That afternoon, Daniela was shown the computerized retrieval system used inside the Blagen Library at the American School of Classical Studies. She was amazed at the level of security on the recourses. All materials were to remain within the premises and no books or journals could be checked out. After writing the specific retrieval information about a resource onto a request form, this paper was presented to one of the research librarians and the book or folio was located and given to the scholar for reading or photocopying while inside the facility. While Nicasio spent his time looking over the scope of the categories available within the library, Daniela searched for books which featured the visual images of Amazons created during the Classical age and before. She also searched through a computer data base for collections of digital photos and descriptions of the Amazons rendered in art throughout history.

She quickly learned that the phenomenon of Amazon women depicted in ancient Greece—carved in marble friezes on monuments or painted on ceramic vases, was a very common motif between approximately 700 and 300 BCE. Several of the books she checked out were beautiful collections of such artifacts housed in various museums throughout the world. As she looked at the exquisitely carved marble base-reliefs of these women on horseback, actively engaged in combat with their Greek male enemies, she was astounded by the grace and femininity which characterized them, at the same time they were being mortal combatants on a battle field.

In all cases there was no malice or frenzy in their expression, and though many of them were frozen at the moment of injury or death in these scenes of action, they seemed stoical and heroic in their demeanor and body language. In the earlier works, the women warriors depicted by Greek artists wore a simple tunic which clung to their athletically fit bodies. It bared their legs, arms and often one or both breasts in the heat of battle. They wielded swords or the double-edged battle axe—she learned was called the labrys, and how they deftly manipulated their deadly bows. All this action took place in close contact with the Greek hoplites—some engaged on the ground and some also on horseback. She paid particular attention to how at-one they seemed with their own horses in movement, and how skillfully they manipulated their weapons against a physically stronger foe.

Looking over exquisite photos of statuary and friezes taken from collections in the Louvre, the National Museum at Athens, the British Museum, the Künsthistorische Museum of Wein, the Pergamon Museum of Berlin, the Museo Capitolino of Copenhagen, as well as from ancient sites such as Epidaurus and Ephesus—Daniela could sense these ancient women were represented with sensitivity and respect. Seen by the Classical sculptors as exotic foes to their Greek culture, and originating at the edge of the known world, the artists never demonized them or reduced their valor or prowess on the battle field.

It was as if every mainland or island craftsman who rendered Amazons in stone or on a vase, a plate or libation vessel was in love with them as an idea. Yet, sadly, while fierce and skilled warriors, these women were never shown to be victorious against the men, their perennial opponents. Daniela found them in every confrontation being defeated, their sisters dying or being routed with great dignity at the hands of the male artisans who recorded their existence—whether in myth or reality.

Another observation Daniela made that day while going over hundreds of images of statues, monuments, and architectural friezes discovered throughout ancient Greece, was that, while always sensual and feminine in physique, there existed among these young, vibrant women an enviable aloofness to their expression and gaze. This was true of the vase paintings, as well, showing them in a variety of activities from hunting, riding in chariots, or even carrying away their dead. They looked to be contented within themselves—confident, exhibiting no stress or fear. They seemed totally comfortable in their skins as members of a tribe of women living out their lives recognizably marginalized by choice, from men—accepting of the strife inherent of having to defend themselves.

* * *

It was eight 'o clock in the evening when Nicasio found Daniela still seated at a reading room table. She was surrounded by open books and a computer screen brightly lit. The image of a female carved in stone, commandeering a horse was plainly visible to him in front of her.

"Hey . . . I see you've totally gotten into this," he said, standing behind her. "But we've only got an hour before they close for the day."

Daniela was visibly surprised. How the hours had passed so quickly.

"Yeah?" She looked at her watch—one of the few times since setting it ten hours back for the time zone change. "Is it really eight 'o clock? Evening here? Wow." She turned and looked up from the monitor screen into Nicasio's eyes. "This has been really . . . interesting. I can't get enough of this subject . . . I'm serious, Nicasio."

"I guess so, Angelina. But look . . . I'm really hungry. You must be too by now."

"Actually . . . yes, since you mention it. I don't think we're going to be eating at eleven o'clock yet, though, as your friend Geoffrey predicted."

"No way. I agree. Let's get a shower . . . then blow this compound for a while. I feel like I'm living my life in goddamn libraries!"

"Let's go get some of that Mediterranean diet my mother is always pushing on me. The original stuff."

"Absolutely, partner. I think its time to see if the Greek food in Athens is as good as it is in San Francisco."

Daniela smiled a real smile for the first time in what seemed like days.

"It better be, now that you mention it. I'm starved."

She continued looking up at him it what could be perceived as an affectionate gaze, though it was short lived as she began to collect her books into piles to be returned.

"Just leave them all here on the desk. I read that's the protocol for leaving your work area."

Nicasio was amazed at just how many volumes Daniela had perused over the afternoon as he helped her close and stack the books into two huge piles.

"So . . . did you learn anything about our beautiful, aggressive friends?"

"My Amazons?" she replied coyly. "Yes. As a matter of fact, I did."

"Excellent. You can tell me all about it over some mousaka and fresh Greek salad. I wonder how the beer is over here."
Daniela just smiled again as she reached over to turn off the monitor. She took one last look at the young woman on the screen in the gathered tunic exposing one of her breasts. The nameless woman was caught gracefully, frozen in a lost moment, galloping across the ages before her.

* * *

(Medinadel Campo, Provence of Valladolid, Castile, Spain 1499 CE)

It was a rainy night when Garci Rodrigues de Montalvo arrived alone at the RoyalPalace of the Reyes Católicos, the sumptuous country estate of Ferdinand and Isabella, for a private dinner. His coach was let into the gate and onto the stone tile roadway leading up to a secondary guard house. Montalvo stepped down from his private carriage while two attendants of the royal house of the monarchs covered his head and shoulders with umbrellas. In this way they escorted him to the covered entry.

This outer portico of the royal mansion terminated at a massive door flanked by four helmeted Spanish soldiers dressed in their regalia of red and yellow. Two of them were armed with a harquebus and the other two, long military pikes. The door between them featured sumptuous carved panels, showing the King of Aragon on horseback in several tableaus. He was shown parallel to his Queen of Castile and Leon, also in a solitary equestrian scene. The very top and largest carved panels of this entrance showed the two monarchs exquisitely together on their mounts. Behind them was featured the new crest of a united kingdom.

Garci Rodriguez de Montalvo was no stranger to this palace or the town. His family, along with six other ancestral clans, had an illustrious history there. They had formed an oligarchy ruling the civil and cultural events of Medina del Campo as mayors and aldermen for generations. It was the town he considered his ancestral home and continued his involvement with English trade, Spanish banking, and the new and brusque book industry—currently his latest passion and personal industry. Fighting the Moors in the 10th century, as well as being active as knights during the crusades, had brought fame and fortune to Montalvo's lineage for many generations. Garci had, in fact, himself been knighted by Ferdinand and Isabella early in their reign for his participation in the ten year campaign to free Granada. For this historic and geographic camaraderie he was duly welcome to be at the monarchs' table that evening for an intimate family gathering.

It had been, however, many years since Isabella and Ferdinand had actually seen or spoken to Montalvo, tough he had attended the christening of all their children. They recalled, as they were seated in a small anti-room with a more proportional table to their needs, that they had only really spoken to him as far back as the celebrations of the Treaty of Medina del Campo in 1489. It was at that event, held in their beloved town that a historical trade agreement between England and Spain had been signed, opening more amenable relations and recognizing the two nations' solidarity against France as a common enemy.

This dinner for the royals was intended as a quiet affair with an old family friend. Ferdinand had heard Montalvo was busy writing a book to be published in Valladolid and the king, always vigilant over public affairs, was curious as to what the topic was. He had recently become sensitive about his image abroad and at home as the world was quickly changing. His kingdom was preparing to rapidly expand abroad following the second voyage of Columbus.

For this neighborly visit and a sharing of Montalvo's literary insights, it was also a rare domestic gathering for the royal family's children, an opportune time to meet quietly. As king and queen during these frenetic times, they often struggled to meet intimately, especially in the presence of their remaining two daughters who were themselves soon to embark on their own fateful paths to power and responsibilities in other kingdoms of Europe. In attendance on this cold winter evening—at the table pulled closer to the fireplace, were the Catholic monarchs' two royal daughters, Maria, age seventeen, and Catherine, age fourteen. Maria was soon to strategically marry King Manuel I of Portugal, following the untimely death of her older sister Isabella, the king's first wife and queen regent of Portugal. This sibling had died in childbirth only the year before in 1498.Consequently, her parents savored this time with Maria, knowing she would remain in their home for only a matter of months. Catherine, the youngest of the four daughters also awaited an immanent marriage while now only in her early teens. She had been betrothed since age three to Arthur, Prince of Wales, and heir to the English throne. Plans for this royal union were already underway, to be consummated in perhaps two years when she would be sixteen.

Sitting next to the two daughters was their tutor, Isabella's closest friend and confidant, Beatriz Galindo. King Ferdinand sat at the head of the table, dressed in his comfortable furs and a doublet. Montalvo was invited to sit at the king's right hand, and across from Isabella. She had always been his friend first and queen second—a fellow Castilian patriot with whom he shared the same age.

Soon the Andalucían wine was poured and fresh warm bread laid out in a basket before by an elderly chef who came out to wish Montalvo well. After formal greetings and wishes for the royal children, a discussion ensued about a project to improve the battlements of the Castle of La Mota. This was the local fortress built in the 12th century originally on an artificial mountain, rising above the town. The complex was also not far from where they dined. It featured a medieval mote and a royal dungeon. The old castle was still in use and was a place written about in former tales of intrigue. Those stories had been told to all the royal children as well as the common youth of the town.

Following the obligatory small talk about Montalvo's own wife and family, his business dealings and health, the topic of the Italian Wars came up. It was being seen publically as a possible new Crusade, an issue which had been pressuring Ferdinand to take a stance. However, this talk of military action was quickly diverted due to the children's presence.

"We hear, Garci, that you're compiling . . . or writing . . . a collection of romances. Is it so? They say you intend this book to be a huge success." It was Ferdinand who opened the new discussion, deftly diverting the conversation away from the events in Naples.

"Yes, Your Majesty. That is true," Montalvo replied quickly, swallowing another draft of the wine. "I've decided to combine three works on the legends of Amadís, our brave Christian knight."

There was an enthused stir among the two girls.

"The three texts were written by various authors in the past . . . and I wish to compile them into one unified book."

Ferdinand nodded agreeably at this announcement.

"You see," continued Montalvo pedantically, "there are many inconsistencies in these stories about the same legend. Though they are each popular with the public, each is presented in a different style. I intend to smooth out those faults and present the tales as a greater whole."

"Bravo, Senor Montalvo," Maria exclaimed. "Everyone loves the heroic antics of Amadís. And his chivalric ways. He was a gentleman for our ancestors and should remain one for our times too."

"Yes, Maria, that is my hope as well."

Ferdinand nodded again, downing the contents of his wine glass. A young man previously standing motionless against the wall quickly went into action refilling the crystal container before him.

"And what do you intend to call this work, Garci?" Isabella chimed in.

"Well, for now I plan to title it simply 'The Four Books of the Virtuous Cavalier Amadís of Gual,'" he recited, proudly.

The two girls looked on with curious eyes, their gaze darting over to their teacher with whom they had tremendous respect regarding matters of literature.

He continued in a self-consumed way. "You see, these existing romances are very . . . disjointed. We know them all as separate tales but there has never been an attempt to unify them or even to continue Amadis' great adventures."

"But you said three books, Garci. Why do you title it with four?" It was Isabella who reentered the conversation with genuine interest.

"Exactly. I've decided to add a fourth section . . . my own . . . to make the body of stories complete. And more . . . instructive to readers. In this last book I will also tie up certain details which I believe the public will enjoy even more."

"Well . . . it is true," the Queen continued solemnly. She was wearing all black apparel, still in mourning from her eldest daughter, Isabella's, recent death. "Our age could use a continuation of fantasy . . . and much joy. Even if for little else than our mental constitution."

Ferdinand smiled pensively.

Montalvo also was quietly thinking. He seemed pleased with his hosts' approval of his literary project and waited for further questioning.

"I completely support you, Garci." The Queen added. "My generation grew up enjoying those adventures of Amadís. . . told to us around the fireplace every evening. Oh, the incomparable knight! And his honorable brother Florestán! How the stories of the two fired our imaginations. I remember people even naming their dogs Amadís due to the popularity of those tales in our times as children."

The two girls laughed out loud, causing the young Catherine to enter the discussion boldly. "Maybe we should change the name of our own 'El vago' to Amadís," she suggested, pointing across the room. "It might help change his useless character."

There was more laughter as everyone looked at the decorative rug in front of the hearth. There reclined upon it a very content and oblivious white spaniel in the amber glow of the fire—presently confirming his useless reputation.

"I do rather like the treatment of women by the men in those old tales, don't you agree America?"

The group turned their eyes to Beatriz Galindo, academic extraordinaire, seated next to the queen.

Isabella continued. "The chivalry of those characters is quite exemplary. Do you agree? Something you don't see among our young male rascals so much today."

Beatriz spoke up clearly, making eye contact with both the guest and her monarchs' daughters.

"Yes. There is the attempt in those romances to honor the character of Amadís. However, he remains in the company of admiring men. Like Achilles, Tristan, Mars, Zafir and others heroes in literature . . .they are blindly idolized by their brothers."

The two girls looked on admirably.

"The general public," she went on, "either awake or asleep . . . has always been enamored of such men . . . for their brutality as well as their manners. You are, in your new book, Senor Montalvo, obliged to maintain this stance . . . if you wish it to be a success."

Montalvo stopped in mid-bite of his bread and stared back at the brilliant tutor.

"Yes. That is very true, Senora Galindo," he said quietly. "And not many people are aware of that literary legacy of heroes."

The scholar smiled back at him.

"But be careful with your work, Senor," she added." As Thomas Aquinas warned us, 'Homo unius libri timeo,'—I fear the man of just one book."

The two girls who had been sipping their red wine diluted with fruit juice, beamed back at their guest and looked on with approval at their beloved teacher.

"Bravo!" Ferdinand added loudly, then laughing and drinking more of his wine. "This is why they call you 'La Latina,' America, our sweet one."

Everyone smiled politely.

"So is it true, Garci," the king inquired, more seriously now, "that those tales of Amadís . . . with his wizards . . . and wars and magical ships . . . they do not have their origins in our Christian roots? You see, there have been questions about these stories. And their connections to the infidels. Do you see them as pagan? Might they be connected to this plague of the 'moriscos' or 'conversos' in some way?"

All eyes were on Senor Montalvo.

"No!" interjected the queen. "You are mixing reality with fantasy, Ferdinand. I've heard it was the Christian Portuguese who told the first tales of Amadís. Isn't that so, Garci?"

"Well . . . no one is certain," he judiciously answered. "The three books I am editing go back hundreds of years. I only want to tie them together as one glorious story."

"What do you believe, America? About the origins of Amadís . . . our brave knight?" Isabella loved to engage her personal friend in any matter involving history or the arts.

"Well. I think those rumors about the Portuguese do an injustice to your Castilian ancestors, my Queen."

Isabella smiled. She wasn't sure if the comment was simply a politically influenced answer, intended for the company. But then her friend added a more astute clarification.

"Many of the phrases and words used to tell the tales of Amadís . . . his love for Oreana, and her goodly father the king . . . at least from the texts I have read . . . are in flavor . . . typically Castilian and Leonese. I would guess you would not have to travel outside the northwest of the kingdom to find the original authors of these stories."

Ferdinand smiled again in amusement at his daughters' tutor's great acumen. "I believe my wife would be very glad to support that theory," he said.

Isabella and Montalvo both laughed.

Ferdinand's expression became more serious as he leaned over to Montalvo. "So how shall you characterize this brave king . . . this . . . Lisuarte in those legends of yours?" Ferdinand asked pointedly.

Montalvo understood the nature of his question well.

"Yes . . . well of course he's . . . an admirable king . . . and father of his beautiful daughter, Oriana."

Ferdinand looked across the table at his own two daughters, both already promised in marriage. He held back a twinge of melancholy in his expression. Yet it could not disguise his curiosity as to how Montalvo would further depict such a king in his popular work.

"Very well. And shall we see the actions and deeds of your imaginary king as noble and goodly as any true kings you know, Garci?" Isabella asked, leadingly.

"Of course, Your Majesty!"

"And you shall shape all your players admirably in kind, we should hope," Ferdinand admonished."

"Indeed, my liege." The two of you . . . and daughters here attending, shall be the paragons for future monarchs. This was always my intention when comparisons be made."

The two girls looked down at the table silently. There was a moment of silence. A young servant who had been standing at attention came forward at this hiatus and poured more wine for both of the men.

Suddenly Senorita Galindo spoke up. "So may I ask what you will do to promote the intelligence and strength of the women in your romances, Senor Montavo?" she asked.

"Well, I . . ."

"I ask this because the entire body of work associated with Amadís is an obvious prescription for only men's noble and chivalrous behavior. No doubt it will be a manual for young men to adopt in these times."

Montalvo looked somewhat uncomfortable.

" But what of the women in those tales?" Galindo continued. "Do we not have wonderful examples in history to draw from for their exemplary talents? For women's power, wisdom, and courage?"

"Yes . . .well. . . there are some strong women characters in these tales . . . but I . . ."

At that very moment, a robust woman, cinnamon of skin color, entered the room with such grace and exotic beauty that everyone paused and watched her as she presented and served the food. She carried a large covered platter, the contents—roasted game hens, was placed before the family and guests for the evening dinner.

Montalvo looked at the servant woman with careful eyes. He had never seen the likes of such a female before. Upon noticing his initial fascination with this Native American, Isabella asked the woman to come forward after she had delivered the platter..

"Garci Rodrigues de Montalvo, I would like you to meet Tuomi. She was brought to us at the RoyalPalace in Granada with six other Taino natives. They were gifts following the return of Don Christobal Columbus and his first expedition to the Americas. Tuomi and her husband Awaku'tem work for us here in the Royal Residence. And earns a paid salary, I might add."

Montalvo was speechless.

"You see. I will not permit brutal slavery in the new lands we control. Nor the despicable treatment of women our soldiers are reported to be engaged in during such campaigns. My honorable navigator, Don Cristolbal assures me this promise be honored during his search for wealth and resources in the future."

The young woman in question stood erect at the family's presence and bowed her head slightly in a reverent greeting of Senor Montalvo.

The writer nodded back at her, speechless, not knowing if she would understand his language.

"Tuomi speaks Castilian very well," Isabella added, smiling at her. "Her people are a proud race and their women have a beautiful disposition and intelligence. Exactly what Senorita Galinda was speaking of."

The tutor chimed in. "You see, Senor Montalvo, these women from the New World are worthy of many things. Qualities of women you could write about in your new book."

Montalvo was still speechless when the young Taino native, uncharacteristic of former protocol, extended her hand to him and smiled. Her reddish-bronze skin was not the shades he had seen of Africans or Asians, yet she was still dark in his mind. And this new "darkness" carried a mystery about it which fascinated him. Tuomi's jet black hair and piercing brown eyes had totally caught him off guard. In addition, this 'Indian,' as Columbus insisted on calling her people, had a distinctive nobility about her, a quiet forcefulness that he would not soon forget.

"Tuomi, I think we are ready for all our food," Ferdinand said in respectful tone.

Though the young woman was dressed in the uniform of a house servant, Montalvo could see in his imagination a more royal attire, as if she were the queen of a distant continent or island. His mind reeled with ideas as he considered one more powerful character for his forthcoming book. Perhaps another book entirely. Featuring a noble queen. When the Native American left the dining area, it was the girls' former tutor who carried forth with the next discussion of the evening. It was a topic obviously chosen for Garci Rodriguez Montalvo's edification and his future literary efforts. While merely a review for the queen and the two budding royals, Beatriz Galindo's theme that evening over dinner was the incomparable Amazons of the ancient world.

* * *