Tithonus whispered.
“Do you think your father cares enough to look for you?” Hippolyta answered, annoyed not to have seen the old man first. “Besides, that old man doesn’t look like a Trojan soldier.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and strode off in the stranger’s direction.
Tithonus trailed slightly behind.
The old man was leaning on a wooden staff and chewing on a length of dried meat. When he saw them approach, he didn’t seem alarmed in the least. Up close he seemed an ancient version of a warrior. Old battle scars ran down both his bony arms, and on the left arm he wore a bronze armlet decorated with the image of a dragon. It hung loosely, as if it belonged to a brawnier arm than his.
Hippolyta halted a few feet from the old man and raised a hand in greeting. “Goddess’s blessings, old one.”
“Blessings to you, strangers,” he replied in a creaking voice.
“Old man, we salute your age,” she added. “Sage you must be to have attained so many years.” Indeed he was the oldest person she’d ever seen. “Have you something you could share with two hungry travelers in the name of hospitality?”
The old man tipped his head in the direction of the stream. “Help yourself to the water, children. It’s provided by the gods.”
Hippolyta glanced quickly back at the stream, where the horse was lapping placidly. She noticed what she should have seen before. The horse carried a bulging pack on its back. There was a spear and ax tied there as well.
She looked back at the old man and said with as much humility as she could muster, “It’s food we have need of … sir.”
“What has that to do with me?”
“I think you have enough for yourself and more besides,” Hippolyta said. Her hand went automatically to her belt, before she remembered she had no weapon.
“That depends upon the length of my journey, eh?” he countered, with a crooked grin.
Tithonus tugged on the back of Hippolyta’s tunic. She shrugged him off.
“And how far is that, old man?” Hippolyta asked.
Tithonus tugged again.
“As far as Troy, though it’s no business of yours, little girl.”
She took a step toward him, and Tithonus tugged so hard, she turned on him and hissed like a serpent.
“Let him be,” Tithonus whispered. “There’s something funny about him.”
“He’s just a little crazy,” Hippolyta whispered back. “Comes from being that old.”
Tithonus shook his head. “No, Hippolyta. It’s more than that. Look at his eyes. They aren’t an old man’s eyes.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” she said, and turned back.
But now she saw what Tithonus had seen. The old man’s eyes had the kind of fiery intensity to them that suddenly reminded her of the bonfires on Amazon hilltops, lit to warn of an approaching enemy. Maybe, she thought, I should go more slowly here.
The old man smiled at her. There was a gap between his teeth, as big, she thought, as the entrance to the Underworld.
“Why do you carry weapons, sir?” she asked.
“I have fought many battles in my day,” he answered. “Battle has been my food and drink.” He smacked his lips loudly. “But as I have no further use for this equipment, I’m taking the tools of my former trade to sell at the market in Troy.”
“Will you sell them to me?” Hippolyta asked quickly.
He laughed, a harsh, dry sound, like the cawing of a crow. “Of course not. You’re only a girl.”
She drew herself up. “I’m an Amazon,” she said. “A match for any warrior you’ve ever encountered.”
The old man stroked his chin. “I’ve met quite a few warriors, my dear. Cadmus. Pelops. Erechtheus. Heroes, all.”
Tiring of the game, Hippolyta said, “And you were what—their cup bearer?”
Tithonus gasped aloud.
“You’ve got a sharp tongue, young Amazon.” The old man’s eyes narrowed. “A sharp tongue but no sharp sword. Who took it from you, I wonder.”
Hippolyta bristled and took an angry step
“Do you think your father cares enough to look for you?” Hippolyta answered, annoyed not to have seen the old man first. “Besides, that old man doesn’t look like a Trojan soldier.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and strode off in the stranger’s direction.
Tithonus trailed slightly behind.
The old man was leaning on a wooden staff and chewing on a length of dried meat. When he saw them approach, he didn’t seem alarmed in the least. Up close he seemed an ancient version of a warrior. Old battle scars ran down both his bony arms, and on the left arm he wore a bronze armlet decorated with the image of a dragon. It hung loosely, as if it belonged to a brawnier arm than his.
Hippolyta halted a few feet from the old man and raised a hand in greeting. “Goddess’s blessings, old one.”
“Blessings to you, strangers,” he replied in a creaking voice.
“Old man, we salute your age,” she added. “Sage you must be to have attained so many years.” Indeed he was the oldest person she’d ever seen. “Have you something you could share with two hungry travelers in the name of hospitality?”
The old man tipped his head in the direction of the stream. “Help yourself to the water, children. It’s provided by the gods.”
Hippolyta glanced quickly back at the stream, where the horse was lapping placidly. She noticed what she should have seen before. The horse carried a bulging pack on its back. There was a spear and ax tied there as well.
She looked back at the old man and said with as much humility as she could muster, “It’s food we have need of … sir.”
“What has that to do with me?”
“I think you have enough for yourself and more besides,” Hippolyta said. Her hand went automatically to her belt, before she remembered she had no weapon.
“That depends upon the length of my journey, eh?” he countered, with a crooked grin.
Tithonus tugged on the back of Hippolyta’s tunic. She shrugged him off.
“And how far is that, old man?” Hippolyta asked.
Tithonus tugged again.
“As far as Troy, though it’s no business of yours, little girl.”
She took a step toward him, and Tithonus tugged so hard, she turned on him and hissed like a serpent.
“Let him be,” Tithonus whispered. “There’s something funny about him.”
“He’s just a little crazy,” Hippolyta whispered back. “Comes from being that old.”
Tithonus shook his head. “No, Hippolyta. It’s more than that. Look at his eyes. They aren’t an old man’s eyes.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” she said, and turned back.
But now she saw what Tithonus had seen. The old man’s eyes had the kind of fiery intensity to them that suddenly reminded her of the bonfires on Amazon hilltops, lit to warn of an approaching enemy. Maybe, she thought, I should go more slowly here.
The old man smiled at her. There was a gap between his teeth, as big, she thought, as the entrance to the Underworld.
“Why do you carry weapons, sir?” she asked.
“I have fought many battles in my day,” he answered. “Battle has been my food and drink.” He smacked his lips loudly. “But as I have no further use for this equipment, I’m taking the tools of my former trade to sell at the market in Troy.”
“Will you sell them to me?” Hippolyta asked quickly.
He laughed, a harsh, dry sound, like the cawing of a crow. “Of course not. You’re only a girl.”
She drew herself up. “I’m an Amazon,” she said. “A match for any warrior you’ve ever encountered.”
The old man stroked his chin. “I’ve met quite a few warriors, my dear. Cadmus. Pelops. Erechtheus. Heroes, all.”
Tiring of the game, Hippolyta said, “And you were what—their cup bearer?”
Tithonus gasped aloud.
“You’ve got a sharp tongue, young Amazon.” The old man’s eyes narrowed. “A sharp tongue but no sharp sword. Who took it from you, I wonder.”
Hippolyta bristled and took an angry step
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