Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) (38 page)

The rift in Andrómak’e’s soul failed to heal with the passing of the hot season. Lucid and calm one moment, she would burst into frantic tears the next, spending long days in inconsolable weeping. Érinu sought the advice of his older brother-in-law, Ainyáh, on how best to deal with the woman. After all, the aging Kanaqániyan had known her far across the sea in Tróya, long years before. Having grown ever more morose and quiet, the aging mercenary had little hope and fewer suggestions for his kinsman. When pressed, he only suggested, “Listen to her.”

“What do you mean by that?” the chieftain demanded. “Listen to what? She is a raving madwoman!”

But Ainyáh had no more advice.

Érinu discovered Orésta to be a good deal more helpful than his dour brother-in-law. In council outside the queen’s chamber, the two rulers agreed that such incomprehensible emotion was unfortunately common in women. “My wife is just the same,” Orésta admitted, “whenever I suggest a trip to ‘Elléniya. The island is sacred and part of my kingdom, after all. A visit there would hardly be out of the ordinary for any other Lakedaimóniyan king. But my subjects there have never seen me, and probably never will. I just barely breathe the name of the place and ‘Ermiyóna goes racing through the palace halls, calling for her dead mother! Fortunately, her old nursemaid is still with us. She always manages to calm ‘Ermiyóna down again. But it can take the better part of the day before she will carry on a normal conversation again. Even then, the least little word amiss and she is off again, screaming and crying. It wears a man out, truly it does.”

Erinu sighed. “I have to admit, I saw still worse in your mother-in-law at Tróya. The ‘Elléniyan woman herself was certainly possessed by the
maináds
during the whole year that she was with us. She sat spinning all day, always spinning, never weaving so much as the narrowest headband! The whole time, she went about hanging her head on one side, whispering strange prophecies about the end of the world. Her madness eventually spread to the whole female population of the city. Andrómak’e fell in with it herself, after my brother, Qántili, died. Of course, we all mourned my brother, and a widow mourns more than others, but she was quite lost to the
maináds
. She seemed to come back to us, after awhile, once I was caring for her, though.” He threw up his hands in frustration. “But now, no one has died, I am here, and still, I can do nothing for her! It makes no sense at all. Perhaps this is a painful subject for you, Orésta, but, I wonder how the ‘Elléniya was when she returned home after the war? How did Meneláwo tame her?”

“She was never the same, I am afraid,” the southern
wánaks
declared without hesitation, eager to share that age-old burden. “Her soul was dancing with the tree goddesses to the day that she died. I am afraid that your wife is changed for good, too. You will simply have to do as Meneláwo did. My uncle made a special effort to isolate his queen from all public affairs. You must do the same. Keep her busy with the management of the household and the weaving women, or whatever other minor tasks you can devise. What she does not know will not hurt her, you see. Whenever you come near your wife, you must act as if you are courting her, too. Placate her however you can.”

Seeing that Érinu’s face fell at that advice, Orésta went on, “I find that it works best to consider a woman’s tears as a kind of
qoiná
, a blood-payment. In every land, when a man kills another, he must make restitution to the dead man’s family. If he does not want to pay with blood – and, of course, no one does – he must give bronze, or horses, or whatever other valuable items the dead man’s kinsmen demand. With a woman, each loss she suffers is equivalent to such a crime that demands restitution. Tears take the place of cattle or metal. In either case, a certain amount of blood will be shed if the price is not paid.” The look that came into Orésta’s shadowed eyed chilled Érinu to the bone, although the chieftain did not really understand why. He did not see, at all, how blood came into the picture. But he knew without a doubt that he did not want to find out how.

Sqamándriyo, listening to the kings’ conversation from around the corner of the wooden hut, put his hand to his mouth. Brimming with anger and indignation, he hurriedly sought out the Italian serving woman, Dáuniya. She shared his passion on hearing the men’s words repeated. But fear also touched her soul. “He has no right to keep his
wánasha
from her proper place like that!” she said, shaking a powerless fist. “But say nothing to your uncle, Sqamándriyo. Tell your grandmother and aunt what you have just told me. Have them meet me at your mother’s door right away.”

Gathering at Andrómak’e’s side, the women soon gave their advice to the invalid queen. Brushing back her white hair, T’éti offered Andrómak’e a scrap of clean fleece. “Dry your tears, my dear lady. One way or another, you must pull yourself together and carry on. Your children need you. Your husband needs you!”

“No, no, never mind your family for now,” Dáuniya urged her. “It is the whole land that needs you in your place now. Be angry with Érinu. Or be angry with your subjects, if that suits you better. Demand whatever your heart desires. But stand up again, my good woman. Get out of this bed and get out of this room. We are all fighting the battle of our lives right now. We cannot afford to lose!”

A middle-aged woman with henna-reddened hair joined T’éti at Andrómak’e’s side. “Listen to us and hold your head high, my lady. You and I are sisters in misfortune, you know. I know what it is to lose a husband, too, how difficult it is to bear children in captivity, always fearing for their safety.”

“
Ai
, ‘Iqodámeya!” T’éti snapped. “Enough of that kind of talk! You are only making matters worse!”

‘Iqodámeya suppressed her annoyance with the old woman and stroked Andrómak’e’s disheveled hair. “Every woman in Párpara and Ak’áiwiya is making quiet offerings of milk and honey to the goddess for you,” she whispered soothingly to the queen. “Do you know why?”

Dáuniya broke in impatiently, “Because their menfolk are pointing their fingers at you and saying, ‘Look at that foolish thing, crying her eyes out over who knows what!
Ai
, what can you expect of a mere woman?’ Andrómak’e, you do every woman great harm when you carry on this way!”

“That is exactly right,” T’éti broke in. “Here we are, trying our best to convince those mule-headed men not to go to war, when that is precisely what they most want to do.
Ai
, men are naturally slow and as dense as blocks of wood when it comes to thinking! You know that. They despise and distrust women because of the thickets of brush crowding their weedy, overgrown souls. But, here you lie in bed, weeping all day long, as if you were nothing but a newborn babe, a sickly one at that, confirming every man’s lowest opinion of women! You are helping no one, least of all yourself! You owe every woman here a better queen than this.
Ai
, Andrómak’e, my dearest daughter, you owe yourself a good deal better!”

“I am trying,” the queen wept, wiping away the tears that stubbornly continued to flow, “I really am. But I am so tired, so very tired of holding back this great sea of anguish in my soul…” She pressed her damp face to ‘Iqodámeya’s shoulder and let the sobs continue to come as they would.

“
Ayayá!
Something must be done by somebody!” Dáuniya cried. “If things continue this way, we will stand about in these field, arguing straight through the planting season. The winter will begin without hope of a harvest in the spring!”

T’éti agreed. “Yes, and if anyone is going to set sail, they must either get started immediately or plan on drowning the moment they reach the border of the harbor. The trees are beginning to turn colors now, and the season of storms is right behind.
Ai
, enough of this complaining! If Andrómak’e cannot do her duty, then I will simply have to go and speak to Érinu myself.”

“
Ai
,
ai
, no, no, no!” ‘Iqodámeya cried, flinging up her work-worn hands as if to pull the old woman down into the bed with Andrómak’e. “That will never do! That madman may owe you his freedom and his rank as chieftain, but he has not forgiven you for the years of slavery that came before. You will only make things worse, T’éti. Someone else must go.” She looked down at the queen, resting her head against her bosom. “I am afraid that it cannot be me, eithe, though. Érinu is still angry with me because I bore Ak’illéyu’s child, even though that was almost a lifetime ago.”

Both pairs of eyes, the older and the middle-aged, fell on Dáuniya. The Italian woman shook her head firmly. “By the dawn and the dusk, no! I do not believe that Érinu thinks any more highly of me. He knew me in Tróya as his brother’s captive, a mere slave, remember? He probably thinks that I have only changed masters and am still a mere slave. He would never respect the opinion of such a lowly personage. Besides, I have already tried to speak to him once and it came to nothing.”

“Then it is settled. Ilishabát should go and speak to him,” T’éti concluded with a vigorous nod that tossed her thick, white braid. In the flickering light of Andrómak’e’s hearth, the elderly woman indicated a fifth person, one who had not yet spoken and who had remained apart from the others, in the shadows by the wall. “She is kin to Ainyáh, and he is kin to Érinu. So, although distintly related, she is kin to Érinu.”

“Only in a roundabout sort of way!” ‘Iqodámeya objected quickly, “Only by marriage, not by blood. I do not think he will be impressed.”

But the old woman crossed her arms as a sign of her determination. “Such as it is, that is more than any of the rest of us can say. It will simply have to do.”

Ilishabát turned her statuesque profile away from the expectant eyes of the other women. “Just what do you expect me to say? Érinu and Orésta are agreed upon peace, in any case. It is their followers who are undecided.”

“
Ai
, no, woman, have you not been listening to anything we have said?” T’éti asked irritably. “We do not need you to speak for peace. No, no, my dear, you need to speak about the importance of women, most especially about how our opinions matter. If these two
wánaktes
–
ai
, by the Great Lady, neither one hardly deserves such a proud title, but that is another matter – if these two kings will only urge their warriors to heed the counsel of their wives, why, then everything will be settled in perfect order! It is the fact that the men are being such stubborn donkeys and are ignoring us that is the problem.”

Ilishabát was unconvinced. “I can and I will speak to Érinu about his own wife, at least. I will explain that the spirit that is afflicting her is an angry
dáimon
, but one that cannot be exorcised by force. Only tenderness can drive it away. But that is all I can say, I think. After all, he and I are of the same mind when it comes to lying with barbarian warriors and bearing their children. My own dear spouse, Pumayatún, was killed by pirates, the same brutes who raped my daughter and me. I do not even know whether the bandits were Ak’áyan or Lúkiyan. But it does not matter. I would never consent to stay with one of those barbarians, no matter what. I would never call him ‘husband’ or carry his child to term. That is no way to protect the child of an honored marriage, such as my daughter. Certainly, widowhood is not pleasant, either. Neither is the prospect of spending the rest of my life celibate. But, when a child is involved, I believe that death is best. No man cares to raise another man’s child, after all, whatever his nationality. So you see, Andrómak’e and ‘Iqodámeya and Dáuniya,” she stared harshly at each woman as she spoke, “you have yourselves to blame for your troubles, as much as the men who wronged you.”

Andrómak’e’s weeping had finally subsided when Ilishabát had begun to speak. But with that pronouncement she gave a heartfelt scream of anguish. Leaping to her feet, she pounced upon the Kanaqániyan woman, alternately pulling Ilishabát’s hair and her own. “How dare you!” the queen cried over and over. Even as they pulled Andrómak’e away, the other women joined their own indignant shouts to hers.

Ilishabát, a bit disheveled, delivered her message to Párpara’s chieftain later that evening. But her counsel did not have the intended effect. The following morning witnessed a near riot as the men of every nation gathered on the shore of the great bay. “Assemble your household and your followers, Ainyáh,” Érinu commanded imperiously from the gateway of his fortified village. “King Orésta has decreed an end to this dissension and I have agreed. No man who fought in the Tróyan war will serve as commander in any of our fortresses, north or south. I know that you want to sail west, brother-in-law. Go then, Ainyáh, and go now! You are no longer welcome in my realm. As for the boy, take my nephew, Sqamándriyo, with you. Because of his insolence, I consider him as tainted with Tróyan blood as any Ak’áyan veteran. Begone, all you holdovers from a past era! Let our kingdoms finally know peace!”

Several of Orésta’s fellow countrymen objected to his similar declaration. Unsheathing their daggers, they refused to accept banishment from their native land. “We are not murderers or traitors,
wánaks
,” the oldest veteran argued. “You cannot banish us without a council of elders. Do you not know me? I am Mégist’o. I delivered untold wealth into your own father’s hands at Tróya.
Ai gar
, I delivered Attika’s capital city to you yourself, afterward! These were not acts of piracy, either, my king, as you well know! I was a loyal follower of my rightful king, in both campaigns. By all the gods and goddesses, your own father and uncle both fought at Tróya, and for a noble and just cause! They must be shuddering in their tombs at your words. Beware, Orésta, if you persist in this wicked course, the very hounds of ‘Aidé will rise and exact a terrible retribution!”