Free Amazon Moon by James A. Haught Page B

looked at craggy Octos and asked:
    "Do you really think that Hera, Aphrodite and Artemis will heal Celeste because goats are stabbed on their altars by their statues?"
    "Fairy tales," he replied with a sour grin. "It's all fairy tales. Every Greek prays his rump off to different gods, and covers their altars with blood, and consults the oracles, but it never produces any results. It's just mumbo-jumbo that the priests use to exalt themselves over everyone else."
    I grinned with him. I admired old Octos because he saw human follies.
    Two days later came news that Celeste had died. Mournful Amazons carried her to the burial knoll. I was among slaves sent to dig her grave. When I returned, I looked at Octos knowingly.
    "You were right about the god magic. Didn't help a bit."
    He shrugged.
    But I wasn't quite as skeptical as Octos. As a young seeker of truth, I puzzled over baffling questions. The next day I voiced my perplexity:
    "Octos, the ferns on the creek bank have perfect symmetry, like lace. They are pure green beauty. And acorns in the oak trees are wonderful little creations, bearing future giant oaks within them. And butterflies in the horse pasture have marvelous patterns. And the union of a man and woman produces a tiny baby of such flawless design that it may grow into Alexander the Great or Aristotle or Helen of Troy. What made all these wonders? If Zeus didn't do it, who did?"
    The one-legged slave looked at me with respect, knowing that I was wrestling with a profound quandary. He spoke carefully and slowly:
    "I don't know. Nobody really knows. Priests claim to know, but they don’t. An honest person can say only that nature makes many miracles, but we cannot know what created nature. We simply must accept it as a mystery beyond our grasp."
    His reply didn't answer my puzzle, yet it gave me comfort.
    * * *
    The War Queen trained her fighters almost daily. In the morning coolness, they ran up embankments, leaped across gullies, climbed trees, bounced in calisthenics, practiced archery and javelin-throwing, and drilled in mock combat with wooden swords. Occasionally they saddled horses and practiced galloping warfare.
    One morning, near their hillside training place, I gathered firewood for the bakery. As the perspiring women rested during a break, I heard the queen lecture them:
    "Never forget: male warriors are selected from the biggest brutes in the land. They are twice as heavy and twice as strong as you. If you fight them directly, you will be killed. That is why we use cunning. We attack at night when they are unclothed and unarmed. In daytime fighting, always avoid one-on-one combat. Use arrows from a distance, or javelins. If you cannot stay out of a man's reach, attack in pairs from two sides. If he turns to face one of you, the other can strike him from behind."
    After their drill, the women went to the pool, peeled off their damp clothing, and washed it as they frolicked in the water. From a distance I watched their shiny wet bodies.
    On some evenings the Amazons gathered for communal dinner outside the Home Queen's quarters. Then the warriors entertained everyone with combat competitions. Jewelry from caravan raids was awarded as prizes to the best archer, best javelin-thrower, and the like. We slaves watched from afar. The competition with wooden swords was violent. We saw the trainee Mitha knocked unconscious by a ferocious sword whack that slipped past her shield. The War Queen poured water on her from a gourd, then the group cheered as she sat up, groggy.
    * * *
    One afternoon, as I sat in dirt weeding the bean patch, I was approached by both the Home Queen and War Queen.
    "We are going to reprieve you from the mud for half of each day," Hella said. "We need your scribe skills. We want you to record our Amazon history, and also teach our women and girls to read and write. No Greek females are allowed such learning, but we are nobler than the Greeks. Mornings, you must continue field work;