They take one of us slaves, put an Eros mask on us, strip us too, and make us service the priestess on the platform. Eros and Aphrodite have a tumble in the torchlight."
Octos grinned broadly. "If that doesn't give you religion, I don't know what will."
Chuckles followed. Octos added: "The full-moon ceremony puts most of the Amazons in an eager mood, and nearly every slave gets called to a bed on those nights. When that time of month arrives, we call it the Amazon Moon. You'll soon learn that the Amazon Moon is the hottest sex season."
I grinned at Dalien, but he still looked resentful.
Ankus, the thoughtful one, added seriously: "However, the real Amazon Moon is when they raid in the moonlight, striking out of the dark, catching caravan guards or weary soldiers asleep. There's blood on the moon, those nights. The Amazons are night-fighters. They may look like your little sister or your fetching cousin, but they can be deadly. Don't forget it."
Darkness had fallen. Our motley group, the limping slaves of gimp-land, hobbled inside to our pallets. I fell asleep to an odd thought: Nearly half of the people in Greece are slaves. Young men like me dream of growing rich and owning bondservants, especially female ones. But it never occurred to me that the opposite might happen: that I would be owned by females.
7
For the next few days, while the other male slaves were sent each morning to the crop fields or the brick pit, Dalien and I were left by the doorway to recline at half-labor while our wounds healed. We finished scrubbing the bloody garments and spread them on bushes to dry in the sun.
Soon I was able to rise on my crutches unaided and move about. I saw that the secret Amazon valley was a small paradise. Delicate ferns spread green lace along the creekbanks. The dammed pool was clear, lined with smooth stones. A grove of fig trees dotted one hillside and olive trees another. A large grape arbor filled an elevated plateau. Up the valley, I heard bleating goats. A pasture contained more than twenty horses that had been seized from caravans and conquered military squads. In the distance, I could see a wheat field and a large bean patch. Here and there, wildflowers splashed color.
One of the buildings contained the village's bakery. Sweet-smelling woodsmoke rose from its vent, but the most wonderful smell was the rich aroma of fresh bread.
Mostly I watched the women come and go. I strained my eyes to see the nude ones splashing in the pool. I saw the warriors, girded with weapons, train strenuously on a hillside each morning, then dive into the pool to wash away their sweat. And I saw the home women go to and fro, performing their daily chores. One warrior was a tall black Nubian. Most of the others had the pale skin and jet black hair of Aegean people.
As I watched, a passing Amazon stood out because her hair glistened like honey. I recognized her as Litha, the Slavic slave who was whipped at Aegolus. She looked glowing and attractive.
"My lady," I called, "I know you. I was outside the Overseer's house on the day you were flogged."
She looked me up and down, quizzically, then recognition flashed in her face.
"You're the boy who yelled 'no.'"
"Yes." I felt embarrassed. "It just popped out of me. My name is Melos." Then I added: "The Overseer didn't die."
"Too bad," she blurted, then reversed herself: "No, I'm glad. But he learned a lesson."
"Do you have scars?" I asked.
"No, but I'll bet the Overseer does," she joked. Then she added: "My sister Mitha is here too. And there is the Overseer's donkey." She pointed to a burro grazing among horses in the pasture.
She didn't treat me as a slave, so I felt I could speak openly. l was puzzled. "How did you find this place, when Greek warriors cannot?"
She eyed me carefully, hesitating. "I am not supposed to say."
"Please! I'm curious."
"Slave women and concubines have secrets that we confide to each other."
"Secrets?"
She looked around to make sure nobody
Octos grinned broadly. "If that doesn't give you religion, I don't know what will."
Chuckles followed. Octos added: "The full-moon ceremony puts most of the Amazons in an eager mood, and nearly every slave gets called to a bed on those nights. When that time of month arrives, we call it the Amazon Moon. You'll soon learn that the Amazon Moon is the hottest sex season."
I grinned at Dalien, but he still looked resentful.
Ankus, the thoughtful one, added seriously: "However, the real Amazon Moon is when they raid in the moonlight, striking out of the dark, catching caravan guards or weary soldiers asleep. There's blood on the moon, those nights. The Amazons are night-fighters. They may look like your little sister or your fetching cousin, but they can be deadly. Don't forget it."
Darkness had fallen. Our motley group, the limping slaves of gimp-land, hobbled inside to our pallets. I fell asleep to an odd thought: Nearly half of the people in Greece are slaves. Young men like me dream of growing rich and owning bondservants, especially female ones. But it never occurred to me that the opposite might happen: that I would be owned by females.
7
For the next few days, while the other male slaves were sent each morning to the crop fields or the brick pit, Dalien and I were left by the doorway to recline at half-labor while our wounds healed. We finished scrubbing the bloody garments and spread them on bushes to dry in the sun.
Soon I was able to rise on my crutches unaided and move about. I saw that the secret Amazon valley was a small paradise. Delicate ferns spread green lace along the creekbanks. The dammed pool was clear, lined with smooth stones. A grove of fig trees dotted one hillside and olive trees another. A large grape arbor filled an elevated plateau. Up the valley, I heard bleating goats. A pasture contained more than twenty horses that had been seized from caravans and conquered military squads. In the distance, I could see a wheat field and a large bean patch. Here and there, wildflowers splashed color.
One of the buildings contained the village's bakery. Sweet-smelling woodsmoke rose from its vent, but the most wonderful smell was the rich aroma of fresh bread.
Mostly I watched the women come and go. I strained my eyes to see the nude ones splashing in the pool. I saw the warriors, girded with weapons, train strenuously on a hillside each morning, then dive into the pool to wash away their sweat. And I saw the home women go to and fro, performing their daily chores. One warrior was a tall black Nubian. Most of the others had the pale skin and jet black hair of Aegean people.
As I watched, a passing Amazon stood out because her hair glistened like honey. I recognized her as Litha, the Slavic slave who was whipped at Aegolus. She looked glowing and attractive.
"My lady," I called, "I know you. I was outside the Overseer's house on the day you were flogged."
She looked me up and down, quizzically, then recognition flashed in her face.
"You're the boy who yelled 'no.'"
"Yes." I felt embarrassed. "It just popped out of me. My name is Melos." Then I added: "The Overseer didn't die."
"Too bad," she blurted, then reversed herself: "No, I'm glad. But he learned a lesson."
"Do you have scars?" I asked.
"No, but I'll bet the Overseer does," she joked. Then she added: "My sister Mitha is here too. And there is the Overseer's donkey." She pointed to a burro grazing among horses in the pasture.
She didn't treat me as a slave, so I felt I could speak openly. l was puzzled. "How did you find this place, when Greek warriors cannot?"
She eyed me carefully, hesitating. "I am not supposed to say."
"Please! I'm curious."
"Slave women and concubines have secrets that we confide to each other."
"Secrets?"
She looked around to make sure nobody
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