Mood Riders (23 page)

Daris looked a little anxious as he wondered what this might be, but Myrina went on. “I want carts of grain, as much as you can spare, and olives and raisins, casks of salt fish and wine and . . . and honey, pots of it.”

Daris stared at her, amazed. “You sound as though you wish to feed an army!”

“That’s not so very far from the truth,” Myrina agreed. “I wish to feed the struggling city of Troy.”

He stared at her again, wondering if he were having a crazy dream, but then he glanced back at Ira and the baby. “Ha!” He laughed. “You are a madwoman, a crazy Moon Rider! But if that is really what you want, it shall be done—at once.”

“Thank you!” Now it was Myrina’s turn to smile with relief.

“Well, well!” Daris was suddenly thoughtful and practical. “You will need armed guards to protect your carts from the Achaeans. You shall have armed guards as well.”

But Myrina was uncertain about that. “No, no,” she said. “If you have strong warriors whom you can spare, send them to the Place of Flowing Waters, where the tribes and Trojan allies are gathering. Just a small number will suffice to help us into Troy. I have my own plans.”

“Whatever you want shall be done,” he said. “Now you and your assistant must rest and when you wake, I swear I shall have all that you have asked for ready to leave.”

They were led to a sleeping chamber and served with rich food, but they were both too tired to appreciate it, or the splendor of their surroundings, and soon fell into a heavy sleep.

Daris did as he had promised, and when Myrina and Yildiz woke up and returned to the waiting gang of Moon Riders, they found them giving orders to hordes of servants, who were loading a magnificent collection of supplies and carts onto a line of cargo boats. There were huge stone pots filled with grain, barrels of well-salted fish—sardines, mackerel, and whiting—casks of olives preserved in olive oil, two cartloads of raisins, stone jars of dried apples, honey, and wine. Mules were led aboard each boat, with drivers and guards to protect them. Daris came down to oversee the loading and to say good-bye.

Myrina saw that Coronilla had planted sage all around the spring, just as she had asked her to. “Keep these plants well watered and cared for,” she told Daris. “Then use the leaves as I did whenever any should suffer from fevers.”

He bowed low and kissed her hand. “It shall be called the Spring of the Moon Rider in your honor,” he said. “If ever I can help you again in any way, you have only to ask.”

Myrina went aboard her boat with a sense of bursting joy; she had somehow managed to gather together supplies beyond any hope or expectation. All her gang was excited and eager to get on and carry the goods to Troy. The wind was blowing in their favor as they sailed away from the Isle of Marble and they arrived on the southern shore of the Sea of Marmara just as light was fading. They reclaimed their horses from the stables and wearily made camp for the night.

Next morning they were up at dawn, anxious to be on their way, leading the great wagon train south across the hilly scrubland toward Troy. It was only as evening came that Myrina’s spirits began to fall. She had told the young king confidently that she could manage without many guards and that she had her own plan for their arrival at Troy. Now, as she gave orders for setting up camp, misgivings began to creep in. She had been so cheered and excited by her healing success that nothing seemed beyond her, but as they traveled on through the wasteland, getting closer and closer to the besieged city, she had to admit to herself that she had no real plan and no idea how they would get their goods safely within the city walls.

They trundled on southward all the next day, the Moon Riders chatting happily with King Daris’s men. The well-armed guards seemed to feel that it was all a great adventure; they were interested to see for themselves the struggling city of Troy, whose fight for survival had recently been the focus of all the news. Meanwhile Myrina racked her brain as to how they would get into Troy without the Achaeans stealing all the excellent provisions that they had collected together.

Yildiz seemed to pick up on her growing anxiety and spoke her thoughts out loud. “Can we get into Troy without the Achaeans seeing all this food?” she asked.

“I shall think of something!” Myrina answered sharply.

Coronilla overheard them and laughed. “Atisha told us to sneak into the citadel like a snake. Not much chance of that, with all this lot behind us! Perhaps you are too successful, Snake Woman.”

Myrina’s unease grew. It was all very well for Atisha to tell her to be resourceful, but now her mind had gone blank. Maybe she had overdone the food-gathering and had just brought another problem with it.

“We could get in by the hidden gate,” Coronilla went on cheerfully, “so long as Agamemnon hasn’t posted guards about it.”

Myrina bit her lip. “Let’s hope for that,” she told Coronilla sharply, refusing to join in the laughter. There was no way that the Achaeans were going to get this precious food—on that she was adamant.

“What if there are guards?” Yildiz insisted.

Myrina shrugged. “We work it out when we get there.”

At last the landscape became familiar and Myrina called a halt. “We make camp here,” she cried. “Once we cross the brow of the next hill we will be within sight of Troy and that means within sight of Achaean lookouts.”

As her gang set up their tents and built cooking fires, working together with King Daris’s men, Myrina tethered Isatis and marched ahead up the steep hillside by herself, determined to have a look at what lay ahead.

I should have listened to Atisha, she argued with herself. Small amounts would have been best—but then, small amounts would not feed so very many starving people.

She reached the summit of the hill and stood there, looking down. Though a wagon train might be spotted from that distance, one young woman could not be seen.

The golden limestone walls of Troy stood beneath her; then, beyond them, the main spread of Achaean tents and huts made a dark gray smudgy shape all along the far shoreline to the south of Troy. The northwestern citadel walls were built above a precipitous drop, which provided good natural protection on that side; nobody could scale that steep height. The once busy lower town outside the walls of Troy seemed to have become a no-man’s-land, almost deserted and half destroyed. The eastern side, with its cleverly built hidden entrance, was closest to where she stood; it was protected by a curtain wall and it would almost have been possible to get the carts down there, had it not been for a camp of Achaean guards settled just above the Southern Gate with their flags and standards. Her hopes were dashed; it seemed that Agamemnon had set a watch on who came into and went from Troy.

M
YRINA SAT DOWN
and took her silver snake-carved mirror from the pouch that hung from her belt. She let her shoulders relax a little and thought of her friend Cassandra, not far away at all, but hidden within the strongly built citadel that lay before her. At last the tension that she saw in her face began to ease and she looked deeply into her own eyes, seeing there, in the golden brown depths of her iris, a small figure that grew and grew until at last there was the slim shape of the Trojan princess, with her strange eyes, one green, one blue, turning to her with a smile.

“Almost as though she knows that I watch her,” Myrina whispered.

Cassandra slowly raised her hand to touch her temple in the priestess’s salute.

“She does know.” Myrina smiled and raised her own hand in response. Cassandra had not forgotten their friendship, and though getting inside the city might be difficult, a warm welcome was waiting there.

A small sound behind made Myrina turn away, so that the mirror-vision vanished. Yildiz had followed her, creeping from bush to bush like a shadow. Myrina clicked her tongue with impatience and put her mirror away. “You can come out from behind that cistus, my little flower,” she called.

But then, seeing that the girl looked crestfallen as she emerged, she made a space where they could both sit and not be seen. “Come and see if your young eyes can spy out more than mine,” she ordered.

Yildiz moved forward eagerly and her eyes swept across the landscape below them. “No gates on this side,” she said as she stared in awe at the citadel walls. “We can’t get in at all, can we?”

“Ah.” Myrina smiled. “These Trojans have built cleverly,” she said. “The Eastern Gate is concealed. See there! Look carefully!” She pointed to where two small towers flanked the hidden entrance. “That is where we must take the wagons in. The doors are big enough for horses and carts, and those above can shut them quickly and defend the narrow space below. It’s all protected by the curtain wall.”

Yildiz nodded, impressed, her eyes wide. “Very clever,” she said. “But how can we get our carts down to the gate without their coming up here from that camp to kill us?”

Myrina shook her head and sighed; she had no answer to that question. A panicky feeling of desperation was growing inside her. How could they come so far, then fail at the gates?

They sat there in silence for a while, gazing down over the rocky hillside and the plain beyond Troy. Myrina’s thoughts swung about, but still she couldn’t think how they could possibly sneak quietly into the city. Suddenly Yildiz stiffened and a little cry came from her lips.

“What is it?”

Yildiz grabbed Myrina’s hand, her small strong fingers trembling and pressing angrily into her Snake Mother’s palm. “Horses,” she whispered. “Mazagardi horses. Our horses.”

Myrina followed the direction that her sharp young eyes had taken and saw what she meant. Beyond the Southern Gate, where once golden crops of barley had grown, a great corral of horses stood. That was another reason why there was an Achaean camp nearby: Agamemnon’s men watched over the whole herd of stolen Mazagardi steeds.

Suddenly the small seed of an idea began to grow in Myrina’s mind. “Mazagardi horses,” she whispered. “Mazagardi-trained! You have made me think, Little Star!”

“What? What do you think?” Yildiz begged.

Myrina got up, her cheeks flushed with excitement, then she started to laugh with a sudden fierce joy; at last she knew what must be done.

“Those blundering Achaeans will have no idea what to do with Mazagardi horses,” she said. “How can Achaean warriors control our steeds?”

Aben had always given generous instruction to those who bought their horses honorably, but those who stole could do little with their prizes.

“I could create chaos with that herd down there,” Myrina cried. “And maybe I could win our horses back as well.”

Yildiz also leaped to her feet, quickly understanding what Myrina had in mind. “You and I, Snake Mother! With a ‘Yip! Yip! Yip!’ We can take the Mazagardi mares from under their noses.”

Myrina stopped smiling at once and shook her head. “Not you, Little Star. Helping to cure a sick queen is one thing, but to ride down there, as you say, beneath the noses of those who killed your family—that is too much for one as young as you. I wouldn’t be a good mother if I allowed that. You must let me do this alone.”

But Yildiz set her mouth in a determined line. “You need me, Snake Mother,” she said. “One must lead and the other follow behind, using the secret horse magic that we both know. Your Moon Rider friends are fine horsewomen and they know the everyday horse cries, but they aren’t trained Mazagardi as I am; they don’t know the secret of herd-leading. You cannot do it alone and if I get the chance to kill one of those Ant Men, I will not care that they kill me.”

Myrina was alarmed at the thought and still shook her head, but she couldn’t deny that Yildiz was right. Of all her gang, only she and Yildiz knew the mystical horse cries that made it possible for just two riders skilled in Mazagardi ways to control a whole herd. None of the others had this secret knowledge, but the cries would come to Yildiz as easily as breathing, and on Silene’s back the horse moves would be as natural to her as the steps of a familiar dance.

Myrina heaved a great sigh, thinking hard. “I would care very much if they killed you,” she said, “but . . . that would not be likely to happen if you took the lead. The guards are bound to be startled at first and if you went ahead that would be safer: I must be the one who follows behind.”

Yildiz smiled, realizing that she was winning her argument. “Then we will do it together, Snake Mother. I will allow you to take the more dangerous role and ride at the back of the herd.”