(Penthesilea's armed forces—camped above the citadel of Troy, 1241 BCE)
After two days of waiting and watching the eerie inactivity on the battlefield below them, Penthesilea and her twelve loyal warriors arrived just to the south of the Greek encampment outside the walls of Troy. Their vantage point that evening of the battleground and the fortress complex was panoramic from this position. They were suddenly approached by a ragtag group of men on foot who signaled, by dropping their weapons, that they meant them no harm. The women surrounded the fifteen or so men with their bows drawn and brought them into close quarters to speak. They learned critical information from this party of disserting tribesmen, who, being nomads from the north, spoke a language known as Luvian, which the Amazons understood. They told them that they had been fighting on the side of the Trojans for too long as mercenaries, but now they had left the battle and wanted to return home.
The Greeks, they learned, had for several years not been the full complement of warriors they were originally, upon arriving by ship from the south. The men referred to the entire battle theater as "Ilion," just as the Greeks likewise called it. The initial campaign had driven the Trojan defenders into the walled city, giving the Achaeans free passage back and forth to their ships. These first victories allowed them to dig in to strong positions around their anchorage and just outside the fortification's walls. This small group of northern nomadic veterans, the smell of which the women found difficult to tolerate, also told them that after almost ten years, both sides were weary of the fighting. There had been various unsuccessful attempts to negotiate an end to the long conflict, they told them, but now the campaign remained futile and locked in violence. They wished only to return to their families for good.
These exhausted and demoralized men, whom in another time and place would have been enemies of the battle ready Amazons, related to them on this evening of their stay—how the long siege had been driven by the greed and lust of certain men. The women, relaxed now and seated around the evening's fire, were not surprised at this as they listened intently to the mercenaries' report. All the while, however, in the presence of their unsavory guests, the women cautiously caressed the decorative handles of their ever-present bows, swords and skillfully thrown labrys—the double-headed ax. They responded often to the men's reports in their own language and mostly to each other.
The men expressed how it was their understanding this entire war had been waged over the capture and attempted return of just a single woman by lustful, arrogant men who let their pride and competitive natures blind them. The Amazons themselves were historically no strangers to capture and attempted domination by all men, especially the Greeks. Individually they were considered trophies by the warring tribes who had encountered them, including once again these adventuresome interlopers. The women affirmed to their visitors, however, that it was in their code of behavior for an Amazon girl to commit suicide if all attempts to free herself from such males proved unsuccessful. It was a mater of pride in their clan, they said, to never submit to or even survive, trapped in a male's captivity.
The temporary guests of Penthesilea and her warriors nervously went on to tell them of the recent folly which had erupted in the Greek camp, again over mindless lust after women and the perception that these men were somehow entitled to own them. The supreme leader of the Greek forces, Agamemnon—himself a warrior king, had apparently abducted in a raid outside of Troy, a girl, barely a young women, who happened to be the daughter of King Priam's own prophet. A plague had broken out among the Greek forces for nine days in the aftermath of her kidnapping, killing many soldiers in the Achaeans' encampments.
A remedy was attempted to this curse, the men told, suggested by the Greek hero whom many feared as invincible—and the one said to be a demigod among them. The men called him "Achilles," and this celebrated Achaean knew no opponent who could as much as injure him in combat. This undefeatable warrior, they told them, was thought to be protected by the gods. Achilles had, in fact, been seen by all of the men present, killing scores of men in battle, many of whom the Trojans considered their best fighters. And it was this hero who attempted to end the sudden plague and possibly bring a solution to the bloodshed by simple means. Meeting in a war council of the Greeks, Achilles suggested the immediate return of the seer's daughter to her father, bringing her out of her sexual bondage to Agamemnon.
Agamemnon, the tired men related in the light of the night fire, reluctantly agreed to this return, but only after demanding Achilles' own current female trophy of plunder, the young captive Briseis, who had accepted Achilles as her lover. Achilles, it was said, also professed his affections for Briseis, and was angered by this punishment and direct attack on his own male pride. The disenchanted Achilles immediately left the battlefield, they told them, taking with him his seasoned and loyal brigade of foreign warriors, the Myrmidons.
Penthesilea stood at that point and moved closer to the fire, her breast plate threw back an orange glow upon those gathered. She held her two-headed battle axe up to the night sky and addressed her comrades passionately.
"My sisters," she said in their own language, using the metaphors of nature they had all grown up with. "As Daughters of the Moon, we are supreme creatures of the forests and unequaled warriors on the endless empty plains. You all know our wild hearts can not endure any bindings woven and tied by men to keep us in their grasp. We all would choose death over slavery. And no Achaean shall keep us even one day . . . as these women we hear about were kept. Death would surely find us quickly and we would be in the world of night with all our sisters who danced freely before us."
The men remained silent. Humbled by their precarious circumstance.
"And this," she said, pointing her weapon toward the huddled men, "would include any fetid Trojan who would attempt to violate any of us against our will."
The women simultaneously voiced out a single syllable of affirmation, greatly startling the unarmed mercenaries, and causing them to momentarily lay prostrate on the ground in fear of an unexpected attack. Penthesilea then raised an open hand to allay their fears and then stepped back and sat with the rest of the vigilant women—her graceful gesture also signaling for the men's debriefing to continue.
Achilles, the men now explained to them, somewhat less fearfully, was furious at Agamemnon's abuse of power in demanding the substitution of their women. His leaving the battleground while enraged, left the Greek forces in a much weakened position, they reported. For the last campaign they fought in, the nomads bragged, was the subsequent routing of the Achaean stronghold. And it had happened only several days before. It was then, they said they had charged the Greek camp in the pre-dawn light, killing many of these enemies and passing through their defenses sufficiently to burn several of their treasured warships.
One of the exhausted men, seen as the leader of the rest, expressed himself more eloquently to the Amazons.
"In the heat of that battle," he told them, "Hector, the bravest son of King Priam, and the one they called 'The Tamer of Horses,' killed the best friend of Achilles. And when he had learned of this slaying, Achilles broke his boyish moodiness and returned to the war with a vengeance. In a wild rage, he killed a good many of our Trojan fighters."
The women were silent, intent on gaining any useful or strategic knowledge they might employ against their enemy.
"These dead included many warriors from our own tribe," he continued." Some of them were our childhood friends and brothers."
The women showed no reaction to these descriptions of events. It was what they came to expect of battle, and warfare had become their way of survival.
"But there was a cease in the fighting just two days ago," the leader went on. "It was when Achilles and Hector squared off for single, hand-to-hand combat on the large battlefield before the fortress gate. It was understood by all watching that against this terrible Achilles . . . Hector could not win. All accepted that the Greek warrior was assisted by the gods. They say it was his gift at birth."
"Achilles did kill Hector as expected," a younger man said, wishing to bring the terrible story to a conclusion. "And then he sinned before us all by dragging Hector's body . . . bloody and defiled around the walls of the city with his chariot."
The Amazons were uncharacteristically surprised by this—even they now seemed disgusted at such a display of desecration and disrespect for a fallen warrior.
"This further insulted the Trojan soldiers," the leader continued. "Those of us who watched this act from the battlefield."
"It was also seen from the palace balconies by the royal family," the younger warrior added.
The nomadic mercenaries, seated amid the Amazons. finally told the women that they had left the war for good that morning on foot. Those who would survive the journey, they said, would once again feel the saddle of their horses beneath them, and the security of their weapons in their own land.
"We will sleep warmly with our women again," another man said. "We will speak to our children. We left them as babies."
"And so we entreat you," their leader finally asked Penthesilea with a heartfelt voice, "to let us pass, defeated this morning. So that we may live . . . and reach our tribes once again."
All the women were silent—motionless, yet they acknowledged Penthesilea's slow nod to the men as a sign of agreement to let them pass.
"Hector's body was buried yesterday," informed the young warrior.
"His broken body was sold back to his father for a price," the leader added.
"It was a further insult by the Achaeans," added the younger.
"Now you should know," the leader offered. "There will be much fighting in two days when his mourning period is over. Priam will want a strong revenge for his son."
The women looked at each other with resolve to be prepared.
The leader of the deserters interjected further. "The time to strike these Achaeans will be then, as they are now considerably less strong. Except for their champion warrior, Achilles, and a certain giant they call Ajax."
"You will have a great chance of finding victory in Priam's retribution for Hector's death," the other said. "Maybe it will end this war forever. But for us . . . we are now finished."
"We have heard that the Ethiopians have also made their way here from the south to reinforce the Trojans," another man said. "And they will arrive soon. Memnon, their king, is rumored to be as great a leader and as fierce a fighter as Achilles himself. But only the gods can predict the results of such a fight. That is all we know and all we care to know of this war. It has gone on too long for all of us. We are all broken men now. Tired of fighting."
"And tired of men's senseless pride," the older warrior finally added.
Penthesilea stood and told the men they could pass by. She then announced to her comrades that they would ride to the fortress gates in the morning to make themselves known to Priam's army and offer their support, as arranged. They would also pay homage to the king's fallen son, she added. "The one they called, 'The Tamer of Horses.'"
All the Amazons present knew that while they would show their respects to king's fallen son, Hector, what was most important to their queen was her private agreement to fulfill the terms of her penance through intense fighting. This and only this --a judgment by ordeal, could possibly release Penthesilea of her bondage of guilt. It had become a great curse associated with the death of a fellow Daughter of the Moon, and most tragically, her own sister.
The twelve best combatants of the Amazon tribe knew that in two days the battlefield would once more be covered by the blood of a host of men—and without a doubt, that of their own gender as well.
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