Golden Mukenai (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  Odushéyu slumped, gloomily comparing his own tired arms and legs, covered with a network of scrapes. Aíwaks, gulping down his wine, blurted, "By 'Aidé, Ak'illéyu, you and Patróklo look like gods!"

  The It'ákan covered his face with his hand. "Aíwaks…," he groaned under his breath.

  "Friends do not need to flatter," Ak'illéyu snapped.

  The visitors, oppressed with thoughts of impending doom, waited quietly after that, while Patróklo's stout captive woman cooked the morning meal. Not until Wíp'iya brought them baskets of freshly cooked flat bread and bowls of steaming lentil and barley porridge did they speak.

  "I have often thought of going north again," Aíwaks told his host between mouthfuls. Beside him, the It'ákan rolled his eyes. This was not the talk of friendship he had wanted to begin the conversation with.

  "Give 'Estiwáya her due," Ak'illéyu commanded, interrupting. Each man dutifully tossed a few crumbs of bread into the dying fire.

  Unperturbed, Aíwaks continued where he had left off. "I still have kinsmen among the barbarians of T'ráki. They are my mother's people, you know. I should be welcome enough. A man could do well there. I hear that in the T'rákiyan mountains bronze comes straight from the ground."

  Odushéyu burst into uproarious laughter, nearly choking on his bread. "And I have heard that the Kep'túriyan goddess called Dánwa is really a spider and she spins gold thread out of her ass." He laughed again. "At'ána sometimes appears as a bee, but a spider goddess? That is as absurd as copper and tin mixing themselves in the earth!"

  The T'eshalíyans did not find the subject so amusing. "I have often thought of sacking Dánwa's citadel at Knoshó," Patróklo noted, frowning at the It'ákan. "Maybe, some day, I will."

  It was time, Odushéyu decided and he lifted his wine cup to Ak'illéyu. "Good health to you both! This is a fine feast." He spoke carefully, watching the high-ranked P'ilísta's reaction.

  "Yes, yes, a fine feast," Aíwaks repeated nervously. "But we will eat again later this morning with Agamémnon."

  At the name of the high wánaks, Ak'illéyu set down his cup, his eyebrows drawn together over his deep-set eyes.

  Patróklo leaned forward, tense with anticipation. "You have news?"

  "We came to open our hearts to you," Odushéyu said, looking at the qasiléyu with what he hoped they would take as wide-eyed sincerity. "What concerns us is the prospect of defeat. We see it coming and we are afraid. The battle ended without a clear winner, the other day. Surely you heard or saw how closely the Assúwans matched us."

  Patróklo nodded somberly. Encouraged, the It'ákan went on quickly, "Today's fight will be critical. A single blade could make the difference between victory and catastrophe, between Níke and 'Aidé. We need you, Ak'illéyu."

  The T'eshalíyan prince turned away and spoke through clenched teeth. "I said I would fight no more." Patróklo drew breath, intending to speak. He looked from Odushéyu to his wánaks, shifting uneasily. But the T'eshalíyan qasiléyu closed his mouth and said nothing.

  Odushéyu's voice, melodious before, was now harsh. "A group of T'rákiyans arrived last night. They are camped out on the plain, by the river. T'ráki's tribes have sided with Wilúsiya."

  With a quick glance at Ak'illéyu, Patróklo said, "So we heard."

  Aíwaks could not keep still any longer. "We have done everything we could. We built the rampart. We finished the gate yesterday. The carpenters have been working day and night and they have repaired many of our chariots, too."

  Patróklo responded eagerly, "We have seen this."

  Odushéyu now moved closer to the prince. "But it may not be enough to save us. Our men are troubled. They expect to die today. The Assúwans must be celebrating."

  Aíwaks broke in again. "Díwo thunders on our left side. That is a bad sign…."

  Odushéyu interrupted his companion. "Qántili would like nothing better than to burn our camp and slaughter us all like sheep. No man wants to die here, far from home. Our only hope is that you will join us."

  Ak'illéyu was unsympathetic. "A battle's outcome is never certain. Yesterday, your enemies may have prevailed. Tomorrow you may rout them."

  Odushéyu feared he was failing. His voice rose in pitch. He gestured dramatically, pouring his soul into the effort. "If you help us and we are victorious, your deeds will be remembered for generations." He indicated the lúra leaning, forgotten, beside the T'eshalíyan's fleecy pallet. "Men will sing of your courage for nine hundred years. You will be respected as if you were a god!"

  "But if you do not help us, we are lost," Aíwaks cried.

  Ak'illéyu stared at the earth, a hand at his mouth, frown lines creasing his sun-bronzed face.

  Odushéyu nervously licked his lips and went on, "Remember what your father said when he saw you off. Péleyu warned you to control your passion and your pride. 'Do not quarrel. Show proper courtesy. People respect you more for that than for prowess in battle.' That is what he said."

  "Yes, that is what he said," Aíwaks echoed. "I was there. I heard."

  Odushéyu frowned at the big man before continuing. "But what have you done? You argued with your overlord, showing him no respect. Now just look at you! Here you are, still nursing a grudge."

  Ak'illéyu was growing angry. He spat.

  But the It'ákan hurried on before the prince could speak. "Now listen to what Agamémnon has said. He admits that the quarrel was all his fault and now he wants to make peace with you. Rejoin us and he will give you every kind of treasure, tripods, ingots, half the booty in his tent, including women you captured yourself. Your complaint was that he received what you won in battle. Is that not right? He is giving in to you on this matter. He will even return 'Iqodámeya, untouched."

  Patróklo listened intently but Ak'illéyu snorted in disbelief.

  Odushéyu added, "When we take Tróya, you will take your share of the booty first, as well. Think of the horses! Think of the tin!"

  "Tróya may not fall at all," Ak'illéyu growled. “The Ak'áyans may be defeated.”

  Odushéyu rushed on. "Ai, but that is not all. Agamémnon wants to adopt you as his son and marry you to his daughter and now, listen to this, he will not take a bride-price!"

  Ak'illéyu rolled his eyes. "By the gods," he said impatiently. "I have had my fill of fathers and wives."

  Aíwaks stood in excitement. "But he will give his daughter a dowry when you take her, two rich fortresses! Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

  Odushéyu was on his feet beside the giant. "Give up this anger, prince Ak'illéyu. It is in your best interest. You will not regret it."

  Patróklo was beside himself with eagerness and stood with the visitors. "Take the offer, wánaks, and let T'eshalíya rejoin the Ak'áyan cause. Can you sit still and watch your friends perish? Is that honorable?"

  Ak'illéyu stared in fury at his qasiléyu. "Is it honorable for a man to break his word?" the prince cried. Patróklo threw up his hands in frustration and turned away to plop down on the sheepskins. He said no more.

  "Honor!" Aíwaks cried. "I swear by my own hearth, every Ak'áyan here will honor you for the rest of his life, if you help us now."

  "And think of the honor and glory you would win," Odushéyu suggested. "Qántili is the Tróyan leader, the most feared man among them. If you could take him down, you would be worshipped as a god! And that is no mere poetic expression. I say it again and again because it is true. Ai, one day men will pray for courage at your grave and women will pour libations to your soul!"

  Patróklo shook his head, making the sign of the Evil Eye. The king of the little western island had gone too far. And he knew it himself, biting his lower lip to keep himself from making things worse by blurting out more nonsense.

  Ak'illéyu leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. His head hung down so that the others could not see his face. Without lifting his head, he spoke, his voice quiet and cold. "You say I should give in to Agamémnon. Why? Because he needs me? Idé," he laughed bitterly
, "I have no doubt that he needs me. I told him he would. Now, because of that, he will offer anything to win me back to his side. But he needed me before, too, so I fought for him on Lázpa and Lámno. He made promises before those battles, too. Remember? But how did he reward me afterward? Do you see treasures here?" He straightened and waved his arms, indicating the crude hut. "Do I have tripods? Horses? Assúwan women?"

  It was Odushéyu's turn to squirm with discomfort. "There is the lúra," he pointed out. "And isn't that a woman?" He noted Wíp'iya quietly grinding barley just outside the hut. "And you have these gold cups."

  Patróklo looked at the It'ákan with disdain. "But look at Ak'illéyu's garments. They are dirty and worn. My wánaks and I drank this morning from cups of baked clay. Did you not notice? And look, mine is cracked." He raised the vessel, pointing. "This is not the hut of a rich warrior king."

  Ak'illéyu went on. "I am like a bird who gives her fledglings every morsel of food she finds, but goes hungry herself. How many island cities did I sack for Agamémnon? Every time, he sat comfortably at the back of the army, while I led the chariots in the front. But he still got most of the booty. What he did not keep for himself, he gave to his brother and his friends. Only crumbs were left for the P'ilístas."

  Aíwaks shrugged and said, "Of course. We have heard all this before. But the answer is the same as ever, too. That is the custom. I took as much as you did and now I have less than you but I have not complained."

  "I did not complain, either," said Ak'illéyu, more forcefully, "until he took 'Iqodámeya. But Agamémnon was not satisfied with filling his own stores. No, he had to have my woman, the one I love. Ai gar, now let him enjoy her!" He threw his hands wide.

  Odushéyu quickly protested. "But he will give her back now."

  Ak'illéyu stood, slapping his thighs. "Ai, you have not heard anything I have said! You cannot see what is before your own face! Why are we fighting the Wilúsiyans? Tell me, Odushéyu, why did Agamémnon raise this great army? It was for his brother. But is Meneláwo the only man who loves his wife?"

  "Of course not," the It'ákan answered, "but…"

  "Of course not," Ak'illéyu repeated, loudly interrupting his visitor. "Every decent man loves his wife, just as I loved 'Iqodámeya, even though I bought her with the spear and not with cattle or bronze. But, despite my loyalty to him, despite my rank and standing, Agamémnon stole 'Iqodámeya from me. Stole her, do you hear? So he has no right to ask me for help now. That is nonsense! Would Meneláwo ask Paqúr for help? No!" the prince was shouting, his face purple with rage. "I know Agamémnon for what he is now. Even if I cared nothing for 'Iqodámeya, even if I despised her and gave her away gladly, I would not help your overlord now! I will never follow a man who lacks areté!"

  "But we are lost without you!" Aíwaks wailed. "Forget Agamémnon. Think of us! We are all sons of Diwiyána. We are your brothers. How can you abandon us?"

  "You had your chance to support me, to choose the way of honor," Ak'illéyu shot back. He stood and paced about the small hut, kicking at the refuse from the meal. "You thought little enough of me then. You sided with Agamémnon."

  "But, Qántili…" Odushéyu began, despairing.

  "What about him?" Ak'illéyu roared, coming to stand less than a hand's breadth from the It'ákan. "At least he has a sense of honor. Ai, if you are fool enough to stay and let Agamémnon cheat you, then you can all burn with your tents! To 'Aidé with every last one of you!"

  Aíwaks groaned and Odushéyu sat heavily. "What are we going to tell the overlord?" he said unhappily, not expecting an answer.

  Ak'illéyu spat out his response. "Tell him what I just said. Say it all to his face." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "I see he did not even have the courage to come here, himself. Could not look me in the eye, could he? Well, he cheated me once, but never again. Now, I would not give up a single, dried husk of barley for him!"

  "But, but," Aíwaks stammered, casting about in desperation. "What if he gave you Tíruns? Or what about Mukénai itself?"

  Ak'illéyu breathed heavily, his big hands clenching and unclenching. His body trembled violently, as he struggled for self-control. "I would not help that dog for any fortress, not even if he offered me the citadel of Díwo himself on the peak of Mount Ólumpo! Agamémnon possesses nothing that I desire, nothing! I am going home where my father will find me a bride. Then I will settle down and enjoy the riches my father leaves me. After all, what better prize is there but life itself? A man can always fight another battle; he can always win more tripods, and capture more horses. But when your life's breath is gone you cannot buy it back, you cannot hunt it down with dogs; you cannot capture it again. I am going home and I suggest the rest of you do the same while your souls are still in your bodies and you still draw breath."

  Silence filled the hut, a quiet deep and grim. Aíwaks remained rooted to the spot, tears in his pale eyes. "I cannot believe what I am hearing. Any man will take a blood-price, even for a murdered brother or son. A high enough qoiná eases the grief of the dead man's closest kinsmen. But what is this? You have refused the highest of all payments, and for what? Just for a woman, not even of your blood, not even of your nation. You show no respect for the ways of Diwiyána!"

  Patróklo moved forward in alarm, ready to drag the big man out of harm's way. Odushéyu stepped back, expecting violence from the T'eshalíyan prince.

  But, to the surprise of all three men, Ak'illéyu only sighed, his anger spent, the fight suddenly gone out of him. "No, this is not about a woman. You do not understand at all. It is the principle!" Now he pleaded with the lawagétas, craving their understanding. "Agamémnon is the one who shows no respect for the ways of Diwiyána. Do you not see? A wánaks may take the best of the booty. That is the custom. A man of rank may keep what he likes from the hands of his vassals. But no man has the right to take the possessions of an equal, except by force of arms. And that means war. That, too, is the custom. We are Ak'áyans, civilized men. We do not allow our kings to do anything they please. Even they must accept the limits of Diwiyána's laws. I know that T'eshalíya cannot match Argo in arms and men. I am not surprised that I was not elected overlord. But I am a wánaks and not Agamémnon's qasiléyu. By taking 'Iqodámeya, Agamémnon declared war on me, in exactly the same way as Paqúr began this war with Meneláwo. Your overlord cannot have it both ways. Either he follows custom and takes nothing beyond his share, or he has war. He has made his choice."

  "You are the one who does not understand," Odushéyu snapped, losing his patience. "Custom and anger are both beside the point. The Assúwans are nearly upon us. Suppose they rout us in the next battle and breach our rampart wall. Do you seriously think that they will slaughter the rest of us but spare you because you hold a grudge with your overlord? Do you think they care anything for the laws of Diwiyána?"

  Ak'illéyu shook his head, breaking eye contact with the visiting men. He crossed his arms on his bare chest and stood, his legs apart. His voice cold and quiet, he said, "You have my answer. Go."

  Odushéyu saw that he and Aíwaks had overstayed their welcome. The It'ákan king took up the double-handled cup of gold he had drunk from earlier. Patróklo reached out to stop him. But Odushéyu only poured the last drops of wine on the floor of hard-packed earth. "To Díwo," the mariner said and the T'eshalíyan qasiléyu relaxed. When Patróklo turned again to the sheepskins, Odushéyu left the hut to make his way back to the ships of Argo, the cup neatly tucked away beneath his cloak, Aíwaks dragging along disconsolately behind him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  QANTILI

  Dáwan's children in the citadel were awake at dawn, as were Diwiyána's sons by the sea. Northerly Dodóna's sons divided themselves between the opposing armies, as most of the T'rákiyans took the death of their chieftain to be a sign from the gods. Only a stalwart few remained loyal to the Assúwans. But they hardly made up for the loss of the Pálayans, who, having lost their onagers, chariots, and king, marched eastward that morning, returnin
g to their homes, disconsolate.

  As the men of the city and the camp prepared their weapons and ate, the earth suddenly trembled and the sea became choppy. All eyes looked to the disturbed waters and then to the dark clouds that gathered overhead. Lightning shot down over the ocean, as if the sky and sea themselves intended to do battle that day.

  Powolúdama, behind Tróya's walls, shouted with delight, "The king of the gods is with us! I hear the hooves of the Divine Horse!" Beside him, Wilúsiyans raised their hands to their foreheads in adoration and called, "Poseidáon!"

  Their Lúkiyan allies called upon their high god, "Lord of the storm, join us! Tarqún!" Each warrior rested his spear on his shoulder and raised the other hand to the thundering sky.

  Among the Ak'áyans, Agamémnon drowned out Qálki's ominous warnings. "That is Díwo's voice you hear in the sky, not Poseidáon's!" the overlord roared. "The wánaks of the gods is urging us on to fight!" But, in case Díwo had second thoughts later, Agamémnon decided to forgo his ponderous, banded armor. Instead, he wore the same, simpler breast-plates sported by the lesser kings.