[DAS Writer]

(Stefanos' Note: Only twice in my life I'd heard this long tale from Papa Aiodos in full. Then my family emigrated from Greece. In subsequent years, I searched frantically for this amazing epic, both online and offline, but to no avail. I was beginning to wonder if it is actually composed by Papa Aoidos himself. In any case, a few years back I bumped into Melissa, his granddaughter. She told me Papa Aoidos passed away not too long after I left Athens. God bless that gentle soul. Luckily, he bequeathed the manuscript of the Hysminean Rhapsody to her. So at last, I laid my hands on the full poem, written in Greek of course, in the traditional epic meter. But here I present to you my own translation of it in English, in free verse. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did!)

CHAPTER ONE - BITHYNIA'S MOMENT TO SHINE

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Sing to me, GODDESS, of the ill-fated quest of those pitiful heroines
of Euxine. Twelve vixens in their tantalising youth, proud and reckless.
On the golden sand of Delos they fought their murderous duels,
goaded on by rage and jealousy, unleashing upon the world
the harrowing spirits of the Hysminai, burning forever since,
deep within the heart of every woman.

Begin, MUSE, with the daughters of Helios, and their ruthless allies,
swept away by their own maddening fury after sacking Athens,
pillaged and burned to the rubble the sacred Temple of Athena.
Drowned in wild cries of frenzy, they plundered its treasures,
and slaughtered its priests. Grey-bearded Creon, that aged king
of Athens, terrified, cowered under Athena’s statue,
and cried out to the goddess, “Hear me, Athena! Wise goddess,
patron of my city. Look! These acts of sacrilege in your shrine.
If my pious people ever pleased your heart, listen to this prayer.
Strike those wretched Amazons dead with your father’s thunderbolt…”
But his head, severed by a brutal blow before he could finish his curse,
leaving his decapitated body still clung tightly to the statue
of the goddess, spilling upon it his dark blood.

Bright-eyed Athena heard Creon’s broken prayer high up
on Mount Olympus. Fuming with anger, the goddess took her father’s
deadly thunderbolts, about to strike. But mighty Zeus, king of gods,
held his favourite daughter back. “Why stop me, father?
Do you not see the heinous defilement of my temple?” Athena asked.
And Zeus answered her, “Patience, my child of a thousand tricks.
It is not the destiny of those Amazons to die by your hands.
The Fates had spun a higher task for them. Look there,
by the wine-dark sea, sitting on a rock, Marpesia, the noble queen
of the Themiscyrans, alone and despondent, helpless to stop
the desecration carried out by her army. Go, my crafty child.
Sway her, lead her to the island of Delos, where the ancient spirits
of the Hysminai dwell. Those forgotten twin sisters (Envy and Malice),
the Hysminai, born out of Eris (Strife) in the age of the Titans long
in the past, together with the Makhai, their twin brothers
(Courage and Honour). Bitterly they attacked each other after birth,
but the sisters were defeated, and banished to the island of Delos.
For many generations that followed, the Makhai ruled over mankind,
the glorious Bronze Age, when wars won with honour
and battles fought with courage. No more. The end is near.
A new age of rancour and deceit is upon us, the reign of the Hysminai,
so spun the Fates. Quickly, my beloved daughter, delay no longer.
Go at once to that woeful Amazon, wallowing in her sorrows,
lost in her way."

And down flown Athena, straight to the Piraeus where
the forlorn queen sat, transfixed like a statue of a goddess,
gazing blankly off into the barren sea. Her braided golden mane aglow
under the high noon sun. Trails of warm tears streamed down her cheeks.
From behind approached her baby sister Bithynia —
that vivacious maiden warrior blossoming in her youth.
She placed her caring hand gently on Marpesia's shoulder,
and spoke with a voice sweet as honey, "O radiant queen,
daughter of Lysippe, conqueror of Attica, my sister dearest to me
above all, what troubles your soul? The war is won, it is a moment for joy.
Yet off you sat, away from all the glory, wrenching your heart
with sobs and groan. Come, move your nimble feet, sister! Let us return
to the city, and join the dance like the carefree girls we once were.”

Marpesia turned around, weeping still, and answered her,
"Bia, my most precious little sister, dearest to me more than anyone else,
three carefree girls we once were, but now we are only two. O Parithyia,
my sister, and my guiding light, to where have you gone?
For six summers we fought to avenge your honour.
Here we stand triumphant, yet not word of your whereabouts.
We freed Hekate, your faithful companion and mine.
She fought alongside you on Delos, but no new light she shed.
Remember years ago, big sister, how you saved us from that
bristling wild boar, savagely charging us, its tusks gleaming.
But you plunged your dagger into its heart,
stopping the monstrous beast dead in its tracks.
Wrapping your strong arms around us, you comforted us, Bia and I,
frightened little girls we were. We need your strength again, sister.
The alliance is breaking apart. My soldiers, drowned in greed and lust,
showing no regard for the gods’ wrath, in their mad rush to carve up
the spoils of war. Not even the sacred temples were beyond
their destruction, yet here I sit idly, powerless to stop any of this.
Yes, I can feel it, mighty Zeus is brooding over us, poised to seal
our doom. O Parithyia, now more than ever,
my heavy heart aches for your warm embrace again..."

At those words, sweet Bithynia could no longer hold back her tears.
With a loud cry, she cut short Marpesia’s lament, and collapsed
into her bosom, sobbing, trembling like a newborn chick.
The sisters held each other tightly, consumed with grief.
At last, Athena, the wily goddess, unseen by mortals,
saw her moment and imbued that bold idea into the young Amazon.
Bithynia lifted her face, with a sparkling gaze she ventured,
"Sister, then let us sail to Delos, even at only a speckle of hope
to find our dear Parithyia. The priestesses there may tell us something.
If our sister is dead, no longer among the living,
then back we’ll go to our native land, raise her grave-mound,
build her honours high with the full funeral rites that she deserves.
Now, if we hear she’s alive, then we will find her together,
even facing the Hysminai we must." Wide-eyed Marpesia,
struck speechless by the mad suggestion, fell silent for a moment
before answering her, "Bia, my baby sister, always quick to venture forth.
You heard well as I did, from Hekate, the hell Parithyia raised on Delos
and what they did to those priestesses, we would not be welcome there.
The two of us, no, we are no match for the raging spirits of the Hysminai.”
Unrelenting, bright-eyed Bithynia gripped her sister’s hands
and replied eagerly, "Then summon the leaders of our alliance,
the best of our Amazon warriors, together there is strength in our number.”
But Marpesia shook her head and let out a soft groan,
"The alliance is in tatters, Bia. The leaders, they are at each other's throat.
Their hatred, surpassed only by their lust for the spoils of the war.
They are beyond my command, beyond the command of anyone
save the gods." "I will convince them, sister," Bithynia, unwavering,
replied with a stern voice, "Our allies, they all sworn an oath of allegiance
to us before the war, and by the immortal Artemis, I will make sure they
keep that oath!" On that note, she sprang up,
her fists clenched with resolution.

"Bia, my dear sister, look at you — " Marpesia cupped her sister's face
with both hands and burst out, "that glow in your eyes flaming like fire.
And your voice thunderous; your words, steadfast and resolved,
spoken like a true warrior. Surely a goddess must filled your spirit
with nerve and courage. If it is the wish of a certain deathless one,
then we must obey and set sail for Delos, for no mere mortal can deny
the will of the divine." At that, Bithynia let out a cry of exultation and
leapt up with joy. Her eyes flashing bright, but the wary Queen
of the Amazons cautioned her eager sister, "Get a grip of yourself, Bia.
The road ahead is long and arduous. Come now, listen closely.
Take to heart my words. First go to the Sinopeans,
our Amazonian cousins encamped outside the southern gates of the city.
Find Nikaia, their young chief, with a bitter heart she fought this war.
Years ago, she challenged Parithyia for the queen's throne.
When she lost, Parithyia spared her life and gained her alliance under oath.
Refresh her memory of that oath if you must, but allude not to her defeat,
for a warrioress does not like to be reminded of her humiliation.
Then seek out in the heart of the city, Anaïtis, that dreaded piratess
from Lesbos. We will need her ship to set sail for Delos.
Do not provoke that hellcat, capricious in her temper, devilish in her ways.
And turn a blind eye to her peculiar inclination, but by chance should you
find her with Princess Semele, her Athenian lover,
stay far away from that woman, because it is never wise to mix with
a treacherous temptress. If the deathless goddess smiles upon you,
summon them to our camp in three days time. Now go!
And I shall return to rally our best Themiscryan sisters."

And off the elated Themiscryan lass went, speeding in her long
swinging strides, fast as a Cimmerian arrow. Her honey-blonde hair,
thrown back from her shoulders, glistened under the warm rays
from the sun god Helios, now descending his golden chariot
from the high arc, smiling down upon the sweet Bithynia,
the fruit of his loin. Finally she reached the camp of her rival
Amazonian clan, just outside the southern walls of the city.
The Sinopeans warriors, in their thousands, all gathered on the open plain,
encircling a large funeral pyre three hundred feet in length and breadth.
Aloft it laid hundreds of bodies of their dead comrades,
fallen during the final assault on Athens. And there in the middle
stood the golden Nikaia, their warrioress chief, a dazzling lioness
in her prime, tall and proud. Her soft white funeral robe flailed
in the sultry summer wind, contouring that curvaceous body beneath.

With fire raging in her heart, she shouted in anguish her prayer,
"Father Helios, Sun above us, you who sees all, hears all things!
Immortal Artemis, ruling us all from Sinope, goddess of chastity!
Witness here, the great deeds of these blissful souls.
Thirty eight and five hundred of our fallen sisters, freed from the mortal veil,
marching from this low earth to the glorious Elysian Fields,
aflame with fury and righteous zeal. In this hollow war we Sinopeans
wanted no part, bounded only by a solemn oath sworn long ago,
they fought with all their honour and strength, coloured the stony walls
and the sandy ground with their own blood, and the enemy's.
They lost their lives before they lost the valour of their weary battling arms.
In death, though they are vanquished, victory is theirs. Their mortal,
melancholy fall, between the ramparts and the attacking horde,
will bring them ever lasting fame in this world,
and blessed glory in the next!"

Ending that blistering funeral oration, Nikaia cut a lock of her golden hair,
threw it onto the platform, and lit the funeral pyre alight.
Aeolus, the wind god, hurled down a gust of his strong West Wind,
blasting the funeral fire up from below to shroud the high sky
in pitch-dark smoke. The Sinopean army raised a triple war cry in unison,
as final salute to their fallen sisters. The deafening roars shook the earth,
like Poseidon, the god of earthquakes, struck the ground
with his terrifying trident, sending tremors down the heart
of every onlooker. Then three times they ran their ritual rounds about
the burning pyre, circling the fire lit in mourning, lifting their wails of sorrow,
tears wetting the earth. Amidst these loud cries of grief, that fiery Nikaia,
her eyes ablaze, stormed out. Her floaty white robe flaming
under the crimson glow of the setting sun. Like a goddess on fire,
she cut through her swarming troops, trod down a path
at the end of which stood the young Bithynia.

There Nikaia greeted her callow visitor with scorn, "Look! If it isn't
the Themiscryan maiden, untouched as the snow atop Mount Olympus -
her knowledge in the art of war; untried as a virgin lover in bed -
her skill in the craft of combat; what wind blows you here, Bithynia,
to the camp of the Sinopean Amazons? What dreaded words
do you bring from your sister, that scourge whose war costed us dearly?”
Bithynia stood firm, undaunted before the ruckus Sinopeans
and their spiteful chief. Athena breathed in her strength and courage.
“Nikaia, daughter of mighty Areto, high born as you are,
that was a mean low greeting to your fellow kin! The Themiscryans
would've fought the same war for you, had we switched our places.
Here, I've come to ask for your assistance. The war is won,
but still no word on Parithyia, your queen to whom you owe
your allegiance. Marpesia summons you to our camp,
in three days time we set sail for the island of Delos, to find answers —"

“Delos?” Nikaia broke her words sharply, her eyes afire, “Look around,
Bithynia, my soldiers, mourning for their fallen kindred. Listen to
their shattering cries. For six long years, they fought wearily your war,
to win back the honour for your sister. Only now they begin to enjoy
the spoils of their victory: gold, ruby, bronze piled high in their tents,
with chained male slaves waiting at the back. How can they go on,
fighting another war?" Her words drew a quick reply from
the young Themiscryan, "Not a war, Nikaia, not on the island
home to the Hysminai. Even the gods fear their wrath.
No, leave your troops here in Athens, plundering to their heart's content.
We travel light, our best warriors, without weapons and armour,
lest the harrowing spirits turn us against one another.”
But the Sinopean warrioress gave her a cold glance.
“Why should I help you, even to lift a finger? More useless attempts
at reclaiming that lost glory for your sister?”
With poise Bithynia answered her, "A chance to put your fighting power
in harness again, to win more fame and glory for years to come.”
Nikaia smiled with her lips only, her forehead furrowed over
her golden brows as her anguish rose, and she lashed out,
"My fame already reached the sky when I slain Pelias,
that sly Thessalian prince who bedded our greatest warrioress, Clymenê,
that Taurian Amazon, mighty in her strength, weak in her sense.
He took her easy heart and trampled her secret garden.
And she repaid him by surrendering her entire army to the onslaught
of his centaurs. That whore nearly costed us the war,
yet your sister took pity on her, let her into your tent,
soaking in her sorrow till this day. She lavished her with lion share
of the spoils, while dispatching you here with idle talks of glory.
Say no more of your hopeless words. Work out your own plans to Delos,
but without Areto's daughter, for I have no mind to linger here disgraced,
taking orders from a Themiscryan."

Her heart filled with rancour, Nikaia broke off, striding away,
readying her soldiers for another round of plunder into the city.
But the young Themiscryan fired her shot, "Who sits on the queen's throne,
Nikaia? The throne you fought my sister for years ago. And it was Parithyia,
my dear sister, who defeated you in single combat. Have you forgotten
your screaming submission to her, or must I remind you the ensuing oath
you swore, to serve her as your queen?" “Wretched girl, heed your tongue!"
Nikaia turned about, her temper flared, “Artemis smiled on your sister
the day she bested me. You will not be so lucky if you provoke me further.”
Unfazed, Bithynia hurled back, “I am happy to oblige, if it is a fight you wish.
Twice embarrassed you will be, in front of your kin —
first for breaking your oath, and then for squealing your surrender
once again, this time to me.” These brazen words brought a menacing look
from the golden lioness, as her eyes narrowed to slits.
The heart inside her growled low with rage at the brash upstart across.
The impudence of this lone cat, swaggering into her turf,
flouting her authority. Hot for a fight, she shed her robe,
laying bare her stunning figure, lean and robust, a fighter's body
with every sinew fleshing out her martial prowess. There is no backing down
for the young Themiscryan now. Eyes glowing wide,
she rose up to meet the challenge with unflinching nerves.
So these two feisty Amazons stood face to face, eyes locked,
bristling for a showdown.

As they vied each other for openings, wading through the crowd
was Oigme, Nikaia's old wet nurse. A formidable fighter herself
back in the days, age had now blessed her with more wisdom than brawn.
The prudent woman darted between them, pleaded with both fighters,
"Stop. Please. Both of you, hot-headed young cats. Listen to Oigme,
for in my time I struck up with better warriors than you, even you,
but never once did they make light of me.” With that, she turned first
to the golden lioness, “Nikaia, my child, since the day you were born,
I nursed you, nestled you at my breast. Better than my own daughters
I took care of you, and you always made me proud. That year,
hitting the stride of your youth and aching for fame, you challenged
Parithyia for the queen's throne. When you lost that fight,
for three days you sobbed, and I cried with you. But like a true warrioress,
you got back to your feet, leading your Sinope sisters into battle,
fighting with valour, upholding your vows — until now.
Why sully your name quarrelling with this youngster over
a few ill chosen words? What glory can you gain if you defeat her,
your ally and the sister of your queen, Marpesia?
Listen to Oigme once more, for I have yet failed you in my advice —
beat down that rage inside, and keep the sacred vow you sworn to Artemis.
Go to Delos, seek out Parithyia, who dealt you that heart wrenching loss.
If she is still alive, seeing the light of day, challenge her again to a match,
to regain your glory. And if she’s dead already, lost in the underworld,
but it is still your heart's desire to settle the score, challenge her sisters
in a fair fight, one on one." Then turning on the brash Themiscryan
she harangued, "And you, Lysippe’s daughter, her third born,
raw and reckless, ever so eager to make a name for yourself,
to step out of your sisters' shadows. Your time will come,
your moment to shine, for I've heard aplenty your martial skills.
But take these advice from an old cat who's been around many great ones:
a warrior's virtue and humility always outstrip her speed and strength.
Your sisters, Parithyia and Marpesia, many battles I've fought
along their side, never once, in their prudence, they showed disrespect
to their allies. Learn your ways, or this dark world will swallow you up
whole, for power without virtue will only bring you greater harm."

Bithynia hung closely to every word the wise old woman said.
Across her, Nikaia clenched her teeth and bit back her anger,
"Oigme, dear to me as a mother, how can I ever disregard your advice,
always so full of wisdom. Themiscryan —" She turned to Bithynia,
"You heard those words. I swear by the immortal Artemis, another day
we shall have our fight, another day for your humiliation.
But there will be no Oigme to save your backside, if you cannot check
your reckless tongue on the island of Delos." Young Bithynia,
her heart itching to fire back, but the goddess Athena reined her in.
Now's not the time. She backed down and parted the Sinopeans camp,
that lions den, coming within a hairs breadth of fighting
the golden lioness herself. In her zealous heart Bithynia wondered,
if she could have taken her down in a fight. At last it’s high time,
a new challenge awaited her, as the light was already sunk
in the western shadows. Where in this war-torn city could she find Anaïtis,
that dangerous piratess from Lesbos?

As she sped along the path to Athens, there outside the steep
southern walls of the city, the crafty goddess Athena,
disguised herself as a servant girl, sobbing in the middle of the road.
She threw herself at the striding Bithynia, wailing, beating her breasts.
The young warrioress tossed her off onto the dirt with ease.
With one foot atop her chest, she lifted her brows in anguish and shouted,
"Out of your mind, wretched Athenian? A death wish for yourself,
a weakling like you attacking an Amazon. Who are you?” Athena,
in her perfect disguise, cried back loudly, "Kill me now, merciless Amazon.
What difference would it make if I fight or surrender, 'tis my fate to
meet certain death either way. I am a servant girl from the noble house
of Alcmaeonidae. Only moments ago, your comrade Anaïtis,
and her merciless gangs, they barged in. Yes, it was her.
I still recognise that cruel face, even after all these years.
She was but a little girl when my master took her in, adopted her
when the god Dionysus destroyed her mother, left her an orphan
in her house. For five years he sheltered her, nursed her well as
his true-born daughter, before she repaid his magnanimity with
acts of shame. My master had to cast her out, there was no other way.
And now she is back, exacting her vengeance. She just seized
my mistress by her hair, and up they went to the King's palace
on the Acropolis aloft the city heights. My fair lady in all her maidenly
virtue — like a big sister she cared for her, that heartless wench.
Now she’s but a helpless prey under the claws of a fully grown tigress.
You savage Amazons, you are all alike. What do you care for justice in war.
Kill me now, and I swear, the deathless goddess Athena will avenge us."
Bithynia, her spirit leapt at learning Anaïtis’ whereabouts, lifted her foot,
allowing the fallen girl to sit up. "Talk to me not about justice of war,
you who waste away your lives in front of a loom. What do you know of
honour and courage in combat? Men have made you weak in this city,
left you with no means to defend yourselves. Look here, I am on my way
to Anaïtis. If, by the gods, I find your mistress, trapped like a fawn
cornered against a pack of vicious hounds, I will lend her my helping hand.
But if Anaïtis had her singled out, one against one, then pray
to the immortal Artemis, for she must fight her own battle, hand on hand.
It is our Amazon way." At that, Bithynia bid her farewell in haste,
leaving behind in the dust that crafty goddess with a sly smile on her face.

As swift-footed Bithynia finally ascended the steep Acropolis of Athens,
the goddess Nyx, Lady of Night, had veiled her soft black drape
over the sky. King Creon’s palace, a magnificent structure built wide
with porches and colonnade of polished stone, perched high atop
this formidable rock. A bustling and opulent place only days ago,
now it stood eerily silent, ruinous, a grim degrading piece of work.
Occasional high pitched cries and moans pierced the night skies,
as sashed and lovely palace maids whored with Anaïtis’ female gangs,
willingly or by force. The young Themiscryan stood there, stunned,
a raw revulsion seized her heart, “O Father Zeus, no god’s more deadly
than you! No mercy for we mortals, even kings. There you raise us
to the great heights yourself, only to plunge us deep into misery,
brutal hardship.” But her mind quickly drew back, focused on her task
at hand. How was she to convince Anaïtis, this violent woman,
her savage tempers even Marpesia dared not provoke.
Through the inner courtyard and the royal halls Bithynia hurried,
heading straight for the Queen's forbidden bedchamber,
nestled deep inside the lofty palace, all masonry in smooth lustrous ashlar.

Wild shrills echoed from the other side of the bedchamber's wall,
a struggle within! Not a moment to waste, Bithynia bolted
through the doors. Inside was a dim room, lit with warm candles
dotted about the stone walls, and sweet scent of frankincense
pervaded the air. There crouched low was Anaïtis,
that black-hearted beauty, kneeling stark naked on the deep red carpet.
Her long raven-dark hair, wild as the rough sea, straggling over
her flushed red face. Startled by the young Amazon, she broke off
her 'lust song' and sat up, collecting herself. "Behold, a rare guest!
Daughter of Lysippe, chaste in her body and mind,
unsullied by the pleasures of men. Could it be she is here to get a taste
of the delight only a woman can bring?" Still panting hot breaths,
she winged forward those inviting words. Her eyes wandered over
the young intruder from head to toe, and back up. Beads of sweat
trickled down her tawny smooth body,
rolling onto a pale blonde stretched out beneath.

A look of disdain flashed across Bithynia's face.
"Have you got no sense of shame, licentious harlot,
carrying out such indecency,
tarnishing the glories of our hard fought victory?"

Anaïtis adjusted herself atop, securing her prize before answering,
"Speak not of what you do not understand, Bithynia.
This war may be over for you, but for me, it has only begun.
We are much alike, you and I, lovers of war we are, only I
of a different type. While you don Artemis' bow, I wield Aphrodite's whip.
We both fight with courage: one lays siege to the strong city of her enemy,
the other the private garden of her prey. You battle for boundless fame
and riches, and I, I conquer for no less worthy an aim,
her complete submission in body and will."

With scorn, Bithynia countered, “Do not mix the noble art of war
with your dark craft, vile wench! We are nothing alike. Your conquests,
heinous deeds they are, ravaging defenceless women suppliant
at your knee. What do you know of courage and honours in war?"

"Forget not, my Themiscryan sister, the blood of the Taurian Amazon
runs through my veins. I am no stranger to warfare —
those thronging troops, and billowing fleet — indeed a beautiful sight
on this dark earth. But gaze into the pleading eyes of my conquered,
Bithynia, see how she surrenders herself to me, to become
my ultimate plaything. Tell me, if you can, what is more gratifying
in this world?" With those words, Anaïtis released from between her thighs,
her naked dishevelled captive. At once, she tried to break free,
twisting her body, thrashing her limbs about. But a few hard slaps
across the face had her howling her surrender. And there she's laid again
obedient, her breasts heaving from that short scuffle.
Anaïtis pressed her delicate cheek against the hard floor,
displaying her to the young Amazon. Promptly, a blush of shame
came to her pale face, like roses glowing bright among the lilies.
Brimming tears streamed down afresh. She looked divine,
even in her pitiful state.

"Behold Thera, from the noble house of Alcmaeonidae,
Megacles' daughter. She was my sister, though born of different wombs,
we lit fire to the same hearth, 'til that fateful day.
It was Megacles years ago, he took me in, adopted me into his family
after my mother died in battle. Young and malleable, or so he thought I was,
he tried to tame my wild spirit, cultivate me into a proper Athenian lady.
Each step I took, every word out of my mouth, scrutinised.
Sick to my heart, only the sight of Thera, his noble daughter,
lifted my spirits each day. She cared for me like a true big sister,
hiding from her father those bruises I had, after brawling with
the neighbouring boys. She bathed me, combed my hair back straight,
and rubbed soothing oil down my sore body.
All night long she would stay up, secretly stitching back my torn tunics,
embroidering it with ever more beautiful patterns.
In time, Aphrodite inflamed in my young heart a deep burning of love.
Her demure and graceful movements, her honey-sweet laughters,
not even soft warm sleep numbed my passion for her. I told her my feelings,
and kissed her, but she was abhorred. She fled from me, and I pursued her,
begged her to unleash her true feelings. Alas, such a coward she was.
She betrayed our sister bond, and told her father everything. Everything!
So I was thrown out, left to face this cruel world on my own,
a young girl barely past her coming of age."

At that, Anaïtis yanked Thera's golden tresses, straightened
her tear-stained face, and penetrated her deep with a vengeful gaze.
"But now at last, I have you in my grasp, Thera. Time has not worn down
your beauty, but I, I am no longer that innocent little girl,
wet behind the ears. There is no escape for you tonight,
no, this time you will surrender more than just a kiss, my dear sister."
Like a wild feline crouching over her enticing treat, she slid down,
and forced her lips upon Thera's tender neck. The noble blonde made
no sound from under, her mouth slackened by trembling fear.
She stared into Bithynia with her teary eyes, pleading in silence.
But the young Themiscryan hung back, her mind filled with questions —
this Athenian with her golden hair, surely she is a Heliad.
But what roots does she claim? Who is her mother, and how did she
wed into the house of a Greek noble? Why did she lose her Amazon ways,
raising a daughter so feeble and lacking in spirit?

Nevertheless, her heart went out to the sorry blonde, her words too,
in a winging flight of pity, "Let her go, Anaïtis, she's suffered enough,
long since that day the Fates brought you into her house.
To violate your big sister, the one who shared her hearth with you
and cared for you, is that your twisted sense of justice?
Gone is your grip of the Amazon virtue? Be done with
these heartless deeds. Here, my sister Marpesia seeks your help.
We must sail for Delos, to find news of Parithyia, our queen.
And you, only you know these treacherous waters of the Aegean
like the back of your hand. Meet us at our camp in three days time,
take us there, to Delos, in your black ship fitted for the deep sea,
and set aright the forgotten Amazon virtues and justice,
long lost in this terrible war."

Anaïtis sat up and flashed a sardonic grin at the young Themiscryan,
before spewing out her bitterness, "Enough of your lofty words, Bithynia.
Justice — what is justice but the will of the strong over the weak.
Tell me, where was justice when my mother, the rightful heir
to the Taurian throne, was exiled. She died an outcast, in Ephesus,
when the god Dionysus and his army hunted us down like vermin.
All this because she was the weaker, losing her fight against her cousin,
that shameless usurper. So there is justice for you. As for virtue — "

Anaïtis broke off, casting a look of contempt down at the weeping blonde,
whipped, quaking. Spinning around, she held her arm, and trapped her
at the face with the weight of her own torso. Her free hand frisked about
that frail body, white and smooth, as if cut from everlasting Parian marble —
the lithe neck and shoulders, pinned hopelessly against the deep red floor;
those soft breasts, formed as if they were made for pressing;
her flat belly below that delicate waist, and those creamy thighs...

"Open!"

The tearful blonde complied at once. Fear had robbed her
of strength to resist. She spread wide and presented to Anaïtis
her uncharted darkness. With legs clamped around her neck,
the lusting beauty pulled herself down that naked flesh,
probing with care her offerings up close. Her hot breath made the blonde's
limbs tremble in delight, like the surface of the wave
when ruffled by the warm south wind. A rush of wild passion swept through
Anaïtis now. Hunger-stricken, she dove in with her face and feasted.
Her tongue buried between those luscious nether lips. A tempest began to
rise down below. She felt the swelling torrent, but she plunged only deeper,
relentless. Whirled around and tossed about, she can only hear the hums
in her own ears, pressed hard against those burning thighs.
She clung on tightly, braving out the surging waves beneath her,
each more violent than the previous, a crescendo to the peak —
until at last the great storm subsided, tamed, reduced to but small tremors.

Drenched in bliss, Anaïtis slid back, her wanting bottom slowly eclipsed
Thera's flushed face, now aglow with raw pleasure. She pushed herself up,
pressing firmly on the blonde's jutting breasts,
heaving hard from the violent climb to ecstasy. Her palms felt
that disgraced body beneath, denuded of its maidenly dignity,
twitching still, here and there, in pure delight. Wearing a wry smile,
Anaïtis looked up at Bithynia, licking her chops as a big cat that
had just finished her meal, and went on with her scoff,
"So here is virtue for you, Bithynia. Nothing but lies, a bondage
of the powerful to the enfeebled. Megacles, if you can still see
from the depth of Tartarus, the virtuous daughter you raised to perfection,
noble and chaste like a goddess — when stripped down naked,
she is no different than a Lydian whore, coating my face with
her sweet juice of love." With that, she let out a stinging laughter.
But it was cut short by a high-pitched shrill, heart-wrenching,
as her verbal assault bruised Thera beyond her limits.
Mustering all her strength, the seething blonde rose up and
toppled Anaïtis, sending her crashing onto the hard floor.

There, they tussled and rolled with wild cries, tearing at each other's
done-up hair, scratching, slapping. Thera climbed on top,
seemingly getting the better of her tormentor, but there’s no fooling
the young onlooker. Bithynia saw through it all, that game Anaïtis
was playing, like a cat toying with a mouse.
She had her legs around the blonde's waist, readied to end the scuffle,
to squeeze the fight out of her unwitting victim at an instant.
Even so, not a moment too soon, not before she's had her fun.
Trapping Thera between her thighs, and with that sneaky hand
Anaïtis went for her privates again, fingering her at will.
The second time came even quicker for Thera, as her piercing shrieks
of fury whimpered, her hand clasped her own mouth,
lest her shameful cries broke out aloud. But no sooner then she peaked,
Anaïtis noosed those merciless arms around her delicate neck and
squeezed tight, strangling away her dear life just as she splattered
her love juice once again, all over the deep red carpet.
What a hopeless struggle from the ensnared blonde now,
her throat crushed, drool trickled from the corner of her mouth —
alas her warmth frittered away, the world went black as night
across her eyes. There her lifeless body spread on the harsh floor,
convulsing still, glistening dews of erotic bliss, dripping wet between her legs.

Bithynia stood still as a tree, dumbfounded, bereft of her senses.
Her heart racing, as she took a glance at that ravaged noble maiden,
sexually conquered, and then physically destroyed.
Looking quietly to the ground now, her mind couldn't help but
wondered the forbidden. A faint blush flashed across her guilty face,
like a girl seeing her betrothed on the wedding night.
The handiwork of the boy god Eros it was, Aphrodite's son.
Rearing his playful head, unseeable by all mortals,
he drew in full strength his bow, aiming at her,
readied to pierce the heart of the young Amazon with his arrow
of erotic passion. But Athena made him miss. She tipped his bow
in the nick of time, that invisible arrow, only just skimmed Bithynia's skin.

Even so, Anaïtis still caught her reddening cheeks.
Too easy was her mastery over Thera, yet all that rough and tumble
lit up a scorching fire down her belly, a quenchless ravening fire,
and she yearned for a discharge. Lusting for a fresh conquest, she rose up,
stalking slowly towards Bithynia. “So it is my help you seek,
young Amazon? Then a favour for a favour, my golden Themiscryan.
You are in my lair now, do my bidding, let me have a taste of you,
for it is a disgrace to lay waste such beauty. And then, I swear
by Aphrodite in all her might, you will please the heart of your sister
with my reply.” On that note, she brushed against her new prey.
Her hot body aglow under the candle lights, smouldering for
the steely Amazon, aching to melt her into submission.
But Bithynia pushed her away and dressed her down at once,
"You have no heart in you, shameless bitch, not a pulse-beat!
Your own sister, you wiped out in such fashion.
Dionysus should've kill you too on Ephesus, and
haul your spirit down to the House of Death where you belong."

“Hush now. What a feisty cat you are, Bithynia.
For six summers I watched you, daughter of Lysippe,
braiding your pretty golden hair, pleading to your sister to take you out
to each battle, like a young cub eager to go on her first hunt.
Well, I am a huntress, Bithynia, a huntress of bodies and hearts.
And a huntress always chases what runs hard, and leaves behind
what can be taken easily. So resist me, struggle, it would make
my conquest sweeter still.” At that, she looked back at Thera,
that noble maiden, her despoiled body discarded on the carpeted floor
like a trampled flower left by the wayside.

And back to the Amazon she turned, winging her words
in a throbbing rising voice, “If a fight is your heart's desire,
no regret then, Bithynia, when I break you and have you shackled
to the stone wall, your beaten body quivering, stripped for a flogging,
then, only then will you wish you had it easy like Thera.
No, too little too late, I will whip you stroke on stroke —"
Leaning forward now, Anaïtis brushed back the young Themiscryan's
golden mane, and breathed softly in her ear,
"Your sister will get my reply tonight, rest assured, but only after
I tame your spirit and send back your broken body, hot between the legs.”

These abrasive insults infuriated Bithynia. No longer holding back,
she unleashed her fury, and lunged herself at Anaïtis, taking her down
in a flash before the raven-haired beauty had realised what happened.
Like a wild feline whose den was stumbled upon by another,
she jumped on the insolent intruder, growling down at her throat.
Anaïtis was taken by surprise. Eros must had stolen her wits,
so carelessly she provoked that tigress with her words.
Too late for a fair fight now. Why risk more humiliation.
She wisely remained acquiescent in her vulnerable position.
Better to stay patient, and let her winning foe make the next move.
And Bithynia read her mind. Mounted atop, she stared
the supine hellcat down, pinning her with those glaring eyes.
The heart in her chest pounding, torn —
should she rain blows on that pretty face?
Or check her rage and beat her fury down?

As her racing spirit veered back and forth — from the shadow
of the room emerged Princess Semele, King Creon's daughter,
that treacherous Athenian who sold her city for love.
Fair as a white lily, with a heart just as dark to match, the blonde
veiled herself only in a short nightie, filmy and loose,
betraying her naked secrets underneath. Parting those rosy lips,
she poured forth her sweet poison. "Mind not those crude words,
my dear Amazon, she’s only having harmless fun.
Come now, release my lover who is at your mercy.
You have put her in her place. Many times I warned her,
when the entrance to her prey is shut against her violent charges,
gentle words of love can soften those harsh doors.
A hard lesson you just taught her now, but put your weary heart at ease —
of course we will sail you to Delos, yes, both of us will, Anaïtis and I,
I swear to the gods. So here, loosen that tense body of your,
allow me to caress it. Surrender to my fingers and I will turn those growls
of yours into purrs of a pussycat."

Semele's voice, ringing like a tinkling bell, titillating Bithynia's senses,
rattling her tender young heart. Rising to her feet, she back-stepped
as the conniving blonde slithered towards her,
her sparkling eyes grey as glass. Cornering her against the bronze door,
with those supple white arms Semele embraced her. Her wanton thigh,
coiled tightly around Bithynia's tanned flank.
And there went that winged boy Eros again, rearing from behind,
drawing his bow, looking to kindle a flame in the virgin Amazon's
frigid heart. But this time Athena caught him, broke him off before
he could let loose his burning arrow of passion.
Her left hand seizing both wrists of the boy god, right hand
tearing away the bow and quiver off his shoulders —
Athena spanked Eros with his own weapon, three times on the buttock,
smiling broadly now as her victim writhed away and
showering arrows scattered. Bursting into tears the boy god
slipped from under her clutch, like a wild dove that flies
from a hawk’s attack, so he fled back to Mount Olympus,
his archery left on the spot.

With Eros, gone was that flicker of spark touched off
in Bithynia's young heart. Now filled with loathing,
she spurned Semele's amorous advance, and flung her across the room.
Under her arched brows she glared at that two-timing princess
slumped against the ashlar wall, and thundered,
"Down you go, you barefaced viper! How do you have the gall,
to stand and test my fury here with your shamelessness.
Take to heart my words — provoke me again in your loose ways,
here or on Delos, and I will lay you to waste, stretch you out senseless
on the hard stoned floor." At that, she spun around
and stormed out the door, leaving the two treacherous lovers slouched low
on the red carpet, dark grins stretched across their faces.
Anaïtis now, at the sight of her unfettered prey striding away,
fired her parting shot, "Your eyes betrayed your yearning, Bithynia.
Give in, don't fight it, passion oppresses reluctant ones more harshly than
those readily acquiesce. You will yield, I swear by the goddess,
on Delos you will surrender to your heart's desire. No escape for you,
my virgin Amazon, remember — there are no good girls gone bad,
only bad ones found out." Those jarring words jolted Bithynia to the core.
She sped into the darkness, hopelessly tried to outrun her fickle heart.

And back to her Father's hall the wily goddess Athena now flew,
to the peak of Mount Olympus, her eyes flashing bright.
But waiting at the gates was the golden Aphrodite, the goddess of love,
fuming a mother’s rage, “Why spank my son, you spineless bitch,
bullying your own nephew, the little boy he is. But you’ll find it painful,
fighting me strength for strength. Father may like you best, Athena,
but not even his mighty power can protect you forever.
Here, since you’d like a lesson in combat, you worthless dogfly,
just to learn, to savour how much stronger I am when
you engage my power —" At that, Aphrodite’s heart leapt high,
she charged at Athena, and down they both fell onto the swirling dust,
before the wily goddess can answer her.
On dirt these two immortal beauties tussled about in rising shrills,
evenly matched, both dazzling in their uncontrollable rage.
Fists flying and tresses of hair torn, at last the love goddess
fought her way on top. She held Athena by her dark hair
and grabbed at her brow, marking those delicate cheeks with cruel nails.
Athena felt the weight of her deathless foe straddling over her belly,
shrieking desperately, unable to break free, she ripped apart
Aphrodite’s tunic from throat to waist, laying nude that glorious body.
But the golden one did not relent, pressing down her divine chest,
she buried Athena’s face into the deep valley of her bosom.
The sweet aroma between her breasts, that captivating scent of love
which no god or mortal can resist, impregnated Athena’s senses,
and loosed her limbs. Soon enough, she squirmed in delight beneath,
her resistance quite dissolved. Only the thunderous voice of
her father Zeus saved her from disgrace. "Enough, my daughters!
Aphrodite, you know full well the use of our powers,
forbidden against another god. Blame not Athena for your son’s abuse.
It was I, I sent her on a mission, a task too important to be wrecked
by the naughtiness of your boy. Now let her up!” Upon these words,
Aphrodite released her hold on Athena, and rose up.
She cast a dark glance at them both, but left without a word.
Now Athena got onto her feet, and fell into Father’s embrace,
a young woman, sobbing, her tarnished tunic quivering round her body.
She scarcely contained her tears, and with her hands hid
her delicate cheeks painted with blushes. Her father hugged her tight,
and comforted her, "There, my virgin child, never underestimate
a mother’s fury. Pay no heed to your sister Aphrodite,
for I will rein in her rage. But look here, a fine day’s work, Athena,
flawless execution, everything according to the Fates' plan.
Now go, get a good night's rest, my dearest daughter,
as even tougher challenges await those Themiscryans tomorrow."
Her father’s soothing words calmed her anger and lifted her spirit
from embarrassment, and off the young goddess flew
to her bedchamber in haste, her feet not touching the ground,
for fear that some other gods might catch her in her disheveled state.