In The Land Of The Amazons

Chilon had no answer. He could not answer because he knew she was right.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, following the river until they came upon a high ridge, which upon passing over, they came to the city of Themiscyra. Scores of women, young and old, poured out of the city gates to welcome their friends home, singing praises at their safe return. But when they laid their eyes upon the god-like Chilon, they began to chatter with excitement, astounded by his handsomeness, even though he was quite weak and almost at the point of exhaustion.

It was now late in the afternoon and Chilon, whose journey only acted to exacerbate the pain of his wounds, began to feel sick and feverish. As they passed through the tall, wooden gates and into the town square, they stopped before a massive stone temple and dismounted. But as his feet touched the ground, he became faint and lost his footing, collapsing in front of a crowd of astonished women. He felt hands upon him, those of Xanthippe and Anaea, whose cries for help soon brought the attention of those inside the temple. Through eyes now dimmed with fever, he beheld the image of a beautiful woman standing at the top of the temple stairs giving orders in some unknown language to those around her. And as the crowd pressed ever closer upon him, he heard Xanthippe mention the word "queen" and then he lost consciousness.

************

For three days and nights Chilon slept. But it was an extremely fitful sleep, plagued by nightmares and brief moments of lucidity. But in those moments he was able to discern that he was lying naked in a bed not his own, and in a land of people he had only heard about in myth. During his delirium, he would often call out the name of his betrothed, whose face always seemed to be before him, or of some god or goddess whose mercy he might invoke in making him well. And when was partially lucid, he would see the lovely face of Anaea looking down upon him, her eyes full of sadness and worry. It troubled him to see her unhappy, but he was as yet too weak to talk, and all he could do was smile at her ever so faintly, hoping to quell her concerns. He saw too the face of Xanthippe, who seemed to always be hovering about him whenever he regained consciousness, diligently cleaning his wounds before applying a fresh poultice to his head and chest, forcing some ill-tasting concoction down his throat even when he was not thirsty.

But there was another face; a face he only partially glimpsed before the light of day had gone from his eyes. She had stood in this darkened room on the very night he was taken ill, and she had been alone with him. Even in the dim light he could see that she was a woman of great beauty, and her carriage told him that she must have held some lofty position amongst the Amazons. He remembered some of the words she had spoken to him, even though she believed he could not hear her. They were spoken in Greek, and they sounded both admonishing and enigmatic. He recalled too that at one point she had lifted his blanket and looked down upon his naked form with appreciation, even taking the liberty to playfully fondle his genitals, thinking he was incoherent and beyond response. When she discovered that he had grown an erection, she laughed and hastily exited the room.

On the morning of the fourth day he awoke feeling refreshed and in far less pain. He rose to his feet slowly, half expecting to feel the same terrible disorientation he had experienced before his collapse in the city square. But whoever had tended to his wounds had done her job well, for despite the intense hunger pangs in his belly, he felt better than he had in days.

A single ray of light trickled into the room from the tiny window above his head, illuminating the dark room well enough so that he could examine his wounds. To his amazement, the cuts he had suffered on his chest and arm were almost completely healed. The injury to his head, acquired when he jumped from the sinking ship, seemed far less troublesome to him now—and there were no more disquieting headaches.

As he continued examining his body, his attention was diverted to the sound of shuffling feet outside his room.

Without warning, the door swung open, revealing Xanthippe holding a jar of water in her left hand and some washcloths in her right. She was startled when she saw him, not so much at the sight of his magnificent, naked body, but that he was standing at all. Despite having washed the sweat from his body for the past three nights in order to cool his raging fever, she now felt strangely awkward and averted her eyes.

"Forgive me. I did not know you were awake."

"How long have I lain here?" he inquired.

"You have been ill with fever these past three days and nights."

"Where is this place? And where are my clothes?"

"You are in my home. Your clothes are over there." She pointed to a wooden chair in the corner of the room.

"What of my armor and the rest of my possessions?"

"They lie safely in the temple of the goddess."

"And the necklace?"

"The goddess protects all your worldly goods."

Chilon grunted. "I would prefer to keep my worldly goods to myself. But if you say they are safe, I believe you."

"Thank you. I am pleased that you show such confidence in me. How are you feeling?"

"I am much better," he replied as he reached for his tunic and sandals. "I suppose I have you to thank for my recovery."

"I only dressed your wounds. The medicinal potion is what made you well again."

"May I ask why I'm naked?"

"I had to bathe you," she replied, somewhat abashed.

"Bathe me?" he asked, amused. "For what reason?"

"Cleanliness is important if one is to stay healthy, and no more so during times of illness. Or don't you Spartans believe in hygiene?"

Chilon laughed. "I hope you liked what you saw."

"I have seen many naked men, but never one with such a body as yours."

He looked at her and smiled but said nothing.

"I assume you must be hungry," she said.

"I am. Very hungry."

"We will have breakfast together. Join me when you are ready."

Still averting her eyes, she put the jar of water on a small table and promptly withdrew, leaving him to get dressed.

Xanthippe's house was a rather large wooden dwelling composed of four rooms; a kitchen, a great room, and two modest-sized sleeping chambers. It was unpretentious, like its owner, and Chilon noted that its décor was styled very much upon the Greek fashion, with an especial preponderance of religious artifacts of various kinds scattered throughout the house. She invited him to sit with her in the kitchen, where she had prepared a breakfast of cheese, olives, fruit, and wine. When Chilon laid his eyes upon the appetizing assortment of food, he threw his table manners to the wind and attacked the tasty edibles with great relish.

"I'm sorry," he said, biting off a huge mouthful of cheese, "I haven't eaten in a long time."

"I am not offended. Please. Eat."

For the first few minutes he ate ravenously, and she watched him patiently, and in silence, as she ate her own breakfast. Even with several days' growth of beard, and as uncouth as his eating habits were, his noble bearing could not be diminished. It seemed to her that Anaea was justified in thinking he was a god.

After he had satiated himself with food and wine, he thanked her for her hospitality, and for her kindness.

"I owe my life to you, Xanthippe," he said. "How can I repay your generosity?"

"I ask nothing for myself," she replied. "But our queen is desirous of speaking with you. I have sent messengers to tell her that you are well. When they return we must go with them."

"Your queen seems to have taken quite an interest in me. I believe she was in my room the night of my arrival."

"She has been anxious after your health."

"Why?"

"Because you saved our lives, Chilon. There is no greater honor amongst my people than to risk your life for a friend."

"But you weren't my friends—at least not a few days ago anyway."

"That's what makes what you did even more significant. You could just as easily have hidden in the cave and done nothing. That you, a stranger, fought to protect our lives is why we are obliged to honor you."

"I want no honors. Your queen can best show her gratitude to me by helping me return to Megara."

"You will have to bring your request before her and the council. It is they who will decide what is best."

"What is best is that I return to Megara and my bride," he said, flatly. "I ask nothing else."

"I cannot speak for her, but I will add my voice to yours in the council chamber."

Chilon stared deeply into her eyes, as if seeking to penetrate the mystery that lay beyond the appealing countenance.

"I assume you are a person of no little importance in the queen's eyes if you were the one chosen to see to my welfare. Is this true?"

"I am the high priestess of the goddess, Artemis," she answered solemnly, "second in command to the queen herself."

Chilon smiled. "Then I count myself fortunate to have such an ally. Or am I mistaken?"

"You are not mistaken. I will speak on your behalf before the queen. That is the least I can do."

By the time the messengers arrived, the streets were full of people anxious to see the brave hero who had saved the lives of their high priestess and her two friends. Little girls and young maidens threw roses and laurel wreaths at Chilon's feet as he and Xanthippe walked toward the queen's residence, a ponderous stone building located diagonally across from the temple of Artemis where he had unceremoniously fainted before the startled crowd four days earlier. It looked to him like a vastly smaller version of the Parthenon, with its impressive Doric-style columns and marble imbrices and roof tiles. When he questioned Xanthippe about it she said that some of the native Paphlagonians, many of whom had employed Greek craftsmen to erect the structure, were conquered by the Amazons and driven off the land by Lysippe over a decade ago. Themiscyra, in all its physical aspects, was a city built by Greeks.

The day was sultry and warm, filled with the scent of lavender and dianthus, and Chilon breathed in the heady aroma deeply, finding comfort in the delicious fragrance. Hands reached out to touch him as he passed, as if hoping to establish by physical contact confirmation that he was indeed a man and not a god. Such was his manly beauty that many of women uttered blessings as he walked past them, calling out the names of gods or goddesses that were common amongst both the Scythians and the Greeks. But he noticed that some of the women did not deign to offer him homage. And he soon discovered that Clymene was amongst them.

"Clymene and those other women," he said to Xanthippe as they began their ascent up the stairs to the temple, "do not seem very happy to see me."

"Most are pure Scythian and have no love for the Greeks. Others, like Clymene, are part Greek, but consider themselves Scythians. Whatever they are, they disgrace themselves by not honoring you."

As they entered the council chamber Chilon was surprised to see Anaea standing amongst a vast coterie of women who, by their ornate dress, appeared to be courtiers or other officials of high standing. Anaea smiled and bowed her head as he passed, her hand gently coming to rest in his. For a moment it appeared that she would not let go; as if she had discovered a long lost treasure for which she was loathe abandoning. Chilon was touched by the charming gesture and rewarded her with a warm smile.

It was at this point that Xanthippe instructed Chilon to follow her into the central chamber where the queen sat surrounded by several council members. As they entered, the queen, sitting on a dais and bedecked in a royal purple robe and wearing a jeweled diadem, greeted Xanthippe and then Chilon, who was told to stand before her. Xanthippe bowed her head to the queen and then took her seat at Lysippe's right. The queen raised her hand and immediately the room fell silent.

"Welcome to Themiscyra, Chilon, son of Damagetus," she began.

Chilon bowed his head as he had seen Xanthippe do.

"Thank you, queen Lysippe," he replied cordially. "I am grateful for the hospitality you and your people have shown me."

The queen was even more beautiful that he had remembered. Her long and abundant red hair stretched down to her waist and framed a face that was almost flawless in its loveliness. Her hazel-green eyes were deep set and penetrating, as if by a simple glance alone she could see into the souls of men. On either side of her sat the six members of the council, all dressed in unadorned white, woolen tunics. These were women of age no younger than twenty and most considerably older. On the four walls were displayed a vast assortment of swords, shields, bows, and other weaponry, much of which comprised the spoils of their vanquished foes.

"We are glad to see that you have regained your health," she said, nodding in Xanthippe's direction.

"The high priestess is very skilled in the healing arts."

"She told us of your unfortunate adventures at sea. I offer my condolences at the loss of your shipmates."

"Polyphemus and his crew were good men and I shall miss them. It seems the gods did not favor our voyage."

"But they seem to favor you. Xanthippe tells me that your destination was Megara and that your bride awaits you there."

"Yes. But I fear she must now believe me dead."

"Your captain surely must have known the dangers of navigating the Bosporus this time of year."

"He was only persuaded to take me after I promised him a large sum of money. I regret I was so impatient."

"How well did he know these waters?"

"He made the journey to Megara only once before. He never ventured further than that city because he was fearful of pirates and the barbaric tribes that inhabit these lands."

"It seems that your friend was ignorant of the many cultured cites that dot the area of the Black Sea. He called them 'barbaric' because he is a Greek. All Greeks view non-Greeks as barbarians. Is that not true?"

Chilon kept his eyes focused upon her, never shifting his stance.

"I suppose it is. But I do not count myself amongst them."

"I'm glad to hear it," she replied tersely.

Xanthippe, who was sitting very close to the queen, turned to her sovereign and whispered in her ear.

"Oh, yes. Xanthippe tells me that I've been remiss in thanking you for saving the lives of our sisters. Your bravery cannot go unrewarded. How can we repay you?"

"I would like a ship to take me to Megara."

The queen smiled. "We are not a seafaring people, Chilon. What few ships we have are small and designed only to sail upon the river, not the sea."

"Then return my arms to me and give me a horse and provisions. I will travel southwest through Bithynia until I reach the straight."

"The land is full of ferocious local tribes—Miriandyni, Bithyni, Thyni, and other bandits. They are mostly Thracian scum that prey upon weaker tribes or lone travelers. You would not get very far before you were caught and killed."

"Could you not spare some of your warriors to make the journey with me?"

"They are needed here."

"Then I will go alone," he said with finality. "I must get to Megara."

"We should give him his weapons and let him go," one of the council members said to the queen. She was a woman of middle years, steely-eyed and of pallid complexion. "If he cares that little about his life what difference is that to us?"

A few of the council women agreed with her and voiced their approval in quite emphatic terms.

"Look at him, Lysippe," one of them said. "He is young and strong. He could make the journey in less than four days."

"I say give him a horse and let him go!" another said.

"We can certainly spare a few of our warriors," Xanthippe said to Lysippe on Chilon's behalf. "I will be happy to make the journey with him."

"We can't let him go!"

It was Anaea who had spoken, and she hastily crossed the marble floor to stand next to Chilon, her head held high.

"What are you talking about?" the queen inquired of her.

"Tell them Xanthippe," Anaea said. "Tell them about the prophecy."

"What prophecy?" Lysippe asked.

"It was revealed to me in a dream, great queen, and I did not attach much significance to it until recently," Xanthippe relied. "I told no one about it except Anaea."

"Then tell us now. What was revealed to you?"

Xanthippe looked at her friend with displeasure.

"You should have kept your promise," she said to the girl.

"Tell us!" the queen demanded.

Rising from her chair, she walked past Chilon and took down a sword from the wall behind him and approached the queen. Holding the weapon before her, she drew the sword from its scabbard and raised it above her head.

"It was the goddess Artemis herself who came to me in a vision. She said that a Greek man, a Spartan of noble blood, would wield this sword one day in defense of our nation. In so doing he would make reparation to us for the acts of violence committed by his ancestors against the Trojans and our queen Penthesileia."

"And do you believe Chilon to be that man?" the queen asked.

"I don't know for certain, but I believe it is quite possible."

"It must be my queen!" Anaea exclaimed. "Look at him! So god-like in form and in spirit so like great Hector himself! And who else to bear the sword? Taken by Aeneas out of the hands of the accursed king Agamemnon himself!"

Chilon quickly moved forward and grabbed the sword out of Xanthippe's hands.

"Agamemnon!" he exclaimed. "This is Agamemnon's sword?"

"It was his sword," Lysippe said. "What is it to you?"

He studied the workmanship. The perfectly proportioned steel blade was fifteen inches long with a bronze grip, the shortened blade length typical of Spartan weapons, which provided more effective thrusting attacks in close quarters. The scabbard was made of fine black leather and decorated with intricate designs made of silver and gold. It had clearly belonged to a king.

"Agamemnon was my grandfather," Chilon said, unable to take his eyes off the sword.

It took several moments for the queen and her attendants to come to grips with the realization, during which time Chilon took the scabbard from Xanthippe and returned the sword to it.

"Then your great uncle was king Menelaus of Sparta," the queen said to him with a decidedly hostile tone. "The one responsible for provoking the war with Troy."

"He provoked nothing," Chilon stated flatly. "His wife was stolen from him and the only way he could recover her was to take her by force."

One of the older women, Alcinoe, a decrepit old hag who looked prepared to make her departure into Hades at any time, raised her bony finger at Chilon and cursed him.

"He is of the house of Atreus!" the woman screeched. "Artemis condemned Agamemnon and the Greeks for the innocent lives they took at Troy. We must be rid of this Greek as well! He must die!"

"No!" Xanthippe exclaimed. "You must not allow it my queen! He cannot be both our deliverer and our destroyer!"

There was a great deal of commotion brought on by this newly discovered information, and the queen sat in stony silence as she watched her subjects debate if Chilon should live or die.

Finally, Clymene, no admirer of the young Spartan, raised her voice above the din and forced her way before the queen.

"Noble Lysippe," she began. "I am not fond of this man, I freely admit. But he has done nothing to warrant death."

"But there is much truth in what Alcinoe says."

"Do not listen to that old crone, most noble queen!" Anaea implored. "He saved my life. To kill him would be an abomination before the gods!"

"He has the blood of our enemy Menelaus in him," one of the courtiers said to the queen. "Is that not the true abomination?"