by Diana Gainer
"The old man has more courage than I thought," Menést'eyu said admiringly. "I doubt that Agamémnon often hears such frankness."
"Or such wisdom," Aíwaks agreed. "I had almost forgotten about Ak'illéyu's men."
Idómeneyu grunted, "Ai, you P'ilístas are quick to rejoice when disaster may still loom ahead of us. The T'eshalíyan will demand a high price for his precious areté. Agamémnon may not be willing to pay."
Agamémnon rose with a reluctant groan to take up the speaker's staff again. "Néstor, you are right. I made a grave mistake angering Ak'illéyu. I admit it. Ai, it was that blood-sucking prophet and his ravenous dáimons who drove me to it. But that is behind me now. I want nothing more than to make peace with this man. If I must give yet again, I will be as generous as ever." He thought a moment and brightened as it came to him. "I will offer half my share of the booty from the islands. That ought to please him. It will sound as though I accept him as an equal. Let me see. That comes to seven tripods, ten ingots of copper, and four captives from Lázpa, all skilled weavers. They are women he took himself. He should like that."
The Argive wánaks paused to survey the ring of faces. Most were nodding at the great man's generosity. But Néstor was unimpressed. "This might have been enough at one time," said the Mesheníyan wánaks. "But Ak'illéyu has had a few days now to nurse this grudge. You must do more than accept him as an equal. You must buy his good will."
Agamémnon cast about, knowing Néstor was right. "Ai, you are a hard man! Well, then, I will give 'Iqodámeya back to him, to seal the bargain. After all, she was the reason for our dispute."
Aíwaks gave a short, bitter laugh. "Used goods," he commented.
'Iqodámeya crept forward from the shadows of the tent at the mention of her name, her eyes wide. Agamémnon chewed the ends of his mustache, staring at the woman. "No, Aíwaks, she is still Ak'illéyu's woman. I swear upon my hearth that I never lay with her."
Idómeneyu and Aíwaks exchanged surprised glances. "That is quite an admission!" the Kep'túriyan said.
Aíwaks added, "Surely this will make everything right."
Still Néstor said nothing and waited. Agamémnon studied the old king's face a moment. The high wánaks spoke again, less confident than before. "So you require still more? If we take Tróya, he can choose his share of the booty first. I will let him load his ships with all the bronze they can carry and the best Tróyan women."
Idómeneyu frowned. "Meneláwo may have something to say about that."
Agamémnon quickly added, "Any but for Ariyádna. And by the way, Idómeneyu," he waved at the Kep'túriyan, "you can tell my brother what went on here, when we have finished."
But Néstor kept his eyes on the overlord's face, still waiting. Beads of sweat appeared along Agamémnon's hairline. He thought long and deeply before continuing. "If we see Argo again, I will take Ak'illéyu as my adopted son, favoring him above even Orésta, my own flesh and blood."
The big qasiléyu's mouth fell open. "Great Díwo!" Aíwaks exclaimed.
Beside him, Idómeneyu snorted. "The T'eshalíyan is hardly a child in need of a protector. He has one father already. What does he want with a second?"
Agamémnon's eyes fell upon the island wánaks, first in anger, then in resignation. He sighed. "I have two daughters, K'rusót'emi and Lawódika. Ak'illéyu may take whichever one he wants to be his bride." He spread his hands. "What more can I give?"
Idómeneyu glanced at Néstor, implacably waiting even then, and spoke his own thought. "Good idea. When Ak'illéyu pays you the bride-price, you can demand the return of all the riches you just gave him." He roared with laughter at the thought. "Ai, Agamémnon, it is too bad Odushéyu did not hear this. It is a bargain worthy of a pirate."
Néstor shook his head. "This will not do. Ak'illéyu may be from the north, but he is no barbarian. He will see this ploy as quickly as Idómeneyu did. You must do better."
Agamémnon's head fell upon his breast. In a low voice he continued. "I will take no bride-price from him. Instead I will give my daughter a dowry, as men do in distant lands. I will give Ak'illéyu two of my fortresses, Atréwiya and Qádaso, both rich and with many farmers to pay him tribute." He raised his beefy hands to the sky. "By the gods, what more can I do? I offer to accept him as my equal. I admit my error and return his prize. I present a higher qoiná than any ever paid before, even though none of his kinsmen's blood was shed. And I make him both my son and son-in-law at one and the same time! He will inherit Argo after me."
Néstor was satisfied at last. "Your gifts are indeed splendid. Ak'illéyu will have to bow to you now. After all, you outrank him and you are older. Now let us choose an emissary to speak with Ak'illéyu right away. Aíwaks, you should go. He knows you well and trusts you."
The tall man rose and pressed his hand to his heart to show his obeisance. But he glanced with some surprise at Agamémnon. 'Who is overlord here?' he wondered. He had expected Agamémnon to make at least a token protest, but the overlord only sank to the ground once more, his head in his hands. Though unspoken, the bewilderment was shared by the other men present.
"Be still, everyone," Néstor continued, glaring as the men broke into excited talk among themselves. "We must pray to Díwo for the success of the mission. 'Iqodámeya, bring bowls for their hands." The injunction brought silence as the woman brought jars of water to pour over the men's hands. Each poured a few drops of wine on the earth as an offering to the god of thunder.
As the lawagétas concluded their prayers, they heard the distant drumming of horses' hooves and the tumult rising from the enemy camp. Agamémnon led the way as all rushed toward the rampart's gate on unsteady legs. In a tremulous voice, the high wánaks asked, "Friends, lawagétas, do you hear it? Or am I dreaming? Do you hear horses coming?"
The others went quickly to open the newly finished wooden gate, eager to see whether their spies were returning. Even Meneláwo came from his tent at the commotion and limped after the other kings. Idómeneyu cried out in anxiety, "They must have captured Diwoméde and Odushéyu."
But as the island wánaks spoke, the spies and the white horses trotted into view. All the troop leaders hurried out of the encampment and gathered around to help stop the mares. Clapping the returning heroes on the shoulders, the lawagétas greeted them warmly, asking questions all at once.
"What kind of animals are these?" Idómeneyu marvelled. "They are as pale as the winged dáimons that pull the chariot of the moon!"
"What is that bundle in your hands, Odushéyu?" Aíwaks asked.
"We killed an enemy spy," the It'ákan crowed, unwrapping the wolf skin to show the small take. A small pot shard fell to the ground, unnoticed by the warriors inspecting what the mariner still held in his hands.
It was Néstor who spoke with the greatest authority. "Tell us, Odushéyu, how did you manage this? How did you get into the T'rákiyan camp? I have never seen horses like these in all my years and I have shed blood on all three continents, Assúwa, Eyurópa, and Líbuwa!. Lady Diwiyána is with you!"
The island king happily described the night's events, exulting in his new glory. Diwoméde was quiet, head and arm aching now, as he led the horses into the camp. "It was a great deed," Agamémnon pronounced when the tale was done. "My qasiléyu will have the horses," and he stared hard at the It'ákan to warn him against a protest. "Odushéyu, you will have the gear of the Tróyan spy. You have both done well, men."
Waking T'érsite to deal with the white horses, Agamémnon told Diwoméde, "Come to my tent, my son." There he ordered 'Iqodámeya to bathe the young man. The gentle hands of the woman soothed his aching muscles with olive oil and washed away the tired aftermath of fear. Father and illegitimate son drank diluted wine together, dipping again and again from a full, sweet bowl.
Staying behind the others, Idómeneyu picked up the broken piece of ceramic that had fallen, unnoticed from the wolf skin bundle. He turned it over in his hands, one finger tracing a row of painted markings. To himself, he slow
ly read the name of the sender at the end of message. "Ku-lu-ta-me-ne-…Klutaimnéstra!"
aaa
At dawn, Aíwaks made his way to the T'eshalíyan section of the camp to speak with Ak'illéyu. Odushéyu, rising early despite his long night, saw the big man and asked what he was doing. The big qasiléyu explained, impressing the It'ákan with the list of gifts that Agamémnon was offering.
"Let me go with you," Odushéyu suggested. "Ak'illéyu is a good friend of mine. But let me do the talking. You are a good man with a spear, the best. But if you speak, you are likely to say something to offend him. Let me explain how we will do this. Listen carefully now. It is a complex strategy I have in mind.” He began to talk quickly, walking along beside the bigger man, before Aíwaks could decide against allowing him to come along.
"We will begin with talk of friendship,” Odushéyu explained. "We will remind him that all Ak'áyans are brothers, all sons of the same Mother Diwiyána. Then we will show him our sadness. As a friend, he will be concerned. We will tell him how badly he is needed. We should sound absolutely desperate for his help at this point. Make him out to be a hero, or even the son of a god. Build him up. He has been insulted in front of the men and needs to hear that we still respect him. Only when his heart is prepared, will we appeal to his greed and name the gifts. Stress that Agamémnon is returning what he took, and that the woman was rightfully Ak'illéyu's. The high wánaks is conceding defeat on this point. That may mean more to him than the booty."
Aíwaks listened, nodding at every phrase. "Yes, yes, we are sure to succeed. Néstor had the right idea. It is easy to see why the old man's wisdom is renowned."
"Over-rated," Odushéyu growled. "Any man seems brave and wise with a large enough following. His men win wars through sheer numbers and everyone says the king's strategy was the reason. But I am the wánaks of a small and impoverished island nation, so despite my great courage and greater wisdom, I am unlikely to win much prestige. Ai, what I would not give for Néstor's reputation!"
"If you convince Ak'illéyu to rejoin us, you may get your wish," Aíwaks said helpfully, not noticing the gleam in Odushéyu's eyes. "But I may be the one to make him change his mind, after all. He and I have been friends a long time, did you know? I went to his father's court at Yólko many years ago. Ak'illéyu was just a boy then. My own father had sworn to kill me, you see, and I had to leave Lókri to escape his anger."
"Your own father?" Odushéyu asked, astonished.
"Yes, my father had taken a T'rákiyan captive, my mother, you see. When she was old, he no longer slept with her, showing her no respect. He took another, younger girl to his bed, later. My mother begged me to lie with this girl so that the slut would not entice the old man to her bed any more. I did it, of course. How could I refuse my mother?"
"You slept with your father's concubine?" The It'ákan was shocked. "No wonder he swore to kill you!"
Aíwaks sighed and hung his head, ashamed. "Yes, he had raised me as if I were his legitimate son. But, after that, he said I was no longer his kinsman. I wanted to kill him for that, I was so angry." He shook his fist, the old anger returning to darken his face. Soon, though, his hand relaxed and he shook his head again. "But people will not respect you after you have done something like that. It is one thing to kill foreigners. But a man should never raise his hand against his own blood. So I left home, to avoid the issue. Wánaks Péleyu made me welcome in T'eshalíya, treated me like a son, or a nephew, at least. Ak'illéyu was his only child, you know. People say that Patróklo is his brother, but he is not a kinsman by blood. He is only Ak'illéyu's foster brother."
"I did not know," Odushéyu said, raising his thick eyebrows.
Aíwaks went on. "Ak'illéyu took a liking to me. I taught him everything he knows. He followed me everywhere. In fact, I was the one who gave him his first taste of undiluted wine." The big man chuckled at the memory. "He drank a whole bowl and then vomited on my chest." He laughed again, heartily. But once again his mood changed, his shoulders drooped. Ruefully, he added, "If I had not lost my temper and killed a T'eshalíyan, I would never have left Péleyu's household. Argo never welcomed me the way T'eshalíya had. Yes, Ak'illéyu and I go back a long way. He will listen to me."
But the two lawagétas felt their confidence slipping away as they reached the first T'eshalíyan huts. Warriors from the northern kingdom lay idly by their fires, ignoring their former allies. Odushéyu and Aíwaks talked no more, the boldness gone from their steps. They slackened their pace as they approached the prince's hut. The sounds of a lúra wafted from the rough building, the light ring of plucked strings, to the rhythm of a man's voice.
"Ak'illéyu is singing," Aíwaks whispered. "Let us go in and sing with him. That will put him in a good mood."
But Odushéyu took the big man's arm. "Wait," the It'ákan urged. "We may hear a clue to his state of mind."
Aíwaks tried to narrow his shoulders, as he stood in the narrow doorway, holding still and hoping that he was inconspicuous, as if he were a man of low rank. On the other side of the small room, Patróklo sat in solemn silence. He saw the blue-eyed man in the doorway and nodded to him, but did not speak. Odushéyu waited, unseen, behind Aíwaks and listened.
The P'ilísta prince's eyes were closed, as he sat cross-legged on the earthen floor. He plucked rapid notes with his forefinger and thumb on the strings of a lúra , unlike the rough instruments of turtle shell and gut that other men carried on their military expeditions. The prince's harp was finely crafted, with metal strings and a sound-box of carved wood. To this accompaniment, he sang:
"That day the din of war grew loud
About the gates of Káludon.
The priests and elders begged the prince
To fight the men of great Kep'túr.
"They promised him a great reward,
The richest grove by Káludon,
A vineyard filled with swelling grapes,
A plain that had not felt the plow."
"Not a bad singer, is he?" Aíwaks murmured to Odushéyu. "He took the instrument from the Lázpayan palace, you know."
"That is not a good sign," the pirate king worried. "It seems that he has treasures, after all. Do you recognize the song?"
"It is an old tale," Aíwaks responded, "the one about the battle between Kep'túr and Aitolíya at the fortress of Káludon. The wánasha cursed her son, Meléyagro. After that he refused to fight."
Odushéyu groaned quietly. "I do not like the sound of that. It is too much like Ak'illéyu's own situation."
The T'eshalíyan prince continued singing, unaware of the visitors.
"Fair Káludon began to burn
Kleyopatrá came in to him,
His pregnant wife fell on her knees.
She wept upon his threshold there.
'An evil day is come to us,
Our treasures lost, our altars burned,
Our well-built towers crushed to earth,
Our women raped by brutal men.'
On hearing this, his heart was stirred.
And he drew on his linen clothes.
Then he put on his shining bronze
And fought for love of Kleyopatrá."
"This is the moment," Aíwaks said quietly.
"Let us hear the end," the It'ákan argued, but his companion was already in the hut.
Ak'illéyu's eyes opened and his features hardened as he concluded the song, his dark eyes on the giant.
"But when the war was fought and won,
The city saved, Kep'túriyans gone,
His men forgot his mighty deeds.
Meléyagro had no worthy prize.
He had no land by Káludon,
No vineyard full of swelling grapes,
No plain that had not felt the plow,
But only a grave with Kleyopatrá."
Odushéyu entered. "This is a bad omen," he muttered unhappily.
Ak'illéyu stood, the lúra dangling from his hand. Patróklo looked the visitors over, but said nothi
ng. The visiting lawagétas stood uneasily, trying to read the faces of their hosts. Ak'illéyu raised his empty hand and broke the silence. "Peace. In spite of my quarrel with Agamémnon, you are welcome here." He gestured toward dirty sheepskins piled on one side and the men sat. "Patróklo," Ak'illéyu ordered, "bring wine cups for our guests."
Patróklo rummaged through various baskets, fleeces, unwashed garments, and empty jugs at the back of the hut. To the visitors' surprise and dismay, the T'eshalíyan qasiléyu brought out two gold cups embossed with scenes of fighting bulls. Ak'illéyu stepped outside to add fuel to the fire before his hut, making it blaze brightly. The flickering light highlighted the T'eshalíyans' vigorous bodies, their limbs unscratched and unwearied.
