Memoirs of a Bitch by Francesca Petrizzo, Silvester Mazzarella Page B
Authors: Francesca Petrizzo, Silvester Mazzarella
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wood.
âTrojans,â she announced, her voice still on edge. I moved forward and put my hand on her shoulder. Four horses and two men, one of them Amphitryon. He had not even removed his helm.
âPrince Paris is traveling with the rest of the retinue. The baggage went off this morning; weâll catch up with the others on the road. They tell me you know how to ride; I have orders to proceed at full gallop.â
I nodded. Amphitryon stood still while the soldier gave us our horses, but as soon as I was ready to mount he was at my side to help me.
âYou think Iâm a whore,â I whispered, but I know he heard, his clear thoughtful eyes full of astonishment. To be really happy I needed his approval. His clear-cut features reminded me of Tyndareus. But he was not Tyndareus; he was a soldier, and barely inclining his head to acknowledge my words, he leaped into the saddle before I could say any more.
24
It took us two days, from Sparta to the sea; we had left at dawn and arrived after sunset, with only a single brief halt. The Peloponnese ran quickly past us; in front of me I had the shining mane of the black horse with between his ears the soldier who was leading us, and behind me Etra and Callira, with Amphitryon bringing up the rear. I was a princess and he looked after me as such. It was not for me to ask whether he still privately thought of me as a whore.
The cold morning became a heavy midday, then evening once more brought chill to the bones as we rode at full speed, even when the horses began to pant, until, when dark fell, Amphitryon let out a shout, the first sound from him since morning, and the soldier in the lead slowed down. So we closed up to ride in strictformation while the sun went down, girdling the earth with a dense belt of fire as the last seagulls screamed over our heads.
âThe seaâs not far off,â announced Callira, and in fact we soon saw it beyond the final hill, a long path of fire fading with the light; we only just managed to reach Amyclae before the night watch shut the townâs double gates. I watched the closing gates cut off the land of Messenia from my sight.
âKeep together,â commanded Amphitryon, dismounting. My slaves and I dismounted too. He looked at us in surprise.
âThe horses are tired,â I said, leading mine by the bridle. The Trojan nodded and looked away. I wouldnât have won his respect even if Iâd run all the way from Sparta, but at that time I didnât think it mattered. The horse was breathing heavily, its muzzle, neck and sides white with foam, its eyes dilated with exhaustion. But it followed me as I took the road down to the port. At my side an unexpected light pierced the night, and I turned to see Callira with her lantern raised high. She smiled, and I smiled with her, resting my head on her shoulder.
There, at the bottom of the road, was the port and the ship with Paris on board, and we were about to sail off to a new world. I could only smile despite my tiredness and the inevitable smudging of the kohl under myeyes. The noise in the taverns was a signal to us that Paris and his party were arriving. Amyclae was a small port; four jetties with the Trojan ship anchored a little way out in the shelter of the gulf. At the end of the last jetty a rowing boat was waiting for us, with water lapping against wood and stone. Limpets and mussels were clinging tenaciously to the rocks. The man in the boat had no hood, and my heart missed a beat as I recognized his golden hair in the moonlight.
âParis!â I covered the distance to the jetty and boat in a surge of joy and threw my arms around his neck. My mouth was on his before I could say another word and we fell with a thud on to the wet bottom of the boat, the water making my cloak heavy but I did not care. Paris! Paris! He responded just as passionately, and when we came up for air we saw that the force of our fall had pushed the boat from the jetty,
âTrojans,â she announced, her voice still on edge. I moved forward and put my hand on her shoulder. Four horses and two men, one of them Amphitryon. He had not even removed his helm.
âPrince Paris is traveling with the rest of the retinue. The baggage went off this morning; weâll catch up with the others on the road. They tell me you know how to ride; I have orders to proceed at full gallop.â
I nodded. Amphitryon stood still while the soldier gave us our horses, but as soon as I was ready to mount he was at my side to help me.
âYou think Iâm a whore,â I whispered, but I know he heard, his clear thoughtful eyes full of astonishment. To be really happy I needed his approval. His clear-cut features reminded me of Tyndareus. But he was not Tyndareus; he was a soldier, and barely inclining his head to acknowledge my words, he leaped into the saddle before I could say any more.
24
It took us two days, from Sparta to the sea; we had left at dawn and arrived after sunset, with only a single brief halt. The Peloponnese ran quickly past us; in front of me I had the shining mane of the black horse with between his ears the soldier who was leading us, and behind me Etra and Callira, with Amphitryon bringing up the rear. I was a princess and he looked after me as such. It was not for me to ask whether he still privately thought of me as a whore.
The cold morning became a heavy midday, then evening once more brought chill to the bones as we rode at full speed, even when the horses began to pant, until, when dark fell, Amphitryon let out a shout, the first sound from him since morning, and the soldier in the lead slowed down. So we closed up to ride in strictformation while the sun went down, girdling the earth with a dense belt of fire as the last seagulls screamed over our heads.
âThe seaâs not far off,â announced Callira, and in fact we soon saw it beyond the final hill, a long path of fire fading with the light; we only just managed to reach Amyclae before the night watch shut the townâs double gates. I watched the closing gates cut off the land of Messenia from my sight.
âKeep together,â commanded Amphitryon, dismounting. My slaves and I dismounted too. He looked at us in surprise.
âThe horses are tired,â I said, leading mine by the bridle. The Trojan nodded and looked away. I wouldnât have won his respect even if Iâd run all the way from Sparta, but at that time I didnât think it mattered. The horse was breathing heavily, its muzzle, neck and sides white with foam, its eyes dilated with exhaustion. But it followed me as I took the road down to the port. At my side an unexpected light pierced the night, and I turned to see Callira with her lantern raised high. She smiled, and I smiled with her, resting my head on her shoulder.
There, at the bottom of the road, was the port and the ship with Paris on board, and we were about to sail off to a new world. I could only smile despite my tiredness and the inevitable smudging of the kohl under myeyes. The noise in the taverns was a signal to us that Paris and his party were arriving. Amyclae was a small port; four jetties with the Trojan ship anchored a little way out in the shelter of the gulf. At the end of the last jetty a rowing boat was waiting for us, with water lapping against wood and stone. Limpets and mussels were clinging tenaciously to the rocks. The man in the boat had no hood, and my heart missed a beat as I recognized his golden hair in the moonlight.
âParis!â I covered the distance to the jetty and boat in a surge of joy and threw my arms around his neck. My mouth was on his before I could say another word and we fell with a thud on to the wet bottom of the boat, the water making my cloak heavy but I did not care. Paris! Paris! He responded just as passionately, and when we came up for air we saw that the force of our fall had pushed the boat from the jetty,
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