Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) (26 page)

“
Ai
, if the poor woman did go with that god, she was raped, I am sure,” Mélisha sputtered in her exasperation, hardly knowing how to counter the inanity of it all. “And I heard that it was an ordinary bull who committed the crime, not a god, anyway.”

“Only a fool believes everything he hears,” Peirít’owo announced, just then joining the group, “especially when a pirate tells the story.” The travelers gathered close around the young man as he gutted a rabbit he had caught, while the rest finished off what little they had prepared earlier. “There is nothing to fear in the land we are going to, despite the lies that certain low-born sailors and itinerant seers may have told you.”

“Odushéyu says that they are only half human,” Qérayan told him quickly. “Do they really turn into rams and ewes by moonlight?”

“
Idé
, so that windbag is at it again!” the youthful hunter snapped irritably, as he began to skin his prey.

“
Ai gar
, that pirate could not tell the truth if his life depended on it,” T’érsite remarked, even more annoyed. He searched among the small bones in his dish, looking in vain for one more bite of meat, cursing both Odushéyu and the barren beaches of the White Island.

The young Kep’túriyan shook his head at Qérayan, a wry smile on his lips. “The Párpariyans are not beasts, any more than we are. There in the far north, they are poor folk. The land is uncivilized. That much is true. They grow only a little grain and they have no decent horses. Of course, there are no great cities filled with trade goods from the three continents, such as we have at home, or used to have, I should say. Such things cannot be had without plentiful supplies of bronze, and there is little enough of that so far north of the Argive sea. No, we will not see any great wealth where we are going. But, our women will not be in any more danger there than anywhere else, in these unsettled times. Is that what you wanted to know?”

St’énelo glanced around at the anxious but hopeful faces. “If the Párpariyans are as impoverished as that, will they welcome us, a band of poor and homeless travelers? Winter is coming soon and we cannot continue sailing if they turn us away. Human sacrifice and cannibalism are the vices of the uncivilized, even if they are only mortal men.”

“
Ayá
, they are not as poor as all that!” Askán interjected with a petulant frown. His own search for fresh meat had netted only a few squirrels. Laying them down beside Peirít’owo’s rabbits, he could hardly bring himself to dress the meager bit of meat on them. “The northerners value sheep as much as any nation does. We ought to eat better than this, at least. As for being uncivilized,
ai
, they have a good many kinsmen on Kep’túr and in Assúwa, both. Not many Ak’áyans would claim that those places were filled with cannibals.”

Tushrátta had thus far listened with the casual air of a skeptic. Not until Askán mentioned Assúwa was he moved to speak. “Once we see these Párpariyans, I will let you know whether any of them are
my
kinsmen or not. For now, I am more concerned with the things that all people need, wherever they live. We are approaching the beginning of the storm season. We will have no choice but to winter in Párpara, as St’énelo says. What kind of shelter can we expect there? Will there be enough for us to eat, or can we all expect to starve to death? That is what I want to know.”

T’érsite nodded. “Yes, that is what I want to know, too. And how will we pay for our keep, if they do let us stay? I, for one, do not care to become some barbarian’s slave.”

All eyes turned again to the long, slender limbs of the youthful hunter from Kep’túr. Odushéyu, muttering and grinding his teeth behind the crowd, was utterly forgotten. Peirít’owo cursed and ran a dirty hand over his face. “Listen,” he told them, spitting the rabbit on a stick and propping it over the fire. “I am no seer. None of us can predict the future. Bu we have dealt with all kinds of people in our search for a haven from war and famine. We have seen Ak’áyans, Assúwans, Mízriyans, Kanaqániyans, and T’rákiyans. It has never been easy. We have always had a cool reception. We have gone to bed hungry more than once. But there is no reason to fear Párpara any more than those other places. We are not sailing to the citadel of the dead, after all!

“Párpara is simply the place where the last free tribes live. They live the way their ancestors did for countless generations. They guard their sheep and goats along with a few cattle, following the herds into the highlands in the summer. In the winter, they descend to the narrow valleys between the mountain peaks, to grow their crops of barley along the banks of the rivers. Their houses are simple things. You have all seen huts like theirs, with thatched roofs. The walls are nothing but saplings, plastered with mud to keep out the wind and rain. The shepherds still make these in the hills and mountains of our own lands. After all, the whole of Ak’áiwiya was Párpariyan territory at one time. They are not so very different from the poor farmers and herders of our own lands, all around the Inner Sea.”

Odushéyu busily ground his few remaining teeth, grimacing at each of the younger man’s reasonable, calming statements, which destroyed the carefully established sense of foreboding he had created in these people’s minds. “So the legends say,” he growled. “But that is cold comfort for a woman who has been raped by a drunken ram or stallion!”

T’érsite threw his empty dish to the ground in disgust. “I have heard enough from you, you fake prophet!” he barked, rising to his feet. “Every word you say is calculated to increase your own standing. That is your sole purpose in life, pirate! No man who knows you would ever turn an ear in your direction!”

St’énelo had wavered between belief and disbelief. But now, his old friend’s words struck a familiar chord. “That is right,” the bony Lakedaimónian crowed. “On our way home from Tróya, years ago, Odushéyu kept trying to turn us all against Meneláwo, our own true and rightful king.” The color rose in his cheeks at the memory.

“I was only thinking of what was best for Lakedaimón!” Odushéyu protested, spreading his hands wide with a look of injured innocence. “Your
wánaks
had a serious wound. I had every reason to believe that it would be fatal. Your queen, for her part, had no more sense in her heart than a farm woman’s goose!”

“Blasphemy!” St’énelo cried, leaping to his feet, an accusing finger pointed at the bearded exile. “The ‘Elléniya was in the hands of the
maináds
, true enough. But that was only because she was one of those tree goddesses, herself. She and Meneláwo ruled over the finest years of Lakedaimón, I will have you know!”

Qérayan trotted over to stand beside his avowed father. “Peirít’owo is not the only islander who has traded with the half-men of the north, you know. My grandfather told my brothers and me about the horse-footed
Kentáuros
, too. I say Odushéyu is telling the truth!”

Other men and women began siding with one man or the other. Some stood with the It’ákan, some with the Kep’túriyan. The crowd erupted first into angry shouting, and soon fists flew, alongside curses in every dialect. This time, Dáuniya’s ululating call failed to pacify the infuriated parties. In fact, it only inflamed the Assúwans among them further. Tushrátta pulled his fellow countrymen away from the fireside altogether. “You have to be fools to listen to that Italian woman. She is not what she seems. All this time, she has been contemplating some terrible revenge, like Kashánda once exacted, long ago. Just you watch. If we do travel back to her homeland, you can be sure that her people will ambush and slaughter us.”

He was not so far away that the woman did not hear his accusation. “That is a lie!” Dáuniya cried angrily at the Lúkiyan.

But as the grizzled warrior reminded his companions, “It was an Assúwan prince who first took her captive, remember. She has no love for us. But she has no reason to care for the Ak’áyans, either, for that matter, after all these years of captivity in their lands. You are all mad if you trust her with your lives.”

“I chose my own Ak’áyan husband, I tell you!” the Italian woman furiously insisted. “He did not carry me off with his spear at my back! When I left Assúwa behind, I left all thought of revenge as well. Have I not always spoken against vengeance? When have I ever slighted anyone in this group, Assúwan or Ak’áyan? When?”

Mélisha staunchly defended her adopted kinswoman, too. “Listen to her. Diwoméde honors her as a true wife, not a spear-won concubine. She was never taken by force. I can attest to that. How dare you accuse her, you Assúwan jackal!”

“Ak’áyan witch!” Tushrátta shouted back, setting off yet another round of ethnic insults and renewed fighting.

CHAPTER EIGHT

PARPARA

Sitting a little apart from the others, Ainyáh and Diwoméde had eaten in silence. They kept their eyes on the unpainted pottery in their hands, their thoughts to themselves. As tempers began to flare in the circle about the fire, Ainyáh cursed quietly, “Astárt send them all evil dreams and boils!” Diwoméde glanced at the grim-faced, former mercenary. There in the shadows, the Kanaqániyan looked positively ancient, his face deeply furrowed, the flesh hanging on his shrinking chest and limbs. The older man had not lived in captivity, Diwoméde reflected, but neither had Ainyáh been truly free, either. He was too old to continue selling his services as a warrior, too poor to make a living solely from trade. But, so long as the old soldier had no secure place in the household of a king, he could not relax, could not retire from the everyday battle of life.

“Why do you not speak to them?” Diwoméde asked in a low voice. “One word from you would silence both Odushéyu and Peirít’owo.”

“Why do you not speak to them yourself?” Ainyáh countered, just as quietly. “Yours is the voice they want to hear,
qasiléyu
, not mine.”

The younger man was surprised and annoyed. “Mine! I have never been to Párpara. What would I tell them?”

The Kanaqániyan dropped his empty dish in the dirt and rested his elbows on his knees, his head down. He looked thoroughly dispirited. “I may have been to Párpara, but I cannot tell them what they really want to know,” he admitted, filled with misery.

“Is the place populated by
dáimons
?” the former slave asked. It was more of a suggestion than a true question, for Diwoméde had long since learned to put no faith in Odushéyu’s tales of marvels.

Ainyáh gave a short laugh without humor, acknowledging the ridiculous nature of the story. “Will the king welcome us, is the real question,” he said wearily.

A feeling of dread began to creep into the
qasiléyu’s
heart. “Do you not know?” he whispered. “You are taking us there and you do not know whether we are welcome? You know as well as any man that we must winter there. If the king does not allow us to stay…” His throat closed around the dismal thought and he could not bring himself to complete the statement.

The aging mercenary groaned quietly and ran his long fingers through his thinning hair. “The king is Érinu, the last of the old royal house of Tróya. He is my brother-in-law, the younger brother of my dead wife, Kréyusa. I should always be welcome in his house, or so he once said. His wife, his current queen is my sister-in-law, the widow of Érinu’s fallen brother. They are kin to me. It sounds like a fine family, does it not?” He raised his head and Diwoméde could see that his eyes were bloodshot. The Kanaqániyan had not slept well in several long phases of the moon.
“Ayá
, but this Érinu is a madman,
qasiléyu
. The only real family I have now is my son. Kréyusa and I had four children, four fine babies. Askán is the only one who still lives. By all the gods, I used to rebuke her for crying over the girls’ graves! We were still young, I would tell her. We had plenty of years left to have more children, I would say. Then prince Paqúr had to make that infernal raid on the island of ‘Elléniya and steal away that accursed queen. So began our doom. I would cut off my right arm and present it to Astárt herself if only I could turn back the years and have Kréyusa beside me again!
A-a-ayá
, what is the point in talking this way?”

Diwoméde held his breath. Why was Ainyáh telling him these things? They were not kinsmen, nor could they ever be friends. In fact, they had been enemies most of their adult lives. But he held his tongue and asked Ainyáh no questions, offered no comment, giving the Kanaqániyan the chance to say all that was burdening his heart.

After a long silence, Ainyáh spoke again, still more quietly than before. “I chose to betray my in-laws and my adopted city for the sake of Kréyusa and our boy. I knew that Paqúr was to blame for the Tróyan war, of course, the cause of all of our troubles. But I also knew that there was nothing I could do to stop his reckless course, or to repair the damage that he had done. His father, the king, followed him like a puppy, when it came to matters of state. Paqúr’s drunken ravings meant more to that foolish, old man than all of my experience in war, or the wisest councils of my brother-in-law, Antánor. No one could tell either of them anything sensible, neither the king nor his oldest son. Long after it was obvious to every other man in the whole country that we were going to lose everything, Paqúr and his mad father still insisted on fighting all of Ak’áiwiya for that ‘Elléniyan woman. Every last one of our allies had deserted us and the emperor refused to support us, but still the king and his oldest son went on and on about how vital that madwoman was. Nearly all the king’s sons were either too seriously wounded to fight any longer or dead., or else they were worthless to begin with, like Paqúr, that coward, and Érinu, who was a priest and so had an excuse not to fight. But still those two had to keep the ‘Elléniyan woman, defying even the gods, and carry on that insane war to the bitter end!”