Mood Riders (4 page)

“You’d think the Great Mother had built those walls,” Hati acknowledged. She was impressed, though she tried to hide it.

Myrina had a moment of fear about the performance she’d promised, but then leaned forward to stroke her mare’s glossy neck. On Isatis’s back she could do anything.

They passed through the sprawling lower town, filled with small huts and noisy traders. A babble of different languages filled the air so that the only words that made sense were in the Luvvian tongue that Hati had taught her. Dyers bent over huge vats, their arms and faces spattered with the colors they produced. Two springs of water, one cold, one steaming hot, gushed into pools where women washed and scrubbed, wading knee deep in the water; long gowns hitched up and fastened at the back.

The procession moved on through the Southern Gate into the citadel, which was fronted by six statues depicting the Trojans’ gods. First and foremost was the sun god, Apollo, with the strange beaked Owl Lady next to him.

“How can anyone worship a carved image when they’ve the moon and sun to honor?” asked Hati.

They passed low sheds where weaving women toiled, their heads bent over their work, ankles roped. Myrina frowned at the sight and remembered how Cassandra had told her that Paris had brought back slaves from the Hittite wars.

They rode onward up the paved slope to high terraces of wonderful buildings. Each one seemed a palace to Myrina. The higher they went the sharper the breeze blew, and Myrina soon understood why Troy was known as the Windy City.

Cassandra, who had been carried in a litter at the front of the procession, alighted and came pushing through the servants to find Myrina. Iphigenia trailed in her wake and now another young woman walked at her side.

“Father begs you perform for us tonight, before our feast,” the princess said. “It is the last night of Lord Menelaus’s stay, and Iphigenia and her mother must set sail with him tomorrow to the Achaean lands. Father is anxious to find an entertainment that will please him.”

“I’m honored,” Myrina agreed uncertainly.

“You are all invited to join us at the feast.” Cassandra waved her hand to include all Myrina’s family. “This is my dear friend Chryseis, daughter of our most respected priest of Apollo, Chryse. She will show you to the guesthouse. Please ask for anything you need. I must go to help Iphigenia pack her new clothes.”

Myrina forgot her apprehension as she watched them go. Iphigenia still clung to Cassandra’s skirts. How bitterly the child would miss the Trojan princess when she sailed back to Mycenae in the morning.

Chryseis had a calm and serious manner; her saffron-dyed gown was plain, her brow decorated with the golden-rayed sun. Her quiet confidence confirmed that she was a young woman of high status. She clapped her hands to call the grooms to take the horses, then led Myrina and her family through a finely carved doorway. They were shown into two rooms, with low beds covered with straw-stuffed mattresses and soft down cushions.

“One for the honored parents and another for the performer and her grandmother,” Chryseis told them. “I shall have fruit and wine brought to you.”

The walls were hung with brightly patterned rugs; none of them had ever been in such a room before.

“Where am I to perform?” Myrina asked.

“In the courtyard,” Chryseis told her. “I will come back when you’ve rested and take you there.” She glanced at Myrina’s trousers, covered by a short smock. “We have beautiful gowns; you may take your choice.”

Myrina shook her head. “If the king wishes me to dance on horseback, then I must wear my trousers!”

Chryseis’s face brightened, making her look suddenly younger. “Dance on horseback? I have heard of such a thing but never seen it. I look forward to this evening very much.” With that she bowed her head courteously and left them.

“Did you see the sun on her brow?” said Hati. “Chryseis is not destined for the marriage market; she’s a priestess of Apollo and following in her father’s tradition.”

“Cassandra has the same sun on her brow!” Myrina said. “Is she a priestess, too?”

Hati nodded. “Some of them escape marriage that way.”

“And what of little Iphigenia? She has a silver crescent on her brow.”

“That is the mark of Artemis,” Hati told her. “The huntress goddess who favors the moon.”

“That’s not so very different from us,” Myrina murmured. “We give honor to the moon.”

“We do indeed!” Hati shrugged.

“Are you going to have a rest, Grandmother?” Myrina asked.

“Certainly not!” Hati pulled a face. “I’m going outside to get a good look at this place while I’ve got the chance.”

Myrina nodded. “Then I’ll come with you,” she said.

M
YRINA AND
H
ATI
wandered through the wide upper streets, down graceful staircases, past stately houses decorated with carvings and marble. They turned whichever way their fancy took them, until at last they passed through the Eastern Gate, where two huge wooden doors stood open, leading to the busy narrow streets of the outer town. Here they found themselves on high ground.

Hati examined the strong wooden doors and the thick sloping lower parts of the walls with approval. “You’d have a job to get in here if the Trojans didn’t want you.” She laughed. “These walls curl around the hill like a giant snail’s shell.”

They walked past stalls piled with mackerel, oysters, and sea urchins. Sea urchins’ eggs were offered to them as a delicacy, which Hati ate with relish. Gray pots stood row on row, alongside bales of wool and yarn and fine linen dyed in expensive Syrian purple. The scent of coriander and cumin filled the air and again they were surrounded by the confusing babble of different tongues. The shopkeepers held up strong vessels of copper and bronze, crying their wares. It was a very busy, noisy place, and at last Hati was satisfied with what she’d seen.

“I’ll go back to rest on that soft bed, after all,” she said.

After they’d rested, Gul came to help Myrina dress, braiding her hair and fastening patterned scarves and girdles across her chest and hips.

“She must look beautiful,” Hati insisted. “I’ll have nobody look down on my granddaughter.”

Isatis wasn’t awed, even though her mistress was. Luxurious scents of food, wine and perfume drifted into the courtyard, where a statue of Apollo stood in the center. Priam, his eldest son, Hector, and Prince Paris sat with Menelaus under a canopy, nibbling at fruit and sweetmeats. Clytemnestra sheltered beneath a separate awning with Hecuba, Priam’s chief wife, Iphigenia, and Cassandra at their side. Myrina was amazed at the richness of their clothes—even slaves and servants were beautifully dressed. She was used to getting better attention from her audience and felt disconcerted.

Hati helped her onto Isatis’s back. “Do they want to watch me ride?” Myrina complained. “Or do they simply want to talk and gobble food?”

“You will make them watch you!” Hati said. Then she picked up her drum and beat a sudden loud drum roll, which shocked and silenced the crowd. Myrina rode forward with an angry burst of determination. She threw herself into the performance trotting, galloping, twisting, and turning while Hati beat time on the drum. Waves of applause greeted her as she swung backward and sideways, so that girl and horse seemed to move as one. She finished with a handstand, causing her audience to gasp with admiration then burst into wild shouts and whoops of appreciation.

Priam and his court rose to their feet, cheering. The king turned to beckon Aben forward. “Come and sit at my table,” he ordered, leading the way into the banqueting hall. “You must be descended from centaurs, to produce such a child.”

Seated at the women’s table, Gul kept turning her head, keeping a strict eye on what her husband was up to. “Stop it!” Hati told her. “Who wants to sit with the men anyway?”

Myrina was so relieved to have finished her performance that she felt drunk with joy, even though no wine had touched her lips. The walls of the hall gleamed with burnished metal shields and gentle music came from the flutes and lyres of slave girls. As the meal progressed, the slaves carefully mixed wine with water and served it to the guests.

Cassandra came to congratulate Myrina. “Menelaus was stunned,” she told her. “And even Queen Clytemnestra was impressed. My father is in such a good mood that I knew I could ask him for anything.”

“So what did you ask?”

“I begged that I might come to see your springtime dances at the full of the moon. And he has agreed! Chryseis will come with me.”

Myrina was pleased but surprised that a Trojan princess should so much desire to see the Celebrations of Mother Maa.

“Where is the princess Iphigenia?” Myrina asked, noticing that Cassandra’s devoted shadow was missing.

“Fast asleep, curled up on my couch,” she smiled.

Suddenly there were voices raised on the high table and chatter ceased.

“Oh no,” Cassandra whispered. “Has Paris upset Menelaus again?”

All eyes were turned to the smaller, middle-aged brother of Agamemnon. Menelaus, King of Sparta, was not quite as important as his elder brother, but still a powerful man to offend.

“No, no.” Paris was shaking his head and smiling, oozing charm. “I am sure that your wife is beautiful, very beautiful—as is her lovely elder sister.” He bowed to Clytemnestra, who was not impressed at being called the elder sister.

“No. That is not enough!” Menelaus thumped the table, still angry, his face rosy with wine. “She’s not just beautiful. My Helen is the most beautiful woman in the world. Ask her sister, ask Clytemnestra.”

Clytemnestra shook her head, weary of hearing Helen’s praise.

“How I long to see such beauty.” Paris was silvertongued again, not at all put off by the dispute, though his father was anxiously trying to catch his eye.

Menelaus leaned forward and grabbed Paris by the arm. “Then come,” he cried. “Be my guest and stay a while in Sparta. Then you may judge Helen’s beauty for yourself. No! No! I shall be offended if you refuse.”

Paris hesitated, looking at his father. Priam gave a brief nod. “I should be most honored to come with you,” Paris agreed.

The amicable solution brought relief and the sound of cheerful conversation was quickly restored, but Myrina glanced at Cassandra and saw that her cheeks had turned deathly white. “What is it, princess?” she asked.

Tears spilled down Cassandra’s cheeks. Myrina stared at her uncomfortably. This princess was truly quick to weep.

“The smell! So foul!” Cassandra clapped her hand over her mouth and nose in distress. “It stinks in here . . . smells like a slaughterhouse!”

Myrina was fearful that the princess might faint or vomit. All she could smell was the delicious food and sweet perfumes.

Cassandra keeled forward, blood suddenly pouring from her nose, splashing down in great dark drips to stain her lovely gown.

“Let me help,” Myrina begged, ready to pinch the bridge of her nose as Hati had taught her.

But just then a tousle-haired Iphigenia came toward them, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I wondered where you’d gone,” she cried, grabbing hold of Cassandra’s arm. “Ah . . . you are bleeding!”

At once Cassandra sat up, wiping the blood away. “It’s nothing,” she reassured the child. “Just a silly nosebleed. There . . . it’s gone!”

Myrina was amazed. The bleeding had stopped as soon as the words were spoken and Cassandra was smiling again. “Come here.” She made space for Iphigenia to sit beside her, putting her arm around the younger girl. “Now we must talk. You know that we must say good-bye in the morning, don’t you?”

Iphigenia nodded, her eyes full of sadness at the thought.

“Remember this,” Cassandra told her, solemnly taking hold of both her hands. “Though we are apart, I will always be your friend. I will always be thinking of you, so that you will never truly be alone. Do you understand that?”

Iphigenia nodded again. “Never alone,” she whispered.

Watching it, Myrina felt a great lump well in her throat. Cassandra was a peculiar young woman, but she was also full of kindness and seemed to sense others’ emotions and feel them deeply. For a moment Myrina regretted that she must leave to join the Moon Riders; a longer stay in Troy might have been interesting.