Olympias, the Forgotten Warrior

OLYMPIAS, THE FORGOTTEN WARRIOR

Chapter I

EPIRUS PRINCESS
The western mountains of Greece, in the country of Epirus, 357 BC.

“Faster, Bucephalus, faster,” princess Myrtale shrieked to her majestic stallion as they burst forth from the palace grounds. She must escape. Never would she marry her father’s choice, that weak prince whose hand lost the sword from her own thrust. She would marry a warrior prince or none at all.
Myrtale did not heed the children running to the safety of their homes or the amazement in the eyes of her countrymen as her powerful horse pounded past. Never before had they seen the princess careless of the children.
Racing from Dodona, the capital of Epirus, located in the mountainous western Greece, she descended into the dense forest shading a rough mountain trail. Snow lingered under the tall evergreens defying the return of spring, but the furious Myrtale ignored the cold.
Long golden hair whipped about her face, obstructing her view. She barely noticed. Nor did the howl of a wolf give her concern. Myrtale could feel only one danger, the danger that would ruin her life - the catastrophe of being sacrificed for the good of her country because of her born duty to marry the king's choice.
Her teeth clinched as the words of her father, King Neoptolemus, thundered in her ears: "Princess Myrtale of Epirus, my daughter, time has come for you to marry. After much deliberation and extensive searching, I have chosen our neighboring prince, Temenos, to be your husband. The union will preserve peace for Epirus and insure a long pleasant life for you."
The prospect of a long life with the timid Temenos shattered every dream of marriage to a brave warrior, a man who would never need to plead for peace for his country, but one who commanded peace because he was too powerful to oppose.
"Only Illyria is a threat to us," she remembered screaming. "Choose one of their sly thieves as my husband. At least, he would know how to protect himself. Why couldn’t I have been born a boy? Why should my little brother become king and I an object to be traded?”
“Oh, why couldn't I have lived when there were real Greek warriors?" she cried out to the forest. "Warriors are all old or dead. Why doesn't Athens give Plato hemlock like Socrates drank? He deserves to die for turning the kings into talkers instead of warriors. I will never marry a prince who is a lackey to Plato. Never!"
Girl on her dark brown horse raced onward over the twisting mountain trail, while dancing rays of sunlight exposed rabbits running for cover. Bucephalus slowed for a sharp turn in the trail. The narrow path clung to the edge of a steep precipice where even trees did not grow. The stallion rounded the bend.
Suddenly, his forefeet reared into the air. A lioness lunged into view. Myrtale clung to Bucephalus’ mane. The cat crouched twenty feet ahead. Her sharp white teeth parted and thunder rolled from her throat.
An enemy! A real live enemy! Myrtale’s anger took focus. She threw her head back and yelled an undulating command to the lioness. This path belongs to Myrtale. The cat must back off.
A softer cry to her rear warned she was between mother and baby. She knew the big cat would not give way. Myrtale turned her powerful horse giving another defiant shout while freeing Bucephalus’ reins, racing past the crying cub. Desperately she wished for her sword as her horse raced over the hazardous path with the lioness’s menacing growls closing the gap. The leaping lioness barely paused as she passed her frightened cub. Myrtale leaned against her horse as he heeded the imminent danger.
A whizzing sound zipped through the air. The cat shrieked with pain. Myrtale trembled as she realized the cat was only a horse’s length behind her. Turning, she saw the lioness struggling helplessly, desperately trying to stand. From the thick evergreens along the winding path, came voices. Myrtale breathed a sigh of relief that hunters were in the forest. She slowed her horse as she heard, "Great shot, Philip."
"Philip, you got her with one arrow."
“That is all it should ever take.”
Three men rode from the steep hill into view. Their shields and swords told her they were soldiers from another country.
"What are you men doing here?" she demanded, alarmed at their approach.
The tallest man gazed at her in amazement. "What are you, a mere girl, doing in this forest?" he asked. His voice showed concern, but his eyes watched the struggling lioness.
Myrtale held Bucephalus steady as her blue eyes glared defiantly at the sun
darkened young man. She absorbed the handsome sight of his strong face framed by a curly black beard, the powerful thick neck matched by muscular arms and legs. His soiled chiton partially concealed the robust torso. Though she perceived him to be kind, she also felt a strong determination equal to her own, and she knew he must be the most handsome man in all of Greece.
The lioness gave a pitiful cry.
"Go around the bend so we can stop her pain," the magnetic man said as he dismounted.
Myrtale felt amused by the direction for she could have relieved the suffering of the lioness herself, if she had brought her sword. A glance into the tall man's steady dark eyes and she left obediently. "I'll find the kitten," she called back.
Myrtale shortly returned with the kitten tucked in her arm. The mother no longer
moved. She sat tall on her horse as she clutched the cub.
"Girl, leave that lion here. He will make a better meal for the wolves than one of your lambs becoming a meal for it," the chubby man called while seated on his horse, towering above the two standing men.
"The baby will have a chance to live. Now, tell me where you men are from and why you are here," she demanded, seated on her prancing stallion.
The lean older man kicked the dead cat to the side of the path and watched as it plunged down the rocky edge. Sarcastically he asked, "Did we save that girl's life or did we kill her pet?"
The majestic warrior stepped toward her and smiled, "I am Philip of Macedonia, and this serious fellow is my advisor, Antipater." Antipater glanced in her direction, as though she were as unimportant as a leaf falling in the forest. Myrtale glared at Antipater, but because he was with Philip, she checked her temper knowing one day he would not regard her as a falling leaf, but as a rising star.
"My other companion is Attalus," Philip waved his hand toward the chubby person who immediately bowed his head graciously, but his eyes smirked. Philip saw only Myrtale and continued, "We are here to see King Neoptolemus."
"Why do you wish to see the king?"
Philip blinked in surprise at the question, but Attalus laughed, moving his horse near Olympias. "We are looking for pretty girls to dance at our celebration party." His eyes leered at her as he extended his hand. Bucephalus instantly pranced backward, his snarling head pounding near the aggressor who hastily retreated. Olympias felt repulsion from the insult, resolving that someday she would teach him to respect Myrtale, Princess of Epirus.
"Easy, Attalus," Philip cautioned, "can't you see this is not a common girl? Those beautiful flashing blue eyes and hair of gold assures she is a lady of consequence. Her horse could only belong to an important family." Philip mounted and cautiously rode closer to Olympias. "My business concerns the Illyrians. Do you know about the Illyrians?" his voice carried a hint of doubt that irritated her.
"Of course," she scoffed, remembering her offer to marry one of their thieves.
"I have come from Illyria after we defeated their army."