Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons (3 page)

Otrere bent her head, but whether in obeisance to her fellow queen or to look at the child again, Hippolyta couldn’t have said.

“A queen,” Valasca continued, her voice filling the room, “may bear only one live son. If the second grows up, he will bring about the destruction of our race. I know it, you know it. By the goddess, we
all
know it. Let this child live, and we break the pact made with Artemis by all the mothers before us. The goddess has not protected us all these years so we can be destroyed by one boy child!”

Otrere didn’t answer, but a single tear escaped her right eye. Hippolyta longed to wipe it away before it shamed them all.

“You and the priestess did not take the easier way, so now you must sacrifice this child with your own knife upon the altar of Artemis,” Valasca said. “Such is our law. The goddess has willed it.”

“I cannot.” Otrere’s voice was low but adamant.

“Then you must give up your throne, and another will perform the sacrifice,” Valasca said. “Either way, Otrere, the boy dies.”

Otrere looked up, her eyes now clear of tears. “We all must die, Valasca. But this child is innocent of any wrongdoing. Only I, who desired one last child before I could have no more, am to blame.” She sat up straighter and looked slowly around the room as if addressing every woman there. “The child can be returned to his father. Like his brother before him. If anyone is to be sacrificed, let it be me.”

“Mother, no!” Melanippe and Antiope cried out together.

Hippolyta found she couldn’t speak. It was as if a spell of silence had been placed upon her tongue.

Valasca shook her head. “You know that can’t be, Otrere. The pact says that the babe is to be sacrificed, not the mother. Killing you—much as I might enjoy it—will not save us from the goddess’s will.” She signaled two of her older warriors. “Take the boy.”

Otrere enveloped the baby in her arms and turned away.

Suddenly, without thinking, Hippolyta found herself moving forward and blocking the two warriors before they could reach the bed. She held her hunting knife chest high, ready to strike.

“Otrere is still your queen,” she told them sharply. “Not Valasca, who rules only in times of war. You will not lay hands on Otrere.”

“Step aside, Hippolyta,” warned a familiar voice.

Hippolyta looked toward the speaker and saw that Molpadia had drawn her bow and it was aimed right at her heart. At this distance Molpadia could not possibly miss.

All at once the baby started to cry again, a thin, mewling sound.

Hippolyta could see her older sister, Orithya, behind Molpadia, looking helplessly from one queen to the other, torn between the oath that bound her to Valasca and the blood that bound her to Otrere. Shaking her head, Orithya suddenly strode forward and shoved the point of Molpadia’s arrow aside.

“Do you plan to defile the royal bedchamber with blood?” she demanded, voice shaking. “How is that the will of the gods?”

“The will of the gods is that we obey our own laws.” Valasca gave the answer in her stone voice, never taking her eyes from Otrere. “And we will spill blood, even here, to obey them.”

“There’ll be no killing in this place,” Demonassa declared, stepping forward to stand by Hippolyta’s side. “That would surely anger Artemis more than anything.” At her voice, everyone but Queen Otrere looked at her. “But the child’s sacrifice can only be accomplished when the moon is half in shadow, half in light, poised between life and death. And that will not be for ten days yet. Surely you know that, Valasca, who knows the rules so well.”

Valasca’s face grew even sharper, if that were possible. She looked, Hippolyta thought, quite a bit like her own ax.

“I will take the child and keep him quiet,” Demonassa said, adding, “You will want him alive on the altar, or the sacrifice will be worth nothing.”

Otrere gave up the child readily enough to the old priestess.

Valasca said softly, “By your own wish you are queen no longer. Another will perform the sacrifice. You will remain here for the ten days with only a single attendant to care for you. After that, you shall be brought for judgment before the court of the Nines.”

Demonassa wrapped the child lightly in soft deerskin and walked out of the room, accompanied by Valasca and her guards.

Hippolyta and her sisters followed reluctantly behind, but Hippolyta was thinking:
That gives us ten days, thanks to Demonassa.

But then she quickly wondered:
Ten days to do what?

B
ECAUSE HER MOTHER
was no longer queen, Hippolyta had to leave the palace where she’d lived all her life and move into the warriors’ communal barracks. It was more a jolt to her heart than her body. After all, none of the Amazons led pampered lives. Even the queens were trained as hunters and farmers.

Hippolyta had looked forward to joining the ranks of the warriors in two years, when she entered her fifteenth year and had gone on her Long Mission, trekking into the wilderness for a month on her own. Now she was there sooner than anyone had planned.

Being escorted by armed guards to the barracks like a prisoner, being forcibly separated from her younger sisters, made Hippolyta furious. After all, even if their mother had broken a law,
they
had done nothing wrong. But Valasca had insisted that they be guarded in case they tried to do something foolish. Like help their mother escape.

“At least,” Hippolyta pleaded with two of the warriors set over her as guards, “let me see how Antiope and Melanippe are doing.”

“They are Amazons,” said one frostily.

“They will be fine,” the other added, though she at least smiled down at Hippolyta.

“
They are
little girls,” Hippolyta answered angrily. “And if they have to be apart from their mother, at least—”

“Antiope and Melanippe are in the Halls of Athena,” the frosty guard replied, “dwelling along with other girls whose mothers have died, in sickness or in battle.”

“Our mother hasn’t died,” Hippolyta said through gritted teeth.

“Not yet” came the icy reply.

Hippolyta drew in a sharp breath.

The other guard put her hand on Hippolyta’s and said softly, “I’ll see what I can do.”

It took five days before Hippolyta was allowed a short visit with her sisters, accompanied by two guards.

The Halls of Athena was really one large lodge with two wings sitting atop a rise. The girls lived in the smaller wing, in separate rooms.

Hippolyta visited with Melanippe first and found that she’d adjusted well to her new surroundings.

“Antiope does nothing but cry,” Melanippe said. “I can’t seem to help her. The other girls are mean to us, of course. But they take their lead from the matrons here, who say that Mother intended the Amazon race to die.” She looked grim. “It’s not true, is it?”

“Of course it’s not true. Mother doesn’t want anyone to die. Not even the baby.”

“I
knew
it!” Melanippe said. Relief suffused her face.

“Be strong.” Hippolyta gave her sister a quick hug, stood, and went across the hallway to Antiope’s room.

Antiope was sitting all alone on a narrow bed, staring out the window and across the top of the palisade to where the black waters of the Euxine Sea lay along the horizon.

“Antiope?” Hippolyta called, but the little girl didn’t seem to hear.
“Antiope.”

This time Antiope turned and stared at Hippolyta, tears coursing down her cheeks.

In two long steps Hippolyta was across the room and onto the bed, wrapping her arms around her little sister. “There, there,” she said, sounding exactly like their mother.

“What—” Antiope gulped, started again. “What’s the baby done that’s so wrong?” She swiped at her brimming eyes with the backs of her hands.

“It’s not that he’s done anything wrong,” Hippolyta whispered into her sister’s hair. “It’s just that he’s a male, and it’s our law.”

“I hate our law then,” Antiope cried. “I wish somebody would take it away and burn it!”

Trying not to smile, Hippolyta sat back and looked into Antiope’s dark eyes. “Without laws, sister, there would be no Themiscyra. No Long Mission. No—”

“Then I guess I don’t hate
all
of it,” Antiope said. She bit her lower lip. “Just the dead baby part.”

Hippolyta nodded. “I hate that part too. But it
is
the law.” Then she embraced her sister again, stood, and was gone.

The next day Hippolyta heard that Otrere had been moved from the palace into the prison by the palisade where criminals were commonly kept. The rumor was that Valasca was trying to starve her into submission.

Or just starve her,
Hippolyta thought.
Then Valasca could proclaim herself queen of both war and peace.
She wondered which lawbreaking was worse, her mother’s or the warrior queen’s.

For several days Hippolyta attempted to visit her mother. She argued with the two guards at the barracks about it until she wore them down. But the prison guards were of sterner stuff. They turned her back roughly, as if they’d no idea who she was.

“Orders are that no one gets in to see the old queen,” they said.

“You can’t treat me this way,” Hippolyta yelled at them. “I’m her daughter!”

They laughed.

“She prefers sons,” said one.

It was the laughter, not the rough handling, that hurt. Hippolyta stormed off toward the drill field, her two barracks guards in tow. They watched as she crossed the field to face her older sister, who was working out with her sword.

“Have you heard what’s happening to Mother?” Hippolyta demanded, grabbing Orithya by the sword arm. “She’s locked up as a prisoner.”

Orithya shook Hippolyta off and wiped her sweaty face with the back of her arm. Her copper hair was braided tightly behind her, but there were little sweaty wisps around her temples. “Otrere brought it on herself by her own stubbornness.”

“How can you be so hard-hearted? She’s our
mother
!” Hippolyta hated the whine she could hear rising in her voice, like a child wangling for something sweet.

“My heart is no harder than yours,” Orithya answered, lifting the sword and once again starting the ritual passes. “But at least I’m realistic. Think, Hippolyta, think. Even if we could change her mind, we wouldn’t be allowed in to talk with her. No one is. Especially not the women who agree with her.”

“There are some who agree?”

“Of course,” Orithya said, punctuating her statements with the sword. “Women who have borne sons themselves. Women with new infants. Women who are merchants and have spent time beyond our walls trading with other tribes. They understand at least, even if they do not agree entirely. But we warriors are upholding the law. No one gets in to see Otrere. No one.”

“And whose ruling is that?” Hippolyta asked, though she already guessed.

“Valasca’s.”

“Of course.”

Orithya had gone through the first set of passes—“The Guardian”—and was starting on the second—“The Death Watch.” She turned a quarter, then a half, her back to Hippolyta.

“And once the child is dead,” Hippolyta said, “what’s to happen to Mother then?”

Orithya shrugged but didn’t slow her movements. “I don’t think there’s any provision in the laws to execute a queen. I expect she’ll be exiled into the world of men.”

“No!” Hippolyta cried just as Orithya turned and faced her, bringing the sword straight down and stopping it abruptly at Hippolyta’s shoulder. “How could she survive?”

“She could become one of their slaves,” Orithya said. “Or one of their
wives,
which is just as bad.” Her voice was as sharp as her sword, but there was a hint of pain in it nonetheless. She lowered the weapon so that it was tip down.

“What are you two
princesses
talking about?” intruded a voice.

Hippolyta turned. The speaker was Molpadia, her bow held loosely in her left hand. She was too far away to have heard any of their conversation.

“We’re discussing tactics,” Hippolyta answered sharply. “How to set an ambush for a she-cat.”

Orithya could not repress a wry grin. “So you’d better be careful, Molpadia.”

Molpadia reddened. “You’d both do well to be less haughty now that you’re only common clay like the rest of us.” Then she glared at Hippolyta, adding, “And
you’d
better plan how to slay your first man instead of mourning our ex-queen.”

She turned and sauntered off.

Hippolyta made a face at her back.

“She’s right, you know,” Orithya said, sheathing her sword.

“She’s a sow,” Hippolyta answered.

“Perhaps, but she’s a brave fighter nonetheless, and we’re going to need her when Valasca marches against the Phrygians.” Orithya rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms out.

“The Phrygians! I thought Mother made peace with them,” Hippolyta said. She suddenly wondered if the baby’s being a boy had given Valasca an excuse to do what she’d been planning all along. As war queen, Valasca always preferred fighting to peace.

Orithya’s mouth thinned down, and for a moment she was silent. Then, as if repeating something she’d heard, she said stolidly, “We can never be at peace with the rulers of men.”

It was to be the last word of their conversation, for Hippolyta’s two keepers strode across the grass and gathered her up for the march back to the barracks.

O
N THE EVE OF THE
half-moon Hippolyta could scarcely fall asleep. She’d worn out her body with chores, with sword practice. She’d even gone hunting with the guards, coming back with two hares and a partridge for the barracks’ pots.

But now, exhausted, as she lay on her long cot trying to sleep, sleep would not come. Instead her mind turned again and again to her mother in prison.

All around her she could hear the easy breathing of the other girls. Hippolyta turned over onto her left side and forced herself
not
to think of her mother. But then her traitor mind left the prison and fled to the Temple of Artemis with its wooden statues and its stone altar. She’d often been there on the full of the moon when all the inhabitants of Themiscyra came together for the sacrifice.