Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) (29 page)

Antílok'o did not meet his father's eyes and answered in a low voice.  "We did not kill many Mízriyans."

"Ai," sighed his father.  "Never mind.  Go to our tent and have 'Ékamede bathe you and oil your skin.  That will make you feel better.  Then you can begin the talks we discussed this morning.  Our standing is more seriously threatened than I thought.  Now, I must leave you.  I have a guest to invite to our hearth.  Qálki will be joining us tonight."

aaa

At the evening meal, Néstor wined and dined the prophet, praising his insights at the beginning of the campaign in Qoyotíya, and his later courage in facing the high wánaks over the matter of the daughter of the island priest-king.  "I agreed with you that we should leave the Assúwan islands alone, early in the summer.  When Agamémnon allowed his men to cut down the trees in the sacred groves, I sided with you and demanded punishment for the sacrilege.  Worst of all, I deplored the way Agamémnon treated K'rusé when the old priest came to ransom his daughter from us.  Ai, the overlord has done nothing but make one mistake after another!"

"Indeed," Qálki agreed eagerly.  "I am not surprised that a wise man like yourself would recognize that fact.  It is unfortunate that so many here cannot see it."

"I do what I can to enlighten the men," the Mesheníyan king sighed, "but foolish words in a powerful man's mouth pass for wisdom in these evil times.  Yes, I have always admired your unearthly sight, Qálki.  If only Agamémnon had listened to you and to K'rusé to start with, then the overlord would not have been shamed by our forcing him to give up K'rusé's daughter.  Of course, then Agamémnon would not have angered Ak'illéyu by confiscating the T'eshalíyan's woman to make up the loss.  I know a great many people here blame Ak'illéyu for the deaths of their kinsmen.  But Agamémnon is the one who is really at fault."

"Your overlord is a sinful and arrogant man," the prophet said, shaking his head.  "But even he will have to bend to Díwo's will, in the end."

"Ai, yes, it can be no other way," Néstor agreed.  "It is interesting to see what has happened since you made Agamémnon sacrifice so much.  K'rusé has turned out to be a valuable ally during the long campaign, sending supplies to keep our army fed," the gray-haired king marveled, refilling Qálki's wine cup himself.  "No, it is never a good idea to anger a man of god.  Such men are best kept on one's own side or they give priceless aid to one's enemies."

Qálki basked in the old king's praise, and, warmed by the undiluted wine, he told of other prophecies he had made in his day.  He described his uncanny knack for reading the flight of birds and the entrails of sheep, and of the rare and awful sacrifices he had required from kings all around the Inner Sea.  "Still, no sacrifice has ever been greater than the one I required from Agamémnon in Qoyotíya," he recalled darkly.  "Ip'emédeya's early death was the most awe-inspiring of them all.  But then, never has there been such a godless man as that high wánaks.  Beware of him and of Odushéyu.  That pirate thinks only of ingratiating himself with Agamémnon.  The gods have a dreadful fate in store for them both."

As the campfire burned low, Néstor encouraged him to talk still more, and, with discreet nods to his captive woman, encouraged the continuous flow of wine.  The stars rose in the sky and other Ak'áyans went to their sheepskin pallets to sleep.  Still, Néstor plied Qálki with ever more drink and covered the seer with praises.  Long after the moon had risen, the Mesheníyan king turned the topic of conversation to Wilúsiya.

"You know, I was actually born and raised in Tróya, myself," Qálki told him, his sunken cheeks grown rosy.  "I could win this war all by myself, with what I know."  The thin prophet chuckled into his cup, and discovered it to be empty.

Néstor quickly poured more of the honeyed liquid and asked with dry and trembling lips, "How is that possible?  You, a single man?"

Qálki chortled for quite some time, spilling most of the freshly poured wine, then leaned forward to speak in a loud, slurred whisper.  "Wishdom is shweet, my friend, shweeter than honey and more powerful than bronzhe.  Remember that."  He winked and tossed his head, gulping the remaining wine from the cup.  His host's son returned to the fireside and quietly took his place beside his father.  Neither the king nor the prophet acknowledged the prince's presence.  Antílok'o took his cue from his father and remained silent, listening.

Néstor poured a small amount for his guest, encouraging him to continue.  "Go on, please, Qálki.  I always thought myself a wise man but you continually teach me things I never knew."

The seer smiled, revealing gaps between his blackened teeth, his head nodding.  "I could tell you thingsh that would raishe the hair on your neck, yesh, I could."

"Ai, no doubt," the southern wánaks said, keeping his voice calm, though he quivered all over with anticipation.  "Tell me about Tróya, now.  What magical power do you have over that citadel?"

"The Qalladiyón," Qálki hissed, his voice taking on its dramatic flair, as if he were prophesying.  "The shacred shtatue of Tróya's protecting goddesh.  It fell from heaven, untouched by human handsh, in the daysh of the ancients.  It holds the city's soul, yesh it does.  If an enemy could steal it out of Dáwan'sh sanctuary, Tróya would die."  He barely sighed the final word, with a rough, leveling gesture of his hands that made him drop the cup.  His eyes rolled and he slumped forward.  He would have fallen into the fire but Antílok'o moved quickly and caught the bony man.

Néstor rose, a fierce joy in his face.  "Make the old fool a bed, Antílok'o.  Stay beside him until he wakes up, then give him all the wine he wants.  If he talks more, all the better.  Try to find out where this Qalladiyón is and what it looks like.  I must tell this to Agamémnon."

CHAPTER SEVEN

ANTANOR

Agamémnon struck Diwoméde with a heavy fist when the qasiléyu roused him from sleep.  "What is the matter with you, you son of a goat?" the high wánaks bellowed.  "It is still dark!"

Néstor rushed into the tent before the king could strike the young man a second time.  "Listen to me, Agamémnon.  I have a plan for taking Tróya."

Agamémnon sat up straight, blinking the sleep from his eyes.  "What plan?  Diwoméde, leave us." The overlord rose from his pallet and gestured for his guest to sit on the fleeces beside him.  Not bothering to dress, in his excitement, the overlord asked, "What is this plan?"

Néstor did not answer immediately.  He sat where the Argive king indicated and stared pointedly toward the tent flap where Diwoméde stood hesitantly.  Disappointment colored the young man's face.  Agamémnon snapped, "I said, leave us, boy."  Diwoméde obeyed, limping away with his head hanging.

Néstor reclined on his arm, looking at his overlord with half-closed eyes and an inscrutable half-smile.  "Did your mother and father teach you nothing about the laws of Diwiyána?  There are rules of hospitality, you know.  Are you not going to offer me some wine?"

The high wánaks cursed violently, but looked about for a jug.

Néstor laughed dryly and put out a hand to stop him.  "Never mind, just listen.  The key to Tróya is a sacred stone that fell from the sky, called the Qalladiyón.  It contains the city's soul.  If we can get a volunteer to sneak into the citadel and steal this idol, the Tróyans will lose heart and give up the fight.  Our only problem now is to find out where the thing is and what it looks like.  My son is working on that now."

Agamémnon stared in disbelief for a moment, his eyes fastened on the older king's face. "Are you serious?  I heard rumors of such an object, but I did not believe them.  Can this be true?  Can it be that simple?"

The Mesheníyan nodded, his smile widening to crease his whole face.  "I should think this would be worth a few fortresses from the high wánaks of golden Mukénai," he said.

Agamémnon began to chuckle.  He stood and raised his arms to shoulder height to dance a little jig, hopping up and down, turning in a circle.  He roared with laughter, throwing back his head.  "I will give you every citadel that Ak'illéyu refused and one of my daughters in marriage as well," he shouted, clapping Néstor on the shoulder, knocking the old man flat on his back.  "In fact, I will give you both of my daughters, K'rusót'emi for you and Lawódika for your oldest boy."  He danced again, bellowing with laughter, and Néstor joined him.  Arms on each other's shoulders, they hopped and sang the Ak'áyan victory song.

"When they came from golden Mukénai

Young 'Erakléwe was twelve years old.

The hero tied feathers on his head,

On his chest a lion skin.

His chariot wheels are painted red;

His enemies' blood is spilled in streams;

His beardless face soon painted black,

In the city's smoke and dust.

A sacker of cities

At twelve years old,

'Éra's glory,

Son of the gods!"

The commotion they made roused half the men in the encampment and they began to cluster about the great king’s tent, asking one another what was going on.  Agamémnon soon assembled Aíwaks, Diwoméde, and Odushéyu beside the tent of the aging Mesheníyan king.  At the sound of groans and vomiting, Néstor decided there was no need for them all to enter.  "We will just wait for Antílok'o to come out," the older king decided.  They did not have to wait long.

The young Mesheníyan prince left the tent in disgust.  "That dog is too sick to tell me his own mother's name."

Agamémnon spat in the dirt.  "The fawn!"

Néstor calmly said, "Ai, we can wait until morning for him to recover from the wine.  He will tell us soon enough."

Aíwaks fingered the hilt of the dagger he had brought with him.  "I can get him to remember his mother's name…and tonight," the big man growled.  The overlord nodded and Aíwaks entered the tent.  High-pitched wails pierced the air, waking the rest of those in the camp who were not yet on their feet.  The cries abruptly ceased.  But Aíwaks soon came out into the night air, as disgusted as Antílok'o.  "The miserable dog passed out."

The men outside groaned, cursing the foreign-born seer in their disappointment.  Agamémnon kicked at the hearth and sent glowing coals flying.  The captive woman, 'Ékamede, who had been lying beside the campfire, quickly jumped up and scurried away in alarm.  From the corner of his eyes, the overlord noted a gleam about the woman's skirts as she moved, a flash of metal reflecting the fire's light.  Watching the captive's retreat, the Argive king noticed the men gathered all around, their hair disheveled, their eyes blinking away sleep and fastened on his every move.  "Go back to bed, all of you!" the high wánaks bellowed.  "This does not concern you."

Odushéyu rubbed thoughtfully at his bushy whiskers for a moment, considering the scene.  Then he touched the overlord lightly on the arm to draw his attention.  "I believe I could discover the whereabouts of this Qalladiyón," the It'ákan said slowly, eyeing Agamémnon from the side, "if I had enough motivation."

Agamémnon's anger-reddened face grew darker as he glared at the pirate king.  But the overlord clenched his fists and drew himself up, regaining his composure.  "Ten tripods and first pick of a Tróyan woman," he offered through clenched teeth.

"Twenty tripods and Alakshándu's wife," Odushéyu responded quickly, his eyes narrowed.  The others gasped at the It'ákan's foolhardiness.

To their surprise, far from losing his temper, the high wánaks burst out laughing.  "What do you want with that old witch?"

Odushéyu smiled.  "My wife has been plotting against me, remember?  No doubt Penelópa will have a new husband when I return, one ready to do battle to keep me out of my homeland.  Ai, but when I return, she is the one who will be forced from It'áka and the other western islands.  To retain my kingship, then, I will need a royal woman for my new queen, a priestess.  If Eqépa was good enough for the vassal king of Wilúsiya she will be good enough for the wánaks of It'áka.  She may not be much to look at, but I expect to take home a serving woman or two from this campaign and that will make up for it.  But Eqépa will be too old to bear me disloyal children to bedevil my old age.  After we have sacked Tróya she will have no living kinsmen to plot with, either."

"Very well, Odushéyu, you crafty old goat," Agamémnon laughed.  "Bring me the Qalladiyón and you will have your prize, just as you wish, twenty tripods and the queen of Tróya.  These men bear witness to my oath on that.  I swear it by 'Estiwáya of my hearth."

Happily, Odushéyu turned on his heel and sprinted toward his own tent to prepare.  Behind him, he did not hear the overlord's quiet command to Diwoméde, "Follow him."

In the It'ákan section of the camp, the pirate king stripped himself naked.  He gave himself a quick, careless shave with his qasiléyu's' bronze razor, too.  Sleepy It'ákans watched with curiosity as he removed both his curly, graying beard and the thinning hair on his head.  He then took a thin leather belt and began beating himself across the shoulders.  This last step was too much for the men to bear and his astonished underlings tried to stop him.  But Odushéyu drove them away with the same lash.

"Stay away from me!" he roared.  "I know what I am doing!"

They stood back after taking a blow or two, but kept their eyes on the strange figure flailing away, who cried out in pain at each whiplash.

"What is happening here?" T'érsite asked one of the confused men, as he had been wakened by the earlier sounds from Agamémnon's tent and drawn to the It'ákan section by the strange noise.

"The maináds have caught him," St'énelo answered, coming up alongside him.  He shook his head sadly.  "We have lost too many, this way.  It must be from the endless fighting."

T'érsite snickered.  "No immortals have his spirit.  That old pirate has something in his mind, some wild plan.  When have you ever known him to act without plotting first?  Just wait and see."

His companion considered the idea, leaning on the spear he had carried with him out of habit.  "If it is not insanity, then perhaps he has been infected by the godless ways of the Assúwans.  I hear that the sons of Dáwan beat themselves after the harvest, mourning the death of the grain."

The Argive foot soldier frowned at the Lakedaimóniyan.  "Our farmers do that in Argo.  That is not madness, or even impiety.  It makes the crops grow back the next season.  Kórwa would stay under the ground with the seed grain all year if they did not do that."

St'énelo responded angrily, "I know that.  Do you think the maináds have me as well?  But it is not harvest time."

"Not only is it not harvest time," T'érsite said, looking up at the dark sky.  "It is just past time for planting.  And we missed it.  Look at the stars."

His slender friend shivered in the night air.  "Will Agamémnon keep us here all through the winter, do you think?  Our families would starve without our help with the crops."

T'érsite shrugged, adding bitterly.  "I do not think Agamémnon loses any sleep thinking about our families."

Odushéyu had finished with his strange work and struck again at the onlookers with his lash, interrupting their discussion and driving them away.  "Get back to your tents, you worthless sacks of wine!" he shouted, sending them scurrying.

aaa

When the night ended, all too soon for the beleaguered city, a messenger arrived at Tróya's main gate on the south.  He bore a small packet of dried clay from distant Qattúsha.  The royal priest, Érinu, deciphered the tablet when it was brought to the king's throne room.  Tracing the wedge-shaped symbols on the clay with his index finger, the young priest spoke to the assembled leaders of Tróya.  "The Great Sun has set and become a god.  Our overlord, Qáttushli, is dead."  The princes and counselors murmured uneasily.  Érinu glanced at up his father's face, to see the blood draining from the wrinkled cheeks.  The prince took a deep breath and continued reading, "A new Sun has risen and taken the throne.  The great lord Tudqáliya, beloved son of the god Qáttushli and his great, royal wife, the empress Puduqépa, is now the Náshiyan emperor."