Penthesilea's Wish [Vol.1]

Chapter Three

                        (Foothills of the Pontus Mountains, south of the Black Sea, 1252 BCE)

A young girl, mounted on a horse, sat looking out over the valley below her. In the distance, loomed a great body of water known to the many farming and village cultures to the south as the “Amazon Sea.” It had been steadily raining all day but the girl was not bothered by this, nor was she affected by the chilly winds which promised to kick up at night in this distant land.

Penthesilea was comfortable in her woolen leggings, deer-leather boots and the loose, sumptuous top which fell in folds over her shoulders and gathered at her thighs. The hand-woven blanket she sat upon, forming a simple saddle, could be thrown over her back and head if she felt the need for shelter or warmth during her return to the temporary encampment of her all-woman clan. She was, as taught to be, comfortable on the back of her graceful animal. The horse was given to her as a gift at eight years old and intended to be a life-friend in both warfare and peace.

Penthesilea was not yet a teen, nor did she even begin to have the curvaceous form of her older ‘Sisters.’ Yet, she was strong, tall for her age, and fearless. It was noticed by the elder women in the clan that she was already showing the instinctive signs of a great leader. The talk among the women, who had birthed, raised and sustained her as their future queen, was full of praise and hope. Several of those “Daughters of the Moon,” as the women collectively called themselves, were nearby on horseback. They had all spent their lifetime training as hunters and warriors, and they were continually prepared for any unexpected need for defense or counter attack.

They had only days before been engaged in the ear-splitting din of combat, once again defending themselves effectively in their dangerous environment against marauding parties of male warriors. Over time this all-women society of nomads had perfected the lethal skills necessary to thwart and sally against any all-male foe. And their prowess as combatants was legendary. Over several generations they became known as the ‘Amazons.’

The young Penthesilea and her horse, Laika, could sense the subtle presence of her comrades beyond a stand of trees, allowing her and faithful friend to loosen their guard. For the moment they enjoyed the sensual surroundings of the forest as the skies cleared and rays of the sun invaded the woods.

This twelve-year old girl, like the other females in her nomad society was at home on the back of her horse. Her rare, separatist tribe of women was energetic and always moving. They historically followed the wild horse herds northeastward of the Black Sea, as they roamed the flatlands skirting the Pindus Mountains and northward to the foothills of the Caucasus range. North of these lands were the steppes of Central Asia and the wide domain of the early Scythian culture.From these people’s nomadic horse culture, it was said her own clan had originally come, keeping its warring and wandering ways.

The women roamed for generations south of the Black Sea into Asia Minor, the vast and historically rich area known as Anatolia—the present day Republic of Turkey. They thrived on this coastal plain as raiders and defenders, ever moving southward and westward in patterns with the seasons. It was this pursuit of food and armed encounters through raids, as taught to them by their ancestors, which ensured their survival.

Around Penthesilea’s neck dangled a small, green-stone horse attached to a leather chord. Her small Scythian bow, made for a child, and soon to be replaced by a more lethal one, was draped across her chest. With it, in a woven quiver hung a collection of short bronze-point arrows, already deadly to birds and small game.

This young rider’s noble face, with her bluish-gray, almond-shaped eyes, was detached and pensive on this day. Her countenance was striking and symmetrical, carrying a memorable image, not common to most of her peers in the tribe. As Penthesilea sat motionless on her horse, there hung from her belt a bronze dagger in its carved wooden sheath. She was, at that solitary moment, quietly dreaming of her mother Otrera’s words and the songs of the others, sung to all the girls at night.

It was at those dark hours beneath the stars that the Amazon women prepared their youth for the uncertainties of their future. The stories of warfare, hunting, the rituals of reproduction, and the proper training of girls were told around the night fires throughout the year. Afterwards, they would be comforted to sleep amid the perimeter of their well-armed Sisters and horses.

Penthesilea’s own future would be full of challenges, they had told her. But with the expected victories, losses and responsibilities to the clan. For such a life was destined of a great warrior, descended from the line of Amazon queens. And always this knowledge was infused with the notion that she would one day return, despite the inevitable death which awaited all of them--more commonly than not, in battle.

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