By Anne R Bailey
Cynane was Alexander the Great’s half-sister, and a famous warrior in her own right. She led her own army into battle and even vied for rule over Macedonia’s empire following Alexander’s death. She must have wielded significant influence, as powerful leaders like Antipater feared her. It’s telling that even centuries after her death, a Greek Historian, Polyaenus, wrote about her exploits.
Please enjoy the following short story, which, though fictional, draws on historical fact.
(Rewritten from the 2016 version)
Please enjoy the following short story, which, though fictional, draws on historical fact.
(Rewritten from the 2016 version)
Laughter dogged her steps, nipping at her heels as she wandered the halls of her father’s palace at Aegae. It didn’t matter to the royal women of Macedonia that she was the daughter of King Philip and an Illyrian princess. In the royal nursery, she was only one of many children.
Worse still, her mother was uncouth and wild — trained to hold a spear, not a spindle.
Her marriage to King Philip had been one of political expediency, not love. He might have admired her prowess, but among the other wives and favorites, she slipped from his memory. It was unsurprising then that the other women excluded both mother and daughter in the royal apartments and felt safe, laughing behind their backs.
Cynane had been five or six when her mother finally took notice of her.
She was pulled away from the other children in the royal nursery and brought to her private chambers.
They were unlike the chambers of other ladies. The room smelled of leather and metal. Lining the walls and filling the chests were not precious fabrics and jewels but rather implements of war — from her mother's polished armor to daggers and spears. Decorating her whitewashed walls were her trophies from past battles and furs from animals that she’d hunted herself.
Cynane was both fascinated and resentful of her mother. Couldn’t she have tried harder to fit in? Maybe if she acted more like the others the laughter would stop.
Her mother dismissed the servants with a curt wave of her tanned hand and stood there studying her daughter. Cynane wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she didn’t look away from the serious woman.
With an approving nod, her mother led her through a doorway to an inner courtyard. Cynane blinked, first because of the blinding bright sky, and then at the peculiar sight that greeted her.
Her mother had arranged her prized possessions around the courtyard.
Mesmerized Cynane watched her mother pull back the lids and drapes to reveal weapon after weapon to her. The polished iron reflected the suns rays and drew her in more than any bauble had ever done.
Then her mother returned to stand in front of her, placing a hand on her tiny shoulders. Years later, Cynane could still remember the feel of its weight and strength.
“You are my only child,” she said, with a sweep of her arm towards the weapons. “This is your inheritance.” Her mother placed a dagger in her hand — only for it to clatter to the ground.
“Cynane, you are an Illyrian and warrior by blood. How can you be a coward?”
Cynane’s lips parted, unsure of the answer. With her mother’s unwavering gaze upon her, she reached a decision. Picking up the dagger, she tested its weight in her hand.
“I am afraid of nothing,” she said.
“Good, for the path you will tread will be one full of fear and uncertainty. But I know you will prevail. I shall show you how, and you will never be helpless. You will be strong.”
Her mother had never been tender to her, but on this day she had held her tight in her arms, the dagger trapped between them.
Thus, her education in the art of war began.
Alexander’s birth was cause for great celebration, but Cynane couldn’t bring herself to smile as the royal court feasted the news. Her father’s exuberance only added to her decision to hate her younger half-sibling. It was a childish sort of hate brought on by jealousy.
She had harbored a secret hope that one day she would be at her father’s side as they rode into battle. Alexander’s untimely arrival made that an impossibility. She was realistic — her mother had not filled her head with dreams and stories. Cynane knew that even if she could fight better than Alexander, he was still the heir — and thus, the superior of the two. He’d be the one given the honor of fighting alongside their father, not her.
Rather than give up, Cynane found herself more determined than ever to prove to everyone she was a great warrior — like her father and mother before her.
By the time Cynane was old enough to attend formal court functions, her skin was tanned, and her hands coarse as though she were a farmer’s daughter. She kept her hair in a simple braid and insisted on wearing short tunics she could fight in. Her only adornment was an armband her mother had given her.
In a court of swans, she was an oddity — a perfect copy of her mother. The only difference was she no longer wished things were different.
When another of her father’s wives, Phillipina, pushed her off a couch saying a filthy barbarian such as herself would ruin the fine silk of the cushions. She hadn’t cried or blushed, she had merely attacked with closed fists until her mother pulled her off the screeching woman.
Phillipina had ordered her to be flogged but her father intervened. He decided she should be locked in her rooms for two days without food.
“But father —” Cynane called out in protest. She would rather be flogged.
His eyes sparked at her defiance. She bowed her head but not before she had caught the way the corner of his lips twitched as though he were fighting back a smile.
Three days later when she was training in the private courtyard with her mother, her father appeared to watch from the shaded doorway as her mother put her through her paces.
Her heart swelled with pride as he considered her and gave her a nod once they came to a stop.
Her mother greeted him formally. Her accent still unmistakably Illyrian.
“You’re turning her into a warrior. But if she’s to ride into battle with my army, she will need to learn our ways. Send her to train with the others.”
My mother looked ready to protest, but I grasped her hand in mine and squeezed hard, needing her to understand how desperately I wanted this.
“Of course, husband,” she said, bowing her head.
Cynane had joined the other sons of the nobility on the training grounds. If anyone balked at the presence of a girl among them they kept it to themselves, after all, King Philip had commanded it.
Sometimes her father would come to watch or bring by some foreign dignitary to show off his warrior princess. As her antics continued to amuse him, they also drew the ire of the other women of his court.
When she turned twelve her mother forced her to cut back on her training.
“Mother, how can I waste my time with tutors. Learning music and embroidery won't help me. I need to spend every day training.”
Her mother’s hawk-like gaze narrowed. “Do you wish to be nothing more than a foot soldier? There’s more to fighting than learning how to hold a spear or fire a bow. You’ve neglected to learn strategy and refine other skills you will need if you are to achieve renown.”
Any further argument died on Cynane's tongue.
“Listen to me. Your father may pat your head and approve of how you train and fight. But you do nothing more than entertain him. When you are older, he will arrange a marriage for you and force you to put aside your sword. Prove to him you are more valuable on the field of battle.”
Cynane heard the truth of her mother’s words. Just as once she dedicated herself to her training, she resolved to learn all she could. Lessons in politics and comportment rounded her out, but she was only truly happy when she felt the leather grip of her sword in her hand and the weight of her shield in the other.
She ignored the ways the other ladies would laugh at her attempts with needlework and even came to gawk at her training with the men in the courtyard.
When she turned sixteen, she managed to pin Antipater’s son down in the sand. The laughter stopped.
Cynane relished the silence.
She was no longer mocked when she picked up a spear. Her father no longer smiled indulgently. The servants no longer jeered as she walked past. Slowly, she'd earned their respect.
Through it all, her mother’s proud face encouraged her to press onward.
She had harbored a secret hope that one day she would be at her father’s side as they rode into battle. Alexander’s untimely arrival made that an impossibility. She was realistic — her mother had not filled her head with dreams and stories. Cynane knew that even if she could fight better than Alexander, he was still the heir — and thus, the superior of the two. He’d be the one given the honor of fighting alongside their father, not her.
Rather than give up, Cynane found herself more determined than ever to prove to everyone she was a great warrior — like her father and mother before her.
By the time Cynane was old enough to attend formal court functions, her skin was tanned, and her hands coarse as though she were a farmer’s daughter. She kept her hair in a simple braid and insisted on wearing short tunics she could fight in. Her only adornment was an armband her mother had given her.
In a court of swans, she was an oddity — a perfect copy of her mother. The only difference was she no longer wished things were different.
When another of her father’s wives, Phillipina, pushed her off a couch saying a filthy barbarian such as herself would ruin the fine silk of the cushions. She hadn’t cried or blushed, she had merely attacked with closed fists until her mother pulled her off the screeching woman.
Phillipina had ordered her to be flogged but her father intervened. He decided she should be locked in her rooms for two days without food.
“But father —” Cynane called out in protest. She would rather be flogged.
His eyes sparked at her defiance. She bowed her head but not before she had caught the way the corner of his lips twitched as though he were fighting back a smile.
Three days later when she was training in the private courtyard with her mother, her father appeared to watch from the shaded doorway as her mother put her through her paces.
Her heart swelled with pride as he considered her and gave her a nod once they came to a stop.
Her mother greeted him formally. Her accent still unmistakably Illyrian.
“You’re turning her into a warrior. But if she’s to ride into battle with my army, she will need to learn our ways. Send her to train with the others.”
My mother looked ready to protest, but I grasped her hand in mine and squeezed hard, needing her to understand how desperately I wanted this.
“Of course, husband,” she said, bowing her head.
Cynane had joined the other sons of the nobility on the training grounds. If anyone balked at the presence of a girl among them they kept it to themselves, after all, King Philip had commanded it.
Sometimes her father would come to watch or bring by some foreign dignitary to show off his warrior princess. As her antics continued to amuse him, they also drew the ire of the other women of his court.
When she turned twelve her mother forced her to cut back on her training.
“Mother, how can I waste my time with tutors. Learning music and embroidery won't help me. I need to spend every day training.”
Her mother’s hawk-like gaze narrowed. “Do you wish to be nothing more than a foot soldier? There’s more to fighting than learning how to hold a spear or fire a bow. You’ve neglected to learn strategy and refine other skills you will need if you are to achieve renown.”
Any further argument died on Cynane's tongue.
“Listen to me. Your father may pat your head and approve of how you train and fight. But you do nothing more than entertain him. When you are older, he will arrange a marriage for you and force you to put aside your sword. Prove to him you are more valuable on the field of battle.”
Cynane heard the truth of her mother’s words. Just as once she dedicated herself to her training, she resolved to learn all she could. Lessons in politics and comportment rounded her out, but she was only truly happy when she felt the leather grip of her sword in her hand and the weight of her shield in the other.
She ignored the ways the other ladies would laugh at her attempts with needlework and even came to gawk at her training with the men in the courtyard.
When she turned sixteen, she managed to pin Antipater’s son down in the sand. The laughter stopped.
Cynane relished the silence.
She was no longer mocked when she picked up a spear. Her father no longer smiled indulgently. The servants no longer jeered as she walked past. Slowly, she'd earned their respect.
Through it all, her mother’s proud face encouraged her to press onward.
Two years later, she was told her father had found her a match.
She wanted to wail and pull at her hair in outrage. But she wasn’t weak. She marched into her father’s rooms wearing her leather breastplate and tunic demanding to know why she was being punished.
“Daughter, this is no punishment. It's an honor and I command it,” he said, his tone warned her not to push him further.
Bravely — or perhaps, foolishly — she shook her head. “I will not be some man’s bride!”
He struck her across the face.
Cynane didn’t even register the pain. “Hit me all you want. Have me locked away. I don’t care as long as it means I won’t have to be married. I am a warrior.”
Olympias, Alexander’s mother, was by his side and whispered in his ear. Whatever she said managed to bring a smile to his face. He tilted his head back and laughed. Cynane was startled by the sudden change in her father. She regarded Olympias with newfound interest and gratitude. Perhaps, she had worked a spell on her father — after all, everyone knew she was a witch.
“Let me propose a compromise, daughter. The engagement shall go ahead, he shall come here. If during the celebrations you find some reason you do not like him then the marriage will be called off. Do you agree?”
Cynane nodded. She bowed to her father but as she came up she looked at Olympias with thanks.
That night her mother visited her in her rooms. She sat brushing her hair in silence until at last she said, “Cynane. You will have to marry one way or another. I did.”
Cynane looked over her shoulder. “I won’t give up like you did.”
Her mother’s laugh held a bitterness to it. “There are many types of power in the world. The greatest warrior is brought low by hunger and disease. Marriage comes with many political advantages. On your own, you will never be more than Philip’s daughter, Princess of Macedonia…”
“And as a married woman I would just be someone’s wife.”
Her mother shrugged, picking up the comb again. “Or, you could be the head of a household with a treasury and lands at your disposal. Your own army.”
Cynane had not thought of this. But what man would let her continue to train or even lead out an army?
“Meet him and consider seriously if the match would be to your benefit. Besides there is more to life than war and glory.”
Cynane tossed and turned all night as she mulled over her mother’s words.
A few months later, Amyntas arrived in Pella with all the pomp and ceremony of an aristocrat. Cynane had been behind her father among some of the other ladies when he greeted the new arrival. She noted how uneasy he was to be the focus of attention, even though he sat tall in the saddle. The official reason for his visit was to attend the festival of the Hetairideia but he was also here for her.
She stared openly at this man dressed in a dark green tunic. He was unremarkable. As far as she knew his only call to fame was the royal blood flowing in his veins. Was this truly the man her father wished her to marry?
“He’s handsome.” Cleopatra giggled at her side.
Cynane nudged her half-sister to be silent.
When she turned back, she saw that Amyntas studying her as well. How did he know what she looked like? What had he been told about her? Had he even asked? Perhaps, she should have been more modest and looked away, but she met his gaze head on.
A few more platitudes were exchanged between the delegations and then her father was leading him inside to where a feast had been prepared in his honor. Cynane could see the steward of the household already tallying in his head how much wine would be needed and how much this would all cost.
She retreated to her rooms and changed into her armor to go train. They would not expect her to appear until later and there was no reason not to continue on her day as usual.
Antipater’s son Iollas was one man who did not balk at training with her. Ever since she had beat him at hand-to-hand combat, he had come to admire her.
"Should you not be at the feast, princess?" he teased as he side stepped to avoid the thrust of her spear.
"No. Stop trying to distract me with conversation."
He shrugged but obeyed.
People respected strength, and that is what she wished to embody. When she wasn’t fighting or confined to the house by chores she was out hunting with the men. They liked to call her the Artemis of Macedonia for her love of hunting and battle.
Her dreams had outgrown her childish one. Now she wanted to lead an army herself, something that was unlikely to happen anytime soon.
The sun moved across the sky and finally knowing she'd put it off for too long she called a halt to their training.
"Good luck," Iollas said, as he too returned back to the palace.
Cynane hung back, taking extra care to clean up after herself but she knew she was just procrastinating the inevitable.
As she was returning from the training yard, she came across Amyntas walking past with a retinue of men. She hid behind a stone pillar and watched him as he went.
He was quick to smile, she noted. She didn't think she'd be so happy if she'd been in his position. Her own father had taken the throne of Macedonia from him when he was still a young child. Anyone would have thought he would be full of resentment, but by all accounts, he lived in Amphipolis content with his lot in life.
As evening approached, she followed her mother’s instructions and put away her tunics for a gown. Cynane felt awkward in the flowing orange silk. She feared she would trip and cause a scene.
Cleopatra came into her room with a jewelry box.
“I brought you some pearls.” She smiled up at Cynane and could barely hide her shock at seeing her in such a luxurious dress.
There was six years between them, they weren’t exactly friends or companions but Cleopatra liked her. Cynane in turn was happy to have her at her side. Though younger, Cleopatra was more knowledgeable than her when it came to fashion and proper behavior at public events. It was her nudging and whispering that helped Cynane avoid embarrassing moments.
There was nothing Cynane could teach her in return, but she took her to see the horses in the stables and gave her little trinkets or jewels that she had no use for.
“I should have brought my jet beads.” Cleopatra frowned as she held up the necklace against her gown. “The white pearls won’t match as well with the orange in your gown.”
“It’s fine.” Cynane shrugged.
“You aren’t heading off to battle,” Cleopatra spoke up as though reading her mind. “You need to outshine all the ladies tonight to catch his attention.”
Cynane patted her head and thanked her for taking the time to bring her the pearls.
“They are perfect. Besides, I could never outshine you or your mother.”
Cleopatra brightened at the compliment. She was as vain as most girls her age. “I should go finish getting ready. I ran away from my maid.” With that, she disappeared.
Her mother, who had watched the exchange from a seat nearby, was trying to hide a smile.
“What is it?”
“I was thinking of how far you’ve come. You’d make a good envoy with your ability to pacify everyone.” She draped the pearls around her daughter’s neck. “Be on your best behavior tonight.”
“I will.”
The night progressed slowly. Cynane struggled to hold back yawns as she sat back among her female relatives. The men were boisterous as ever and once they got too rowdy, it was likely the women would retire for the night.
Cynane had been scrutinizing Amyntas from afar.
Her initial impression had been correct. In a world of warriors, he was a pacifist.
When she looked at him all she could see was weakness. It should have disgusted her, but his smile made her want to smile as well. His laugh made her want to laugh too.
Finally, her mother pulled her over to introduce them formally.
He had smiled warmly at her, and she was tempted to blurt out that he should not look at her that way.
Urged by her mother she sat with him on a private couch at the back of the great hall. She was supposed to get to know him better but she wasn’t sure how to begin. She rarely talked about anything other than war, and he seemed to abhor the subject.
“You live in Amphipolis?” She asked.
“Yes, for a few years now. I oversaw the renovations of the fortress there.” He went on talking about the city for several minutes before he caught sight of her struggling to hold back a yawn and he laughed. “But you don’t care too much about that, do you?”
She did not deny it. “Can I ask you why would you want to marry me? I am not like other women. I will never marry a man who wouldn’t let me continue my training and would prevent me from holding a sword.”
He holding up his hands he stopped her. Cynane saw how smooth his palms were — the complete opposite of her callused ones.
“I would never prevent you from doing what you wished.” After a pause, he added, “if we were married that is.”
She frowned. This had not been the answer she was expecting. It would have given her the perfect excuse to refuse to marry him.
“Why?”
“Why not?” He countered. “I heard you are quite the horsewoman.”
“And I’m good with a sword,” Cynane added boastfully. “What about you?”
“I have been trained in all manner of combat.” He was being elusive.
“You don’t like to fight.” She regretted the judgmental edge to her voice.
He flinched, but did not contradict her. “No, I do not. I prefer to stay on my estate and oversee trade. I’ve never been a fighter. Violence is just not in my nature. I can see you do not approve,” he said, catching her frown.
Cynane held his gaze for a moment before turning away. “I suppose I am not one to judge. Neither of us fit into the roles we were born to fill.”
“We are both oddities.” He agreed.
She laughed and then wondered how he had made it sound like a compliment.
They met a few times in the following days. Sometimes it was on formal occasions and others it was with only a chaperon watching them. She kept looking for reasons to reject him but could not find any except for her own reluctance to marry.
By the time he was due to leave, her father called her into his study.
“So?” He waited for her reply.
“I have a stipulation before I agree to anything.” She said boldly.
He arched his eyebrow, but by now he wasn’t surprised by anything that came out of her mouth.
“I wish to prolong the engagement so I can go with you to battle the next time you go. Just three years — Amyntas agreed…” Her voice was faltering as she spoke.
“You know I don’t want you on the battlefield.” He frowned. “As for Amyntas, he would agree to anything.”
Seeing he was about to send her away, Cynane found the courage to press on.
“Father, this is my birthright. I have proven I am a skilled warrior. Allow me to go to war and I shall do my duty and marry Amyntas.” She spoke with such a fervor that he finally relented and with a nod of his head it was done.
She wanted to wail and pull at her hair in outrage. But she wasn’t weak. She marched into her father’s rooms wearing her leather breastplate and tunic demanding to know why she was being punished.
“Daughter, this is no punishment. It's an honor and I command it,” he said, his tone warned her not to push him further.
Bravely — or perhaps, foolishly — she shook her head. “I will not be some man’s bride!”
He struck her across the face.
Cynane didn’t even register the pain. “Hit me all you want. Have me locked away. I don’t care as long as it means I won’t have to be married. I am a warrior.”
Olympias, Alexander’s mother, was by his side and whispered in his ear. Whatever she said managed to bring a smile to his face. He tilted his head back and laughed. Cynane was startled by the sudden change in her father. She regarded Olympias with newfound interest and gratitude. Perhaps, she had worked a spell on her father — after all, everyone knew she was a witch.
“Let me propose a compromise, daughter. The engagement shall go ahead, he shall come here. If during the celebrations you find some reason you do not like him then the marriage will be called off. Do you agree?”
Cynane nodded. She bowed to her father but as she came up she looked at Olympias with thanks.
That night her mother visited her in her rooms. She sat brushing her hair in silence until at last she said, “Cynane. You will have to marry one way or another. I did.”
Cynane looked over her shoulder. “I won’t give up like you did.”
Her mother’s laugh held a bitterness to it. “There are many types of power in the world. The greatest warrior is brought low by hunger and disease. Marriage comes with many political advantages. On your own, you will never be more than Philip’s daughter, Princess of Macedonia…”
“And as a married woman I would just be someone’s wife.”
Her mother shrugged, picking up the comb again. “Or, you could be the head of a household with a treasury and lands at your disposal. Your own army.”
Cynane had not thought of this. But what man would let her continue to train or even lead out an army?
“Meet him and consider seriously if the match would be to your benefit. Besides there is more to life than war and glory.”
Cynane tossed and turned all night as she mulled over her mother’s words.
A few months later, Amyntas arrived in Pella with all the pomp and ceremony of an aristocrat. Cynane had been behind her father among some of the other ladies when he greeted the new arrival. She noted how uneasy he was to be the focus of attention, even though he sat tall in the saddle. The official reason for his visit was to attend the festival of the Hetairideia but he was also here for her.
She stared openly at this man dressed in a dark green tunic. He was unremarkable. As far as she knew his only call to fame was the royal blood flowing in his veins. Was this truly the man her father wished her to marry?
“He’s handsome.” Cleopatra giggled at her side.
Cynane nudged her half-sister to be silent.
When she turned back, she saw that Amyntas studying her as well. How did he know what she looked like? What had he been told about her? Had he even asked? Perhaps, she should have been more modest and looked away, but she met his gaze head on.
A few more platitudes were exchanged between the delegations and then her father was leading him inside to where a feast had been prepared in his honor. Cynane could see the steward of the household already tallying in his head how much wine would be needed and how much this would all cost.
She retreated to her rooms and changed into her armor to go train. They would not expect her to appear until later and there was no reason not to continue on her day as usual.
Antipater’s son Iollas was one man who did not balk at training with her. Ever since she had beat him at hand-to-hand combat, he had come to admire her.
"Should you not be at the feast, princess?" he teased as he side stepped to avoid the thrust of her spear.
"No. Stop trying to distract me with conversation."
He shrugged but obeyed.
People respected strength, and that is what she wished to embody. When she wasn’t fighting or confined to the house by chores she was out hunting with the men. They liked to call her the Artemis of Macedonia for her love of hunting and battle.
Her dreams had outgrown her childish one. Now she wanted to lead an army herself, something that was unlikely to happen anytime soon.
The sun moved across the sky and finally knowing she'd put it off for too long she called a halt to their training.
"Good luck," Iollas said, as he too returned back to the palace.
Cynane hung back, taking extra care to clean up after herself but she knew she was just procrastinating the inevitable.
As she was returning from the training yard, she came across Amyntas walking past with a retinue of men. She hid behind a stone pillar and watched him as he went.
He was quick to smile, she noted. She didn't think she'd be so happy if she'd been in his position. Her own father had taken the throne of Macedonia from him when he was still a young child. Anyone would have thought he would be full of resentment, but by all accounts, he lived in Amphipolis content with his lot in life.
As evening approached, she followed her mother’s instructions and put away her tunics for a gown. Cynane felt awkward in the flowing orange silk. She feared she would trip and cause a scene.
Cleopatra came into her room with a jewelry box.
“I brought you some pearls.” She smiled up at Cynane and could barely hide her shock at seeing her in such a luxurious dress.
There was six years between them, they weren’t exactly friends or companions but Cleopatra liked her. Cynane in turn was happy to have her at her side. Though younger, Cleopatra was more knowledgeable than her when it came to fashion and proper behavior at public events. It was her nudging and whispering that helped Cynane avoid embarrassing moments.
There was nothing Cynane could teach her in return, but she took her to see the horses in the stables and gave her little trinkets or jewels that she had no use for.
“I should have brought my jet beads.” Cleopatra frowned as she held up the necklace against her gown. “The white pearls won’t match as well with the orange in your gown.”
“It’s fine.” Cynane shrugged.
“You aren’t heading off to battle,” Cleopatra spoke up as though reading her mind. “You need to outshine all the ladies tonight to catch his attention.”
Cynane patted her head and thanked her for taking the time to bring her the pearls.
“They are perfect. Besides, I could never outshine you or your mother.”
Cleopatra brightened at the compliment. She was as vain as most girls her age. “I should go finish getting ready. I ran away from my maid.” With that, she disappeared.
Her mother, who had watched the exchange from a seat nearby, was trying to hide a smile.
“What is it?”
“I was thinking of how far you’ve come. You’d make a good envoy with your ability to pacify everyone.” She draped the pearls around her daughter’s neck. “Be on your best behavior tonight.”
“I will.”
The night progressed slowly. Cynane struggled to hold back yawns as she sat back among her female relatives. The men were boisterous as ever and once they got too rowdy, it was likely the women would retire for the night.
Cynane had been scrutinizing Amyntas from afar.
Her initial impression had been correct. In a world of warriors, he was a pacifist.
When she looked at him all she could see was weakness. It should have disgusted her, but his smile made her want to smile as well. His laugh made her want to laugh too.
Finally, her mother pulled her over to introduce them formally.
He had smiled warmly at her, and she was tempted to blurt out that he should not look at her that way.
Urged by her mother she sat with him on a private couch at the back of the great hall. She was supposed to get to know him better but she wasn’t sure how to begin. She rarely talked about anything other than war, and he seemed to abhor the subject.
“You live in Amphipolis?” She asked.
“Yes, for a few years now. I oversaw the renovations of the fortress there.” He went on talking about the city for several minutes before he caught sight of her struggling to hold back a yawn and he laughed. “But you don’t care too much about that, do you?”
She did not deny it. “Can I ask you why would you want to marry me? I am not like other women. I will never marry a man who wouldn’t let me continue my training and would prevent me from holding a sword.”
He holding up his hands he stopped her. Cynane saw how smooth his palms were — the complete opposite of her callused ones.
“I would never prevent you from doing what you wished.” After a pause, he added, “if we were married that is.”
She frowned. This had not been the answer she was expecting. It would have given her the perfect excuse to refuse to marry him.
“Why?”
“Why not?” He countered. “I heard you are quite the horsewoman.”
“And I’m good with a sword,” Cynane added boastfully. “What about you?”
“I have been trained in all manner of combat.” He was being elusive.
“You don’t like to fight.” She regretted the judgmental edge to her voice.
He flinched, but did not contradict her. “No, I do not. I prefer to stay on my estate and oversee trade. I’ve never been a fighter. Violence is just not in my nature. I can see you do not approve,” he said, catching her frown.
Cynane held his gaze for a moment before turning away. “I suppose I am not one to judge. Neither of us fit into the roles we were born to fill.”
“We are both oddities.” He agreed.
She laughed and then wondered how he had made it sound like a compliment.
They met a few times in the following days. Sometimes it was on formal occasions and others it was with only a chaperon watching them. She kept looking for reasons to reject him but could not find any except for her own reluctance to marry.
By the time he was due to leave, her father called her into his study.
“So?” He waited for her reply.
“I have a stipulation before I agree to anything.” She said boldly.
He arched his eyebrow, but by now he wasn’t surprised by anything that came out of her mouth.
“I wish to prolong the engagement so I can go with you to battle the next time you go. Just three years — Amyntas agreed…” Her voice was faltering as she spoke.
“You know I don’t want you on the battlefield.” He frowned. “As for Amyntas, he would agree to anything.”
Seeing he was about to send her away, Cynane found the courage to press on.
“Father, this is my birthright. I have proven I am a skilled warrior. Allow me to go to war and I shall do my duty and marry Amyntas.” She spoke with such a fervor that he finally relented and with a nod of his head it was done.
Her tent had been set up beside her father’s and brother’s.
The Macedonian Army had ridden hard throughout the day to reach Illyria and the uprising led by Queen Caeria.
Cynane sat on her cot, a whetstone in hand as she sharpened her sword before moving on to her dagger.
Her father had been true to his word and let her ride out with him. He had warned her she would not be shown any special favors, nor could he afford to watch out for her. She retorted she could take care of herself. He had not made the same concerns when Alexander accompanied the army for the first time. She thought of this as she tested the sharpness of her blade.
Tomorrow she would have the chance to prove herself on the battlefield or die trying. She prayed to the Gods for victory and thanked them for giving her this chance…
That night, she dreamed of horses charging into battle.
In the morning, she woke up early and got ready as fast as she could. A servant helped her with her armor, and she strapped her weapons to her sides. She trailed her hand over the hilt of her new dagger. The pommel was carved into the shape of a horse’s head, a betrothal gift from Amyntas.
She smiled thinking of him. He had pulled her aside and held her in his arms when he heard she was leaving with her father's army. "Be safe, warrior," he had murmured in her hair.
Perhaps, one day, she would pass on this dagger to her daughter and tell her how Amyntas had been brave enough to take on a warrior bride.
As she stepped out of her tent that morning, she did so with confidence and an excitement she had never felt before.
The Greek battle-cry had pierced her heart: Alale!
The Macedonian Army had ridden hard throughout the day to reach Illyria and the uprising led by Queen Caeria.
Cynane sat on her cot, a whetstone in hand as she sharpened her sword before moving on to her dagger.
Her father had been true to his word and let her ride out with him. He had warned her she would not be shown any special favors, nor could he afford to watch out for her. She retorted she could take care of herself. He had not made the same concerns when Alexander accompanied the army for the first time. She thought of this as she tested the sharpness of her blade.
Tomorrow she would have the chance to prove herself on the battlefield or die trying. She prayed to the Gods for victory and thanked them for giving her this chance…
That night, she dreamed of horses charging into battle.
In the morning, she woke up early and got ready as fast as she could. A servant helped her with her armor, and she strapped her weapons to her sides. She trailed her hand over the hilt of her new dagger. The pommel was carved into the shape of a horse’s head, a betrothal gift from Amyntas.
She smiled thinking of him. He had pulled her aside and held her in his arms when he heard she was leaving with her father's army. "Be safe, warrior," he had murmured in her hair.
Perhaps, one day, she would pass on this dagger to her daughter and tell her how Amyntas had been brave enough to take on a warrior bride.
As she stepped out of her tent that morning, she did so with confidence and an excitement she had never felt before.
The Greek battle-cry had pierced her heart: Alale!
Afterword
In the end Cynane, killed the Illyrian Queen in hand to hand combat, earning her acclaim and respect. She would ride out into battle at the head of her own army several times. She perished on a battlefield allowing her daughter to reach her betrothed Phillip III after Alexander’s death in 323 BC.
To read more about the women in Alexander the Great’s life you can read: Fortuna’s Queen.
Copyright © 2016 by Anne R Bailey
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction.
In the end Cynane, killed the Illyrian Queen in hand to hand combat, earning her acclaim and respect. She would ride out into battle at the head of her own army several times. She perished on a battlefield allowing her daughter to reach her betrothed Phillip III after Alexander’s death in 323 BC.
To read more about the women in Alexander the Great’s life you can read: Fortuna’s Queen.
Copyright © 2016 by Anne R Bailey
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction.