Amazon Moon (6 page)

For the first time in my life, I left the shelter of my boyhood home. The village became tiny behind us, then vanished. In late afternoon we approached the much-discussed city. I was awed by the great walls, tall buildings and bustle of crowds. On an overlooking knoll, but safely within the city's protective walls, stood the palace of the prince.

I went to the governing temple, a looming edifice where many men worked. The chief scribe, a graying man with penetrating eyes and wisdom in his face, had quarters behind the temple. He examined my medallion, welcomed me, and introduced me to his two assistants.

The high scribe had studied the latest writing methods in Athens and had imparted the knowledge to his assistants. I joined a half-dozen apprentices living in upstairs rooms. We slept on straw pallets, ate meals with temple workers, and used the public latrine on the riverbank. No woman or girl was ever seen.

Slowly I entered the enchanted realm of written words. I memorized the rest of the alphabet and learned how the letters spell out spoken sounds. It seemed amazing that a person's speech can be put down as symbols, then read aloud again, going from sounds to images and back to sounds.

While the high scribe was busy in temple meetings or with duties at the palace, his assistants taught us our new craft. We were instructed to make ink from lamp soot mixed with gum tree sap. And to make pens from hollow reeds, which exude the correct amount of ink when squeezed properly. And to print neat letters on sheets of papyrus woven from Egyptian reeds, then dry the wet writing in the sun.

For the most permanent records, we were taught to make parchment from sheepskin. At the slaughterhouse, where sheared sheep were cut up for mutton, butchers saved the hides for the scribe. We peeled off the inner layer, scraped it smooth, washed it, and stretched it on a frame to dry in the sunshine. It became a sturdy writing material. Although most Greek scribes sew parchment into long strips for scrolls, our mentor had devised something better: We were taught to place several layers atop each other, lace them down the center and fold them over, making pages that can contain much writing.

As my skills improved, the high scribe entrusted me to record minor accounts from temple officials. Eventually I was allowed to write major statements by priests and assemblymen. Thus I was privy to important happenings of the region.

From time to time I recorded reports of Amazon attacks. Sometimes a caravan was raided in the night, its armed guards driven off and its riches stolen. Sometimes a Greek village was hit and its granary looted of food. Greek warriors were sent after the female rebels but never found them.

Warfare and militarism reigned supreme to Greeks. Victorious warriors were public heroes. Much of my writing was patriotic declarations. I transcribed the glowing words of magistrates as they praised the valor of brave Kavopolis warriors after victories against surrounding enemies. Every assemblyman spouted tributes to the courage of "our finest young men, the glory of our homeland, the band of brothers serving their country selflessly," or similar words.

Vaguely I had a sense of something amiss. As I wrote the patriotic praise, I envisioned the fighters splitting skulls with battleaxes and thrusting javelins through intestines. I could hear the screams and see the gushing blood and death shudders. If many of our young men were slaughtered but more of the enemy died, it was hailed as a triumph. It seemed horrible to me, yet all the city's leaders saluted the nobility of combat. It would have been unpatriotic to do otherwise. I didn't dare voice my doubts, even to other apprentices.

Once in a Kavopolis square, I heard a bard reciting Homer to a circle of boys and middle-aged men. He told of the Trojan War. For ten long years, Greeks lay siege to the walled city, fighting clashes that left multitudes dead, all because of a love affair. A decade of war ravaged the land because Prince Paris stole beautiful Helen, wife of a Spartan king. Thousands were killed for one ruler's sexual jealousy. As they slew each other, the Greeks felt noble patriotism and the Trojans felt noble patriotism. The bard recited the gore in rhapsodic tones, full of admiration.

I felt out of step with everyone around me. Just as I couldn't understand sacrificing goats to Zeus or flogging slave girls, I couldn't understand glorifying war. But I kept my thoughts to myself, even as I was transferred to military duty.

When I was sixteen, I was assigned to be both scribe and courier in the combat unit of fearless Commander Malgon. I wrote his reports and messages, carrying them to appropriate officials. In the second month of my new work, our squad was ordered on a search-and-destroy mission, to find and eliminate Amazons making brazen raids near the Black Sea. We set off with full armor and a wagon bearing food for two months.

Thus began the violent drama that forever changed my life.

6

Commander Malgon's squad contained five horseback lancers, ten archers and fifteen foot-soldiers, plus the cook and supply wagon. And Malgon's young lieutenant. And me, the scribe. It was a small unit, but more than enough to defeat a band of soft women, Malgon told the troops with a laugh.

After five days’ march, we reached the shore of the wine-dark Black Sea, which spread like a leaden plain to the vanishing horizon. I had never seen an ocean and was thrilled. We circled our tents and campfires near the beach. Archers killed a deer in the scrubby woodland and we enjoyed venison.

Four days later, we reached the Thermodon River and turned up its green valley. The summer grew hotter and we dripped with sweat. In the evening, we camped on the riverbank and cooled ourselves in the water. When warriors draw near to combat, they bathe as often as possible to prevent festering of any cuts suffered in the clash of arms.

The soldiers, large men muscled from constant training, treated me as the group's mascot. The chief lancer said loudly by the fire:

"Melos, when we attack the Amazons, you can stab them with your reed pen."

The others laughed, but not cruelly.

That night, sentries were posted at two points. Because of the heat, most of the men spread their bedrolls in the open air, leaving their tents in the wagon. As usual, I slept in a corner of the great command tent along with Malgon and his lieutenant. The silence of the warm night seemed comforting. The campfires cast a flickering glow. All was serene.

After midnight, terrible shrieks and crashes startled me awake. Thuds and shouts echoed through the camp. As I sat upright, two women warriors burst into the tent, swinging small two-bladed battleaxes. Commander Malgon was beheaded as he reached for his sword. The lieutenant tried to run but died of a savage chop in the back. The women turned toward me. I pulled up a shield and felt severe pain in my legs. They jerked away the shield and one raised her axe for a death blow. Then they saw that I was a youth, not a soldier.

"Save him among the slaves," one said in perfect Greek, and they rushed back outside to join the fighting.

The battle noises ended quickly. I could hear the women calling to each other, asking if any had been injured. They all spoke Greek. I heard final blows and groans as they finished off wounded soldiers.

I tried to rise but couldn't. I had been slashed across my knees. Blood flowed down my legs. The pain was intense. Three women entered the tent and pulled me out by a campfire. They tied leather thongs around my thighs to stop the bleeding. They tied my hands behind me and left me by the fire.

Soon afterward, they dragged a wounded soldier and dumped him on the ground beside me. He was a junior officer named Dalien, a proud son of a rich family. Speared in the thigh, he panted from the pain. The women likewise tied his hands behind him.

As daylight came, we saw a ghastly scene of death. Greek warriors lay sprawled everywhere, covered with gore. Amazons collected the soldiers' armor and weapons, and even stripped off their clothes. One Greek, still alive, was speared. Their naked bodies were dragged to the riverbank and shoved into the water, where the men had been happily swimming a few hours before. I saw the corpses of the two sentries, who had been killed silently just before the nighttime attack. I felt a sick pang for all my comrades.

One Amazon had been killed by sword thrust during the doomed Greek resistance. Another had been stabbed in the side. Both the dead and wounded women were brought to the campfire where Dalien and I lay. Amazons bandaged their wounded comrade and told her she soon would heal.

"You're tough as an ox," one teased her. "You'll be fighting again in a month."

The women brought the brigade's supply wagon and all the unit's horses, which had been tethered in nearby grass. They loaded the wagon with spoils from the raid: weapons, tents, food, and even the bloody garments of the dead warriors. The booty hung down all sides of the supply vehicle. Then they heaved Dalien and me inside, and carefully lifted in the dead Amazon and the wounded one.

The procession moved out, heading up the Thermodon Valley. Looking back, we could barely detect where the Greek brigade had perished, except for scorched spots of the campfires.

Dalien and I, both in pain, clenched our teeth as the lurching wagon jolted along the terrain. The Amazon's corpse occasionally jostled against us. One hard bounce flung her face against mine, and I pushed her away quickly. Her dead eyes, half open, seemed to look at me. It was disturbing, so I reached cautiously and closed her eyelids. At the opposite side of the wagon, the wounded Amazon breathed tensely in pain, groaning at sharp jolts.

After a while, our entourage came to a side-valley overgrown densely with thorns. It looked like an impenetrable jungle, desolate of human life. We stopped and the lead Amazons walked to the edge of a cliff, pulling back branches to reveal a lane along the face of the rocks. They waved to a sentry standing on a ledge above the cliff. After we entered the hidden pathway, two young Amazons stayed behind and swept the ground with leafy branches, removing tracks that might show where the troop had entered.

We passed through the thorn thicket and came to an amazing sight: an Amazon village with women everywhere. Some bathed naked in a dammed creek. Others worked at fields and buildings, overseeing male slaves. Small girls scampered around. As we approached, women came running from every direction. The warrior leader announced to them:

"We destroyed the Greek troop in the night. We killed them all, except two wounded ones we will add to our slaves. We took all their armor and equipment and food."

Cheers arose. Then the leader added: "Sylene was killed and Celeste was wounded." Silence fell. Women came to the supply wagon, lifted Celeste out, tended her wounds and carried her to her quarters. They carried Sylene's body to a burial place on a knoll.

"Send three slaves to dig her grave," the warrior chief commanded.

Dalien and I couldn't walk, so we were pulled by our arms to a squat mud-straw building that we later learned was the slave quarters. We were taken to a room and dumped onto sheepskin pallets filled with straw. With our hands still bound behind us, we sank into exhausted sleep.

Next morning, two girls about ten years old brought us bread and goat milk. They untied our hands and left us to eat. Later two older girls pulled us outside the doorway and washed our wounds with water from a pot. As we sat there, helpless, a full-bodied woman with a commanding air arrived and told us:

"I am Hella, the Home Queen. You are slaves, captured by Saria, the War Queen. In our village, you will have the same rights that women have in Greek towns. You will work all day as commanded. You will be fed, and sleep in the slave building. When you are ordered to come to a woman's bed at night to give her pleasure, you will bathe and do as you are told, just as women do in Greek homes. But you may not bathe in the large pool with our Amazons. Use the smaller one downstream.

"You must defer to us and always say 'my lady,' even to the young girls. We teach them they are worthy of respect. Any insolence or disobedience by you will be punished swiftly. All our slaves have been wounded and cannot run far. If you attempt to escape, you will be hunted down by our warriors on horseback, with tracking dogs, and you will not be brought back alive."

The Home Queen started to leave, but turned back to me.

"You are too small to be a warrior."

"I was the troop's scribe."

She pondered. "Good. Saria often wishes that we could record our history, but our village never has contained a person with knowledge of written words. She may put your skills to work."

After she left, the girls brought us crutches made from forked saplings and helped us hobble in pain to the slave latrine pit behind the building. Our wounds had stopped bleeding, but we were helpless.

As we lay by the doorway, an Amazon warrior arrived with a water pot and a heap of bloody clothing.

"This is your first slave duty: While your wounds heal, you will wash these garments from your unfortunate comrades, so that we may reuse the cloth."

Dalien and I stared at each other, insulted by the command. We hesitated, but she drew her sword and pointed it at Dalien's face. Grudgingly, we began dunking the garments into the pot. After she left, we discussed our bizarre circumstances. Dalien, who wore arrogance gained from a life of privilege, was bitter.

"I will not be their slave," he said. "The bitches killed our commander and all our friends, and now they make us clean the spoils from their very bodies."

I didn't answer. He looked at me. "Well?"

"You're right," I said, then added: "But we would have done the same to them. If our mission had succeeded, any survivors would have been taken home in chains and put into bondage."

Dalien glowered: "They are enemies! You aren't a soldier and cannot understand patriotism. I took an oath to fight to the death against Greece's enemies. I will not be their slave."

He was correct. I felt ashamed for being disloyal to my people. We fell into silence as we worked.

Dalien added: "If captured, we soldiers have a duty to escape. As soon as I heal enough to walk—" He didn't finish.