Do thou restrain the haughty spirit in thy breast, for better far is gentle courtesy. – Homer, Iliad (IX, 315-317)
Last June I published “A Decent Boldness”, in which I introduced Aella, a young Amazon warrior of the mythic past; the story proved so popular a number of readers requested a sequel. Well, the Muse has finally inspired me with another of her adventures; if you haven’t read the first story yet, I urge you to do so before proceeding with this one because it’ll make a lot more sense that way.
Hecate take me for my damnable overconfidence!
Phaedra wanted to go by ship, but I said no, I hate the cursed things, and though your home be on an island I want to make as much of the journey safely on land as possible. My four years at the brothel had allowed me to earn not only wealth, but also knowledge; once word of my presence got around Tartessos a group of kindly scholars began to frequent the place, and I was as interested in learning from them as they were from me. When I heard that the ancient homeland of my people lay just on the other side of the Pillars of Herakles, I yearned to visit it before returning to our modern domain on the eastern shores of Tethys; and truth be told, had I not had that excuse I would have found another to avoid being cooped up for weeks in close quarters on a frail thing of wood with a lot of rude, smelly men.
I convinced her to ride with me as far as Rehoboth or Graea, where we could surely book a comparatively-short passage to Crete; I painted a lovely picture of riding along beaches, eating fish and crabs from the sea with the good wine and cheese we brought along, sleeping beneath the stars and sharing laughter and kisses away from the prying eyes of crowds. I dismissed her concerns of dangerous beasts and even more dangerous tribes, boasting of my ability to defeat man or lion. Eventually she agreed, and the first two weeks were just as I promised.
And now here I lie, gazing helplessly into the barbarian camp where my dearest friend awaits rape, slavery and perhaps torture, and it’s all my fault! Why did I leave her alone while I explored those ruins? My time in the soft city has dulled my wits and clouded my judgment, and I forgot that in the wilderness there is too much danger to leave a girl like Phaedra for long without a vigilant sword at her side. Damn you, eyes, for these annoying tears! I need you clear that I may assess the situation, hopeless though it may be; I doubt even Queen Myrina and her honor guard could slay so many men without being overwhelmed. So if Amazon steel will not serve me, perhaps a warrior’s cunning will; Metis, inspire me with a plan!
What’s this? Though I did not see her brought hither, my time in Man’s World has taught me enough to know the chief will have claimed her for himself, and there is some kind of ruckus at his tent. Though their babble is as strange to me as Tarshi once was, an argument sounds the same in any tongue…and one that ends with a sword through the gut is serious indeed. But what could spur a leader to kill his own man so abruptly? Did he attempt to steal treasure? Ah, I know; he attempted to sample treasure, or at least the chief thought he did. Phaedra is very beautiful, and he wishes to keep her all to himself; though there are already many women in the camp, her fair skin and shining grey eyes make her unique. And that gives me an idea; may my ancestresses forgive me, but I can think of no other way.
First, I must prepare our escape; would that I could find and extract Phaedra as easily as I locate our horses among these inferior nags! The rest of the camp is at dinner, and the guard is inattentive; may Themis be more merciful to his soul than his people were to my friend. If I leave the paddock gate open, some of the horses may wander away now and bolt if any commotion starts, and that will mean fewer pursuers. Fortunately, this terrain provides plenty of cover behind which to secure our mounts. My helm, shield, breastplate and greaves need be packed away, and my sword, bow and quiver will hang from the pommel securely enough; my face, my wits and a long dagger strapped to my thigh will be my only weapons this night, and my mother’s talisman and the grace of the blessed goddesses my only armor. They have already granted me one boon: though the barbarians stole woman and horses, they missed our packs where we had wedged them between rocks to protect them from the blowing dust.
Now for the hard part: though it is a good thing Phoebe will not rise for hours yet, it means having to find what I need in the dark. Ah, this isn’t so difficult after all; this flimsy gown Phaedra insisted I bring to present myself at her mother’s house is so much softer to the touch than my other clothes, I can find it with my fingers! If only the rest could be so simple. I’ve been watching the way the women of the brothel behave for four years now; have I learned enough to imitate it? Best to test it before entering the lion’s den; here’s another guard looking for the one I permanently relieved of duty a little while ago.
Quiet, my heart! Cease pounding so, or he will surely hear! The dagger is within easy reach should my attempt at seduction (what a strange word!) fail. Now to step out where he can see me…no, mustn’t strike a defensive stance! He must think I’m just as useless as the women of his tribe. He’s suspicious; of course he is! He isn’t an idiot! This is transparently a trap, and surely no sane creature could…sheath his sword and approach unarmed, mumbling barbarian gibberish. A smile and a beckoning finger…and he joins his comrade on the shores of the Styx. Perhaps my plan may work after all; it seems that any possibility of coupling with a woman causes these men of the West to completely take leave of their senses.
Still, there’s no need to test it more than is necessary; my stealth will carry me to the leader’s tent with far less chance of failure. Slit one more throat, dodge two women, hide for interminable minutes behind some jars while a group of children tarry before dispersing…then wait while a sentry moves on, and here I am at my destination. I can hear Phaedra’s voice; the chief apparently knows enough Cretan to suffice for trade, and she is trying to negotiate herself out of the situation by promising a reward if he returns her to me. He seems to find it funny; has she told him I’m an Amazon? It’s impossible to tell.
I want so badly to rush in and cut the dog down where he stands, but I’m no fool; as a chieftain he will be at least my equal in fair combat, and the melee will surely draw his guards. No, this has to be done with finesse…so I let the guards think they’ve overheard me, and pretend to be frightened (o, the humiliation!) when they “capture” me, crying out loudly enough to ensure the leader hears as well. When he steps out, I catch his eyes with as smoldering a look as I can manage…and he takes the bait, ordering his men to bring me in.
Phaedra’s eyes go wide in horror, but that lasts only for a moment as I rush to her in unfeigned joy and hug her tightly, slipping my dagger from beneath my skirts and placing it between her thighs. She starts slightly, and I whisper “You’ll know when” before allowing myself to be jerked around roughly by our barbaric captor. What follows is the hardest battle of my life; I have to force down my loathing, compel myself to keep smiling, to keep chatting, to somehow subtly convince him that his lust for me is greater than his lust for my beautiful friend…to succeed in a form of bloodless combat I have never before attempted.
Victory! Astarte be praised! The fool at last imposes himself on me, pushing me back upon the bedding to enter me; I distract him with a great cacophony of moans, encouraging him to ever-louder noises himself while beckoning to Phaedra for my blade. He dies with a shout indistinguishable from his other bestial noises, and I roll him off of me in disgust. Shush, my love; we must needs flee in haste and utmost silence. It is the work of a moment to slide under the back of the tent, and apparently Nike is satisfied with the four men I have already sent her this night, for we meet no more on the way to our steeds. The sun is high before we dare stop for a short rest, and has set again before we make a hidden camp far above the shore. But my exhaustion and saddle-soreness, and the cold fare on which we must dine, are all made bearable by the admiration in my dear friend’s eyes, and the songs of praise that pour from her lips until I drop off into a well-earned sleep.
perfect! The ancient tale of loyalty, cunning, and courage. A woman does what a woman has to do, forever.
Thank you, Frans! I’ve wrestled for a long time with how to write of Aella again, but once the Muse decided it was time, the words came easily. 🙂
Read both stories. You have the making of a fine, feisty adventuress here in Aella. I hope that she hasn’t the traditional amazia. More, please!
I’ve always considered that just a folk etymology by the Greeks trying to explain the meaning of a foreign name. Aella and her people definitely had both titties intact.
I’m very glad to hear that Aella is intact 😉
The supposed mastectomy was believed to keep the bowstring from getting caught up on that familiar feminine bulge. If the Amazons did their archery in the traditional Greek fashion, by drawing the arrow to the chest, this might make sense. But the Amazons weren’t really Greek, and they may have drawn the arrow to the ear, modern fashion. If this were the case, Dolly Parton’s boobs wouldn’t get in the way.
Now that’s just sloppy guard routines. Any proper field camp needs to have, at a minimum, supporting pairs of guards at every position and preferably constant contact between posts. Sending people out alone and in the open is asking to get them stabbed in the throat.
Well come on, they ARE barbarians, living in a wasteland with no other tribes foe days in any direction. Though I suspect they learned something after that night.
Good story, I liked it.
Of course poor guard routines are only a symptom of the problem. The chief assaulting another member in an argument clearly indicates a severe failing of the chain of command. Furthermore, not questioning the discovery of another unknown subject inside the camp and even worse, failing to search her indicates a serious breakdown of organization and a general laxity.
Clearly, an independent commission must be established to review the security and discipline of the tribe.
The leaders almost certainly bear the blame of the collapse of the tribe’s order and must be relieved of duty and replaced with more qualified candidates.
Additional and more experienced cadres will be needed to retrain tribal personal to proper standards.
Based on the performance of the tribe in this incident, the tribe should be considered incapable of carrying out any operations until after the commission has finished its review and its suggestions are carried out.
The tribe should consider itself lucky that so little of value was lost.
I don’t know … there’s a story out there that Cleopatra smuggled herself into the Great Caesar’s tent … now that’s pretty bizarre, certainly something to be wary of.
But Caesar seems to have embraced the idea without too much suspicion of her.
Maybe these guys can be forgiven for the lapse in judgement?
I remember once when my Chief violated the rules for me – because of sex. I knew a girl named “Sue” in Hawaii and, before I started dating her, she came to my apartment one night with a bullshit excuse that she had locked herself out of her apartment.
So I let her sleep in the bed next to me that night. When the alarm when off in the morning – I immediately looked over at Sue and she was covered head to toe.
But when rolled out of bed – she totally uncovered and did this sexy “stretch” thing that was totally transparently an invitation. But … what to do? I had to go to work?
Well, she was a bikini model on some TV shows and was determined she was WORTH getting busted for being late. I was so wrong … she was like plywood, but oh well.
My Chief was irate when I finally made it to the Submarine and he asked for my excuse – I just belted out the truth …
“I was getting laid – it just fell into my lap, Chief – I had to make a decision and the boat lost!”
“Seriously? That’s the best excuse I’ve ever heard for being late!”
He said … “You owe me one!” and he totally covered my absence with the Chief of the Boat!! 😛
Over analyzing things is fun.
There are always going to be mistakes, indeed there will always be mistakes that have really good excuses. A properly organized tribe must account for such things. The consequences of individual failure is minimized through following proper doctrine practices.
What we have here is a systemic “cascade” where multiple failure points at the same time prevented tribal security from managing a relatively easy problem. This cascade would have not happened without the toxic effects of poor leadership and a serious breakdown of both morale and discipline.
I must say I have totally enjoyed your overanalysis of the tribe’s security issues; I literally LOLed several times! 😀
“Now when troops flee, are insubordinate, distressed, collapsed in disorder or are routed, it is the fault of the commander.”
– Sun-tzu, The Art of War
I LOVE this story, Maggie but … from a man’s point of view … can you slay the brute AFTER the climax? It’s kind of a happy ending for everyone then. 😀
Also something in there about … “it’s too bad I have to kill this guy – because he’s really good!”
More “wanton” spread about in there – ya know???
Happy Endings – it’s what I’m about! 😉
Come now, Krulac, she IS an Amazon, after all. She had to shed her pride to save her friend, but she wasn’t about to let the asshole die happy!
This was really quite good, and I’ll give you extra points for understanding that the bad guy sometimes knows how to fight, too. So, something more than martial prowess was needed.
See, this is why a smart guy loves Amazons. They’re just goddamned amazing.
Persuading her to reciprocate tho, that’s a thorny business with steel points all about. Totally worth it though, imho.
Great Story, Maggie. 😄