Voyage of the Snake Lady Read online

  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.”

  Chapter Four

  Lunardia

  MYRINA 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 underst
ood 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.

  Chapter Five

  A Southerly Wind

  IPHIGENIA 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.