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murmured and stirred. She had heard and understood Ida’s words and now, with Iphigenia’s help, she struggled to sit up.
    “Snake Lady,” she whispered hoarsely, “this is not for you to decide.” She fought to get the words out, but it was clear to them all that they must let her speak. “My answer is . . . yes. I will stay here.”
    Myrina was deeply saddened at the thought of leaving her old friend behind. Centaurea’s good sense had helped the Moon Riders through many a terrible situation, but she could not deny that she was worried about taking her with them. Ida’s suggestion had instantly brought a glimmer of determination back into the sick woman’s eyes.
    “But you are my oldest friend,” she whispered, kneeling down beside Centaurea and taking her hand. “You are the only one left of our little group that rode south to rescue Iphigenia.”
    Centaurea smiled and squeezed Myrina’s hand. “What an adventure that was, eh?” She looked up at Iphigenia. “And worth every risk!”
    Iphigenia smiled down at her.
    Centaurea shook her head. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself—it’s a fine idea. Listen, Snake Lady . . . I may be getting older, but I am no fool—your sea voyage will finish me off, for sure. This way I may live, and live with honor. Ida will make a fine Moon maiden for me to train, and when I die she shall take my place, and in her turn she will train others. We cannot all live here on this tiny island—we would soon be discovered and destroyed—but a few of us, hidden away, may well manage. It will mean that our ways will live on here in secret.”
    Myrina was running out of arguments.
    “I trust these islanders,” Centaurea told her firmly. “I trust them completely. And you, Myrina, are quite capable of leading the Moon Riders without my help. You have Iphigenia and all your loyal friends.”
    Myrina saw how Centaurea’s voice grew stronger as she spoke; her will to live was returning as every moment passed and the idea gripped her.
    Myrina turned to Iphigenia. “What do you think?”
    The serene face of Agamemnon’s daughter brightened with amusement. “I think you have your answer clear enough,” she said.
    The following day a steady southerly wind blew down from the mountains; it blew across the island, making all the fishermen’s sails flap and belly northward across the sea.
    “This is your moment,” Ida’s father told them. “This is a blessed wind and you must set sail at once. Neoptolemus will soon be heading back this way and you will ensure your safety and ours by leaving now.”
    Myrina nodded and gave the signal to leave. Though the idea of sailing northward had been all her own, she was now very sorry to depart from this place of peace and safety. Centaurea was carried down to the beach on a litter, and Myrina saw that her color had already improved. Her voice was now strong and purposeful as she gave orders to the new devotees who crowded around her, running to obey her every command. She cheerfully hugged her departing friends and gave them the priestess’s salute.
    “Well, well,” Myrina murmured. “Perhaps this was meant to be.”
    “Look at their faces.” Iphigenia pointed out the satisfied smiles that appeared all about them. The islanders were well rewarded, now that they had their own priestess.
    Myrina acknowledged that she was right. She touched Iphigenia’s arm. “Thank goodness I still have you.”
    She strode aboard the Apollo with her crew, each Moon Rider well armed with a strong new bow, a full quiver at her side, a sharp gutting knife in a sheath at her belt. Iphigenia went aboard the Artemis , for the fishermen had insisted that each ship must have a captain: in the chaos that might come from fierce wind and waves, each crew must take orders from just one voice.
    The teams of oarswomen rowed away from the land, while their friends began to unfurl the brail sail to catch the favorable wind. The Artemis moved ahead a