This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(100)

“But with your captors dead, why did you end up here?” I ask. “Couldn’t you go back to your homes?”

“We didn’t know how to sail,” Dorymache explains. “We didn’t know where we were. The ships drifted for days, until we reached a shore.”

“So the winds brought you here?” I ask.

“Not quite,” she says. “These lands are vast. All of it is Scythia, but we’ve roamed far from that first shore we found.”

More of them chime in, eager to tell me how they made this new land their home. Leaping from the stranded ships, the women made their way across the terrain—finding horses and liberating them for their own use, riding through the steppe, taking what they needed from whomever they found.

“How long ago was this?” I ask.

In the firelight, her eyes squint in concentration. “I was only a child,” she says. “Before I was taken, that is.” She nods toward the youngest Amazons. “We count them as fully grown when they’ve killed their first enemy.”

“So there are more of you now,” I ask, “than from those ships?”

“More women joined us as we rode,” the queen answers. “Women who were hardy from life on the steppe, women who wanted to fight and ride, not give in to the softness of a settled existence.”

“Just women?” I ask, looking again at the children.

“While some of us are happiest with women alone,” she says, her lips curving into a smile at Dorymache, “there are those among us too who crave the company of men—every now and again. We told you that we take what we want, and we move on. Any Amazon can love whoever she wants without question.”

I’m captivated by her words, the picture she builds of the Amazons roaming this land, shaping their lives according to their own desires. In the echo of her voice, I can feel the thrill of seducing a woman away from her dull existence, of taking an opportunistic tumble with a lone traveler, of succumbing to the heat of a post-battle tryst with an ally—of everything it means for these women to live a life of freedom and pleasure.

My gaze, though, is irresistibly drawn back to Melo, the girl who sneaked away from her sisters to meet her lover by the stream. Her eyes are bright in the firelight, her hands clasped beneath her chin.

“And any man an Amazon chooses,” I say, “is never invited to join you like the women you gather? You always leave them behind?”

“Men are suspicious of us.” She leans forward, squatting on her heels, her arms wrapped around her knees. “Even those who live like we do stop roaming eventually and set up homes. Their women give up a life of hunting and riding, and they stay in the wagons instead. The men remain as warriors and the women rear their children indoors.” She shakes her head. “If we let men join us, it wouldn’t be long before they would try to rule us.”

“We’ll never let it happen again,” Dorymache says, her face serious. “We won’t be tamed. There are many bands of us out here, our numbers always growing. Any one of us who changes her mind is free to leave and take up a domestic life if she prefers.”

“What about your sons?” I ask.

“Men raised by Amazons have never known anything different,” the queen says. “They don’t expect women to be weaker than men or better suited to a quiet life.”

“So they can stay with you?” I ask.

“Of course.” She sounds surprised that I’d question it. “We love our children. When the tribe’s sons are grown, they can ride with us as long as they choose, just like our daughters. We want to survive. We want to continue.”

“We just want to do it according to our own rules,” Dorymache speaks up.

The queen puts her arm around her shoulders. “We do.”

“And those men you attacked today,” I ask. “They threaten your survival?”

I’m watching the girl, Melo, out of the corner of my eye. She stiffens at my words, gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

The queen shrugs. “We don’t know,” she says. “We don’t know where their homes are, or why they’ve left them. They’re free to travel through the steppe like we do. But if we think they’re too close, we chase them away.”

“Or steal their horses,” I say.

“They haven’t dared attack us,” she says, her voice grim. “We want to keep it that way.”

“I can understand that.” I hold out my cup for more mare’s milk. I’m becoming accustomed to the flavor. I like it here, surrounded by these women, and the more I learn of them, the more I want to know.

One of the other women in the circle stands, holding a wooden bowl. Behind her, the sky is ink-black and sprinkled with stars. She reaches into the bowl and scatters a handful of flowering buds onto the fire.

As they burn, the smoke takes on a rich and earthy flavor, woody and herbal. I breathe in, and it uncoils through my veins, a sweet and heady rush that mingles with the effects of the fermented milk.

A good-natured cheer goes up around the fire. The queen smiles. “Have you heard enough, goddess?” she asks. “Did we move your heart?”

I take another sip. “You told me already that you don’t need divine assistance,” I remind her with a smile. “You weren’t trying to move my heart to win my favor, were you?” I speak lightly; they can see, I’m sure, how rousing I found their story. The way they live their lives is a joyous thing. I came here for a love story; I think I’ve found something even more intriguing.