Voyage of the Snake Lady (2 page)
I
PHIGENIA LEANED FORWARD
to look farther down the narrow corridor space. “See what is happening . . .” She touched Myrina’s arm. “They are allowing those at the end to creep out one by one onto the deck and get water—and something to eat! At least they are not planning to starve us.”
“By Maa, it’s kind of them!” said Myrina.
“They would have slaughtered us by now, if they were going to. You know what this means?”
Myrina frowned. “Aye!”
The thought had been there in her head, but she was reluctant to acknowledge it. She looked down the row of shackled women to Akasya, remembering how—along with many of the women—she’d once been a slave in the city of Troy. If Akasya survived she would understand well enough what was intended for them.
“Slavery!” She shuddered as she spoke the word. “We are taken as slaves!”
“Slaves?” Tamsin murmured.
Iphigenia nodded. “But . . . at least that means they want us alive and strong!”
Myrina looked at her fiercely. “Better dead!” she mouthed, so that Tamsin couldn’t hear.
“No!” Iphigenia contradicted her. “While we have life, we have . . . a chance.”
Myrina groaned, but she knew that Iphigenia was right. The terrified young girl who’d once been offered as a sacrifice by her own father had now acquired wisdom that would grace a crone.
Myrina must dredge up her old fighting spirit from the depths of her soul; she must find courage, observe their situation, and see if there was any possible way of escape. She looked up and shouted in the Luvvian language at the oarsman above her. “Hey, you! Speak Luvvian?”
“Shut your mouth!” he snarled back at her in the same tongue.
“Where are we going?”
“None of your business! Shut your mouth!”
Myrina bit her tongue with fury, sensing that there would be no help from that source. He would be the first to suffer if she was ever free to move again.
At last, as the sun moved up into the sky, shining sharp and low, they prepared to shuffle out, still roped together, onto the lower middle deck. The women ahead of them were moving slowly in a long chain when there was a sudden splash and a horrified, suppressed gasp from the captives.
“What is it?” Myrina whispered.
Akasya turned back to her, shuddering. “It was Ebba.” Her mouth worked with bitterness. “They have thrown her overboard. They’ll only feed those they think will live!”
Myrina turned back to Coronilla, who still lay white faced and crumpled beside her. “Wake up!” she hissed, bending over her fearfully. She shook her shoulders and then began frantically pinching her cheeks. “Wake up, fierce one, and open your eyes!”
Tamsin picked up her mother’s concern. “Wake up, Coronilla!” she cried.
In desperation Myrina lifted her hand to slap her. But before the blow fell, Coronilla’s eyes fluttered open and a faint tinge of rose touched her cheeks where she’d been pinched.
“Thank you, Maa!” Myrina gasped. “Come on, brave one! Force yourself to life again, or we shall lose you. Do you understand? Lean on me, but don’t let them see it.”
“Mmm,” Coronilla murmured.
“Can you move? You must move!”
Coronilla lurched over onto her hands and knees.
“That’s it, brave one! You must crawl and keep going.”
She managed to struggle on as they were allowed out, one by one, onto the low middle deck, where they were given a little fetid water and a barley biscuit. They were watched eagle-eyed from the higher afterdeck by the captain of the
Artemis
. Myrina itched to leap up and put her strong hands around his fat neck. But for the rope that hobbled her, she could have done it and killed him there and then, for she knew how to snap a man’s neck like a rabbit’s—but where would such an action leave them? Instead she gave Tamsin some hard biscuit dipped in water, then took a little herself. Iphigenia unobtrusively propped up Coronilla, helping her to drink and eat. Akasya fed Phoebe, and Myrina was relieved to see that her niece was awake and seemed to be reviving.
The captain came down from his position on the afterdeck and inspected his goods. “Young ones”—his voice was thick and hoarse with pleasure as he gently touched Phoebe’s curls—“pretty ones—sweet as honey.”
He stretched out his hand and felt Leti’s muscular shoulder. The young girl bared her teeth at him, but he laughed in her face. “Ha! They will fetch a good price!”
Myrina swore silently to herself that he would die, but she swallowed her pride and forced her voice to sound gentle, her face to look sad and sorrowful. “Not if they starve or sicken—there will be no price for them then. Release us from these bonds and we will feed and clean them. We have no weapons, and where can we go but into the sea?”
The captain sneered and laughed. “I thank you, madam, for your kind concern for my cargo.” He climbed back up to the afterdeck. “Release those two bitches with the young ones,” he ordered, indicating Myrina and Akasya. “Set them to work feeding the sickly ones and get them all cleaned up!”
The two ships turned, heading steadily west, still in sight of the shore. The
Apollo
pulled a little way ahead, but the wind blew against them and the oarsmen had a job to keep them on course. Myrina and Akasya moved dutifully about the deck of the
Artemis
, carrying water and slops, cleaning wounds as best they could. Myrina kept Tamsin, Leti, and Fara busy helping her, hoping to keep them out of the captain’s way. Though Phoebe was recovering well, they made her lie still, hoping that she would not attract attention.
“Rest,” they told her. “Keep quiet and still.”
The captain would not be persuaded to release any more of his captives, and it was hard work for so few of them. Coronilla’s bruising deepened in color, but Myrina was relieved to see that she seemed to be recovering and coming to her senses.
“Did you hit me, Snake Lady?” she asked.
“Would I dare to?” Myrina smiled, relieved to hear her speak so.
When the midday sun beat down on them, Myrina flopped down beside Iphigenia to have a brief rest. “I have been counting the sea pigs,” she hissed. “There are fifty-five of them, while there are eighty-two of us. Were we free we could take them easily.”
“But only you and Akasya and the girls are free!” Iphigenia answered.
Myrina grinned fiercely. “With one knife I could release you all very fast.”
Iphigenia nodded, but her face was grim. “You’d be more likely to get that knife between your shoulder blades,” she said. “And what of the other boat? I saw them drag Centaurea aboard the
Apollo
, along with some of the fishwives.”
“Was she hurt?”
“I do not think so.”
“Thank Maa for that.” Myrina frowned. “They have taken fishwives, too?”
“Only those who are big and strong; I saw them slit the throats of those who were wounded!”
Myrina shook her head. “These sea pigs will die,” she whispered. “I swear it! We must watch and wait but be ready to pounce should any chance come to us. If the moment arrives and we bellow out our war cry, our friends on the other boat will hear and understand. Centaurea will know what it means well enough.”
Iphigenia nodded. “The Moon Lady will be with us.”
The day passed on the crowded deck beneath the hot sun, but during the night most of the women were herded back under the cramped thwarts. They slept as best they could, still roped together in that restricted space while the oarsmen rested above them. Myrina and Akasya were allowed to stay on deck with the girls, though they were roped together and fastened to the thwarts. The captain repeatedly prowled about through the hours of darkness and Myrina was terrified that he’d snatch Tamsin and Phoebe away from them.
At times a helpless knot of shame tied itself tight inside her. Playing the submissive woman was deep humiliation to her. It was against everything she’d been taught by her parents, her tribe, and as a Moon Rider. All through the night she and Akasya whispered desperately together.
“That fat pig of a captain who keeps leering at Phoebe has a sharp paring knife stuck in his belt! I want to snatch it and pare his guts with it!”
“Yes.” Akasya scowled. “But his crew would be on you in an instant!”
Myrina ground her teeth in the shadows. “If he comes near Phoebe once again I shall have him! Whatever it costs!”
Phoebe was recovering from her head blow, but she seemed not to remember what had happened or where she was. The captain had offered her figs from a barrel he’d got stashed aboard, and she ate them and then was sick. Tamsin was fretful and miserable; in her early years she’d grown used to having a great deal of freedom.
Another day passed, and with careful tending some of the women seemed to be regaining their strength. As darkness fell on the second evening, the sea turned choppy and Myrina’s spirits sank again, for she could see no way out of this terrible situation. “If somehow one of us could distract them, while the other snatched a knife . . .” She knew that it would lead to instant death.
“It is the very last resort,” Akasya said. “It could go wrong and bring death to all of us!”
But fear of such an attempt going wrong was soon replaced by fear of a very different kind. As the
Artemis
swung farther out into the Black Sea, struggling to hold a course westward, the wind increased, raising the sea to great rolling waves so that the deck began to lurch violently up and down. It seemed they were heading into a storm.
Clouds covered the moon, and it began to rain heavily. As the ship rolled and the deck turned slippery, neither captives nor crew could do anything but cling to the thwarts and gunwales; before long many aboard were spewing up their guts. The captain called for the helmsman to swing the steering oar around so that they could head back to land and take shelter in the lee of the coast.
“By Maa! We could do without this!” Myrina cursed, clasping Tamsin tightly in her arms.
Akasya held Phoebe, murmuring words of comfort as the girl clapped her hand over her mouth and vomited. But as the ship lurched again Myrina remembered what Iphigenia had said and turned to Akasya. “No—maybe I see the Moon Lady’s hand in this! The sea pigs are struggling to stay afloat and cannot watch what we do. Maybe our moment will come.”
Chapter Three
The Moon Lady’s Hand
A
KASYA UNDERSTOOD
M
YRINA’S
suggestion, but she laughed bitterly. “If this is the Moon Lady’s hand, I would have chosen a gentler kind of help, not a filthy storm! But that goddess was never known for her gentleness!”
They both looked up to the afterdeck, where the captain and the helmsman struggled and argued over the steering oar. The captain skidded on the wet deck as they tried to haul the heavy oar about and control the ship’s direction. The small knife that Myrina had coveted suddenly slipped from his belt and fell onto the lower deck, unnoticed by its owner.
Myrina saw it at once. “Blessings of Mother Maa,” she whispered, “but I cannot reach it for this wretched rope!”
She looked back at her young niece, who was struggling not to vomit over Akasya. Phoebe was nimble and brave as a tiger, but this was not the best moment for her. Tamsin was free to move, but how could she ask one so young to do something so dangerous? Leti and Fara were older and they were free, but should she ask them to carry out something that she feared to ask her own child to do?
Then, as they were hurled against the gunwales, Tamsin wriggled out of her mother’s arms. There was no need to ask her—Tamsin was alert at once to the possibility of snatching the knife.
Myrina’s guts clenched with fear when she saw what her daughter was about, and Akasya gasped. But Tamsin was a Moon Rider’s daughter and already trained to hunt. Myrina gritted her teeth and nodded calmly. “Think lizard,” she whispered.
Tamsin sank to the deck and slowly began to move forward on her hands and knees, her movements smooth and slinky. She crossed the small, slippery space while Myrina and Akasya held their breaths. Suddenly she darted fast and accurately toward the knife, snatching it carefully by the handle.
They breathed out with relief. “Little Lizard,” Myrina whispered.
Within a moment Myrina had the knife in her hand and had cut her own rope, but then the ship lurched violently again so that her hand cracked against the gunwale, sending the knife sliding far away down to the other end of the middle deck.
“Fool!” Myrina said to herself. “Now get up from the floor and follow it!” She heaved herself to her feet, then skidded through water and vomit the length of the deck. She was kicked and bellowed at by the oarsmen as they struggled to gain control of their vessel. Eventually she banged her elbow so hard against the side of the foredeck that it felt as though the bone had splintered, but there beside her was the knife. Her hand closed over it. “Thank you, Maa!” she whispered.
As she felt the wooden haft inside her palm, the knot of shame burst open and fierce joy rose in her. Now she could fight. She looked up at the afterdeck for the captain. “You first,” she muttered. “I will cut your throat!” But then she saw that Iphigenia was watching her every move; she was tied up at the fore end of the corridor, huddled beneath the thwarts. The sight of her friend brought better sense: revenge must wait; freedom must come first. She crawled over and cut the ankle rope that restricted Iphigenia. “You were right. The Moon Lady is with us!” she whispered. “Take the knife and pass it on. I shall wait till more of us are free, then attack!”
Myrina made slow, painful progress back along the lower deck as the ship rolled violently and water swilled and lashed against her. Some of the oarsmen saw and cursed her, but they still struggled to turn the ship around and were afraid to leave the oars. At last the knife appeared at the other end of the corridor, signaling that all the women on Iphigenia’s side were free. Myrina snatched it, but the helmsman caught a brief glint of the metal and shouted a warning to the captain and crew. Myrina leaped across to the other side, passing the knife into the hands of her friends. Then she bellowed out the wild Moon Riders’ war cry, and the women on Akasya’s side answered her, rising as one, grabbing whichever oarsmen were nearest to them and snatching their knives. The men were too shocked to put up much of a fight. They swore and yelled orders at one another, while the oarsmen on the other side howled out curses, uncertain whether they should hang onto their oars or go to the aid of their fellows. Soon all the women were free of their bonds and rose as their sisters had done, snatching weapons and oars. The men were outnumbered, and before they had a chance to understand what was happening, they were sent flying into the ravening sea at the point of their own knives. Myrina leaped onto the afterdeck and sent the captain rolling overboard with a wild howl of glee.
Her heart was now racing with delight at their victory. She snatched Tamsin up into her arms. “Little Lizard, Little Lizard! Snake Mother is so very proud of you,” she yelled. But as the boat tipped again and they were flung once more against the gunwales, the joy fled and fear swam back. Myrina’s mind swirled with confusion. She knew nothing of boats or sailing, and the fierceness of this storm filled her with dread. She began to bellow orders that sounded confident, but within herself she had little certainty that she did right. “Grab the oars! Haul them in! Sit it out!”
The women obeyed her and after a struggle most of the oars were secured, but then it seemed there was little that they could do but hunker down to sit out the storm and brace themselves against the rolling of the ship. Myrina crouched beside Tamsin and Phoebe to wait until the sun rose or the wind abated, praying that Maa would calm the sea.
At last, as darkness lifted, the wind began to drop, and the waves subsided so that the terrible lurching swing of the
Artemis
ceased. The women clung around the decks more battered than ever, their skin sore and grazed, hair and clothing matted with a thick crusting of salt. As the sun warmed them, they began to stir, gaining confidence in their survival, murmuring and questioning, rubbing themselves down.
“What now?”
“How do we master this boat?”
“We should have kept some of the sea pigs and made them work for us.”
Myrina bit her lip, thinking that they were right in their murmuring. She wandered among them, still afraid to let go of Tamsin.
“Snake Lady?” They looked to her for direction. “What now?”
As her uncertainty and anxiety grew, she looked for Iphigenia, Akasya, and Coronilla, who she knew would always support her. She saw that they were right down at the other end of the ship, standing in the prow, with many of the women gathering about them. Myrina strode toward them, climbing onto the foredeck, the two girls following in her wake.
“Look!” Akasya cried fearfully, pointing into the distance. “The
Apollo
is turning back. Are they coming back to attack and make us slaves again?”
“No!” Iphigenia cried.
Myrina’s hand went to the haft of her stolen knife and her heart sank at the thought of it. “We will have to fight again.”
But Iphigenia and Akasya were both waving and smiling. “Look!” they cried. “Look at them—see how they row!”
Then Myrina saw it, too: the
Apollo
moved slowly but steadily through the water toward them, her oars rising and dipping as one. As the ship came close, Myrina heard a sound that sent her spirits soaring and warmed her like a fire. It was the ululating Moon Riders’ joy cry coming to them from across the rolling waves, soon taken up by those around her.
Centaurea stood holding tightly onto the
Apollo
’s mast, while a plump fisherwoman stood at her side, beating out a steady rhythm on a drum. Each oar was manned by a Moon Rider and rose and fell in excellent time. The
Apollo
had been fortunate to have the fisherwoman aboard—one of those who’d spent their whole lives in and out of boats.
The two ships drew together and one of the fisherwomen ran to the gunwales and threw a rope over to the
Artemis
. Soon the brother and sister ships were fastened together and the women swarmed from one to the other, greeting old friends and telling their own tales. Myrina struggled through them to the mast of the Apollo, where Centaurea still stood, but when she got there she was concerned for her friend. Centaurea clung to the mast for support; she had a deep knife wound in her chest. As Myrina took her in her arms, she sank slowly to the deck, the wound bleeding afresh, the seriousness of her hurt only too clear.
Water was brought and Myrina tore a strip from her own ragged smock to wash the wound and try to stanch the bleeding. The fisherwoman who’d been beating the drum bent to help.
“What happened?” Myrina asked her.
“We heard your war cry,” she told Myrina, “and this fierce one rose at once, the chant on her lips, too. She snatched the oarsman above her and hauled him down from his perch.”
“She was still roped?”
The woman nodded. “Aye, the fellow behind was quick to get out his knife and cut her down, but we’d all heard her cry and understood. We rose in her support and we had a bitter struggle. Three of your Moon Riders are dead and some wounded, but it was Centaurea who took up your cry and led us.”
“Our victory is bought at a bitter price,” Myrina murmured. She was not surprised at Centaurea’s action. The older woman, who bore the body picture of a bear, was as fierce as her special symbol, and in her youth she’d been known for the way she growled as she fought. She had been the special friend of Penthesilea, the leader of the Moon Riders, who was killed fighting Achilles in the struggle for Troy.
“But you, too, have acted with courage,” Myrina said. “It was your skills that set them to work on the oars. I did not know how to keep us all afloat on the
Artemis
. What is your name?”
“I am Kora and you honor me with your words,” the fisherwoman told her. “The price of our rebellion was high, but it seemed to be a price that both Centaurea and the others were willing to pay.”
Myrina’s stomach churned, for in a way her action had brought about these deaths and might yet kill Centaurea. By rights the older woman might have claimed the leadership of the Moon Riders long ago and challenged Myrina’s youth and suitability for the role, but despite her ferocity, Centaurea had given the Snake Lady nothing but loyalty and encouragement through the years. Since the two old women had died, Centaurea had spent much of her time training and teaching the younger Moon Riders, offering wise advice and help.
“You must get better,” Myrina whispered in her ear. “I cannot manage without you.”
But Centaurea’s strength seemed to be ebbing fast, and she closed her eyes as they tried to make her comfortable on the deck.
The two ships drifted for a while, roped together, while the women ate and drank and rested, but there was little food aboard the two boats even though they shared out the figs that the captain had hoarded for himself. As the sun moved high above the yardarms, Kora made her way to Myrina, who still sat beside Centaurea, feeding her small sips of water.
“Snake Lady,” she said to Myrina, “we cannot float here beneath the midday sun forever! What do we do next? Do we turn back to the mouth of the Thermodon? Do we go home? I know naught of my man and three little ones.”
Myrina was uncertain. “Of course you must go back, but as for us . . . ?”
She knew that the main body of Neoptolemus’s fleet had gone farther to the east along the shoreline; at some point they must turn back and discover that two of their slave ships had gone astray. If only she’d had a strong army and weapons she would have lain in wait for him and taken a bitter revenge, but she knew that nothing could be gained from thinking in that way. Hati and Atisha had always praised her for leading the slave women out of Troy rather than staying to be slaughtered; she must think hard again—not to seek revenge but to see what could be saved. In this weakened state they must avoid another encounter with Neoptolemus at all costs. If they sailed east, back to the Thermodon, they might well clash with him again. If they sailed west toward the Bosphorus and the Sea of Marmara, they’d never know when he might appear behind them.
Kora saw her doubt. “You Moon Riders know naught of seafaring ways!”
Myrina’s cheeks flushed red with the shame of it, and she shook her head. “You speak truth, though I wish I could deny it.”
Kora cackled and thumped her shoulder in a friendly way. “I wouldn’t last long on horseback, I can tell you—but the sea is my steed and I know how to ride her. Though he’d deny it, I’d say I’m as good a sailor as my man. Tell me where we should go and I shall show you how to make these ships take us there.”