Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) (21 page)

Paqúr glared at Tushrátta in angry astonishment.  "What do you want from me?  Can I bring a dead man back to life?  Avenge yourself on Ak'illéyu, not on me!"

The Lúkiyan answered, "If you had true fighting spirit you would not have let the Ak'áyans take possession of my king's body.  But you did not dare face that madman.  By Tarqún, he is a better warrior than you are, you coward!"

The Tróyan prince was furious.  "I am not afraid of any Ak'áyan!  Show me where the T'eshalíyan is and I will give you his head!"  Together, they headed toward the citadel, barely visible across the fields.

As they awaited the moon's light, men sought the quiet of outlying areas to rest.  A little fighting continued here and there, and the torches and watch fires threw only the feeblest rays over the field.  T'érsite came upon St'énelo crouching behind the remains of an abandoned chariot, its right wheel cracked, the axle shattered, and its left wheel long since carried away.  A sudden flight of arrows, more heard than seen, drove T'érsite to take cover beside his friend.  "How long have you been here?"

St'énelo grunted.  "A while.  Did you see Diwoméde this time?  Did you see how he fights?"

T'érsite shook his head.  "Did he do well, do you know?"

A dry laugh shook St'énelo's narrow shoulders.  "Do well?  You remember when Meneláwo told me to take the boy in my chariot in that first battle?  Ai gar, I was afraid the boy would panic as soon as the fighting really got going.  I thought I was dead for sure.  After all, everyone said he turned and ran in the battle the previous year.  So I insulted him a bit – you know how it is – to rouse his anger and get him to fight.  Ai, you should have seen him, T'érsite!  That boy is a madman when he gets going.  I have never seen such a battle frenzy!  Even Aíwaks never faced an enemy with nothing but rocks for weapons."  He sighed.  "He is still out there, even now.  Here he is, wounded, doomed to be crippled if he does not die.  Even so, he fights as if he were the legendary 'Erakléwe, son of the gods.  I tell you, there were moments this afternoon when I thought he would even do battle with maináds and dáimons if any came near him."

T'érsite peeked up over the rim of the chariot's basket only to be met by another volley of arrows.  He crouched down again, grasping his spear.  "Now that is something I would like to see.  Maybe I should stop telling jokes about the boy's parentage.  Where is Diwoméde now?"

"Still out there fighting, I suppose," St'énelo answered.  "The Lúkiyans had Aíwaks on the run, the last time I saw him.  Diwoméde passed me a little while ago, heading after them.  I could not keep up.  Owái," he sighed, "I wish Qálki would see an omen for peace.  He never did find a sign that said we should do battle.  Can he do nothing besides divine the identity of bones and ashes?"

T'érsite chuckled.  "Maybe Agamémnon should have another dream, this one about eating by the hearths of our own homes.  He seems to think we can all live on bronze when we get back to Ak'áiwiya.  Idé, a man needs something a little easier to chew!"

"If we get back to Ak'áiwiya, you mean," St'énelo growsed.  "I killed a man with blue eyes in the last battle, a T'rákiyan I think.  He looked right at me when I ran him through with my spear."  He shivered in the hot air and made the sign of the Evil Eye, his middle and ring fingers pressed to his palm, his thumb, index finger and small finger pointed away from his body.  "Pale eyes are a bad sign."

T'érsite grunted.  "Díwo must have been holding back the sun's chariot.  This day is twice as long as any that I remember."

"No, look," St'énelo argued, more animated than before.  "Here comes the moon.  Do you see it there?  There, I tell you, that sliver of white on the horizon.  We can sit here in safety a bit longer.  The battle will be over in a moment."

T'érsite snorted.  "You are assuming that someone is in charge out here, and that we have a king with a bit of sense.  Agamémnon might call for an end to the fighting.  But who knows whether Ak'illéyu will stop.  And if he keeps fighting, the other P'ilístas will not quit, either.  For that matter, we do not know whether the Lúkiyans care enough about custom to put away their spears."

"Ai," his companion exclaimed quietly.  "Look, out there in the harbor."  In the distance, barely visible against the pale, rising moon, they could see more ships, letting down their sails.  These longboats were larger than the small crafts that had earlier brought provisions from the nearby islands.  Longer and broader, they lacked the high posts at the bow and stern that characterized the Ak'áyan ships sitting at anchor in the deep water.  The newcomers' vessels had many oars, perhaps as many as fifty.  "Reinforcements," St'énelo breathed.

"Yes, but for which side?" T'érsite asked.  "Are they allies of Agamémnon or of Alakshándu?"

CHAPTER FIVE

QALKI

Qálki had maintained his perch on top of the earthen rampart, beside the gate.  The battle raged on, despite his prophecies, moving ever further from where the prophet sat.  Captive women and noncombatants joined the seer on the wall to watch the unfolding action, shaking their heads when the sun set and still the Ak'áyan warriors did not return to camp.  Spying the black ships sailing into Tróya's harbor, Qálki began to shout again.  "Look, Ak'áyans, your doom is coming from the sea!  Poseidáon has heard the pleas of his children.  Here come men from the great empire of Mízriya, semi-divine warriors who rule the southern half of the world.  They come from the birthplace of the sun on the earth's rim.  These ships set sail from the river Okéyano that circles the plate of this world.  Can you see their skins, burned black from being so close to the heavenly chariot?  They are the purest of men, their mortal parts burned away by the holy heat.  With the strength of dáimons they will take up arms against the sons of Diwiyána.  Assúwa is saved!  Ak'áiwiya is lost!"

All the surviving warriors south of the Sqámandro River had lowered their weapons by the time the bony seer finished his speech.  Speaking to each other in low voices, they broke into two parties, the larger group heading back to the encampment, the rest moving north toward the city.  Across the river with the second group went the word that reinforcements had come for the besieged citadel.

All those Ak'áyans north of the river, except for Ak'illéyu's T'eshalíyans and a few Lakedaimóniyans around Meneláwo, began to fall back on the muddy riverbank.  Most of the remaining Wilúsiyans and Lúkiyans abandoned the field as well.  Only a few of their officers rallied with prince Paqúr, still thrusting their blood-darkened spears against the Ak'áyan shields.

Odushéyu and Idómeneyu sought out their overlord.  "Call off the combat," the Kep'túriyan leader urged.  "It is too dark to tell for sure, but what the men are saying about reinforcements for our enemies could be true.  Those ships are Kanaqániyan."

Odushéyu agreed, adding, "The Mízriyans never cross the Great Green Sea in their own longboats.  They always buy ships from Kanaqán for travel beyond their single river."

To the surprise of the island kings, Agamémnon was delighted.  "From Kanaqán, are they?  Before I left Mukénai, I sent a message to the island of Alásiya," he told them.  "I promised a large share of Wilúsiyan bronze to any professional soldier, from that island or from the mainland of Kanaqán, who would come to Assúwa and fight for my cause.  These ships mean reinforcements for us, I tell you, and certain doom for Alakshándu's city.  I would not be surprised if Qálki were the one who started this rumor.  The men should know by now not to listen to that skinny charlatan."

However, to the chagrin of the Argive wánaks, the men who rowed to shore did not approach the earth-walled camp.  Instead, they marched toward the earthquake-battered citadel, lighted torches in their hands.  "By the grim dog of 'Aidé!" Agamémnon cursed, throwing down his bronze-rimmed shield in disgust.  "I was sure I would have Tróya before another day dawned."  He raised his spear over his head, mid-haft, and called out for the men to end the day's battle.  Further from the river, Ainyáh was doing the same, but with a lighter heart.

Stroking his bushy beard in thought, Odushéyu suggested, "We could still take the fortress by cunning, if you are so inclined, Agamémnon.  We could do it tonight, too.  Choose your best warriors, only those who are not wounded.  Have the men strip themselves and carry only a sword and shield, so that they will be able to travel quietly.  We can follow the Assúwans back to the city without them knowing.  The darkness will hide us from their sight and the sound of their own talk and footsteps will cover what little noise we make."

"Only a few of us would likely make it through the gates," Idómeneyu argued, shaking his gray-streaked head.  "The Wilúsiyans would discover us too soon and close the big doors.  Those Ak'áyans trapped inside would be quickly slaughtered and those of us still outside would be driven off by the watchmen's arrows."

The It'ákan was not discouraged by such talk.  "Ai, it would not be as hopeless as that, Idómeneyu.  I would be willing to bet that the earthquake shook down a fair amount of brick from the top of the walls and towers.  There might even be enough for us to stack together and build a kind of ramp on the outside.  At least some of the men could climb the walls that way, I believe.  As for those inside, we just have to choose the right men.  Suppose we have Ak'illéyu lead that group.  He is a wild man!  We were complaining about that earlier today.  Now let us put him to good use.  Even if the Tróyans do kill him, he could easily take down ten of our enemies first.  And do not forget Diwoméde.  That boy has turned out to be another of those frenzied warriors our grandfathers spoke of.  He could go with the T'eshalíyan.  We might as well take advantage of his strength now.   He is sure to die of that wound in his foot before long."

Agamémnon considered the idea.  "Those of us storming the walls would probably face more than arrows, though," he frowned.

"Yes," Idómeneyu responded quickly.  "We would be showered with stones and hot oil, too.  And there is no glory in dying slowly from burns.  It takes a large force to storm a walled city, many more warriors than we have left."  Disappointed and frustrated, they turned toward the south in the pale moonlight.

Ak'illéyu's men were among the last Ak'áyans to return to camp.  They came on slow feet, complaining of the faithlessness of the gods.  "The sun's chariot left the battlefield too soon," Automédon loudly told his wánaks.  "We could have driven the Assúwans all the way back to the citadel, if the daylight had not failed us.  Ai, Díwo betrayed our trust."

T'érsite, passing by with Diwoméde leaning heavily on his arm, rolled his eyes at the comment.  Beneath his breath the foot soldier grumbled, "If those blood-thirsty T'eshalíyans had been fighting with us all this time, instead of sulking in their huts, the war would have been over by now."

Groaning at each painful step, Diwoméde said, "Do not pay any attention to what Automédon says.  Qasiléyus have to talk that way when their wánaktes are overly eager for combat.  He just does not want Ak'illéyu to accuse him of being soft."

The lesser ranked foot soldier looked at Diwoméde in surprise.  "I suppose you are right," T'érsite said.  He stopped and bent low.  "Here, climb on my back.  I will carry you the rest of the way."  The younger man gratefully wrapped his arms around T'érsite's neck and the foot soldier lifted the qasiléyu's legs.  "You need a chariot," T'érsite puffed.

"I need the poppy," the young man moaned, drawing his aching sword arm close to his side.

aaa

When the earth finished quaking, Alakshándu stood with difficulty, beside the bed in his chamber.  He crept toward the doorway and to the courtyard beyond.  From the top of its low wall, high on Tróya's hill, he could see the tumult within his citadel's walls and on part of the plain outside.  "What is this?  What has happened?" he asked, although no one was near enough to answer.  "A battle?  Without my consent?  Ai, what has Wilúsiya come to?"

"Tróya is falling!" queen Eqépa shrieked, running from the palace to fall on her knees behind her husband.  She raised imploring hands to the sky, calling, "Father Poseidáon, have mercy!  Pity us, Mother Dáwan!"

The king watched in silent shock and disbelief as the wooden roofs of Tróya's fine houses blazed.  The small huts of the potters and shepherds, crammed together in the city's wide streets, were quickly consumed.  Embers tossed by the ever-blowing winds fell upon the trapped populace.  Screaming women with babies in their arms ran in every direction, dragging older children by the hand.  They could not leave the battered city for fear of the Ak'áyans.  But they dared not sit quietly in their homes while Tróya fell in on them.  So they rushed through the narrow pathways and wailed and died under falling bricks and timbers.

"The gods have sacked Tróya, without even opening her gates," the white-haired king gasped, turning from one dreadful view to another.

Outside the walls, the old man could just make out the forms of the Assúwan warriors beginning to return from the banks of the Sqámandro River.  "Did I only dream of a truce?" he asked of no one in particular.  "How has the war begun again without my knowledge?"

At his feet, the queen wept, "Apúluno, lord of the gates, I beg of you, shoot the Ak'áyans with your arrows of plague or they will break open your people's city.  Save us, Apúluno!  I curse all Ak'áiwiya in your name.  Let them die, all of them, here and across the sea, as well as their little children and all their cattle.  Slaughter them all, I beg of you."

Alakshándu scanned the landscape, gripping the robes at his chest.  A heavy, unseen hand had him in its clutches.  It was a struggle for him to breathe.  A crushing pain spread to his chin and he swayed on the courtyard wall.  As his wife caught his hand to help him down, the king spied torches coming toward Tróya from the western shore of the Inner Sea.  He stared without comprehension at first, ignoring Eqépa's calls for him to step down from the battlements.  Then a cry rose from the shaken watchmen on the towers.  Reinforcements!  This, at least, was something concrete, something Alakshándu knew how to deal with.

"Open the gates!" the aging king shouted to the men milling below the palace walls.  "Keep them open until the last of our troops come through, but watch carefully and bolt the gates behind them.  Do not let any Ak'áyans through or we will have a massacre."  He sat heavily on the courtyard's cool paving stones, the breath whistling with the effort it took him to fill his lungs.

As the men moved to do his bidding, the king added in a whisper, "And post guards.  The Ak'áyans may try to climb the walls."  The tumbled piles of bricks were hidden from the king's view in the gloom, but he knew they would be there.

Eqépa was galvanized into action.  She called for servants and for guardsmen, repeating her husband's orders and adding her own.  "Carry rocks to the towers, to throw down on the Ak'áyans," she commanded, regaining her composure.  "Assemble the women and old men, if you have to.  Man every section of wall.  Heat oil and water and prepare to pour them on the attackers.  Everyone will have to fight tonight, even the children!  Tróya must not fall!"

The surviving inhabitants of the fortress, old and young, men and women, rushed about beneath the shaken walls to do as their rulers ordered.  A frantic knot of older girls and women gathered about the deep well that had been dug, long ago, inside the tower that guarded the main gate.  In their hurry, they knocked each other down, spilling water from the tall jars they carried on their heads.  Old men struck out in frustration with bricks in their arms, bruising the children at their feet.  Tears flowed and screams rose from every street and building.  But the people continued with their tasks, with the strength of desperation.

Tushrátta was the first to return to the city from the battlefield.  Angrily, he announced to anyone who cared to listen, "I am taking my Lúkiyans home at dawn.  Fight on, if you have the hearts to do so.  Or surrender yourselves to the Ak'áyans.  We do not care.  You sheep abandoned our noble king today!  Tomorrow we abandon yours to his fate.  May Tarqún make it an evil one!"  With his felt-capped warriors, he withdrew to the open marketplace where he and his men found their tents burned to cinders, along with the surrounding houses of the common folk.