People of the Inner Sea (The Age of Bronze) (38 page)

Mirniptáha solemnly considered this argument and began to waver.  "Have the captive…"

But now Amun-musís objected, "Mízriya's Great House is not bound by treaty to any ruler in this Akiwashi place, which I never heard of before, in any case.  Nor does he owe the Náshiyan emperor any special favors, not since that rulers’ underlings are starting to show up here, among our enemies!  If my great imperial father does not want to kill this last, vanquished chief, and will not make him a mercenary, the illustrious Great House should follow custom and bestow this man as a slave for his most loyal son, who led the victorious army in the last battle, as a demonstration of his esteem for that royal son.  I am sure I can find him a place for the captive in my private army.  Was this not your noble father's practice, and your esteemed grandfather's?  Here is a suggestion with precedent in our surpassingly glorious past."  He spoke the last words confidently and turned gloating eyes on his taller brother.  Their imperial father could not fail to be influenced by the final argument.

"Your…private army?" the ailing king whispered, pressing a hand to his sunken chest.  Without further ado, Mirniptáha thrust his spear into the remaining captive's abdomen.  The allotted prisoners cried out in anguish at the sight, while the assembled nobles cheered and clapped their hands over their heads, drowning out Idómeneyu's dying screams and those of his captive son.

At this final act of war, Bikurnár could hold his tongue no longer.  "I object to this disposition, O King!  I received no slaves, but it was my men who suffered the brunt of the Ak'áyans' swords and spears.  This is hardly fair!  Weapons are an adequate payment for a foot-soldier, but the metal I myself received scarcely equals what I will pay you in taxes this year.  Give me a barbarian for my household," he boldly demanded of his overlord.

Siptáha glared with furious eyes at the foreign-born prince.  "Bikurnár," said the official, "you are not a Mízriyan.  You are not a true citizen of our land.  You are only a visitor in my illustrious father's realm, with no more rank than a slave yourself.  But he is the son of a god who shines on the throne of the Two Lands forever!  You are not his equal or mine.  No, the Great King Mirniptáha allows you to command your brothers in his service, out of the greatness of his heart.  He owes you nothing at all."

Bikurnár darkened with sudden anger.

But Mirniptáha was roused himself and the color returned to his face.  "For your insolence, you will return the presents I allotted to you earlier, Bikurnár!" cried the Great House, wheezing noisily, the whites of his angry eyes showing all around the dark irises.  "What is more, Amun-musís will see that you are beaten until the skin is removed from your back.  Do not presume to speak to me again, either, or I will have you executed, and your corpse will be torn to pieces by horses, to be scattered over the whole length of my country!"

Káushans eagerly rushed forward to carry the Sharudín commander away, kicking and shouting curses upon all of Mízriya's gods.  The surviving captives were led away to their new owners, to toil in rich men's fields, or to labor unceasingly in the ram god's desert mines.

In the quarters of the soldiers, there was angry talk until Amun-musís called a secret assembly of the mercenary officers.  "Bikurnár will not be beaten," the governor reassured them.  "I know that command was really Siptáha's and not the Great King's.  Bikurnár will go south at the head of the caravan of captives.  He will remain in Kaush until I send for him.  Until that time, you must all keep in your hearts the matter we discussed before, concerning the Great House.  In these unsettled times, no land can survive with a weakling on the throne.  When the time is right, I will call for all of you.  We will then take action, for the good of all Mízriya."

aaa

In the royal stables of T'eshalíya, the slave, Érinu, sat upon a bed of dry grass, overlain by matted and filthy sheepskins.  His naked body was striped with bruises and raw lash marks.  He jumped and cursed as Andrómak'e gently washed dirt and blood from the wounds with a scrap of old cloth.  From time to time she rinsed the rag in a bowl of water.  The liquid grew darker and cloudier till it was the color of old wine, before she finished.

When the woman finally rose to empty the bowl, Érinu asked, "Did you have any trouble slipping out of the palace?"

She smiled, smoothing her only garment, an ankle-length skirt, and sat beside him.  "No.  Now wánaks Péleyu is so taken with 'Iqodámeya, he comes to lie with her nearly every night, as soon as the queen is asleep.  It pleases him to find her alone, so he never questions her about me.  But she would never betray me, in any case.  She is a good friend."  Lightly, she caressed the young man's chin, feeling the short stubble.

He frowned, ignoring her touch.  "'Iqodámeya is not your friend," he said harshly, drawing his eyebrows down over his dark and angry eyes.  "If she holds her tongue about you, it is only because you could betray her to queen T'éti.  Ai, the woman is a traitor to Wilúsiya.  You should have nothing to do with her."

Andrómak'e dropped her hand to her lap, the smile gone from her face.  With downcast eyes, she sighed, "Érinu, why must you be so harsh with us?  'Iqodámeya has suffered a great deal, first the loss of her husband and her city, then being passed from one warrior to another, forced to watch the destruction of her king's family."  She began to cry quietly.  "Owái, Érinu, if she has found a brief moment of happiness here, why must you condemn her for it?"

"Because she is wrong," the former priest cried, gripping Andrómak'e's shoulders.  "She dishonors Muné's memory by lying with the kinsmen of his murderers.  Has she so completely forgotten him?  I cannot understand why you still defend her."

Andrómak'e began through her tears, "A widow is the most helpless of people…"

"I do not want to hear that tired excuse," Érinu spat, shoving her away from him.  "My sister had no one to protect her, either.  She fought Agamémnon's embrace every night, with all her strength.  No doubt she suffered many blows for it, too.  But Kashánda never forgot that she was a Tróyan and that Ak'áiwiya was her enemy.  Areté was always foremost in her mind.  She was as helpless as any widow was.  Still, she managed to extract a terrible vengeance from the T'rákiyan chieftain.  Remember her, Andrómak'e.  Pattern your own behavior after Kashánda's and forget that treacherous 'Iqodámeya."

Andrómak'e stood sobbing, wringing her hands.  "I cannot bear to hear any more about Kashánda.  You do not understand.  'Iqodámeya and I are not just widows, but mothers.  We must think of our children.  My little Sqamándriyo will always come before areté."

"But what about Qántili?" Érinu demanded, catching at the young woman's skirt to keep her from leaving.  "What about my brother's honor?"

Andrómak'e shrieked at the mention of her dead husband's name.  She jerked her skirt free of Érinu's grasp.  When he rose to block her exit, she slapped at him frantically, wailing.  "How dare you!  How dare you!" the captive widow screamed.

Her brother-in-law threw his arms around her, pressing her arms tightly between her bare torso and his.  "I am sorry, Andrómak'e, I am sorry," he said over and over again, until she quieted, leaning her head on his shoulder.  "Forget everything I said.  I will not say anything more against 'Iqodámeya or you," he promised, with a sigh.

"Ai, Érinu," she whispered, wiping her damp cheeks.  "Do you realize what the Ak'áyans would have done if they were as filled with hatred and areté as you and Kashánda are?  They would have thrown my little boy from the towers of Tróya, for the sake of vengeance.  Would that have pleased you?"

"No," he groaned, "of course not."  He pulled her down to his bed, caressing her hair.  "I care as much for Sqamándriyo as his father did."  He lay on his side beside the young woman, resting his head on her shoulder, fingering her full, bare breasts.

Andrómak'e sniffed away the last of her tears and clasped Érinu's rough hand.  "And Paqúr's little ones, do you care for them, too?" she asked, putting all her soul into the question.

"Of course, I love the children of both of my brothers."  He raised his head with a suspicious frown.  "Why do you ask such a thing?"

"Érinu," she sighed, begging with her eyes, "if you do love your nephews, you must stop telling them that they are Tróyans.  Or, at least, you must say less about it," she quickly added, as he was about to object.  Laying a finger on his lips, Andrómak'e went on, "Prince Púrwo is still a danger to the children, even if king Péleyu is not.  Púrwo is angry with the world because everyone remembers his father and he is afraid he cannot live up to Ak'illéyu's example.  He picks a fight over every little thing and treats all of his subordinates harshly.  If the children anger him with talk of Wilúsiya, 'Iqodámeya and I would be helpless to protect them.  Do you want to see your nephews live to be men?  Or do you want to see them sacrificed on the altar of areté?"

Érinu frowned but he laid his head down again.  "Very well, but you must promise me one thing, Andrómak'e.  Swear to me that you will never lie with Púrwo.  Make me a vow.  I could not bear to see that."

"Ai, beloved," Andrómak'e whispered unhappily, "if he comes to me, I cannot refuse him.  A slave has no choice in such matters."

He knew it was true, knew, too, that the thought made her as miserable as he.  "At least," Érinu began, "you will not…look at him…the way a woman does…that you will not encourage…"

With a weary sigh, Andrómak'e said, "If you get me pregnant, beloved, I will have to go to him, so that everyone will think that the child is his.  Otherwise, they will have me beaten until I reveal the father's name or, perhaps, even until I lose the baby.  I will have no choice.  Can you not understand?  I did not choose this fate, my love.  I did not make the world the way it is.  And I am powerless to change it."

Érinu groaned and drew her tightly to him.  "Then do not get pregnant, Andrómak'e."

"I do not have any say over that, either," the young woman whispered.  "You know it is up to Mother Dáwan.  But she does not listen to my prayers."

aaa

Diwoméde was on the throne of Tíruns when a naked workman rushed into the mégaron with the cry, "Ships are coming!"

"How many?" the qasiléyu demanded, rising to his feet.

"Only two," answered the laborer, still panting from his run.

Diwoméde nodded and demanded, "What land are they from?"

The man of low rank was uncertain.  "They appear to be Assúwan…" he began.

"Lúkiyan?" his commander broke in, to ask in alarm.

"I do not think so," the low-born man answered.

"Wilúsiyan?" Diwoméde suggested, reaching to his right, where T'érsite stood in open-mouthed silence.

"Perhaps…"

The qasiléyu turned away abruptly.  "T'érsite," he ordered brusquely, "round up twenty men.  Have them arm and meet the ships at the shore."  To the workman who had brought the message, Diwoméde commanded, "Go with them.  T'érsite will find you a spear.  Come back here to tell me who the visitors are, as soon as you know."

The two men hurried from the large room, past anxious serving women building up the fire on the hearth.  "Dáuniya," called Diwoméde to the youngest of the women.  "I need to send a message to Mukénai.  Can you write?"

She shook her head, staring at him in amazement.

"Ai, of course not.  Who is a scribe?" he demanded, looking around at the others.  But each shook her head.  "Ask around," Diwoméde ordered them.  "Find me a woman who can write.  Go!  Quickly!"

Dáuniya scurried to the mégaron's doorway only to collide with a broad-shouldered man entering at the same moment.  T'érsite laughed and caught her shoulders, pushing her back into the room.  "Ai, it is only one little ship from Tróya," he called out, laughing.  "It is only our Kanaqániyan friend, Ainyáh, paying us his annual visit."

"Have the men armed?" Diwoméde asked.

T'érsite was surprised.  "No, qasiléyu."

"Arm them and have them meet the ships, as I said," the younger man demanded heatedly.  "Yesterday's friend may be today's enemy.  Even if it is only Ainyáh, I want soldiers to escort him here.  And next time, follow my orders exactly, or I will have you beaten."