Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) (16 page)

“
Ai
, no,” growled the Argive. “You are not going to change the subject that easily. You have not answered my question.”

“Your question?” Odushéyu’s eyes widened with a look of injured innocence. “What question was that?”

Diwoméde’s face reddened and he shouted, “What are you doing here, you filthy sack of sour wine? Are you plotting some new crime? Are you selling fake prophecies now? Or are you kidnapping children to sell into slavery? What
dáimon
are you allied with this time? Tell me!”

The shorter man pulled himself up to his full height, thrusting out his barrel of a chest. “Certainly not and no and never! I am a
wánaks
, not a seer, and despite what people may have told you, I was never a pirate! Besides,” he added with a small sigh, slumping again, “no one trades bronze for visions or for slaves these days, not even fully grown ones. There is no market for anything but grain. If it were not for my rare talent for singing tales of adventure and the great deeds of heroes and gods, I would have starved to death, long ago.” He shook his head morosely, tossing his sparse, pale locks. “It is a grim age we live in, my boy. Who would have divined that things would turn out so badly, when we first sailed off to Tróya from this place, so many years ago?
Owái
, we crossed the Inner Sea with such high hopes, such grand ambitions, Agamémnon and I. ‘Call no man blessed until he has died!’ What truth there is in that saying!”

His whole body sagged at that and he looked as though he might collapse on the ground. Peeking up through his bushy eyebrows at the younger man, he was encouraged by the shadow that crossed Diwoméde’s face. Moving closer to the former
qasiléyu
, he lamented dramatically,
“Ai
, and such a
wánaks
Agamémnon was! How true to his name he was, the Greatly Steadfast! Never once did he entertain thoughts of abandoning our great venture, there at Tróya. No, in all those long months, he never wavered, even though poor Meneláwo himself was prepared to give up the quest for honor on more than one occasion….” He covered his face with his hands, moaning a little too deeply, and did not see that Diwoméde’s head had come up sharply, his eyes narrowing with suspicion at that last remark. The former slave remembered Agamémnon quite differently as a rather reluctant leader. It had been Meneláwo, the aggrieved husband, who had steadfastly refused to leave Tróya without his queen.

“
Owái,”
Odushéyu wailed on with overdone keening, continuing to edge closer to the younger man, “that such a demigod of a man should have been brought low by a mere woman!” He threw his arms wide and tipped his face up to the sky, as if begging the gods for an explanation.

“Stop it!” Diwoméde barked at him. “Do not tell me that you are going to blame everything on the ‘Elléniyan queen, too.”

The old exile stared at his companion in bewilderment, momentarily speechless.
“Ai gar
, certainly not!” he squeeked, when he had recovered himself. “That addled thing? What an absurd idea! No, no, I was speaking of her sister, queen Klutaimnéstra. Now, there was a woman of incomparable evil. Is it not amazing that such a great beauty, the Famously Wooed, as her name says, could have brought such a dishonorable death to our great and noble overlord?”

“You old goat, she was not the one who killed Agamémnon!” Diwoméde growled, becoming more and more disgusted with the old pirate. “Your memory is more faulty than I thought. Either that or your tongue is rotten! It was her lover who killed him, Aígist’o.”

Odushéyu coughed.
“Ai
, ah, yes, um,
áya
, Aígist’o may have wielded the spear, I suppose, yes. But, I tell you, it was done at Klutaimnéstra’s behest! She seduced her husband’s cousin. How else could a man bring himself to kill his own kinsman?”

“You know nothing about it!” Diwoméde argued, circling Odushéyu, waving his arms angrily. “It is just as likely that Aígist’o seduced the queen because he wanted the throne for himself! Besides, the men of that family had been feuding with one another for generations, before anyone from Lakedaimón married into that clan, without any help from their womenfolk. It does not matter anyway. What is done is done! They are all dead and buried. Forget about them. Orísta rules Lakedaimón and his sister rules Argo, and they hate each other as much as Aígist’o ever hated Agamémnon!”

Odushéyu’s eyebrows rose, a smirk of satisfaction on his lips. “You have been away too long, my boy. The palaces have seen a bit of change since you were gone.”

That stopped Diwoméde in his tracks, filling his soul with sudden dread. He wanted to ask for news, but found his throat constricted, completely dry, and he could not force out a single word.

The older man smiled more broadly than before. “So, you have not heard the latest news, I see. Queen Lawodíka had a little trouble with her cousins, a year or so ago. In spite of her bigger army and her priestess training, her palace at Mukénai burned to the ground. What a surprise that was!” He burst into laughter, adding, “At the last minute, she had the statues of the gods locked in a storeroom. She threatened not to let them out until they drove her rivals out of Argo.” He laughed so hard at the thought that tears began to spill over his cheeks. At last, his good humor subsided and he wiped a tear of amusement from his scraggly beard.
“Ai
, she and her troops had to fall back to the coast. She decided to move to the fortress of Lérna at the beginning of the summer.
Ai
, that was most unwise, that timing. There truly must be an evil
dáimon
living in the swamps below that citadel. The poor, dear
wánasha
fell to the summer complaint.”

“”Do you mean to say that Lawodíka is dead?” Diwoméde demanded incredulously. “The queen died of malaria?”

“Precisely,” the older man responded cheerfully. “In fact, that is old information. Yes, Orésta has gone north to take command of his father’s native land. He left his wife’s brother to govern Lakedaimón as his first
qasiléyu
.
Idé
, Agamémnon would be proud to see it! Of course, the old man would not have been as happy at the rest of the news.” Odushéyu paused, waiting to be asked for the next tidbit.

The younger man pressed his lips together with distaste. He knew Odushéyu was toying with him and he did not like it. His hands curled into fists, considering whether it would be better to beat the information out of the old pirate.

Clearing his throat and taking a cautious step backward, the exiled king went on quickly, “Lawodíka had a son, as I am sure you knew. But you could not have heard that Orésta has taken the baby into his own household with a public vow to raise the boy as his own. Can you believe that?
Ai
, and his own wife is pregnant with their first child, too!
Ai
, second child, really, but, of course, the first one died so it does not count. That was fate, I suppose. It happens all the time. In any case, ‘Ermiyóna has either given birth by now or will do so any day.
Ai gar
, Orésta’s father must be clapping his hands to his head, down in ‘Aidé! Agamémnon would never have done such a foolish thing himself! He knew better than to take another man’s child into his own household to raise!”

Diwoméde shouted, “You have a mind like an ox hoof, you old wine sack! Agamémnon would have done exactly the same thing as his son did. His own brother raised Orésta, or have you forgotten? Meneláwo always treated his nephew well, too. Do not say another word about either one of them, or I will beat you senseless! They are my kinsmen, too, remember!”

Odushéyu was affronted. “Then I suppose you do not care to learn who Orésta has proclaimed as his heir.” He crossed his still rugged arms on his chest and turned his attention studiously to the earth at his feet. Idly, he kicked at small pebbles and bits of charred wood, casually squatting and picking up another brick.

“How could Orésta proclaim an heir?” Diwoméde demanded, throwing his furious arms wide. “He could not possibly know yet how many children he will have, much less which ones will live past the unlucky fourth year and…”

“Are you accusing me of lying?” the older man asked, just as truculently. He stood abruptly, his pale beard quivering. “I? The former
wánaks
of holy It’áka and fertile Mesheníya?”

The former
qasiléyu
had had enough. He turned on his good heel and resumed his walk down the hillside, moving as quickly as his battered foot would allow him. Under his breath, he cursed the other man, wishing on him boils, coughs, fevers, and explosive diarrhea until the earth should end, hopefully in a vast pool of mud spit up by the great serpent inhabiting Assúwa’s foul and fetid shores.

“Wait! Wait!” Odushéyu cried, hurrying to come abreast of the younger man. “All right, I will admit to bending the truth, just a little bit, now and then. So I was not actually the king of Mesheníya – I only raided those fertile fields in the summer. And so the island of It’áka was not particularly sacred. But the news that I have about Orésta is certainly real and it can be confirmed by any man in Lakedaimón. That overgrown boy has declared that ‘Ermiyóna’s oldest child will be his heir, whether it be a boy or a girl! If it lives, of course, that is. I could scarcely believe it myself, when I heard. You and I know that Agamémnon wanted to make a change in the royal inheritance laws. He wanted to switch the line from the female to the male, and a most reasonable change it would have been, especially these days. A strong king is absolutely vital for any nation to survive now, with all these attacks from pirates and brigands, and with vengeance such an important feature of international relations. I always favored such a system myself. If only my mule-headed wife had agreed to that, just think of all the fights we could have avoided! Why, I would be in It’áka now, ruling…
ai
, never mind that. But now, what can Orésta be planning? It is nonsense to declare an heir ahead of time. The young ox obviously lacks the necessary experience to govern properly.”

He looked to the right and to the left before continued in a hushed voice. “But that is good news for us, or do you not see?” He shielded his drooping mouth, as if afraid that others would hear. “Go to him, Diwoméde. Orésta is your brother,
ai
, your half-brother anyway. He is obviously very impressed with kinsmen. So, he will have to take you in, give you a fortress, or perhaps even two, even if you are a bastard, and then you can speak to him about me. Once he gets over his grief for his uncle, he will realize that it is Ainyáh who has Meneláwo’s blood on his hands, not me. I could be most valuable to the boy, too, a chief councilor perhaps. With my wisdom and experience, and your strong right arm…”

Diwoméde hunched his shoulders, ignoring the older man. His right arm was pressed close to his ribs as the former
qasiléyu
returned down the path, through the fortress gate, and on to the seashore. He had listened to Odushéyu’s schemes once too often in the past. What did he have to show for it now? He had the marks of a Mízriyan lash on his back! The grizzled pirate’s cleverness had always been outweighed by his propensity to stretch the truth, if not his capacity to tell outrageous lies. Besides, Diwoméde knew well enough that his own days as a warrior were long over.

Bewildered by the younger Argive’s attitude, but still hopeful, Odushéyu followed, keeping up a steady banter. He recalled famous deeds of the past, both real and imagined, and painted word pictures of a future that would be still more glorious. His melodious voice soared through the deserted alleyways of the lower town, his hands making sweeping gestures. Periodically he shook his brick at Diwoméde to emphasize a particularly significant point. Caught up in his own vision, he did not notice the familiar faces among the band of refugees at the water’s edge.

But the Kanaqániyan among those faces not only saw but recognized Odushéyu. With a loud curse, Ainyáh sprang toward the exile with his dagger drawn. “May Astárt shower her arrows down upon you and send you to the underworld before the sun sets this day!”

Diwoméde scrambled out of the way, content to let the mercenary’s blade silence his unwelcome companion. Responding instinctively to the attack, Odushéyu threw up his arms, deflecting the yellow metal from his throat. The knife sliced the skin over his elbow and he howled at the sharp pain. At the same time, the pirate swung his brick, catching Ainyáh squarely in the chin. The Kanaqániyan fell, dazed, and Askán rushed to his father’s side. As the other travelers scattered, crying out in alarm, Odushéyu stumbled backward, screaming at the sight of the blood that dripped from his arm.

“What is going on?” St’énelo demanded. T’érsite and Tushrátta pressed ahead of the thin charioteer, asking the same question.

While Ainyáh rose shakily, supported by Askán’s strong, young arm, T’érsite took command of the situation. Striding to the center of the ring that was opening in the crowd, he demanded silence. The grim lines in his face softened when he recognized the former king and he began to laugh.
“Ai,
who do we have here? If it is not the world’s worst pirate and the biggest liar in all of Ak’áiwiya! It is Odushéyu, the king nobody wanted!”