Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE STRANGER

AS IF FROM NOWHERE a javelin came whooshing through the air and drove deep into the Kethite’s throat. There was a spurt of blood as the man was thrown backward. He was dead before he struck the ground.

Hippolyta realized she had stopped breathing and took a huge swallow of air. Clambering shakily to her feet, she saw the owner of the javelin walking toward her with a confident swagger.

He was a tall, handsome man with a close-cropped black beard and thick black curls protruding from beneath the rim of his helmet. He snatched up his weapon and casually wiped the blood off on the ground.

Hippolyta suddenly felt sick, as if she had to vomit, as if she, and not the Kethite, had swallowed blood. She turned her head away, but not before seeing the broad grin on the tall man’s face.

What kind of warrior am I, she thought, to be so stricken by the sight of blood? Molpadia would not feel this way. Valasca would not….

She heard feet pounding on the ground, turned back to see Tithonus run up to the tall man. “That was amazing!” Tithonus enthused. “You must have thrown that spear forty or fifty feet!”

“Oh, I doubt it was as far as that,” said the stranger.

Hippolyta walked away from them and plucked up her ax from the ground. “Get away from him, Tithonus!” she ordered.

It was clear from the man’s garb and weapons that he was another Lycian and therefore a potential enemy.

“He saved your life!” Tithonus exclaimed. “And mine. Trojans know how to give thanks, Hippolyta. Don’t Amazons?”

The stranger raised an eyebrow. “If I had meant you any harm, young Amazon, I would have left you to your fate and not bothered to bloody my spear.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Hippolyta admitted, lowering her weapon. Still, she didn’t trust him. He is too—too—she thought. And then she had it. He is too conveniently here.

Suddenly Tithonus pointed to the wounded Lycian, who had collapsed only a few feet from the rocks. “Can we help him?” Tithonus asked, pointing.

A waterskin was hanging from the stranger’s back, and he gave the bag to Tithonus, who splashed a few drops on the wounded man’s face to revive him. The Lycian’s eyelids fluttered open, and when he saw first the boy and then Hippolyta, he smiled grimly. “So you triumphed without my help.”

“Oh, we had help,” Tithonus told him, wide-eyed. “From this man here.”

“Polemos is my name,” said the stranger.

“He’s one of your countrymen,” Hippolyta added unnecessarily.

“A Kethite was about to finish off Hippolyta when Polemos killed him with a javelin,” said Tithonus, his voice filled with boyish enthusiasm. “Sixty feet at least! I’ve never seen a throw like it!”

Polemos knelt by the wounded man and unwrapped the bandage. Carefully he washed the wound, then produced a mixture of leaves from a bag that hung from his belt. Placing these over the wound, he fixed a fresh piece of cloth on top of it.

“The Kethite weapons do terrible injury,” he murmured to himself as he inspected his work.

“If these two hadn’t helped me, the Kethites would have finished me for sure,” said the wounded Lycian.

“That was nobly done,” said Polemos approvingly. He smiled at Hippolyta, who felt uncomfortable receiving such friendly treatment from a man she barely trusted.

She grunted in response.

But Tithonus grinned. “She is noble, isn’t she? She’s the daughter of a queen. And I’m her brother.”

Polemos looked suddenly grave. “I didn’t know Amazons had brothers.”

“Some do,” said Tithonus with equal gravity.

“Well, then, you’re fortunate in your sister,” Polemos told him.

“And she’s fortunate in me,” Tithonus said, his open face wreathed in smiles. “I saved her from a sea monster.”

“Did you now?” asked Polemos.

“Well, we sort of saved each other,” Tithonus admitted.

“Then I suppose you and your sister will wish to continue your journey now.” Polemos spoke directly to Tithonus, but somehow Hippolyta felt he was really addressing her. She was reluctant to answer. He knew too much already.

“Tithonus!” she said sharply. “We’re going.”

Polemos looked to where Hippolyta’s horse was darting about, still spooked by the experience of battle. He let out two sharp whistles, and the animal came running up to him as though it had known him all its life. He stroked its flank with a brawny hand, gently calming it.

“In time he could become a fine war horse, if you treat him well,” he said. This time he addressed Hippolyta directly.

“I’ve had him only a couple of weeks,” Hippolyta said. “I got him from—”

Before she could finish the sentence, she realized for the first time that Polemos was wearing a bronze armlet decorated with a dragon, just like the one the old man at the river had worn.

“I got him from an old man,” she said carefully. “He wore an armlet just like that.” She pointed to the Lycian’s left arm.

“They’re common enough,” said Polemos with a shrug.

Too convenient, she thought. And too humble by half. She remembered how skillfully Polemos had thrown the javelin.

“Are you a pupil of his?” she asked suspiciously.

Polemos laughed. “Perhaps I am. If so, I’ve learned many things in his company. Among them was never to make a man my enemy if he would be my friend. Hate is a poor motive for battle. It is better to fight in defense of the helpless and the innocent.” He cast a meaningful glance at Tithonus.

Hippolyta was sure the man knew far more than he was saying, but when she opened her mouth to speak again, he waved her questions aside impatiently.

“Once the rest of the Kethites make a stop, they’re going to wonder why this chariot hasn’t caught up,” he said. “And those two you knocked out will be waking up shortly. What do you suppose they’ll have to say to their friends?”

“Then I didn’t kill them?” Hippolyta asked. The awful knot in her stomach began to unravel.

“No, but for some time they’re going to wish you had,” Polemos said. “First their heads are going to ache like the inside of a volcano. And then they’re going to remember that a girl beat them, and their pride will feel as hot as their heads. I’ll tie them tight and hide them where their friends won’t find them easily. Then my countryman and I will take that chariot back to Lycia.” He nodded in the direction of the empty Kethite chariot.

“What about us?” Tithonus asked. “Where should we go?”

“Through the rocks and into the hills,” Polemos replied.

“Through the rocks?” Hippolyta was puzzled. She’d been certain that the rocks hid nothing more than a shallow cave.

“You’ll find a fine trail,” Polemos said, “though the way through is too narrow for the Kethites to follow, except on foot. Keep always to the left, and no trouble will come to you, even in the dark. You do know left from right?”

They both nodded.

“Good,” Polemos said. “When you come out again, you’ll see a range of mountains. Look for the one with the double peak. Go toward it, and you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

“How do you know what we’re looking for?” Hippolyta asked, once again suspicious.

“Surely you seek your ancestral home. Why else would a young Amazon wander so far, with none of her sisters accompanying her?” said Polemos. “Now go, while there’s still time.”

In spite of her suspicions, the urgent command in his voice jolted Hippolyta into action. She climbed onto the horse and pulled Tithonus up behind her.

“Good luck,” Tithonus called to the two Lycians.

“And to you, young prince,” called out Polemos. The wounded Lycian waved feebly.

“May the gods …” Hippolyta began softly. It felt strange speaking to any men, let alone two she would normally have considered her worst foes. But Polemos’ words—about never making a man an enemy if he would be a friend—suddenly repeated in her head.

“May the gods give you safety as well,” she said. Then she kicked the horse lightly with her heel.

“Make your battles few and choose them well,” Polemos called after them. “Then fight with all your heart.”