Voyage of the Snake Lady (3 page)
M
YRINA WAS WARMED
by Kora’s cheerful confidence, but deciding where they should go was not easy. The whole southern coast of the Black Sea was in danger from the young Ant Man’s raiding parties. Myrina frowned—but then almost instinctively she turned toward the north; it seemed there was nowhere else left for them to go. There was nothing to the north but miles and miles of dark blue waves and then, beyond that, the barbarian lands. She had sometimes heard terrifying stories of the bloodthirsty tribes who lived on the northern shores of the Black Sea in a land that was barren and cold. Dare they attempt such a thing?
Kora saw the way her mind was working and raised her eyebrows. “You’d not be thinking of going north, would you? There’s naught up there but leagues and leagues of sea—like a wilderness of water; and then when you get there, there’s naught but another wilderness of grassland. We can’t turn about and set off in that direction—we’d soon run out of food and water.”
Myrina nodded, but she still stared northward. Now that she’d taken such a bitter leave of the Thermodon, to return there and live in constant fear of attack seemed a bleak and hopeless prospect.
Kora’s brow wrinkled as she racked her brains. “I know a place that would provide safety for a little while: a tiny island, just a little way past the mouth of the Thermodon. We call it Lunardia. There we could catch our breath and have time to think; the fisherfolk would feed us and help you to stock these boats for the longer journey, if you really want to venture north. I could stay for a few days to teach you how to handle the steering and the oars before I set off back to my home.”
“I know it.” Myrina smiled, warmly gripping Kora by the shoulders. “An island off the coast where the cherry trees grow. We Moon Riders call it the Nest of Maa. Yes—please show us how to get there.”
Kora soon had them unfurling the mainsail of the
Artemis
, for the wind was still blowing from the west.
“The wind has blown against us all the way.” Myrina laughed. “Maa and the Moon Lady must wish us to go back to Lunardia, I’m sure of it!”
After just one day of sailing they were back within sight of the coast. As they passed the smoking desolation of the Thermodon in the distance, they stood in silence and watched. Many of the women’s cheeks were wet with tears, but their spirits rose when the small island of Lunardia came into view. Dusk fell as they beached the two boats with just a little difficulty and much shouting of instructions from Kora and her friends. The fishing families who lived on the island set aside their nets to greet them with warmth and concern. When they understood who they were and heard what had happened to them, they offered generous hospitality. Neoptolemus had passed their little island by, thinking it not worth the trouble of attacking.
They lit a fire on the beach and organized a good but simple meal of freshly made bread and spit-roasted mackerel.
That night all the Moon Riders who were not injured danced in thanksgiving, both to their kind hosts and to Mother Maa.
They made a strange sight on the beach, a great group of young women, their long hair matted with salt, their skin covered with cuts and bruises, dancing unaccompanied, dressed in rags. Some of them wept as they danced, reliving the terrible slaughter of their boy children, praying to Maa to look after their little ones. Myrina watched with tight lips and dry eyes, remembering the rich jewelery that had once adorned the dancers, the layers of beads and the tinkling bells and cymbals that had been their pride.
“We have nothing left to us,” she whispered to Iphigenia.
But Iphigenia would not allow her to be miserable. “Look at them,” she insisted. “Look at their spirit and energy; see how their body pictures ripple as they move. They have youth, they have their dances, and, most of all, they have life.”
Coronilla lay resting beside them, not quite recovered enough to lead the dancing as she usually did. Now she laughed. “Your words sound strangely familiar, Princess,” she said. “It is usually the Snake Lady who speaks with such crazy cheerfulness.”
Iphigenia smiled. “It is from the Snake Lady that I have learned such determination,” she said.
Myrina was cheered by their praise. Two fisher girls came over to them, carrying the battered drum they had taken from the
Apollo
and an old wooden pipe. Another girl pushed a bundle of wooden spoons into their hands.
“See!” Iphigenia said. “Maa heard your complaints and provided you with instruments.”
“Give the pipe to Coronilla,” Myrina told them. “She can make a simple pipe sound like the song of the goddess!”
Coronilla took the old chipped pipe and put it to her lips.
Myrina began to beat the drum in a familiar rhythm that made all the Moon Riders smile; they picked up their feet and danced with renewed energy. Iphigenia snatched the wooden spoons and quickly set them clacking in time with the rhythm, two in each hand. Those who were too badly injured to dance clapped and sang. Myrina’s spirits soared. Everyone went to sleep feeling warm and exhausted and safe—for a little while at least.
In the cold light of the morning Myrina and Kora tried to explain to the islanders what they wished to do. When they heard Myrina’s plans, they shook their heads. Fear gleamed in their eyes, their fingers flicking northward to ward off the evil they believed might come from that direction.
“No, no. It’s a terrible journey. We call it the Inhospitable Sea!”
“It’s a big voyage.”
“The weather changes with a flick of Maa’s fingers.”
“The winds and waves rise like mountains—and they crash down onto a deck like knives!”
“They kill people there—kill strangers! They sacrifice them to their gods! They are barbarians!”
“Wild men, who drink the blood of horses!”
Myrina smiled. “When I went to Troy as a young girl, I discovered that my tribe, the Mazagardi, were thought to be barbarians by the well-fed city dwellers.”
The fisherfolk still shook their heads. “The storms that rage in the northern parts of the Inhospitable Sea will tear a boat apart. We know—our men who have ventured too far do not come back!”
“Better to face storms and barbarians than live beneath the yoke of Achilles’ whelp!” Myrina insisted fiercely.
Iphigenia touched her arm in a soothing gesture and began explaining to the islanders more gently. “The young Ant Man will demand tribute from you fisherfolk, which will be harsh enough; but from us he will demand our lives. We warrior women are a threat to him—he will never let us stay here in safety. To us, who love to ride and dance, it will be misery indeed if we are forced to live in hiding.”
“We would keep you safe,” the shout went up. “Stay here with us!”
“Moon Riders bring the blessings of Maa on our crops and our harvests from the sea!”
“We would guard you with our lives!”
Myrina and Iphigenia were both silenced by such loyalty.
Kora intervened. “Your honor to Maa is not in doubt,” she told them, “but I have seen how fiercely these women fight against oppressors. They cannot thrive without their freedom! If they wish to go venturing across the dark sea, I say we should help them!”
There was disappointment but subdued agreement. Aid was offered and determined, practical advice, along with provisions for the voyage, but it was clear that the people of Lunardia were sad to lose their strange and magical visitors so soon.
They all set to work to prepare for the voyage. Kora helped tirelessly, instructing the younger, stronger Moon Riders in the work of hauling in the loose-footed brail sail and turning it to catch the wind. Akasya and Coronilla, now much recovered, learned how to direct the heavy steering oars. Two teams of oarswomen rowed the boats back and forth along the shoreline until they had regained much of their muscular strength and pulled on the oars in perfect harmony.
Phoebe recovered so well that she was soon beating all the fisher boys at races along the beach. She and Tamsin were sent off with their new friends to pick the dark red cherries that grew all around. They would return in the evening, their hands and faces stained with juice, weighed down with the sweet harvest they’d gathered. All the women set about gathering wood, to make new bows, and feathers for fletchings to make their arrows fly true.
Myrina was heartened by it all but worried about her old friend Centaurea. One of the fisherwomen had made her comfortable in a clean and cozy cottage, hidden among the cherry groves, but though she was nursed with care, her wound was slow to heal and it was clear that her spirits were low.
“You’d best bang a spike through my head as you would a horse,” Centaurea told Myrina gruffly when she went to see how she fared. “Or give me a sharp knife and I’ll despatch myself.”
“Don’t you dare speak so,” Myrina said, but at the same time her concern grew. How could she take so sick a woman off on a dangerous sea voyage, uncertain whether they would ever find safety at the end of it? To do such a thing might truly make her responsible for her friend’s death. She had seen so much death lately that the thought of bringing about one more was terrible.
After seven days of hard work, the
Artemis
and the
Apollo
were ready to set sail, stocked well with grain, salt meat, goat cheese, and cherries. The islanders brought them two pairs of breeding goats and a pair of sheep so that if they could manage to struggle through the winter, they’d have the means to start new herds in the spring.
Kora and four of her friends who lived near the mouth of the Thermodon wished them well and set off in a fishing boat to sail back to their homes. Myrina missed the bossy, capable woman as soon as she had gone and quickly realized how much she had been depending on her sensible, down-to-earth advice.
The younger Moon Riders danced energetically on the shore, hoping to bring a steady southerly wind. Despite the hardships they had suffered, they were eager to be setting sail for the voyage northward across the unknown sea, ready for an adventure after the hopeless despair they’d felt as they faced slavery.
I
PHIGENIA AND MYRINA
sat by Centaurea’s bedside, watching her as she slept; her breathing was light and shallow. Ida, the daughter of the house, hovered shyly in the doorway.
“May I speak?” she asked respectfully.
“Of course you may,” Myrina told her. “We cannot say how grateful we are for the tender care you’ve given our friend.”
The girl took a deep breath and began nervously: “We have been talking, my parents and some of the others.”
“Yes?” Myrina was a little impatient.
“Well . . . we have a suggestion to make and if you answer yes, it would please us greatly.”
Iphigenia and Myrina looked up at each other uncertainly.
Ida went on, “We wonder if you would think of leaving the sick priestess here with us?”
Myrina shook her head at once, but the girl hurried to explain more fully. “I have always wanted so much to join the ranks of the Moon maidens,” she whispered. “I wish to learn herb lore and the beautiful sacred dances. Were you to leave the priestess in our care, we would nurse her back to health and give her all the honor that is due to an aging Moon Rider.”
Myrina and Iphigenia smiled sadly at each other, touched by the young girl’s respect, but the thought of leaving one of their women behind was dreadful to them.
But now that she’d found the courage to speak, Ida was determined that they should understand her intention. “Were you to leave the priestess in our care, we would build a temple to Earth Mother Maa, hidden away high up in the mountain caves that have always been sacred to the goddess.”
“You have been thinking carefully about this,” Myrina said.
The girl rushed on, sensing that she was at least being listened to. “Should we be blessed with her recovery, the priestess Centaurea would be chief in our country. I would be her devoted servant, and if she judged me worthy, I would be her assistant, too.”
Myrina still hesitated, but Centaurea, who they’d all thought was sleeping, murmured and stirred. She had heard and understood Ida’s words and now, with Iphigenia’s help, she struggled to sit up.
“Snake Lady,” she whispered hoarsely, “this is not for you to decide.” She fought to get the words out, but it was clear to them all that they must let her speak. “My answer is . . . yes. I will stay here.”
Myrina was deeply saddened at the thought of leaving her old friend behind. Centaurea’s good sense had helped the Moon Riders through many a terrible situation, but she could not deny that she was worried about taking her with them. Ida’s suggestion had instantly brought a glimmer of determination back into the sick woman’s eyes.
“But you are my oldest friend,” she whispered, kneeling down beside Centaurea and taking her hand. “You are the only one left of our little group that rode south to rescue Iphigenia.”
Centaurea smiled and squeezed Myrina’s hand. “What an adventure that was, eh?” She looked up at Iphigenia. “And worth every risk!”
Iphigenia smiled down at her.
Centaurea shook her head. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself—it’s a fine idea. Listen, Snake Lady . . . I may be getting older, but I am no fool—your sea voyage will finish me off, for sure. This way I may live, and live with honor. Ida will make a fine Moon maiden for me to train, and when I die she shall take my place, and in her turn she will train others. We cannot all live here on this tiny island—we would soon be discovered and destroyed—but a few of us, hidden away, may well manage. It will mean that our ways will live on here in secret.”
Myrina was running out of arguments.
“I trust these islanders,” Centaurea told her firmly. “I trust them completely. And you, Myrina, are quite capable of leading the Moon Riders without my help. You have Iphigenia and all your loyal friends.”
Myrina saw how Centaurea’s voice grew stronger as she spoke; her will to live was returning as every moment passed and the idea gripped her.
Myrina turned to Iphigenia. “What do you think?”
The serene face of Agamemnon’s daughter brightened with amusement. “I think you have your answer clear enough,” she said.
The following day a steady southerly wind blew down from the mountains; it blew across the island, making all the fishermen’s sails flap and belly northward across the sea.
“This is your moment,” Ida’s father told them. “This is a blessed wind and you must set sail at once. Neoptolemus will soon be heading back this way and you will ensure your safety and ours by leaving now.”
Myrina nodded and gave the signal to leave. Though the idea of sailing northward had been all her own, she was now very sorry to depart from this place of peace and safety. Centaurea was carried down to the beach on a litter, and Myrina saw that her color had already improved. Her voice was now strong and purposeful as she gave orders to the new devotees who crowded around her, running to obey her every command. She cheerfully hugged her departing friends and gave them the priestess’s salute.
“Well, well,” Myrina murmured. “Perhaps this was meant to be.”
“Look at their faces.” Iphigenia pointed out the satisfied smiles that appeared all about them. The islanders were well rewarded, now that they had their own priestess.
Myrina acknowledged that she was right. She touched Iphigenia’s arm. “Thank goodness I still have you.”
She strode aboard the
Apollo
with her crew, each Moon Rider well armed with a strong new bow, a full quiver at her side, a sharp gutting knife in a sheath at her belt. Iphigenia went aboard the
Artemis
, for the fishermen had insisted that each ship must have a captain: in the chaos that might come from fierce wind and waves, each crew must take orders from just one voice.
The teams of oarswomen rowed away from the land, while their friends began to unfurl the brail sail to catch the favorable wind. The
Artemis
moved ahead a little, for just as they were unfurling the sail aboard the
Apollo
, Myrina spied a small fishing boat rowing fast toward them from the west. A red scarf fluttered as though in warning and Myrina did not know whether to hasten away or wait to see what this might mean. Then, as she hesitated, she saw that it was Kora who was waving to her from beneath the red streamer.
“Wait!” she cried. “Hold the sail! Hold the oars! Drop anchor!”
While the
Artemis
headed steadily north, Myrina slipped a rope over the side and hauled Kora aboard the
Apollo
.
“Take me with you!” Kora demanded.
They saw that the strong woman was trembling.
“Of course you may come if you wish it,” Myrina assured her. “But what of your man and your little ones?”
“Gone—all gone!” Kora whispered. “Slaughtered in the young Ant Man’s wake. Our crops and huts are burned to the ground. I come with you and you must not wait!”
“With all your skills we will be ten times better off,” Myrina told her. “There can be nobody more welcome than you. But . . . I am so sorry you have lost your family.”
“Unfurl the sail! Get under way!” Kora told her, brushing away sympathy. “A horseman came riding fast down the coast, crying out a warning. The Ant Man’s warships are returning from the east.”
Myrina gave the order at once and the sail bellied out to catch the wind; only then did Kora allow her to take her into her arms and hug her tightly.
They sailed north for two days with a steady wind behind them. Myrina tried to be calm, but she had never been so far away from any sight of land and she found it frightening to sail on and on and see nothing but waves.
She longed to ask Kora’s help, but once they were under way the fisherwoman had became very quiet and withdrawn. They all respected and understood her grief, and Myrina dared not allow her thoughts to be drawn away from the sight of the moon and stars at night, the direction of the wind and pathway of the sun each day.
On the fourth day the wind changed so that it began to blow from the north. They managed to furl their sails carefully and take up the oars, though it was hard work rowing into the wind. They battled onward, the
Artemis
still leading and the
Apollo
struggling on in her wake. The women’s newly gained seamanship was tested and proved worthy, but on the evening of the fifth day the wind grew stronger and the waves sent the two vessels tipping fiercely up and down.
Myrina was so worried that, whether the woman was grieving or not, she went to Kora and begged her to get up from beneath the gunwales where she lay and help her.
“One captain only aboard,” Kora told her sullenly.
“There may be only one captain, but this captain needs help!” Myrina bellowed.
“I told you that this sea was treacherous! This is the Inhospitable Sea!” Kora shouted back, but she got up with the faintest of smiles and marched to the prow. She pointed out a red streamer, just visible in the gloom, flying from the yardarm of the
Artemis
, still ahead of them.
“Look,” she cried. “Iphigenia signals that she will lift the oars and try to sit it out. We should do the same!”
“Lift oars!” Myrina shouted. “Drop anchor!” At once the oarswomen obeyed her. Akasya and Coronilla prepared the heavy anchor to be dropped over the side, but just at that moment they heard a shocking crack that seemed to come from the direction of the
Artemis
. It was so loud that the sound carried over the heaving waves and reached their ears above the roaring of the wind.
“Maa defend us from these winds!” Even Kora could not maintain her confidence, as they saw that the mast of the
Artemis
had crashed down onto the deck, smashing a great gash across the gunwales.
“We must go to help them,” Myrina cried. “Lower the oars! Kora—you are captain now—we need your skills!”
Coronilla and Akasya left the anchor and hauled with all their strength to swing the great steering oar around. The oars creaked and groaned as they battled once again with the furious waves. Kora bellowed orders, while Myrina stayed silent as she struggled down toward the prow, ready to help when they neared the stricken vessel. Iphigenia threw them a rope from the stern, and as soon as the two vessels were lashed together prow to stern, Myrina started pulling her friends aboard. The women from the
Artemis
swarmed over the gunwales, wildly grabbing the offered hands of their friends in the
Apollo
. Suddenly, another lurch of the damaged vessel sent the broken mast crashing through the thwarts so that the wild waves rushed in, and in no time the lower middle deck was filling up fast.
“Where is Iphigenia?” Myrina cried.
“There!” Kora yelled and pointed.
Myrina’s heart sank when she saw that Iphigenia had gone back to the prow to check that there was nobody injured who might need help.
“Come down here now!” Myrina screamed at her. “Curse her dutiful ways! You must come now!”
But suddenly with another crash the heavy broken mast appeared to split the deck completely in two and Iphigenia was trapped on the far side and carried down into the dark swirling water.
“No!
No!”
Myrina howled.
Coronilla was at her side, the two of them still holding the rope that had lashed the broken
Artemis
to safety.
“We must let go!” Coronilla shouted at her.
“No! No!” Myrina cried. “I cannot lose her!”
The broken half of the
Artemis
that was still fastened to the
Apollo
filled with water fast, the weight of it dragging the
Apollo
over dangerously to the side. Myrina’s hands were bleeding and torn, but still she clung to the rope that held the sinking, smashed stern of the
Artemis
. She stared out into the wild darkness after her friend.
Kora strode across the deck and put her own strong hands over Myrina’s clenched fists. “You must let go, or we shall all be lost.”
Coronilla let go of the rope and then at last Myrina opened her bloodied hands and let it tear through her palms into the sea.