People of the Inner Sea (The Age of Bronze) (28 page)

"What more did Agamémnon allot you from Tróya?" Ainyáh asked quietly, his voice harsh and bitter.

Idómeneyu glared at the Tróyan commander in amazement.  "That was different.  Tróya had amassed a great army with many allies.  The siege took too long, and the city spent its riches feeding that crowd of spearmen.  That is why we gained so little in the end.  But now, most of the Assúwan warriors are gone, serving in Ashúr.  It will be easy to sack the undefended cities.  We will have no long sieges this time, no impoverished monarchs holding out for the sake of their family honor."

Chuckling, Odushéyu put a burly arm over Idómeneyu's shoulders.  "But, you see, Ainyáh agrees with me.  Leave Assúwa to the Lúkiyan pirates.  We should go north."

"No, Odushéyu, I do not agree with you," Ainyáh argued, standing.  "The north is an evil place, especially beyond Dáwan's straits.  You would not know this, despite your prowess as a mariner," he added, when the It'ákan opened his mouth to object.  "Tróya earned great wealth by controlling the northern tin route, it is true.  But the city has paid a terrible price for its riches, over the years.  Once every generation, a Tróyan royal child must die to appease the blood-thirsty northerners, the Mar-Yandún tribesmen.  These people are unlike any other tribe on earth.  They are completely uncivilized.  They worship the bull and eat the horse."

"You should know better than to tell sailor's lies to a sailor," Odushéyu guffawed.  "I never heard of any such people."

"I have," Tushrátta said lazily, popping a dried fig in his mouth.  All eyes turned on him.  It took awhile for him to notice, as he picked through a basket of dates, imported from the distant south.  "Do not look at me," he told them, when the silence drew his attention.  "I do not care which direction we sail, so long as there is plunder at the end of the journey."

Ainyáh's face remained grim as he rapped the floor with the speaker's staff.  He continued his speech, his eyes fixed, unblinking, on Idómeneyu's uncertain visage.  "The northern waters are called the Hostile Sea by my people, and not without reason.  These Mar-Yandún tribesmen are cannibals.  They sacrifice strangers at their festivals, to please their evil gods.  When the victim is freshly dead and still warm, they divide his flesh among men and women alike and eat it raw.  Even if you survived the sacrificial knife, you would not gain much there.  The Mar-Yandúns have heads like dogs, with long noses and sharp teeth.  Their hair is as pale as their eyes, whiter even than that of the T'rákiyans.  If you attacked such people, the Evil Eye would blight every man's soul."

Idómeneyu looked at Odushéyu in alarm.  "I have sailed as many places as you, Odushéyu, but I have never been through the straits of Dáwan.  I have not seen what kind of people live there.  But I have heard tales of dog-headed men and bull-worshippers and people who drink mare's milk."

Odushéyu snorted.  "By the gods, I thought you had more sense than that, Idómeneyu.  I have heard of dog-headed men myself.  They are usually said to live in T'ráki, on the easternmost peninsula.  The usual ridiculous story is that the goddess Dodóna lost her child there and became a dog in her grief.  She turned all the people's heads into those of dogs, too, just for good measure.  But I have been all over T'ráki.  I have never seen a single man, woman, or child with the head of a dog.  And no one could possibly be paler than a T'rákiyan.  Ai gar, some of these northerners have white hair even as children.  What is paler than white?"

"But I have been to the Mar-Yandún land," Ainyáh insisted.  "And you have not.  I have seen the things I speak of."

"That is good enough for me," Mirurí was quick to interject.  "The north is not to my liking, not at all.  White hair and pale eyes trouble my very soul!"

Idómeneyu shuddered.  "I agree.  I had enough of the T'rákiyans last winter.  Owái, Lukúrgu had a gray-haired child, just as you describe.  That dáimon boy looked at me with those evil, white eyes the morning before he died.  It was Díwo's own Evil Eye looking at me, burning for revenge.  I am sure that is why I had such bad luck when I returned to Kep'túr."

"Your fortune was not bad because of a T'rákiyan child," Odushéyu argued impatiently.  "No, a woman is to blame for that."

"Yes, and her name is Kashánda," Idómeneyu moaned, clapping his hands to his head.  "Owái, Dukoméde told us of the curse of a Tróyan priestess.  It was Kashánda, I am sure.  We should have listened and stayed on Skúro this summer."

Ainyáh was surprised at the name.  "Kashánda!" he cried.  "What could the priestess have done to you?  She sailed from Tróya as Agamémnon's captive."

The Kep'túriyan exile groaned again, more loudly, shaking his head.  "Captive she was and Agamémnon's concubine, too.  But in T'ráki, where we wintered, she took a terrible vengeance on Lukúrgu.  He had killed her youngest brother during the war."

"I do not believe you," Ainyáh scoffed.  "I knew Kashánda.  She was my sister-in-law.  The woman was quiet and even tempered except when she raving during her prophecies.  I never even saw her strike a slave."

"She was not even tempered in T'ráki," Idómeneyu insisted.  "Kashánda killed Lukúrgu's son before the eyes of his father and put out the king's eyes, so that his last vision was the death of the boy.  Owái, it makes the hair on my neck stand up just to think about it.  That is what caused this drought."

"I still cannot believe that," argued the mercenary from Tróya, growing angry.  "I have known men to commit atrocities for the sake of revenge, especially Ak'áyans.  But I have never seen a woman do such a thing and certainly not an Assúwan woman."

Odushéyu and Idómeneyu exchanged glances.  "You would be surprised at what a woman will do," the It'ákan sighed.

CHAPTER NINE

ALASIYA

"Nevertheless," Ainyáh persisted, his voice sharp, "I am against a northern war.  If you decide to sail through Dáwan's straits, you will have more trials to face than just the Mar-Yandúns.  The waters themselves are guarded by the blood thirsty, northern goddesses.  Surely you have heard of those rocks inhabited by evil spirits.  No?  Then let me describe them to you.  I saw them as a boy, when I sailed with my father into the Hostile Sea.

"We were bearing the king's brother, Ganuméde, to the sacrifice, although he did not know it.  We set out at dawn from the harbor of Tróya.  By noontime, we had entered the waters of the Mármara, the small and shallow sea that T'rákiyans and Ak'áyans know very well, that lies just beyond the straits.  But, at the end of that deceptively easy journey, we came upon the gates of the dáimons that every ship must pass before touching the much larger Hostile Sea.  There, at the end of the small Mármara Sea, we saw two great cliffs towering on either side of the passageway.  The water narrows in that place, until the weakest archer could shoot an arrow from one side of the water to the other.

"The one cliff rises, straight and sheer, to a high peak that is always covered by dark clouds.  Hidden from sight in those clouds, high above the bowshot of even the best archer, there is a cave, where a dáimon lives that the Tróyans call Qalánta.  Her name means the Head, in the language of the Náshiyan priests.  You have seen figurines of the Tróyan double goddess, have you not?  The statuettes have a single, round body, with but a single pair of breasts to share between them, but there are two necks standing on that body.  That is exactly what this monstrous being, Qalánta, is like.  She has two ghastly heads, on necks that are so long, she can lap up the sea water with her tongues, while her fat, beastly body is sitting high above the clouds, unseen.  No ship can pass her cliff-side cave without losing men.  I do not mean a religious offering either, the kind that mariners will sometimes make, of their own free will, in a bad storm.  You cannot bribe this deity of the sea not to sink you.  No, the goddess herself takes whoever she wants and chooses as many victims as she desires, too.  Qalánta swings her heads down from the cliff and devours men on the very decks of their ships, as they row past the high place where her cave lies.

"My father was a warrior, on that far-off day, just as I am now.  His heart was not afraid, in spite of the horror.  He did not just stand idly by, watching his men die in such a ghastly way.  No, he was ready for this immortal enemy!  Before they ever reached the gates of the sea, he had his crew arm themselves, as if for war, wearing all their armor, whether it be bronze or leather.  Half of the men sat at their oars, while the other half stood guard, as we sailed toward Qalánta's peak.

“By all the gods and maináds, I tell you, that female dáimon cared nothing for our arms and armor!  Like gnats and flies to her, our swords and spears flew at her!  But her hide was tougher than any bull's, and our sharpest blades could not pierce it.  Those heads came down on us, shrieking like the wind in a foul storm, both of her vicious mouths gaping wide, each one rimmed with hard, black teeth.  There was venom, too, deadlier than that of any snake, dripping from each of her two long tongues.  It spilled onto the decks of the longboats as if bath-pourers had emptied seventy stirrup jars of it from each muzzle.  Three men died in the time it takes to pull an oar around once, two in her jaws, and one from her poisonous spittle.  Blood poured from the dáimon's twin mouths and splashed down onto our ships, as Qalánta crushed the bodies of her victims between her massive jaws.

"A second time, Qalánta's heads dipped down.  This time, my father gave the order for his archers to shoot.  Even so, again three men died, two disappearing down the dáimon's throat along with as many as seven hundred arrows, each as swift as an eagle pursuing a dove!  This time, the third victim was a helmsman who fell overboard in his fear and drowned.  Ai, we sorely missed that navigator's skill, later in our journey!  But I am getting ahead of my story.  Blood dripped from both pairs of nostrils, and still, Qalánta spread her jaws again, hungry for more and more flesh.  A third time, she came down upon us and still a fourth.  Now, all the men bent to their oars with every bit of strength they had in their bodies.  Our only remaining hope was to outrun her!  Every man alive knew it, too.  Even then, with everyone rowing at full speed, we were not quick enough.  Three more men died in the next pass, making twelve in all."

"A magic number," Idómeneyu whispered, awed by the tale.  "This can only mean Qalánta is truly one of the immortals.  I had not heard of her before."

Odushéyu frowned, eying the Tróyan commander with suspicion.  "Ai, yes, but if speed is the answer, we do not really have anything to worry about, do we?  We can just put all our warriors at the oars, three men abreast, instead of the usual one or two per side.  Any decent pirate would tell you the same.  We only have to do that from the first and the creature will scarcely have time for a single pass.  So we lose three men or so."  He shrugged.  "That is no worse than what might happen if we board a merchant vessel and have to fight with the crew over their bronze ingots and a dozen jars of oil and wine."

Ainyáh's heavy-lidded eyes flashed and he turned on the It'ákan.  "But you have not heard my whole tale, yet.  We escaped the dáimon called Qalánta, with a loss of twelve men.  That was an evil omen, in itself, and the men were very much afraid.  But they were still loyal to my father and their king.  They pressed themselves to their oars, coming close to the other side of the straits.  The second peak was not as high as the first and we could see fig trees growing on the summit.  We thought that the gods would spare us from more suffering, when we saw that sacred grove.  But, there was another terror awaiting us, instead.  What we did not know was that among those sacred trees lived another dáimon, Qashíga, named for the fruit of her grove, in the language of the horse-tamers of the countryside.  She was even worse than the first!

"When we came near the second side of the strait, by the lower end of the cliff, Qashíga swept the dark seawater into her huge mouth, forming a whirlpool of sinking water, a swirling tide that sucked our longboats down to the very bottom of the seabed.  Men fell overboard into the turbulent waves.  Ai, it was worse even than when Poseidáon shakes the land with his great hooves!  The hulls of our ships crashed into each other and shattered in the maelstrom.  Many brave soldiers and mariners went to their deaths on that terrible day.  My father's longboat alone withstood the whirlpool.  But then, the wicked Qashíga spat the black water out again, a rushing torrent like the Sqamándro River in the worst of its springtime flood.  Our ship filled with water and began to sink."

Idómeneyu shuddered.  "I do not want to hear any more.  Let us stay here in Millewánda and raid the coast, as I said before.  That sounds the most promising."

Mirurí and Tushrátta were delighted with the Kanaqániyan's story.  "No, no, go on," the Libúwan urged.  He gestured with his wine cup as he spoke, and glanced at the Lúkiyan beside him for support.

"Yes, tell us more," Tushrátta agreed, nearly bursting into laughter as he spoke around a mouthful of wine-soaked, barley bread.  "Was there a third monster?  Say, Kápru, perhaps, the Divine Throat?"

Odushéyu could see that he was losing the battle for the Kep'túriyan's support.  But he did not know what to make of the frivolous attitude of the other two men.  "Ai gar, Ainyáh," the It'ákan complained.  "It could not have been as bad as all that!  You survived, did you not?"

Ainyáh tilted his head back, looking at the It'ákan over his long nose.  "I did, obviously, since I am telling you the tale.  But how did I accomplish that miracle, can you imagine?  Courage was not enough, Odushéyu.  Strategy and cleverness could not help us, either.  It was only through Ganuméde's quick action that our lives were spared.  As our ship went down in the swirling waves, for a second time, the Tróyan remembered his priestly training.  He invoked the dread goddess, Tabíti, the fearful lady whom the tribesmen of Mar-Yandún call the Mother of all dáimons.  Tabíti heard his plea and saved us.  But, my father, Ganuméde, and I, we three alone were the only survivors out of four ships' companies."

"Ai, there is our answer!" Odushéyu cried triumphantly.  "What did Ganuméde say, exactly?  We can repeat his words and be saved ourselves, just as you were."

"I could not hear the words," Ainyáh answered abruptly.  "The crashing of the waves was too loud."

"Then let us go back to Tróya and ask your father.  I am sure the old man remembers," Odushéyu suggested quickly, with a malicious grin.

Idómeneyu turned from one speaker to the other, listening to each man's words.  He was worried and uncertain, unable to offer any advice of his own.  Neither was trustworthy, in his eyes.  But each had supported his side in past battles, and could not safely be ignored, at the same time.  At his elbow, Tushrátta unconcernedly picked his teeth with a sliver of wood pried from the arm of his chair with his bronze dagger.  The Kep'túriyan exile would get no assistance from the more reliable Lúkiyan in making up his mind, he could see.

Nor did the Libúwan help matters.  Mirurí stretched himself out on the floor of the big chamber, folding his hands behind his head.  "Before I take my midday nap," he said calmly, completely unaffected by the passion in the mercenary’s tale, "let me remind the lot of you that Mízriya is wealthy, it has few ships of its own, and it has no divine fruits or body parts that devour men."

"I have heard enough about Mízriya!" Idómeneyu snapped.  "That is the one place I am certain I do not want to attack."  The others did not even bother to address the southern navigator's habitual suggestion.

Ainyáh leaned close to his It'ákan opponent.  "My father is old.  Half the time he does not even remember that I am his son.  You cannot seriously expect him to help us, in any fashion.  No, Odushéyu, you must give up your dreams of entering the tin route, much less of possessing it.  It is far too dangerous.  If you sail through Dáwan's straits, you will go alone to meet your fate.  I, for one, will not go with you.  Once was enough for me!  I am not mad enough to tempt the dread goddesses a second time."

Now that was a simple, definite statement that the Kep'túriyan could understand.  It came from a warrior, too, not a pirate who was well known to be an inveterate liar.  "Neither will I," Idómeneyu added quickly.

Ainyáh nodded with satisfaction.  "What do you say, Tushrátta?" he asked.

The Lúkiyan shrugged.  "As I said before, I can go one place as easily as another, as long as there is bronze in my ships at the end of the trip.  If the two of you would rather go south, then south it is."

Odushéyu continued to argue, alternately raging and pleading, but he could convince neither Idómeneyu nor Ainyáh of the wisdom of his plan to dominate the tin trade.  As for Mirurí, he had come north to collect allies for a Mízriyan expedition and nothing else would satisfy him.  So he steadfastly refused to side with the pirate from the western isles.  Ainyáh, for his part, was inclined to side with the Libúwan about heading to the distant, southern empire.  Still, he hesitated, fearing that without a larger force on their side, defeat would ultimately prove inevitable.  Idómeneyu wanted only to sack the Assúwan cities close at hand, far from any large, opposing army.  Regardless of all the shouts, threats, cries, pleas, and appeals to his sympathies, Tushrátta refused to take a stand.

With their leaders hopelessly divided among themselves, the varied band of exiles remained in Millewánda by default.  Odushéyu appointed himself the new ruler of the port and, in addition, successor to Agamémnon as the self-styled Great King of Ak'áiwiya.  He thereupon named Idómeneyu the commander of his army, to head off any protests from that quarter, following that move with the further designations of Ainyáh as his chief ally, and Mirurí as his vizier.  No longer fearing Náshiyan intervention, the Ak'áyans began raiding the neighboring, coastal kingdoms of Assúwa, taking up where the Lúkiyans had left off.  Tushrátta gamely joined them, even going so far as to deck his men's conical, felt hats with feathers, in the ancient manner, to make them appear more Ak'áyan.

News trickled in to Millewánda, from time to time, with entering merchants, fishermen blown off course in their direction, and deserting soldiers from the various kingdoms surrounding the Inner Sea, whether independent warriors or vassals of a great power.  The fortunes of the Náshiyan emperor were alternately rising and falling, from month to month.  While the huge fleet that Tudqáliya amassed quickly dominated the eastern end of the Great Green Sea, the Great King of the eastern continent was still not successful in his battles on land.  North of his capital city of Qattúsha, the nomadic Káshka tribes continued to burn and pillage the countryside.  Thus, the common folk of the empire continued to be inundated by refugees fleeing that war-torn region.  In the southeast, too, the unparalleled ferocity of the warriors of the ancient empire of Ashúr prevented the Náshiyan emperor from regaining the territory that he had lost to them, at the beginning of the war season.