“Can you deny you saw my arrow strike the bird?” Molpadia asked defiantly, lifting her chin so the scar seemed to grin.
“It was my shot that struck first. My shot that hit the breast. My shot that killed it.” Hippolyta knew she could play the defiance game as well as the older girl.
“I was here first to claim the prize,” Molpadia said.
Hippolyta gripped the spear in both hands, pointing the tip at Molpadia. “Claiming and keeping are two different things.”
Molpadia let the partridge drop and raised her own spear. “Your mother maybe one of our queens, Hippolyta, but that gives you no special status.”
“I claim none,” Hippolyta answered quickly, “only what is mine by right of my own arm.”
“Then show me that arm,” Molpadia cried, shaking off her bow and tossing aside the quiver.
It was an unmistakable call to duel. Hippolyta likewise took off bow and quiver and dropped her fur cap onto the ground. Then she began a low circle to her left.
Molpadia too began circling, and they each looked for an opening where they could strike.
Just then Antiope darted into the clearing, gasping.
Hippolyta heard her little sister but ignored everything but the older girl and the spear. Never having been in an actual battle, Hippolyta was at a slight disadvantage against Molpadia. But she’d never been wounded, either, and that gave her an edge. “Once slashed, twice shy,” the Amazons said. Of course they said it of their enemies, not themselves.
Well, at this moment Molpadia was the enemy. Hippolyta stopped thinking and let the years of training take over.
She noticed a splash of crimson on the tip of Molpadia’s spear. The blood of my partridge, she thought. But no, there was too much blood for such a small target.
Almost casually Hippolyta said, “Fighting already today?” She smiled and gestured with her head at the weapon. “They say the ones who fight too often are the ones who die too soon.” Her battle teacher, Old Okyale, always said: “Cite laws at the foe, even if you make them up on the spot. It throws the enemy off guard.”
Molpadia laughed. “I have the same teacher as you, Hippolyta. You won’t catch me that way.”
“But your spear is red,” Hippolyta said in that same calm tone. “Either you were fighting today or you’re careless with your weapons.”
This time the insult struck home.
“I was tracking a mountain cat and wounded it.”
“You have a habit of wounding,” Hippolyta said. “Without killing.”
“You will not be so lucky,” Molpadia responded, hefting her spear a bit higher.
“Ah, but you know Amazon duels are fought only till first blood is drawn.” Hippolyta noticed now that Molpadia led with her left shoulder low. That meant her right would be high and exposed.
“There’s no rule about how much blood …” Molpadia’s threat was real. “Remember that while you still have time to concede.”
“An Amazon princess does not concede anything,” Hippolyta said. She squinted against the sun.
“I knew you’d throw your rank in my face,” Molpadia said, leading again with her left shoulder.
Antiope approached them, hands upraised. “Can’t you two just share the bird?”
“That would settle nothing.” Hippolyta’s voice suddenly deepened. “Get out of the way, Antiope.” She never took her eyes off her opponent.
At that instant Molpadia made a jab. But ready for it, Hippolyta knocked her point aside with the haft of her own spear. Before there was time for a counterattack, Molpadia jumped back out of range.
Antiope had retreated a few feet, but now she returned, as if to protect her sister. Hippolyta spotted her out of the corner of an eye. “Go! You distract me. Tend my horse, Antiope.” She didn’t mention that Antiope too might be in danger should the fight get out of hand. She wondered briefly where Molpadia’s pair Amazon might be.
Antiope refused to budge. “I’m going to watch,” she insisted. “Watch and learn, you said.”
Molpadia suddenly attacked again, and the shafts of the two spears cracked against each other several times before the two girls became locked together, neither one giving ground. But Molpadia was older and bigger and stronger, and gradually she forced her spear point down toward Hippolyta’s face.
If she bloods me, I will not cry out, Hippolyta told herself. I will not. She could feel the heat of Molpadia’s breath on her brow.
All of a sudden Hippolyta shifted her weight, throwing her opponent off-balance. She took a chance and whipped the butt of her spear up to give the older girl a crack on the head.
Molpadia reeled back with a curse, but before Hippolyta could follow up with the spearpoint, Antiope let out a shrill, awful scream.
Hippolyta twisted around and saw a mountain cat emerging from the undergrowth, a great bloody slash on its right flank still oozing blood. Its eyes were fixed on Antiope, and a vicious growl rumbled in its throat.
Antiope didn’t shrink before the great cat, but her little spear was shaking in her hands. The animal was bigger than she, and only a few short yards separated them.
Hippolyta realized that the wounded cat must be crazed with pain. It was ready to spring.
As the cat leaped, Hippolyta threw herself forward, knocking Antiope off her feet. Thrusting her spear upward, Hippolyta rammed the point deep into the animal’s tawny breast.
Hot blood showered down, nearly blinding her, and instinctively she pushed the spear and cat away, to keep the flailing claws from raking her face.
The cat thudded onto its side, a low growl rattled in its throat, and then it was dead.
Molpadia pointed at a wound in the cat’s flank. “I did that.”
“Yes, but you didn’t finish the job, Molpadia. You were too slow,” Hippolyta said, standing. She was amazed that her legs could still hold her, for now that the danger was passed, they were suddenly shaking with terror. She ignored her trembling legs and wrenched the spear from the cat’s body.
Taking a deep breath, she hefted the cat onto her shoulders, caring nothing for the blood that trickled down her arm. The golden hide would make a fine tunic or a warm lining for a winter cloak. The cat’s teeth she’d turn into a necklace for Antiope, who had stood so bravely, armed only with her little toy spear.
“Keep the bird, Molpadia,” Hippolyta said with a grin of triumph. “I have a better prize now.” She handed her spear to Antiope. “Here, sister, if you carry this for me, we’ll head for home. Two hunters together.”
Antiope took the spear, and it was so much larger than her own she had to wrap both arms around it. But she didn’t complain. Her grin practically swallowed her face.
Molpadia followed silently behind, the partridge slung over her shoulder.
They were within sight of the tethered mare when another horse came galloping through the trees.
Molpadia had already snatched up her bow and arrow, ready to fire, but the rider was no enemy from Phrygia or Lycia. It was Aella, one of the queen’s royal guards.
“Hippolyta, thank the goddess I have found you,” Aella called, waving an arm. “You and Antiope must return at once to the palace.”
“What is it? What has happened?” Hippolyta cried out.
But message delivered, Aella had already turned and was riding back the way she’d come.
Antiope stood trembling, arms around the spear. “Is Mother all right, Hippolyta? Is—”
Without answering, Hippolyta threw the cat to the ground. She grabbed the spear from her little sister, then dragged her to the horse. Untying the mount, Hippolyta leaped onto its bare back, then leaned down. “To me!” she cried.
Antiope reached up and was yanked onto the horse’s back, behind Hippolyta. Fastening her arms around her sister’s waist, she nestled her head into the small of Hippolyta’s back.