by Diana Gainer
"Forget the women!" Paqúr shouted from the platform at the stern. "Let them drown if that is what they want. Kill them if they give you any trouble." Blood-stained quiet soon ruled the longboat's shallow hull and the prince ordered his men to furl the sail. He would turn his small ship to deal with their pursuers, protecting the other Assúwan vessel as it headed toward the eastern shores of the great island of Kep'túr, toward villages and towns that still did not submit to Idómeneyu's rule.
"Every man to his oar! Middle row to port!" Paqúr raised one arm high over his head, the other straight out from the shoulder. Three lines of rowers sat before him, those on his left now dropping their oars so that they fell slack against the side of the longboat. The row on the leader's right pulled hard. The third row, in the middle, now turned their longer paddles to port, putting all their strength to that side. The longboat turned in a quick arc.
"Forward!" the Wilúsiyan leader roared, raising both arms straight above his head. Men on both sides of the longboat pulled at their oars. The center row broke ranks. Every other man continued with his oar on the port side. The rest lifted their oars and turned them now to starboard. With the central rowers now adding strength to each side, the little warship cut quickly through the waves, straight toward the pursuing merchant vessel.
Left unguarded, some of the surviving captives managed to untie their own or their sisters' hands and more of them made their way overboard. Others, crouching beneath their captors' feet, screamed prayers to their kinsmen and the gods to deliver them.
"Put us alongside!" cried Paqúr, fists by his ears. Straight to the side of the heavy Lakedaimóniyan ship they drove. "Board them!" the tall Assúwan shouted, "But take no prisoners."
His crew leapt from their places in the two outer rows and quickly climbed over the side of the merchant vessel, leaving the middle row to guard their own longboat. Though they outnumbered their enemies, the half-armed and poorly armored Lakedaimóniyans died quickly, at the practiced and ready hands of the Assúwans. As the Ak'áyans died, their weapons were taken up by their killers and used against their brothers, or passed as prizes of war to the rowers still in the center of the Wilúsiyan longboat.
The battle was brief. No Lakedaimóniyan men survived the onslaught. With bronze axes, the raiders then attacked the pitch-lined hull of Kástor's ship. Before long, the doomed vessel sank beneath red-tinged foam, to a chorus of shrieks and laments from the women in the water and beneath the rowing benches.
"To Kep'túr, men," the Assúwan commander directed. "Sail to the independent city of K'aníya. There we will rest, count our dead and the treasures we have taken, before the homeward journey. Look at 'Elléniya now, one last time. That pillar of smoke rising above the island is the sign of vengeance."
The men called triumphantly, "Poseidáon!" as they rejoiced in the sight of that symbol, a fire they had begun as they sacked the fortress, a signal to the mainland that disaster had struck this Ak'áyan outpost.
aaa
Meneláwo awoke on the northwestern shore of Kep'túr, resting on a wide bed of mahogany. He stretched lazily beneath sheepskins, running his eyes over the bright frescoes on the walls of the room. Long-limbed men and women marched across the mural in the half light, black curls falling down their backs, their hands filled with vessels for libations. Beside Meneláwo's bed a painted woman smiled enigmatically, gazing on a bird-capped pillar. Her skirt was flounced in seven layers, some striped, some woven with shell designs, all in many colors. Above the ankle-length skirt, the woman wore a blue bodice, tight at the waist that left her breasts bare.
With a bitter smile at the picture, Meneláwo asked, "Ai, Ariyádna, did you sleep well last night with your Yákk'o?" He rose abruptly and wrapped his striped kilt about his waist and tied it with a leather belt. Scratching at the tangled hair on his forehead, he glanced around the small chamber. On a low table by the bed there was a comb, carved from a seashell, and a bowl of water. Ignoring these, he opened the door to the bed chamber and entered the dim corridor outside.
Wandering through the hall and anteroom of the country villa, he made his way to the largest chamber, centered around a rectangular hearth. Enticing aromas came from the fireplace, where a serving woman tended a caldron set over the flames on a smoke-blackened tripod. In wooden chairs draped with sheepskins for comfort, sat Idómeneyu and Diwoméde. The young man was hunched in his seat, staring at the chipped plaster of the central hearth. He looked decidedly uncomfortable.
"Ai, Meneláwo, you are up early," Idómeneyu called cheerfully as the Lakedaimóniyan king entered. With a bronze cup in his hand, the Kep'túriyan rose and gestured toward an empty chair near him. "I had planned to let you sleep through the whole morning. Have a seat, my friend. The food will be ready soon."
Meneláwo took his place without speaking. Gloomily, he stared into the fire. With bleary eyes he watched the smoke rise from the hearth to the chimney pipe in the ceiling.
"I see that your hair, too, is beginning to gray," Idómeneyu said with forced cheer, trying to draw his visitor into conversation. "It is good to see that I am not the only one growing older. I have only recently allowed my wife to stop pulling out my white hairs as they appear. Does Ariyádna still pluck yours?"
The large fireplace was surrounded by four pillars that supported the opening in the roof. The lower half of each post was covered with thin sheets of copper, only the one nearest Meneláwo still retaining its reddish hue. The Lakedaimóniyan king stared at the distorted reflection of himself in it. The sight filled him with momentary dread, though he did not know why. "No," he answered his host gruffly and turned away from the fire.
Idómeneyu frowned sympathetically and turned to the younger man quietly waiting in his wooden chair. "All right, Diwoméde," said the wánaks of Kep'túr with evident distaste, "we are in my kingdom and I have shown you all the hospitality due a visiting qasiléyu. Tell me now what message you bring me from Argo and wánaks Agamémnon."
Meneláwo started at the sharp tone in the Kep'túriyan's voice. Before the young man could give Idómeneyu an answer, Meneláwo interrupted to ask, "Is there trouble between you and my brother?"
Diwoméde was uneasy. He was, after all, in Idómeneyu's realm, surrounded by Kep'túriyans. The young man swallowed. "Wánaks Agamémnon wishes me to tell you this. He killed your qasiléyu for sleeping with his oldest daughter, the princess Ip'emédeya."
"Did I not tell you yesterday, Meneláwo?" Idómeneyu cried, growing angry. "Do you see? Your brother even admits his guilt."
The young qasiléyu gripped the arms of his chair to keep from trembling. "Since a father has the right to avenge his daughter's honor," Diwoméde went on, voice quavering slightly, "my king owes you no blood-payment for your man's death."
Idómeneyu threw his cup to the floor with a clatter and clapped his hands to his thighs. The serving woman fearfully moved away from the hearth, cowering by the wall. "No qoiná at all?" the Kep'túriyan bellowed, rising to his feet. "By all the gods and goddesses! Agamémnon may be your king, Diwoméde, and your brother, Meneláwo, but he is as stubborn as an ass! My troop leader expected to marry Ip'emédeya and the princess was willing, I tell you. This was no rape. Agamémnon had no right to kill my kinsman. His daughter had lost no areté. Argo's wánaks most certainly does owe me a blood-price and a large one, or I will have no choice but to expiate his guilt with war." To emphasize his point, he drew the dagger that always rested in the scabbard at his hip. Diwoméde rose in alarm, knocking over the chair he had been sitting in, and gripped the hilt of his own bronze knife.
Meneláwo listened to the exchange in silence, thoughtfully stroking his moustache. Suddenly he gave a dry laugh, surprising the other two men. "Ai gar, Idómeneyu, I know what my brother meant to do here. Sit down, both of you." When they obeyed, the one still glaring and cursing, the other sweating, Meneláwo continued, "Despite what you just said, Diwoméde, Agamémnon did send a qoiná, did he not?"
The young man hesitated a momen
t, then nodded and wiped his damp forehead. "My wánaks sent three tripods and a copper bowl," he admitted quickly, his eyes on Idómeneyu.
The Kep'túriyan wánaks spat. "Three stands and a bowl! Is that all my wife's brother's son is worth? The man was my nephew as well as a loyal troop leader. Ai, Meneláwo, what kind of king is your brother? If an Ak'áyan qasiléyu is not good enough to be his son-in-law, what will become of Argo when Agamémnon dies? Or is he mad enough to think he will live forever?"
Meneláwo shrugged. "He plans to marry his daughters to Assúwan princes, so that Argo will be allied to royal houses overseas. Our grandfather, Pelóq, was an Assúwan, you know. It has always been my brother's plan to restore the link between the two continents. You see, Agamémnon hopes to take care of his daughters in this way, so that it will be his son who inherits Argo, following the Náshiyan practice, and not his daughter's husband."
The Kep'túriyan snorted disdainfully. "A nice trick if he can get away with it. But what does Klutaimnéstra think about this? Do not tell me she wants her daughters sent across the Inner Sea!"
Meneláwo waved his hands impatiently. "Never mind what Klutaimnéstra thinks. She and my brother are always at odds, have been since they married and will be until they die. The point is that my brother has this plan in mind. Do you not see what Agamémnon is trying to do here, Idómeneyu? Marrying his daughters to Assúwans will require very large dowries, since they consider us barbarians. So Agamémnon wants to hang onto every scrap of bronze he can. He instructed his qasiléyu to threaten no qoiná at all, at first. That way you would be glad to get anything from him."
"By all the maináds and dáimons!" Idómeneyu complained, resting his bearded chin in his hand. "Now I suppose I will have to go to war with Agamémnon next summer. My wife must wait for her cat. I will not be able to go south to get one until this matter is concluded."
Diwoméde had respectfully remained silent as the older men spoke. But he was shocked by Idómeneyu's response and could not keep still. "You cannot make war on my wánaks. He commands twice the men that you do! He would defeat you next spring before the first month of sailing was over."
"Ai, you young pup," Idómeneyu growled.
But Meneláwo broke in. "Diwoméde is right," he agreed ruefully. "I am your friend and I would support you with my army against any other king, Ak'áyan or otherwise. But I cannot go against my own brother. You know that, Idómeneyu. I advise you to take the qoiná, such as it is, and let the matter drop."
Idómeneyu sighed resignedly. "I do not suppose that you could persuade your brother to send a few horses, Meneláwo. That would be a respectable blood-ransom."
Meneláwo shook his head. "Agamémnon does not listen to any man, least of all his younger brother. His kingdom is the most powerful in all of Ak'áiwiya, and he fancies himself a great king on a par with the Náshiyan emperor."
"I am aware of that," the Kep'túriyan responded irritably. "But Kep'túr is no petty chiefdom either. There is a lot at stake here, Meneláwo. I am not talking about my wife's anger when she hears how little Agamémnon values her nephew, either. Now, you and I are friends. I know that I have nothing to fear from you. But wánaks Néstor is as ambitious as your brother. You saw how the old man and his young wolf cub behaved at your festival. Néstor would be only too happy to send his Mesheníyans here to carve out a piece of this island for his own. He would do it, too, the moment he thought I was too weak to stop him. I have enough trouble keeping my hold on the western cities here, with those barbarians in the east raiding my lands every summer. Now, if I accept a few miserable tripods as blood-payment for the death of my qasiléyu and kinsman, I will appear weak indeed."
Meneláwo somberly shook his head. "So, you would fight Agamémnon to impress Néstor? No, my friend, accepting this qoiná may not hold Néstor off, as you say. But your defeat at Agamémnon's hands would encourage him still more. Besides, Néstor is not the only ambitious king you have to worry about. Ai gar, if your army left these shores to make war on Argo, every little island chieftain between Ak'áiwiya and Assúwa would sail this way. What about the Ushásiyans on the eastern shores of Kep'túr then? Do you not think they would take advantage of your absence to burn Knoshó and every other great house and fort you command? No, I am afraid there is only one thing you can do, Idómeneyu. Accept Agamémnon's qoiná and set watchers on your coasts to deal with Néstor's raiders. Now what is this thing that Médeya wants you to fetch from Mízriya again? Did you say a gack?"
Unable to argue, Idómeneyu let himself be led into another topic. "My wife wants a cat," the Kep'túriyan king explained and Diwoméde began to relax. "It is a remarkable animal, actually. It catches mice as well as any domestic weasel. But it has a much better disposition. It smells better, too. But Médeya wants it for a pet as much as for keeping down the vermin. The creatures are as tame as a puppy and will even sit in a person's lap, I am told."
"Idé, Idómeneyu, I have heard better lies from Odushéyu," Meneláwo said with a half-hearted chuckle. "I have never been as far south as Mízriya, but I cannot believe there is a civilized land that does not use weasels to catch mice, unless you are talking about snakes. But I have never of one of them sitting in someone’s lap!"
The Kep'túriyan made a show of being offended. "How can you accuse me of lying? I am your best friend. By the head of Díwo himself, I swear this is true. Even if it were not, I am inclined to humor the woman. Médeya has been at a loss for someone or something to dote on. Our youngest has gone to guard the divine sheep in the summer pastures. She can baby the cat until Peirít'owo comes down from the mountains and celebrates his passage from wolf to man. In fact, why not go with me, Meneláwo? You say you have never been to Mízriya. Ai, it is truly something to see!" He began to warm to his subject, putting the morning's unpleasantness behind him. "The Náshiyan emperor may be more powerful but Mízriya's great king is richer by far. Those southern people build temples that are bigger than our fortresses, filled with statues of the gods as tall as a man and taller. And the gold! You have never seen so much yellow metal. Ai, there is more gold in Mízriya than there is copper in Alásiya! Yes, you must come with me, next summer. Get a cat for Ariyádna, my friend. She would stop talking about another child, then, and you would have some peace."
A sudden cry came from the corridor and breathless men burst into the room, sweat glistening on their bodies. "Wánaks Idómeneyu, we have seen smoke over 'Elléniya. It has been attacked!"
The kings and the qasiléyu flew from the room, their breakfast forgotten. They dashed through passages lit by torches, heading for a balcony on the north side of the villa. From there, they could just make out a pillar of smoke on the horizon to the north.
Filled with dread, Meneláwo clapped his hands to his head. "Ariyádna!" he cried. "I should not have left her alone. Owái, by Diwiyána and Díwo, I wish I had not left 'Elléniya! Where are my men? I must go home immediately."
Idómeneyu took hold of Meneláwo's shoulders. "Listen to me, my friend. I know your first impulse is to go to 'Elléniya. But be sensible. You are too far away to be of any help to your wife. The miserable dogs who attacked will be long gone by the time you get there. Stay here a few days and I will gather all the men I have under me, then I will join you in a punitive expedition. It must have been Odushéyu, do you not agree? Who else would do such a thing during a festival?"
But Meneláwo was not listening. "No, do not try to stop me, Idómeneyu. I must go. I cannot wait." He turned and strode through the halls, gathering his cloak and sandals from the bed chamber, cursing the gods and himself as he went.
Idómeneyu and Diwoméde followed the distraught king, trying to talk him out of leaving. "I will help you track down the pirates," Idómeneyu promised, "but first I must go to my capital to assemble my men. I can organize an expedition only from Knoshó." But Meneláwo could not be turned from his purpose and, his possessions in his hands, marched toward the staircase that would lead to the courtyard.
"If you
must go now, come north to Argo, with me," the younger man urged. "Wánaks Agamémnon will surely send any additional help that you need."
Meneláwo stopped briefly at the foot of the stairs. His dark eyes fell upon the qasiléyu's beard, still sparse. "You do not know him very well yet," the Lakedaimóniyan said and turned toward the door that would take him outside.
"I may be young but I know all I need to know," Diwoméde said hotly. "A holy place was sacked during a sacred festival. That is an insult to every Ak'áyan's honor. The code of areté demands revenge."
"It is not areté that concerns me," Meneláwo snapped. "It is Ariyádna." He quickly crossed the villa's courtyard and threw open the gates. Hurrying through the little town, he shouted to his Lakedaimóniyans, "To the ship, men. To your oars! We are at war."
