of humor, and his deep and gentle voice could say the most outrageous things with such a sense of seriousness that it often took Maggiore several seconds to realize what he’d said. Also, as the Basilea’s consort, Olememnon had the highest status of any man in the province, and apart from fighting in the Icemark’s wars he had no other duties, so he’d been a brilliant ally in hunting down State papers and manuscripts to help in their research. No door was locked to him, no archive out of bounds, so Maggiore only had to mention that he had the approval of Olememnon and all objections melted away.
So far, the little scholar’s studies had confirmed what was generally known, that the Hypolitan were not originally from the north. Today, he hoped to get to the more interesting bits of his investigations and find out exactly where on the Southern Continent this fascinating people had first come from. Maggiore was just savoring the idea of the investigation when a gentle knock sounded at his door.
“Come!” he called in his best schoolmaster’s voice, and the door opened.
Into the room stepped one of the biggest men Maggiore had ever known. Olememnon was even taller than King Redrought had been, and was easily as broad, and yet his shaven face gave him the appearance of an overgrown boy. To Maggiore, whose own scholar’s beard almost reached his waist, a clean-shaven man was still an odd sight, especially since all the men in every other part of the Icemark grew beards as soon as they could. This was just one more difference between the Hypolitan and the other citizens of the Icemark.
The big man smiled in greeting, his face and eyes lighting up as he strode forward.
“Ah, Olememnon! Sit down, sit down. A glass of wine?” Maggiore asked, pouring the drink before getting an answer. “Are you ready for our little chat? Have you remembered any folktales and legends I haven’t recorded yet?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps. It depends what you want to hear,” Olememnon answered, his deep, soft voice filling Maggiore’s large chamber to capacity.
“Well, let me see,” the little scholar said, picking up his notes and balancing his spectoculums on the end of his nose. “Ah yes! We were about to discuss the genesis of the Hypolitan. The land of their origin and the reason for their migration.”
“Well, that’s easy. War, and a need to escape a power that wouldn’t let us live as we wanted,” said Olememnon, sipping his drink and settling back into his creaking chair. Primplepuss had looked up when the huge man came into the room, and now hopped down from Maggiore and walked across the floor to take up residence on the new lap. Perhaps there was something about the Basilea’s consort that reminded her of another special man who’d filled a room in the same way, and this was her way of honoring his memory. Olememnon stroked her as soon as she settled onto his lap, and to the accompaniment of her purring, looked expectantly across at Maggiore, who waited with pen poised.
“Fine, fine. Well, tell me what you know from the beginning, while I take notes,” said Maggiore, who knew the big man was a natural storyteller.
“Well, now, let’s see …” began Olememnon. “The Hypolitan once lived in the mountains of the Southern Continent, many hundreds of years ago. They were, even then, a fierce people who lived by hunting and fighting. But the other people around respected them and learned to revere the Great Mother Goddess, sending offerings to the warrior-priestesses who served her in her mountaintop shrines.”
“Aha!” said Maggiore as he scribbled away. Some of his guesses had been right. In his own land there had been legends of warrior women who had served the Goddess of the Moon.
“For many generations life was good for the Hypolitan, but then a threat of war arose, and a great movement of people came from the east. Their armies were huge, and after many battles the Hypolitan retreated to the sanctuary of their mountain shrines.
“Our soldiers fought a long and bitter war but knew they couldn’t win. The enemy was massive and sent army after army against our strongholds. But the Basilea of the day, Queen Athenestra, devised a plan. When the Blessed Moon was dark, the warrior-priestesses and the fighting men would carve a wide swathe through the besieging armies to allow our people to escape to other lands and find peace again.
“And this they duly did,