Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) (25 page)

Agamémnon took advantage of the effect of the poppies and Odushéyu's song of magic.  The overlord spoke loudly of the fabled riches surely hidden behind the walls of Tróya.  He recounted for any men slow to arm the ancient legend of an Assúwan king whose very touch transformed things to gold.  Diwoméde, absorbing the martial spirit along with more opium, repeated a story Odushéyu had once told him, of fabulous sheep from northern Assúwa, animals whose fleece was of glittering tin, that most valued of metals.

The foot soldiers reminded one another of the persistent rumors that a single, well-guarded object contained Tróya's secret to life.  If the Ak'áyans could only discover and possess that one thing, the citadel would most certainly fall into their hands.  They had only to scale the walls or breach the gate and then Odushéyu's magic or Qálki's sight would surely reveal the magic idol's secret hiding place.  All their suffering was at an end, or nearly so.  A truly great reward must be awaiting them.

The noncombatants drank their share of poppy-sweetened wine and took up arms beside the warriors, caught up in the spirit of adventure.  Navigators had turned bronze-smith during the long campaign and, alongside the carpenters, had labored night and day, at Agamémnon's command.  As their counterparts had done in the citadel, they had built small, rounded ovens and fed them wood from the nearby hills.  Caldrons and tripods had been melted for their bronze, the metal reworked for spear points, arrowheads, and sword blades.  With beeswax the smiths had created models of the desired weapons and plastered them over with river clay.  When the clay was baked hard in the ovens, the melted wax burned away, leaving a hard mold.  Sweating profusely beside their fires, the smiths had poured molten metal into the empty spaces in the clay.  Once the metal had cooled and hardened, the craftsmen broke away the ceramic covering.  With leather lashings or bronze studs, the smiths had fastened the bronze arrowheads and spear points to wooden shafts made straight by the carpenters.  They joined wooden hilts to bronze swords.  The metal might be rough.  It might be flawed.  But every man had a shining weapon to carry to the battlefield.

Now, joining the singing of Odushéyu's magic song, filled with thoughts of glory and of plunder, the craftsmen prepared to do battle with dáimons both black and white, called from the northern and southern ends of the earth by a city god desperate to avert his destiny.

CHAPTER SIX

BENDISILEYA

At first light, Ainyáh rose from his bed to find Kréyusa missing.  Disturbed, he dressed hurriedly in new sandals and a clean kilt.  "Where is my wife?" he demanded of his child's nurse when she came to tell him that breakfast was prepared.

Timidly, the serving woman told him, "The Mízriyan commander told us last night that he had brought chariots and horses, gifts for the princes of Tróya.  Your wife went to feed your new horses.  She will meet you in the mégaron."

"Feed the horses!" he snapped.  "Before me?"  But he followed the nursemaid to the throne room.  The royal family was seated in chairs placed around the hearth, beside them small tables laden with bread, dried figs, and bowls of barley porridge.

Ainyáh stared down at the food by his chair, frowning.  "I planned to eat with Kréyusa by my side," he complained to the quiet room.

Paqúr derided him.  "You fuss over that woman and the child like a goose with her goslings.  You are every bit as bad as Qántili was about Andrómak'e and the baby.  We should talk about the Mízriyan chariots!  Or did you not hear?  They brought us horses!"

The queen shook a plump finger at her oldest son.  "Now, Paqúr, do not be so hard on your brother-in-law.  The loss of his two girls last winter has made little Askán doubly dear to him."  Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke, and her lips quivered, as she thought of her own two children, so recently fallen.

Ainyáh's face burned as the others discussed him.  He left the mégaron, intending to look for his wife.  Kréyusa met him just outside the door to the antechamber, breathless, her cheeks pink from running.  "Where were you?" Ainyáh demanded, putting his arms around her.  "The servants said you went to feed some horses.  Is this true?  You fed them before me, your own husband?"  His annoyance was clear in his voice, but the arms that held Kréyusa were gentle.  'We may not see each other again,' he thought, 'and I want to spend every moment I can with you.'  But he could not bring himself to say the words.

"Do not be angry," the woman said, smiling and still panting.  "I gave your horses honey with their grain and wine with their water."

Ainyáh was astonished.  "What?!  Why?"

Kréyusa laughed lightly, pulling him back toward the large central room.  "Come, you must eat.  I will explain."  They took their seats away from the rest of the royal family, as Alakshándu marveled with his oldest son at the well-timed generosity of the Míziriyan.  "I told your horses to keep you safe," Kréyusa whispered to her warrior spouse.  "I told them to stay with you in battle and carry you safely back to me this night.  And I said that if they did as I asked, I would give them honeyed grain and wine with their water every morning, as long as they live."

Ainyáh laughed, nearly spilling his porridge.  The other princes and princesses turned to look at the couple.  "Is this something that Wilúsiyan women do often?" the warrior asked, incredulous.

"Do not laugh," Kréyusa scolded quietly, but not terribly displeased for all that.  "You are my life.  When I am with you, I have everything that a woman could ask for.  When you are in my arms, I know that the goddess has given me all her blessings, a home with strong walls, a husband with a brave heart, and a healthy child on my lap.  But when you are away from me, I am so afraid that all these good things will slip through my fingers like so much sand.  I went to the altar this morning, too, and poured wine and oil to the Divine Horse.  I asked Poseidáon to run with your team today."

The earth shivered and Kréyusa's bright smile disappeared for a moment, replaced by anxiety.  She reached for her husband.  Ainyáh, too, was alarmed, and he waited in silence, clasping his wife's hands.  The shaking stopped and Kréyusa's fear dissipated.  "The god heard me," she gasped.  Ainyáh drew her toward him for a kiss, and ate his meal with a smile, confident that she was right.

aaa

Across the sea, the land of Argo celebrated the autumn sowing of the grain with little ceremony.  Klutaimnéstra sat upon Mukénai's throne in her flounced skirt of many colors and a blue bodice that left her pendulous breasts bare.  At her right side, Aígist'o stood quietly, draped from chin to toes in priestly robes of wool.  Beneath smoke-darkened frescoes in peeling paint, the wánasha spoke to a circle of aging men gathered around the great hearth of the mégaron.

"I have received a letter from my cousin in It'áka, the wánasha Penelópa," she announced, holding high a wooden tablet coated with wax.  "She supports our cause.  Her people have sailed from It'áka and landed on Mesheníya's shores, since Néstor's aging wife refused to join us.  Penelópa now commands Mesheníya's Further Province.  On the Kep'túriyan throne, queen Médeya has finally extended her power into the eastern half of the island.  She, too, sides with us.  Since I control the fortunes of both Argo and Lakedaimón, our impoverished neighbors in Arkadíya and Enwáli will not oppose us.  So, the south is united under my command, for all intents and purposes.  But I knew that you would not lightly turn against my husband, since you all took oaths of loyalty to him, before he left for the east.  I knew I had to do something to demonstrate clearly that the gods are on my side.  So I have asked a northern land to join our alliance, too, and that is Attika."

The gray-bearded men in warriors' dress stirred on the plaster benches that lined the walls of the mégaron.  "Attika has been opposed to Argo for generations," one marveled aloud.  "I never thought I would live to see the day that king Erékt'eyu would sign a treaty with Argo!"

Aígist'o raised his hands.  "Peace, Kapanéyu.  To be sure, Erékt'eyu has not agreed to drop his feud with us.  But he is old and feeble.  He cannot live much longer.  His daughter, Kt'oníya, is a widow.  She will be the Attikan monarch when her father dies."

"So," Klutaimnéstra  broke in.  "All of the neighboring kingdoms are with us.  We have nothing to fear."

"Nothing to fear from the men," the outspoken elder corrected her.  "But what do the gods portend?  We are here to listen to your plans for the future, wánasha.  All of us came because we are concerned about the continuing drought and the length of time the Assúwan war has lasted.  Argo's problems have led us to wonder whether king Agamémnon is guilty of some wrongdoing.  But, until we learn what he might have done to turn the gods against us, we will not support your plans to depose him.  Argo has prospered under his rule, my lady, as it did under his father, Atréyu, before him.  Clearly, the gods adored the wánaks in the past.  What could he have done that was so unforgivable that Díwo and Diwiyána both have become our enemies?"

Klutaimnéstra stood.  "I will tell you what Agamémnon has done.  You know that he often went hunting without offering sacrifice to Artémito first."

"That is a little thing," Kapanéyu said deprecatingly.

"It may seem so to you," Aígist'o argued, stepping forward beside the heavy-set queen.  "But when Agamémnon gathered his army in Qoyotíya, the lady Artémito and her maináds kept the wind blowing against his ships and shot their invisible arrows of pestilence into his men.  Clearly, the untamed goddess did not think the king's oversight was a little thing.  Of course, the army consulted their seer on the matter.  A generous offering to the offended deity was the only solution, an expiatory sacrifice."

"Agamémnon can no longer be Argo's wánaks," Klutaimnéstra cried, color rising in her painted cheeks.  "His crime in Qoyotíya was unspeakable.  He murdered his own daughter, the princess Ip'emédeya, killed her with his own hand!  For this he must die!"

Again, the elder warriors stirred, uttering cries of shock and of fear.  Kapanéyu stood, stroking his white beard.  "I do not wish to offend you, wánasha," he said, speaking slowly and carefully.  "But if a seer calls for a sacrifice, even of a human, the pious man obeys."

"Ai, but if a child had to die to save my sister, why did it have to be one of mine?" the angry woman responded.  "Why not one of Agamémnon's many bastards?  Think, Kapanéyu, suppose that Meneláwo had been captured in war and held by the enemy in bondage.  Would I kill my own son, Orésta, to get my sister's husband back?  The very idea is absurd!"

Calmly, Kapanéyu answered, "I have noticed that most people are willing to accept the idea of human sacrifice in an emergency.  But the idea is acceptable only so long as the victim is not one of their own kinsmen.  If the army's seer demanded your daughter, then the princess Ip'emédeya had to die.  It was unfortunate, but it was fate."

The Argive queen cried out and clasped her plump hands over her heart.  "Ai, that is what I told my daughter!  Those were my very words:  'It is fate.'  But was it really necessary?  We have all known of human sacrifice, but only when the life of a nation depends upon appeasing the gods.  Agamémnon gave our daughter's life for a profane purpose, to gain a fair wind to sail to Tróya.  Do you not see?  He did not have to go with his army and he should not have gone, if that was the price he had to pay for it.  Meneláwo could have led Ak'áiwiya as well as his brother.  No, Agamémnon sacrificed his child, not for any noble cause, but to base ambition.  Such a man cannot be allowed to sit on the throne of Argo, a man without honor, without respect for the ways of our ancestors.  As Argo is the most powerful state in Ak'áiwiya, the sins of the Argives' king will bring divine wrath down upon all the Ak'áyans, unless we act."

Now the elders were quiet, looking at each other and agreeing with solemn nods.

Klutaimnéstra lifted her hands toward the heavens.  Beside her, Aígist'o stood in the same posture of worship.  The wánasha chanted, "O Lady Diwiyána, mother of the gods, we are your loyal children, your faithful vassals.  It is your bidding we follow, your laws we respect.  We swear our oaths to you by the River Stuks, the boundary of your daughter's realm.  Agamémnon will not rule again in Argo, for he has offended you.  Nor will any king in Ak'áiwiya retain his throne if he remains loyal to this blasphemous overlord.  Agamémnon's companions are cursed, for his crime is theirs as well.  Odushéyu will not return to It'áka.  Néstor will not retake Mesheníya.  Idómeneyu is banished from Kep'túr."

The elders stood, raising their hands to their hearts, their foreheads, and the sky.  "Owlé, Mother Diwiyána!" they cried.  "Agamémnon must not rule again."

aaa

Néstor watched the advancing preparations for battle with deepening anxiety.  To his son, the old king worried that Mesheníya had lost prestige in the long conflict.  "Agamémnon's section of camp has grown, whether through bribes and threats, or through diplomacy, I cannot say.  Odushéyu has shored up his small force by building on fear and telling outrageous lies.  Mesheníya's contingent has lost many men to both.  This is not the way I meant this campaign to turn out."

"I know what you mean, Father," Antílok'o answered.  "This kind of disloyalty means nothing to Meneláwo.  If his Lakedaimóniyans fight alongside Agamémnon or Odushéyu, Meneláwo is not troubled.  All he cares about is his infernal 'Elléniyan woman.  So long as he gets her back, he is content to see Lakedaimón impoverished and weakened, even dishonored."