Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) (30 page)

The Kanaqániyan nodded, setting his two-handled cup on the hard-packed, earthen floor. “He is. But he had left Mízriya by the time I got there.” He paused for a moment, frowning into the rafters of the building, turning various points over in his mind. He knew that the chieftain would not be pleased to hear that his nephew had no intention of returning to ‘miserable Párpara,’ as the young man had termed it. But Ainyáh could not afford to lie, either, for there was always the possibility that Érinu had already discovered the truth through another source, and was merely asking this question as a test. Taking a deep breath, Ainyáh lowered his graying head and looked his host straight in the eye.

“Let me begin with the year that the Ak’áyans attacked the Mízriyan delta lands. Kurawátta survived that battle, just as you divined. Paqúr’s oldest son did not, however. I did not witness his death, or see his body, myself. But several T’eshalíyans told me that they had seen both. As for Kurawátta, he was among the first Ak’áyans taken captive. One of my fellow countrymen happened to be a mercenary in the service of the Mízriyan emperor, at the time. Perhaps you remember Shamuqíl? He served your own father, years ago. No? It does not matter. He recognized the boy and bought Kurawátta from a slave merchant. I do not know whether Kurawátta lives as my cousin’s servant or has been adopted as his official son. Either way, the boy went along when Shamuqíl returned to Kanaqán, two years ago. The Great King of Mízriya sent many of his troops there to retake his vassals’ cities after they had rebelled, you see. I followed their trail to the citadels of the Sharudín clan. There, in the third year after the delta battle, I found Kurawátta among my mother’s people. Also with them were Tushrátta,” he indicated the Assúwan with a slight inclination of his head, “and our brother-in-law, Antánor.”

“Antánor!” Érinu shouted, his face growing dark with rage. “That traitor! He is no kin to me, not since he betrayed Tróya to the Ak’áyans! By the head of the lord of the waters, Poseidáon, I swear that I will see him torn limb from limb, if it is the last thing I do! I disown him utterly, do you hear? And I no longer claim my sister, either, since she has insisted on remaining his wife, the witch!”

Tushrátta calmly cleared his throat, drawing the chieftain’s attention. The Lúkiyan refugee kept his dark eyes on the fermented milk sloshing in his metal cup. Quietly, he noted, “There is very little point in continuing this quest for revenge, my good man. As you said yourself, enough reminiscing. What matters is the present. It is clear that Kurawátta intends to stay in Kanaqán, fool that he is. I offered to ransom him, myself, if it proved necessary, but he refused to leave Shamuqíl’s household, although only the gods know why. So, let him risk his scrawny, little neck fighting rebellious hill tribes, if that is what he wants to do. If you are so concerned about placing another puppet on the T’eshalíyan throne, in his place, Paqúr had a third son, a still younger one, did he not? Where is Idálu and how old is he now? Seventeen? Eighteen? I would suggest that you concentrate on him, instead.”

But Érinu was not prepared to move on to that topic. He ground his teeth, glaring malevolently at the Lúkiyan. “So, Tushrátta, you sided with my enemy, did you? What did you and Antánor plot together, or did you offer your services as mercenaries to the Mízriyan emperor? I should have thought you two were a little long in the tooth for that, no?”

Tushrátta only shrugged and scratched mildly at his greasy beard. “The great Ramusís did not think we were too old to lead his horsemen and charioteers. He accepted our offer quickly enough. Once we hired on, we were sent immediately to help reestablish the Mízriyan grip on Kanaqán. The Great King apparently had no doubts about either our abilities or our loyalties. While we were there in the east, we helped the Sharudín drive the local nomads back into the hills, which is what we were hired to do. We did a decent job of it, I would say, for old men. We chased the local rebel from the cities further north, too. They went where Ramusís cannot yet extend his reach. Our years and our gray hair did not prove to be any great impediment there, either.” With a grunt, he let himself down to recline on the earth, leaning on one elbow with one knee in the air, his other leg outstretched. “So, he added lightly, after taking another sip of fermented milk, “what is our next order of business? Do you intend to reassert your control of the T’eshalíyan throne?”

“I have one more point to make, Lúkiyan, before we proceed to that subject,” Érinu snapped, still highly annoyed, but calmer than before. Folding his hands in front of himself, he observed, “I see that you did not stay with my evil-hearted brother-in-law, Antánor. Why is that? Did he stab you when your back was turned, as he is so fond of doing?”

“Obviously,” Tushrátta responded, as implacable as ever. “I am here and not there.” He gestured expansively, indicating the felt wall-hangings with their bright colors. “I prefer your hospitality to his, do I not?”

“Yes,” Párpara’s chieftain agreed, a look of distaste curling his upper lip. “You and Ainyáh are in my kingdom now, indeed, just as your womenfolk have been for so long. So now, Tushrátta, tell me this, at least. Has my other brother-in-law, here, told you of my plan to invade southern Ak’áiwiya?”

The Assúwan swished the strong drink around and around in the bottom of his cup, answering with studied calm. “He has. You have all the
P’ilístas
under you now, is that right?”

Ainyáh squirmed uneasily at the question, but the other two men ignored him. The Kanaqániyan gritted his teeth and thought of the curses he would unleash on Tushrátta’s head when they were alone. Why had the Lúkiyan introduced this topic, after Ainyáh had taken such pains to explain to him the difficult position that Érinu might put them in?

“Not yet,” Érinu admitted, “not completely. But I will, soon enough, probably before the coming festival of midwinter. My first act, next spring, will be to take Argo’s sacred island of Aígina. That will throw the fear of the gods into those arrogant southern
Zeyugelátes
. It may take more than one summer season of war to conquer the entire southern peninsula, I must admit, even if I get the whole of the north at once. I do have allies from the island of Kep’túr, as you should know. The sons of the divine Lady Ushás from the eastern towns who are not Ak’áyan in speech follow me, at least, if not men from the whole of that southern island. I do not believe that it should take me more than two years of fighting to conquer the greater part of Ak’áiwiya, with the help of you and Ainyáh. Then, after a brief mopping up campaign, I can turn back to Assúwa and retake Tróya. And then,” his voice dropped and a shadow came over his face, “and then, I will have my vengeance, at long last! In fact, Tushrátta, with your chariots, a few ships, a band of heavily armed Assúwans, and the help of the great gods, I might even conclude the campaign by the end of the year. So there it is. Are you still interested in earning glory?”

Anxious to change the subject, Ainyáh leaned toward Tushrátta to clap him on the shoulder. “No doubt, king Sharpaduwánna would have been eager to join you in a campaign such as this, if only he had lived. Now, there was a warrior, born and bred! If I had not sworn an oath of loyalty to Paqúr, I would have chosen to spend my best years fighting at Sharpaduwánna’s side.”

“No finer king ever ruled in Lúkiya,” Tushrátta readily agreed. “You should have seen him when Paqúr sent that message, asking us to help him in the Tróyan war. Sharpaduwánna jumped to his feet and gave the battle cry before his vizier even finished reading the tablets! Then he called for undiluted wine and we began the war-dance around his hearth, right there on the spot!”

As Ainyáh had hoped, Tushrátta and Érinu turned to discussing the long-deceased Lúkiyan leader, his famous friendship with the also-long-deceased Qántili, brother of Érinu, and the many links between the two deceased, royal houses of distant Assúwa. On into the day the talk continued. They spoke of the exploits of the many fallen heroes they had known and of the wealth and luxury that had been theirs so many years before. The strong drink flowed more freely. Tears followed and anger, mingled with song and the false laughter of deep and unrelenting misery.

CHAPTER NINE

DODONA

Sqamándriyo had listened, unseen, just outside the entrance to Érinu’s wooden longhouse. When the men finally tired of strong drink and of song, dozing in their seats about the central fireplace, the young man returned to Andrómak’e’s quarters. In her cabin, the queen lay still, between soft fleeces. Her round face was pale – despite Tushrátta’s earlier, insincere complement about her ruddiness. Sweat beaded on her brow. Her eyes, glazed and feverish, remained half open, her gaze fixed on nothing. “Mother,” Sqamándriyo told her excitedly, “Kurawátta is in Kanaqán! If Uncle Ainyáh speaks to you alone, get him to take me there too, right away. Then Uncle Érinu will not be able to force me to marry my sister.”

“
Owái
, my poor son,” Andrómak’e whispered, laying a trembling hand to her breast. “Érinu would never agree to let you go. I do not want you to marry Moloshíya, either. But she is not really your sister, even though the two of you grew up in the same household. I am not Moloshíya’s mother, and her father was not even a Tróyan. So in truth she is no kin to you. Be patient, my son, and make offerings to the gods. Érinu may yet decide to wed Moloshíya to your cousin, Idálu. Then, your little brother will rule in Párpara, and your cousin in T’eshalíya, and you will be free to go where you please. But there is no need for you to go as far away as Kanaqán, my child. Besides, you are still so young.”

“I am older than Kurawátta was when he sailed to Mízriya!” the youth retorted hotly. “As for your husband, Mother, I do not care what he thinks, or what plans he has. Érinu is not my father! He is only my father’s younger brother and a mere priest, not a warrior! Why should I listen to anything he says?”

The ailing queen pressed her eyelids tightly shut, trying to suppress a cry of pain. When her eyes opened again, Sqamándriyo was on his knees beside her, his eyes wide with fear. She took his hand and gripped it tight with icy fingers, her breaths coming shallow and quick. “Go, my son,” she gasped, “see if any of the women in Ainyáh’s ships know the recipe for Mother Dodóna’s nectar. I have offended the goddess and only one of her servants can save me. Go quickly.”

When twilight deepened and the stars began to appear in the sky, Sqamándriyo made his way to the rude huts that had been quickly prepared for the newcomers. As soon as the moon rose, he quietly escorted four cloaked figures to his mother’s chamber.

“Will she be all right?” the youth asked, truly frightened, as the visitors removed their woolen outer garments.

Dáuniya had carried Flóra, still sleeping soundly, in her arms. Handing the little girl to the figure behind her, she and Mélisha knelt on either side of the queen. “Andrómak’e,” Dáuniya whispered, patting the sick woman’s hand.

The queen’s swollen eyelids fluttered open for a moment, then closed again.
“Ai
, Kareshátta,” she sighed weakly. “It is you.”

A man’s voice repeated the name in astonishment, “Kareshátta!” Odushéyu threw back the cloak that shrouded his features and dropped the laurel branch that he had been carrying. The last leaves fell from it, brown and dry, onto the floor of beaten earth. “Did you hear that, Diwoméde? She called your woman Kareshátta, an Assúwan name!”

Mélisha waved him away impatiently.
“Ai
, you lout, be still! We only brought you along so that Érinu would not find you alone. Now, stay out of the way.”

Diwoméde motioned for the other man to join him in a far corner of the dark room. “Come on,” the
qasiléyu
urged, dropping his own cloak. “You too, boy. What is your name? Sqamándriyo? Let the women do their work in peace.” Andrómak’e’s son hesitated, glancing back and forth from his mother to the visitors and back to the queen. But there was nothing that he knew to do for her, himself. In the end, he followed Diwoméde.

Odushéyu tried once more to draw the former slave’s attention. “Did you not hear…?”

But Diwoméde silenced him with a growled threat. “Dáuniya is my wife and thus my concern, not yours. Another word from you, pirate, and I will turn you over to Érinu’s men for execution, personally!”

“What is wrong?” Dáuniya asked the queen, ignoring everyone but the ailing woman. “Sqamándriyo mentioned the nectar of the goddess. Do you want me to prepare some for you?”

Andrómak’e shook her head slightly, the hair clinging to her damp face in clumps from the fever. “No,” she whispered. “I have already had some, too much… the mint…”

“
Ai
, you have taken too much pennyroyal,” Dáuniya decided, as the realization struck her. “But why? Only a small amount is needed to flavor the drink of the goddess. It takes just a bit more to prevent pregnancy. You might have done yourself serious harm.”

The queen sighed deeply.
“Owái
, Kareshátta, I took an overdose purposely. Perhaps you did not know this, but Érinu has a mad plan to conquer all of Ak’áiwiya. He is not reasonable when he talks of it, and these days it is all that he cares to talk about.
Ai
, I have lost one husband already to this ravenous beast they call
areté
! Both of my sons are determined to follow that same cruel goddess, too.” She began to cry, turning her head restlessly from side to side. “I thought that if I swallowed enough pennyroyal to make myself ill, Érinu might change his mind about the campaign. I know I was foolish. But I was desperate.” Tears slid from the corners of her dark-rimmed eyes to her ears.
“Owái
, it is the same as it was with my dear, sweet Qántili, so many years ago. Érinu will choose
areté
, even though it will mean my life.”