Harry Turtledove (Editor) - The Enchanter Completed

My breath caught. Alexander's brows were up. "A boy? He's pretty; I've seldom seen a prettier. But I'm no Persian king. I've no need of boys to ornament my palace."

"This is my own child," the queen said, "my blood and bone. What will you wager, king of Macedon? What will I take with me when I win?"

Alexander grinned at her. "You have gall, I grant you that. I'll give you… " He paused. His brows knit. Suddenly he laughed, light and free, as one who wagers everything on certain victory. "I'll give you whatever you ask, that is in my power to give. Only ask it, and it is yours."

She bowed to him. I could not see her expression beneath the scarf, but her eyes were full of mockery. "That is a good wager," she said. "Shall we fight?"

They fought with swords, sharp blades unblunted. Alexander's guards and servants were appalled. His men cheered him on. They loved his crazy courage, to fight naked against an unknown, shrouded and no doubt armored enemy. They would never know what Goddess was in him, driving him, giving him strength?but never as much as She gave her daughter, her beloved, my queen.

He was lethally fast and brilliant in battle, but my queen was the Penthesilea, the daughter of war, and her sword had been forged in the morning of the world. She danced a sword-dance about the heavier, slower, more quickly tiring man, with grace that caught at my throat.

In the midst of the dance, as he rallied and pressed hard against her, the bindings of her headdress parted, then fell away. Her hair, bright gold, made the watchers gasp. But Alexander, who could see her face, checked for the space of a breath, astonished: for like all Greeks and their kin, he never thought to see a woman in the field of battle.

She had been winning before then, in my estimation, but once he saw her face, there was no battle left. She beat him back with ringing blows, forcing him to defend himself, but he was crippled, defeated; he could not strike, only parry. She drove him to his knees, and thrust her sword in the sand between them, and said coolly, "I had thought better of you."

He was a high-colored man, ruddy even at rest, but as he knelt at her feet, he went crimson. He surged up in pure blind rage.

Her arm caught him and thrust him down again. But he was beyond reason. The third time he fell, her blade came softly to rest across his throat.

His eyes cleared. As suddenly as it had risen, his fury died.

She lowered her sword. He stood slowly, stiffly, bleeding from a score of small wounds. He was exactly as tall as she. "If I needed a child," she said, "I would ask you to give me one."

"If you asked," he said as civilly as a man could who had just been soundly and publicly defeated in battle by a woman, "I would respectfully decline to do the honors."

"Would you?"

"Some things cannot be forced."

"Yes," said the queen.

He looked hard at her, as if seeing her for the first time. I thought he might say something for all to hear, but when he spoke, it was only to say, "Come to dinner with me."

That was a royal command, but the queen of my people chose to suffer it. She followed Alexander out of the crowds and the sun, past men who stared and murmured, in a flurry of rumor and speculation. It had not been clear to any but Alexander, what had come forth to fight him; they still were thinking that my queen was a Persian, a fighting eunuch perhaps, intent on avenging the death of his king.

He fed us royally, but not in the crowds and confusion of a royal feast. There were a few friends and companions, somewhat wide-eyed when they saw us bathed and unveiled. Alexander with the courtesy for which he was famous had offered us a selection of garments, both women's dress and men's. We chose coats and Persian trousers, for comfort and because they were close enough to our own fashion.

We ate in a smaller dining hall of the palace, within sound and scent of the sea. I do not recall now what I ate; but I remember vividly the faces of these lords and generals, warriors all, as they understood at last what we were. Alexander laughed like a boy. "Legends! Old tales walking out of the plains. You are?you really are?Penthesilea?"

"I am the Penthesilea," my queen said. "My line has borne that title for years out of count."

"And you came to see me." He tilted his head in the way he had. "To teach me a lesson?"

"To see what you were." She smiled at him. "And to teach you a lesson."

"Did I learn it? Or am I still being taught?"

"That will be clear in time," she said.

"So," said Alexander. "You won a gift from me. What is your desire?"

"It is not yet yours to give," she said. "But when it is, I shall ask for it."

"What, the other half of Persia?" That was one of his generals, a big man, black-bearded, with an air about him of one who needed a good thrashing with the flat of a blade.

I would have been happy to oblige, but this was not our country. I could only watch him along with the rest, and tend Etta, who would not eat for her unceasing fascination with Alexander. I persuaded her at length to take a bit of bread sopped in honey, which she ate neatly as she always did; she was a clean creature, whatever she lacked in wits or will.

The black-bearded man was watching us. Looking for weaknesses, I thought, and greatly pleased to find one. "Well, Alexander," he said, "whatever you have to pay for losing the fight, at least you won't be nursemaid to an idiot."

I tensed to rise, to teach him the lesson he so badly needed, but my queen caught my hand. "Selene," she said: only my name, but it bound me. She regarded the Macedonian with the hint of a smile. "One may be forgiven a lack of understanding," she said. "This is my daughter, my heir. She is blessed of the Goddess. If your king had won her, he would have won a queen of the Amazons."

The Macedonian's lip curled, but Alexander spoke before he could insult us further. "A great prize," he said, "and a great gift." He looked into Etta's face, and smiled. And she, who had never shown human expression, mirrored that smile exactly.

"She's very beautiful," he said. He did not add, even with his eyes, that it was a pity she had no heart or spirit to give that beauty substance. He reached out his hand. She reached in turn, to clasp it. "Good day to you," he said with courtesy that cannot be learned; it is born in a rare few, vanishingly few of whom are kings.

Of course she did not answer, but her eyes never left his face. She was basking in the light of him, as if he had been the sun.

He bade a servant bring a chair to set beside his own, and drew her to it. All the rest of that dinner, he ate with one hand, for she would not let go the other. He heard such tales of our people as my queen and even I, reluctantly, would tell; he was insatiably curious, eager to learn all that he could, and of us he had heard every myth and legend from the most preposterous to the merely foolish.

We sat there well past sunset, but although there was wine enough, it was well watered; we did not suffer the infamous excesses of a Macedonian banquet. Some of his companions, the black-bearded man among them, excused themselves?to escape, I supposed, to a more comfortably male gathering. The rest lingered with us. They had some share of Alexander's thirst for knowledge, and some of his quick intelligence. I caught myself warming to them, helped perhaps by the wine, though I drank little enough of that.

When it was time to go, we met a difficulty. Etta would not leave the king. I had anticipated that; I was ready for the silent battle. But Alexander said, "Beautiful one, you should sleep. In the morning you may come to me; we'll visit the horses together."

She could not have understood him; words to her held less meaning than the cries of birds. Yet she let go his hand. She took her eyes from him at last, bent them down, and permitted me to lead her away.