Name: Achaxe

Born: ?

Died: ?

City /Region: Sarmatia

Affiliation: Scythian

Occupation: ?

Sometimes when a warm evening breeze blows from the west my mind's eye still travels back to that flowing mass of colour and noise. First at a distance the faint jingling sound of bronze halter and harness on oxen and horse, then closer; the clatter of wagons as wheels tumble over stony ground. Heavy wagons carrying felt ger for shelter and children whose chattering voices etched with laughter carry on the wind. Finally into view come the horses, many horses; not hurrying, but stopping from time to time to graze the tall grasses. Short, smooth-coated yellow horses, some with foal, to the pride of their owners, for many horses make a person wealthy.

As the party draws closer riders wearing bright colours, their clothing covered with plaques of precious metals that glint and sparkle as the golden orb rises to greet the day. This is my homeland, vast grassy plains spread between the mountains and the sea, bordered by many different lands occupied by people speaking in strange tongues, but that place of my youth is now just a distant memory. The Greeks call us the people of Skythos or Scythians, but we recognise each other by our tribal identity. I am Sauromatae.

My mother died at my birth and my father on a raid to claim slaves and horses from a neighbouring tribe. He was struck while fleeing with the booty, hit by a bronze arrow, but it was not the arrowhead that killed him, it was the poisonous concoction that infected its tip. Unfortunately he left few horses, being too fond of hemp and kumis to tend to his daily duties, so he had a modest burial. He was sent to the next life with just two horses and a few essentials such as his Goryt and sword.

Despite its modest nature, his kurgan took what little wealth we had left and my only option was to marry. The cultural laws of our people state that a woman may not marry until she has killed an enemy in battle. Many years earlier, even before I could walk, my father placed me in a saddle with a bow and arrow to hunt for hare. Now, man would be my game and even though my own scalp might have ended up on another’s belt there was no fear in my heart. With my horse galloping low and fast, I bore down upon the man until I could sweep him off his feet with my lasso, then leaping from my mount I plunged my akinakes into his heart. This was the moment I realised my future lay in combat, not housekeeping, and that night I left for the coast carrying what little I possessed. My future was set when some months later I landed at Ephesus.

My horse paid for passage on a Phoenician cargo vessel carrying iron goods from Colchis to Caria, home of the Leleges people, where the captain would refill the boat with amphorae of wine and oil before returning. My plan was to travel on to Halicarnassus, where it is said you can still hear the hoof beats emanating from my own country. The captain took little persuasion to carry the sort of passenger who could help guard against being boarded by men belonging to the tyrant Histiaeus, whose triremes were said to prowl the waterways, seizing all ships that attempted to sail through the Bosporus unless they agreed to serve him. Luckily the only boats we encountered were other trade vessels and we were soon safely disembarking, which was good as I proved to be a poor sailor.