Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) (37 page)

"Do you really believe that I have not?" Antánor hissed, leaning forward.  "But he does not listen to me!  I am his own son-in-law and his wisest councilor.  But he treats me like a stranger.  He listens only to those misbegotten sons of his.  'It is a matter of honor,' they say.  And he believes them.  'The women themselves do not matter,' he says.  'A true man does not give up anything until he is forced to.'  By all the gods, I am a man but I am tired of seeing my kinsmen die because of Paqúr's lust for areté.  An end to it, I say!"

Agamémnon studied the man as Antánor struggled to regain his usual calm demeanor.  "No doubt," the overlord said, "you will rule in Alakshándu's place when we have done our part."

The councilor's eyes burned.  "And why not?  The old man is feeble-minded.  A change is long overdue.  I would never have brought such a war on Wilúsiya in the first place without checking for the emperor's support to begin with.  We would never have come to such ruin if I had been king instead of Alakshándu."

"Ai," Agamémnon murmured, still musing.  His eyes fell upon Odushéyu's bundle.  "What about this Qalladiyón?  Here it is in our hands but Tróya remains inaccessible.  Were you lying to my spy?"

Odushéyu started, stung by the label.  "I am a wánaks, not a spy," he protested.

Antánor was too furious to keep still.  He stood and blasted the high wánaks with his rage.  "You have the heart of a fawn!  What is wrong with you?  I have made you a valuable offer and you are quibbling over a rock from the sky!  The priestesses have been so busy with their infernal lamentations for the dead that they simply have not noticed that it is gone.  But that does not matter.  With my help you can take Tróya in any case.  Make your decision, now, before Érinu comes back.  He does not know about this and he cannot be told.  Alakshándu probably sent him with us as a spy."

Odushéyu again nodded discreetly at his overlord.  "It is a good plan."

Agamémnon snorted.  "It is too simple.  What makes the two of you think that Alakshándu will accept such a small ransom?  Érinu said that Alakshándu demanded everything, all we had taken.  Ak'illéyu got little enough for Qántili and half of that is probably missing by now , since the T'eshalíyan has been unable to defend his spoils.  The Kep'túriyans lost more men than any other kingdom, while Ak'illéyu was sulking in his hut.  I would imagine that they helped themselves to the better part of the P'ilísta's goods the moment they heard he was dead."

"If the king objects to the size of the ransom we send for Ak'illéyu, we will just bring out the Qalladiyón and smash it to pieces with our axes.  They can watch from their walls," Odushéyu suggested, before the visitor could answer.  He leaned back on his elbows with the same half-smile that Néstor had once displayed.

The high wánaks smiled too, but his was full and warm.  "Very well, but we will have to speak again to work out the details.  We must decide on your signal, which gate, and so on."

Antánor nodded.  "Certainly.  For now, let us say that a truce has been declared to give both sides time to burn the dead.  During the truce we will negotiate further for a final conclusion to this untimely conflict."

Agamémnon nodded again, just as Ainyáh and Érinu returned with the big qasiléyu.  "Aíwaks," the high wánaks said, his face quickly somber again, "see that these men are escorted safely back to the city.  Pull the wagon for them."  Astonished and angrier than ever, the big man did as his overlord commanded.

aaa

Back in the palace of Tróya, Antánor reported on the result of the embassy.  "This is a poor ransom, my lord," he said to the aging king.  "I realize that.  But the Ak'áyans are godless men and that makes negotiations unusually difficult."

Alakshándu's face reddened with fury.  "My son tells me that you did not drive a hard bargain."

The councilor was taken aback.  "Érinu was not there throughout the negotiations.  He does not know all that went on."

"He knows what he heard and he has told me of your treachery," the old monarch bellowed.

"But, but, Alakshándu," Antánor cried, his arms rising and beating at the air, as he was completely taken aback by the old man’s hostility.  "You must listen.  There is more to be said.  Surely Érinu did not tell you this.  Agamémnon wishes to negotiate a marriage to one of your daughters, to ensure a lasting peace.  It was with good reason that I took it upon myself to accept only the ransom you paid for Qántili in exchange for Ak'illéyu's body.  This was to maintain cordial relations for the purpose of those more important negotiations.  Piyaséma is young and could make herself a home in any land.  Or…or…Kashánda is well known for her piety and her duties in the service of the goddesses.  Such a wife would command a tremendous bride-price, enough to replenish your depleted storerooms.  Besides that, you would be ending an evil war and gaining a powerful ally."

"I would gain an enemy for a son-in-law!" the king cried, his voice shrill with fury.  "I ought to have you stoned!"

"By Apúluno, you have lost your senses!" Antánor gulped, raising his hands.  He backed away, looking from side to side.  "Father-in-law, you cannot mean what you say."  But Paqúr and Dapashánda started toward the bearded councilor, their daggers in hand.  "I, I thought only to save the citadel," Antánor stammered.  "I have not promised Kashánda, or even little Piyaséma.  I only negotiated a temporary truce so that we could burn our dead.  Of course, further negotiations will be required, in any case."

Alakshándu raised his hand just as Paqúr took hold of the gray-streaked beard of his brother-in-law, raising the curly hair to more easily slice the throat beneath it.  Dapashánda stood menacingly at his brother's side, his blade in his good hand.

Trembling, Antánor clasped the arm of the older prince in both of his hands.  "My lord, remember I am your kinsman," the councilor gasped.  "I wedded your oldest daughter.  I have always treated Laqíqepa well and provided her with all the finest things I could purchase.  You cannot believe that I would harm you or her in any way.  M-My own son has fought loyally for you in this very war."

The white-haired king sighed and ran his hands over his face.  When his eyes reappeared over his fingertips, they were misty.  "Antánor, you have always been loyal to me.  I know that.  I am sorry.  I do not know what came over me.  It is this war.  I have lost so much.  No loss hurt me more than Qántili's death."  He sighed again, unaware of the shame and the hurt looks in the eyes of his surviving sons.  "Owái, I am left with none but jackals to defend me!" the old man wailed.

Paqúr released Antánor with a furious shove.  The surprised councilor rushed forward to embrace the king's knees.  "I want only one thing, Father-in-law," Antánor said, his limbs still shuddering with fear, but pressing on just the same.  "Give me your word on it, I beg you.  Swear an oath for the husband of your oldest daughter."

Tearfully, the old man laid a plump hand on his councilor's thinning hair.  "I swear by my hearth that I will grant whatever you wish."

Antánor smiled shakily.  "Promise me that Qántili's son, Sqamándriyo, will be mine."

Alakshándu sat back, startled and confused.  "What?" he asked, hesitating.  "Ai, all right, why not?  You did not need an oath for that.  Certainly, you may have the little prince.  A man needs many sons.  The boy will need a father.  That is sure.  You might as well take the mother, too.  Andrómak'e needs someone to look after her now.  Qántili did always say that she was good at weaving, you know."

Antánor rose, his hands raised toward the king.  "Thank you, Alakshándu, thank you.  You are most generous.  I am sure that Andrómak'e will be an excellent concubine."

CHAPTER NINE

PURWO

Ak'illéyu's body returned to the T'eshalíyan section of camp before the sun dipped into the sea.  Only the most perfunctory rites greeted the battered, bloody corpse.  As the highest-ranking T'eshalíyan present, Automédon had his men parade past their prince's body, each warrior giving a brief salute.  That done, without tears or lamentations, they turned to matters of more interest – food and wine.

Nor was the loss of Ak'illéyu felt more deeply elsewhere in the encampment.  Many recalled to each other how many of their kinsmen had died in the unprecedented battles they had fought while the T'eshalíyan nursed his grudge against Agamémnon, early in the war.  More than one suggested that the mad prince had purposely gotten himself killed in order to follow his friend and foster brother to 'Aidé.  With less passion, others simply noted that Ak'illéyu had been more trouble than he was worth recently and that, at the very least, they were done with him.

The discussion was interrupted by a great outcry among those huts nearest the shore, shortly before twilight turned to total darkness.  A ship was coming, and it was no small islander's craft bearing supplies this time, but a many-oared vessel.  Its raised bow- and stern-posts clearly identified it as Ak'áyan.  Hearing the uproar, men from every section of the camp gathered on the shore, ready to draw the boats from the new vessel up onto the beach.

"Púrwo, our new prince, hail to you!" Aíwaks shouted when he saw a small figure among the rowers on the first ferry.  "Owlé, son of Ak'illéyu!"

A boy with a whiskerless chin clambered over the side of the small boat and splashed through the shallows into the waiting arms of the big man.  "Owlé, Uncle Aíwaks," the youth said, looking hard at the marked face.  "Grandfather finally said I was old enough to come and fight.  Where is my father?"

Aíwaks knelt before Púrwo, his pale eyes brimming with tears.  "I am sorry, my boy," the tall man said, his voice breaking.  "Ak'illéyu is dead."

Púrwo looked around at the assembled Ak'áyans on the beach, as if to find someone who would disagree.  "But, but…I wanted to see him…"

Aíwaks stood and put his arm around the young man's shoulders.  "I know you did.  And I am sure he wanted to see you.  But fate denied you both.  You will be pleased to hear that he died fighting, a true warrior.  That is the way he wanted to go, you know.  He earned areté throughout his life and gained more even in death."

The T'eshalíyans gathered around their young leader, calling him 'wánaks' and repeating the big man's words.  "He was a great man, a true warrior.  His was a glorious death."

Stunned and speechless, Púrwo let Aíwaks guide him among the huts of the encampment to Ak'illéyu's.  'Iqodámeya stood in the doorway of the rough shelter, her breasts and cheeks scratched, her eyes red from weeping.  She put a hand to her mouth when she saw the youth.  "Ak'illéyu," she whispered.

"This is 'Iqodámeya," Aíwaks told Púrwo, "Ak'illéyu's share of the booty from the islands."  Pushing the woman aside, the tall man led the boy into the hut and, with a gesture, indicated a small pile of possessions.  "Here is the rest of your father's treasure."

'Iqodámeya quickly skirted the big man, drawing a dagger from the small pile.  "No one touches Ak'illéyu's things," she warned him firmly.

Aíwaks raised his open palms.  "Ai, woman, peace!  No one is trying to steal anything.  This is Ak'illéyu's son, Púrwo.  These things are his now."

'Iqodámeya's eyes overflowed and she dropped the weapon.  "Owái, I should have known it when I saw him," she wept, going to the young man's side and timidly touching the smooth cheek.  "So like his father…"

Púrwo looked the woman up and down.  Turning to the big man beside him, he asked, "Is she mine?"

Aíwaks nodded.

The young man touched 'Iqodámeya's face with a hand as yet unmarked by bronze blades.  "Mine," he whispered, his face glowing.

aaa

That night Púrwo ate at the tent of the high wánaks, with the other lawagétas.  Agamémnon could not resist asking, "Just how old are you?"

Drawing himself up, as if to grow taller by doing so, Púrwo answered, "Fourteen.  I will be fifteen at the next harvest."

Odushéyu snickered but stifled the sound at a furious glare from Aíwaks.

"Who killed my father?" the boy wanted to know.

Those around the campfire looked at each other in silence.  "We do not know," Agamémnon finally answered, speaking around a mouthful of fish, brought by the newcomers.  "Ak'illéyu ran ahead of the rest of the troops and entered the citadel alone.  They closed the gates behind him and killed him where we could not see.  But I swear by the Stuks," he declared stoutly, rising to increase the drama of the oath, "I will find out who the killer was."

Aíwaks growled, "Yes, and swear you will see Ak'illéyu avenged as well."

Púrwo turned first toward Aíwaks and back to the overlord.  "Yes," he repeated boldly, "take an oath on that too."

Agamémnon hesitated and Odushéyu hastened to say, "Your request comes at an awkward time.  We have just sworn an oath to hold a truce.  We cannot break our word…"

Púrwo quickly answered, "Then as soon as the truce ends, we will take our revenge.  Swear it."

The high wánaks was growing angry.  "Do not order me about, boy.  I am the overlord here and let no man forget that," he snarled, "least of all a child without a beard."

Púrwo's hand flew up to his face, but he remained on his feet.  "No man allows his father's death to go unavenged, no matter how young.  Even if I were still at my mother's breast, I would pledge my life to seeking revenge, as soon as I could.  That is the only honorable way for a man to act."

Hiding his face with his hand, Odushéyu muttered to Diwoméde, "He is his father's son all right."

Diwoméde was flushed with fever and his eyes glittered.  He frowned at the It'ákan and at the young T'eshalíyan.  "Sit down, Púrwo," the Argive qasiléyu demanded.  "No one here wants to deny you revenge.  But we have to find out who killed Ak'illéyu, first.  That will take some time.  So, sit down and eat."

"Yes, son of Ak'illéyu," Odushéyu urged, with exaggerated politeness.  "Sit.  Eat.  Tell us about your father.  Some of us did not have a chance to know him very well."  He shot a sidelong glance at Agamémnon's fiery face as he spoke.

Púrwo hesitated, looking at the fully bearded faces about him.  He sat only after Aíwaks nodded to him.  "I only want to defend my areté," the young prince murmurred, still hot.  "I still say the high wánaks should swear."

A tense silence fell on the group.  But, when all eyes were on him, Agamémnon only chuckled.  "I swear you will get your revenge," he said lightly and gave a perfunctory wave toward the assembled troop leaders.  "All present are my witnesses.  Now, tell us about Ak'illéyu.  Where did he learn to fight?"

Aíwaks and the youth exchanged glances.  "I never really knew my father," said the boy.  "I was hoping you could tell me about him."

"I will tell you anything you want to know," Aíwaks told the boy.  To the others, he added, "Wánaks Péleyu lost all but his one child, to sickness or to violence.  The old man was so afraid that Ak'illéyu would die, too, and leave no offspring that he did not allow his son to go through the ceremony of the wolf.  Instead, as soon as the boy was old enough, Péleyu arranged a marriage.  He sent Ak'illéyu to the island of Skúro.  Patróklo and I went with him, to protect him from pirates on the way.  We stayed on the island, too.  Ak'illéyu fathered Púrwo there.  But the boy's mother died in childbirth and his father sailed away for the sake of glory.  It was the Skúroyans who raised Púrwo.  Ak'illéyu only saw the boy a few times."

The lawagétas spent the evening recounting Ak'illéyu's deeds for his son's benefit, striving with each other to tell the most outrageous lies.  The number of Ak'illéyu's captives increased with each man's telling, as did the women's beauty.  The size and number of the spears hefted by the T'eshalíyan grew with each successive tale, the numbers of Assúwans slain by the champion rising above a thousand.  With barely controlled amusement, each confirmed the other's story to the incredulous youth.

Only Aíwaks dared bring up the subject of the long quarrel between the high wánaks and Ak'illéyu.  "Díwo caused them to fall out over a woman," the qasiléyu sadly explained, ignoring the warning glares of the other lawagétas.  "Agamémnon insulted the god's man, K'rusé, when he came to ransom his daughter.  So the god sent us a plague, just as the lady Artémito did back at Aúli.  Qálki was our salvation.  Ai, that clear-eyed prophet, we owe him our very lives!  He discovered the cause of our suffering and Ak'illéyu defended him.  Agamémnon did not want to give up the priest's daughter, but Ak'illéyu insisted.  Then Agamémnon took Ak'illéyu's woman to replace his own."  He sighed.

The overlord was furious.  "That is enough, you empty-headed giant," he snapped.  "That is all in the past."

Aíwaks sighed again, so full of wine that he misread Agamémnon's mood.  "It grieves me to think of it now, just as it hurts you, wánaks.  But it was not your fault.  We all know that.  Only the goddess knows why Díwo plays with men, sending them rages, altering their fates."

Púrwo studied the faces of the gathered men, growing suspicious.  "If any man tried to take my woman, I would fight him to the death."

Aíwaks nodded, "Yes, my boy, and Ak'illéyu felt just the same.  He had his spear ready to take on his overlord.  Ai, that was an evil thing to do, defying a superior, although a man can understand why.  But Diwiyána must have grasped him by the hair and turned his mind.  He let his commander take the woman.  But he swore he would stay out of the war after that.  Ai, that caused the deaths of many, many Ak'áyans."  He sadly shook his head, staring into his wine cup, thinking of those who had been lost.

Idómeneyu muttered, "He had a hand in the deaths of many Ak'áyans, all right.  Their kinsmen will not be mourning at his funeral, either."

Púrwo frowned.  Unable to make out what the others said beneath their breath, he could see, at least, that his father's memory was not equally dear to all.  "But you say that he died fighting.  So, Aíwaks," he asked, "why did my father break his vow?  Why did he enter the war again when he had sworn that he would not?"