Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) (50 page)

“The man was half-T’rákiyan and you know they are prone battle-madness,” the master archer shouted to the grumbling troops.  “He must have been overwhelmed by the máinads of war and in his fury killed these dogs and asses, thinking they were Assúwan men.  When he came to himself and realized his error, shame must have made him desire death.  Obviously that is what must have happened.”  Odushéyu spoke quickly, sweating profusely and waving his arms more than usual.

Púrwo furiously confronted the older, taller island king.  “You cannot be saying that he shot himself in the back!”

Automédon backed up his young prince.  “We know that you killed him, pirate!  All the north demands your blood!”

Only the intervention of Agamémnon’s men prevented an Ak’áyan civil war there on the beach.  Under the protection of Argive shields and spears, Odushéyu hurriedly set his followers to dragging their boats out to sea.  When the first vessels entered the shallows, his men loaded them down quickly and carelessly, leaving many small articles behind on the shore.  But when the It’ákan ships set sail, the dead giant’s woman, Wíp’iya, was sitting beside the pirate wánaks on the platform at the stern of the largest vessel.

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As Odushéyu’s vessels left the eastern harbor, Meneláwo gave orders to his own men to begin preparations for their journey, too.  While controversy raged in the camp, he remained in his hastily erected tent, avoiding his older brother, his wife in his arms.  “Let Agamémnon worry about the Ak’áyans’ quarrels,” the wánaks of Lakedaimón told Ariyádna.  “He thrives on power and war.  But my work is finished here.  I came for you.  Now it is time for us to go home.”

Diwoméde came to the king’s fireside once the threat of violence among the assembled warriors was past.  The young man told Meneláwo of Agamémnon’s desire that no other ship set sail before the overlord’s own.  But the Lakedaimóniyan king did not care to see a Tróyan princess sacrificed to Poseidáon and Artémito.  He had no taste for vengeance any longer.  He intended to turn his back to the pillar of smoke still rising above the battered citadel, and to the mounting hostility among the Ak’áyan factions.  “Go on to bed, Diwoméde,” Meneláwo told his nephew.  “Get some sleep while you can.  My brother will run you to death if you let him.”  The qasiléyu left obediently, only too happy to rest his aching limbs.

While the rest of the Ak’áyan camp drifted into unquiet slumber, the royal couple of Lakedaimón and holy ‘Elléniya remained awake.  Ariyádna could not get her fill of gazing on her husband’s careworn face, or of caressing his ragged beard, now shot through with gray.  “I was afraid that Paqúr had taken me so far away,” she whispered, “that you could not come after me.  And the kings of the east are so very powerful, I thought that I would remain in Tróya for the rest of my life.”

“Never,” Meneláwo whispered back.  “Never, my love.  No place was too far.  No power was too great to face.  I want you with me always, Ariyádna, my ‘Elléniya.”  He buried his face in her thick, dark hair, moaning happily.  “Ai, Ariyádna, I fought both men and dáimons to possess you again.  I lost over half my men in the struggle.  But I vowed I would not leave these shores without you, even if every single Lakedaimóniyan died beside me.  Nothing could keep you from me, nothing.  Préswa took half the warriors of Ak’áiwiya and as many from Assúwa, before her Dáwan Anna would yield you up to me.  Still, I would not have considered abandoning you if the price had been ten times that high.  Ai, my ‘Elléniya of Tróya, I love you, I love you.”