Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) (3 page)

The young prince with the wounded arm stood shakily.  "The man who shot that arrow was a hero!" he insisted.  "The gods will favor us because of his courage!  If it were not for him, we would now be paying tribute to Agamémnon, you old goat!”

"Sit down, Dapashánda," Antánor demanded impatiently.  "You are not a councilor or a troop commander.  You have no right to speak in this assembly."  The young man looked to Alakshándu, but the king gave no sign of displeasure at Antánor's command.  Dapashánda obediently sat, without saying another word, although he frowned and bit his lip in distaste. 

Turning again to the room at large, the graying speaker went on, raising his voice above the rising tumult.  "The raid on Lakedaimón last year was a bad idea to begin with," Antánor announced boldly.  "Remember, I warned against it from the start and always urged negotiating a peaceful settlement of the issue.  Instead, we only made matters worse, letting the situation escalate into a war.  Now, we have lost who knows how many fine warriors, including our great prince Qántili, the former commander of Wilúsiya's army!  This was a terrible blow, as everyone knows.  I tell you, we must end this strife while our towers are still standing.  Think of what is best for Tróya as a city, and for the countryside of Wilúsiya that she rules, regardless of what a few hot-blooded warriors lust after.  I say, bring out the 'Elléniyan queen and her treasure now, while we still can, and give them back to the Ak'áyans immediately!"  He sat, leaning his gilded staff on his shoulder and staring straight ahead, avoiding the hostile eyes that surrounded him.

A dark-haired man, bronzed by the sun, leaped to his feet.  Snatching the staff from the first speaker, he announced angrily, "I do not like your proposal now any better than I liked it before.  You may be my brother-in-law, Antánor, but you are still a coward!  No man could possibly take your suggestion seriously.  We have bigger and better-trained horses than these barbarians and braver men.  Nothing has changed that.  We fought Agamémnon and his Ak'áyan dogs to a standstill in the first battle.  He is no great king and his is no invincible army.  Even in the second battle with him, we did not retreat to our walls until the night forced us to do so.  Ai, if the daylight had only lasted a little longer, we would have burned the Ak'áyan camp!  And we will do it yet.  Yes, my brother Qántili is dead.  No man mourns him any more than I do.  But he was not the only troop commander in Wilúsiya.  And if we lost many men, so did the Ak'áyans.  Yes, some of our allies have abandoned us.  But we are far from beaten.  In fact, I expect to avenge my brother and drive these pirates from our shores tomorrow.  This is no time for talk of surrender."

Approving rumbles came from the assembly.  "You tell him, Paqúr," Dapashánda urged.  Bearded men in high, conical hats stood to show their support, in addition.  "Paqúr is right!" they shouted.  "The warriors of Kuwalíya and Lúkiya follow Paqúr."

The tall prince paced back and forth before his father's throne, unable to stand still in his fury, waving the great shaft as he spoke.  "I will never give up my 'Elléniya.  Never!  The woman is as much mine as her treasures.  I took them by force of arms and only force of arms will take them from me.  How many times must I say this before you believe it?"  He threw down the staff and sat, breathing hard, fuming at his weak kinsman's words.

Others rose to speak, glancing with favor at Antánor or Paqúr.  But the king himself took the staff.  The chamber grew quiet as the old man stood in silence for a long moment, bleary-eyed, stooped with age and grief.  "Listen to me, Wilúsiyans and Lúkiyans.  No warrior likes to give up prizes won in hard fighting.  I understand that.  I remember what it was like to be young, to have the battle in your blood.  Some of you may find this hard to believe, but I was young once myself.  I hear you, Paqúr, my son, and I understand you."  He sighed heavily and ran a plump, arthritis-twisted hand over his watery eyes.  "But I am the lord of a city of well over a thousand souls that do not wish to be parted from their bodies.  My herdsmen and farmers depend on me, just as my soldiers and charioteers do.  Our cattle and horses are strong and fat, it is true.  But we have run out of grain to feed them.  The trees are changing color now.  The season of war is over.  Crops must be planted, herds let out to graze.  This siege cannot continue or we will all starve."

"Lord Alakshándu," Antánor began, "that has been my point all along…."  But the grieving monarch shook his head.  He had not finished speaking.  Silence reigned, as the assembly awaited the king's words.

"You will all recall that I sent my son Lupákki to my island vassals," Alakshándu went on, his voice thin and weak.  "He has now returned and reported to me in full.  It seems that the Ak'áyans sacked nearly every fortress and walled town on Lámno and Lázpa.  The priest-kings of these islands have been loyal vassals of Wilúsiya all their lives.  But they cannot provide us either additional warriors or sufficient food to feed us this winter.  My youngest son, Pitqána, may yet come with a few more T'rákiyan troops to replace those that abandoned us earlier.  But we cannot expect much more assistance from the northern barbarians, now that the Ak'áyans have killed their chieftain.  Our best hope remains our overlord.  We are still a vital part of the Náshiyan empire, just as we always were.  There can be no doubt that the emperor Qáttushli will send us reinforcements, eventually.  But my son Érinu still has not returned with any Náshiyan troops.  Considering the lateness of the season, it is unlikely that we will see him before the end of the year, next spring.  Can we hold out that long?  I think not."

Gasps echoed in the quiet chamber.  Paqúr stood again, still more furious than before.  "My father's mind is clouded with grief over the death of Qántili.  But my thoughts are as clear as ever.  Listen.  These are Ak'áyans we are fighting, a people no more civilized than T'rákiyans!  But we are part of a powerful empire.  They are only a loose confederation at the best of times.  Our spy has already told us that Agamémnon's alliance is breaking apart.  I predicted that.  I told you that he could not hold Ak'áiwiya together.  We did poorly in the last battle, I will admit.  And the loss of Qántili was a truly painful blow.  But my father should not forget that he has many sons.  Wilúsiya must remember,too, that it has many allies, not just the emperor."

"And I am foremost among them," announced another man, who had until then remained silent.  His dark eyes flashed over a beaked nose and he touched a round amulet hanging at his neck as he spoke.  "You never cared much for my counsel, Paqúr.  But I am as much Alakshándu's son-in-law as Antánor is.  My wife Kréyusa is as much a princess as Antánor's wife.  It is my right to speak in the assembly, if only for that reason.  I am also a mercenary, a professional soldier and commander of Wilúsiya's allies.  That gives me even more of a right and a reason to speak.  And I tell you, Paqúr, this country is in serious trouble.  We have lost most of our allies already, and it is too late for reinforcements to arrive this year.  Whatever the reason, fortune was clearly against us in the last battle.  We were driven back to these walls and we lost our best commander.  Qántili was not felled by one of Agamémnon's Argives, either, nor by a Lakedaimóniyan craving revenge for his stolen queen.  No, Paqúr.  The man who killed your brother was Ak'illéyu.  Do you remember that name?"

"He is the one who caught my brother Lupákki and enslaved him!" Dapashánda exclaimed.  "The dog!"

"Let Ainyáh speak," Antánor rebuked the younger prince.

Ainyáh continued, again touching the amulet at his neck.  "Yes, it was this same Ak'illéyu who led the attacks on our island vassals this summer.  This same Ak'illéyu took prince Lupákki in battle earlier and sold him into slavery.  The prince was lucky enough to make his way home again.  But Wilúsiya has suffered still worse at the hands of that very Ak'illéyu.  When our spy reported that the Ak'áyan alliance falling apart, before, he was speaking of this same Ak'illéyu.  Yes, that was the troop leader who quarreled with Agamémnon.  But now this same man has evidently made peace with his Ak'áyan overlord, because it was he who killed our prince Qántili.  The death of our commander and prince is proof that the Ak'áyan alliance is holding, after all.  I tried to warn you about this, Paqúr.  Remember, I told you that my native land of Kanaqán is also divided into many kingdoms, just as Ak'áiwiya is.  But an attack from outside inevitably makes every Kanaqániyan pull together with his brothers.  That is exactly what has happened with the Ak'áyans in this case.  I have fought beside you for many years, Paqúr.  But now I am forced to side with Antánor.  We must give back the queen of Lakedaimón and 'Elléniya.  We have no choice if we want to survive."

"Never!" Paqúr cried, leaping to his feet.  "I will lead Wilúsiya's army in Qántili's place.  I am older than he was and more experienced in war, anyway.  And I can take command of the mercenaries, too, if you do not have the stomach for it any longer, Ainyáh.  You are not Wilúsiya's only ally, in any case.  Lord Sharpaduwánna, is Lúkiya with me?"

A man in a conical, felt hat stood, one leg wrapped in linen and braced with a narrow, wooden board beneath his long, blue tunic.  "We are with you, Paqúr!" he announced fiercely.

Ainyáh's face twisted with distaste.  "I will continue to fight as long as lord Alakshándu commands it.  But there is still another factor to consider, before our king makes his final decision.  Our spy's body was found on the beach yesterday.  And he was stripped naked.  Obviously, he was killed by some Ak'áyan.  We now have no inside information on Agamémnon's plans.  What is worse, our man was carrying a written message when he died.  We must assume that the message, too, is now in our enemy's hands."

Paqúr laughed derisively.  "Ai, what if it is?  Among Ak'áyans, only women know how to read.  But the only women in their camp are captives from Assúwa.  They cannot read."  He glanced round the room, gratified to see many heads nodding.

Ainyáh put his hands on his hips and stared hard at the floor, speaking between gritted teeth.  "You are not thinking this through, Paqúr.  We have heard nothing from your brother Érinu.  That does not mean he has sent us no message.  If the Ak'áyans could kill a spy, they could kill a messenger as well, could they not?  And whether they can read or not, if they have our messages and we do not…."

"Enough of this nonsense!" Paqúr shouted impatiently, throwing up his hands.  "We will negotiate for a truce but nothing more.  When we have dealt with our dead, we will make war once again, the only fit occupation for men of honor!"

Ainyáh and Antánor would have argued further.  But Alakshándu stood and silenced them all with a bleak look of despair.  "I leave the conduct of the war in your hands, Paqúr," the king said quietly.  "But now the most important issue is what must be done for the dead.  Ak'illéyu has desecrated Qántili's body.  That Ak'áyan barbarian has taken my son to the Ak'áyan encampment.  Prepare a ransom for your brother, Paqúr.  Before anything else, we must do what we can for him."

aaa

All around the crowded city, women and children rejoiced in the company of their kinsmen who had returned alive from the battlefield.  Over meager meals of barley gruel and greatly diluted wine, they celebrated the survival of their loved ones, pouring libations of thanksgiving to the goddess Dáwan and to Poseidáon, the Divine Horse and great god of the sea.  Other women, whose husbands, brothers, or sons had not appeared again within the walls, tore their cheeks and rubbed ashes on their heads, and in a wailing procession made their way to the great tower guarding the southern gate.  Inside the tower, they wept and sang lamentations before twin pillars that rested on bases of stone.  Their long hair disheveled, their ankle-length robes dirty and torn, they raised their hands to their hearts, their foreheads, and to the sky, calling on the gods and goddesses of the east.  They placed small offerings before the twin symbols of divinity, spilling drops of honeyed wine, tossing down crumbs of flat bread, and setting crude figurines of molded clay on the limestone paving.  High-born and low- made the same prayer.  "Mother Dáwan, source of all, at least let me see his body burned on the pyre, his soul safely on its way to the land of the dead."