The Lost Sisterhood (31 page)

“Just be happy,” Nick went on, teasing me again, “I haven’t paid you yet. I’m not sure I can keep up with the pace of your losses—”

“Ah,” I said. “Money again.”

“What’s wrong with money? Isn’t that why you’re here … with me?”

I shook my head, still too frazzled to play my cards with discretion. “There’s nothing wrong with money. In fact, I’m a great fan of it, but it’s not why I’m here.”

“Then tell me.”

I looked at his face, made even graver by the moon shadows. Sitting close to him like this, it did not seem right to have so much deception between us. True, he had his own secret agenda with the Amazons, but then so had I. In fact, I suddenly realized, Nick’s perception of me could well be no more flattering than my perception of
him;
perhaps in his eyes, I, too, was nothing but a weasel working for the wrong team.

“In Crete,” I said, “you asked me how I did it. The translation. You assumed there was a trick to it. Well—” I rose and walked away from him. “You were right.”

Standing by the railing, looking at the moon’s reflection in the inky water, I told him of Granny and the notebook and bracelet she had left behind for me. She had likely been an archaeologist, I explained, who had encountered the Amazon writing system in some other dig and been able to translate it into English. “And yet even she,” I concluded, “for all her obsession with the Amazons, never tried to teach me this strange language; in fact, she never even mentioned it. She just left me this bloody notebook.”

When I finally stopped talking, Nick came over to lean against the railing beside me. I fully expected him to berate me for not telling him the story earlier, but instead, he simply asked, “How did your grandmother die?”

I flinched, frosted by a familiar sense of guilt. “The thing is … she disappeared. My parents were about to send her away to an asylum, and she—” I stopped, unable to continue as I meant to. On the rare occasions in the past when I had been forced to tell the story, I had said that Granny ran away, glossing over the locked doors and her being entirely without means. “The truth is,” I now heard myself saying, to Nick of all people, “I gave her all the money I had, and walked her to the high road, and helped her on a bus.”

“To where?”

I swallowed, ambushed by holed-up emotions. “I don’t know. I was ten years old. For the entire rest of my childhood I was tortured by thoughts of the terrible things that might have happened to her. Whenever there was a strange letter in the mail or an unexpected phone call I was afraid it had something to do with Granny. That she had been found dead somewhere.” I shuddered at the memory of my old fears. “Only later I discovered that my parents employed a private investigator for two whole years. He came up with absolutely nothing but a horrendous bill.”

Nick pulled off his sweater and draped it over my shoulders without a word, folding the sleeves around my neck.

“Sorry about the long epic,” I said, staring out over the black water. “I’ve never actually told anyone about all of this before. Not even Bex.”

When Nick finally spoke, his voice was unusually gentle. “Are you sure she was really crazy?”

“I … don’t know.” Once again, the path of his inquiry took me right back to questions I had been wrestling with for years. “The doctors thought so. She was certainly not normal by anyone’s standards, whatever that means.”

“Do you know if she had any friends? Communicated with anyone?”

I felt a tiny sting of suspicion. “What do you mean? I hope you’re not taking Mr. Telemakhos’s talk about modern-day Amazons seriously.”

“Why not? What do you prefer to believe: that it was all in her head or that there was something to it? You just told me she had an archive, too, with newspaper clippings … that she kept seeing evidence of Amazon activity around the world. What makes you so sure she was wrong?” I felt Nick studying my profile in the darkness as he waited in vain for my response. Then he went on, saying, “Apart from all the tough talk, did your grandmother ever actually
behave
like an Amazon? Did she hurt people?”

“Well.” I cast my mind back to that stolen day so many years ago, where I had been sitting on the floor with Rebecca, going through the papers in my father’s desk. Among them had been a psychological evaluation
that recounted the tragic events leading to her initial hospitalization. “Only in the beginning, I am sure, before they realized she was mentally ill. They didn’t really have a name for it in those days, but I think Granny had a postpartum depression that spiraled out of control. In any case, she was convinced she had given birth to a girl rather than my father and absolutely refused to hear otherwise. She locked herself in a room with the baby—my father, that is—and wouldn’t come out. In the end, they had to use force, and she … well, she defended herself with a poker from the fireplace. It was all quite terrible. A police constable ended up in the hospital.” I shuddered, as I had so often, at the thought of Granny drawing blood from another human being. Then, realizing how shocking this must all sound to Nick, I hastened to add, “I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Apparently, she had a delusion that it was wrong to have a boy, and that if
they
found out, they’d take him away.”

With his back to the moon, Nick was little more than a dark silhouette, and I felt more than saw the intensity of his stare. “Who was ‘they’?”

“Her fellow Amazons, of course. Can’t raise a boy, can you now, if you’re a true Amazon. Haven’t you read your Strabo?”

Nick didn’t answer but merely stuck his hands in his pockets and did a little tour of the deck, perhaps thinking I needed time to recover. When he returned, I took off the sweater and gave it back to him. “Sorry to go on like that. I probably should have told you before, but—”

The sentence hung between us for a while. Then Nick slung the sweater over his shoulder and said, “You were right not to trust me. I am not even sure I trust myself anymore.” After a pained pause, he added, “Besides, you
did
try to tell me about the bracelet. But I wouldn’t listen. I thought you had stolen it. I’m sorry.”

“Wait a minute.” The photos on his laptop did a little bitchy catwalk in my head. “
You
took it. Didn’t you? You even took a picture of it!”

The accusation did not provoke the hoped-for confession. Instead, Nick said, “When we first opened the sarcophagus, we found fourteen bracelets.”

“What?”
I stared at his solemn profile, unable to keep track with him.

“They were just lying there. They were all”—he nodded at my arm—”exactly like yours. And yes, I took photos of them. But I decided to leave the one on the skeleton, because I wanted an archaeologist to do things properly.”

I was so baffled by this news I felt an irrational urge to embrace him. “So, if neither you nor I stole that last bracelet … who did?”

“How do you know it was stolen?” Nick scrutinized me in the darkness. “Because the sarcophagus was open?”

“Let me rephrase that,” I said. “Who opened the sarcophagus and why?”

Nick shrugged. “Don’t look at me.”

“Why not?” I decided to jump right in. “You’re the one who is on a treasure hunt.”

I waited for his reaction, but he was completely silent. “Come on,” I said eventually, stepping closer. “I heard you on the phone, talking about the Amazon Hoard. What’s going on, Nick?”

He finally groaned and rubbed his face. “I wanted to keep you out of it—”

“Well, too damn late!”

With a sigh he sat down, his back against the main mast. “Do you remember what I told you in the car last Sunday? That I am the X that marks the spot? Well, after what happened in Algeria, I’m not exactly the most popular X around the office.”

“But that wasn’t your fault. How can they—?”

“Oh, it’s nothing personal. That’s how we operate. I’m a liability now. Lots of crooks on my heels, as we can both testify.” Nick opened his arms, just a little. “I apologize. But the Aqrab Foundation has too much going on this month. A new site in Jordan. Some issues in Bulgaria. So, the boss thought it might be an idea to”—he paused to take a deep breath—”send me away for a while. Away from the hot spots.”

I felt my chest tighten. “But … where are you going?”

Even in the darkness, I could see the embarrassment on his face. “No, you don’t understand. They sent me away already. That’s why I went to Crete with you. That’s why I’m
here.
” He paused, clearly waiting
for my reaction. When it didn’t come, he sighed again. “Diana. You and I both know the Amazon Hoard is bullshit. But
they
don’t.”

It took a few moments for my fuse to catch. Once it did, the shock threw me backward, into the ropes of the railing. “That’s it?” I exclaimed. “Wait, let me get this straight…. We’re being followed, and basically, you’re using me as a decoy … to lead the crooks astray? Is that what you’re saying?”

Nick stood up. “Look, I’m not proud of it—”

“No!” I held up my hands to prevent him from approaching me. “What a complete and utter ninny I have been!
Of course
you were never interested in the Amazons; you barely knew who they were! But that didn’t stop you, did it, from hijacking a penniless philologist and using her as bait!”

“Listen—” Nick took a tentative step toward me, then another. “This was not my idea. And I certainly never wanted you to get hurt. All these accidents—”

“They’re not accidents, Nick, they’re beautifully planned.” I felt an absurd impulse to laugh. “It finally makes sense! Oh man, I thought I was going nuts…. I thought I was being chased by Amazons. This is fantastic—” I tried to look him in the eye, but the moon wouldn’t let me. “Come on, smile! You should be happy your scheme is working so beautifully. Not only did the bastards take the bait, they took quite a few pieces of
me
along the way. Well done, Nicholas! The X that marks the spot has earned his bonus.”

Nick looked stricken. “How can I make it up to you?” But before I could respond, he reached out and touched a finger to my lips. “Not now. Think about it. Go to bed and count to ten.”

I pushed away his hand. “How about counting to ten thousand?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ll give you a check tomorrow.”

“Make it cash,” I countered, sidestepping toward the stairs. “And how about adding a handsome tip for putting up with
you
all this time?”

THE AEGEAN SEA

L
ILLI WOKE UP AS SOON AS THEY WERE IN OPEN WATERS. STRETCHING
and yawning, she sat up and felt around her with curious fingers. The soft couch with the woven cover … the fabric wall bulging inward from the pressure of the sea air: The room in the stern of the Trojan ship was clearly so different from what she had expected that she became quite frightened. “Klito?” she called. “Are you up yet?”

“Indeed I am.” Klito kissed the girl on the hair.

“Are we sailing again?” asked Lilli, frowning. “There was a man—a man who smelled like Myrina—”

“I have a surprise for you,” said Klito, tears of happiness running down her cheeks. “A surprise that will make you laugh.”

Unable to wait any longer, Myrina pushed forward and enfolded Lilli in a firm embrace. The others had insisted on breaking the news gently, so as not to shock the girl, but Myrina understood the extent of her sister’s toughness better than anyone and knew this was a shock she would relish.

“Our prayers have been met,” said one of the freed priestesses, whose name was Pylla. “Clearly it was Lilli’s jackal bracelet that bought our freedom. Let us thank the gods—”

“Maybe you should start by thanking Myrina,” said Pitana. “She has not rested, has barely even sat down since you were taken away.”

“Might I suggest we are
all
thanked?” interjected Egee. “Let not Myrina carry the burden of your gratitude all by herself—”

No one else cared to argue. After spending the morning hours wrestling with a hysterical Kara—who was now, thankfully, collapsed in sleep—none of the other women had the stomach for more drama. Nor did they attempt to question the new girl they had picked up in Mycenae; she had told them her name was Helena, and for now that was all anyone wanted to know.

After spending the morning in the stern room, unable to take her eyes off Lilli, Myrina eventually went in search of Paris. She found him in the bow of the ship, deep in conversation with Aeneas and Dares.

Not one of the three had a smile for her upon her approach; nodding grimly at Paris, the two other men quickly excused themselves and left. Nor did Paris seem ready to have words with her; turning his back and looking out over the ocean ahead, he gave the impression of being unaware of her presence.

Despite the hostile reception, Myrina stayed where she was and said, “Will you at least allow me to apologize?”

When Paris finally replied, his voice was tense with anger. “What I allow—or do not allow—seems to have little effect on you.”

“But still—”

He turned to face her, flushed with exasperation. “Myrina, I am not someone who cares for fine words and intentions—especially not when your actions so blatantly undermine them. If you must apologize, apologize to my countrymen. They will be the victims of my lunatic faith in you. Never again will a Greek trust the word of a Trojan sailor—” Too upset to finish the thought, Paris turned his back to her once more, shaking his head. “I barely have the will to ask you what happened last night. And yet I must know. You managed to free your friend, I see that, but I don’t know what price I have yet to pay for her.”

“Perhaps they will think she escaped on her own—” began Myrina.

“Are you telling me you were able to enter and leave the palace unseen?”

Myrina hesitated, then threw back her head and met his eyes. “The prince is dead. Dead on the floor of his own prison, steeped in the
blood of my sisters. But those who saw us will not squeal. Nothing is as silent as a woman who hates.”

Paris closed his eyes. Then he opened them again, ten years older. “Were I a man who lived by the rules—nay, were I a
wise
man—I would turn this ship around and take all of you back there. But I am not. As a god in the sky, believe me, I should pummel evil Mycenae with thunderbolts and pierce it through and through; as a man, it seems I must be content to pummel it with insults and flee as fast as I can.”

Seeing that Myrina was ready to weigh in, Paris shook his head. “The kindest thing you can do is to stay far away from me. Go and rejoice with your sisters. Let me not see you in the stern anymore. In two days, if the winds are favorable, we land at Ephesus. I was going to offer you a home at Troy, but under the circumstances I cannot. Where you go next is up to you, but Ephesus is where we say good-bye.”

A
FTER THREE DAYS OF
pained silence and accusatory looks from the crew, Myrina’s sisters were naturally relieved when the ships reached the coast across the sea from Mycenae. Thrust forward by a rising storm, the Trojan fleet was blown straight into the harbor of Ephesus, unable to lay anchor. All night the ships rocked and scraped against the docks, and by morning everyone was running around above and below, surveying the damage.

“There is no hurry,” said Paris, when Myrina came to bid him farewell. “We will not be leaving until everything is repaired.” He glanced at her as he spoke, and she was relieved to see that after two days of stubborn separation, his anger had evaporated at least enough for him to want to look at her again. “But if you and your sisters are ready to go—and I see that you are—let me take you to the Lady of Ephesus and introduce you. As you will soon realize, it is no coincidence I have brought you here.”

Leaving the harbor on foot, Paris escorted the women into town. In no particular hurry to complete the task, he gave Lilli his elbow and described everything they passed: the fruit vendors, the clothes dyers,
and the old people sitting in the shade, lamenting the way the world was going. More than once, he made the girl laugh out loud with some fresh observation Myrina could barely hear.

Meanwhile, it was all Klito and Egee could do to pull Kara along with the group. Even though she had finally stopped crying over the death of the man who had—she kept insisting—cared for her after all, she still would not speak to Myrina nor acknowledge having been in need of saving. “I loved him!” she exclaimed more than once, to whoever was in earshot. “And he loved me!”

“Is that why he starved you, tied you up, and beat you?” Pitana finally asked. But Kara was deaf to all such voices; she had long since sought refuge in a life that existed only in her own mind.

Set among gentle hills and lush, uninhabited countryside, the town of Ephesus struck Myrina as a sleepy, harmless place. This was where she and her sisters would live until they had gathered the means to leave … or until they all grew old together and sat in the shade like these gentle elders, gumming the memories of peaceful lives. It was not a bleak prospect compared to the horror they had left at home, or seen at Mycenae, and yet Myrina found she could take no great pleasure in the vision. For regardless of how she framed it, it was a future without Paris, and although she had known him for only a short time, she felt her being had already attached itself to him. Wherever he went, she yearned to follow. If he disappeared from sight, even for a moment, she felt as unstable as a chair with one leg missing.

It was an odd and worrisome sensation to someone who had long since learned to depend on no one but herself, and yet Myrina had come to cherish it—so much so, that the prospect of parting from Paris filled her with dread. Not the acute, temporary dread that could be conquered by courageous actions, but a dread so profound, so pervasive, it cast a dark shadow over everything she did or said, even over her joyful reunion with Lilli.

What a peculiar thing, thought Myrina as she looked around at the inviting calmness of the quaint town and its dwellers, that she who had seen so much danger, and been within arm’s reach of death so often …
what a sleight of fate that
she
of all people should arrive in such a blessed place and feel her life was over.

H
ALF-EXPECTING THE LADY OF
Ephesus to live in elegant seclusion on a hill overlooking town, Myrina was surprised when Paris stopped in a seemingly random street to let everyone through an open gate. Entering last, Myrina saw they were in a quiet courtyard framed by buildings and a shady portico, and saw her sisters turning about themselves among the carefully potted exotic plants, eyes wide with curiosity. Clearly, the Lady of Ephesus was someone who prized tranquillity and elegance—two qualities Myrina had yet to master.

Conscious of her own shortcomings—dirty feet being one of them—Myrina withdrew into the shade of the portico … and then suddenly all those small concerns were forgotten. For there, among the pillars and coiling vines, stood a figure she knew well:

The Moon Goddess.

Admittedly, she was not smooth and black, but carved of wood, and her body was dressed in a linen tunic that bore a myriad of brown stains—probably drips from the rotting lumps of meat hanging by strings around her neck.

“I see you are already friends.” Paris came up to Myrina with Lilli still in tow. “Of all the towns on the Trojan coast, I knew this would appeal to you the most. Here, no man holds sway. The Lady of Ephesus, as you can see, is a protectress of hunters and maidens—a combination I always thought unique for this place”—he shook his head—”until I met you.”

“Are those—?” Myrina leaned closer to inspect the lumps of meat hanging around the neck of the goddess. They appeared to be animal testicles—the parts she always cut away and left for the hyenas.

“I’m afraid so.” Paris grimaced. “It is a tradition here. Woe to any male who crosses the hunting trail of Otrera’s daughters. Stags, bears, men”—he grinned, clearly teasing her—”no one is safe. You will fit right in.”

“Who is Otrera?” asked Myrina, but just then, an older woman,
stiff-necked with dignity and wearing a long gray dress with flared sleeves, appeared on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, understandably puzzled by the sudden influx of strangers.

“Hippolyta?” she called. “Penthesilea?”

“Lady Otrera,” explained Paris to Myrina, while beaming with admiration, “is the High Priestess and my mother’s sister. But she detests ceremony, as do all her daughters. They live for the hunt and are masterful riders; in fact, most of them spend their time on a farm just outside town, where they breed and train horses.” He looked at Myrina with a bashful smile—a rarity for him. “That is how my father met my mother: He came here to buy horses.”

She stared at him. “Your father … the king of Troy?”

Paris frowned. “Surely you have realized we take our horses very seriously.”

“Yes, but—” Myrina looked up at the woman on the balcony, still not fully understanding. “How many daughters does Lady Otrera have?”

“Probably about thirty,” said Paris, “plus the novices.” He gave her a sideways look. “Quite impressive for a woman who has never known a man. Come, let me introduce you. I am confident she will recognize the language you speak with your sisters; my aunt is very learned and prides herself on her fluency in most foreign tongues.”

I
T WAS LATE AFTERNOON
by the time Lady Otrera finally rose from her straw chair on the marble portico. By now the distant mountains were dressed for evening, glowing with tender reds, and a great peace had come over the world as the sun sank into the ocean at last, spent and satisfied.

“It is decided, then,” said the noble woman, whose face was still grave with sympathy for Myrina and her sisters after everything she had heard. “You will be our guests for as long as you wish. And should you come to like it here, you may earn your keep and call it home, for there is always work to be done on the farm and in the orchards. As a matter of fact”—she cast a strict glance at Hippolyta and Penthesilea, who had
arrived on horseback in the middle of Myrina’s tale, sweating and disheveled—”since my daughters are rarely where I think they are, the extra hands will be welcome.”

Soon after, Paris took leave of everyone with a vague promise to return, as he phrased it, before the end of the world. Unwilling to commit to a time, he walked off with determination, barely stopping to say good-bye to Myrina.

“Wait—” She followed him through the door and down the street a few uncertain steps. “Will I not see you again?”

He paused and turned, frowning with displeasure. “Otrera has taken you in. You need no longer depend on me. I should think that comes as a relief for us both.” As he stood on the sloping street, the setting sun formed a halo around his head; never had he looked more handsome, or more forlorn.

Myrina moved toward him, but something in his eyes made her stop. “I wish it were otherwise,” she said.

“What exactly?” Paris cocked his head. “Do you wish we had never met?”

“No! But … I know I have caused you much pain—”

Despite his evident decision to be stern, Paris burst into laughter. “True. But that is my own fault.” He glanced over his shoulder at the masts in the harbor. “I should have tossed you overboard when I had the chance.” Then, seeing Myrina’s wounded expression, his own softened considerably. “You want things otherwise, you say.” He walked up to her, closer and closer, until they were almost chest to chest. “So tell me, insatiable Myrina, what more do you desire from me?”

She stuck out her chin, bracing against his teasing charms. “You have already spent too much on me. The gold mask in Mycenae—”