Authors: Paul Bannister
“Master,” he said, catching his breath, “I fear your life may be in danger!”
Metabus turned to look at Puer and ordered him to continue.
“Your brother and a large group of people are outside,” said the slave, “and it looks like they are all carrying weapons. They are shouting threats and they are demanding your head. Even if we were to arm all the household slaves, young and old, I think that we would still be no match for them.”
“Try to distract them for as long as you can,” Metabus instructed Puer, throwing his silver wine goblet against the wall, spilling its contents, and completely ignoring the flute players. They had stopped playing when the slave came barging in and just stood there, staring at the floor. With that, grabbing his oakwood spear, which was leaning against the wall, Metabus ran to the women’s quarters of the palace. Kicking open the door of the nursery, he snatched the baby girl out of her wet-nurse’s arms, barking at her to get lost. The terrified wet-nurse did as she was told. After taking off his exquisitely-embroidered royal robe and quickly wrapping Camilla in it, Metabus flew out the back entrance of the palace, the one usually reserved for the kitchen slaves, and headed for the forest.
Metabus, who was far from young, was nevertheless in very good shape. And lucky for him, the forest was not too far away. Having hunted there countless times over the years, with and without his hounds, he was familiar with every tree, branch, and twig, with every shrub and bush, with every sound and smell.
Metabus ran through the pathless spots of the woods. His newborn was not a heavy burden and his pursuers, fewer in number as time wore on, spurred him on with their shouting and their threats. He knew he had to get away, if not for his own sake, for that of his daughter. But, after several hours, exhausted, he decided to sit down on the grass for a moment, on the bank of the winding Amasenus River, in the shade of some old holm oaks laden with acorns. He caught his breath and looked at his baby’s face, his beautiful daughter, the spitting image of his late wife. But, knowing it would not be long before Hostilius and the Privernates caught up with him, he soon decided to resume his flight.
But then Metabus realized he was cut off from any possible place of refuge. The river was still swollen due to the recent violent rains, and all the wooden bridges had been swept away. He considered plunging into the stream and swimming across. But he feared for his daughter, who might be snatched from his arms while he was struggling with the strong current. While standing there with his baby and hearing the sound of the approaching foes, out of desperation he made a quick decision, one that he would never have made under different, less dire circumstances.
Throwing his oakwood spear on the ground, he wrapped Camilla in some bark which he tore off a wild cork tree. Then he ripped a few strips off his robe and used them to tie the wrapped girl to his shaft. Poising the spear in his hand, and looking up at the heavens, he invoked Diana, saying:
“I, the father of this girl, dedicate her to you, goddess of groves and woods, and to your service. Accept her and this spear, the first spear she grasps as she flees her enemies, pleading for your mercy, O immortal one!”
Then, holding his breath and drawing back his arm, he threw missile and baby through the air, over the rushing, roaring waters, to the grove on the other side of the river. He knew that this grove, like all the rest in the area, was sacred to Diana, the one goddess he had often heard his wife talk about. He scarcely waited for the spear with its valuable load to land when, feeling his enemies closing in, he leapt into the nearly impassable river and, with great difficulty, swam across, with his pursuers’ arrows flying thicker than the hail of winter. Miraculously, only one of these managed to graze his back, but without doing any serious damage. Once he was on the other side he dragged himself out of the water and, although he was exhausted, he immediately went to find his daughter. The spear was stuck fast in the ground, but he effortlessly pried it loose. Then, unbinding the cocooned baby, he hurried away, going deeper into the recesses of the woods.
Opis had witnessed Metabus’ flight and the unusual way in which he had saved his daughter. As fast as she could, she flew back to the summits of Mount Olympus to tell Diana that the girl had been devoted to her by her father.
“Explain this to me one more time, Opis,” ordered Diana, with a broad smile. “And feel free to go into detail once more.”
The goddess had had no trouble with the story narrated by the Nymph. But she was thrilled at the prospect of having a new devotee, not any devotee, but the daughter of pious Casmilla, no less. Therefore she needed to hear Opis tell her, yet again, about the flying baby and her father’s vows.
As soon as Opis finished retelling everything she had witnessed earlier that day, Diana said to her Nymph:
“Opis, I now have further reasons to protect the little girl. You already know what your orders are. And I, myself, will go down whenever I feel it is necessary to aid her in any way. Now go!” she almost shouted.
Back in the woods, Metabus knew that he and Camilla were safe from their pursuers. None of them – no, not even his brother Hostilius – no matter how great the hatred for the deposed King, would attempt to swim across the swollen river, as he had done. But he also knew that he had nowhere to go. Not a single town would receive him and protect him inside its walls. So he decided to make earth his bed and the sky his blanket. He would roam the forest, hunting for food, if necessary digging up roots and plucking fruit from trees. He would lead a solitary life, with only his daughter for company.
The king’s musings were interrupted by the baby’s cries. She had been quiet since leaving the palace hours before, and amazingly, even through her whole ordeal as a human missile. But now she was wailing at the top of her lungs. Metabus figured that she had to be hungry. The hunting, digging, and plucking would have to wait. He first had to find a way to feed her, and he had to do so fast. Although, as a man, and a busy one at that, he had never learned much about young children, he remembered seeing, whenever he went to inspect his royal flocks, young lambs suckling their mother’s milk. But there were no sheep anywhere in sight, only a herd of wild mares peacefully grazing nearby.
“That will have to do,” thought Metabus.
Then he realized it was probably easier said than done. He was an excellent hunter and, had his intention been to kill the animal, he would have done so in the blink of an eye. But he needed to trap a mare alive and without hurting her. A hunting-net would have been helpful, but, having left in a hurry, he had none with him that day. He was rapidly turning several options over in his mind when, much to his amazement, one of the mares left the herd and calmly walked over to where he was standing with the baby. One could have sworn this mare was not wild. He wondered if one of the immortals had anything to do with that. If Casmilla were still alive she would have said that a god, or at least a nymph, had tamed her and brought her over. Poor, pious Casmilla! But Metabus stopped wondering and decided to get busy.
He spent the better part of the evening figuring out how to get the mare’s milk from udder to mouth, a mouth that was loud and getting louder by the minute. Finally, just as the late twilight was bringing on the night, the baby’s tender lips had been fed, and she fell fast asleep in the arms of her father. That lasted only a few hours, and then she awoke again, demanding to be fed once more.
In the brief moments that Metabus was able to sleep during those first weeks he had a strange recurrent dream. In it, Camilla was not a girl but twin boys, and it was not a wild mare but a she-wolf that did the nursing. To him that made no sense, and he tried to brush it off, blaming stress and lack of sleep. However, for years afterwards, he occasionally found himself wondering about the unusual dream.
Opis, back from Olympus, had been watching the events involving the former ruler and his baby, and she was more than amazed. Was this man, Metabus, the one whom everybody feared and hated in Privernum, who most of the time had not been nice to his own wife, the queen, the same one who was now bestowing so much loving care on the tiny newborn? Could there really be so much fatherly concern within his breast? She decided that those mortals sure were full of surprises!
From that time on, Metabus spent his days hunting and minding Camilla. He fondly called her “my little Amazon” and often told her bedtime stories involving famous hunters and warriors. As soon as she could walk, Metabus crafted a small bow and quiver for her out of the abundant resources he found in the woods, and then he began teaching her how to shoot arrows. The little girl had excellent hand-eye coordination as well as the indispensable sense of distance and timing. Before long she also learned how to handle a spear, not the spear that had helped save her life – that would have to wait – but a fir spear. And no sooner had Metabus taught her how to use a Phoenician sling than her little hands were shooting down white swans and cranes for dinner.
Metabus also insisted that Camilla learn other skills, such as running, useful to any hunter. Pretty soon she became such a swift runner that, once she saw that her missile had hit its target, she would race over, her long hair floating in the wind, and catch the dead bird in her hands before it hit the ground. Her father liked to say that she could outstrip the winds with her lightning pace and, had they been near the coast, “you would have swept the seas,” he would add, “hovering over the swell, and never dipped your racing feet in the waves.” This was often followed by a tale about some Greek runner or other who had become famous for winning the short foot-race and other events on the same day, but then Metabus invariably added that Camilla could have beaten him quite easily.
Food was not always plentiful, especially in the cold winter months, despite the fact that the god of the woods and the goddess of the hunt received their proper libations and sacrifices. It was then that Metabus and Camilla prepared traps for anything that was edible, such as snakes, turtles, lizards, and scorpions. That often meant staying up all night. And the father was not particularly fond of scorpions, but his daughter, who always had a good appetite, never once complained about the taste. She even volunteered to do the skewering and roasting after cutting off their stingers. Her dexterity at handling the little arthropods when she was still a little girl never ceased to amaze Metabus.
One day, when the night was past and the dawn first began to grow red, Camilla and Metabus were out hunting and had just killed an elusive young doe when he started having trouble breathing. He sat down and leaned on a tree, and Camilla could see that not only was he extremely pale, he was also sweating profusely. As one who had never witnessed pain or suffering among humans – animals were of course a different story – Camilla did not know what was going on.
“Father!” said Camilla, as she sat on the grass next to him. “What is the matter? What is wrong?”
Metabus, feeling increasingly nauseous, fought back the urge to throw up. He looked at Camilla for a moment, then slowly turned towards the clearing. Stretching out his hands, he mumbled:
“Wait for me … my lovely Casmilla! I am already … eyeing the shores of … the River Styx!”
Then, whispering his daughter’s name for the last time, he closed his eyes, fell over, and gave up the ghost. Camilla sat next to him for a while, holding his hand and talking to him. But she finally understood that he was gone for good. She got up and went to sit on a moss-covered rock, while she tried to think about what she should do next.
Camilla knew nothing about the wooden coffins that her people, the Volscians, used for burying their dead. Coffins like the one in which, long ago, her mother Casmilla had been buried, her body extended at full length, by her two sisters and her faithful slaves. She had been sent down to Hades with her ivory and silver bracelets, with her gold necklace and fibula. Her spinning tools and several small decorated vases had also made the trip with her. But Camilla did know that she could not leave her father’s body lying there, in the grass. It would just be a matter of time before it attracted hungry carrion-seekers.
Camilla quickly found two long, straight, sturdy branches. Then she took off Metabus’ cloak, laid it flat on the ground, and placed the branches lengthwise across the center. Then she folded each end of the cloak over one of the branches and placed her father’s body on it. She dragged it back to the sheltered place in the woods which she had always called home, dug a deep hole, and carefully placed her father in it. Then she took his short iron sword, which he had found in the woods years before, after losing it during a hunting trip – one of many he took before she was born – and put it next to him before covering him with earth. No stone would ever mark his grave, just as her mother’s grave had none. But she would always remember the exact spot where he was laid to rest, and often, especially during the first months after his demise, she would visit and talk to him.
Camilla spent much of the rest of the day sitting there, next to the murmuring stream, staring into the distance. She didn’t even feel hungry or thirsty. The doe she and her father had shot and killed lay forgotten in the woods. But unbeknownst to the girl, Opis, who always kept watch over her, had flown to Mount Olympus to inform the goddess Diana about the end of Metabus’ life. No sooner had the Nymph finished giving her report than Diana, ordering her to wait right there on Olympus, left and headed for her grove in the land of the Volscians. On her way down she had quickly seized her bow and quiver, a bronze battle-axe, and two of her iron-tipped spears.
The senses of Camilla the hunter were usually alert to any sound or movement. But, being distraught, she was quite unaware of Diana’s arrival. The goddess stood next to an oak tree and waited a while, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of her short tunic and adjusting the strap on one of her soft leather sandals. Finally, having decided she had waited long enough, she began hemming and hawing. Camilla, startled, turned to look at her and immediately tried to reach for her bow and quiver so that she could shoot at the newcomer. Diana stayed the girl’s hand with a spell as she slowly walked over to her.
“You have never seen me before, but you must not be afraid,” she said, with a smile. “I am your protector, and I am here to comfort you,” she added, putting her heavenly weapons down on the ground.
Camilla, whose hand Diana gradually released from the spell, was not sure what to make of the apparition. She had heard her father tell many stories about both mortals and immortals, yet she had never met one of either variety. But the aura surrounding the beautiful being made Camilla feel at ease in her presence, and soon she relaxed. Yet, although she was incredibly curious to find out more about Diana and about the weapons she had brought with her, and which she kept staring at, she did not know how to approach her.
“Here,” said Diana at length, picking up and holding out the battle-axe and the spears she had brought. “These are for you. The axe was made by the god Vulcan according to the exact specifications of the inventor, an Amazon queen named Penthesilea. I will teach you how to use it. The spears I made myself.”
“I have heard about the Amazons, but my father told me they were no more than legends invented by some small-town Greeks,” said Camilla.
“My dear, dear girl,” replied the goddess with a smile. “Your father was a wise man, but these daughters of Mars are not legends. But I must grant you this, their bravery and their skill at hunting and fighting almost make them seem like a figment of someone’s imagination. Come,” she motioned with her hand, “sit down close to me so that you can hear a little bit more about those women.”
Diana, knowing that the girl needed some cheering up, was glad to spend as much time as needed telling her about the famous warriors. In addition, she decided to embellish her narrative a little as she went along. By way of introduction, she gave Camilla a geography lesson of sorts. She described the Euxine Sea, as well as the rivers that flow into it. One of those was the Thermodon, famous for its dark waters.
“It is on the banks of this river,” continued the goddess, “that the man-less Amazons have lived for a long time, ever since they and their families were first expelled from the land of the Scythians by political rivals. At first, life was not easy because the natives did not welcome outsiders and warfare was constant. Then, one night, the natives surprised and massacred all the men and raped their wives and daughters. Enraged, these women, who in addition to being abused, were now widows and orphans, quickly armed themselves with some daggers that they made out of their own ornaments. And they not only beat the natives, but even expelled them from their territory. From then on, these women, now calling themselves Amazons, decided never again to have anything to do with men, and to train for war starting in early childhood. Having learned to hunt in order to survive, they were already experts in the use of bow and arrow. I myself went hunting with one of their queens on occasion. I believe that was … uh, Marpesia. Yes, that was her name. And I can tell you that those Amazons are almost as skillful at hunting as I am.”
“But is it true,” asked Camilla, “that their right breast is burnt off with a red-hot bronze instrument when they are still very young, in order to make it easier to throw a spear and to shoot with bow and arrow?”
“That is not quite accurate, my girl, “answered Diana. “But when they train and when they go to battle, they do keep it bare for that reason. I do the same thing. You don’t want your clothing getting in the way, do you? Now back to my story! The Amazons began to spread their dominions to Colchis and even to the Tauric Chersonese. In time, Orithya ascended the throne, a young queen both exceedingly beautiful and remarkably brave. But while she was away leading her army and conquering more lands, the Greek hero Hercules and his friends invaded Themiscyra, her capital, imprisoned one of her sisters, killed Prothoe, Eriboea, Tecmessa, and Alcippe, and stole a suit of royal armor. He had the nerve to do this, despite the fact that the Amazons had recently helped him with one of his labors, I’m inclined to think it was his ninth. He also took her girdle, the ensign of her kingly power, a present she had received from Mars himself. He also stole the queen’s battle-axe. The girdle ended up in the hands of Admete, daughter of Eurystheus, the ruler of Tiryns who sent the hero on all his labors.
“As soon as Orithya came back,” continued Diana, “she was furious and immediately called together the largest army she had ever summoned. She gave them an impassioned speech, asking: ‘What good is it for us to lord it over Pontus and Asia if, notwithstanding our successes, we remain exposed to the insolence of the Greeks, who dared to attack us in the heart of our own state? Are we going to submit tamely to murder and rapine? Will it not be a matter of time before another Greek and his army comes to try to destroy us all?’
“Her speech,” Diana went on, “had the desired effect, and every warrior in the army was more than ready to go. Having crossed over the frozen Bosphorus and marching through Colchis, Thrace, Thessaly, and Macedonia, at last the brave warriors arrived outside the city of Athens. But, unfortunately, through the betrayal and the guile of some Athenians, the Amazons lost the battle to King Theseus and his men. No one knows for sure what happened to the queen, and the dead had to be buried there, near the Piraeic gate, because Themiscyra was too far away to carry them all back.
“But that was certainly not the end of the Amazons,” continued the goddess, playing with a handful of dry leaves that were lying on the ground. “In fact, only recently the current queen, the gorgeous Penthesilea, led a chosen band to go help Priam, king of Troy. You see, the Greeks, with one thousand ships, had gone to besiege his city. The excuse for doing so was that Priam’s son Paris – some prefer to call him Alexandros – had kidnapped the wife of a Greek warlord and he wanted her back. But I am telling you, Camilla, the truth is that the Greeks started to fear the power that the Trojans were acquiring by controlling the Hellespont. They were also jealous of the wealth that the Trojans were accumulating from the tolls they collected from every single ship passing through that strait. Anyway, to make a long story short, Penthesilea arrived soon after the death of Priam’s favorite son, Hector, and thanks to her and her warriors, Priam did pretty well in the war for a year or so. Eventually Troy was lost, despite the Amazons’ best efforts on the plains of the Scamander, and they went back home. But this was only the second defeat they had ever suffered since becoming a mighty nation, and I believe it will be their last one too.”
Camilla, enraptured, had been hanging on to every one of Diana’s words. The girl had long stopped feeling apprehensive, and now she was glad to have the goddess’ company and the chance to converse with her.
“If one day you should find the need – or the wish – to become a warrior,” said Diana, “I will come back and take you to the Amazons for training. I am sure you would love to learn to ride and fight on horseback as they do.”
Diana and Camilla spent long hours talking about hunting. Diana also showed her how to handle the brand-new battle-axe and gave her a few hints on how to sharpen the head using a whetstone, and on how to keep the shaft clean and polished. She didn’t foresee the shaft needing to be replaced anytime soon, but she suggested a number of alternatives in case Camilla had to do so.
When darkest night had put forth her starry face, Diana said farewell to Camilla, who felt more tired than she had ever felt. It had certainly been the most eventful day of her life. She drank a draught of nectar that the goddess had given her in a cup, and was soon wrapped in a profound slumber. In her dreams she saw herself as a tried and true Amazon, hurling her spears, using the battle-axe, and sitting on the back of a four-legged creature that must surely be one of the horses Diana had talked about.
In the morning, Camilla picked up an arrow that was lying on the ground where she and the goddess had sat talking the day before. She didn’t remember having dropped it and, without looking at it closely or giving it any more thought, she put it in her quiver with the rest of her arrows.