The chariots and cavalry continued on through Athens, around the north side of the Acropolis and out the Sacred Gate. The cavalry mounts were returned to their pastures on the east side of the city by waiting slaves, while the young cavalrymen walked back to their homes to change out of their armor and join their families. The chariots were led back to the racing stables built beside the great Gymnasium of Hercules outside the Dipylon Gate, each driver pampering his steeds like spoiled children, cooing and caressing them as they were rubbed down and fed. Some even refused to go back into the city, but laid out a pallet in the stalls, afraid to leave their prized thoroughbreds for even a moment in the last days before the races, lest a rival sabotage them with bad feed or a strategically placed stone in a hoof. Not an unheard of event with so much wealth being wagered on the outcome of every race.

The people of Athens, feeling sanctified and cleansed, connected again to the goddess who was their patron and protector, her good graces secured for another year by their proper performance of the required rituals and ceremonies, were in a happy holiday mood. Keola and Oresta made their way into the broad open expanse of the Agora, the many kiosks all closed, for this was a day of rest and celebration, not commerce. Everywhere people were gathering in groups of extended family and friends, the women sitting on the ground in circles, toddlers and infants held close by doting mothers and aunts and grandmothers, the men in clumps large and small, talking, sometimes arguing, about the issues of the day, or the betting odds on the games and races of the coming two days, or who their favorite play write was and why his new play would win the laurel wreath in the coming competition. After some idle searching, Keola’s attention fixed more on the beautiful cement and marble buildings that formed the boundaries of the market than on finding anyone, Oresta picked out Xenophon standing on the first step of the Painted Stoa on the north side of the Agora. At his feet sat Darius, Festus, his three sons and several other men. The old man seemed to be in the middle of a speech, which was being received with limited enthusiasm by his audience. A few feet away the wives and their personal servants sat in a circle, the infants quietly fed by hired wet nurses, loose smocks off their shoulders and down at their waists, large milk gorged breasts exposed as they earned their wage. Past them sat a larger group, men and women mixed together, the slaves of Xenophon’s stable. Racing around and among them a laughing, squealing pack of children played tag. Keola recognized the little girl she had entertained with her hoop tricks. She was dressed in a pale blue smock, black hair pulled back in a ponytail tied with a strip of blue cloth. However, dirty hands, feet and face made a mockery of a poor mother’s attempt at dressing her up for the occasion. She stopped in her running to smile a shy smile of recognition at the Amazon, who smiled back.

"Oresta! Keola!" the old man greeted warmly, "come and join us. We were discussing the ridiculous odds they’ve posted on the chariot races."

Darius looked up at his employer.

"Doesn’t the word ‘discussion’ suggest more than one person talking," the Babylonian said, "or maybe I misunderstand that difficult Greek word?"

There was a murmur of laughter. Xenophon ignored it. He introduced his sons to Keola. Each rose to clasp her offered arm. They were long used to the unusual and unexpected people their father befriended, and registered little surprise at making the acquaintance of an actual Amazon. In truth they would have hardly raised an eyebrow if one day Xenophon brought to their homes a centaur and a flock of griffins for them to meet.

The old man clapped a hand on the blonde’s shoulder.

"Tell them I’m right," he said heartily. "They respect your opinion. Tell them two to one on Pelops is outrageous."

Oresta had a definite view on the subject and no reservations about sharing it. Quickly a lively ‘discussion’ developed, with much gesturing and a slowly rising volume as everyone weighed in with an opinion. Everyone but Keola, who knew nothing about odds, chariot racing or the passionate fascination these people shared about them. She followed as best she could, nodding when it seemed appropriate. She did notice however that when Oresta spoke the men shut up and listened. Her observations carried weight.

Suddenly the Amazon felt a tug on the back of her tunic. She turned to find a familiar small face framed by black hair peering up at her.

"My... my Lady," the girl said haltingly. "Would you do your trick again please, my Lady. Some of my friends want to see it." Her large round eyes beseeched. "Please?"

Keola looked over to see half a dozen children watching her expectantly, one of them holding a hoop. The look on their faces and the distance they kept said they were ready to abandon a perhaps unwilling emissary to her fate and run if the strange, imposing female warrior took offense at their boldness in requesting such a favor.

"Well, I don’t know, that’s a very special trick," Keola said slowly, face serious. "I only do it on very special occasions."

The girl’s face fell. Suddenly the Amazon snapped her up and settled her on a hip.

"I only do it when a beautiful little miss asks me to," Keola grinned, tickling small ribs. The girl squirmed and giggled happily.

The conversation turned to politics and rumor. Xenophon’s middle son Aspixalus repeated the scandalous gossip that Alcibiedes the Younger had spent almost half a talent on an extravagant dinner party and symposium for the richest men of the city, to enlist their support in his plan for launching the fleet on an expedition against Syracuse, with himself, of course, in command. The truly interesting part of the gossip was the titillating news that the luminous Naetera herself was there, using her considerable charm on Alcibiedes behalf to persuade reluctant citizens of the rightness of her lover’s policy.

"How typical," Timaeus, the eldest son, huffed. "The old fart has the most beautiful courtesan since Lady Aspasia was in her prime all to himself and he’s so obsessed with being First Citizen he passes her around like a two dinar flute girl just to advance his career."

"Yes, how typical," Darius agreed wholeheartedly. "However," a wicked glint came to his eye as he cocked his head, "if Baal in his wisdom had chosen to make me wealthy, I would not have refused an invitation to Alcibiedes symposium."

There was a burst of laughter and appreciative nods. Oresta snorted in derision. She turned to ask Keola what she thought of democracy in action and was surprised to find her gone. She scanned quickly about till she found her. The Amazon warrior was upside down in a handstand, surrounded by a dozen laughing, jabbering children, some falling on their heads or tumbling over in summersaults as they tried to emulate her. Keola leaned right and balanced for a long moment on one hand before losing her equilibrium, rolling gracefully and coming to her feet. The children clustered around instantly begging her to do another trick. The bright smile on the Amazon’s face was evidence enough of how much she was enjoying herself. Oresta smiled to see it. The blonde noticed as well the reactions of the other people watching; Philestra, her daughters-in-law, the family slaves. They were laughing also. But it was not the raucous, superior laughter directed at a simple buffoon entertaining children. She could see on their faces that they felt it too, the attraction, the charisma, of the woman. The graceful power, the energy, the smile that glowed with goodwill, the eyes that sparkled with intelligence. They did not laugh at her, they basked in the moment with her, feeling her pleasure.

"The god’s touch with magic their chosen one’s, surrounding them with an aura that sets them apart," Oresta remembered Sensua, the croaking little toad who fancied herself a seer, telling her once. "They are the torches who light up the dark night for all the rest."

Sensua was convinced her son had that aura. That the gods of earth and fire had marked him for greatness. But the blonde knew better. People respected her mountain of a husband, and feared him, with reason. But people did not follow him, because he did not want to lead. His greatest desire was to be left alone. She had once admired that in him, the courage to turn his back on what others expected and follow his own path. But she had come with time to see the courage as cowardice, and to despise it.

Keola noticed Oresta watching her.

"I know, I know, I promised to behave myself," the Amazon grinned sheepishly. "When will I grow up?"

"The question isn’t when, Amazon, it’s if," Oresta said with a shake of her head, "if you grow up."

Keola twisted her expressive face into a theatrical frown.

"Now that was uncalled for," she huffed with mock anger and hurt. "I think there’s an excellent chance I will turn into a very fine grownup. A grownup any mother could be proud of." She looked around at the small faces shinning up at her. Her smile reappeared. There was an unexpected hint of sadness in it. "But being a grownup is vastly overrated. It takes away all your friends. I can’t see any reason I should hurry. Tomorrow will be soon enough." The smile brightened, shadow disappearing. "Or perhaps next week would be even better. Till then," she suddenly crouched, challenge in her eyes as she scanned her eager followers, "let’s see who can catch me."

She burst out of the circle of children, took three quick steps, exploded into the air in a tight forward summersault, landed lightly and continued on at a quick jog. The children chased after, a squealing, laughing pack of cubs bounding after a mother wolf. Oresta chuckled with disbelief at the sight. She could hear the men behind her laughing quietly as well. She turned to find Xenophon eyeing her intently.

"She really is quite special, isn’t she?" he said.

The blonde started to say something glib and deprecating. Nothing came out. She bit her lip and rubbed the back of her neck.

"Yes," she whispered finally, "yes she is."

The old man nodded slightly.

"I’m pleased to see that you noticed," he murmured, loud enough for only her ears to hear.

Criers came through the Agora announcing the tribe of Diogenae should come to the kettles to receive their portion of Athena’s sacred meal. Xenophon gathered up his family, friends and dependents and led them through the market and around the Acropolis to the dozens of steaming cauldrons boiling the meat of the sacrificed animals. The victims had been killed, skinned, chopped up and dumped into the kettles without regard for what was good meat or bad, bone or gristle. The religious significance of the celebration and sacrifice was that on this sacred day of Athena’s birth each resident of Athens, slave or free, rich or poor, foreigner or native born, should receive an equal portion of her bounty, for by honoring her all received an equal portion of her goodwill and blessing. Before reaching the cauldrons everyone passed by carts piled high with round, thick, flat, unleavened slices of wheat bread baked hard. Provided at public expense, they were passed out to be used as plates for the meat. At each kettle an official, a citizen chosen by lot, stood by to make sure each person received an equal amount by weight. A weight established by law and enforced by a careful weighing with a scale if anyone questioned whether he was getting his proper portion. However, no effort was made to see that each person received an edible piece of flesh. Some unlucky people found only a hoof or a pile of gristle or fat on their plate. No one had the bad grace to complain. It was the participation as a community, the sharing of a meal all together, under Athena’s benevolent gaze, that mattered. For one day wealth, prestige, class, were set aside as all Athenians shared in the simple act of eating together as a family.

Keola handed her plate to the man standing by the steaming kettle. Another man stabbed into the boiling broth with a sharpened stake and pulled up a slab of meat attached to a rib. A third man cut off a large slice of beef, along with some bone and cartilage and laid it on the bread. Oresta received a hunk of the same rib. However her portion was made up mostly of fat and muscle, with very little tender meat. The Amazon compared her plate with the blonde’s.

"I’d offer to trade," she said, a sly twinkle in her eyes, "but I’m reluctant to disturb the workings of your great clock. Besides, I’ve heard chewing fat can be very healthy for the teeth and gums."

The end of Oresta’s mouth curled up.

"I know you think you’re clever, Amazon," she said dismissively, "but if you look closer you’ll see that things have worked just as they were meant to."

"Oh? How so?" Keola asked.

A slight smile came to the blonde’s lips.

"Because," she said, "everyone knows children need more food if they are to develop. No, you go ahead and eat. I wouldn’t think of depriving a growing girl of a meal. I still have hope you’ll make a passable adult one day."

"Uh huh," Keola grunted. "Fuck you," she mouthed silently.

"Not when I’m eating." Oresta replied.

They shared a smile.

Everyone returned to the Painted Stoa, the walk giving the food time to cool. What was edible was consumed. What was not was tossed on the ground, to be picked over by the dogs, pets, mongrels, that prowled among the throng, Athens efficient garbage disposal system. The bread plates, softened by the broth and blood that they had soaked up, were then eaten. Food was too precious a commodity for any of it to be wasted. When they finished Oresta stood up off the step they were sitting on and wiped her greasy fingers on her breeches.

"Do you want to go inside?" she asked with a nod of her head toward the Stoa.

"We’re allowed to just walk in?" Keola said, surprised.

"It’s a public building," the blonde replied. "Anything built here with public money is open to everyone. Except for the Temples on the Acropolis. Only citizens may enter them."

Keola looked back at the structure, a long narrow portico at the top of half a dozen marble steps, eight fluted doric columns spaced evenly across the porch. Between the second and third and sixth and seventh columns were doorless entrances. The stone walls were painted gray, with blue bordering along the top and bottom, black geometric patterns incorporated into the borders.

"What’s inside?" Keola asked.

"Come and find out," the blonde replied as she touched the Amazon’s arm and started up the steps.

A slow rush of air escaped Keola’s lips as she stood just inside the entrance.

"Incredible," she murmured.

Oresta nodded.

"That’s what I said, the first time I saw it," she agreed.

The long wall opposite was covered with paintings, individual works of art created on square wooden canvasses nine feet tall and hung high on the wall near the ceiling, so high they dominated over their viewers. Windows opened to a different world, a different reality. Against the wall opposite the paintings were exquisitely carved marble benches for visitors to sit and contemplate the works, flanked by statues of the most wonderous subtly and craft, men and women, gods and goddess‘, painted to look so life-like it was as if they were permanent patrons, there to marvel for eternity at the beauty before them.

Eagerly, reverentially, Keola went to the nearest end of the building and began working her way along, absorbing completely each work of art, examining minutely every detail. The paintings alternated in theme. Landscapes of sea and sky and mountain, breathtaking in color and texture, shading and light. Scenes of myth and history. Hercules in all his manly glory performing his great labors. Odysseus lashed to the mast of his ship in an agony of longing as he listened to the sirens song, his crew rowing frantically, their ears stopped with wax. Jason standing on the prow of the Argo, brow furrowed in contemplation of the twists of fate and the whims of the gods. The warriors of Athens charging onto the Persians at Marathon. Keola stood close and read the emotion in the face of every combatant, fear, pain, triumph, despair. Oresta at first looked at the paintings as well. But she knew them by heart, having spent many an afternoon, alone, memorizing each one, trying almost unconsciously to fill up the empty places inside her with their beauty. Soon her attention was drawn only to the Amazon. The excitement she saw in that tan visage, the intensity of feeling and concentration in those brown eyes, they brought every painting alive again, as if she were viewing it for the first time reflected in those russet orbs. Finally they reached the last work. Keola’s eyebrows knitted together with the dismayed shock of recognition.

"Those are supposed to be Amazons, aren’t they?" she asked, offended pride coming through in her manner. As if the blonde were somehow responsible.

"Yep," Oresta nodded, looking at the work. "It’s the Athenian hero Theseus battling the wild, ferocious, barbarian Amazons."

The blonde smiled her cynical sarcastic smile.

"He defeated them and captured the proud, haughty Amazon Queen and made her his wife. She bore him many proud, fierce sons to carry on his line. Apparently Amazon Queens make fine brood mares and are highly sought after by Athenian heroes. Theseus was fortunate one was available and in season when he came looking. I shudder to think what atrocities a sexually frustrated hero might be capable of. I would imagine when they have a case of the blue balls the whole world suffers."

"Uh, huh," Keola said slowly, face dead pan. "I must have missed something when we were studying the history of our people. I don’t remember anything about Athenian heroes or a captured Queen."

"Perhaps you were absent that day," Oresta suggested helpfully. "Or asleep. I know studying history always put me to sleep. More than once Ortigya saved me from a birching by Daria the Gymnasium Mistress with a kick in the shins. Ever since, whenever anyone starts talking about history, I get an ache in my leg."

"Are you sure she wasn’t kicking you in the head?" the Amazon asked while continuing to study the painting. "It would explain a lot."

"Fuck you, Keola," Oresta answered.

Keola glanced quickly around, then resumed her examination.

"Too many people," she said. "I like a little privacy when I fuck."

"I’ll remember that," the blonde replied.

"I’m sure you will," the Amazon answered.

The two women smiled without looking at each other.

Keola’s attention, however, remained firmly fixed on the painting. Theseus stood on a boulder on a rocky hillside. In full armor and helmet with golden crest, a hopolite shield strapped to his left arm, sword raised in his right hand, he prepared to slay a half naked Amazon as she attempted to scramble up the rock to stab him with the long knife in her fist. Scattered around and below him a dozen female warriors climbed the hill to attack. Some were armed with a bow, others a sword or knife. All were barefoot and without armor. A few were nude, the rest clothed only in rough, torn, ill fitting tunics that exposed more than they covered, uncivilized barbarians. And in each woman’s face, all unique in feature and shading, was the same erotically charged, feral ferociousness. Animals on the prowl. Prowling for what? Blood? Sexual conquest? Both? The genius of the artist made any interpretation possible. The Amazon studied every detail, completely absorbed in thought. Oresta looked with her.

"What are you thinking?" the blonde finally asked.

Keola absently rubbed her cheek.

"Have you ever heard the old saying ‘familiarity breeds contempt’?" she asked seriously.

Oresta nodded.

"I wonder how true it is," the Amazon murmured.

The blonde cocked her head slightly and bit her lip.

"They are beautiful and dangerous and frightening, aren’t they?" she observed. "Who wouldn’t be terrified of such creatures. They’re a man’s worst nightmare come true. Such an image would certainly make a safe hiding place."

The Amazon nodded.

"But I think familiarity only breeds contempt when the contempt is merited." Oresta continued. "It can breed respect and friendship too. In the end, Amazon, we get what we deserve."

"Yes," Keola said thoughtfully, "yes, that’s what I think too."

The Amazon studied the painting a few moments more, rubbing her chin. A sparkle came to her eyes.

"The artist certainly has a interesting conception of Amazon warriors," she observed wryly. "Apparently modesty is not a virtue among us."

Oresta smiled.

"Just a man being a man," she said. "Those are his wet dream women. The ones he lusts after in his fantasies at night when he’s pleasuring himself. Men are like that. Their eyes are directly connected to their cocks, with nothing in between. It’s all appearance for them. They have no ability to appreciate a woman’s more subtle attractions. This fellow probably drew those women by attaching a brush to his cock and letting it do the work while he stood there eating an apple and admiring the result."

Keola snickered.

"Still," the Amazon said, head cocking slightly to one side, "I wouldn’t mind an introduction to that one on the far right, with the bow. She’s kind of cute."

"You think so?" the blonde frowned. "A little too much chest if you ask me."

"There’s nothing wrong with a full breast," the Amazon protested. "My Sara had a nice pair, full and firm and perfect for squeezing, yet softer than any pillow for laying your head on and gazing at the stars at night."

Oresta shrugged non-commitally.

Keola nudged her with an elbow and pointed.

"However, everything in moderation," she said in a low voice, "I mean, what’s with that one coming up behind Theseus? Is she going to stab him with that knife in her hand or beat him to death with those enormous tits?"

Oresta burst out in a loud ringing laugh, one that Keola joined. Other patrons of the Stoa stopped their contemplations to stare quizzically at the strange women and wonder what could be so humorous about Ariphanes master work ‘Theseus and the Amazons’.

Chapter

Most people, if they did not have something important to do, went to bed with the setting sun. Candles were expensive and they smoked up a room and covered the walls with a layer of soot. A certain sign of conspicuous wealth was a home lit up at all hours of the night. The owner had money to waste on a luxury like wax and enough underemployed slaves to assign some of them the job of doing little but fashioning candles, keeping them lit and washing the walls each morning. The rich were separated from the poor in Athens not by distance, it was a relatively small city surrounded by defensive walls, space always at a premium, a wealthy man’s home hardly bigger than a poor man’s and exclusive suburbs for the well-to-do non-existant, but by time. Poor people, most people, used the darkness as Great Zeus the Creator intended, for sleeping. A few people, wealthy people, slept a large part of the day and moved about at night, a slave with a torch lighting the way down dark deserted streets from one island of illumination to another, to visit, party, drink, and, it was assumed by all the poor of Athens, plot and scheme some political intrigue to stab each other in the back, or more likely, to chip away at the cherished rights of ordinary citizens. The great majority of Athenians had a deep, innate distrust of the darkness and the people who lived in it. One of the sayings of the city, so old no one knew when it was first spoken, was ‘good men make fair bargains at noon, wicked men make mischief at midnight’.

"Good men make fair bargains at noon, wicked men make mischief at midnight," Oresta whispered to herself. It was past midnight. Well past. Keola pulled the blanket they shared up and tried to quietly slip back onto the pallet without disturbing the blonde.

"So, have you finally tucked the Ambassador safely into bed?" Oresta said, her back to the Amazon. "I’m sure she was touched at your concern, waiting up half the night like this."

"I’m sorry if I woke you," Keola apologized.

For the first time Oresta rolled over to face the Amazon in the dark. It was so unexpected, the feel of her skin, a breast pressed against her arm, that a little start of electricity jolted through Keola. There was a moment of simple exhilaration, a silly giddy feeling that instantly turned to embarrassment. She prayed the blonde had not felt the quiver in her body.

"Did she bring anyone interesting home with her?" Oresta asked.

"No, she was alone," Keola answered, relieved the blonde had not noticed.

"That’s disappointing," Oresta said. "It’s hard to believe a woman as handsome and accomplished as Artemisia of Trikkala couldn’t find someone to help warm her bed. I mean, that is why you were spying on her, isn’t it? To see who our good Ambassador opens her legs for? Or was there something else you expected to see tonight?"

"I...," Keola rubbed her furrowed brow, "I don’t know what I expected to see. Nothing I guess. It’s just..." her voice lowered to a distracted mumble, "it’s just I don’t like any of this."

"Then ask her where she was," the blonde suggested matter-of-factly.

Keola snorted.

"And let her know I’m watching her? That kind of defeats the purpose of spying doesn’t it? I mean, I wouldn’t get to squat in a dark corner half the night listening to the crickets anymore. I’d miss that."

Oresta put her hand on the Amazon’s arm and brought her mouth close to her ear.

"Sometimes, Keola," she whispered, "the best way to hunt a bird is not to sit and watch it flit in the bushes, it’s to startle it out and see which way it flies."

"Uh, huh" the Amazon said slowly, considering, "maybe."

"Anyway, enough Amazon mysteries for one night," the blonde continued, "I’m tired. Good night."

"Good night, Oresta, sorry about waking you," Keola apologized again.

The blonde rolled on her back. Her arm still rubbed against Keola’s. She started to roll on over to her side, but suddenly stopped. She bit her lip in that nervous habit. It felt good, the feel of the Amazon there at her side in the darkness, the softness of her skin, the animal heat of her body. The blackness was not empty and cold, it was full and warm. She closed her eyes. Only the dead can be trusted. A spark of rebellion erupted in her brain. She was sick of that phrase. She could not remember where she had first heard it but she cursed the day she had. She refused to move. With a conscious act of will she did not turn away. She lay still and felt the slow movement of Keola’s breathing. She let herself sense the vibration of life. Intimate contact with a person who brought out emotions she thought lost. Attachment, attraction. It was frightening and wonderful and... frightening. All her instincts said it was time to get up and run. Enough of this. But she did not run, she did not move, she did not sleep. She lay still and felt the warmth of a human being she cared about. Keola did not sleep either. She kept waiting for the moment when the blonde would turn her back to her again. When the shield would go up to keep her at a distance. They lay side by side all night, each assuming the other was asleep, but both determined not to move, because to touch this person was warm, and they were both so tired of the cold.

Chapter

The man’s head snapped violently, a fine mist of crimson droplets filling the air in a cloud around the point of impact. He staggered back several steps, then instinctively threw himself forward, trying desperately to grapple the man in front of him in a bear hug. The boxer would have none of it. He muscled his opponent away with a shove to the chest. He landed another short right hand to the face. Blood sprayed out again from the broken nose. The man’s legs wobbled, then turned limp as fresh soaked noodles. He collapsed straight down, his torso bouncing on the hard packed ground before he fell over senseless on his side. The crowd jumped to its feet from the temporary bleachers that ringed three sides of the boxing circle in a resounding roar of exaltation, or dismay, depending on how they had wagered. The official in the ring with his long staff pulled the victor away as he raised his weary arms in triumph. The trainers of the vanquished rushed to his side to revive him with water poured in his face and a swig of vinegary wine.

The boxers fought clothed only in a leather belt and a flax loincloth pulled back over their private parts and up the crack of their buttocks like a thong. Each fighter had his hands wrapped in strips of wool covered by strips of leather. At the Olympics, where women were not allowed, they would have competed nude. But in Athens, before ‘metic’ and slave women, a certain sense of modesty was necessary. It was best not to arouse an excess of unseemly female lust by displaying too much of the perfection of the male form. Proper Athenian women did not attend of course. Foreign and slave women, however, were not expected to maintain the same high standards of proper conduct as native females since, obviously, they were not Athenian and did not know any better. The people of Athens prided themselves on the liberality with which they tolerated the uncouth ignorance of outsiders.

The fight had lasted almost ten candlemarks. There were no rounds or rest periods. It continued until one of the boxers was knocked off his feet or knelt down on one knee as a sign of submission. In a few famous instances a fight lasted half a day or more. The rules were simple. No eye gouging, head butting, biting, punches to the testicles or kicking. The official in the ring charged with enforcing order did so with his staff, giving a nasty, welt raising crack on the back or arm to a boxer who violated the rules, and disqualifying a contestant if the foul was egregious. Men who chose boxing as their sport were easy to identify. Crooked noses, scarred faces, missing teeth, cauliflower ears, it was not for nothing that a common insult was to call someone ‘ugly as a boxer’.

"Damn," Oresta said as the crowd settled down and she and the Amazon resumed their seats on the next to last row of bleachers. "I really expected Orex to win that fight. I’m glad I didn’t have a chance to bet before we got here."

"You would have bet on him?" Keola said, surprised. "It was plain to me after the first few moments only a lucky punch could save him."

"Is that right?" Oresta challenged. "Well, I’ll have you know I’ve watched Orex put more than a few men on their back. He’s the hardest puncher I’ve ever seen. He’d put you to sleep soon enough."

"Yeah, if I was stupid enough to let him hit me," the Amazon agreed sarcastically. "You could see from the start that other fellow was quicker than that lumbering, heavy armed ox. And he knew how to use it. It was only a matter of time. Speed always trumps brute power, Oresta. Speed is the killer."

"Gods, listen to this one, like she knows anything," the man crowded next to Keola said loudly. He took another squirt of wine from the skin he held and handed it to the man on the other side of him. "Orex should have won. That bastard Felix fouled him a dozen times and that fucking official let him get away with it. He probably got paid off." The man rose halfway from his seat, putting his hand on the head of the boy in front of him to steady himself, pushing the lad down. "It was all fucking rigged!" he shouted. "Just like it always is! There hasn’t been an honest contest in this city in years!!"

Keola grabbed the man’s wrist and yanked his hand off the boy.

"What the..." the man lurched sideways, pulling his arm away, glaring furiously at the Amazon. "Get your hands off me you fucking freak!" he snarled. He drew himself up to his full height, staring haughtily down at Keola who remained seated. "I’m an Athenian citizen, woman!" he shouted. "You don’t put your hands on me! This is my city!" He paused, his expression changing to one of pure contempt. "What kind of ’metic’ trash are you anyway? Dressed up like a damn man. The men must be pussies where you come from, pussies who can’t control their women." He pushed the Amazon on the shoulder, challenge in his eyes. "You hear me, trash? Keep your hands off. Go back to whatever freak show you," he glanced at Oresta, "and your friend escaped from and leave honest citizens alone."

Keola’s face was expressionless, except for the hot iron glow in her eyes.

"I was just saying to my friend I think speed kills," she said slowly, an eerie calm to her voice. "You don’t agree?"

The mild response took the man by surprise. He was ready for cringing fear or female hysterics. He was not sure what to make of this.

"I know speed kills me, Damocles," the man with the wineskin smirked. "It kills me that I pay my two obols down at Demosthene’s and Pharinia has me cuming almost before I can drop my breeches. I’m in and out of there so fast I still don’t know what her ass looks like. It’s just a blur bouncing against my crotch."

"It’s fat," Damocles laughed harshly. "You don’t want to see it."

He eyed the Amazon a moment, then sat.

"Speed is all show, woman," he said. He pounded his fist into his palm. "It’s power that makes the difference. If you knew anything you’d know that. If you can sit here and keep your hands off me and your mouth shut I’ll teach you a thing or two about boxing."

"Uh, huh," Keola grunted.

She put her hand out, palm up, over Damocles lap.

"Put your hand over mine," she instructed quietly.

"What’s this about?" the man said suspiciously. "I’m not a child to play stupid games."

"It’s just a test," Keola answered. "Put your hand over mine and grab it. Show me how strong you are. It’ll teach me something. I’m eager to learn from an expert like you."

Damocles hesitated.

"You’re not afraid are you?"

The low growl in the Amazon’s tone did send a momentary chill up the man’s spine. It was immediately replaced by anger. This damn woman needed a lesson. Her insolence was becoming insufferable. He put his hand over hers.

"Grab it when you’re ready," Keola said.

Damocles glanced at the Amazon. He snapped his hand down and shut. It grasped nothing. In a breathtaking instant Keola snatched the man’s ear, yanked his head down to her lap and put the point of the knife from her boot expertly against his jugular. Damocles gasped in shock, pain and surprise.

"Now, young man," the Amazon rumbled, "you’ll close your foul mouth and open your ears and listen." She twisted Damocles ear till he was certain it was about to come off in her hand, yet he did not move a muscle, for he could feel the blood pulsing past the knife at his throat as his heart raced with fear. "Since you sat down here you’ve harassed, embarrassed and spoken disrespectfully to the young lady in front of us. Put unwanted hands on her son. Spilled wine on several people. Used vulgar, abusive language and insulted my friend and me. Whether your lack of manners is from ignorance or willfulness I cannot guess but I’ve had enough. Since you will not behave like a civilized person it is time for you to leave."

The Amazon stood up, dragging Damocles up with her, knife still at his throat.

"Excuse me," she said politely to the people behind her, a thin old man with snow white hair and beard and a younger man dressed in the flowing gray robes of Phonicia. They leaned apart to make a gap.

"Now get out of here!" Keola barked as she took the knife from Damocles throat and shoved with all her might. The man tumbled over the top bench of the bleachers and somersaulted to the ground, landing with a painful thud on his butt.

Damocles companion had watched all this with a stunned look on his face, hardly believing what he was seeing. Finally some sense of comradeship exerted itself. What would people think if he did nothing while a woman humiliated his friend? He reached out and grabbed a handful of Keola’s tunic at the shoulder.

"Who do you think you are, bitch!" he half growled, half shouted.

The Amazon snatched the man’s wrist and turned it over. His elbow torqued till it was on the point of snapping. The man gasped in pain as his head banged on the bench while he tried desperately to turn himself upside down to keep his arm from breaking.

"Can I have the wineskin?" Oresta asked blandly.

"What?" Keola blurted, so surprised by the unexpected question that some of the glow in her eyes faded.

"The wineskin," the blonde repeated. "I’m thirsty. Can I have it?"

Oresta reached across Keola and yanked the skin the man still clutched from his hand.

"Have a nice trip," she said with mocking solicitude. "Watch that first step though."

The glow faded from the Amazon’s eyes. She had to struggle not to smile. She twisted the man’s arm behind him. With a grunt she shoved him over the top bleacher. He managed, like a cat, to land on his feet before falling to his hands and knees, narrowly missing his companion. Damocles struggled up holding his aching back and checking his ear to be sure it was still attached.

"You bitch! You fucking bitch!" he shouted furiously, face red. "There are laws in this city! I’ll have you before the court! I’ll see you whipped and thrown out of Athens! You can’t treat honest citizens like this!"

Keola stared down impassively. Oresta stood up, took two dinars from her coin pouch and tossed them down at the man’s feet.

"Gentlemen," she said grandly, "the battle is over. An Athenian citizen is generous in victory and noble in defeat. Don’t bring shame on your city by sputtering empty threats like a spoiled child. Now go and get another skin and drink it somewhere else. If you want to stand before the court I’ll bring my friend Isocrates. When he’s done you’ll be lucky not to be flogged and banished yourselves. Now go while your balls are still attached. Everyone knows how Amazons like them as an appetizer before dinner."

"Amazons?!" Damocles scoffed. "There aren’t any fucking Amazons. I’m not a country hick you..."

The other man, back on his feet, shoved Damocles.

"Go on," he said. "Go!"

Damocles hesitated. The look he saw in his friend’s face convinced him. It was time to go.

"Fucking Amazon my ass," he mumbled as he walked unsteadily away, rubbing his sore ear.

The man picked up the coins and started after him. He stopped and looked back. For a long moment he just stared. An Amazon? Could it be? It was a sight he wanted to remember. A sight to tell his grandchildren about one day. Then he was gone.

Keola made a slight bow.

"I apologize, sirs, for the unpleasantness," she said.

The Phonecian did not respond, thunderstruck by it all. Keola took note of the other man. Despite the body made frail and wrinkled by time there was a look in the pale gray eyes; calm, steady, unafraid.

"I agree with you, young warrior," he said, voice soft with age, "my experience has been the same. It is speed that kills."

The Amazon bowed again, deeper, head down. A sign of respect. The old man acknowledged it with a nod of appreciation to an honor given. As they sat the young woman in front of Keola turned.

"I...I just want...say to you thanks for..." she struggled in heavily accented Greek.

The Amazon smiled and shushed her with a finger.

"The next match is starting. You’ll miss it," she said.

The boy, nine or ten, grinned shyly.

"Are you an Amazon? Truly? An Amazon?" he asked eagerly, hardly a trace of accent in his words. "Have you killed many men in battle? Were you going to kill that man?"

"Judas!" his mother admonished.

Keola’s expression changed. A slight blush came to her face.

"No," she said defensively, "no, I wasn’t going to kill him. He was just drunk and rude. He needed to go. I wasn‘t going to kill him." The smile, the dazzling, charismatic smile suddenly burst out. "Let’s not talk of such things and spoil this beautiful day shall we? Let’s just enjoy the next bout." She leaned forward and tousled the boy’s curly black hair affectionately. "Okay, Judas?"

The boy smiled back. It disappeared as his mother whispered hotly in his ear in a language the Amazon did not understand. He meekly turned around.

After everyone had settled back to watching the boxing Keola leaned toward Oresta.

"You know, you’re not helping things," she said in a low voice.

Oresta swallowed her fourth mouthful of wine.

"Of course not. I never help things. It’s against my fanatically held religious beliefs," the blonde said. "Uh, what am I not helping?"

"Telling people Amazons eat men’s balls. There are enough wild stories about us." Keola answered.

"Oh..., well..., I was just speaking on a metaphorical level," Oresta replied. "You know, that by beating the snot out of them you were symbolically emasculating them. Perhaps I wasn’t clear about that." She shrugged. "If I see them again I’ll apologize for the confusion."

The end of the blonde’s mouth curled up in her habitual knowing smirk.

"Uh, huh." Keola grunted.

Oresta took several more big mouthfuls of wine then handed the skin to Keola. The Amazon took a small squirt.

"So who is this mighty Isocrates you mentioned?" she asked.

"The best court orator in Athens," the blonde explained. "He writes the oration that a plaintiff before the court reads to convince a jury of the justice of their complaint or the accused reads to prove their innocence. What’s hilarious is when he writes the speech for both the plaintiff and the defendant in the same case. However the jury votes he wins. That’s a man who knows how to play the odds. He’s my hero." She grinned her cynical grin at Keola. "After Hermes of course."

"Of course," Keola repeated. "Well, I can certainly see where having such a friend would be helpful."

Oresta’s grin faded.

"He’s not my friend," she said matter-of-factly, coldly. "He just owes me money."

It made the Amazon sad, to see the hardness in the blonde’s eyes as she said it. She took another small squirt of wine. She was about to hand the skin back to Oresta when suddenly she turned to the old man behind her.

"Sir, would you care to finish this wine?" she asked. "It’s very good, especially on a hot day like this. I would be pleased if you would except."

The man hesitated a moment, surprised. He took the offered skin with a grateful smile. "Thank you young lady," he said sincerely, "it is a hot day and I am a bit dry."

Oresta eyed Keola darkly. It was good Corinthian wine and she wanted more. And there was a suspicion that the Amazon was cutting her off. Who was this damn woman to decide she had had enough? The arrogance of it was more than annoying. Why are you letting her do these things? Anger flared. My mother died twenty years ago. I’m not in the market for another. She thought it but she did not say it. Only a week ago she would have. Now something held her tongue. Keola turned from the old man and saw the darkness in the blonde’s eyes. She answered it with a smile. A simple, warm, caring smile. She leaned over and nudged Oresta’s shoulder with her own, then turned her attention to the new bout that was just beginning. The anger was instantly gone. Vanished. Dissipated like a puff of smoke on a windy day. It was astonishing. How had it happened? A magic trick? Witchery? Oresta blinked and let out a breath. Something about that smile was becoming more and more compelling. It made her feel different when it was directed at her. A physical sensation that coursed through her body. The feel of a warming sun in her face on a frigid day. I’m a moonstruck fool. This is going to hurt more than I can bear. She looked at the Amazon, the smooth soft tan skin, sturdy frame, sparkling intelligent eyes, the aura of energy that surrounded her. She knew she could not leave. That smile was too important now. She did not just want to see it. She needed to see it.

The next two bouts were short. The second ended with much whistling and booing as an overmatched young man took a knee rather than take the beating he was clearly about to receive. The crowd had no compunction about shouting ‘coward’ and throwing apple cores and date seeds at the unfortunate boxer as he hurried from the ring, eyes haunted with humiliation. The two friends decided they had seen enough. The sun was approaching noon and there were many other events in the day of games yet to see. As they were about to jump down from the top bleacher the old man touched Keola’s arm.

"Are you really an Amazon?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she smiled.

"My name is Salymus," he said. "It was a pleasure to meet you." He gripped her forearm. "Every town has its scum, young warrior. Don’t judge Athena’s favored city by them."

"My name is Keola," the Amazon answered. "It was my pleasure to meet you, sir. Take care."

As they walked away the blonde smiled her mischievous smile.

"Does it ever get to be a burden?" she asked.

"What burden?"

"Being so well liked," Oresta answered.

"Yes, it is my curse in life, to be adored," Keola sighed. She glanced at Oresta with a wicked glint. "As it is yours to be envious."

Oresta’s eyes narrowed.

"Uh, huh," she grunted slowly.

The two women shared a private laugh.

They stopped by the running track set up on the Panathenic Way as it ran along the east side of the Agora. The racers sprinted approximately two hundred yards in full armor, shield included. Winners from each heat ran in the final. Keola nudged the blonde and grinned as she pointed out Pharon racing in a heat. He finished third. After snacking on kabobs of tender crab meat bought from a kiosk they wandered over to the long jump competition. Each jumper carried a five pound rock in each hand sculpted to fit comfortably in the palm. After a short run they threw their arms forward at the moment of takeoff to increase their length. Keola marveled at the distances they covered, the crowd roaring as the stake marking the longest jump moved steadily farther from the takeoff line.

It was mid-afternoon when Oresta bought a couple of oranges and she and Keola meandered toward the wrestling circles to find a seat in the stands. Two muscular young men, sweaty and streaked with dirt from competition, passed going the other direction. Between them walked two women. The Amazon studied them curiously as she bit down on a succulent slice of orange, squirting juice down her chin. They seemed about her age, perhaps a trifle younger. Both were dressed in chitons that covered them from neck to ankle, as all Athenian women wore. But the cloth was something she had never seen. It was so fine and supple it seemed to shimmer in the sun. One was a deep green, the other violet. The chitons were wrapped tightly, emphasizing the feminine curves of their wearer’s bodies, full breasts, narrow waists, rounded hips. The one in green had hair blonder than Oresta’s piled high on her head with delicate ringlets hanging down by her ears highlighting her cheeks. The hair of the one in violet was dyed impossibly red and pulled back in a tight bun held by a violet ribbon. Both wore makeup impeccably applied, dark eye-shadow, powdered cheeks, ruby lips. The blonde wore diamond ear rings that sparkled in the sun as the light hit them. The redhead had a pearl necklace around her alabaster throat. Gold rings and bracelets adorned their hands and wrists. The women stood out for another undeniable reason. By any definition of the word they were stunningly beautiful; creamy unblemished skin, perfect ivory teeth, high cheekbones, alert, intelligent faces, erect postures and a way of moving that was pleasing to the eye in its fluid grace. After they passed Keola watched as the redhead peered back at her over her shoulder and smiled coyly. She then said something to her companions that elicited a laugh as they disappeared into the crowds that ebbed and flowed across the Agora between sporting venues.

"Hatarae," Oresta said.

The Amazon shrugged her incomprehension of the word.

"Whores," the blonde smiled.

Keola’s eyebrows twitched in surprise. What little she knew of prostitutes she had learned in her trips to Corinth. Ragged, dirty, beaten down women and girls outside the main gate soliciting travelers as they came and went. Calling out prices and what they would do for it. Grabbing those that seemed interested by the hand and leading them off the road to a small field of broken stone blocks, left over material from the building of the city walls, where they draped themselves across a rock, ass high and exposed, as the men dropped their breeches around their ankles and poked their erect cocks into them. It startled her, the first time she saw it. She had seen animals having sex many times, of course, rams, bulls, stallions, male behind and on top of a passive female, the impersonal, uninvolved moment of creation. But it...shocked...her to see that common animal act translated to human beings. And that is what stuck uncomfortably in her memory, how much those people looked like animals fucking in a field, their humanity stripped away. And the slight nauseated feeling that came to her stomach when a woman old enough to be her mother, naked and filthy, approached.

"I can put a smile on your face there, sir," she called. "A good screw to start the morn... Oh!...Oh well, by the gods! A woman you are. Well, that’s all right there sweetie." She flicked her tongue like a snake. "For five obols I’ll lick the hair off your pussy. What do you say there, my Lady?"

A woman, an elder, so degraded. It made her feel sick, humiliated, to see it, hear it. To be there.

Keola shook her head.

"Whores?" she said doubtfully. "How can they be whores? They’re rich. Look at all that gold. And those chitons. I’ve never seen anything like them. They’re beautiful."

"Silk, from Chin," Oresta said. "But they’re whores all right. Just a better class of whore than a flute girl or a two obol brothel bitch. They don’t get paid for each fuck the way a working girl does. They get ’gifts’ from admirers. And if the gift is impressive enough the giver gets the privilege of riding one of the best thoroughbreds in the city, educated, intelligent, cultured, witty and so beautiful it brings tears to your eyes. There’s only a handful of them and the competition among the rich old men and wealthy young athletes is fierce. Having one of them living in your house is a prized status symbol. Some keep their own homes and force the men to come to them. Lady Aspasia was one in her youth. A legend I’m told for her beauty and intelligence. She could debate with philosophers in the day, then at night make them howl with pleasure. Only the elite of the city were invited to her dinner parties. And none refused an invitation. She’s the only hatarae I’ve heard of ever to retire gracefully into marriage. And to the First Citizen no less. If nothing else it proves how special she must be. That a man like that would put up with the whispering humiliation of being married to a former whore to keep her at his side. Most hatarae just fade away as age steals their beauty and the men lose interest. Some take their ’gifts’ and move where no one knows them. Others end up in a brothel or on the street, bending over for a couple of obols." The blonde smirked disdainfully. "At least their education can be put to some use there. They can entertain the other whores with quotes from Homer and poetry readings from Sappho while they wait for the next man with a hard cock and a days pay in his pocket."

Keola shook her head sadly.

"I wonder if they understand the price," she said.

"Price?" Oresta repeated.

"The price of selling their souls," Keola said.

The end of the blonde’s mouth curled up.

"It’s just sex, Keola," she said. "Cats, dogs, pigs and people all do it the same. Those women live well because men will pay to fuck the best. Don’t confuse good business with anyone’s soul."

The Amazon’s face darkened as she looked at the blonde.

"Those women will never know what it is to love," she said slowly. "Surrounded by people wanting to possess them they’ve lost the one thing you have to have to truly give yourself to another, trust. There’s no one they can ever trust, not even themselves. They’ve sold the moment when two humans express their deepest, most tender feelings for each other. Without trust there can’t be love, and a person who can’t love another has lost their soul." She let out a thoughtful breath. "I don’t know if souls can be redeemed," she sighed. "I hope so."

She turned and walked away.

A shudder ran through Oresta. Was it coincidence? Or had this Amazon witch somehow peered into her heart, the part of her she never revealed to anyone. She could feel her face getting hot with jumbled, embarrassed emotion. I don’t know if souls can be redeemed. I hope so. The words stabbed her like daggers. Had they been aimed at her? She watched Keola disappear into the crowds headed toward the wrestling stands. She swallowed and bit her lip hard, till it almost bled, till the trembling moment of emotion passed. Then she hurried after the Amazon until she was by her side again. The first time in her life she had ever hurried after anyone.

Keola found the wrestling boring. Two men grunting and straining and pulling and pushing but not much excitement. Patience was not a virtue the Amazon possessed in abundance. In fact it was virtue she barely possessed at all. After a few candlemarks she was restless and ready to go. Oresta did not object. The discus throwing would begin soon and she wanted to see if the young Egyptian Thutmose was going to compete. A trainer whose judgment she trusted had raved endlessly about his potential and she was thinking of putting a few dozen dinars on him. As an unknown the odds would be long and if he came through she could make a very nice profit. If not she could afford the loss. A true gambler did not need to fix the race or influence an outcome with bribes or threats to make money. A gambler only needed a bit of inside information. Some scrap of news or insight not everyone was privy too to shift the odds in her direction. The trick was not to win every time. It was to win more often than you lost. Only the greedy and stupid bet everything on one throw of the dice. The professional understood the odds and had the patience to let the inevitable happen. If the odds were on your side sooner or later you were going to win. It was a mathematical certainty, a law of nature, as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun, as the turning hands of a mechanical clock.

They passed near the Amphitheatre. The open area next to it, where the great cauldrons had cooked yesterday’s meat, was now the sight of the discus competition. Twenty athletes stretched and jogged and practiced the spinning motion of throwing a flat circular discus. Trainers stood by in small groups watching and talking. Crowds milled like sheep between clusters of men gathered around bookies taking bets. Officials with long staffs would clear the field when the competition was ready to begin. Oresta was craning her neck, trying to spot the bronze skin of the Egyptian, when Keola put a hand on her shoulder and pointed toward the other side of the Amphitheatre.

"What’s going on over there?" she asked.

The blonde followed her finger. A half dozen men with bows could be seen lined up shooting at some target out of sight behind the stage of the theatre. Only a small crowd was gathered watching.

"The archery competition," Oresta answered.

Keola’s eyes brightened with interest. She grabbed the blonde’s elbow and tugged.

"Come on," she enthused, "let’s go see them shoot. Nothing’s happening here."

"There will be soon enough," Oresta replied, slightly annoyed. "There’s someone I want to see throw. I could make money here. Besides, they’ve already started over there. By the gods, let’s see one thing today from start to finish, shall we, Keola. Just one."

Keola’s face clouded with an exaggerated frown.

"Yes, mother Oresta," she huffed like a put upon child, "I promise to behave and stop bothering you."

"Fuck you," the blonde silently mouthed.

For half a candlemark the Amazon stood quietly as the athletes warmed up and the officials began clearing the field. Suddenly she grabbed Oresta’s hand, fingers interlacing with fingers.

"Please," she begged, brown eyes wide like a puppy pleading for a bit of meat in her masters hand. Her brilliant smile erupted. "Please, please, please."

Oresta started to pull her hand away, surprised and uncomfortable with the unexpected intimacy. The Amazon refused to let go. Instead she dragged the blonde along a few steps.

"Come on," she pleaded, lowering her head playfully as she looked up into Oresta’s blue eyes, "let’s see the archers. You can make fun of their technique, point out their mistakes. Maybe we can go get Farsala and you can trample them all under foot while you’re racing past shooting bulls eyes. I promise to string your bow for you."

"Gods, Amazon, you are so full of shit," Oresta protested.

But she stopped resisting and let herself be pulled along till she was beside Keola. The Amazon did not let go of her hand, however, but gripped it firmly as they walked. The blonde glanced around and bit her lip. Part of her wanted that hand back. This was too close, too public, too frightening. Her heart beat faster. But it happened again. Some unconscious decision was made. Like going to Athens instead of Corinth, like staying at the Ambassador’s instead of leaving. Her hand stayed in Keola’s because... because taking it out was not an option. It was where it belonged.

The first round had just finished. Men were pulling posts up from stone lined holes and moving them back ten yards to another line of holes. Over the centuries the art of preparing various venues for competition, putting up bleachers, taking them down, had become an exact science. Holes proliferated around the Agora, covered with a paving stone most of the year, but come the Panathenia Games they were uncovered and piles of posts and bleacher seats were hauled up by cart from a warehouse in Pireaus and a gang of slaves that knew the location of every hole for every post went to work. In a single night, working by torchlight, temporary stands capable of holding thousands were erected. After the day of games they would be pulled down and re-arranged overnight to hold the standing room only throngs that would gather to watch the chariot races. The most professional crew of roustabouts erecting a circus big top would have looked on with admiration at the practiced speed and efficiency of the slave gang of Athens that handled the heavy work of the Panathenic Games.

Fourteen archers stood back from a rope stretched between two stakes. Some checked their arrows, looking down the shafts to see that they were straight or fluffing up the feathering. Others talked among themselves or with the small crowd of spectators that mingled among and around them. Archery was a dying sport in Athens, as in all Greece. The bow was a hunters weapon and the valleys and hills of Greece had been hunted out centuries ago, the land now settled and used for pasture or cropland or vineyards. Few citizens owned a bow, much less were proficient with it. The Athenian army had to hire foreign mercenaries from Boetia or Macedonia or the Baleraic islands when it needed archers on the battlefield. Only family and friends of the competitors were interested enough in the event to watch. It had already disappeared from the Olympics. It would soon disappear from the Panathenia Games. As they approached Keola’s attention fixed on two men at the end closest to them. They were not dressed in wool or cotton, but animal skin. Deer, she guessed, the hair scraped off and the hide dyed a light tan. Tunic and breeches were both made of the supple material with intricate circular designs stitched in black and red thread across the chest and down the long sleeves. They had brown leather boots that reached halfway up the calves, thin leather strips wrapped around the tops and tied in intricate decorative bows. Each wore a round red leather cap over shaggy black hair with ear flaps pulled up and tied at the top. They had faces the Amazon had never seen, broad, hairless, slightly flat, a dusky tint to their skin, dark eyes slanted. Both were short, thick, muscular. Each held a bow similar to Oresta’s. One of them called a greeting in a strange barbarian tongue. Oresta answered as she and Keola stopped in front of them. The other man, who was noticeably eyeing the Amazon, began speaking. When he stopped Oresta chuckled. Her reply caused both men to smile and nod at Keola.

"So?" the Amazon asked out of the side of her mouth while nodding and smiling back.

"I was just being polite," Oresta said.

"Good. Polite is good." Keola said. "I’m strongly in favor of polite. Polite about what?"

Oresta could not stop a smirk from flashing across her face.

"This is Shen and his brother Soshen," she said. "Shen was just saying that you are a sturdy looking woman. A girl with a strong back, wide hips and a tight pussy who would fill a man’s home with many fine healthy sons."

Some of the smile faded from Keola’s face, her eyes narrowing. She felt her hand being squeezed hard.

"It was meant as a compliment, Amazon," the blonde whispered seriously in her ear, "take it as one."

Keola nodded. "Anything else?"

"Well, actually, Shen also asked if I was fucking you," Oresta said. "His wife died recently and he’s in the market for another. He wanted me to arrange an introduction to your father if I wasn’t sleeping with you. He’s a Scythian and they tend to be pretty blunt about things. I told him you were Amazon and ate men’s balls for breakfast, that he should probably just leave you to me, since I was safe by not having any."

Keola looked up at the blonde. "I hope you know that if that’s what you really told him I’m going to kick your ass." Her tone was semi-serious.

"That’ll be the day," Oresta scoffed. Her smirk reappeared. "Don’t worry, Amazon. I just told him that you were an old aquaintance here to visit me. That you would be leaving soon. Satisfied?"

"Satisfied," Keola pronounced. "You’re a woman of many talents. You speak Scythian as well as Hun?"

"I am a woman of many talents," Oresta agreed heartily. "More than you can possibly imagine. But I don’t speak Scythian. Scythians are first cousin to the Hun, although hardly friendly ones. They all speak Mongoli, the language of the great steppes, just different dialects. These two jokers," she nodded at the brothers, "like to speak Mongoli to me so they can laugh at my funny Hunish accent." She looked at Shoshen. "Isn’t that right?"

The Scythian smiled, revealing several missing teeth.

"Yep. It’s hilarious to hear you mangle our beautiful language," he said in perfect, unaccented Greek. "I’m surprised even Huns can understand a word you say."

Shen agreed with a nod and a puckish grin.

"Uh, huh," the Amazon said slowly, eyeing them all disapprovingly. "I see a poor innocent stranger to this city must be on her guard at all times if she’s not to be made a fool of."

There was a moment of uncertain tension in the air. Exactly the Amazon’s intent. Her competitive nature demanded she have a bit of payback for the joke at her expense. Then her brilliant smile erupted. She stuck her arm out at Soshen.

"I’m Keola of Kalvia," she said with her customary warm enthusiasm.

The man hesitated with surprise, then surrendered to that glowing grin.

"I am Soshen of the clan Sumari," he said as he grasped her forearm. "This is my brother Shen. It’s a pleasure to meet a friend of Oresta." He glanced at the blonde. "Who’d of thought such a person existed."

Oresta said something in Mongoli. Shen burst out in a loud laugh and clapped his brother on the back. Soshen put a finger by his broad nostril and flicked it disdainfully at the blonde, an imitation of picking his nose and flinging a bit of mucus on her, an ancient insult called cocking a snook. They shared a smile.

"Your Greek is better than mine I’m ashamed to say," Keola said. "Are you citizens of Athens?"

Soshen frowned. "No, my Lady," he said, suddenly serious. "We are Sumari of the great Scythian people. We have no interest in being anything else."

The look on the man’s face said plainly enough that she had said something she should not have. She glanced at Shen. His face was equally stern, if not out right offended.

"The Sumari are Athens guardians," Oresta interjected. "The clan has been here for three generations living in their own neighborhood in Pireaus. They patrol the city as the night watch looking for cutpurses and burglars. And they keep order down on the docks of the port, breaking up bar fights and protecting the girls in the brothels from drunken sailors who won’t pay or try to rough them up. And if someone brings a murder or rape complaint before the court they find the accused and throw him in the prison on the other side of the Acropolis till the trial. Citizens are equals after all and can’t be laying hands on each other. You can understand that of course, can’t you?" There was an unmistakable tinge of sarcasm in the last two sentences. "The Sumari are paid from the public treasury. They are a proud, independent people who have no desire to mix themselves with a bunch of Greek fish eaters."

The two men stood feet apart, holding their bows at one end, the other firmly planted on the ground. The defiance in their posture said quite eloquently that Oresta’s explanation was correct.

"Uh, huh," Keola said. "Well, I certainly did not mean too..."

"Gentlemen," the blonde interrupted, "good luck shooting today."

She said something in Mongoli. Shen smiled and repeated it.

"I guess I put my boot in it there, didn’t I?" Keola said quietly as she walked away with Oresta.

"Shen and Soshen are decent, honorable men," Oresta replied. "But don’t make the mistake of ever thinking you’re their friend. The only friends they have are each other. And don’t get in a fight with one. The fight will only end when someone is dead. And if it’s a Sumari his father and uncles and brothers and cousins will hunt you down if they have to chase you to the Great Wall of Chin. Then they’ll skin you alive, gut you like a fresh killed deer and bring your skull back to be buried with your victim, so he’ll have proof in the world of shadows that his death has been avenged." She paused thoughtfully. "The Sumari are respected in this city. They do their job well." The end of her mouth twitched up in a smirk. "But they aren’t loved. The fish eaters have no desire to mix with them either."

Keola shook her head. "The list of people I’m not supposed to trouble just gets longer and longer. Is there anyone you think I could handle?"

"Well...maybe that troop of little warriors you were playing with yesterday." The end of the blonde’s mouth curled up. "Naw, they’d kick your ass too."

Before Keola could answer a round little middle aged man in a clean blue toga with a broad brimmed hat set back on his head revealing thick black eyebrows and florid cheeks above his beard walked purposefully up to the blonde.

"Oresta," he said, "the first round has already been completed. I was so disappointed that you didn’t enter. I even had my son out looking for you. You know we need all the competitors we can get."

"Hello, Callias," the blonde said. "I’m sorry, I was just busy with other things today. Maybe next year." She nodded at the Amazon. "This is my friend Keola of Kalvia, a warrior of the Amazon people."

Keola stuck out her arm as she always did, but the smile that accompanied it was even brighter than it usually was. It was the first time Oresta had introduced her as a friend. It felt good.

"An Amazon, my goodness" the man said, shocked. He took her arm. "I’m Callias Thucydidae, the chief official for the archery competition." His eyes narrowed. "You’re not by any chance an archer are you? Amazons are supposed to be archers right? Like the goddess Artemis."

"We have some pretty good archers, sir," Keola said. "Unfortunately I’m not one of them. The safest deer in the forest is the one I’m aiming at," she laughed.

The man chuckled appreciatively at the joke.

"Too bad," Callias said. "I’m always trying to find new people. I love the bow and I don’t want to see archery dropped from the games. It demands a sharp eye and steady nerves. Skills the people of Athens and all Greece will regret losing some day." He eyed Oresta eagerly. "It’s not too late you know. I’m sure I could still get you in the competition. It’s a shame that last years winner is not giving the other archers a chance to compete against her for her crown. That’s how the wreath should be passed, by someone taking it from the champion on the field, not by default."

"You won last year? That’s incredible!" Keola enthused. "Callias is right then. You have an obligation to defend your crown. You owe it to the others. And besides..." her eyes got that wicked glint, "I’d be interested to see if you can really hit anything on your own. Maybe last time it was Farsala doing all the work. It wouldn’t be the first time that the horse was the real brains and talent behind the partnership."

The end of the blonde’s mouth curled up.

"You try so hard to be witty and fail so miserably," she said. "Don’t you think it’s time you tried to be something else your not, like intelligent or beautiful?"

"I’m stubborn. I’ll keep trying till I get it right. Then I’ll work on beautiful and intelligent," Keola smiled. "Now, are you going to shoot or not?"

"I don’t have my bow," Oresta shrugged.

"I know where it is at Xenophon’s. I can be back with it soon enough," the Amazon replied. "That bulge in your coin pouch ought to remind you I’m pretty quick on my feet."

The blonde leaned over slightly, looking Keola in the eye.

"You would have finished third without me," she said in a semi-whisper.

The Amazon rolled up on the balls of her feet till her eyes were level with Oresta’s, their noses almost touching.

"I don’t care how I win," she said, "as long as I’m first. Being second just means you’re first loser."

They shared a private smile. Impulsively Oresta touched the end of her aquiline nose to Keola’s. Immediately she straightened, surprised at her herself. She cleared her throat and bit her lip, pushing the intimacy back to a more comfortable distance.

"Well, Callias," she said, looking at the official, "I guess I’ve been talked into it. If it’s all right with you I will enter."

The man smiled happily. He turned and put up his hand for attention.

"Gentlemen! Competitors!" he announced loudly. "Can I have your attention!"

The buzz of voices lowered as people turned to look.

"I’m sure many of you recognize Oresta, the surprise winner of last years archery competition. The first woman, to my knowledge, ever to compete in the event. She apologizes for being late and asks if she might join the contest even though we have completed the first round. If no one objects I am inclined to grant her request. I’m certain we would all like to see the best archers in the city vie for this years crown."

Keola looked around anxiously, afraid someone might protest. She smiled at the silent endorsement of Oresta’s entry. Suddenly a man pushed his way between several people till he was in front of Oresta and Callias. He was the Amazon’s height, with a barrel chest and thick arms. His brown hair was long and braided in a tail behind each ear tied with colored string. A gold ring dangled from each ear lob, his brown beard carefully trimmed and neat. His blue cotton tunic was perfectly tailored to emphasize his broad chest. A deep blue kilt wrapped around his flat waist hanging to his knees, held by a soft leather belt with a silver buckle. A bow was hooked over his shoulder, a finely carved and etched composite bow, inlaid with ivory around the grip. Keola took it all in with a glance. A reasonably handsome man, if a bit of a dandy, she judged. But the eyes, she did not like the eyes. They were black and small and had a suspicious, unpleasant arrogance in them. Three men, also decorated with gold baubles, pushed along rather rudely behind him, friends perhaps, or guardians, they all had long daggers in their belts. The blonde stood her tallest. The Amazon sensed the sudden tension in her posture.

"Oresta, I’d given up hope," the newcomer said. "There would have been little satisfaction in winning today without you here."

The end of Oresta’s mouth curled.

"Winning is always satisfying, Machon. Only losers don’t understand that," she said.

The men behind Machon shifted uneasily. The short round man on his left moved his hand closer to the handle of his dagger. Keola took a half step forward, so that she was slightly ahead of the blonde. Her shoulders shifted, making her blade more accessible. Her hands came up to her hips. She smiled an almost disarming smile at the round man. But the eyes were wide and focused, a lioness riveted on her prey, about to pounce. His hand hesitated uncertainly. Machon’s eye’s narrowed but his face remained calm.

"You didn’t bring your bow," he observed. "Were you going to throw the arrows at the target?" He swung his bow off his shoulder. "You’re welcome to use mine. It’s an exceptional weapon. Perfectly balanced. It belonged to Amytaxis II, King of Gallicis. I acquired it several months ago."

He held it out.

The blonde did not take it.

"Your last bow was much prettier," she replied. "I thought the gold leaf along the shaft really highlighted your eyes when you drew it. I hope you didn’t throw it away." She smirked her most disdainful, superior smirk. "I’ll use it to take the laurel wreath and your money again this year. Bows and arrows are just pieces of brainless wood, Machon. The arrow strikes where the archer sends it. The fault for a miss lies in the archer, not the equipment."

Machon lowered the bow. His eyes became narrow slits of concentrated hatred. All three men behind him put their hands on their weapons. The Amazon leaned forward. Her smile became almost a laugh of eager anticipation, like a child about to receive her solstice present. Suddenly Machon slung the bow over his shoulder, pushed his way through his friends and disappeared. The men took a few steps back, hands still on daggers, then turned and followed.

"I think you may have offended the man," Keola observed.

"I should hope so," Oresta replied. "If not it wasn’t for lack of trying."

The two warriors shared a smile.

Callias, who had stood still as a stone statue throughout the conversation, not even breathing lest it attract someone’s attention, let out a sigh of relief and gulped in a swallow of needed air. Oresta chuckled as her body relaxed. She clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder.

"See what happens when you let low life scum in your competition. A riot almost breaks out," she said.

"I know," Callias said ruefully. "But he’s a citizen and has every right to enter. There’s nothing I can do about it."

Oresta grinned.

"I was referring to Keola and me," she said.

The three shared a laugh.

"You better hurry and go," Oresta said to Keola. "They’re not going to wait forever."

The Amazon glanced after Machon and his followers.

"Are you sure you’ll be..."

The blonde put a finger lightly over Keola’s lips.

"He’s only dangerous in the dark, when your back is turned," she said.

The Amazon nodded and smiled. She was gone in a full sprint, weaving and dodging through the crowds.

Chapter

The last archer was loosing his arrow at the end of the second round when the Amazon returned with bow and quiver. Her conditioning was such that she hardly took a deep breath as she pulled up by Oresta and Callias. Immediately, without bothering to ask the blonde’s permission, she put one end of the bow on the ground, took a firm grip of the other and slowly bent it toward her. She slipped the bowstring easily into its notch and let it straighten. Several competitors who had noticed her arrival, the Scythian brothers included, looked at each other with raised eyebrows and shook their heads. Strong men struggled with the tension of a composite bow. To see this woman handle it without a tremble or grunt was a sight worth noting, and remembering. Oresta took the bow and an arrow and stepped to the line without hesitation. She drew, took a moment to sight and let fly. The arrow split the fist sized circle of red painted birch bark dead center and imbedded into the post it was attached too. She turned and winked at the Amazon, who grinned broadly back. Callias shook his head in wonder and chuckled. Others among the competitors and onlookers murmured, faces serious. To shoot without the slightest warm up, when a miss of the target meant instant elimination, was an impressive display of skill, and of confidence bordering on arrogance.

An official came and worked the arrow out of the post. He then hung new targets on the six posts lined up forty yards from the shooting line. The new red bark targets were smaller, about the size of a thumb and forefinger put together to form a circle. Two archers had been eliminated in the second round. When there was a miss the official pulled out the errant arrow and waved it over his head to signal a competitor was done. Six at a time the remaining archers stood to the line and loosed their arrows. Machon was in the first flight. One man had his arrow removed and waved from the first group. Oresta shot in the second flight. Two men were eliminated. The contest was down to the last nine. Everyone relaxed again as there was a break while the posts were pulled up and moved ten yards further back, to fifty yards, and new fist sized birch targets were attached to each pole. Keola sidled up beside the blonde as she checked through her quiver for the best arrows to use in the next round.

"I can see well enough that Machon is not a friend," the Amazon said, eyeing the man as he stared back at them, small eyes narrow and focused, hands nervously gripping and releasing his bow, his companions clustered around talking and stealing glances a the two women. "Is he an enemy?"

The blonde snorted derisively.

"I don’t respect him enough to call him an enemy," she replied. "He’s an annoyance, an irritant. He’s that soreness around your ass hole when you have the runs and have to wipe it too often."

Keola bit her tongue to keep from laughing out loud.

"Don’t keep it in, Oresta. What do you really think?" she said.

The blonde chuckled. She looked over at Machon. The man’s unblinking gaze bored into her. The end of her mouth edged up in a dismissive, superior smirk.

"I’ve seen baboons in Egypt do that," she said. "Males trying to intimidate other males by staring them down. I’d call him a baboon but I see no reason to insult baboons."

She turned to the Amazon.

"He’s the youngest brother of Phidipides, the controller of the Kerkopes, the thieves market in Pireaus, as his father and grandfather were before him. Everything stolen in Athens and this part of Greece is fenced there. A lot of Athenians, after they come home to find a hole knocked in their roof and their possessions plundered troop down to the market to buy back their property after Phidipides has bought it from the thieves, at a nice profit to him of course. He’s one of the richest men in the city. Machon thinks he’s a gambler and player, one of the smart guys. I’ve seen slugs with more brains. At least a slug knows enough to crawl off a rock when it gets too warm in the sun. Machon would sit there and fry while cursing Apollo for moving too slow and his brother for not buying off Zeus to bring on the clouds and rain. He’s only still alive because people fear Phidipides, or because they want to use him to get a favor out of his brother." The blonde glanced at Machon. "The blockhead does have one skill though," she continued. "He is good with that bow. It’s his one claim to any respect in this city. He’s won four of these competitions during the Panathenic games. A fact he will mention at least twice during any conversation you have with him. When I started seriously gambling here I ran into him, of course. He runs the richest games in the city backed by his brother’s money. He noted the composite bow I carried and started running his mouth about teaching me a thing or two."

The blonde smirked her most sarcastic smirk.

"It wasn’t hard to set him up. We had a private little contest outside the city shooting from horseback. He was sure I’d fall off the horse, being a woman and all. I picked his pocket for three hundred dinars."

She glanced again at the glowering Machon.

"He didn’t like that. No indeed. Not at all. It wasn’t the money that hurt. It was the laughing all over the city. The great archer beaten by a woman. I’m sure he begged his brother to have me killed, but that cold hearted gentleman has no interest in anything but profit and fucking little boys. There’s no money to be made in killing me. So last year he bribed and bullied Callias into letting me compete in the games. He was going to show me up in front of all the archers in the city. A trick shooting fraud who couldn’t hit a bull’s ass with a rock at five paces when the pressure was on." Oresta smiled. "I made five hundred dinars that day."

Keola grinned as well.

"He’s challenged me to a few matches since but I ignore him. You can only humiliate someone so many times before it becomes boring. And as a rule I don’t like to repeat myself."

"Well, I’m certainly flattered that you would break a rule just for me."

Keola meant the remark to be flip. But her eyes caught Oresta’s as she said it and it did not come out that way. She did suddenly feel flattered. It was a rush of feeling that surged through her as she gazed into those clear blue eyes. Hesitantly she put her hand over the blonde’s where it held the bow at one end as the other rested on the ground. Oresta’s face tensed. She bit her lip. But she did not pull her hand away.

"First flight. Please step to the line." Callias announced.

The six men took long careful aim and shot when they were ready. Another archer stamped his foot in frustration as an official waved his arrow. The second flight came to the line when the targets had been replaced. Oresta seemed hardly to aim, bringing up the bow, drawing the arrow and shooting in one almost seamless motion. The display of arrogant prowess had its desired effect. The two men left in her flight, despite their best efforts to relax and focus, were completely intimidated by the effortless ease with which the blonde hit a target that was little more than a red dot in the distance. They both missed.

There was a pause as new smaller targets were hung and the remaining six archers readied an arrow. Keola stood, arms crossed under her breasts, patiently waiting. She glanced over to check on Machon’s friends. She liked to keep track of potential enemies. Just in case. A shocked puff of air escaped her mouth. A girl weaved through the small crowd with a full wineskin under her arm. She stopped in front of the three men. One of them roughly grabbed the skin from her and took a long squirt before passing it. The girl took a step back and waited, hands folded in front of her. A personal servant to one of the men it would seem. She was ten or twelve the Amazon guessed, it was hard to tell at that awkward age of knobby knees and sharp elbows just before the hips widened and the breasts filled with puberty. A plain blue smock draped over her narrow shoulders hanging down to her ankles, showing bare feet. A broad nose spread across her face and two huge round black pupils floated in a sea of white in her eyes. The black hair of her head was as curled as fine sheep’s wool and pulled tightly back from her face into a bun tied with a simple blue ribbon. And her skin was black. Black! Black as the darkest night. Black as charcoal. It was astonishing. Oresta noticed the Amazon’s stare and smiled. She stepped up to Keola.

"Her name is Zica," she said quietly in her ear. "She’s Machon’s slave. An African from the lands south of Egypt. All the people there are black like that."

She pulled her head back. Keola looked at her wide eyed with wonder. Oresta shrugged.

"Amazing world isn’t it" the blonde said seriously. "Somewhere on this huge spinning ball are probably people of every color of the rainbow. Blue, green, red. Who knows. Makes you want to find out though, doesn’t it? Just for the thrill of seeing it."

The Amazon nodded. The blonde stepped back to the line. Keola looked over again at the African. Zica felt the eyes on her. She started to lower her head self consciously. Before she could the Amazon grinned her friendly reassuring grin. The girl answered with a smile that lit up her face, black cheeks shining, eyes sparkling. A smile of such irrepressible personality that the Amazon was instantly smitten with its beauty.

"Archers, please stand to the line and shoot," Callias announced.

Of the six competitors left only one was born an Athenian. Machon. Besides Oresta there were Shen and Soshen, Arbanes of Persia, a representative of ivory dealers who had been living in the city for years and Hamilcar of Carthage, son of the Carthaginian ambassador. All were armed with composite bows Keola noted. It was obvious the birch bows of the Amazon valley were painfully outclassed. It was a fault that must be remedied. Was Artemisia aware of this? Had she included it in a report? The Amazon ground her teeth with an unpleasant mix of suspicion and frustration.

Six arrows flew, one after the other, Oresta’s first as always. Hamilcar was eliminated. The targets were replaced at a different height on the poles to vary the angle. The posts would not be moved back any farther. No one was eliminated in the next round. But in the third round both Arbanes and Soshen had their arrows waved. Oresta noticed the crowd seemed to be growing. Spectators were starting to line up along the sides of the shooting area and for the first time she saw people leaning out from the end of the steep stone stands of the amphitheatre to watch. Word had begun to circulate. Oresta and Machon were shooting against each other. No one was eliminated in the fourth round. Keola laughed at herself as she realized that her stomach was beginning to buzz nervously. Tension was starting to crackle in the air. The fifth and sixth rounds came and went. In the seventh the official called over several others and they all carefully examined Shen’s shot. Finally one of them pulled out the arrow and waved it over his head. The Scythian snapped his head with disappointment and spit. He looked at Oresta and said something in Mongoli. She smiled and nodded. He went over and joined his brother.

"So Oresta," Machon said as they waited for new targets to be put up, "you brought your bow. Did you bring your money as well?"

The blonde did not reply.

"How about a hundred dinars on this next shot?" the man asked.

Oresta nodded. Both arrows found the target.

"Shall we up it a hundred dinars a round," Machon challenged, "or until one of us decides they can’t lose any more," he sneered unpleasantly.

Oresta bit her lip. She looked back at Keola. The Amazon smiled and nodded. The end of the blonde’s mouth twitched up in her most superior smirk. "Done," she said.

There was an excited murmur of voices as the details of the bet raced around the crowd in an instant.

Four more rounds went by, the tension growing with each shot. The spectators began to hold their breath at each shot and cheer madly as the arrows struck home. And the crowd continued to grow. Every possible place along the edge of the amphitheatre where one could hope to see anything was filled and people stood three deep along the sides of the range. After the fifth round there was a pause as each archer’s arrows were collected and brought back. Oresta went over to the Amazon and spoke to her with her back to Machon, her mouth close to Keola’s ear.

"How much do you have?" the blonde whispered.

"Two hundred and forty," Keola answered as she rubbed her nose to hide her mouth.

"I’ve got about two seventy," Oresta said. "If we keep going and I lose things could get ugly. Someone could get hurt. Like us. There’s not much sympathy for people who make bets they can’t pay in this city. Machon is as good an archer as me. Always has been. But there’s more to this than just technique and a good eye. You have to have the balls to win when the pressure is on. He suddenly seems to have grown a pair. He always wilted before. That’s what I was counting on."

Keola looked at Oresta.

"If we quit we lose just about everything. We’re back to being broke," she said.

"I know," Oresta replied. "I may have fucked you this time, Keola."

Keola smiled. "No. I’d remember if you fucked me."

Oresta laughed. And for a moment she almost reached up to caress the Amazon’s face. Because she wanted to. Very much. She wanted to touch that smile.

"People are waiting, are you going to shoot or talk all day" a familiar voice said.

The two women turned in surprise to see Xenophon, with Darius at his side, walk up.

"I finally found him," the Babylonian said. "I knew he would want to see lady Oresta compete.

Who’d have thought my old master still had the energy to chase the girls. I had to pry him out of Pharenia’s brothel down by the Piraeus Gate."

The old man winked at Keola.

"Pretty good, huh," he smiled. "I bet you thought I took naps in the afternoon."

Everyone laughed. Xenophon looked over at Machon, who was watching everything with a sour look on his face.

"So what’s the holdup?" he asked seriously. "I want to see how this is going to end. At my age I can’t wait forever on you young people. I might drop dead any time."

"You’ll outlive us all," Oresta said. She glanced as well at Machon. "His damn coin pouch is too deep. I thought he would crack by now and he hasn’t. We’re out of money. I’ve already impoverished Keola. I might get her killed if we go on."

"Well, we can’t have that," Xenophon said as he put his hand on Keola’s shoulder, "the Amazons would think us barbarians here in Athens. I’ve always wanted to take some of Machon’s money. Keep shooting. The excitement will do me good." He laughed. "Maybe Pompia will decide I’m not so boring after all."

"Are you sure?" Oresta asked.

The old man nodded. "As much as it takes," he answered.

Four more times they loosed their arrows. Now at every shot a tremendous roar went up the whole city could hear.

During a break to put up new targets Keola leaned over to Darius who stood beside her.

"Did you really find him in a brothel?" she asked.

"Yes my Lady" he said. "He’s an old friend of Pharenia. They were in her room talking about old times. My master knows almost everyone in this city and they are all his friends. When he dies the funeral procession will stretch from the Acropolis to the Dipylon Gate." The Babylonian’s face became serious. "Athens will mourn because it will be a colder place without him."

Another round came and went. The next shots would be worth eleven hundred dinars. Keola saw an apple vendor working his way through the crowd. A slight smile came to her lips and her eyes sparkled with the light of an idea. She motioned him over and purchased four of the red fruits. She handed one to Darius and another to Xenophon. She went up to Oresta who was preparing to shoot.

"You know, this is getting old," she said. "I’m getting bored and hungry. Don’t you think it’s time to get this over with?"

Oresta shrugged her incomprehension. What else could she do? Keola smiled.

"It’s time to increase the pressure," she said. "Just follow my lead."

As the great throng watched curiously the Amazon strolled non-chalantly down the range to Oresta’s post. She stood to one side and at arms length she held out an apple by the stem and placed it over the red birch target. People looked at each other in astonishment.

"What stupid thing is this?" Machon demanded angrily, eyeing Oresta. "This isn’t a damn trick shooting contest."

Oresta stared at Keola, shocked herself. The Amazon smiled and nodded once. The blonde took a deep breath and blew it out. She looked at Machon.

"I’ve wasted enough time with you today," she said. "People want to go home and eat. Fifteen hundred dinars says I can pin that apple to the post and you can’t."

Machon’s gaze shifted to Callias.

"This isn’t proper," he protested. "She should be dis..."

"Nobody cares about the damn rules," the blonde interrupted, a growl in her voice. "This is about you and me. It’s what you wanted and now you’ve got it. Time to stop whining and squirming and put up or shut up. Money talks and bull shit walks little man."

Machon ground his teeth in anger as he looked around at the people watching and listening. Already he could see it in their eyes, the laughing that he had backed down in front of the whole city.

"All right, bitch, fifteen hundred," he hissed in a barely audible whisper.

Oresta nodded. She started to bring up her bow. A hand grabbed her wrist. She turned in surprise to find Xenophon beside her, eyes dark, almost angry.

"You can’t," he said in a low voice.

The blonde took a breath and looked down the range at Keola, who waited patiently, the smile still on her face.

"It’s a thousand dinars of your money if I don’t," she said.

"It’s just money, Oresta. Let it go."

Oresta slowly brought down the bow. Xenophon released her wrist. She looked around at all the throng watching her. Some were already shaking their heads with derision. Her gaze shifted to Machon. The look in those small black eyes, hatred, contempt, triumph. Suddenly the bow was up. The arrow was gone before she could think. Gone before she had any sense of focusing or aiming. She took a shocked gulp of air. The great crowd took one as well. There was an instant of stunned quiet. And then there was a roar, like a volcano erupting. People threw up their arms and slapped each other on the back and shouted with pure excitement. Oresta watched stunned as Keola carefully worked the arrow out of the post and strolled nonchalantly back to her, eating the apple off the stick like a kabob. When she reached the shooting line she pulled an apple out of her tunic and tossed it to Machon. She flashed Oresta her brightest smile and took another bite as people cheered the way they did a favorite chariot driver, waving at the two women for attention. Oresta turned to say something to Xenophon. She was not sure what. Maybe to apologize. He and Darius were gone. A cold chill ran through the blonde, that unpleasant feeling of being a child caught doing something she had been told not to and had done anyway for no good reason.

Machon looked around as well at the crowd that seemed to mock him in its excited cheering for Oresta and Keola. He picked out the small round man of his three companions and shoved the apple in his chest. The man did not seem eager, but the look on Machon’s facr said refusal was not an option. He took a breath to steady himself, then marched resolutely down to Machon’s post. He held out the apple, thumb and forefinger barely gripping the end of the stem as he tried to get his hand as far away from the target as possible. The Athenian drew back his arrow and carefully aimed. The crowd held its breath in absolute silence. The arrow flew its course...and pierced the red birch target dead center. The crowd released its breath in a great roar. Machon slowly brought down his bow and looked over at Oresta. His eyes glittered with hate. The blonde knew at that moment that his only desire in life was to put an arrow through her heart. Her blue eyes were cold as ice crystals as she met his gaze.

"Send a draft to Xenophon’s," she said loud enough for him to hear over the noise, "I’ll collect the money when I’m ready."

Without acknowledging her words Machon turned and pushed his way through the crowd, closely followed by his two companions. Zica did her best to keep up. Quickly they all disappeared. Keola looked down the range at Machon’s third friend. For an instant she felt pity for the man. The look on his face was the frightened helpless look of a child suddenly abandoned by his family. The apple still lay on the ground where it had dropped when he jerked his hand at the moment of release and lost his tenuous grip.

Callias, Shen, Shoshen, others came up to congratulate Oresta and the Amazon. The popularity of their victory seemed to have more to do with the unpopularity of Machon, Keola noted. The crowd began breaking up and heading home for dinner. The sun hung low over Salamis Island. The day of games was done. Time to start preparing for the chariot races on the morrow. The Sycthian brothers deliberately lingered till most of the throng was gone and the four had some privacy. Shen spoke to the blonde in Mongoli in a low voice. She nodded seriously and said something in return. Both men put out an arm to Keola and gripped her forearm tightly. They were gone.

"What did Shen want?" Keola asked.

"He and Soshen offered to come with me when I pick up Machon’s money. If he wants his dinars back that’s when he’s most likely to have his thugs waiting to ambush me, before I can get the coins to a safe hiding place." Oresta answered.

"What’s this draft thing?" Keola asked. "I expected him to have the money here."

The blonde smiled.

"No one carries that much silver. It would be like carrying around a heavy rock. And someone would surely steal it. Rich men well known to the money changers over by the Strategoi have accounts with them. If Machon writes up a draft with the amount to be drawn out and his signature they will honor it."

"Learn something new every day with you it seems," the Amazon said. "Now let’s go eat. I’m hungry. My treat. I think I can afford it." She grinned. "After all this excitement I can hardly wait to see if tomorrow can top it."

She began to walk away, then stopped when Oresta did not follow. She looked back to see the blonde chewing her lip, eyes dark and distracted.

"What’s up?" Keola asked. "I’ll get you what you want," she made a face," even those disgusting snails you like. As long as I don’t have to eat one."

Oresta’s blue orbs focused on the Amazon, bright and intense.

"This was stupid, Keola," she said. "I was stupid. I should never have done that. I don’t know what it was inside me that let me. I knew better. It wasn’t worth the risk to you." She bit her lip hard. "It was only fucking money."

The Amazon shrugged.

"I think it meant more to you than that," she said. "The ugly truth is I don’t like defeat either. Maybe even more than you. I am spoiled you know. I’m used to getting my way. And I’ll do what it takes to get it. We have something in common, Oresta. We’re both deathly afraid of losing."

The blonde took a slow breath in and out. Inside those brown eyes was a spirit pulling her. Pulling her closer. She could feel it. She did not want to resist. She wanted to be pulled close. She longed to be brought inside, out of the cold, into the warmth. Only the dead can be trusted. Only the dead. She felt dead. To go inside was a leap of faith. She knew it. And she had no faith. In anything.

"That arrow might have gone through your hand, you know," Oresta said finally.

"Naw, that wasn’t going to happen," Keola replied.

"Oh, and how did you know that?" the blonde asked.

The Amazon smiled her brilliant, charismatic smile. "I trust you," she said simply.

A shudder ran through Oresta that shook her soul.

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