by Diana Gainer
As he talked, Péleyu marched up the hillside path toward the citadel with long strides. The child he carried listened with wide eyes, a dimpled finger in his mouth. The others followed behind the king. Érinu carried the middle boy and Andrómak'e the younger as Automédon shouted for the other qasiléyus.
T'éti overtook 'Iqodámeya on the hillside path and reached for Sqamándriyo herself. "Let me have the baby," the queen said in a gentle voice and the captive let the little one go. "It will not do for a pregnant woman to carry anything heavy," T'éti went on. "Ai, if that is my son's child in your womb, then it is my grandchild. We will have to take good care of you and that baby. It is our last hope for a granddaughter, an heir to T'eshalíya's kingship." Sqamándriyo, exhausted from endless crying, soon fell asleep on the unfamiliar but soft shoulder of the queen.
T'éti talked on, while the company plodded up the steep road, as if she had forgotten her sorrow. "You captives must listen to me. I am sure you lost kinsmen dear to you. But you must put away lamentations and tears now. Accept your fates.
"Whatever rank you held in your homelands, whoever you were, now you are slaves. You must act appropriately. Be submissive to my will and to Péleyu's, as we are now your queen and your king. Show respect at all times. Be obedient. Do these things and your lives will not be too hard. We T'eshalíyans are not barbarians. We will not torment you or humiliate you, so long as you behave well. If you are good slaves, you will be rewarded with plenty of food, fine garments, and easy duties. But show defiance, be disobedient, and your lives will be harsh indeed."
'Iqodámeya touched Andrómak'e lightly on the arm and whispered, "Listen to her, for the sake of your baby. Púrwo is infatuated with me now, so you must try to attract the interest of the king. If this Péleyu favors you, he will protect your child from harm. Sqamándriyo may yet grow to be a man."
"You must not," Érinu objected in an angry hiss. "That would be disloyal to my brother's memory. Do not let any Ak'áyan lie with you, Andrómak'e."
The widow plodded miserably between the two, thinking of her dead husband. She remembered how Qántili had come to her on the towers of Tróya, in the midst of the first great battle. She felt again the warmth of his arms around her that day, pictured the baby's fright at the tossing horse-tail crest on his helmet. And Andrómak'e wept bitterly, pressing her nephew's head to her cheek. "Owái, my sweet husband, why did you have to die?"
CHAPTER FIVE
KASHANDA
It was some time later when all the company gathered in the mégaron of Yólko's fortress, having bathed and changed into clean clothing provided by the royal family. Even the captives were given a bowl of clean water and allowed to wash themselves, before each donned a fresh garment of undyed, woolen cloth. In the audience room of the palace, Andrómak'e and Érinu were then put to work, under the watchful eyes of the ranking qasiléyu, Automédon. Alongside the older T'eshalíyan servants, the new slaves helped with the preparations for the funerary meal. They carried caldrons to the central hearth, setting them over the fire on tripod stands. They stirred the meat and barley porridge as the food cooked in the great pots, serving the food in bronze dishes and on wooden trays, when it was prepared. 'Iqodámeya was given no duties, however, in deference to the child in her womb. She sat on a plaster bench that ran the length of the room. On the far side of the chamber from the royal family, as befitted their low rank, Paqúr's two youngest boys sat with her, impatiently waiting for their turn to eat.
The oldest child sat on Péleyu's knee, greedily devouring everything that the aging king gave him. The boy's littler brothers watched enviously at first, soon cautiously leaving their bench to approach the throne of the wánaks. 'Iqodámeya anxiously whispered to the children to come back to her, but their round eyes were on the tasty morsels disappearing down their older brother's throat. The royal couple did not scold the approaching boys, instead smiling at them warmly, holding out treats for them, too.
Like half-wild animals, the little ones snatched each offered item and drew back with it, gulping it down just out of reach of the king and queen's arms. "Ai, poor little things, they are as frightened as fawns," T'éti remarked, watching them. "There is truly nothing more defenseless than an orphan." She looked down at the slumbering baby still in her embrace, lightly touching the curve of his cheek.
Péleyu glanced at his wife and ran a hand over the long, gray curls that tumbled over her shoulder. With an unsteady voice, he murmured, "It seems it was only yesterday I saw you holding Ak'illéyu in your arms this way." His eyes met hers, both filling again with tears.
Prince Púrwo frowned and squirmed in his chair. Glancing around at the somber troop leaders, he suddenly spoke aloud. "Why all the sad faces? I do not understand. My father died a glorious death. He chose a short life of the greatest honor. His first and last thoughts were of a soldier's areté. We should not be weeping over his ashes and Uncle Patróklo's like a bunch of weak women! We should be remembering their great deeds. It was Patróklo whose brave action alone saved the Ak'áyan army from Qántili. If Qántili killed him in the end, that was only because the cowardly Tróyans surrounded him and that dog came at him from behind. But my father avenged his kinsman in a fine manner. Then he too died at the hands of a cowardly Tróyan prince, shot in the back by that miserable archer, Paqúr. No man could face my father in battle and live to tell about it! And now, I have brought home the war's finest spoils, the last of the Tróyan royal family. Vengeance is mine!"
Péleyu sighed, recovering his composure. He straightened in the hard, oak throne and asked, "Tell me, Púrwo, did you see him? Did you meet your father at Tróya?"
The youth made a face. "Well, no. He was already dead when I got there. But Aíwaks told me about his deeds. You remember Uncle Aíwaks."
"Ai, that great swine of a man," T'éti sniffed. "He was a bad influence on Ak'illéyu, nothing but a boastful, ill-tempered drunkard."
Púrwo hopped to his feet, angrily defending the giant. "Grandmother, even you cannot talk about Aíwaks that way! I will not stand for it. He was the greatest Ak'áyan champion on the field until I arrived. But Agamémnon would not let me take his ashes home with me. So let us all now pour a little wine for Aíwaks of Sálami, may his soul rest peacefully in 'Aidé." So saying, he raised his wine cup, letting a few drops spill over the burnished rim, onto the paving stones of the palace floor.
"Hmph," the queen snorted, unimpressed.
"Now, T'éti," Péleyu admonished his royal wife. "You can at least do that."
As the company made the libation, Andrómak'e crept forward uncertainly, to gather the cups for refill. T'éti caught sight of her and called out, "That is enough work for you, now. Come, take the baby and feed him. Then you may have your meal, young woman. That goes for all the captives."
Andrómak'e gratefully took up her little son, finding a seat beside 'Iqodámeya where she could nurse the baby and eat. Érinu did not even bother to look for a place to sit. He only squatted where he was, by the circular hearth in the middle of the room, and wolfed down his slave's ration of bread and watered wine.
As all ate and drank their fill, Púrwo regaled them with tales of prowess on the battlefield. Most of the great deeds he had not witnessed himself and he constantly called on the former charioteer, Automédon, or on the other, equally taciturn qasiléyus to confirm his version of the facts. Without meeting the gaze of their king or queen, the troop leaders silently nodded, supplying no details of their own.
Péleyu and T'éti listened with increasing skepticism to their lively grandson’s accounts of the staggering number of casualties on both sides, of men and gods fighting side by side together on the battlefield, of Wilúsiyan warriors magically whisked out of harm's way by protecting Assúwan deities, of great Díwo himself appearing on a nearby mountaintop to weigh the fates of men in his divine scales, of magnificent Poseidáon rising from the sea in his form as the Divine Horse, kicking down the massive gates of the intransigent citadel of Tróya at the la
st.
"Idé, boy," Péleyu objected, shaking his head when his youthful kinsman finally paused for breath, "you could not have seen half these things yourself. The war was nearly over when you arrived."
"I am not to blame for that!" Púrwo cried, his cheeks flushed from excitement, as much as the wine. "I was still on the island of Skúro when the war began. I did not even know about it until we celebrated the mid-summer rites. Even then, Grandfather Lukoméde refused to let me go straight to Wilúsiya. He insisted I come here first, to get your permission."
T'éti smiled. "And we did not give you our leave until the summer was nearly ended. Yes, Púrwo, that was the whole idea. You are still too young to be a warrior, yet. We did not want you to face any real danger until you were a grown man."
"Ai, but face it I most certainly did!" the youth shouted, jumping to his feet and spilling his wine as he gestured. "You kept me out of some of the fighting. But I was there when Tróya was sacked. I gained my share of glory, in spite of all you old folks! It was I who killed the king of Tróya himself."
"Yes, and on the sacred altar of Poseidáon," Érinu called out in righteous indignation from the hearth, unable to keep still any longer.
T'éti and Péleyu were shocked. "Is this true?" Péleyu demanded. "Did you kill him in a place of sanctuary?"
Púrwo did not answer immediately. Biting his lip, he looked around at the guarded faces of the qasiléyus. "No, that is a lie," he blurted and pounced on the slave who had spoken, beating Érinu about the face and shoulders with his fists. "Slaves do not speak until they are addressed!" the young warrior cried. Érinu did not attempt to defend himself, but remained crouched by the hearth, closing his eyes and raising his arms as the boy hit him again and again.
"Púrwo, stop that!" T'éti scolded, standing and waving her withered arms.
Péleyu strode to the hearth, pulling his grandson away from the captive. "This is a holy time, boy. Violence is forbidden, or do you not know any better? You dishonor your father's memory and your uncle's with this behavior." Angrily, he shoved Púrwo back into his chair.
"Some day it will be my memory that is honored," Púrwo groused, glaring up at his tall grandfather.
"Let us hope that is not for a long time," the old man muttered through his teeth and turned back to his throne.
"You are just like all the rest," Púrwo complained bitterly. "The whole Ak'áyan army saw nothing but this beardless face when I was in Wilúsiya. But I am no child. I am a man! And the gods recognize that, even if mortals do not." He stood again and waved his arm toward the captives. "Just look at what I gained in the allotment. All the lawagétas put their tokens in Agamémnon's helmet but the lady At'ána made mine jump out time after time. I have taken all the best of the captives. I have the sons of Paqúr and his only surviving brother." He gestured toward the little boys by the throne and the slave still crouching by the fire. Next, he swaggered toward the women on the bench, adding, "The goddess of fortune gave me other high-born Assúwans as well, the widow and son of Tróya's champion." He swung a careless hand toward Andrómak'e, Sqamándriyo still at her breast. The woman instinctively drew the baby closer at his words and gesture.
"And now, all of my father's booty is mine as well, including his concubine." Lastly, Púrwo laid his hand roughly on 'Iqodámeya's head, gripping her hair and pulling her head back so that he could plant a vigorous kiss on her startled lips. His abrupt movements made her cry out.
"Púrwo," Péleyu snapped angrily.
"Such manners!" T'éti rebuked the young man. "You should be ashamed. Ai, you are nothing but a wild animal! You learned nothing on that island but how to misbehave!"
Púrwo released the woman's hair and faced his grandparents in a fury. "No one talks to me that way, especially in front of my qasiléyus."
But now it was Péleyu whose temper flared. "They are not your lawagétas, boy, but mine!" shouted the older king, standing with his fists raised. "And no fifteen-year-old wolf-cub will defy the wánasha in my mégaron." Advancing on the youth, the wánaks struck his grandson on the cheek.
Púrwo stumbled backward, putting his hand to his face. Looking around quickly, he saw no one was laughing. Officers and captives alike were nervously watching, not sure who held the power of kingship now. Púrwo straightened and faced the old man. "You have no right to treat me like a child. You are not my father. I will go home to Skúro in the morning. And I will take with me all those T'eshalíyan warriors who love true areté."
"What nonsense," T'éti scoffed. "Skúro is not your home. We are your closest kin. Ai, we should have taken you from that barbarian island when your mother died. Just look what an uncivilized thing they have made of you."
"Sit down and stop talking like a fool," Péleyu demanded sternly. "No one is going anywhere. You have no claim on Skúro's throne, after all. Lukoméde will pass the island kingship to his own son when he dies, not to his dead daughter's child. No, you are T'eshalíyan and you will stay in T'eshalíya under your grandfather's rule."
Púrwo sat hesitantly, seeing that none of the qasiléyus came forward to support him. "I will stay until spring, anyway," he agreed reluctantly. "It would be dangerous to set sail this late in the year. I have tempted the sea god enough this winter."
Paqúr's three little boys had instinctively reached for the nearest skirts at the sudden outburst. Now, seeing themselves at the feet of the strange queen, the littler ones backed away. The biggest whispered to T'éti, "My mamma prays to Poseidáon too."
T'éti smiled at him. "Yes, I know," she said, inviting the child to sit on her lap. He climbed up, glancing toward his uncle at the hearth. Érinu strenuously shook his head. And the little boy uncertainly clambered back down and away from the queen to join his brothers.
On his way back to his seat, Péleyu observed the little scene with a frown. "Érinu, come here," the wánaks ordered, his voice and manner regally commanding as he stood before his throne. The captive came forward warily, his dark eyes on the king's face with a mixture of fear and hate. "Kneel," demanded the king, pointing to the floor before him. "And swear an oath of submission to your new wánaks and wánasha."
Érinu's lips quivered as he considered his reply. But he did not kneel. From behind him, Púrwo objected, "He is my slave, mine! He was allotted to me."
Furiously, Péleyu pointed at his grandson and bellowed, "You will show me respect in my own palace, Púrwo! You are not yet a man and you will not have a man's rights until you have taken the flocks to the mountains next summer. Only when you come down from the high pastures will you be allowed to call yourself a man and possess things in your own right, able to claim the loyalty of soldiers and slaves. Until then, all that you have is mine. That is the custom. That is Diwiyána's law!"
Then, as Púrwo fumed helplessly, Péleyu commanded again, "Kneel, Érinu! Swear your oath."
Érinu had served the meal obediently enough earlier, when he was hungry. But now his belly was full. "Never," he spat. "I will not do obeisance to any kinsman of those who killed my father and brothers."
Péleyu, enraged, beat the captive about the head with powerful fists, knocking Érinu to the floor. His three little nephews ran, screaming, to Andrómak'e. She tried again to include them all in her embrace, weeping, "Owái, Érinu!" 'Iqodámeya huddled with them, sick at heart.
T'éti stood and grasped her husband's arm. "Péleyu, stop that. Ai, such goings on for a holy time! You are upsetting the children."
The king, breathing hard, stood over the cringing Tróyan with his fists clenching and unclenching. "I must teach this captive submission," the wánaks growled to his wife.
"Idé," she scolded, "teach him, but in some other way. It is not seemly to shed blood here. This is a funeral feast. You dishonor the noble dead."
That took the wind out of the old man's sails. Érinu slowly regained his feet, quaking, but still defiant. Péleyu abruptly tore the new kilt from the slave's body. "Automédon," the king ordered, "take him to the stables. Let
him spend the night with the animals, since he insists on behaving like one." The qasiléyu moved quickly to drag the former priest from the throne room.
Péleyu watched them disappear, Érinu shouting curses at every step of the way. The wánaks turned to see the captive women and children now cowering beneath the bench, sobbing and clinging to each other. "Ai, calm your hearts, Tróyai," the old man said ruefully. "Dry your tears. You are in a civilized land. Men of honor do not make war on widows and orphans."
aaa
In the hilltop fort in T'ráki, Agamémnon spent the long, winter nights in his tent with his captured concubine, Kashánda. Wrapped in woolen robes that had been woven in northern plaid, his feet protected by T'rákiyan fawn-skin boots, the overlord reclined on a pallet of sheepskins. A contented smile on his bearded face, he watched the former princess comb her ragged hair as darkness fell. It was a nightly ritual by the time of the mid-winter festival, one he had come to enjoy.
