Penthesileia spurs her mount to speed.
"Ride, Thunder, ride!"
She kicks her heels
into her horse's flanks
just two strides now,
ahead of the Erinyes.
Their rancid breath,
their reaching claws
are closer than they've ever been.
Behind the monsters,
the other women lag.
Penthesileia urges speed.
"Ride, Amazon companions, ride!"
And then comes swift-footed Clonie,
And then comes flame-haired Polemousa,
And then comes battle-scarred Derinoe,
And then comes far-throwing Evandre,
And then comes clever Antandre,
And then comes spirited Hippothoe,
And then comes dark-eyed Harmothoe,
And then comes good-hearted Alcibie,
And then comes horse-taming Antibrote,
And then comes the huntress Derimacheia,
And then comes cunning Thermodosa,
And then comes glorious Bremousa,
the brightest star
in the constellation
that trails the Penthesileian moon.
"Ride, to Troy we ride,
to the citadel of King Priam!"
and the other twelve
as handmaids to their mistress
from the steppes of Chadesia,
through the swamps of Lycastia,
along the fertile riverlands of Themiscyra,
to Hades's halls
They hunger for battle.
They thirst for blood.
But even they can't fight their lady's daimons.
Strong-armed Amazons they all might be,
but none can fight what none can see.