Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) (5 page)

A pale-haired man, mustachioed and bearded, stood and took the spear Agamémnon had been holding.  "But what about the Wilúsiyans?" the old man asked irritably.  "The problem with your plan is the same today as it was yesterday.  If we do not first negotiate a truce, what is to keep those godless Assúwans from attacking us, while we burn our dead?  No, Agamémnon, you are the overlord here and I do not lightly contradict you.  But I cannot agree to these orders."

Another kilted troop leader stood and took the staff from the older man.  But Agamémnon rose, glowering at them both.  "Sit down, Néstor," he said to the previous speaker.  "You, too, Idómeneyu.  I am aware that there is an element of danger in my plan.  But the dead pose a greater threat to us right now.  You surprise me, Néstor.  Has old age dulled all your senses?  This is the second day those corpses have been lying out there in the fields.  The stench of death is everywhere.  Can you not smell it?  The flies are swarming so thick the crows can hardly find a place to land!  Do you not see that?  If we do not placate the souls of these dead men with a funeral pyre, we will lose the rest of our men to plague!"

"I know that as well as you do!" the white-haired king snapped.  "But we cannot go out there unguarded.  The Wilúsiyans and their allies are madmen.  Did you not notice how they targeted our chariots and horses for destruction in the last battle?  What sane man purposely destroys such valuable items?  Listen to me, overlord though you are.  We cannot trust the Assúwans to leave us alone while we hold funerals for our men."

All eyes turned to Agamémnon, still gripping the speaker's staff.  "I never said you would go out unguarded!" the overlord shouted.  "I planned all along to divide my men and my brother's to keep watch while you work.  The Lakedaimóniyans will go with the Kep'túriyans to the hills.  My Argives will protect the northern P'ilístas on the Tróyan side of the river.  If you do not have enough Mesheníyans to work here and stand guard both, then Odushéyu can assist with his It'ákans."  Mollified, Néstor and the other leaders agreed to do as Agamémnon commanded.

CHAPTER TWO

PATROKLO

Néstor stood again, to speak to Ak'áiwiya's assembled troop leaders.  With hardly a glance at the broad-chested overlord, he took the spear to show his right to speak, uninterrupted.  "While we are here, we should consider the basic issue.  What is to be done about Tróya?  Now, I am not one to speak evil of a man behind his back.  You know that, Agamémnon.  When I bring up difficult issues in assembly, it is so that they will be dealt with in the open, not secretly or treacherously.  Do not take what I am about to say as a challenge to your status, either.  We elected you overlord for good reason.  Your leadership throughout this campaign has been exemplary, too.  Right at the beginning, the mid-sea crossing took courage.  Many wánaktes would have preferred to take the safer, southern route, skimming the Ak'áyan coast as far as Lakedaimón and then hopping from one to another of the Islands in a Circle.  But that would have taken us far longer.  As it was, we arrived here quickly, before Tróya could assemble all of her allies, most importantly, before troops could arrive under the Náshiyan emperor.

"Sacking the island dependencies of Wilúsiya, on our way, was another wise move.  It gained us experience and bronze right at the beginning, when our alliance was the weakest.  At the same time, it deprived Wilúsiya of some of her allies and cut off much of Tróya's potential food supply.  Both of those decisions involved unforeseen difficulties, though.  You were required to make personal sacrifices that most men could not or would not have made."

The troop leaders shifted uneasily in their places, glancing surreptitiously at the overlord.  As they feared, Agamémnon's face darkened.  "I do not care to be reminded of that," the big king growled, clenching his fists.

Néstor bowed his age-lightened head deferentially.  "I mean no disrespect, I assure you, Agamémnon.  But I am older than you.  Aside from your Argives, no other king's men are more numerous than mine.  So you should listen to me.  The season is late and our men are needed at home for the autumn sowing.  If we delay any longer, even so much as a single phase of the moon, the grain will not be up in time and next year there will be famine.  We should negotiate a long truce with the Wilúsiyans, not simply enough time to deal with the dead, but a more permanent agreement that will allow us to go home.  I have said this before, but the month of storms is fast approaching and no king, no matter how powerful, can delay it.  The time for sailing is now!"

Other heads nodded, but Meneláwo stood, his eyes puffy and his face wan, leaning to the wound in his side.  "It is late, Néstor, yes.  But you all swore oaths of loyalty to my brother and to me.  Break your word and the souls of the dead will attack you.  I say we send another expedition to the walls of Tróya.  Have the carpenters break up the last wagons and carts, even some of the huts, if we have to.  Build ladders, as many as you can.  Give all the men poppy-tinged wine with their morning meal, not just the wounded.  That will make us all fight like dáimons.  I believe we could storm the citadel then."

Several men wearing feathered crowns groaned.  The others, most in bronze helmets, shook their heads.  Quickly, Meneláwo added, "Where is Ak'illéyu?  I am sure he would agree with me."

Agamémnon motioned for his brother to sit.  "I sent Diwoméde to summon him.  I do not know why it is taking him so long to come.  But if the prince does not appear soon, I will have Aíwaks go and drag him here.  All right, Idómeneyu.  Have your say."

A helmeted man stood, the long hair on his shoulders streaked with gray.  He took the spear from Agamémnon, shaking his head.  "I know that you are impatient to recover your wife, Meneláwo.  And I am your friend.  Was I not the first to pledge support for your cause?  I understand how you feel about this.  But, there is a good deal more at stake here than just your wife or even Lakedaimón's honor.  All of our people are exhausted now.  None of us has ever seen a campaign such as this, with so many lives lost.  The troops need time to recover.  If we do as you suggest, we could well destroy ourselves along with Tróya.  It is too great a risk."

"We take a greater risk if we listen to Néstor," Meneláwo argued heatedly, not bothering to stand or reach for the shaft.  "I know what he wants us to do.  Negotiate a final settlement with the Wilúsiyans.  But prince Paqúr will never return my wife to me as long as Tróya is still standing.  And I will not leave these shores until I have my Ariyádna beside me."

"Yes, yes, we have heard all this before," Agamémnon said testily.  "But you did not let me finish what I was saying.  Ai, you should know me better than that by now!  I planned all along to send Odushéyu to Tróya to negotiate a temporary truce.  After the loss of prince Qántili, king Alakshándu will have to agree to that, at the very least.  Both sides have bodies to burn on the pyre.  He has a son to mourn.  And I have a champion to coax out of the hands of the maináds."  He rolled his eyes, making a sweeping gesture with his hands.

Meneláwo groaned.  "Idé, that is true enough!  Have you seen what Ak'illéyu did to Qántili's body?  The madman keeps it tied to his chariot and every time he thinks of his dead friend, he hitches up his horses and drags the corpse around the camp."

Idómeneyu nodded.  "All this time, we wanted Ak'illéyu to patch up his quarrel with the overlord and fight with us again.  Now that he has, I do not know that this is a good thing, after all.  The man shows no restraint, no respect at all for custom.  Everyone knows that kind of insane behavior angers the gods.  Ak'illéyu is bringing divine curses down on all of us!"

Agamémnon had taken his seat as the others spoke.  Now he smiled and leaned to the side, reclining lazily on one arm.  With only a perfunctory gesture toward the speaker's staff, he said, "I knew all along that hot-headed T'eshalíyan was no savior for Ak'áiwiya's cause.  I tried to tell you.  Still, while Ak'illéyu may not be much of an ally, he would be worse as an enemy.  Ai, Néstor, you and Idómeneyu fret like a couple of women!  Do not worry.  I have things well in hand.  Ak'illéyu will want a grand funeral for his foster brother.  We will give him that.  He is bound to sacrifice an unheard of number of animals for Patróklo's spirit, enough to service the souls of all our dead.  We will let the mad T'eshalíyan conduct whatever rites he chooses for his foster brother.  Then, as soon as Ak'illéyu is satisfied, we will bring along the rest of the dead, and dispose of them quickly at the same time."

"That is all very well and good," Néstor said, smarting from the overlord's insult.  "But how are you going to convince Ak'illéyu to give up Qántili's body?  Even aside from the wrath of the great gods, there is the more practical problem of the corpse itself.  It poses a danger to all of us.  Have you seen it?"  He made a face.  "Ai gar, the thing is beginning to turn black and it smells.  We all know that evil smells cause the plague and we have had more than our share of that already.  And do not forget.  Qántili was a formidable warrior in life.  His avenging spirit could inflict who knows how much damage on our men's souls!  What are you going to do about that, Agamémnon?"

"Yes, what are you going to do?" asked one of the feather-capped northern warriors.  "We Qoyotíyans are pious men and this behavior offends the wánaks of the gods, the great Díwo himself.  The power of his Evil Eye will soon be turned against us all, if we do not take strong action.  Send Aíwaks," the northern king suggested, pointing to the tallest man among them, the only one with pale eyes.  "Have your big qasiléyu beat some sense into the man."

Aíwaks considered the idea for a moment, squinting his blue eyes.  At length he stood, towering over all the other men present, and nodded.  "I am a P'ilísta myself, by birth," he told them, his voice deep and slow.  "And I hesitate to criticize a fellow northerner.  Ak'illéyu is a close personal friend of mine, too.  But I am afraid of the gods also.  We do have to do something and soon.  Still, if I attack Ak'illéyu, no matter what my reasons or who orders me to do it, he will never rest until he kills me or I kill him.  No, I say we should get Odushéyu to handle this.  He is a pirate, after all, and as clever with words as I am good with a spear.  People say he has cheated men out of their bronze on all sides of the Inner Sea.  Do not be offended, wánaks Odushéyu.  I mean this as a compliment.  Go to Ak'illéyu and distract him with talk.  Then I will just take the corpse and throw it in the river for the fishes to eat.  That ought to be enough vengeance for anyone.  Even Ak'illéyu."

The big qasiléyu glanced around the group, looking for support for his proposal.  The man's sky-colored eyes unnerved the other troop leaders and they could not meet his gaze.  Disappointed and annoyed at the subdued response, Aíwaks sat, muttering to himself, "Well, I thought it was a good idea."

Néstor was not so sure.  Once more taking a turn with the spear, he suggested, "It might be better to bribe him.  Remember, when Ak'illéyu first quarreled with our overlord, he complained that he was not getting his fair share of the spoils of war.  You promised him many fine things, Agamémnon, if he would rejoin us.  I think you owe him those gifts, now that he has killed Qántili for us."  The old, bronze-helmeted king had spoken to the group as a whole to begin with.  But now he turned to Agamémnon with a stern look.

The overlord frowned, surprised and displeased.  "Ai gar, Néstor, I do not think I have to go that far.  After all, he refused my offer, as Aíwaks and Odushéyu can attest.  No, I will return Ak'illéyu's woman to him, but that is enough.  She was the reason for our quarrel, after all.  Besides, he was evidently fond of 'Iqodámeya.  She might even be able to talk some sense into him.  That may not be enough, though," he added quickly, seeing that Néstor was preparing to stand yet again.  "So, when Odushéyu goes to Tróya to negotiate the truce for us, he should suggest that king Alakshándu should prepare a ransom for Qántili's body.  If Ak'illéyu accepts the Tróyan offer, then our problem is solved and we are no poorer because of it.  On the other hand, if Ak'illéyu is angered and refuses, he will be upset with our enemies and not with us.  In that case, we will take Aíwaks's suggestion and deal with the body ourselves."  He was smiling broadly when he finished.

Néstor's lined face was stony.  "Clever," he said bitterly.  "Very clever."

The other troop leaders brightened.  One, short and broad and covered with bushy hair, laughed out loud, slapping his thighs.  "You are learning, Agamémnon," he crowed.  "You will make a decent pirate yet!"

"You should know, Odushéyu," Néstor muttered between clenched teeth.

The men rose to leave the assembly just as Ak'illéyu entered the circle of kings and qasiléyus.  The T'eshalíyan was grim-faced and pale, his long hair tangled and oily, his kilt filthy, and he had not washed the blood from his body after the last battle.  "When do we attack Tróya next?" he asked, his voice a hoarse croak.

"Yes, when?" Meneláwo repeated, unhappy with the course the meeting had taken.  He alone had not risen but remained seated by Agamémnon's fire, a hand at the unhealed wound in his side.

Agamémnon spread his hands wide as if to show he had no control over that.  "As soon as we can coax the Wilúsiyans out from behind their walls."

Ak'illéyu's deep-set eyes fastened upon the overlord's face.  "When will that be?" the T'eshalíyan prince demanded.

Agamémnon met the smaller man's gaze with an equally unrelenting stare.  "When the men have rested and eaten their fill."  On the ground, Meneláwo grunted, nodding with evident satisfaction at the answer.