Jane Yolen - Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons

“Old man, we salute your age,” she added. “Sage you must be to have attained so many years.” Indeed he was the oldest person she’d ever seen. “Have you something you could share with two hungry travelers in the name of hospitality?”

The old man tipped his head in the direction of the stream. “Help yourself to the water, children. It’s provided by the gods.”

Hippolyta glanced quickly back at the stream, where the horse was lapping placidly. She noticed what she should have seen before. The horse carried a bulging pack on its back. There was a spear and ax tied there as well.

She looked back at the old man and said with as much humility as she could muster, “It’s food we have need of … sir.”

“What has that to do with me?”

“I think you have enough for yourself and more besides,” Hippolyta said. Her hand went automatically to her belt, before she remembered she had no weapon.

“That depends upon the length of my journey, eh?” he countered, with a crooked grin.

Tithonus tugged on the back of Hippolyta’s tunic. She shrugged him off.

“And how far is that, old man?” Hippolyta asked.

Tithonus tugged again.

“As far as Troy, though it’s no business of yours, little girl.”

She took a step toward him, and Tithonus tugged so hard, she turned on him and hissed like a serpent.

“Let him be,” Tithonus whispered. “There’s something funny about him.”

“He’s just a little crazy,” Hippolyta whispered back. “Comes from being that old.”

Tithonus shook his head. “No, Hippolyta. It’s more than that. Look at his eyes. They aren’t an old man’s eyes.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” she said, and turned back.

But now she saw what Tithonus had seen. The old man’s eyes had the kind of fiery intensity to them that suddenly reminded her of the bonfires on Amazon hilltops, lit to warn of an approaching enemy. Maybe, she thought, I should go more slowly here.

The old man smiled at her. There was a gap between his teeth, as big, she thought, as the entrance to the Underworld.

“Why do you carry weapons, sir?” she asked.

“I have fought many battles in my day,” he answered. “Battle has been my food and drink.” He smacked his lips loudly. “But as I have no further use for this equipment, I’m taking the tools of my former trade to sell at the market in Troy.”

“Will you sell them to me?” Hippolyta asked quickly.

He laughed, a harsh, dry sound, like the cawing of a crow. “Of course not. You’re only a girl.”

She drew herself up. “I’m an Amazon,” she said. “A match for any warrior you’ve ever encountered.”

The old man stroked his chin. “I’ve met quite a few warriors, my dear. Cadmus. Pelops. Erechtheus. Heroes, all.”

Tiring of the game, Hippolyta said, “And you were what—their cup bearer?”

Tithonus gasped aloud.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue, young Amazon.” The old man’s eyes narrowed. “A sharp tongue but no sharp sword. Who took it from you, I wonder.”

Hippolyta bristled and took an angry step forward.

The old man twirled his staff end over end so quickly it would have cracked her across the face had she moved another inch. Hippolyta was shocked at his speed.

“If,” the old man said, sounding remarkably like one of her teachers, “if you were the warrior you think you are, you’d never let your anger lead you into an ambush. Or your hunger into a situation you couldn’t control.”

It was Tithonus who broke the stalemate. He bowed to the old warrior. “Please, sir, might we purchase some food from you?”

The old man laughed and placed the staff end down on the ground. “This one at least has manners.”

Hippolyta let out a long breath, astonished that she’d been holding it.

“But what have you to offer in payment?” the old man asked Tithonus.

The boy slipped a cord from his neck. Tied to it was an amulet with a red jewel in the center. “My father gave this to me to celebrate my birthday.” He offered it to the old man.

Holding the jewel up to the light, the old warrior smiled. “Wealthy man, is he?”

“He’s—”

Hippolyta elbowed Tithonus before he could reveal his parentage. “His father isn’t here now. We are. That’s a truly valuable jewel. We want food—and the weapons.”

“The weapons too!” the old man exclaimed in amusement. “Next you’ll be asking for the horse as well.” He handed the jewel back to Tithonus.

“Why not?” Hippolyta said. “You won’t need him if he’s got nothing to carry.”

The old man chuckled. “He’s more use to me than some ornament.”

“Will you trade or won’t you?” Hippolyta said impatiently, her voice rising.

“And if I don’t? Will you try to take them from me?”

The scorn in his voice goaded Hippolyta beyond endurance. “Do you think I can’t?” she cried, lunging at him.

The old man jabbed the end of his staff into her stomach, stopping her in her tracks. “If you’re going to challenge me, child, you’ll need something to fight with,” he said, nodding toward the trees, where Hippolyta saw another staff was lying.

“Where did that come from?” Tithonus asked wonderingly.

For a second the old man glanced his way. “Perhaps from the gods, boy.”

“More likely you dropped it along the way from sheer carelessness,” Hippolyta said.

The old man shrugged. “How it got there doesn’t matter. Either way, will you try your skill against an ancient warrior or not?”

“If I win, you’ll give us the horse and all it carries?” Hippolyta asked.

The old man squeezed his lower lip between two fingers. “You drive a hard bargain, young Amazon. Well, so do I. If you lose, you must carry my baggage all the way to Troy for me.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m no beast of burden,” she cried.

“Nevertheless, those are my terms,” he said. “Are you afraid to accept them?”

“Afraid? Never! An Amazon is not afraid of anything. Not even death. Especially not death.” As she spoke, she remembered her fear of the evening before. Of the serpent’s awful head, of the panicked run into the farmyard, the jump into the well. Then, awash in battle fire, she forgot all fear, strode to where the second staff lay on the ground, and snatched it up.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE FIRE OF COMBAT

“BE CAREFUL,” TITHONUS WHISPERED BEHIND her.

The concern in his voice irked Hippolyta so much she pushed him aside rudely. Then she walked back to where the old warrior stood and planted herself firmly in front of him.

“Now, old man,” she said, “that we’re both armed, perhaps you will treat me with respect.”

He chuckled, a sound like rushing water over stone. Little water. Large stone. “All you need to do is knock me down to win, Amazon.” The way he said the last word was not a compliment. “Then you will have proved yourself worthy of me.”

“Worthy of you ?” Hippolyta felt her cheeks flushing. Yet she willed herself to be calm, counting silently as she’d been taught. Taunting one’s opponent was always the opening gambit of any fight. If the old man really had been a warrior, he would know that well. “You think a lot of yourself.”

“With good reason,” the old man said softly.

Then, with a sudden movement, he twisted his arm, and his staff lashed out at Hippolyta’s face.

She jumped back and felt the wood just brush her nose. “You’re slow, old man.” Holding her own staff horizontally, she fell into a crouch, ready to ward off another blow.

He stepped back and leaned casually on his staff, then picked at his yellow teeth with a casual finger. “That dried venison is so sticky,” he remarked.