Golden Mukenai (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  Sitting slowly, Wastunóme brushed dirt and tears from her cheeks, her breath coming in short gasps. "No, I cannot believe this," she sobbed. "My brothers will come after me and take me away from this terrible master. My father is a priest of Apúluno. The god will listen to his prayers and to mine. I am sure of it. You are wrong, Wíp'iya. I will never go to Argo. I will not bear Agamémnon's child."

  'Ékamede spat into the flour as she worked. "I may not escape from this captivity," she admitted, with a hard look at Dáuniya. "But I would rather die than submit without resistance. 'Iqodámeya, you are a fool if you listen to this Ak'illéyu's promises. So are you, Wíp'iya, if you think you can curry favor with Patróklo. Ak'áyans cannot be trusted, not in war, not in trade, and certainly not in bed. These sons of dogs will enjoy us now and make us their slaves at home, no matter what we do. We should spend our time thinking of revenge, not of ways to please the jackals." She tossed a little sand in with the newly ground meal.

  Dáuniya stopped her own grinding to watch. "What are you doing, 'Ékamede? Do you think you can avenge your kinsmen's deaths by ruining the barley meal? You will be eating the sandy gruel and flat-cakes too, you know."

  'Ékamede glared at Dáuniya. "I do not care. I would gladly suffer a little more to see these Ak'áyans break their teeth. But I do not expect the rest of you to understand. You have young men for masters, strong warriors who might give you children. But I am bound to that ancient, dried-up locust, Néstor. I do not think he could give me a child even if I wanted one. Even if he did, tell me W'ípiya, what good would it do me? My captor already has a palace full of boys from his royal wife. He would have no use for my poor bastard. No, I have no future happiness to think about. What I want is vengeance. How else will I face my father's spirit when I have gone to 'Aidé?"

  "I have it worse than any of you," Dáuniya complained calmly. "Paqúr stole me from my home in the ítalo land before I was old enough to marry. I have been washing his dirty laundry ever since. Now I am an Ak'áyan's captive and my master is not even a warrior. He is a surgeon. What is worse, he prefers boys. I have less value in his eyes than a goatskin full of sour wine."

  "Ai, that is a bad fate," Wíp'iya acknowledged and the other women shook their heads sympathetically.

  aaa

  Diwoméde called a second assembly as the sun began to disappear in the west. This time the lawagétas gathered at their overlord's fire, wearing their battle gear to demonstrate the seriousness of the occasion. The southern wánaktes and qasiléyus, in their helmets of leather or bronze, arrayed themselves on the overlord's right. The feather-crowned northerners sat at Agamémnon's left.

  Qálki brought a bough of sacred laurel to serve as the speaker's staff. It was he, too, who announced the reason for the gathering. "The plague has returned to claim more Ak'áyan victims. A great man has offended the divine wánaks of the sea, Poseidáon, and brought this evil upon us all. The god requires a sacrifice if we are to regain his favor."

  The wánaks of Argo did not bother to take the staff to signify his turn to speak. "Get on with it," he said gruffly.

  Wastunóme, kneeling in the opening of Agamémnon's tent, glanced from the overlord to the seer apprehensively. When they ignored her, she turned her eyes down toward the painted bowl she held in her hands. "Please, Dáwan Anna," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "I pledge to you my first-born child. Pity me. Do not let me die on the altar of the god."

  Beside Agamémnon, Meneláwo spoke quietly in his brother's ear, "Remember what I told you. Remember the oath you swore to me, too. Control your temper. This must be done. There is no other way."

  Qálki gazed around the circle of high-ranked men with piercing, black eyes until complete silence reigned. "Before I continue, every man must swear that, if he is the offender, he will do what is required." Diwoméde stepped forward with a goose under one arm, its bill held firmly closed with his other hand. With upraised arms, Qálki addressed the darkening sky. "O Díwo, high wánaks of the gods, lord of the storm and the mountain, come at my call. Hear me, Diwiyána, great Lady, mother of all. Attend our sacrifice, O great Horse, Poseidáon."

  Trembling, Wastunóme stood, beginning a high, ululating cry as the little man finished his invocation. As soon as he was finished speaking, the prophet took the goose from Diwoméde and wrung the bird's neck. Quickly, he cut off the head, letting the blood pour into Wastunóme's bowl. Qálki slit open the goose's belly, spilling the intestines and other internal organs on the hard-packed earth. He took his time examining the entrails, squatting beside them, noting their arrangement on the ground, their size and shape, their color and their smell. "The gods have spoken," the seer announced at last and took the bowl from the captive woman's hands. Wastunóme crept back to the overlord's tent, pale and mouthing prayers.

  Qálki carried the bowl to Agamémnon first, as befitted the overlord's rank. The Argive king dipped the fingers of his right hand in the red liquid and took his oath, invoking his home hearth. But this was not good enough for the prophet.

  "No," Qálki called out, "you must swear by the Stuks."

  Agamémnon shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His breath came harshly between clamped teeth. Color rose in his cheeks.

  "Do it," Meneláwo whispered, behind his brother. "The eyes of all your men are upon you. There is nothing else you can do now."

  "I swear by the Stuks," the overlord growled, shaking his hand to scatter drops of blood on the ground.

  The seer nodded, his burning black eyes fastened, unblinking, on Agamémnon's face. Slowly, Qálki turned away and made his way around the circle of men, holding the bowl while each man dipped his fingers in the blood and took his oath in the same way. The kings and qasiléyus swore in order of their age and rank, ending with Diwoméde, the youngest qasiléyu. When every man's oath had been taken, the prophet cried, "A sacrilegious deed has offended the Horse who shakes the islands." He turned his eyes from one lawagéta to another, from wánaks to qasiléyu, forcing each man's eyes down before his, demonstrating his unearthly authority.

  Ak'illéyu's eyes fell as the others' did. "Who is it?" he asked, pulling impatiently at the leather strap beneath his bearded chin that held the feathered crown to his head.

  But Qálki would not be hurried. "He is a man of some power," the small man said ominously, still looking from one troop leader to another. Wastunóme clung, white-knuckled, to the flap of the tent, whispering ever more rapid prayers.

  Ak'illéyu nodded suddenly and looked up. He knew what the seer wanted. "I will stand up for you, Qálki." The prince stepped forward, spear in hand. Relieved at the northerner's action, the other men voiced their approval. Each declared his support for the T'eshalíyan and the army's prophet. Still, only Ak'illéyu stood between Qálki and the Argive king. "Good," Odushéyu whispered to his neighbor. "Let a P'ilísta risk Agamémnon's anger. I do not care to go to war with the most powerful man in Ak'áiwiya."

  Beside the It'ákan, Idómeneyu agreed. "Yes, I am glad to see a throneless prince take the risk. So long as his mother lives, and unless he marries a priestess, Ak'illéyu cannot rule T'eshalíya. If Agamémnon must be appeased later, old Péleyu can disown his son and save his country. No other man here could avoid bloodshed so easily."

  Agamémnon crossed his arms on his chest and glared at the seer still making his way around the circle of war leaders. "How can the men tolerate this absurd ceremony?" the overlord muttered to his brother, hatred in his eyes. "I will never understand this childish dependence on omens. I know when the time is right for attack. It is time when I am ready, not when a goose waddles the right way."

  "Agamémnon," Meneláwo answered quietly, "It makes no difference what you believe. All the men, northerners and southerners alike, demand a favorable sign before they fight. Accept it. You need Qálki."

  The prophet stopped and faced the fuming overlord. "The man who has offended the god is…," Qálki said, pausing to let tension build, "…Agamémnon!" Wastunóme let out a sm
all cry and fell back. But no man noticed the woman, their eyes on their overlord.

  Though he had known it was coming, the big man cursed vigorously. "To 'Aidé with all prophets! I ought to castrate you, dog! What do you demand this time? The rest of my children? My kingdom? A feather from 'Éra's wing? Ai gar, you will not get it! I have given up enough." He reached for the small man's neck.

  Qálki stepped back without fear, seeking the protection sworn by the other kings. Ak'illéyu stepped forward, between the high wánaks and the seer, his heavy spear pointed toward the bigger man. "Stand back," the T'eshalíyan warned, as determined as he was surprised.

  Red with rage, Agamémnon would have attacked the northern prince with his bare hands. But Meneláwo grasped his brother's arm. "Listen to me. You knew this would happen. You will either lose your captive or your rank as overlord. Do as the seer demands."

  Qálki's eyes narrowed as he peered over his champion's shoulder. "It is the god who requires a sacrifice, not I," he called out in a booming voice. Men of lesser rank and captive women from the rest of the encampment, realizing something was happening, began to move toward the gathering at the hearth of the high wánaks. The sight of Wastunóme, her eyes rolled back in her head, filled them all with foreboding.

  Ak'illéyu thrust his spear toward the overlord's shaggy chest. "You are to blame for this plague, Agamémnon. It was your impiety that caused it to infect us. Only you can end it. If you refuse, you show yourself to be a man of no honor. Every Ak'áyan who values areté will become your enemy."

  A grim smile stretched the thin lips of the seer. "The T'eshalíyan is right, high wánaks. You brought this moment on yourself when you treated a man of god with contempt. Yes, Agamémnon, that was the crime that angered the Divine Horse. You refused to return Wastunóme to K'rusé despite his generous offer and humble plea. The pestilence will not be lifted until Wastunóme is returned to her father, without ransom, and an offering made to Poseidáon, patron god of the shore where this outrage was committed."

  The other captives gasped at the unexpected form of the sacrifice. A murmur of approval passed through the crowd of low-ranked foot-soldiers and noncombatants.

  Agamémnon was aware of nothing but the seer and his champion. The high wánaks ground his teeth, fire blazing in his eyes. "I should have slit your throat at Aúli, you jackal!" the overlord fumed. "I am to blame for everything, to hear you tell it. Ai gar, you are the worst prophet I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Your eyes are blighted by your hatred of me. That is why you see nothing but evil omens. By Préswa and all the dáimons of 'Aidé, you have not let us have a single decent battle in the two months we have been sitting here before Tróya." Shaking off Meneláwo's restraining grip, he took a deep breath to calm himself. "Just the same, I will do what is best for the army. I will give up my Wastunóme. Do you hear me, men? I give her up, freely, for the sake of this campaign, even though I value her more than my own lawful wife."

  Quiet words of approval and audible sighs of relief came from most of the assembled lawagétas. But, after a moment of foot-shuffling hesitation, Diwoméde stepped forward and took the speaker's staff from the seer. "Wait. You have all forgotten something important. This woman is my king's captive. She is his share of Lázpa's booty, apportioned by lot. The gods showed their approval of wánaks Agamémnon when they chose him as her master. Men have no right to take what the gods distribute." Meneláwo was quick to voice his approval of the young man's statement. Others began to nod.

  "But that was before the high wánaks burned the holy branch of laurel," Qálki reminded them all, raising his voice to drown out all protests. "That was before Agamémnon insulted K'rusé, servant of the divine gatekeeper. If the overlord is distressed at Poseidáon's demand, he has only himself to blame."

  "I said I would give up the captive," Agamémnon bellowed, taking the staff and glaring round at the lawagétas. "And I will do it. But I am the highest ranking wánaks, overlord of all Ak'áiwiya. As Diwoméde says, Wastunóme was my portion of booty. Without her, I have nothing from Lázpa. It may be all right for a common foot soldier to forgo a reward for a battle or two. But I am still your leader, the highest in rank, and I must have an overlord's reward. Prepare me a prize of honor to take this woman's place. I will not be humbled before my men." Hands to their mouths, the captive women raised Wastunóme from the earth, to which she had sunk, in her terror, and patted her cheeks, whispering to her of freedom.

  Ak'illéyu's own temper flared. "Wánaks, how can we give you anything? We do not have any great store of plunder. We have already divided up the treasures from the islands. Are we supposed to apportion the booty all over again? Do you expect every man to return his portion just because you had to give up yours? We did not anger the gods. Only you did that."

  Seeing dissension spreading quickly through the ranks, Meneláwo gripped the speaker's staff and spoke urgently. "Listen to me, brother. Just let the captive go and you may have twice your share when Tróya falls."

  "You will not buy me off that easily, Meneláwo," Agamémnon roared. "And you, Ak'illéyu, you would be happy enough to keep your woman when I lose mine. But I have already made more than my share of sacrifices and I have had enough of these demands upon me from the army. How many times must I prove myself to all of you? I gave up my daughter, my own flesh and blood, as no man should ever have to do. What did I demand as recompense for that loss? What? Nothing! I asked for nothing but the safety of this army. And now I must make a second sacrifice. Very well, I relinquish my captive woman. But this time I will not accept your judgment so quietly. No, I have proved myself to you and it is high time all Ak'áyans proved their loyalty to me in return. I am the highest in rank here, the most powerful king in Ak'áiwiya, not your servant. I am the commander of this expedition, too, not Qálki, not Ak'illéyu. As supreme commander, I give you all my order. I require a prize of honor from the lot of you, one of equal value to what I have lost. I demand a woman for my bed. Maybe I will take Néstor's woman," he cried, pointing to the aging Mesheníyan.

  Néstor was outraged and Antílok'o tightened his grip on his spear. "No," the young prince cried, "you will have to fight us for her." Behind him, other lawagétas from the south moved their hands to their sides, feeling for the hilts of their swords.

  Meneláwo's hands flew up in alarm. "You go too far, Agamémnon. Do not stir up hard feelings among your allies. Remember what we came here to do."

  Néstor put a hand on his son's sword-arm and said, "Be still, my son. Every man must respect those of higher ranks. If the overlord demands a thing, the lesser ranks must provide it. The code of areté demands it." He had spoken loudly, so that all would hear. In a whisper, he added, for his son's ears only, "But we will not forget this."

  Menést'eyu came forward in his feathered cap to add his voice to the matter. "Néstor is right. In my years as a warrior, I have often known the bitter taste of giving up a hard-won prize to a higher rank. Many of the captives I have taken in battle were not fated to remain mine. I gave them up to my wánaks Erékt'eyu and I did so without complaint. An honorable man can do nothing else. If the high wánaks demands a replacement for this captive, then we must provide it. That is the code of areté." Other kings, in bronze or feathered headgear, agreed. Behind them, the women reached for the feeble reassurance of their fellow captives' embraces. They clung to each other, shaking, Wastunóme among them, hardly knowing whether to believe what her ears told her.

  Agamémnon's purple face turned to the seer's protector. "Well spoken, Néstor," said the overlord. "Keep your woman, old man. Nor will I demand Menést'eyu's horses as compensation. I will have Ak'illéyu's woman. This T'eshalíyan whelp is as much the cause of my shame as the prophet himself is. It is Ak'illéyu's loyalty I doubt. He always sides with Qálki, always puts his spear before that gutless fawn."

  Spitting in his rage, Ak'illéyu shouted, "I will not give up my woman to you or to any other man. I am no vassal king and no qasiléyu, yours or anyone e
lse's. I am a wánaks just as you are and I am your equal. I voted to follow you on this expedition but I did not give up my rank. You cannot command me like one of your hunting dogs!"

  "By all the gods and goddesses," Meneláwo cried, "Brother, do not do this! You are threatening the whole Ak'áyan alliance!"

  But Agamémnon was implacable. "I do not care if you choke with rage, P'ilísta. You are not my equal and never were. You are not even the equal of my youngest qasiléyu. So long as we are on this shore, you are my vassal along with every other man and you will do as I say."

  "Ak'illéyu, listen to him," urged the other feathered lawagétas.

  The T'eshalíyan prince would not back down. "You greedy idiot, how can you expect any man to follow you now? We chose you as our overlord, Agamémnon. You were not born to the post. We can easily elect someone to replace you. No man with any sense of honor will listen to your commands now." He turned to the others, seeking support.

  With mirthless laughter, the Argive king demanded, "Is that so? Do you really think another could lead this army? Idé, there is no man here but me who can command the loyalty of any kingdom besides his own. Or is there?" He raised his arms, encompassing the assembly with the gesture. "I would like to see the man who thinks he is my superior! Step forward!"