The Lost Sisterhood (60 page)

“I know, I know.” He held up his hands in self-defense. “No rings, no diamonds, no patriarchal down payments. I get it. But”—he pushed the box into my hand—”you could at least take a look.”

“All right, then, but you really shouldn’t—” I opened the box.

It was empty.

Puzzled, I lifted the blue satin lining to see if anything was hiding underneath. But nothing was there.

Looking up, I saw that Nick was enjoying my perplexity. “It’s for the jackal,” he said at last. “A little doghouse for our best friend.”

Too happy to speak, I leaned over and kissed him. “Easy!” he said, laughing. “This daylight lovemaking is new to Granny. I don’t want my nose punched again.”

I slipped out of bed to locate my latest handbag and the mangled jackal I was still carrying around. Nick watched me as I came back and placed the bracelet on its new blue satin bed. As soon as I had closed the lid, he pulled me into bed with a demonic laugh. “Now you’re
mine
!”

“Careful.” I held up the jewelry case in mock warning. “This is no retirement home. My jackal may have been blinded by the bullet, but she can still bite.”

“I certainly hope so.” Nick drew me into his lap once more. “How do you want to spend the next half hour? I still haven’t told you about my death ride to the Suomussalmi hospital with my arms frozen into place around my mother’s Kevlar waist … but that’s more of a dinner conversation.”

“And I haven’t told you about your mother’s namesake, the original Myrina.” I glanced at my handbag, wondering if this was the time to show Nick the leather binder with the meticulously recorded memoirs of the small band of sisters who had—three thousand years ago—traveled before us from Algeria through Troy to the freedom of the
northern wilderness. “Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll read it to you
after
dinner.”

“I have an idea,” said Nick. “Why don’t you lure me into another shower?”

I gave him a long look. “Remember what happened last time.”

“Yeees.” He pulled me in for a kiss. “But it was still worth it.”

W
E DIDN’T GET AROUND
to actually reading the story in the leather binder until two weeks later, when we were back in Turkey discussing the location of the new Trojan tablet museum with a jubilant Dr. Özlem and an extremely self-congratulatory Mr. Telemakhos. Even so, I knew Nick took the subject of the Amazons as seriously as did I, and that this shared prehistory of ours would serve to bolster our love in the times to come.

For our path—yes, even ours—would not lack enemies or fateful turns, but the jackal from its regal abode assured us that as long as we stuck together, the three of us, we would never stray too far from the happiness that had, as it turned out, been Granny’s greatest gift to me.

D
ID THE
A
MAZONS REALLY EXIST?
O
F COURSE THEY DID.
W
ERE THEY EXACTLY
as we find them portrayed in ancient literature and art? Probably not. As with many other mythical figures and events, the Amazons are a dream, a fear, a seductive constellation of ideas and emotions centered on the place of women in early Mediterranean society. Would women have taken up arms to defend their home and loved ones? It seems impossible that they would not. Would they have assembled entire armies to battle prehistoric Greek military powers? It seems unlikely. But since the dawn of man (and woman), storytellers have sought to spellbind their audiences with abnormal villains and chopped-off limbs. And to the ancient Greeks, the Amazons were bestseller material. Are these remarkable women still around today? They certainly are, in every single one of us. Sometimes we don’t realize our inner Amazon until life deals us a numbing blow … but she is there, waiting to lend us her strength, I am sure of it.

I have dedicated this book to my wonderful mother-in-law, Shirley Fortier, who was ambushed by cancer the same month I finished the final draft. Despite being unhorsed and outnumbered from the start, she fought to the death with an astonishing courage we never knew she possessed. We miss her dearly and will never forget her.

As for the original Amazons of Greek myth, the legends describing their deeds are so abundant and nebulous—and often contradictory—that no one could ever hope to gather all the strands in a single, comprehensive
narrative. I have certainly not attempted to do so, and I hope readers are aware that I deal with the tradition in a playful way, and that this book can by no means replace authoritative nonfiction works on the subject. Therefore, I urge you to continue the Amazon hunt on your own: Gallop apace into your local library, boldly prowl your local bookstores, and allow yourself to indulge in the ancient myths that are available to us even now, millennia later, in so many different intriguing interpretations.

While the events and characters I describe in the book are probably to a large extent fictitious, I have gone to great lengths to ensure that the historical framework is as solid as can be. Several distinguished experts have kindly read the manuscript in progress and given me valuable feedback; above all I am happily indebted to my dear friend, Dr. Thomas R. Martin, Jeremiah O’Connor Professor in Classics at College of the Holy Cross, and I highly recommend his well-known works
Ancient Greece
and
Ancient Rome
to anyone interested in a compelling armchair journey into our amazing past.

I am also immensely grateful to my longtime friend Dr. Timothy J. Moore, the John and Penelope Biggs Distinguished Professor of Classics at Washington University in St. Louis, whose brilliant, generous energy early on made me come to see top-notch philologists in a heroic light, and whose gloves-off, blazing-guns approach to mentoring has done more to toughen me up than any amount of sweetly smiling support could ever do.

My close friends, Mette Korsgaard, senior editor at Gyldendal Business, and Dr. Peter Pentz, curator at the National Museum of Denmark, were kind enough to look at the book from the perspective of the archaeologist. With their counsel in mind, I should emphasize that opinions are often divided when it comes to interpreting ancient finds. Some scholars will certainly disagree with my choices in describing the past—skepticism is, after all, a prerequisite of proper scholarship—but that doesn’t necessarily mean things could not have happened the way I depict them. It is my hope, of course, that inquisitive readers will use my book as a springboard for a dive into the many unsolved mysteries of the past and flock to the fields of history, philology,
and archaeology, eager to help expand our knowledge of the ancient world.

I should also point out that it was Dr. Pentz who first made me aware of the great efforts undertaken by the National Museum of Denmark to choose a sustainable position in the great and growing battle of artifact restitution. For those interested in reading more about this fascinating subject, I highly recommend Sharon Waxman’s excellent book
Loot
as well as
The Medici Conspiracy
by Peter Watson and Cecilia Todescini. Both studies are rich in detail and informed by careful research yet read like well-crafted suspense stories.

I am also grateful for the assistance of my good friend Mrs. Heather Epps, of Storrington, West Sussex, who very kindly read the entire manuscript with a special focus on British-English usage, and who graciously suffered all my Americanisms and naughty little jabs at the eccentricities of British peers and scholars. I was fortunate enough to be a Visiting Graduate Member of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, while finishing my Ph.D. on Latin historians a decade ago, and I trust that the reader—despite Diana Morgan’s tribulations—senses the immense admiration and gratitude I feel toward that splendid place and its uniquely gifted people.

My gratitude also goes out to Raatteen Portti Museum Director Marko Seppänen and author Tyyne Martikainen in Finland. It is thanks to their lifelong efforts and expertise that I have come to fully understand the tragedy of the Winter War that ruined the lives of so many thousands of Finns and Russians. Since coproducing the documentary film
Fire and Ice: The Winter War of Finland and Russia
I have been determined to help spread the awareness of the great work done by Tyyne Martikainen and her Finnish and Russian colleagues in an effort to trace the destinies of all the Finnish civilians who were taken hostage and sent away to camps so long ago.

I always tell my students that it takes more than one brain to turn a good story into a great book. That is certainly true in my case. I dread to imagine what Diana’s and Myrina’s quests would look like without the sound advice of the wonderful editors who helped me beat two wild stories into a manageable shape. What would I have done without
the playful wisdom of Dr. Cordelia Borchardt at Fischer/Krüger, the soothing common sense of Iris Tupholme and Lorissa Sengara at HarperCollins Canada, or the relentless expertise of Dana Isaacson at Ballantine/Random House? The mind shudders. And I certainly would have been stranded on many an uninhabitable idea without my marvelously patient editor at Ballantine, Susanna Porter, whose eagle eye and expert touch, once again, have steered me safely home.

Needless to say, many more people have played a role in the birth of this book than I can properly thank here. The wonderful team at Ballantine has made everything a joy and is always there for me. In addition to Susanna Porter and Dana Isaacson, I would like to thank Libby McGuire, Jennifer Hershey, Kim Hovey, Vincent La Scala, Priyanka Krishnan, Susan Turner, Kristin Fassler, Ashley Woodfolk, Toby Ernst, Susan Corcoran, and Lisa Barnes for their enduring support and optimism. And here’s an extra shot of gratitude for Paolo Pepe, who created such a stunning cover.

I also owe a special thanks to my friends at Gyldendal in Copenhagen. Merete Borre and Vivi Vestergaard have lent ears to many unwieldy ideas, and their encouragement and can-do attitude have never wavered. Thanks also to the marvelous Danish translator Ulla Oxvig, as well as Anne Hjermitslev and Line Miller at Gyldendal, for working tirelessly until the happy end. Last but not least, a huge thanks to Harvey Macaulay at Imperiet, who—as usual—nailed the Danish cover in the first try.

Since the birth of
Juliet
in 2008, I have come to think of Maja Nikolic, Maria Aughavin, Victoria Doherty-Munro, Chelsey Heller, Angharad Kowal, and Stephen Barr at Writers House as family, and I cannot imagine a writing life without my fabulous agent, Dan Lazar, whose integrity and savoir faire is without compare. What I owe this magnificent team can never be contained in a simple “thank you.”

I have not yet mentioned my mother’s hand in this book; I simply don’t have the space. But rest assured she was there with me, riding camels in the Sahara and striding through the mud in Kalkriese, anticipating my every step and encouraging me all the way. Without her lifelong support and mind-boggling sacrifices I would never have realized
my dream of becoming an author; even worse, I would never even have dared to nourish the dream in the first place.

But even with this army of amazing people behind me, I would not be who I am, nor have the drive to do what I do, without the precious love and support of my little girl and my darling husband, Jonathan. It may upset my secret sisters that I say this, but between you and me, if you’re so fortunate as to have captured the perfect male, peeling off that chain-mail bikini and becoming a part-time Amazon is not so bad after all.

A
NNE
F
ORTIER
grew up in Denmark and divides her time between Europe and North America. She is the
New York Times
bestselling author of
Juliet.
Fortier also co-produced the Emmy Award—winning documentary
Fire and Ice: The Winter War of Finland and Russia.
She holds a Ph.D. in the history of ideas from Aarhus University, Denmark.
The Lost Sisterhood
is her second novel in English.

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This book was set in Perpetua, a typeface designed by the English artist Eric Gill, and cut by the Monotype Corporation between 1928 and 1930. Perpetua is a contemporary face of original design, without any direct historical antecedents. The shapes of the roman letters are derived from the techniques of stonecutting. The larger display sizes are extremely elegant and form a most distinguished series of inscriptional letters.

BY ANNE FORTIER

Juliet

The Lost Sisterhood

The Lost Sisterhood

Copyright © 2014 by Anne Fortier.

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