Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) (7 page)

"Patróklo was more than my friend," the prince told her bitterly, closing his eyes to force back the tears.  He covered his face with his hands.  "I cannot take any more of this.  I watched my sisters die when I was a child.  I always expected to bury my parents.  My wife died when she was very young and for all I know our son has gone to 'Aidé as well.  But Patróklo has always been beside me, since I was six years old.  He was my foster brother, the one person I could always count on to be with me, no matter what happened.  Nothing has any meaning now.  What do I care for war booty or prizes of honor?  No amount of bronze can buy what I want.  Ai, woman, I will see that Assúwa pays for this!  If we take Tróya I will throw all of Wilúsiya's valuables into the sea and slit the throats of every man, woman and child in this accursed land!"

'Iqodámeya quailed at the thought.  Timidly, she pressed her cheek to Ak'illéyu's.  "No, wánaks, do not say such things."

He talked on, his voice suddenly soft and breaking.  "I was the one who insisted on coming to Tróya.  Did you know that?  Patróklo did not want to come.  He said we should go back to Skúro.  He said we should each marry one of my dead wife's sisters.  Then he would stay on the island to rule it when my father-in-law died.  And I would go back to T'eshalíya to take the throne from my father.  But I had seen how my father changed as he grew old.  I heard the men laughing at his weakening arms, at his failing eyesight and his slowing feet.  That was not for me, a slow death behind a city’s walls.  No, I was going to have a quick and glorious death in battle."

'Iqodámeya caressed the prince's trembling shoulders.  "Yes, wánaks," she whispered.  "A quick death is sometimes best…"

Ak'illéyu rocked himself, unaware of anything but his own pain.  "I am to blame for Patróklo's death.  He even offered to let me proclaim myself the wánaks of T'eshalíya immediately, depose my father while he was still alive.  And Patróklo said he would swear himself still and forever my second in command, my qasiléyu.  Together we would fight off anyone who challenged my right to the throne.  But I did not want to stay in T'eshalíya any more than I wanted to go to Skúro.  I was restless.  I wanted to go somewhere I had not been before.  So I joined Agamémnon's alliance and Patróklo followed me like he always did.  Then, when I quarrelled with Agamémnon, Patróklo wanted us to leave Assúwa.  But again I would not listen.  I wanted to stay, because, because....”  He glanced at the woman, unable to tell her that he had stayed for her sake.

“Yes, my lord,” she whispered, knowing nothing more to say.

“Owái, why did I have to listen that one time, that last time when he asked to lead my men against Qántili?"  He began to cry, leaning against 'Iqodámeya, and he let her put her arms around him.  "This is not the way it was supposed to happen.  It should have been me in that armor taking Qántili's spear between my shoulders.  My soul should be the one crossing the river Stuks."

'Iqodámeya held the prince in her arms until his weeping subsided.  At last, she coaxed him into his hut to rest.  He lay silently on the dirt-blackened sheepskins, but his eyes did not close.  Moans parted his swollen lips and the woman knew his heart would not let him sleep.  Quietly, 'Iqodámeya mixed wine and water and heated it over the campfire just before the door of the little shack.  She added honey to the warm liquid, and a bit of barley meal that she had freshly ground.  When the mixture was hot, she brought a cup of the mulled wine to Ak'illéyu.  "If you cannot eat, then drink," she said softly.  "This is the nectar of the gods."

His heavy brows met over his nose in a frown.  But he took the cup and found himself drinking thirstily.

aaa

In the hilltop palace, Andrómak'e spent the morning in the rooms she and Qántili had shared not so long ago.  She sat before a small, upright loom, weaving beneath brightly frescoed walls, of painted ships and sea creatures, resting on sheepskins on a floor of painted plaster.  Windows high on the wall let in the sun and a breeze laden with the cool scents of autumn.  She passed her shuttle back and forth, with practiced ease, drawing together the woolen threads dyed red and blue and yellow.

By her side, a naked baby played with two bronze cups.  He stood unsteadily and put one on his head, shaved but for a wispy strand at the back.  When the metal vessel fell, clattering, the little boy laughed, showing eight little teeth in front.  "Fall!" he crowed and bent over the cups, clumsily stacking one on top of the other.  Then he knocked them down with a chubby, dimpled hand, chortling, "Fall," and stacked them up again, over and over.  The woman at the loom hardly glanced at him, nor did her sad, empty eyes take in the bright patterns she was weaving in the cloth before her.

Laqíqepa and Kréyusa entered the room, glancing with disfavor from their own carefully torn and dirtied garments to Andrómak'e's bright blue robes, the hem of the skirt embroidered with repeating spirals, the wide belt woven of many colors, the necklaces of precious metal cast in animal shapes interspersed with colorful beads of semi-precious stones.  Stepping forward quietly in leather shoes with upturned toes, the princesses called to the weaver.  "Andrómak'e," Kréyusa demanded of the younger woman, "where is your child's nursemaid?  Why are you alone here with Sqamándriyo?"

Andrómak'e shivered at the sound of the other woman's voice and looked up with a tremulous smile.  "I sent her to draw water from the well for Qántili's bath," she answered uncertainly.  "My husband will not spend another night in the field.  I am sure of it.  This evening at sunset, he will come to me."

Her sisters-in-law looked at each and shook their heads.  "Put away your weaving," Kréyusa instructed gently but firmly, seating herself at Andrómak'e's side and pulling the shuttle from her hands.  "Qántili is not coming.  My poor brother will never again sit in your bath chamber.  It is time you faced reality, sister-in-law.  You must go to the sanctuary and pray for your husband's lost soul."

The younger woman's smile fought against tears.  "No, you are wrong," Andrómak'e argued.  "I know that you think Qántili is dead.  I have heard your lamentations.  But I still have faith in the gods.  Poseidáon is merciful.  Did you not feel the earth shaking under his divine hooves during the last battle?  That was an omen.  It can only mean that Qántili will still come home to me.  It has been two days now.  He will not stay away a third.  So I have sent my servants to carry water from the well and heat it in tripods and bring it to the bath chamber.  When Qántili is done with his bath, I will dry him and rub all his limbs with perfumed oil, just as I have always done."

Kréyusa put her hands over Andrómak'e's, trying to turn the younger woman from the loom.  "You are deluding yourself," Kréyusa said more firmly than before.  "My brother is dead.  Did you not watch his fight with Ak'illéyu?  I thought every woman in the city stood at the battlements to see.  Have you not heard how Ak'illéyu mistreated poor Qántili's body?"

Andrómak'e shook her head, her lips and chin trembling.  "That was only a dream.  It do not believe it.  The divine earth-shaker made himself known that day.  He will bring my Qántili back to me.  I know he will.  My heart tells me so."

"Go to the walls with us," Laqíqepa commanded, taking Andrómak'e's hand to pull her to her feet.  "Look out at the battle field.  Then you will see.  There are many men who are not coming back.  Poseidáon shook the earth as a sign of his anger, not as a token of his favor."

Tears welled in Andrómak'e's eyes, but again she shook her head.  "No.  I am going nowhere.  Qántili told me not to waste my time watching the fight.  He said the battlements were no place for a woman.  I should concentrate on my weaving, he said.  He is coming, I tell you.  He promised he would take care of us.  He swore by our hearth.  Nothing means more to Qántili than his honor.  He will keep his vow.  You will see."

Laqíqepa was growing angry.  But Kréyusa stood and pulled on her older sister's arm.  "Leave her," Kréyusa said quietly.  As they left the room, she added in a whisper, "She has been caught by the maináds, just like the 'Elléniyan woman.  You and I must speak to our husbands about Qántili's son.  One of us must take care of little Sqamándriyo now."

aaa

In the Ak'áyan encampment, the lesser wánaktes and qasiléyus left Agamémnon's tent for their assigned duties.  But two kings remained to speak with the overlord privately.  Odushéyu lowered his voice to announce, "The earth tremors during the last battle shook away a few of our allies.  Most of the T'rákiyan tribesmen set sail before dawn this morning.  And I have noticed quite a few of the boatmen from Wórdo are missing.  Do you know Néstor's captive woman?  She says that the Wórdoyans deserted us when Qántili was about to burn our camp."

Agamémnon listened with a frown.  But he was not unduly concerned.  "We have not lost much, if that is all.  The Wórdoyans were not warriors anyway, just fishermen and traders.  They knew enough about boats and about weights and measures, but all too little about spears and chariots.  It was a nuisance having that many more mouths to feed, just to have someone to ferry us across the Sqámandro River.  Ai, the waters are not that deep anymore, since the earth shook.  The men can pole themselves across on the simplest of rafts now.  For that matter, we could even move our camp to the Tróyan side of the river, now that the city poses no serious threat to us.  As for the T'rákiyans, well, those northern barbarians were too few and too undisciplined to make a decent army to start with.  Just the same, I suppose I will have to devise some sort of punishment for them both, even if it just for show, so that no one else will follow their example.  A raid or two on each country, on our way home, perhaps."

Odushéyu shook his head, scratching his thinning, lice-infested hair.  "I agree with you as far as the T'rákiyans are concerned.  I suspect the barbarians forgot which side they were on during the last battle and downed a few of our own men.  They are unreliable at best and at worst those blue tattooes on their faces unnerve the simple-minded among our warriors.  This is an Ak'áyan cause and an Ak'áyan campaign, in any case.  No, we do not need the T'rákiyans.  But the Wórdoyans are another story.  They have many trading contacts.  And I heard a number of them spreading rumors of Ak'áyan queens plotting against their absent kings."

The overlord's eyes narrowed.  "Plotting against us?" he cried, demanding, "Which ones?  Which queens?  Mine?  Klutaimnéstra?"  But the broad-shouldered, lesser king did not know the answer.  "What about you, Idómeneyu?" Agamémnon asked.  "You have as many trading contacts as anyone.  Have you heard these rumors, too?"

Idómeneyu nodded.  "My Kep'túriyans have many ties of kinship with the Wórdoyans, as well as our trading alliance.  I was aware of such rumors as soon as we arrived on Tróya's plain.  What is more," the graying king added, more quietly, "I have this."  He brought a scrap of broken pottery out of a goatskin bag hanging at his waist.  "You may recognize this, Odushéyu.  You remember the Wilúsiyan spy you killed, early in the campaign?  This fell from the things you captured from him."

"What is it?" Odushéyu asked, reaching for it.  Idómeneyu let him turn the bit of ceramic around and around, to examine it from all angles, running his hard fingers over the pale matte finish, noting the complex symbols painted in neat rows in a fluid hand.

Agamémnon took the shard and looked it over in the same way.  "I am no scribe," the overlord said.  "But I know Ak'áyan writing when I see it.  Now, where can we find a woman to read it to us?  All our captives are Assúwans."