by Diana Gainer
Meneláwo continued his furious pacing. "You were quick enough to attack Lakedaimón's women and my child while their king was gone," he cried. "What is wrong now, Tróyan fawn? Can you not face a man?"
Stung to greater rage himself, Qántili shoved his older brother. "You brought this moment on yourself by bringing that 'Elléniyan woman here. By all the gods and goddesses, Paqúr, you will face Meneláwo even if it means your death. Better you should die today than shame all Wilúsiya with your cowardice."
"I am no coward," the taller prince shot back angrily. But as he spoke, he saw many pairs of unfriendly eyes. "I am not a coward," he felt compelled to repeat.
"You decided to make the challenge," Qántili spat. "Now, Meneláwo has come forward to accept it. It is too late to change your mind. Now, prepare yourself. Look, I will give you my own spear and shield."
The Lakedaimóniyans had begun to back away from their forward position, though they moved slowly, still shaking their spears threateningly and shouting curses. But Meneláwo remained at the edge of the Wilúsiyan line, unaware that he had been abandoned. The sight gave Paqúr renewed confidence. "You are right, Qántili. I will do it."
The younger prince nodded. "It will be a single combat to the death between you and Meneláwo. The winner will have uncontested ownership of the Lakedaimóniyan queen and the plunder. The rest of the men will take an oath to accept this combat as final. Then all will part in peace." Relief was evident in his face as he spoke.
A sudden flame sprang up in Paqúr's eyes and he struck his brother's unprotected cheek. "This is what you wanted all along, is it not? You are the coward here. You are afraid of dying in defense of your own land."
"Liar!" Qántili cried, his hand on the rising welt. "I am afraid of nothing. But why should all Wilúsiya suffer because you were stupid enough to raid a powerful state?"
"By the thousand gods of Náshiya!" Ainyáh shouted behind the princes. He threw down his spear and shield in exasperation. "Ak'áyans without number are before us and still you two fight each other."
Stung by the rebuke, Qántili started down the Assúwan lines, his spear held up mid-haft. "Lay down your weapons, men. Single combat!"
Agamémnon cursed again under his breath. But he left his chariot to plod heavily through the Ak'áyan lines, his own lance raised in the same way. "P'ilístas and Zeyugelátes, put down your spears."
Among the various armies, separated into their various nations, some men heard and obeyed, while others lifted their voices to argue instead and urge their countrymen to fight. Qántili stepped out between the armies and stood, arms upraised, to quiet them all. "Hear me, Assúwans and Ak'áyans," he called out. "Paqúr is the cause of this war. He proposes to settle it through single combat with Meneláwo. All others must now put aside their weapons. Whichever man wins the fight will take possession of the 'Elléniyan woman and the Lakedaimóniyan bronze."
Meneláwo raised his sword and spear in his hands and roared his approval, "Death to the one whose hour has come!"
A few of the troop leaders, high-born Lúkiyans and It'ákans most prominent among them, still objected. But the mass of foot soldiers and archers on both sides eagerly voiced their assent. As if the sun had just broken free of the clouds, the mood of the men on the field lightened. They happily laid their weapons in piles, talking to each other of flocks and children and full bellies.
Qántili sent Powolúdama back into the citadel to summon Alakshándu and bring a white ram for sacrifice. At the same time, Agamémnon sent Diwoméde back to the encampment to fetch a black ewe. Both commanders advised their troops that they would all take oaths over the blood of the two victims, swearing that they would accept the outcome of the fight that was about to begin.
"Father, what is all this about?" Antílok'o asked, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed. "Is the war over already?"
Néstor sighed, his face relaxing. "Yes, my son, this is the one honorable alternative to all-out war, a single combat of champions."
"But, but, what about glory?" cried the young prince. "What about our plans for an Ak'áyan confederation under Mesheníya's leadership? Have we come all this way for nothing?"
aaa
In a courtyard at the back of the palace, Ariyádna sat spinning, the nursemaid Kluména at her side. The captive wánasha's hair flowed in neat curls over the dark blue robes that swathed her from neck to toe. Strings of beads lay around her neck and coiled in her hair, pierced spheres of semi-precious stones and of Mízriyan blue-green faience. Soft leather boots with upturned toes covered her feet. Despite her rich Assúwan attire, bats of undyed wool lay in her lap. As pale and emotionless as the frescoes on the palace walls, she dropped the spindle whorl and set it turning with one hand, drawing out the thread with the other, spinning as did the nursemaid through all the long summer days. Sounds from the streets and beyond wafted over the high courtyard walls, distracting the serving woman beside her. But Ariyádna's unseeing eyes never turned from the winding yarn, her hands never varied the quiet rhythm of her work.
As they sat spinning in the bright autumn sun, a tall woman entered the courtyard. Her plump form was draped in brightly dyed wool, woven in colorful geometric patterns. Her graying hair was entwined with beads of precious metal, cast in intricate forms. She walked quickly toward the spinners, her dark eyes taking in the quantity of spun thread wound about their distaffs. "It is princess Laqíqepa, the lord Alakshándu's oldest daughter," Kluména whispered to her queen. "Remember, she is the wife of the chief counselor, Antánor. What do you think she wants with us?"
"Come with me," Laqíqepa commanded the foreign women. "You should see the coming battle between the noble sons of Mother Dáwan and Diwiyána's wicked spawn."
Ariyádna's large eyes slowly rose to meet Laqíqepa's. "Diwiyána…?" the captive began in a faint voice. Her lips trembled and the spindle and distaff fell from her hands to the dusty paving stones of the courtyard, her spinning forgotten. Kluména pulled Ariyádna to her feet and they hurried after the Tróyan princess.
Tróyan Laqíqepa scolded the Ak'áyans following her, waving her beringed hands as they threaded their way through narrow corridors to the great southern tower. "You have been here nearly a year, now, so there is no excuse for any improper behavior. Show due respect to the king and all the other members of the royal family who are with him," the princess Laqíqepa said. "Ai, you Ak'áyans are too bold to make decent slaves. Keep your eyes on the floor in their presence, at all times. It should not be very difficult even for barbarians to remember that. Do not speak until you are addressed. There is no need to announce your presence." Up a wooden staircase they walked, spiraling above a pillared shrine within the tower. "Paqúr should have killed Meneláwo last summer. Then none of this would have happened."
"Meneláwo!" Kluména whispered in her lady's ear. "He has come for us, wánasha. He did not die last year, after all." Ariyádna trembled, her knees threatening to give way as Kluména hurried her along. The women reached the top of the staircase and walked out on the battlemented platform that overlooked the broad gateway.
"Bow to the king and his counselors, as I told you," Laqíqepa commanded impatiently. Obediently, the captive women bent their heads toward the white-haired Alakshándu and his oldest son-in-law, twenty paces beyond. The graying princess went to her father's side and announced quietly, "Here they are."
Kluména hissed contemptuously to Ariyádna, "They are nothing but old, dry cicadas droning on a hot, summer day, the two of them. No doubt they are talking about you, wánasha. Their words will not be kind, either."
To her husband, Antánor, Laqíqepa whispered, "I do not know why my father wants to see that 'Elléniyan woman. It is because of her that the Ak'áyans raided our islands this summer. She is to blame for the armies below our walls, too. How I would love to see her cast from these battlements!"
Antánor nodded his head in sympathy. But he laid a finger across his lips, cautioning his wife not to speak too loudly.
>
Alakshándu rested his age-clouded eyes on the captive queen. "She is a remarkable woman, Antánor, though I would hardly have believed it when first I saw her. She represents the hope of an Assúwan outpost in Ak'áiwiya, you know. Paqúr is right about that. What a triumph that would be for my oldest son to lay at our overlord's feet. You may not have guessed it but Qáttushli bitterly resents the Ak'áyan hold on Millewánda, south of here. Yes, the 'Elléniyan is quite a prize. My island vassals say she is from Ak'áiwiya's holiest sanctuary. Even K'rusé has shown me greater obeisance, out of reverence for her. That was an unexpected pleasure. I was pleasantly surprised at the quantity of bronze that came with her, too. It was not much by Assúwan standards, of course, but I expected far less from those barbarian shores. Besides that, who knows? Her knowledge of Ak'áyan writing could yet prove to be of value. Qáttushli has sent written messages to the more powerful kings of Ak'áiwiya on occasion. We might find occasion to do so ourselves."
Antánor frowned. "None of that is worth risking famine. I still believe that we should send her back to Lakedaimón. The woman herself believes that her abduction began what will be the final catastrophe, bringing an end to the whole world. Your own daughter, Kashánda, has seen confirmation of that, time and again. Consider this, too. Qáttushli has now had nearly a year to respond to your request for reinforcements, and yet we have heard nothing, absolutely nothing from him."
Beside her husband, the princess Laqíqepa nodded at every phrase.
The Wilúsiyan king listened patiently, but he was displeased. "I have heard all this before. But the captive is clearly mad. Commoners may see that as the presence of a deity, but I am not so foolish. The 'Elléniyan's beliefs mean nothing to me. As for my daughter, Kashánda used to be a good priestess, a reliable seeress in wartime and an excellent emissary to the gods for us, in peacetime. But she has seen nothing good since the deaths of her husband and sons. I am afraid her losses have blinded her to anything but the misery in her own heart. Ai, it is a good thing my boy, Érinu, has shown some aptitude for the priesthood. Besides, my spy has sent word that the Ak'áyans are quarrelling among themselves. Their alliance cannot last much longer. Nor can the siege. Persistence is simply not part of the Ak'áyan character."
As Ariyádna approached, the king ended the discussion. "Be still now. We will not speak of the war in front of the 'Elléniyan."
Antánor laughed mirthlessly. "My lord, you have dressed her in fine robes and made a place for her in the palace as if she were Paqúr's lawful wife. Her new husband is all but your chosen heir. Can this princess 'Elléniya still be suspect?"
Alakshándu looked sharply at his son-in-law. "How can any man be sure of any woman's heart?" he asked rhetorically. With a polished smile, he beckoned to Ariyádna. "Come, 'Elléniya, join me at the battlements."
As they looked down, Laqíqepa pointed excitedly. "That must be Agamémnon, the one they call the high wánaks. You see? He is the tall man in the chariot in the center of the Ak'áyan army, the one who shines."
"His armor is excellent," her husband observed. "It must be from Kanaqán. In it, he looks like a human obelisk, sheathed in metal."
Ariyádna murmured, "Agamémnon, my sister's husband."
Alakshándu caught Antánor's eye with a look of alarm. "I did not know of that link of kinship," said the vassal king. "Did you?" His son-in-law had not and was even more troubled than his sovereign. Alakshándu pointed an arthritis-bent finger at the lawagéta roaming ceaselessly back and forth through the Ak'áyan ranks. "Who is that man?" he asked. "He is not as tall as Agamémnon but every bit as wide across the shoulders."
Laqíqepa added, laughing contemptuously, "Look at the hair pouring out the bottom of his helmet! He is as woolly as a sheep."
Antánor smiled. "Look how he trots forward, shakes his shield, then disappears back among his men. He is like a little boy hiding behind his older brother in a fight."
Ariyádna did not look at the laughing Tróyans. Staring down at her countrymen, she leaned her head on one side, winding a lock of hair around her finger. "Odushéyu," she murmured, her voice scarcely audible. "My cousin's husband." The royal Tróyans fell into solemn silence, glancing at one another. This was another blood link they had not known about, or reckoned on.
The wánaks from Lakedaimón held his place between the armies, shouting toward the sons of the goddess Dáwan, shaking his spear, pacing restlessly. He had taken off his heavy helmet, and clasped it under his left arm, and his sword rested in its scabbard. Dark, brown hair flowed over his shoulders and he tossed his head now and then to keep it from his eyes.
Ariyádna pointed at her husband with one hand, still twisting her hair with the other. Her face and eyes were as blank and impassive as before. She whispered her husband's name and sighed, "Owái, t'ugátriyon, what has become of you, your mamma and your pappa both across the sea?"
"You see, she feels nothing for him anymore," Laqíqepa whispered to her royal father. "Having tasted of Wilúsiyan areté, she will never again long for that Ak'áyan barbarian's halls."
"Ai, where are the princes, Kástor and Poludéyuke?" Kluména sighed. "If Meneláwo survived, perhaps your brothers did, too." The serving woman pressed forward, though the captive wánasha swayed on softly booted feet, her eyes rolling back into her head.
"Tell me, woman. Who is the giant?" Alakshándu asked of the nursemaid.
"That is the qasiléyu Aíwaks, from Sálami," Kluména promptly answered, her voice sharp. "He is the greatest warrior in Ak'áiwiya, as strong as the legendary 'Erakléwe, and the foremost troop leader under wánaks Agamémnon."
"Which one is Ak'illéyu?" Laqíqepa asked. "My brother Lupákki sent word of that brute."
"I do not know him," Kluména responded quickly, still searching for a glimpse of her queen's brothers. "There are many lesser wánaktes. No one could know them all."
As the Wilúsiyan king stood, considering the foreign women, Powolúdama dashed in through the wide entrance to the city and called up to Alakshándu. "My lord, the commanders have sent for you to preside over a single combat. Prince Paqúr is to face the Lakedaimóniyan king, Meneláwo."
Antánor placed his hand over his heart, his eyes closed for a moment. "Praise Poseidáon," he murmurred and raised a hand to his forehead and to the sky.
His wife repeated the gesture. "I thought we would have war until our tears flowed in rivers," Laqíqepa sighed, laughing with relief. "But Dáwan has heard our prayers. My brother will slit the barbarian's throat in a trice and we will have peace at last!"
Ignoring them both, Alakshándu called, "Bring my chariot to the main gate. Prepare my horses."
Powolúdama hurried away to the royal stables to do his ruler's bidding. Alakshándu and Antánor walked along the top of the massive tower, behind rounded battlements. They descended the stairs to be met by the king's chariot, long-limbed horses harnessed and tossing their beribboned manes. Both high-born men stepped into the cart beside the driver. "I will drive," Antánor told the would-be charioteer. His mouth agape, Powolúdama stepped down, releasing the traces to the councilor's hand.
Laqíqepa had followed her father and husband to the gate and she called blessings after them, as the chariot left the citadel. "Dáwan protect you! Poseidáon be with you!"
aaa
In a dry field, where cattle and horses had grazed the previous year, Antánor directed the king's team between the armies. At the same time, Ak'áiwiya's high wánaks and the ranking lawagétas left their chariots and walked out to meet Alakshándu. Men of lesser rank brought a black and a white sheep for the sacrifice, the one animal male and the other female, a bowl from Ak'áiwiya, and a goatskin bag of Tróyan wine. Diwoméde poured the dark liquid into a bowl and Alakshándu stepped forward to wash his hands in it. Agamémnon repeated the ritual.
When the two monarchs were ritually purified, Agamémnon raised his arms to the sky and called to the gods. "Díwo, O Divine Bull! Diwiyána, mother of the gods, hear me. Poseidáon, O
Divine Horse! Dáwan, lady of Assúwa, witness our oaths. If Paqúr kills Meneláwo, then Ariyádna and her bronze will stay in Tróya and we Ak'áyans will sail home. But if Meneláwo kills Paqúr, Tróya will surrender Ariyádna and her treasure and pay a tribute for all generations, acknowledging me as their overlord."
Antánor protested, "Tribute? Overlordship! No one spoke of these…."
The Argive king continued, interrupting the councilor, "If Alakshándu and his men refuse to keep their part, the Ak'áyans will stay and fight to the end."
Alakshándu's arthritis-crippled hand silenced his son-in-law. "Pay no attention to these words," he ordered quietly. "The oaths of barbarians mean nothing."
Agamémnon quickly drew his knife across the throats of the sheep and Qántili caught their flowing blood in a second bowl, brought by the captive women of the camp. The Ak'áyan lawagétas and Assúwan troop leaders filed by. Each dipped his fingers in the hot blood and spilled a few drops on the ground, reciting the formula, "May my blood be spilled in this way if I break my oath."
