Half a moon later. Each step a struggle, Penthesilea fought against the grim wind. The biting cold pierced the thick cloak, tightened her inside. It took iron hold of her mind, shutting out any other thoughts. Her entire body felt frozen stiff, her muscles barely movable. How anyone could survive in that frost, let alone live there was beyond her. Eyes filled with tears from the wind, she desperately wished to feel her face again and not only so as a dead attachment that shielded her from the hostile environment. What would she give for a fire, for a bit of warmth to breach the icy shell around her skin. For pleasant company. The further she had advanced westward, the unfriendlier the weather had become. From day to day, the surroundings had turned more haunting and colorless as if to scare unwanted travelers off. The path led through through woods and alongside the foot of tall, waste mountains. She hadn’t felt it – not that much – while Amadahy had still been with her, but now that the creator had cut her own path and there was no one any more to keep her distracted, the changes of landscape and climate were overwhelming. Shivering, she thought back to the day of her rash leave. Charon, the groom-to-be of Alexander’s niece, had succeeded to pick the lock sooner than expected. Phyllis had dashed out of the basement room and clung to her skirt in tears and inconsolable. And yet an oppressive feeling had beset her having seen with her very own eyes that young Charon was able to open a door created not to be opened in such a short time. While she would be far away for many days and nights. Well, he had received a generous reward. Even though he had vehemently denied at first, convinced otherwise only by the cajoling talk of his betrothed and Alexander. Another gust tore her out of the refuge she had found in her memory, exposing her to the aggressive weather she found herself in. The warrior she had met in the morning had assured repeatedly the next village was only a day’s journey away if she followed the path. She really hoped so. In the meantime, most people she encountered eyeballed her curiously for the strange behavior. Clearly, men ruled over this area and running across a woman who traveled alone was a rarity that caused quite a sensation. Not exactly conducive for her aim. Many whom she asked for a red-haired man and the direction he had headed were careful to answer and an increasing number of them didn’t understand in the first place, speaking a throaty, harsh tongue that just failed to appear friendly to her in any case. And more and more red-haired men, women and children walked among the residents, making it hard to specify what man exactly she meant. She sighed, relieved that she would soon be in the company of people again. People who wouldn’t understand her but at least they would be loud and lively and put some life back into her, too. The only thing she could hope for was that her less eye-catching clothing worked, that they wouldn’t pay her too much attention. Serkon had willingly given her the clothes and as much as she felt out of place in her wide, concealing disguise, it drew far less gazes than her own clothing would probably have done. Sometimes she still spotted women dressed like the Dekanos or Arythions so she could mingle with them. But never had she discovered another Amazon and thus left her long dagger hidden beneath the cloak. When she had left the chamber in the Dekanos palace, at first Serkon’s amazed gaze had wandered over her unfamiliar appearance in a way that had made his wife bristle with jealousy. Then, he’d burst out in a resounding laugh. That she had kept the changed exterior had only been an act of defiance – otherwise she would have turned on the heels and ordered the slave women to return her own clothes. However, she was grateful for the disguise now. But all the new experiences drained her of any strength. Why would Haimon seek this clammy solitude voluntarily? Why did he lock a little girl up without any food for that? At least she wouldn’t have to burden herself with escorting him back. The very moment Amadahy and she had left, Zeuxippe had sought her out. “I have good news,” she had declared showing off a wide smile, “Hekuba is expecting. She just found out.” There it was. An unmistakable sign from the goddess, sealing the fugitive slave’s fate. Now that Zeuxippe’s warrior was with child, the one last duty that had kept death away from him was removed. However, Amadahy had been doubtful. “Let the goddess decide, Penthesilea,” she had tried to talk into her. “This is not a decision you or Zeuxippe must take into your own hands but that you must put into the more knowledgeable ones of a priestess.” Still, the daughter of Thestia didn’t know why the creator would insist so keenly. After all, the goddess had decided already, had she not? In the end, she had dismissed her companion’s concerns politely but determinedly and Amadahy hadn’t tried to bring them up again ever since. She had meant well, and as Penthesilea passed the village gate she wished they wouldn’t have had to part so soon. Maybe they could have become friends under different circumstances, with more time. But who could choose what the Goddess imposed onto them? The gate was closed behind her for the night to ensure the townspeoples’ safety. Disoriented, she let her gaze travel. The usual, in the meantime a bit more familiar long-roofed huts made of wood and stone bordered the road. Animals settled for the night within narrow enclosures while the last people were on their way home to spend the evening with their families, seeking closeness around a crackling fire. How much she missed her daughters and Io. But maybe even more important in that moment was to warm her frozen bones up again and fill her rebelling stomach. Unconsciously, her hand wandered toward the pouch of leather beneath her cloak. Her provisions had come to an end the other evening, she would have to broach the gold that was supposed to be a reserve. Spotting what seemed like a tavern, she sighed. This undertaking had already devoured more goods than she had thought. As she entered, warmth tingled on her skin immediately, showing once more how numb her limbs really were. It was a jolly circle inside. Men of relative wealth and higher standing sat around tables with those of their own kind, enjoying their meals in silence while from the other side, bellowing sounded through the door onto the empty place before it. Humid air, pregnant with sweat and the sweetish, barmy smell of alcohol in male breaths streamed into the arrival’s lungs. Despite the strange mixture, Penthesilea felt her stomach growl. As soon as she had taken place, a middle-aged woman steered toward her, thumped a bowl spattered by the greasy remains of a flavorsome stew at the table right under her nose and addressed her at the same time. Confused, the queen looked up. “My apologies, but I do not understand.” “Oh. Yeah, well, m’lady, why didn’ ye tell me earlier? Ye wanna somethin’ between yer teeth?” Dumbfounded, Penthesilea stared at the light-skinned, resolute person who didn’t exactly meet the ideal of a docile, gracious wife. Where was her husband? “Yes, something to eat would be marvelous. And if maybe you could provide some information? Please.” “Sure, ye ask right away an’ tell me if ye wan’ soup or bread an’ cheese.” Penthesilea’s gaze returned to the dry bowl in front of her. The ‘soup’ didn’t look the least appealing, but with all the fat it should be worth its price and would keep her warm for the night and in the cold outside when she would leave again in the morning. “Soup. And did a stranger with red hair and blue eyes stop over here?” Half had she already expected the uncomprehending look everyone gave her at that question. “Dunno, m’lady, there are many of those. But I don’ talk about guests anyway.” Sighing, the queen gave in in spooning her soup with ingredients as unrecognizable as the size of the grease film floating on it. Meanwhile, she examined the other guests carefully from the edge of her eyes. The blonde who really appeared to be alone suggested by the polite superiority of her behavior incessantly scampered around between the tables, asked for wishes and laughed carelessly at the occasional jokes and ribaldries thrown at her. A highly stressed couple tried to feed their little daughter while their son kept running away and hovering about a group of rough men who trifled with a heavily made-up girl. One of them had pulled her onto his lap under the thunderous applause of his mates. He – and the others, too – touched her in very unbecoming ways while she uninhibitedly stroked his beard. Another one jumped up, thrusting his fist into the air above him. His shout was received with approving cries and everyone assembled, leaving their in large part already eaten meals behind with no hesitation. Couples found themselves all on their own – the parents of the little family, the groper and his girl. In unison, the onlookers started to sing and suddenly, motion entered the ones in the middle. In deep awe, the queen watched huge and small feet hit the ground simultaneously, bouncing at the bottom in resounding thuds. Men and maidens twisted their legs and untangled them again in swift turns, jumps, by switching places, forming rows and pairs in quick succession. Skirts flew, girls whirled around to the wild, ever-changing chant of the bystanders. The speed grew bolder and bolder the louder shouts and cheers reached the dancers’ ears. Encouraged them to set an even faster rhythm in which the bystanders joined with avid clapping. One man standing aside, his arm slung around a friend’s neck, now roared an apparently popular song over the heads of his heated countrymen. Others chanted along with it in a gruesome, half-drunken choir. The more clear-headed ones didn’t have more to spare for them than good-natured laughter and enthusiasm for the zealous hops and twists. And in all that frenzy, among the dancers, Haimon didn’t move the least less skilled or cumbersome than the others, always leading a woman with one hand or facing one even as they had reached a breathtaking pace. Where had he come from, and when? How did he master those complicated steps when Penthesilea had never seen him dancing or anything alike? Where had he got the unfamiliar clothes from? And who was the woman who had appeared from nowhere with him? The way their glances entwined when they met during the dance… They knew each other. How shamelessly close he came to her every once in a while. How shamelessly close he came to every woman over there. Nobody cared. Nobody cared about the exposed legs, the bare skin and swaying hips of some of the dancers. Caught in the ecstasy of the rhythm, they even applauded the sickening performance. Penthesilea snorted in disgust to ease the angered trembling of her hands. What a low demeanor. Not so much surprising for the Western people, but the master slave and lover of an Amazon queen should do better. The fast movements. The many people, the noise and lewd conduct eventually went to Penthesilea’s head. Half dazed, she waved for the innkeeper who had held off as the only one, her face a much satisfied grimace. “How much do I owe you for the meal and a room for tonight?” “A room? An own one?,” the other woman flashed back in her nauseating, plodding accent while the Amazon had to concentrate to understand her beside all the jollity. “M’lady don’ wanna sleep together with all those ruffians?” “Of course an own one.” The indication alone that a queen would do as much as consider sharing a room with another person – let alone any of those men! – was an insult already. But just like her countrymen, this woman was ignorant beyond all measure. And there was no way to risk for her true identity to be revealed before time and give Haimon the chance to flee again. This time, it was her who had the edge over him. “Good, very good.” Rubbing her palms, the blonde gave an immoderately high sum. Penthesilea paid in advance and without negotiating which would in the worst case draw attention from the revelers. Revealing an only partially preserved set of teeth in a grin of satisfied greed, her host took her earnings. “I am worn out by the journey. See to that no one will disturb me- Please.” “Of course, of course, m’lady. All will be to yer likin’,” was the last the fair-haired woman assured willingly before the daughter of Thestia set off, toward a sufferably clean room and a sleepness night. ← Chapter 44 Chapter 46 →
6 Comments
maladi777
2/24/2018 05:11:47 pm
How mysterious. So many questions.
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2/26/2018 02:21:53 am
We will answer them one day but for now, they remain.
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11/25/2018 12:22:21 pm
It's sweet that Haimon at least had some happy moments.
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10/5/2019 02:19:21 am
Goodness, I loved writing this one so much 😭 It was so entirely different from the others and demanded for some Irish music allll the way hehe
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