea told them.

Myrina was surprised. “But the sun is high in the sky,” she said. “I thought we’d go on and look for boats. We’re so close to the island.”

Penthesilea shook her head. “We camp here for two nights,” she told them. “Tomorrow is our gathering day. Surely you know about gathering day?”

Myrina vaguely remembered Gul and Hati talking of such a thing but she’d never taken much notice of what it meant. “Who is it that we gather with?”

Penthesilea laughed.

“It is the plants that we gather,” Cassandra said solemnly. “Herbs and flowers for medicine and soothing potions.”

“That’s right,” Penthesilea agreed.

“How did you know?” Myrina snapped, suddenly annoyed. She was the one who knew about the Moon Riders, not Cassandra.

Cassandra shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “Look at the place,” she said, waving her arm to encompass the whole circling bay.

Myrina saw what she meant. Lush grasses and wild flowers grew in wonderful abundance, where fingerlike spits of land stretched out into the sea, pointing the way toward distant Lesbos. Great clumps of rare wild lavender flourished there and golden fennel, with its green feathery leaves, grew all about the shore. There were delicate white asphodels, and the tallest hypericums that Myrina had ever seen. Then in the distance the curving land broke up into little islands. All around them washed a turquoise sea, streaked with darker blue and patches of purple where the water was suddenly deep.

Myrina slipped down from her horse’s back. “Yes, I see what you mean,” she said.

Just at that moment a great fish leaped up from the water and jumped twice. Then another followed as the Moon Riders pointed at them with delight.

“See,” Penthesilea cried. “Even the fish welcome us here.”

T
HE GATHERING DAY
was frantic and exhausting: the Moon Riders tramped through the grasslands, their arms full of wild herbs and flowers. They picked hypericum for wounds and snake bite, bitter rue to strengthen the eyes, small purple flower spikes from the chaste tree that would cool the sweats of older women, and most important of all, the delicate white opium poppy that brought merciful sleep to those in pain.

Myrina found Cassandra standing amid huge clumps of fennel, still as a statue.

“What is it?” she asked.

Cassandra shook her head. “Troy,” she murmured. “The Trojan plains that spread down to the sea are full of fennel. The fishermen and boatmen gather fennel stalks to light their lamps at night.”

“You must miss Troy,” Myrina said. “It is your home. I’ve never lived in one spot, so it is my family I long for, not a place.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I do miss Troy,” she whispered. “I miss the great golden walls and towers, the fig trees, the tamarisks, and the sacred oak. The little huts of the lower town are built of mud bricks, but such wonderful bricks, for the baked mud is crammed with seashells.”

“I have seen them,” Myrina agreed.

“I miss all of that,” Cassandra admitted. Then she looked down, rather ashamed. “I miss Chryseis, but I do not miss my family very much.”

Myrina, arms full of sharp-scented lavender, bent toward her and kissed her cheek. “Why should you? I do not think they value you as they should.”

Cassandra smiled. “Nobody ever kissed me like that in Troy,” she said.

When the gathering was over, a small fleet of fishing boats came from Lesbos and carried the Moon Riders over the sea, with their steeds and their bundles of herbs. Once they’d landed they rode south toward Mytilene, named after the sister of the famous Dancing Myrina.

The people of this ancient city, founded long ago by the Moon Riders, had never forgotten how their town originated. They gladly provided a fine camping place, plentiful provisions and a warm welcome each winter.

The Month of Falling Leaves brought cooler weather but Atisha did not allow slackness. Horses must be exercised, dances improved, clothing dyed and mended, ready for the Spring Celebrations; herbs must be dried, pounded, and brewed ready for next year’s supply of medicines.

In the Month of the Dying Sun, fires were built and slow sad dancing performed, in sympathy with the turning of the year. The Bitter Months followed, bringing snow and hail, but Atisha’s merciless advice on keeping warm was to work harder, run faster, leap higher.

When at last the first signs of the sun’s returning strength came, a great restlessness seemed to rustle through the Moon Riders’ camp. Suddenly they were packing, ready to go off traveling again, for spring was coming. They’d soon gallop north again, for the Month of New Leaves, with spring romping along behind them.

Myrina could not wait to get to the Place of Flowing Waters. For just seven days she’d be there with her family again, at the great gathering. She knew from her mirror-gazing that Reseda hadn’t given birth as yet. “I want very much to be there when my sister’s baby is born,” she confided to Cassandra. “But . . . I fear I’ve changed so much. I’ve grown so fast that my tunic needs replacing and my trousers letting down.”

Cassandra smiled. “They will know their Snake Lady,” she said.

“And Tomi. I must see Tomi, and make sure that he hasn’t forgotten me. Each time I mirror-gaze, I see him hunting and riding and tending the horses. I’ve never seen him with a girl at his side, but I must remind him again that I’ll marry him, if only he’ll wait.”

Cassandra looked at her, puzzled. “Does your father not choose a husband for you?”

Myrina laughed. “No, certainly not! The Mazagardi women choose for themselves, and a Moon Rider is never refused!”

“In Troy, a father always chooses!”

“But not for you! Surely you were promised to your sun god as a priestess.”

Cassandra sighed. “I have broken that promise by going with the Moon Riders. I fear my father may change his mind if he thinks a marriage would be useful or bring more wealth.”

“Hasn’t the man got enough?” Myrina asked. Then she suddenly realized that perhaps she’d been very rude. “Forgive me,” she muttered. “He is your father.”

“There’s naught to forgive.” Cassandra was not offended. “You spoke the truth!”

The lookouts spied the Moon Riders coming and at once a great clamor of pipes and clapping began. Myrina felt great pride in this moment, arriving back among her people an experienced priestess, welcomed and honored by them all.

Pride turned to wild excitement when she saw Gul; dignity was forgotten as she leaped from the horse’s back, and flung herself into her mother’s arms. Aben hung back, a huge grin on his face, and Myrina caught a glimpse of Tomi standing behind looking hesitant.

“Father,” Myrina yelled, hugging him.

“You’ve not forgotten your old pa then.” Aben chuckled.

Then Myrina turned to Tomi, feeling surprisingly shy. They smiled then kissed, with just a little awkwardness.

“I’ve not forgotten my promise,” Tomi whispered.

“I know,” she said, then giggled at the puzzled look on his face, as shyness seemed to melt away. “Where’s Reseda?” she asked, concerned not to see her sister there. “And Hati?”

“She labors to bring her child into the world,” Gul told her. “Hati is with her, just in case, but Reseda swears that she’s hanging on until her sister returns. You know that it brings good luck to have a Moon Rider present at a birth.”

“I must go to her,” she said. “I must go at once. I’ll tell Atisha.”

As she turned back toward the Old Woman she saw Atisha’s bright monkey face bending over the princess with concern. This should be a joyous time for Cassandra, she thought, but where are her family to greet her? Where is her welcome home?

Then as she watched, a space appeared in the crowd, and people stood back for two armed guards, their tunics bearing the sun sign of Trojan Apollo.