Leg Post 91 opens with Aman Tabiz and his Egypt Twats in the vicinity of Otreriana as they spy on the Amazons. They are all hiding in wait and remain silent as Amazon hunters pass them by. Aman is with a new member of the group. Herophile, commonly known as Matsyagandha, is an Indian born girl with the gift of futuresight. Most of her visions come during sleep but when awake she is able to see just a single hour into the future. She seems unhappy to be with Aman, even though he brought her out of the tiny fishing village in Ionia, but helps him with his current objective; to steal Hippolyta's Girdle. To do so, he has found a traitor within the Amazons who is willing to help him. Within the Otrerianan Longhouse, Queen Hippolyta is arguing with her sisters, Antiope and Pentheseleia, and her 'mammi', Nakia ibn-bint Ismat ibn-bint al-Almasi, and her ex-friend, Bremusa. After receiving a letter from her estranged daughter in Troy, Hippolyta wishes to bring Creusa to Otreriana but everyone disagrees with the act as the child bucks the tradition of being born of an Amazon and a male human. Although arguing with everyone, she goes so far as to sucker punch Pentheseleia to show her disdain. She apologises for it and they both tease Antiope, deliberately provoking her to swear. Nakia insists that Hippolyta needs to change the minds of people and bring them around to her way of thinking before she did anything they wouldn't understand. Bremusa leaves to feed Crixus, her wyvern, after Hippolyta shouts at her. Pentheseleia then leaves to meet her girlfriend in the tavern while Antiope goes to check on their youngest sister, Melanippe, who loves playing with bugs in the woods. Lastly, Nakia takes Hippolyta to bed after giving her a sedative, believing that Hippolyta has been too stressed lately and needed real sleep. Nakia has missed Hippolyta's mother since her death, in Leg Post 81, and often sees Hippolyta as Molpadia, causing emotional turmoil for her. Hippolyta promises to help the si'la find a new wife, but is determined to find one that deserves her. Later, the traitor is revealed to be one of those that was with Hippolyta, but remains unnamed. She was unable to get the girdle for Aman but decides on a new plan of action, but only if the Amazons would all be left unharmed, to which Aman agrees.
Post[]
Traitor in the Longhouse[]
Aman Tabiz crouched his haunches and fell silent as the seer closed her eyes to view the immediate future. Other members of the Egypt Twats were scattered across the landscape, all laying low and waiting for the sign – a bird call that they had all been practising.
The young woman started writing on her papyrus[Ext 1], though her eyes were still closed. Words scrawled across the grainy, brown sheet and the ink frequently blotched into a large stain. It didn’t matter. So long as the first word of every sentence was intact.
The woman finally stopped and her eyes snapped open. She gasped for air and started panting from the sudden rush of oxygen. Her eyes had been rolled back in her head, came back around but they couldn’t focus on the real world for some time. Aman considered reaching out with a reassuring hand to help her settle and form a connection to reality. He knew it would help. But he couldn’t muster the compassion.
Instead, he waited silently. He watched his breath drift in the cold air. The land was on the cusp of Winter, but the ice and snow had only taken root upon the higher vestiges of the mountain. The mountain went unnamed and was usually referred to by the settlement that was nestled upon its side – Otreriana. The Amazons stalked these lands and their hunters were especially dangerous women, prepared with hunting tools and weapons. Aman, however, had honed his craft of stealth since joining the Egypt Twats under the mentorship of its former leaders. Theft was their primary purpose and theft required stealth of all means – both the art of being unseen and the art of being unseen whilst seen. Here, however, the former was the goal. There would be no way for any of the men in his company to disguise themselves as Amazons, though one of them had suggested shoving melons down his shirt.
As he watched, he spotted two Amazon hunters on the prowl. They were distracted by game, somewhere nearby, and from their straining, he assumed they spotted a small mammal – probably a rabbit. In his skin he could almost sense the other gang members suddenly alert and ready to strike.
Across his shoulders he wore a rugged cloak that was dirty and covered in patches of moss – all with the intention of being disguised into the landscape. His muscles started to ache from the strain of remaining so still.
The women crept near to him. He wondered if they sensed something was wrong in the location. Their interest in the rabbit kept them from prying too closely, though his hand was still grasping the hilt of his dagger. He reckoned he could quickly kill one of them, should they tread too close, but Amazons were no slouching guardsmen of Cairo. These women were the ultimate warriors on the planet. He might take one by surprise, but the second would have a knife in his back the instant he revealed himself and for all his skill, he wouldn’t be able to out-manoeuvre her and her friend.
He would have grit his teeth, but he didn’t even want to risk that tiny movement.
He tried to mentally slow his own heartbeat.
And then they were gone in a sudden rush. They gave chase to their unfortunate prey.
Aman let out a breath. He was impressed that the seer had managed to remain so quiet. He turned to see her lying in the grass, watching him. Her eyes were small and ringed with deep black. She always appeared weak, apathetic and lethargic but he knew that she was simply tired of life, despite being so young.
Herophile: “Are they gone?”
Aman nodded.
Herophile: “It would have ended very badly if they found us.”
Aman: “I don’t need to be a seer to figure that out.”
Herophile: “You do, actually.”
Aman: “What?”
Herophile: “You only suspect. You believe. I know.”
She rolled over, turning from him, as though she would go to sleep, evidently bored of speaking with him. He grumbled about her being ungrateful.
He had found her in a small farming village in the region of Ionia, on the western coastline of Anatolia. The Aegean Sea marked that coast and across a narrow channel was the Greek island of Chios, where Aman had a secret port for his newly expanding organisation. North of Chios and Ionia was the island of Lesbos, still a member nation of the Greek States, and further north than that was Troy on the short peninsula of northern Anatolia. The Ionians were often at war with the more powerful Hittite Empire, which longed to conquer the land, but Herophile’s tiny town was far from the wars and fighting. Yet her heritage was not of the Ionian people but of India, where she had been born. She didn’t know her parents, but she knew they had banished her as a small child. Sailors dumped her in Ionia and there she lived. She was adopted by a friendly fisherman and taught in his craft. As the brownest person in the town and a foreigner, she was treated as an outcast by many and given the name “Matsyagandha” – meaning ‘she who smells like fish’ - by one of the shop owners that could speak the Indian tongue. Her adoptive father, however, called her by the Grecian name Herophile but only he ever used that name for her.
Aman: “Tell me of the traitor, Herophile.”
She didn’t like Aman at all, but at least he used her Grecian name and not the cruel nickname everyone else used. Even in the Egypt Twats, she was called Matsyagandha.
Herophile: “She will arrive soon.”
Aman: “Are you certain?”
Herophile bristled.
Herophile: “Yes!”
She wasn’t a very good seer, but she didn’t want to be constantly verified. She didn’t know why she had the gift of foresight, though she always suspected it was the reason for her being banished from India. Most of her prophecies came during sleep, often waking her up several times during the night. When she deliberately forced visions to come to her, she could only see within a single hour.
Aman: “Did you get her name?”
Herophile rolled back over and held up the papyrus. She didn’t get up and just held it out. Aman shuffled his way over and snatched it from her hand. He looked at the poem but ignored the majority of it. Nobody understood why, but many of her prophecies that relied on words, rather than sights, were acrostic. He looked at the first letter of each word to find the name of the traitor…
Hippolyta: “To Hell with all of you.”
Hippolyta snarled as she drank from her goblet. The goblet had been stolen from a Greek caravan just a few weeks ago. More and more exquisite goods had been pilfered since Hippolyta became queen of the Amazons and the tribe had grown greedy on their successes and growth. Hippolyta the Great, or Hippolyta the Awesome as she liked to call herself, was revered amongst the Amazons for leading them on a path of glory and victory. The new recruits practically idolised her as an otherworldly being and her status as daughter to Ares was no longer a stigma but an honour – The Daughter of War.
Nakia: “Lyta, you shouldn’t be so rude.”
Hippolyta: “You can bugger off too.”
Antiope: “At least she didn’t swear this time.”
Hippolyta: “Fuck you, nitwit.”
Antiope: “So rude!”
Pentheseleia: “Yeah! Don’t say nitwit! That’s terrible!”
Both Pentheseleia and Hippolyta snorted and chuckled.
Antiope: “Buffoons.”
Antiope was short-sighted so she couldn’t see things further away very clearly, but she could make out the figures of her two older siblings. Hippolyta, the grand queen, was upon her throne while Pentheseleia was sat on the step in at the feet of the queen. Nakia ibn-bint Ismat ibn-bint al-Almasi, commonly called “mammi” by the girls, was hovering around them like an aethereal spirit.
Nakia: “Play nice, girls.”
She wagged her finger at Hippolyta and Pentheseleia. Hippolyta scowled in response, while Pentheseleia rolled her eyes.
Antiope: “What will you do, Lyta?”
Hippolyta: “I already told you what will be done. She will come here and be one of us.”
Pentheseleia turned on her brief ally and resumed her offence against the queen.
Pentheseleia: “You’re a fool, Lyta. She cannot be allowed here!”
Bremusa: “She is an Amazon born of a man! She is an abomination!”
Hippolyta shot from her chair, almost kicking her sister over in the process, and thrust a finger at her long ex-friend.
Hippolyta: “You have no right to speak! You dare call my daughter anything but revered princess and I’ll have your hide!”
Bremusa was stood at the back of her room, her arms folded. She set her face into a grim mask but remained silent as bid by her queen.
Pentheseleia: “I’m sorry, Lyta, but Bree is right. Your daughter is not one of us.”
Hippolyta: “I am an Amazon born of man! Have I not achieved greatness? Have I not brought infamy and glory to Amazon kind? The men of Greece, the men of Hattusa, the men of Scythia – do they not tremble in fear and awe of my name!?”
Everyone was quiet, save for the tinkle of wine as Nakia poured it into a goblet as though oblivious to the drama around her.
Hippolyta: “And now you spit on me and mine!? How dare you! You ungrateful bastards!”
Pentheseleia: “It is not our way, sister! You know that! You want us to violate everything we have ever believed in. Allowing concession once was a great undertaking among the women, but to grant it twice? And what of next time? How many more ,ale-born children will you squeeze out?”
Hippolyta: “You miserable little—!”
Hippolyta thrust forward and punched her younger sister across the jaw. Pentheseleia was not born of Ares and did not possess the girdle of divine magic; she went down like a sack of potatoes.
Nakia: “Lyta! That was uncalled for!”
Hippolyta: “Didn’t you hear her, mammi!?”
Nakia: “So she hurt your precious little feelings with words?”
Nakia held out the goblet to Hippolyta.
Nakia: “Grow up, child.”
Hippolyta: “Oh great. I might have know you’d be against me too.”
She snatched the goblet.
Antiope: “No one is against you, Lyta. Everyone wants what’s best for Otreriana. I mean, I don’t even care about this. I think it’s petty.”
Antiope had grown to be, perhaps, the most studious Amazon that ever lived. She shied away from battle and fighting and instead she sought to expand her knowledge of the world. Initially she was branded a weakling and a coward but after her knowledge proved most useful in conducting wars in foreign lands, people stopped pushing her into combat and let her alone.
Bremusa: “Even the scrawny one understands what’s best.”
Though they still called her a weakling.
Hippolyta: “I don’t care what any of you think. I don’t care what any Amazon thinks. We swell our numbers with male-born every day. There are more women here born of men than of si’la. It isn’t fair to single out my daughter just because her mother is Amazonian. It doesn’t make any sense!”
Bremusa: “It is what the people want, Hippolyta!”
Bremusa had been forced to stop calling the queen by her close-name several years ago. She was, however, still able to call her by name instead of title.
Hippolyta: “Am I not the queen, Bremusa? Am I not the one who makes the decisions here? I decide what is best!”
She chugged the wine in her goblet and threw it across the room. The silence was only broken by the clatter of metal on stone. She slowly stomped over to the throne and fell into it, slumping down with a sour grimace on her face.
Hippolyta: “I have sacrificed her for too long. I gave her up so that I could lead the Amazons in victory. I have taken us into legend. And all I ask, in return, is that I am united with my own child.”
Antiope: “We have so much. You have taken so much from the men of the world. How are you not content? One child that you barely even remember?”
Hippolyta: “Do you see any other child among us? Do you see my babies around the longhouse? Do you see me with my si’la wife?”
These rhetorical questions hung in the air without response. Many great si’la had pledged to become spouse of Hippolyta but she wanted none of them. Many knew Hippolyta was ‘infected’ with lust for men, but many couldn’t believe that the queen of Otreriana would live her days without progeny.
Bremusa: “This is a waste of time.”
Hippolyta: “Yes, it is. So, bugger off.”
Nakia handed her another goblet of wine, which she drank from immediately.
Antiope: “Maybe she’s had enough to drink?”
Now her older sisters ganged up on her again;
Pentheseleia: “There’s no such thing!”
Hippolyta: “The alcohol is the only thing keeping me from kicking you off the balcony, Antiope.”
Antiope: “There is no balcony, genius.”
Hippolyta: “Then I’ll have one built. And kick you off it. It shall be named Antiope’s Drop.”
Pentheseleia: “Hahaha-ow!”
She dubbed her sore jaw and frowned at Hippolyta.
Pentheseleia: “You didn’t have to hit me. If you want to fight, we do it in the arena. You don’t sucker punch me.”
Hippolyta shrugged in resignation.
Hippolyta: “You’re right. Sorry about that.”
Antiope: “Oh good. We’re all calm again. I can get Melanippe in here.”
Pentheseleia: “Noooooo! Why do you want to do that? Leave her playing with her toys, or whatever she’s doing. We’re drinking and arguing.”
Antiope: “I thought we were finished with the arguing at least?”
Bremusa: “You think the queen would give in so easily?”
Hippolyta: “I haven’t agreed with this treacherous twat in a long time, but now I do. I shall not give in. My daughter will join us here. Her letter cut me to the heart. She wants to know me. She wants to know us.”
She thrust her goblet at Pentheseleia, spilling wine on the floor.
Hippolyta: “Your niece wants to know you, Leia!”
Antiope: “I hope not! I don’t know how the men-lovers do it, but incest is not wincest here!”
A long silence followed.
Antiope: “Oh. You meant just… like to know not… know… I see now. My mistake.”
Hippolyta: “Someone call the master craftsman. We have a balcony to be built.”
Antiope whined;
Antiope: “It’s any easy mistake to make!”
Pentheseleia: “Make sure it’s on the eastern side of the longhouse, there’s a steep slope down the mountain.”
Hippolyta: “Yes! Make a note of it.”
Antiope stamped her foot.
Antiope: “Neither of you are funny!”
Hippolyta looked at Pentheseleia with exaggerated surprise.
Hippolyta: “I wasn’t trying to be funny! Were you, Leia?”
Pentheseleia: “Not I! I just thought we should do the job properly! Throwing people from balconies is a serious business. Best get it right the first time.”
Antiope: “Assholes!”
The two older women laughed.
Pentheseleia: “She swears!”
Hippolyta: “What a horrible girl! Swearing at her own sisters like that!”
Pentheseleia: “She’ll be calling us bastards next!”
Hippolyta: “Or fuckers!”
Pentheseleia: “Or even, dare I say, a couple of cunts!?”
Antiope: “You are!”
Pentheseleia: “We are what?”
Antiope: “You know!”
Hippolyta: “We don’t know. You’ll have to say it for us to know.”
Antiope swelled her chest.
Antiope: “YOU Fffff…”
Hippolyta: “What was that?”
She twirled her wrist before cupping her ear towards the younger sibling.
Antiope struggled with the anger and the need to ‘be good’.
Nakia: “Stop provoking your sister.”
Nakia slid behind Antiope and gave her a peck on the cheek. Antiope was already twenty years old, but Hippolyta and Pentheseleia treated her like she was twelve. Nakia moved on to give Bremusa a goblet of wine.
Hippolyta: “But it’s so eeeeeeeeasy!”
Pentheseleia: “We’re her older sisters. We’re obliged to bully her.”
Antiope: “Mammi!”
Nakia: “You know they’re trying to annoy you, Antiope. Don’t let them.”
Antiope turned from Nakia, who gave the goblet the quiet woman at the back, and glared at the older women.
Antiope: “Fuckers.”
They bellowed with laughter.
Nakia: “I hope I didn’t hear you swearing over there, Antiope?”
Pentheseleia ran over to Antiope and dragged her into a firm embrace, still laughing.
Pentheseleia: “Finally you are a woman!”
Antiope was still annoyed, but happy to be getting praise and hugs instead of being teased, so she just hung there in her sister’s arms like an annoyed cat.
Hippolyta: “Our brave sister, Antiope! On your honour, sister!”
Pentheseleia: “On your honour, Antiope!”
Pentheseleia thrust a goblet into Antiope’s hand and they held up their cups. Antiope resigned herself and raised the cup too. They all drank; even Bremusa at the back.
Antiope: “Your both so stupid.”
Antiope smothered a smile.
Hippolyta: “Come and sit with me, Antiope.”
She patted her lap and Antiope sat there. Antiope was tiny when compared to her sisters. She was lithe, forced to perform training with all the other Amazon girls, but never bulked up like most women. When sitting in her sister’s lap, she did look twelve.
Hippolyta was the senior of Antiope by fifteen years, almost old enough to be her legitimate mother. Pentheseleia was just two years older than Antiope, yet she behaved like she was closer in age to Hippolyta.
Antiope never felt very close to either of them, seeing them as so unlike herself and much to bawdy to tolerate for long. She did respect them and love them and longed for their approval, but she couldn’t like them. She admitted she felt safe with Hippolyta watching over her and she knew that her half-sister had always had a presence throughout her young life. She doubted she would be so valued by the raiders if not for Hippolyta.
Pentheseleia had bright purple hair, a shade towards plum, and kept it in a loose, thick plait. Antiope, similarly, had purple hair but she kept it shorn short to the chin, where it flicked out. Hippolyta’s blonde hair singled her out against the other two sisters.
Hippolyta put her chin on Antiope’s shoulder.
Antiope: “You agree with me, don’t you?”
Antiope: “I guess so. I don’t see why people are making such a fuss over something so trivial.”
Pentheseleia gave an exasperated sigh.
Pentheseleia: “Because it’s tradition. You can’t just tell people to fuck off and ignore their wishes, even if you’re queen. Even if you don’t like their wishes!”
Bremusa: “If you really want your daughter here, you have to convince the people first. Even if it takes years.”
Hippolyta: “How many more years must I wait? How many? How many before my daughter can be treated fairly? Is she guilty of some crime? Did she commit some offence? No. Her mere existence is the fault. The circumstance of her birth. Something she had no say in!”
Bremusa: “She didn’t, but you did! It’s your fault! You should have thought of all this before you became the whore of that king!”
Hippolyta’s rage swelled again, and her arms tightened around Antiope.
Antiope: “Don’t crush me!”
Bremusa: “Forget it. I’m going. I’m tired of talking to an immovable stone.”
Hippolyta: “Likewise! Go on! Get out!”
Bremusa shook her head and left the longhouse. She intended to go and see to the wyverns. Crixus would have been fed by now, but he enjoyed extra treats from his beloved rider. But later, she would have other pressing matters to attend to.
Nakia: “You need to stop being bitter with Bree.”
Hippolyta: “She left my daughter behind. She did all of this to me. She’s lucky I didn’t behead her.”
Nakia: “And that is no way to talk about her either.”
Nakia came over with more wine and as she poured the goblets full, she reached out and patted Hippolyta’s cheek. Her daughter of another father.
Nakia: “You are beautiful, strong and brave, my little Lyta. But you need to understand that others are slower to change than you. They didn’t all get trapped in a foreign city. Many of the new women, born of men, would agree with you. But they will not stand up to the si’la-born. They even think of themselves as outsiders, still settling in. It’s not their place to impose their thoughts on the culture here. Bremusa was right. If you want our dear Creusa to come here, you need to change the minds of the old guard.”
Hippolyta: “But I shouldn’t have to! I am queen!”
Nakia: “Whether you think you should or shouldn’t have to, is irrelevant. The fact is, you do have to.”
Hippolyta groaned and leaned her head back on her chair and the family fell into quiet. Hippolyta was sleepy from the wine and tired of arguing with everyone.
Hippolyta: “What do you think she looks like?”
They all consider that.
Antiope: “She’s obviously going to be beautiful.”
Pentheseleia: “I bet she looks like me!”
Hippolyta: “You!? How!? I look like our mother!”
Pentheseleia: “I just know it. I’m the more attractive in the family, so it seems only right she should get my good looks.”
Hippolyta: “Antiope, get off me so I can kick her ass.”
Antiope rolled her eyes but didn’t move.
Pentheseleia: “You’d have to catch me first. I’m going out tonight.”
Hippolyta smirked.
Hippolyta: “Who is it this time, eh?”
Pentheseleia: “The same girl I’ve been with for weeks! What do you take me for, huh?”
Antiope: “They were wrestling in the council chamber the other day.”
Pentheseleia: “Tattle-tale!”
Hippolyta: “Well, as long as you won, I don’t care.”
Pentheseleia: “Ha!”
Hippolyta: “Don’t show me up by losing!”
Pentheseleia flexed her arm.
Pentheseleia: “Have you seen these arms? I must be the strongest Amazon ever.”
Hippolyta: “Those little apples? You must be joking.”
Pentheseleia: “Don’t judge by how they appear! There’s hidden strength in these bad girls!”
Antiope: “It doesn’t work that way, Leia. Bigger muscles mean more strength. That’s basic biology. Muscle mass—”
Pentheseleia: “I’m going to build that balcony myself.”
She turned to leave but stuck her middle finger at Antiope before she exited the room. She would meet her lover at the tavern near the longhouse, knowing the mead was sweet and frothy. Later that night, however, she had another urgent matter she had to attend to – not that her sisters could know of it.
Antiope: “I should go too. I need to check on Melanippe.”
Hippolyta: “Okay. I should check on her too. I’ll go read her a story tonight.”
Antiope: “That’s a great idea. She should learn to read, like you taught me.”
Hippolyta: “Maybe, but I’m worried she’s going up to be too soft.”
Antiope: “Like me?”
Hippolyta: “Exactly. One weed in the family is enough! I need to get her punching some faces. That little bastard at her school, whatever her name is, could use a good beat down from our Mel. I’ll get Leia to train her this week.”
Antiope: “Promoting kids to beat the crap out of each other. I really hate living here.”
Hippolyta: “It’s not all that bad! It’s healthy for girls to hit each other. They get stronger and they learn to respect each other. It’s all part of growing up and learning to be a real woman.”
Antiope: “Well, maybe. I don’t think it’s right though. Not everyone has it in them to be so competitive. It’s not fair to force all the girls to be that way. I think, anyway. But nobody listens to me.”
Hippolyta: “I listen to you. You know that.”
Antiope: “And you bully me.”
Hippolyta: “I just told you, it’s part of learning to be a real woman!”
She grinned and gave Antiope a playful shove off of her knee.
Hippolyta: “Go and see how Melanippe is doing. She’s probably digging up worms. I don’t know why she’s so fascinated with bugs.”
Antiope: “She said she wants to be a bee when she grows up.”
Hippolyta: “That’s just weird. She doesn’t want to
be a pretty butterfly and she doesn’t want to be a deadly spider. She wants to be a fat bumble-bee…”
Antiope shrugged.
Antiope: “I’m sure she has her reasons.”
Antiope waved to Hippolyta and departed the room. She would check Melanippe’s room first and if the girl wasn’t there, she would search the small woodland where the bug catching was done. She was satisfied that Hippolyta would be busy reading to their youngest sister in the evening because it meant Antiope was free to proceed with her own task and she didn’t want anyone to know about it.
Nakia: “You should sleep.”
Hippolyta: “I have now committed myself to the bedtime story. I will not break my vow!”
She was being melodramatic and spread her arms out with a screwed-up face. She couldn’t maintain it and cracked into a small laugh.
Nakia: “At least a nap? That wine has gone straight to your head.”
Hippolyta: “I think you spiked me.”
Nakia gave a mischievous smile.
Nakia: “I did!”
Hippolyta: “Motherfucker.”
Nakia: “Wouldn’t it be daughterfucker?”
Hippolyta: “I thought I was getting tired too fast. You can’t get away with this, mammi!”
Nakia: “It’s for your own good. You’ve been acting out of sorts for months. Come on, get up. Let me get you into bed.”
Hippolyta slowly staggered to her feet and Nakia wrapped herself around her for support. They started from the queen’s throne room and into the corridor. The throne room was tiny, designed for intimate and personal audiences, unless the throne rooms of kings in other lands that were designed to intimidate visitors or aggrandise the monarch.
Hippolyta: “You’re taking me to bed, eh? This better not be where that daughterfucking comes in!”
Nakia: “Ha! If you were actually my daughter, I might be offended by that.”
Hippolyta: “Okay, I admit, that was a pretty shallow joke.”
They reached her room and Nakia nudged the door open with her foot. Her appearance had changed over the years since her wife’s death. She had once been the object of Molpadia’s desires and Nakia’s si’la body altered to match those desires. Since then she had started to appear older and more matronly, affected partly by the desires of her daughters. Yet there was still the inner sexual preferences of Hippolyta that impacted that appearance, giving Nakia a more masculine aspect around the chin and a broader nose than she had once had. Nakia had been concerned that she might start to turn into a male, but the presence of so many Amazons kept her female form intact.
Hippolyta fell onto the bed and looked, bleary eyed, up at Nakia.
Nakia: “I do remember the days when you used to fancy me and flirt with me when you were a girl.”
Hippolyta smirked dreamily.
Hippolyta: “I was a scoundrel.”
Nakia: “My favourite scoundrel!”
Hippolyta: “I hope you weren’t disappointed I didn’t…”
Nakia helped Hippolyta get into the blankets.
Nakia: “Not really. I expected it. I might not be your real father, but I was your mammi anyway. Even if you were a curious teenager, you still saw me as some kind of guardian even if not an actual parent. And then you went and found your true desires in men. Even if I had wanted to be consort to the new Amazon queen, it was never going to be. I don’t even know if you’d want me if I had a male appearance.”
Hippolyta took Nakia’s hand and kissed it.
Hippolyta: “Maybe not. I can’t help who I am, mammi. I can’t take back what I learn about myself.”
Nakia: “You don’t need to justify yourself to me, little Lyta. I’ll admit it. It’s been difficult. I have no mate and you do look like your mother. A lot. And it’s very distracting sometimes. But when I see that stunning woman, I change my point of view and, instead, I see that funny girl I helped to raise. I’m not your father, but I say again, I am your mammi. I love you. I cherish you.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss Hippolyta gently. She then planted her hands on either cheek and stared deeply into her eyes.
Nakia: “Continue to be strong, my queen. Your heartache will only last a little while longer, I know it.”
Hippolyta: “Thank you for understanding me, mammi.”
Nakia got up and sighed to herself. She admitted that she had enjoyed being queen consort and she missed Molpadia with all her heart. She often yearned for her dearest love to return and wrap her in a warm embrace. She did have to control her emotions around Hippolyta. Hippolyta knew she looked like Molpadia, but probably didn’t realised just how similar she was. Physically but also in personality. Strong, domineering and always controlling. They were fierce commanders who expected their will to be done and they achieved results. They wanted glory and power and they wanted to celebrate their vitality. The daughter even smelt like her mother and Nakia would sneak a long draw of breath when close enough and, with a sudden glimmer, Molpadia was near.
She got to the door when she heard Hippolyta mumble;
Hippolyta: “We need to get you a new wife, mammi. There’s lots of sexy, young girls in town. I’ll find one worthy of you.”
She rolled over and said lastly;
Hippolyta: “Hard as it will be to find one that deserves you.”
Nakia smiled.
Nakia: “That was nice.”
Hippolyta: “I’m always nice… I’m the queen of nice…”
She was already half-asleep. The drug had done its work. Nakia hoped it would last the night. Poor Melanippe would have to miss the bedtime story. She didn’t want Hippolyta to know what she was going to do this evening.
Herophile: “Here she comes.”
Aman glanced around.
Aman: “You can see her?”
Herophile: “I just know. I know this is the time.”
Aman nodded slowly.
Aman: “Right.”
A figure came into view and he watched her moving, nimbly, towards him. She had set up the meeting spot, so she knew the way. When she met the specified tree, she stood and waited in silence. Aman also waited, just in case she was followed. There they both remained in silence until Aman took the risk.
Aman: “I am here.”
Traitor: “Good.”
Aman: “Did you get it?”
Traitor: “Not yet. I was with her earlier today. She was drunk and arguing with everyone. But she wore the girdle. There was no way to take it.”
Aman: “Then we will wait another day.”
Traitor: “And if I still can’t get it?”
Aman: “We’ll need to force the issue.”
Traitor: “I think I know a way to do that, without anyone getting hurt. But you’d have to promise me that, no one will be hurt. I am betraying Hippolyta, not the Amazons.”
Aman: “If you can get me the girdle without bloodshed, that satisfies me. I’m not interested in murder for murder’s sake. I just want the girdle.”
Traitor: “Then you must listen to my new plan…”
Notes[]
Britt's Commentary[]
"There is a small mistake in this post where I used 'Antiope' instead of 'Hippolyta' for a line of dialogue. The post was set up with mystery in mind, deliberately setting up each character as a possible candidate to be revealed as the traitor, allowing the reader to freely speculate before it would be unveiled in the next post. I worked on giving the sisters some believable banter and behaviours to demonstrate the relationships between them and highlight their personalities in contrast to each other. I also touched upon the nature of the si'la and how their emotions might be conflicting with non-biological children. In the original version of this tale, it is Hercules[Ext 2] who who seeks out Hippolyta's Girdle[Ext 3]. I added the new character of Herophile at the last minute, originally planning to make her a nameless member of his group. She is an amalgamation of two very different characters of the Erythrean Sibyl[Ext 4], of which there is one named Herophile, and the character of Satyavati[Ext 5]." ~ Britt the Writer