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Authors: Jane Yolen
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rough planes of his face resolved into something resembling beauty.
Then he stopped laughing as suddenly as he’d begun and looked at Hippolyta again, his eyes narrowing. “I know what you are, little Amazon. I have seen many of your sisters. Even loved a few. What I don’t know is why you’ve brought your little bundle here.”
He stood and walked over to Hippolyta. He was tall and wide-shouldered. His golden beard poured down his chest like a glittering wave. His long white robe was trimmed in purple and cinched in by a silver belt studded with red and green stones.
In spite of herself, Hippolyta was impressed. Surely Zeus himself looks no more kingly.
“She’s here because of the baby,” Dares said.
The king leaned over and looked at the child, who reached out for his beard. “Why should this child concern me?”
“I must speak privately with you, King of Troy,” Hippolyta said. “My mother, Otrere, commands it of me.”
At her mother’s name, King Laomedon looked up, for a moment startled. Then he snapped his fingers to summon one of the girls.
“Take the child, Artemesia. Treat it well till I ask for it again,” he commanded.
“It’s a boy,” Hippolyta said, handing the baby to the girl. “His name is Podarces.” Strange, she thought, how reluctant I am to give up this little burden now.
“All of you but this little barbarian leave me,” commanded Laomedon.
“Your Majesty, are you certain—” Dares began.
Hippolyta wondered whether he wanted to stay for her protection—or the king’s. She was about to say she could handle herself when Laomedon interrupted.
“Check the defenses on the north wall, Dares.” He waved his hand. “I need no help from you here.”
Dares bowed low and, with a final warning glance at Hippolyta, left the chamber.
CHAPTER NINE
KING LAOMEDON
T HE KING WALKED OVER to a table and poured himself a cup of wine. He did it with deliberate slowness, like a great beast deciding its next move.
When at last he looked up, he asked, “What is your name, daughter of Otrere?”
“Hippolyta,” she answered. “Princess of the Amazons.”
“But not the oldest of Otrere’s brats,” he said.
“Second oldest,” she admitted.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment but drained the cup of wine halfway. Hippolyta felt every bit of the time stretching out, like a leash around her neck.
“Otrere,” Laomedon mused. “Lovely copper hair. Amber eyes. Nice smile. We spent some time together. Twice.” He grinned, and the wine glistened on his lips.
Hippolyta hated the way he spoke of her mother, as if she were a broodmare he’d owned.
“We last met some months ago, on the Phrygian border by Aphrodite’s grotto.” The smile grew broader as he remembered. “I asked her to stay longer, for she matches me in spirit. I like that. But she would not. You Amazons are a restless lot.” Now the smile was incandescent, like a candle before it burns down a house. “Take her my warmest regards when you go.”
“She needs more than your”—Hippolyta spit out the next two words as if they were some filth in her mouth—“warmest regards.” Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “She needs more because of that child of yours.”
“The child you brought?”
He’s toying with me, Hippolyta thought. He knows very well the child is his. But she couldn’t think why he should be doing so.
“Yes,” she said, “your son. Do you deny that he is yours, King Laomedon?”
He shrugged, finished the wine, and set the cup back on the table. “I saw a resemblance to her. Not to me. Still, she has no reason to lie about such a thing. So, you’ve brought him to his father’s house, as is your custom. Very well, princess, you’ve done your duty. If you go to the kitchens, they will feed you before you leave.”
He reached across the table to a bowl of grapes and plucked several, ready to pop them into his mouth.
Hippolyta walked over and almost put her hand on his arm,
Then he stopped laughing as suddenly as he’d begun and looked at Hippolyta again, his eyes narrowing. “I know what you are, little Amazon. I have seen many of your sisters. Even loved a few. What I don’t know is why you’ve brought your little bundle here.”
He stood and walked over to Hippolyta. He was tall and wide-shouldered. His golden beard poured down his chest like a glittering wave. His long white robe was trimmed in purple and cinched in by a silver belt studded with red and green stones.
In spite of herself, Hippolyta was impressed. Surely Zeus himself looks no more kingly.
“She’s here because of the baby,” Dares said.
The king leaned over and looked at the child, who reached out for his beard. “Why should this child concern me?”
“I must speak privately with you, King of Troy,” Hippolyta said. “My mother, Otrere, commands it of me.”
At her mother’s name, King Laomedon looked up, for a moment startled. Then he snapped his fingers to summon one of the girls.
“Take the child, Artemesia. Treat it well till I ask for it again,” he commanded.
“It’s a boy,” Hippolyta said, handing the baby to the girl. “His name is Podarces.” Strange, she thought, how reluctant I am to give up this little burden now.
“All of you but this little barbarian leave me,” commanded Laomedon.
“Your Majesty, are you certain—” Dares began.
Hippolyta wondered whether he wanted to stay for her protection—or the king’s. She was about to say she could handle herself when Laomedon interrupted.
“Check the defenses on the north wall, Dares.” He waved his hand. “I need no help from you here.”
Dares bowed low and, with a final warning glance at Hippolyta, left the chamber.
CHAPTER NINE
KING LAOMEDON
T HE KING WALKED OVER to a table and poured himself a cup of wine. He did it with deliberate slowness, like a great beast deciding its next move.
When at last he looked up, he asked, “What is your name, daughter of Otrere?”
“Hippolyta,” she answered. “Princess of the Amazons.”
“But not the oldest of Otrere’s brats,” he said.
“Second oldest,” she admitted.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment but drained the cup of wine halfway. Hippolyta felt every bit of the time stretching out, like a leash around her neck.
“Otrere,” Laomedon mused. “Lovely copper hair. Amber eyes. Nice smile. We spent some time together. Twice.” He grinned, and the wine glistened on his lips.
Hippolyta hated the way he spoke of her mother, as if she were a broodmare he’d owned.
“We last met some months ago, on the Phrygian border by Aphrodite’s grotto.” The smile grew broader as he remembered. “I asked her to stay longer, for she matches me in spirit. I like that. But she would not. You Amazons are a restless lot.” Now the smile was incandescent, like a candle before it burns down a house. “Take her my warmest regards when you go.”
“She needs more than your”—Hippolyta spit out the next two words as if they were some filth in her mouth—“warmest regards.” Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “She needs more because of that child of yours.”
“The child you brought?”
He’s toying with me, Hippolyta thought. He knows very well the child is his. But she couldn’t think why he should be doing so.
“Yes,” she said, “your son. Do you deny that he is yours, King Laomedon?”
He shrugged, finished the wine, and set the cup back on the table. “I saw a resemblance to her. Not to me. Still, she has no reason to lie about such a thing. So, you’ve brought him to his father’s house, as is your custom. Very well, princess, you’ve done your duty. If you go to the kitchens, they will feed you before you leave.”
He reached across the table to a bowl of grapes and plucked several, ready to pop them into his mouth.
Hippolyta walked over and almost put her hand on his arm,
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