Mood Riders (3 page)

Hati had laughed. “I wish we could, my honey-child. This place is perfect, but it wouldn’t stay perfect for long if we lived here. The waters would run dry, the grazing would be used up and the ground poisoned with our mess; we’d destroy what gives us so much pleasure.”

“So we’ve got to leave it alone to have a rest before we come back again!” Myrina had tried hard to understand.

Hati had smiled and touched her cheek. “You are learning fast, little one.”

T
HE SUN WAS
sinking in the sky as they arrived at the meeting place. The setting up of the new camp was noisy, for a small city of tents had already established itself. Greetings were bellowed across the water, news gabbled of famines, wars, plagues, and fighting, good trading and bad deals.

“They say that Priam is coming here tonight; his tent is set up and waiting,” Aben told Gul, bustling in and out of the family’s tent flaps. His news made her pause as she unrolled the felt flooring in front of the hearth stone. “I’ve been thinking of offering him our yearling gray mares,” he continued.

Gul nodded. Aben enjoyed nothing better than a good bargaining session. His wife recognized the light of battle gleaming there in his eyes; his weapons would be determination and clever argument, and pride in the beautiful silver-colored horses that he’d been carefully breeding for the last five years.

“Priam?” Hati was a touch disapproving. “Those Trojans give scant respect to Maa; Apollo and the Owl Lady are more their style.”

“What folk
say
they believe can be very different to what they really believe.” Aben winked at her.

“Aye, I should know that,” Hati agreed, remembering her own days as a priestess. “Many sing praise to Zeus and Athene, but quietly send for the Moon Riders when rain is needed or a touch of sun for their crops.”

The following morning Aben was up early, combing the manes of his most valued mares. “Come with me, wife,” he coaxed. “Come with me to Priam’s tent. The sight of fine women riders might stir his enthusiasm for our horses.”

Gul shook her head. “Trojans disapprove of women riders, but maybe you will take Myrina; a skilled young girl should not give offense.”

“Aye, you’re right.” Aben sighed. “Trojans, like Achaeans, keep their women safe at home, though I for one can’t understand such foolishness; those whose women ride and fight have twice as many warriors.”

Dressed in her finest linen trousers and smock, Myrina rode for Priam and his attendants on one of the silver-gray mares. She trotted, cantered, and galloped, finishing with a spectacular display of bareback dancing, at which she’d been skilled from an early age. Priam was impressed and bought six mares, willingly paying the high prices that Aben asked. Afterward the King of Troy invited them into his huge tent to drink delicate rose-scented tea.

Myrina stared about her; she’d never been in so luxurious a place before. Silken cushions were piled high on long low seats carved with curling patterns and painted in gold leaf. The carpets were so thick and soft that Myrina wanted to fling herself down and roll about. “If this is his tent, what must his palace be like?” she wondered.

A thin girl with dark hair, who seemed a little older than Myrina, poured tea from a silver jug. Myrina caught her breath for a moment as she looked at her. It was the young woman’s eyes that made her feel so discomforted: one blue as the Aegean Sea, the other green as fresh grass, giving her a strange, unsettling look. A delicate golden-rayed sun adorned the circlet about her brow, pale and subtle beside the stunning saffron dye of her gown. Myrina found it difficult not to stare.

A younger girl of about eleven summers helped to serve the tea. She was just as beautifully clothed, but in silver, with a pearly crescent moon on her brow instead of the sun.

“I am Cassandra, daughter of Priam,” the older girl said. “I have never seen anyone dance on a horse like you.”

Myrina was pleased with such open admiration but still felt a little uncomfortable. She longed to stare directly into the mismatched eyes, though she knew that to do so would be a deep discourtesy. Priam was known to have many children, so Myrina assumed the younger girl must be another princess of Troy.

“I learned to ride when I was small,” Myrina said, keeping her eyes lowered.

A moment of silence followed, but her curiosity grew so that she must glance up again.

“You may look at me, if I may look at you,” Cassandra said, faintly amused. “I have never seen a girl with arrows etched on her cheeks!”

Myrina smiled. “We are both different,” she acknowledged. “But you could learn horse skills, if you were willing to put in the work. You are not too old, I think!”

Suddenly tears spilled down Cassandra’s cheeks. Myrina was horrified, fearing she’d given offense, but Cassandra quickly dashed the tears away. “I often cry. It means nothing,” she said. “I would never be allowed to ride, though I long to try.”

Myrina remembered what her father had told her about the way the Trojans protected their women. What were they afraid of? Might their women ride away and never come back if they learned horse skills?

The younger girl twined her arm around the princess. “Don’t cry again,” she begged.

Cassandra changed at once, smiling at the child, tolerant of the hero-worship that shone from her eyes. “This is my little friend Iphigenia, daughter of King Agamemnon. His queen Clytemnestra is visiting us and we girls look after each other while the queen goes shopping.”

“Uncle Menelaus is here, too.” Iphigenia yawned. “He talks of nothing but trade and ships.”

Myrina was awed. “The great Queen Clytemnestra comes to Troy to do her shopping?” Agamemnon, King of Mycenae, was the powerful overlord of the Achaean lands to the southwest. All the smaller kingdoms bowed to his rule.

“Father must stay at home to keep his kingdom safe, but Mother buys her clothes in Troy.” Iphigenia spoke with childlike honesty. “She buys mine, too.”

She let go of Cassandra’s hand for a moment and twirled around so that her beautiful silken skirt swung out, ringing the tiny bells with which it had been embroidered.

Cassandra explained. “Troy is full of textile slaves; spinners, weavers, and dyers. Many a wealthy visitor comes to Troy looking to adorn herself.”

“Aunt Helen cannot come,” Iphigenia said. “She must mind Sparta while Uncle Menelaus is away, but she would like to visit. Nobody loves clothes like my aunt Helen.”

Cassandra looked a little bored at the way the conversation was going and Myrina sensed that dresses and adornment were of little interest to the princess, though she herself was so beautifully attired.

Meanwhile, Aben talked with Priam and was introduced to a handsome man, who kept glancing across at Myrina with open admiration.

“Who is he?” Myrina dared to ask at last.

Cassandra’s mouth took on an angry twist. “He is my long-lost brother Paris,” she said.

Myrina was surprised at the bitterness in her voice. “He is . . . good to look at,” she whispered politely.

“Oh yes,” the princess agreed. “Everyone thinks so. But . . . he was sent away at birth, for the omens foretold he’d bring destruction to Troy.”

Myrina was puzzled. The tribes knew little of omens; but to send a newborn babe away from his family seemed to her very sad.

“He lived on the slopes of Mount Ida, raised by shepherds,” Cassandra continued. “He was never supposed to return to Troy and I felt sorry for him then!”

“You are not sorry for him anymore?” she asked. Myrina couldn’t understand why the princess would hate her brother now.

Cassandra shook her head fiercely, her mouth still grim. “Four years ago he returned to Troy and beat our strongest men at the summer games. When he revealed his identity Father relented and swore that he could not live apart from such a strong and handsome son. Since then he is Father’s favorite and cannot put a foot wrong. He went to fight for the Hittite king and returned with gold and slaves for our weaving sheds; now, everyone adores him and the omens are forgotten.”

“But not by you?” Myrina spoke warily, thinking that she’d not like to fall into disfavor with this changeable princess.

Cassandra shrugged and suddenly her strange eyes seemed to lose focus, as though she were watching something far away in the distance. “His presence fills me with fear,” she whispered. “I can’t explain why. I know they think I am jealous; and as I’m only a girl, they take heed of nought that I say!”

M
YRINA LISTENED TO
Cassandra with some sympathy. Both the Achaeans and the Trojans were known to give scant respect to their women’s wishes and used them mainly as marriage pawns, selling them off as brides to the highest bidder. She could see that their pampered, restricted lives were not much to be envied.

It was clear that Iphigenia loved Cassandra. The young girl smiled up at the older one, clinging trustingly to her hand. Myrina was touched by the simple need for love that she saw in the child.

“Snaky Lady!” Iphigenia exclaimed in a hushed voice, pointing to the twisting body picture that adorned Myrina’s right arm.

All at once the dashing Prince Paris strode across and bowed to the three girls. “You are as daring a rider as any lad I’ve seen,” he flattered Myrina, his blue eyes regarding her boldly.

She nodded with dignity, but there was something in his praise and in his stare that made her feel uncomfortable. Paris turned to whisper in his father’s ear.

Priam smiled tolerantly and spoke to Aben. “My son begs me take your skillful young rider back to Troy along with the horses.”

Aben answered anxiously, “I do not wish to offend, but Myrina is promised to the Moon-maidens; if the Old Woman accepts her, she must leave with them after the full moon.”

Priam looked surprised. “I would pay highly for such a child: she’d entertain my court and delight my wives. You may name your price.”

Aben was clearly troubled. Myrina caught her breath for a moment; her father must fear he’d lose the excellent horse sale he’d just won if he did not accept Priam’s offer! She needn’t have worried, for Aben would not be moved. “Myrina is the delight of my life,” he told them firmly. “I would dearly like to keep her with
me
, but she’s promised to the Old Woman.”

A flash of annoyance flickered in Priam’s eyes but Cassandra intervened. “Father, we would not have her come unwillingly to Troy.”

Myrina feared they’d seem ungracious. “Would you like me to come to Troy to give one performance there, before I go away?”

Cassandra was suddenly radiant. Priam nodded, honor satisfied by this concession, bowing courteously. “We would be honored,” he said. Paris looked displeased, but said nothing.

Aben sighed with relief.

The next morning Myrina rode Isatis toward Troy, along with her family, following in the wake of Priam’s royal procession. Even Hati came, staring about her with curiosity, despite her disapproval of Trojans. She turned to point out a mound that they passed. “The tomb of Dancing Myrina,” she told them. “Ancient leader of the Moon-maidens.”

“The one I’m named for?” Myrina asked.

“The very one,” Hati agreed.

The golden limestone walls of Troy, built snugly into the sloping edge of the plateau, rose above them as they moved on at a steady pace.