“I’m afraid,” said the Queen, “they’d overcome you by sheer weight. You’ve no idea how heavy they are.” And then Kathleen covered herself with glory by saying, “Well, but what about Amazons?”
“The very thing,” said Caesar kindly. “Would you mind running back? You’ll find them in the third book from the corner where the large purple starfish is; you can’t mistake it.”
The children tore off to the golden gate, rushed through it, and swam to the spot where, unmistakably, the purplish starfish spread its violet rays. They knocked on the book, and Cathay, by previous arrangement, called out—
“Come out, please, Queen of the Amazons, and bring all your fighting ladies.”
Then out came a very splendid lady in glorious golden armor. “You’d better get some boats for us,” she said, standing straight and splendid on a ledge of rock, “enough to reach from here to the gate, or a bridge. There are all these things in Caesar’s books. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind your calling them out. We must not swim, I know, because of getting our bowstrings wet.”
So Francis called out a bridge, and when it was not long enough to reach the golden gate he called another. And then the Queen called her ladies, and out came a procession, which seemed as though it would never end, of tall and beautiful women armed and equipped for war. They carried bows, and the children noticed that one side of their chests was flatter than the other. And the procession went on and on, passing along the bridge and through the golden gate, till Cathay grew quite dizzy; and at last Mavis said, “Oh, your Majesty, do stop them. I’m sure there are heaps, and we shall be too late if we wait for any more.”
So the Queen stopped the procession and they went back to the Palace, where the Queen of the Amazons greeted Joan of Arc and the other ladies as though they were old acquaintances.
In a few moments their plans were laid. I wish I could describe to you the great fight between the Nice Book People and the others. But I have not time, and besides, the children did not see all of it, so I don’t see why you should. It was fought out in the Palace gardens. The armies were fairly evenly matched as to numbers, because the Bookworms had let out a great many Barbarians, and these, though not so unpleasant as Mr. Murdstone and Mrs. Fairchild, were quite bad enough. The children were not allowed to join in the battle, which they would dearly have liked to do. Only from a safe distance they heard the sound of steel on steel, the whir of arrows, and the war cries of the combatants. And presently a stream of fugitives darkened the pearly pathways, and one could see the heroes with drawn swords following in pursuit.
And then, among those who were left, the shouts of war turned suddenly to shouts of laughter, and the Merlish Queen herself moved toward the battlefield. And as she drew near she, too, laughed. For, it would seem, the Amazons had only shot their arrows at the men among their foes—they had disdained to shoot the women, and so good was their aim that not a single woman was wounded. Only, when the Book Hatefuls had been driven back by the Book Heroes, the Book Heroines advanced and, without more ado, fell on the remaining foes. They did not fight them with swords or spears or arrows or the short, sharp knives they wore—they simply picked up the screaming Bookwomen and carried them back to the books where they belonged. Each Amazon caught up one of the foe and, disregarding her screaming and scratching, carried her back to the book where she belonged, pushed her in, and shut the door.
Boadicea carried Mrs. Markham and her brown silk under one bare, braceleted arm as though she had been a naughty child. Joan of Arc made herself responsible for Aunt Fortune, and the Queen of the Amazons made nothing of picking up Miss Murdstone, beads and all, and carrying her in her arms like a baby. Torfrida’s was the hardest task. She had, from the beginning, singled out Alftruda, her old and bitter enemy, and the fight between them was a fierce one, though it was but a battle of looks. Yet before long the fire in Torfrida’s great dark eyes seemed to scorch her adversary, she shrank before it, and shrank and shrank till at last she turned and crept back to her book and went in of her own accord, and Torfrida shut the door.