Mood Riders (13 page)

“Troy,” Cassandra mouthed, her voice still flat, her face blank. “It started in Troy, then it spread.”

“Spread where?”

“Here,” she said. “The plain, Mount Ida, everywhere. I know it to be the truth, but they will never believe me.”

“Atisha believes you,” Myrina told her firmly. “She believes you and so do I. Rest now and I will stay here and keep you safe.”

To Myrina’s surprise Cassandra obediently lay down on the cushions, closing her eyes; she fell asleep almost at once, like an exhausted child. Myrina took the dagger from her belt sheath and held it ready, clasped in both hands. She never had trusted Prince Paris, not one bit.

When Atisha and Penthesilea returned with Hati they found Cassandra still sleeping and Myrina alert and on her guard.

“Well done,” Atisha told her. “A better guard dog I couldn’t find. We have agreed that Cassandra must go ahead with Penthesilea and wait for us in Thrace.”

“I shall go with them,” Myrina said with determination, then politely added, “if you think fit, of course.”

Atisha smiled and nodded. “Three is a good number, more might attract attention, but you will have to ride fast.”

“Isatis will carry me like the wind.”

“Little Yildiz?” Hati reminded her.

“She is safe with her mother.” Myrina didn’t hesitate. “And especially with her great-grandmother to look to her safety. Cassandra has greater need, I think!”

Hati kissed her. “You are turning into a fine young warrior, my young Snaky,” she said.

A
LTHOUGH IT WAS
a sacrifice to miss the spring dances, Myrina couldn’t help but feel excited at the task ahead. Penthesilea would be expected to do such a thing, but Myrina was pleased at the way Atisha seemed to put trust in her as well.

The three young women went off the following morning, walking their horses calmly away, while the other Moon Riders rose to greet the sun. Once they had left the great gathering behind they mounted and cantered steadily around the foothills of Mount Ida. Then at last they set off at a gallop, skirting the plain of Troy. They stayed up on the high ground, passing the tall towers of the city in the distance, riding fast toward the narrow sea crossing of the Hellespont.

Cassandra did not even glance at her home city but rode white-faced and quiet, staring straight ahead with Myrina and Penthesilea on either side of her. They all had their bows strung, leather breast-straps in place, and daggers in their belts covered by long cloaks. Their horses were fastened into felt-padded chest guards that might deflect an arrow or spear, covered and disguised by the usual riding blanket.

Though Cassandra never turned, Myrina looked toward the high windy city of Troy and the deep blue sea beyond. She saw a gang of riders leave at the Southern Gate, heading southeast toward Mount Ida, their helmets and weapons glinting in the sun. She said nothing, but she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d just got away in time.

As they came to the sea they turned north, away from the very narrowest point, riding up the coast toward a small village of huts and boats. Penthesilea swung down from Fleetwind and walked straight to the biggest hut. The headman of the fisher-people sat outside with his wife, mending nets in the spring sunshine.

“We need a boat,” Penthesilea said, thrusting at him a silver medallion bearing the image of the crescent moon on one side and the plump figure of Earth Mother, Maa, on the other.

“In the service of Maa!” He spoke in the Luvvian language to his wife. She nodded and they both stood up, immediately putting down their nets.

Orders were shouted and six young men rose at once, leaping onto the largest of the boats that were tied up. They started to haul the ropes and unfurl the sail, but then suddenly all the fisher-people were shouting at one another; Myrina’s heart beat fast as her hand crept to clasp the handle of her dagger. But the headman was talking again in Luvvian, explaining the argument. “The wind is turning to the west, not ready yet. You eat first. Roast mackerel—anchovies—fresh bread.”

Myrina wanted to smile, letting go of her knife, but Penthesilea looked anxious. “Our journey is important,” she told them. “We cannot wait.”

“Can’t wait to eat?” The fisherwoman was surprised.

“No,” Penthesilea insisted.

Then suddenly it was all agreed. Strong wooden oars were brought from the nearest hut and a wooden ramp set up against the boat so that they could lead their horses aboard. When at last everything was made ready, the fisherwoman pushed a basket into Myrina’s arms; it contained fresh bread, a gray stoneware flask of olive oil and three smoked mackerel.

“You take—eat,” she told her. “This one—too thin.” She prodded the slender wrist of the Princess of Troy.

Myrina wanted to laugh and cry all at once. She took the basket and thanked her; they were not going to get away without food.

The young men took the oars and started to row out into the sea. It was a heavy load with three restive horses and hard for them to row against the strong current flowing southward into the Aegean. The men were sweating and grateful when at last a westerly breeze filled the sails and they could draw up the oars. Then with the wind, the water turned choppy, ruffling the surface.

“Look to the horses,” Penthesilea ordered, and though the three mares stamped their hooves, the soothing of their riders kept them from panicking.

Penthesilea and Myrina kept glancing back in the direction of Troy; only Cassandra seemed careless of whether they were pursued or not. The headman saw the agitation of his passengers but asked no questions. When at last the Thracian side of the Hellespont was reached, the three Moon Riders climbed out and mounted their mares as quickly as they could, hurriedly thanking the fisher-people.

“Blessings of Earth Mother, Maa,” the head fisherman told them. “Nobody will follow you; not in our boat, anyway.” He cackled.

They galloped north along the Thracian shoreline, stopping only once in the midday heat, when they were grateful for the food that they’d been given. They rode fast until the sun began to sink in the west, then Penthesilea slowed her pace. “I think we’re safe now,” she told them.

“Yes—we are safe,” Cassandra confirmed it. She drew breath like a swimmer who had feared drowning, coming to the surface at last. “I am hungry,” she announced.

Suddenly they were all laughing at one another, cheerful with relief.

They slowed their horses, looking back across the Sea of Marmara as it gradually grew wider and wider on their right-hand side. Ships loaded with copper, iron, and bronze could be seen passing steadily back and forth, after paying Priam’s dues.

Myrina frowned in puzzlement. “The current flows south to the Aegean,” she said, “and yet the great shoals of fishes swim north toward the Black Sea.”

Cassandra and Penthesilea both smiled. “There’s another strong current, deep below the surface,” Cassandra told her, full of knowledge. “My father is always discussing it with his sea captains. A deeper current goes northward, making sea journeys difficult.”

Cassandra seemed to have thoroughly recovered her spirits now that she was safe on the Thracian shore and Myrina felt that their fast ride had been worth it, just to see her happy again.

Penthesilea led them along the western shore, following their usual journey. They were welcomed as ever, and though no questions were asked, Myrina sensed a touch of curiosity as to why three young Moon-maidens were riding ahead of the Old Woman. They reached Abdera and made camp, deciding to stay there to await the arrival of Atisha. They enjoyed their few days of rest, but were relieved to hear that the lookouts had spied Atisha and the other Moon Riders in the distance.

When they arrived they were full of worrying news. “Menelaus and his friend Odysseus, King of Ithaca, sailed into the Bay of the City, demanding that his wife be returned,” Atisha told them.

“So Priam knows now that Cassandra spoke truth?” said Myrina.

“Oh yes.” Atisha nodded. “Paris and Helen refused to be parted and Menelaus has gone away swearing vengeance, though Odysseus stayed a little longer trying to act as mediator.”

Cassandra herself admitted that she knew this to be true. “I saw my father in my mirror,” she told them. “He is full of sorrow, but what can he do? Paris is filled with such a passion for Helen he will let nothing stand in his way. He has lost control of his feelings and suffers truly from a kind of madness of desire. At last, I do feel some sympathy for him.”

“But—your father could order both Paris and Helen to leave Troy,” Myrina suggested. “That might at least keep Troy safe.”

Cassandra shook her head. “My father will never again send away his dearest boy. For good or ill he will not be parted from Paris.”

A
S THE SPRING PASSED
the Moon Riders followed the usual course of their journey, heading at last to their summer lakeside camp. Wherever they went there was rumor and fearful gossip. Old people remembered how they’d suffered when Hercules and Theseus came raiding their towns and villages.

“Is it Hercules come again?” they asked.

“Is it only Troy they think to seize? Or do the Achaeans want slaves, gold, and iron?”

The year turned and the Moon Riders packed up their tents and baggage, setting off for Lesbos with some anxiety. The journey through the mountains was always difficult, but it was shorter than taking the easy-going route through the plains. When they descended the southern slopes, they found small towns and villages turned to smoking ruins. Dead men lay unburied by the roadside and the few survivors wandered about dazed and desperate, somehow clinging to life.

“Who has done this?” Atisha asked, her lined face grim.

Wherever they went the answer was the same. “Achilles!” They would spit on the ground as they spoke the name. “Achilles and his band of Myrmidon warriors. The man runs riot in our lands and Agamemnon and his brother Menelaus encourage him. Those who trade with Troy are being forced to pay for Paris’s love of Helen.”

A frightened young girl spoke nervously to Myrina; they’d found her struggling to bury her father and small brother. “I hid,” she said. “Ran to the woods as Father told me. They even killed my baby brother and they’ve stolen my mother away!”

“And this is the man they wished me to marry.” Cassandra shuddered.

“Well, whatever happens, you are not going to marry him now!” Myrina growled.

The Moon Riders did what they could to help the bewildered people; sharing the small stores of grain and oil that they’d brought with them from Elikmaa. When they arrived in view of the Isle of Lesbos, they found more desolation there, though it seemed that a bitter battle had been fought. Telephus, the king of that land, had succeeded in putting Achilles and his men to flight, but they’d lost many of their own warriors and the land was burnt and crops destroyed. Lesbos itself had been plundered.

Penthesilea looked about her at the ruin of the beautiful peninsula and scattered islands, agitated and angry. She furiously suggested that they leave the late summer gathering of herbs and search for boats to pursue the Achaean robbers. The other priestesses were angry but uncertain of what to do.

“Turn warrior?” they murmured. “Should we turn warrior?”

“It is not the time,” Cassandra said.

“It’s not up to you to decide,” Penthesilea told her sharply.