by Diana Gainer
"A second time, Qalánta's heads dipped down. This time, my father gave the order for his archers to shoot. Even so, again three men died, two disappearing down the dáimon's throat along with as many as seven hundred arrows, each as swift as an eagle pursuing a dove! This time, the third victim was a helmsman who fell overboard in his fear and drowned. Ai, we sorely missed that navigator's skill, later in our journey! But I am getting ahead of my story. Blood dripped from both pairs of nostrils, and still, Qalánta spread her jaws again, hungry for more and more flesh. A third time, she came down upon us and still a fourth. Now, all the men bent to their oars with every bit of strength they had in their bodies. Our only remaining hope was to outrun her! Every man alive knew it, too. Even then, with everyone rowing at full speed, we were not quick enough. Three more men died in the next pass, making twelve in all."
"A magic number," Idómeneyu whispered, awed by the tale. "This can only mean Qalánta is truly one of the immortals. I had not heard of her before."
Odushéyu frowned, eying the Tróyan commander with suspicion. "Ai, yes, but if speed is the answer, we do not really have anything to worry about, do we? We can just put all our warriors at the oars, three men abreast, instead of the usual one or two per side. Any decent pirate would tell you the same. We only have to do that from the first and the creature will scarcely have time for a single pass. So we lose three men or so." He shrugged. "That is no worse than what might happen if we board a merchant vessel and have to fight with the crew over their bronze ingots and a dozen jars of oil and wine."
Ainyáh's heavy-lidded eyes flashed and he turned on the It'ákan. "But you have not heard my whole tale, yet. We escaped the dáimon called Qalánta, with a loss of twelve men. That was an evil omen, in itself, and the men were very much afraid. But they were still loyal to my father and their king. They pressed themselves to their oars, coming close to the other side of the straits. The second peak was not as high as the first and we could see fig trees growing on the summit. We thought that the gods would spare us from more suffering, when we saw that sacred grove. But, there was another terror awaiting us, instead. What we did not know was that among those sacred trees lived another dáimon, Qashíga, named for the fruit of her grove, in the language of the horse-tamers of the countryside. She was even worse than the first!
"When we came near the second side of the strait, by the lower end of the cliff, Qashíga swept the dark seawater into her huge mouth, forming a whirlpool of sinking water, a swirling tide that sucked our longboats down to the very bottom of the seabed. Men fell overboard into the turbulent waves. Ai, it was worse even than when Poseidáon shakes the land with his great hooves! The hulls of our ships crashed into each other and shattered in the maelstrom. Many brave soldiers and mariners went to their deaths on that terrible day. My father's longboat alone withstood the whirlpool. But then, the wicked Qashíga spat the black water out again, a rushing torrent like the Sqamándro River in the worst of its springtime flood. Our ship filled with water and began to sink."
Idómeneyu shuddered. "I do not want to hear any more. Let us stay here in Millewánda and raid the coast, as I said before. That sounds the most promising."
Mirurí and Tushrátta were delighted with the Kanaqániyan's story. "No, no, go on," the Libúwan urged. He gestured with his wine cup as he spoke, and glanced at the Lúkiyan beside him for support.
"Yes, tell us more," Tushrátta agreed, nearly bursting into laughter as he spoke around a mouthful of wine-soaked, barley bread. "Was there a third monster? Say, Kápru, perhaps, the Divine Throat?"
Odushéyu could see that he was losing the battle for the Kep'túriyan's support. But he did not know what to make of the frivolous attitude of the other two men. "Ai gar, Ainyáh," the It'ákan complained. "It could not have been as bad as all that! You survived, did you not?"
Ainyáh tilted his head back, looking at the It'ákan over his long nose. "I did, obviously, since I am telling you the tale. But how did I accomplish that miracle, can you imagine? Courage was not enough, Odushéyu. Strategy and cleverness could not help us, either. It was only through Ganuméde's quick action that our lives were spared. As our ship went down in the swirling waves, for a second time, the Tróyan remembered his priestly training. He invoked the dread goddess, Tabíti, the fearful lady whom the tribesmen of Mar-Yandún call the Mother of all dáimons. Tabíti heard his plea and saved us. But, my father, Ganuméde, and I, we three alone were the only survivors out of four ships' companies."
"Ai, there is our answer!" Odushéyu cried triumphantly. "What did Ganuméde say, exactly? We can repeat his words and be saved ourselves, just as you were."
"I could not hear the words," Ainyáh answered abruptly. "The crashing of the waves was too loud."
"Then let us go back to Tróya and ask your father. I am sure the old man remembers," Odushéyu suggested quickly, with a malicious grin.
Idómeneyu turned from one speaker to the other, listening to each man's words. He was worried and uncertain, unable to offer any advice of his own. Neither was trustworthy, in his eyes. But each had supported his side in past battles, and could not safely be ignored, at the same time. At his elbow, Tushrátta unconcernedly picked his teeth with a sliver of wood pried from the arm of his chair with his bronze dagger. The Kep'túriyan exile would get no assistance from the more reliable Lúkiyan in making up his mind, he could see.
Nor did the Libúwan help matters. Mirurí stretched himself out on the floor of the big chamber, folding his hands behind his head. "Before I take my midday nap," he said calmly, completely unaffected by the passion in the mercenary’s tale, "let me remind the lot of you that Mízriya is wealthy, it has few ships of its own, and it has no divine fruits or body parts that devour men."
"I have heard enough about Mízriya!" Idómeneyu snapped. "That is the one place I am certain I do not want to attack." The others did not even bother to address the southern navigator's habitual suggestion.
Ainyáh leaned close to his It'ákan opponent. "My father is old. Half the time he does not even remember that I am his son. You cannot seriously expect him to help us, in any fashion. No, Odushéyu, you must give up your dreams of entering the tin route, much less of possessing it. It is far too dangerous. If you sail through Dáwan's straits, you will go alone to meet your fate. I, for one, will not go with you. Once was enough for me! I am not mad enough to tempt the dread goddesses a second time."
Now that was a simple, definite statement that the Kep'túriyan could understand. It came from a warrior, too, not a pirate who was well known to be an inveterate liar. "Neither will I," Idómeneyu added quickly.
Ainyáh nodded with satisfaction. "What do you say, Tushrátta?" he asked.
The Lúkiyan shrugged. "As I said before, I can go one place as easily as another, as long as there is bronze in my ships at the end of the trip. If the two of you would rather go south, then south it is."
Odushéyu continued to argue, alternately raging and pleading, but he could convince neither Idómeneyu nor Ainyáh of the wisdom of his plan to dominate the tin trade. As for Mirurí, he had come north to collect allies for a Mízriyan expedition and nothing else would satisfy him. So he steadfastly refused to side with the pirate from the western isles. Ainyáh, for his part, was inclined to side with the Libúwan about heading to the distant, southern empire. Still, he hesitated, fearing that without a larger force on their side, defeat would ultimately prove inevitable. Idómeneyu wanted only to sack the Assúwan cities close at hand, far from any large, opposing army. Regardless of all the shouts, threats, cries, pleas, and appeals to his sympathies, Tushrátta refused to take a stand.
With their leaders hopelessly divided among themselves, the varied band of exiles remained in Millewánda by default. Odushéyu appointed himself the new ruler of the port and, in addition, successor to Agamémnon as the self-styled Great King of Ak'áiwiya. He thereupon named Idómeneyu the commander of his army, to head off any protests from that quarter, following that move with the
further designations of Ainyáh as his chief ally, and Mirurí as his vizier. No longer fearing Náshiyan intervention, the Ak'áyans began raiding the neighboring, coastal kingdoms of Assúwa, taking up where the Lúkiyans had left off. Tushrátta gamely joined them, even going so far as to deck his men's conical, felt hats with feathers, in the ancient manner, to make them appear more Ak'áyan.
News trickled in to Millewánda, from time to time, with entering merchants, fishermen blown off course in their direction, and deserting soldiers from the various kingdoms surrounding the Inner Sea, whether independent warriors or vassals of a great power. The fortunes of the Náshiyan emperor were alternately rising and falling, from month to month. While the huge fleet that Tudqáliya amassed quickly dominated the eastern end of the Great Green Sea, the Great King of the eastern continent was still not successful in his battles on land. North of his capital city of Qattúsha, the nomadic Káshka tribes continued to burn and pillage the countryside. Thus, the common folk of the empire continued to be inundated by refugees fleeing that war-torn region. In the southeast, too, the unparalleled ferocity of the warriors of the ancient empire of Ashúr prevented the Náshiyan emperor from regaining the territory that he had lost to them, at the beginning of the war season.
The Great King Tudqáliya's troops began to desert him in droves, returning to their various native dependencies, with news of their overlord's plight. The kingdoms of Assúwa's western coast welcomed home their scattered warriors. Once there, rather than turning them over to the emperor as traitors, the former soldiers found that their own, lesser, Assúwan kings had other demands to make on them. Far from sending these men east, once more, these vassal kings wrote to Tudqáliya most importunately. The emperor was urged in the most forceful language to march his own, larger army westward, to protect his loyal vassals from the troublesome, new Great King of Ak’áiwiya ensconced at Millewánda.
"Deal with this Great Nuisance of Aqiyawa, or whatever the upstart’s name is," wrote the besieged and harried, vassal lords of Míra, Lúkiya, and Kuwalíya. "Direct your army and your fleet to the Inner Sea and end the forays of his evil people on our sea. Heed our request and come to our aid, O Great Father, for if you fail to do this, we will no longer be your vassals!"
Forced to turn his attention away from Ashúr in the southeast, Tudqáliya made a final, desperate attempt to solve his Ak'áyan problem before the summer ended. Communicating through king Madduwátta on his western frontier, the emperor concluded a solemn treaty with Odushéyu, taking at face value the It'ákan's claim of the status of Great King. The piratical leader signed the document in due course, pressing a stolen thumb ring of shining gold into a rectangular cake of damp clay, beneath a hundred neat rows of cuneiform script in the presence of Náshiyan and Lúkiyan diplomats. The ceremony was sanctified by the shedding of blood, with the sacrifice and subsequent burning of no less than ninety oxen, sixty rams, and thirty horses. Every god and goddess whose name was known to Ak’áyan or Assúwan was harangued by the priests and priestesses in attendance, in addition, he continued his raids through the summer and into the rainless autumn that followed.
The vassal king of Alásiya, taking advantage of the unrest on the empire's borders, requested the return of his ships from the great fleet, citing a need to protect his island from marauders from the southeastern mainland. When Tudqáliya did not respond, the Alásiyans rose up under their youthful king and drove all the resident Náshiyans from their formerly wealthy isle. Having already suffered the double loss of the western tin route and the southeastern mountains of black bronze, the Náshiyan emperor could not afford to allow Alásiya's rich copper deposits to get away, also. Tudqáliya was forced to abandon his western dependencies in Assúwa as indefensible and turn his attention south. As a consequence, before the autumn was well begun, one by one, the coastal kingdoms broke with the empire.
By the time the autumn grain was sown, even the southern land of Kizzuwátna rebelled. Despite the queen mother's efforts to maintain the loyalty of what was, after all, her own homeland, Kizzuwátna withdrew its navy from Emperor Tudqáliya's command. The newly independent state aligned itself, instead, with the island of Alásiya, sitting just south of its shores, a severe blow to the beleaguered Náshiyan empire. Without Kizzuwátna's help, Tudqáliya knew that he would be unable to retake the vital copper isle.
To further safeguard his new status, the island's king claimed sovereignty over the Náshiyan cities of Kanaqán, requiring treaties to be signed by the governors of those fortresses designating them as his own vassals. As his restored ships posed a threat to the petty monarchs of the rich ports, the young king of Alásiya effectively cut the emperor off from the entire coast of Kanaqán, creating a miniature empire of his own. Náshiya had never been a great sea power. Now it was completely dependent on its far eastern colonies in Kanaqán for shipments of grain and metal and pressed them hard not to yield to the king of the island, threatening retaliation by land if they did so. The governor of the citadel of Ugarít on the frontier was caught between two sovereigns, both more powerful than he. Forced to provide ships to Emperor Tudqáliya to maintain the embargo on Ashúriyan trade, Ugarít's ruler turned to Alásiya, pleading for protection for his own small realm.
aaa
In Tíruns, Diwoméde sat in a tub in his tiled bath chamber, watching his serving woman with half-closed eyes. Dáuniya bent over him, energetically scrubbing his relaxed limbs with a linen cloth. He said nothing as she worked, making no sound even when her attention turned to his wounded shoulder. Her hands moved more gently around the half-healed injury, although the young man could not help wincing when the woman's cloths touched the center of the wound, which was still open and draining.
When she was satisfied that he was clean, Dáuniya dried the man's hair and combed both it and his beard free of tangles. Only when she was behind him did his eyes leave her face. When he could not see her, Diwoméde still did not speak. He stared glumly at the painted, plaster rim of his tub, his eyes unfocused as memories of another room as small as this came to him, unbidden.
Dáuniya finished with his hair, at length, and opened the door to the little chamber. "T'érsite, he is ready to come out," she announced cheerfully to the burly, kilted man reclining on a bench outside.
T'érsite rose immediately at the summons and entered the bath chamber. The young man in the tub, lost in his unhappy reverie, did not look up. "Qasiléyu," the laborer called quietly, bending low to see the other man's face.
When the bather still did not respond, Dáuniya lightly caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. "Diwoméde, stand up. It is time to come out."
He started at her touch, and stared at her without recognition for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he shook off the thoughts that had bound him and reached for T'érsite's outstretched hands. The laborer helped the young man stand in the tub and Dáuniya draped drying cloths over his body. Leaning on T'érsite's shoulder, Diwoméde let himself be lifted over the side of the tub to stand on his one good foot on the tile. Holding onto T'érsite for balance, the qasiléyu waited silently as Dáuniya dried him and rubbed his limbs with oil. "Take me to bed," Diwoméde told his man, quietly, without spirit. Obediently, T'érsite again lifted the young man on his shoulder, with a grunt, as Dáuniya hurried ahead to arrange the sheepskins.
When the laborer had laid his qasiléyu on the bed and the serving woman had covered him with linen cloth, Dáuniya grasped T'érsite's elbow. "I need help with the bandages for his foot," she said, indicating the door with her head. The laborer followed her out of the room, where the two spoke in low voices.
"His shoulder is improving faster now," Dáuniya announced. "It should heal completely before winter begins, although he will always have a scar there. His foot was much worse than his arm, in the beginning. But it is doing well now, too."
"That is good," the laborer answered, nodding. "You know, he told me that only two toes were black. But Menést'eyu removed all of them but the big one and a g
ood bit of the side of his foot, too. Ai, that Attikan dog must have been cutting for pleasure! I would like to take my wife's fishing trident to him."
"Do not talk so loud," Dáuniya scolded, "or Diwoméde will hear you. As for that Attikan, if he had removed only what had turned black, our qasiléyu would not have lived. By cutting off more of the flesh around the rotting part, Menést'eyu saved his life."
T'érsite snorted. "If he did, it was an accident."
"No," Dáuniya insisted, "Menést'eyu knew what he was doing. He sometimes assisted his fellow countryman, Mak'áwon during the war, you know. That was where he must have learned the healing arts. I am telling you, if his only intent had been to cause pain, he would have cut off Diwoméde's big toe, too. But he did not. So, our qasiléyu will walk again some day. Not well – he will always limp, of course, but he will walk."
