Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

AND HOME

ARES’ CHARIOT SPED HOMEWARD with the swiftness of the wind. He could have gotten them to Themiscyra in a single night, but heeding Hippolyta’s plea, he went the long way around.

His horses never tired, but knowing his passengers to be mortal, he stopped frequently to let them eat and rest.

Tithonus suspected nothing, but Hippolyta understood that each stop cost them time the god could have easily dismissed. But he remained charming and effortlessly found game to provide them with food. At each meal he regaled them with tales of ancient heroes.

On the second evening, while Tithonus lay wrapped in a blanket sleeping peacefully, Hippolyta asked Ares about her mother and how they had met.

Sitting with his back against a tree, and scratching there like some great cat, Ares spoke. “I was traveling the mortal world and decided to visit the land of the Amazons in the guise of a messenger bringing gifts from King Sagellus of Scythia,” he said.

“Why not just travel as yourself?” asked Hippolyta, eagerly leaning into the tale.

He smiled at her. “And what’s the fun of that?” he asked. “After so many aeons, myself is a boring way to travel.”

“Is this”—she pointed at him—“really what you look like then?”

He smiled again and didn’t answer, electing instead to finish his story. “I found the young queen Otrere tending a girl who’d been injured during spear practice. After gently washing and binding the wound, she showed the girl how to protect herself, how to fight without lowering her guard.”

“Funny,” mused Hippolyta, “I can’t think of my mother as a fighter.”

Ares smiled as he remembered. “Never before had I come upon a woman who so perfectly combined both strength and tenderness in her actions and words. I loved her at once, and while I enjoyed the hospitality of her court, I wooed her with all my heart. Only when I had won her love did I reveal my true nature to her.”

“What did she say then?”

Ares grinned. “She laughed. She said she thought a god would be handsomer.”

Hippolyta laughed, too. Then she thought of Apollo, whose beauty outshone the sun. And the golden-haired Laomedon. “I’m glad you’re my father and not Apollo. Or Laomedon,” she said. “Beautiful on the outside, but—”

“Eventually Laomedon will try to cheat the gods once too often,” said Ares with a frown, “and that will be his downfall.”

She glanced over at the sleeping Tithonus, and faint lines appeared on her forehead.

“Don’t worry,” Ares assured her, putting his hand on her arm. “He will be safe and happy and far away from Troy when his father’s downfall happens.”

“And when he is king?”

Area shook his head. “He will never be king of Troy.”

Hippolyta smiled. “That’s all right. He doesn’t want to be king anyway.” She made a strange sound then, half laugh, half sigh. “It’s the fighting, you know. He hates it. Though when he had to, he watched my back and never gave up. And kings need to know how to fight. At least kings of Troy.”

“There will be no peace for Troy, that is certain,” said Ares. “But one day Trojans and Amazons will fight side by side as allies and friends, and that will be because of you.”

“I’m glad,” Hippolyta told him. “I should like to see Dares again, at least, to thank him for his kindness.”

“I have told you more than I should,” Ares said.

Hippolyta heard the caution in his voice. “Bedtime stories, really. Father to daughter.” She leaned over and kissed him on the brow. “Good night.”

Over the remaining three days of the journey Tithonus became his old talkative self once more. He plied Ares with questions about the other gods and told his own stories of life in Troy.

Hippolyta couldn’t help being amused at seeing her father strain to maintain his patience with the continual chatter, and she was sure that the more Tithonus talked, the more Ares urged his horses to greater speed.

When they entered the country of the Amazons at last, Hippolyta was relieved to see that things were back to normal: workers in the fields and armed riders upon the roads. When one of the patrols blocked their way, Ares addressed them imperiously. “I am Polemos, envoy of King Sagellus of Scythia,” he announced in a booming voice. “I am escorting the princess Hippolyta, daughter of Otrere, back to Themiscyra.”

At once the warriors drew aside and let them pass.

“Why didn’t you tell them who you really are?” asked Tithonus.

“When you tell people you’re a god,” Ares explained, “either they take you for a madman and try to lock you up, or they won’t let you pass without accepting gifts and sacrifices. Believe me, it’s a lot simpler just to lie in a loud voice.”

That’s not what he told me, Hippolyta thought, remembering how Ares had said that traveling simply as himself was boring. She wondered where the real truth of it lay. Probably somewhere in between, she thought. Then she realized that was a good definition of a god’s truth.

As they drew closer to Themiscyra, most of the Amazons they passed recognized Hippolyta and called out to her. She pleaded with Ares to stop the chariot so she could speak to them, to ask them about her mother and her sisters.

“We’ll be there soon enough,” he answered.

And with a flick of the reins he redoubled the speed of his horses so that the countryside flew by like a river in torrent. When they finally pulled up before the walls of the city, Hippolyta had to gasp for breath.

Ares gestured for the two children to step down from the chariot.

“But aren’t you coming in with us?” Hippolyta asked.

Ares shook his head. “My business lies elsewhere.”

“But Mother … don’t you want to see her?”

A faraway look passed briefly across Ares’ rugged face. “I can see her as clearly now as the day when first I loved her. But that is in the past and must remain so. Never encourage a god to interfere in your life.” He laughed. “Actually, we don’t need much prompting.”

“Will I see you again?”

“You don’t need to. You don’t need any of the gods. You are free to follow your own path now.”

“What about me?” Tithonus piped up.

“That is for you to decide,” said Ares. “I can take you back to Troy or leave you here. The choice is yours.”

“Choice?” Hippolyta looked at Ares strangely, remembering what he’d said about Tithonus’ future. There was no choice built into that.

As if reading her mind, Ares leaned down across the chariot’s side and said, “There are many different paths to one’s destiny. Do not confuse journey’s end with the journey.”

“Demonassa always said that the gods speak in riddles and not straight on.”

“I am speaking straight on,” Ares told her. “You are not listening.” He stood up again, looking very stern.

And like a god, not like a father, thought Hippolyta, though for her the two were equally distant.

Ares held out his hand, and Hippolyta took it, one warrior to another.

As if he hadn’t heard their conversation, Tithonus looked at Hippolyta and bit his lip. “You promised me I would meet my mother. Last time didn’t count. She was—she was not herself.”

Even now that they were safe, Hippolyta felt a twinge of guilt over how she had deceived Tithonus. “If you come with me into the city now, the Amazons will give you an escort back to Troy later.”

He nodded shyly, and she took his hand.

Ares let out a sudden mighty yell. At once his horses wheeled around and bolted off across, the countryside, leaving a trail of dust hanging in the air to mark their passage.

Only after the sound of that yell had faded did Hippolyta turn and pull Tithonus through the city gates, smiling faintly. She didn’t look back again.

No sooner were they inside the city walls than an escort of Amazons formed around them to lead them to the square before the Temple of Artemis.

There, on a solid wooden throne, Otrere was dispensing justice, her daughters on one side, Demonassa and her acolytes on the other. Behind them a company of armed warriors stood, with hawk-faced Valasca scowling at their fore.

When they saw Hippolyta, Antiope and Melanippe rushed up to hug her. Orithya welcomed her too with a nod.

Then Queen Otrere opened her arms, and Hippolyta rushed into them, burying her face in her mother’s neck, that sweet place where the skin was soft and smelled of spring flowers.

Hippolyta felt overwhelmed, not by grief but by something else. Joy? Relief? She didn’t know. She wept.

“Don’t cry, daughter,” her mother said, pushing her gently away. “The time of weeping is over. The grief that overwhelmed us all has disappeared like a passing shower.” But as she said this, she too wept.

“There’s much work to do after all those days of weeping and wailing,” said Demonassa, stepping forward to add her welcome. “Crops and animals have been neglected, and the whole city is in shambles.”

“But you’re queen again?” Hippolyta asked her mother. “I was prepared to—”

Otrere nodded. “The goddess herself appeared in our midst. She told us that the curse was lifted forever and that there would be no more sacrifice of children, not now or in the future.”

Behind her, Hippolyta heard the sound of a heavy sigh. She knew that sound. It was Tithonus.

Tithonus. She had to introduce him!

But Demonassa was speaking, so Hippolyta held her tongue. Hadn’t her father said there were many paths to one’s destination? She would wait for the explanations to be over.

“Artemis—blessed be—told us that you had fulfilled the quest she had given you to seek out the lost city of Arimaspa,” the priestess was saying. “And that there you fought with the courage of a true Amazon.”

“And look what the goddess left behind,” Antiope added excitedly. She pointed her little finger at the lintel over the door of the temple. A carving had been placed there, wrought in exquisite detail. It was Hippolyta herself, standing over Tithonus and fighting off the gryphons with her ax.

“When I saw this, I knew I had been right to defy a cruel law,” said Otrere, “and I knew that you understood why I did it.”

“Yes, I do,” Hippolyta agreed. “And I’ve brought a surprise back with me: your oldest son, Tithonus.”

Tithonus stepped forward, a bit bashfully, intimidated by the crowd of Amazons who pressed in on every side. Otrere stood up, took a step toward him, then wrapped her arms around him.

A murmur of surprise passed through the square.

Otrere looked around, one arm still resting on her son’s shoulder. “This is something we all must learn,” she said. “It was not love for our sons that brought a curse upon us. It was the vengeful ways of the past, which we will follow no longer.”

She stared hard at Valasca, who slowly lowered her head. “It will be as you say, Otrere,” the warrior queen conceded, “but I shall not abandon my task of protecting our people.”

“Protect our people by all means,” said Otrere, “but not by making war upon our neighbors for no reason other than your desire for battle.”

It was clear from the way the crowd listened to her that Otrere’s authority over the Amazons had been fully restored. Valasca and her small band of followers turned away and left the square. Only Molpadia, her face screwed up in anger, looked back.

“Come, Tithonus,” said Otrere with a smile, “let’s go into the palace, where you and your sister can tell me all about your adventures.”

The boy’s face lit up. “Oh, yes, there’s lots to tell,” he said.

Hippolyta laughed. “I hope you don’t have much else to do today, Mother. This could take quite some time.”