Mood Riders Read online

  “I want to dance at her wedding.”

  Gul clicked her tongue. “An important woman like Atisha cannot be kept waiting while a girl makes up her mind which man she wants. Reseda must not be rushed in her choice, so you’ll go off with the Moon Riders, and you’ll be happy.”

  “Yes I will.” Myrina was easily persuaded of that.

  The Mazagardi were up before sunrise packing away their tents. All the tribe members performed their own tasks well, even the tiniest of children. They had done it so often that there were no arguments and little need to speak. The whole tribe mounted their steeds and moved off as they did at every new moon.

  Myrina and Tomi rode in unusual silence side by side. The Mazagardi traveled fast, fording the River Scamander. The dreary days of the Snow Months were over and they were eager for the return of the sun.

  Both warm and cold springs issued from high rocks at the Place of Flowing Waters. Tall shady trees grew alongside the riverbanks and fresh shooting grass provided rich grazing for goats and horses.

  “Why do we not stay here forever?” Myrina had once asked her grandmother, when she’d been very young.

  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.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Place of Flowing Waters

  THE 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!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Windy City

  MYRINA 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.

  “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.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  An Invitation to Sparta

  MYRINA AND HATI 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.”