The Wanderers

by Mary Johnston

The country of the Amazonian women ran in deep mountain gorges back from the sea to a tableland and certain forested peaks. At the foot of the gorge spread salt meadows, flat and green, overbreathed by the fragrant sea wind. Here was capital pasturage, and here on a day came down from the plateau a dozen mounted women driving before them flock and herd. The day was warm, the meadows bright. These gave to shining sands, the sands to sapphire sea. Behind the level green sprang the wood. Lowing and bleating, cattle and sheep came to the grass. The drovers saw all disposed, then, hot and tired with much work from dawn till noon, dismounted, fastened their horses in the wood and went down to the sea. Having bathed, with laughter and play, they stretched themselves upon the sand and opened a great wallet that held bread and dried meat, and untied the mouth of a wine skin.

Their town was built three leagues away, in a cup of the mountain excellently guarded by grey crags. They thought that it had always been there, though indeed the old wise women said no. They said that their mothers had told them that their mothers’ mothers had heard of a time when there was a battle at the edge of the world, and that then fifty women, fleeing, had climbed to these mountains and here built a town and kept ancient customs. These were the ancestresses and divine! However that might be, here was now the town and the people. A queen ruled them. On certain ritual days of the year they had intercourse with men of two neighbouring nations. Of the children born they kept the girls, but when the boys had seen twelve summers they sent these to the father nation. Year by year their ways of life, at first not so strange, grew to seem strange and stranger yet to the peoples who heard of them and elaborated and legended what they heard. To themselves it was old nature, very right and proper, dear, familiar life!

The drovers lying upon the sand, between the blue sea and the salt meadow, were all on the younger side of prime. Among them was Lindane, the Queen’s daughter. The sea-wind caressed them, they heard the contented voices and movements of the grazing beasts, they had bread and red wine and sweet rest. When they had eaten they posted two watchers, and the rest closed their eyes.

To the left of where they lay dipped into the sea a hook of land, a long, crooked finger of Mother Earth. The watchers looked inland toward the wealth in the meadows, the horses fastened in the wood. The world hereabouts went little to sea; the sea made no danger save to small fishing craft in rough weather. The watchers never saw until too late the long, dark boat, fifty-oared, with sails beside, with carven prow, that stole around the crooked finger.... The watchers heard the sails when they rattled down, and sharply turned to see the prow touch the sand and the men leap forth—and all so close the eyes might be seen! “Awake! Awake!” cried the watchers and snatched bow and quiver. The ten sprang up, seized weapons; all raced for the wood and those tied steeds. Close after them, with shouts, came the sea-rovers.

There were fifty and five strong young men, strong and untamed as eagles, swoopers from islands below the horizon. The chief was Sandanis. Elsewhere upon the far-stretching mainland coast they had lifted spoil in their talons, robbing towns that spoke a dialect akin to their own. The long boat held wrought gold and brass, rich woven goods, strange weapons, objects of value. Here upon this strand was stopping only to fill the water casks. But when they saw the sleeping forms the sea-eagles again set beak and talon.

At first they did not know the twelve for women, for they were not habited like the women of the islands or of any country that the sea-rovers knew, and they were tall and deeply bronzed, and they showed a practised hand with javelin and with bow and arrow. They ran like deer, and the sea-rovers ran at their heels. They menaced the pursuit as they ran, then, reaching the wood, plunged past tree and swinging vines to the tethered horses. They waited not to untie, but each stripping knife from sheath, severed the bridle and sprang to steed. One further minute and they might have shown clean heels, won away to their mountain fastness. But the fifty were on them, keen as winter wolves, knife-armed, javelin-armed, knowing their quarry now for the famed women! A hundred hands caught at bridle and mane, or used knife or flung javelin against the horses. Of these several sank to earth, others, rearing, beat with their hooves at the foe. One only escaped, making with its rider at a furious gallop for the trail, the upward-running gorge and the crag-guarded town.

Yet mounted or with foot upon the ground, the remaining Amazons fought for life and freedom. They fought with knife and shortened javelin, being unable to use bow and arrow in the close conflict. They fought strongly, with skill, with desperation and tenacious courage. Lives were lost from among the sea-rovers, bitter wounds were given. But the sea-rovers were fifty and they who had brought the cattle to the salt meadows were twelve. And one was gone and two were slain and two had death hurts. The seven that were left were overpowered, dragged to earth and bound with thongs and cords.

Lindane, the Queen’s daughter, fought with Sandanis, the king of the sea-rovers, a second strong man giving him needed help. It took the two to bind her. Sandanis’s hands upon her wrists, the other’s against her shoulders, they forced her down the sands, they lifted and flung her over the boat side. All the seven were brought to the boat and guarded there while the sea-rovers gathered wood and burned their dead.

The sea-rovers drew out to no great length the details of that rite. In their minds was a humming thought of the fled Amazon and of possible rescue. Kindling the pyre, they left it blazing there, at the edge of the wood. A forewind had sprung up and they took advantage. Making sail in haste, they left behind the golden sands and the salt meadows and the dark, mounting forests of that land.

The sun went down, the moon came up. The women yet lay where they had been flung. Then Lindane rose to her knees, and with her two or three of the more resilient sort. They looked astern, and by the light of the great full moon saw, sinking from them, their country-shore and all it held of home and friends. Lindane, straining at her bonds, broke them, and with her doubled hands struck Sandanis that was nearest to her. Sandanis, thinking himself conqueror, laughed. He seized the Amazon’s wrists, struggled with her, and nodded to his helper to wrap the thong about her arms. Enmeshed again, she turned her head and prayed to the sea.