Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  “Do not blaspheme against the gods, wánaks,” Diwoméde warned, more annoyed than shocked by that time. “It was your duty to sacrifice your daughter and you know it. You owed her blood to the army and to the gods. There was nothing else that you could do. If you now bring home a concubine, well, that is the custom in war. Your wánasha must understand both facts and accept them.”

  “Not Klutaimnéstra,” Agamémnon growled bitterly. “Did your father never speak of her? Ai, the woman never forgets an insult. She is always plotting with her kinsmen in Lakedaimón, too. Beware of holy women, boy, especially Ak’áyan priestesses. Never marry one. Such a wife insists on standing beside her wánaks when he holds council in his mégaron. She cannot hold her tongue but must have a hand in his every decision. She has no shame about saying when a man has made a mistake, too, especially when he does so against her advice. Ai, that is not even the worst of it, my boy. It was Klutaimnéstra who sent Qálki to me at the start. No doubt they plotted together, from the beginning, to shame me before my men. I blame her for the death of our daughter, as much as I blame that charlatan of a seer!”

  “Wánaks, you must put the events of Aúli out of your mind,” Diwoméde insisted wearily. “I understand that you grieve for your child. Klutaimnéstra herself must surely mourn the girl as much as you do, too. You blame Qálki because he said Ip’emédeya had to die, I know. But consider how much suffering followed that day. You can blame Qálki to the end of your days, but to what purpose? Where is the seer today? He is dead, killed in battle. You blame Ak’illéyu, too, because he backed the prophet. But he, too, is dead. Néstor was foremost among the lawagétas who insisted on your daughter’s death. But now he is suffering the same grief as you, after losing his oldest son in battle. Even if you blame every man in the Ak’áyan army, bear in mind that not one man here has escaped Préswa’s clutches completely. Everyone has lost a brother or a friend. So let go of this anger. Events have avenged you.”

  Agamémnon’s eyes narrowed, deepening the creases in his sun-darkened face. “I have not yet had my fill of revenge, no matter what you say. No, far from it! I have decided that Klutaimnéstra must either leave Argo forever or die on my return. That is the traditional punishment for murder. And as she is polluted by her crime, I no longer consider her my wife.”

  Diwoméde shook his head and cried out in massive irritation, “Wánaks! How could you even consider such a thing? You would lose your kingship!”

  Agamémnon shook his head, a grim smile on his face. “Ai, boy, this world has more sides to it than you realize. There was more to this war than revenge, more than wealth from tin, more even than the beginning of my new Ak’áyan empire. The Tróyan war was, above all, a battle between the old ways and the new. Things will never be the same again, I tell you! When I came to manhood, I had no sister to carry the Argive kingship. I became wánaks of Argo by marrying a holy woman and bringing her into my capital city. That woman was Klutaimnéstra, because my father had always wanted an alliance with Lakedaimón. Putting my brother beside the Lakedaimóniyan wánasha made this alliance even stronger, uniting the largest part of southern Ak’áiwiya. After all that I have done here in Assúwa for Meneláwo, my alliance with Lakedaimón is assured, even without Klutaimnéstra. My son Orésta can marry Meneláwo’s daughter if he likes, to further cement that link. I do not think that my brother will live long, not with the wound he took. It pains me to say it, but I must be realistic. Orésta will then have a throne of his own while I am still living.

  “Mesheníya and Argo were bound together when my aunt married Néstor. You see, the old man had no sisters, either. That was no accident, either, despite what the old fool may want you to believe. Yes, that is how it was in my father’s day. To ensure a son’s inheritance, there could be no daughters, at least none that survived infancy. Now, you see, to maintain the alliance between Argo and Mesheníya for another generation, I have only to marry one of my daughters to one of Néstor’s idiot sons. The old man slipped up in his later years and let a daughter survive, too. But no doubt he will find the resolve to arrange an accident so that Polukásta will not give Mesheníya’s kingship to a foreign husband.

  “Now, as for my second daughter, I am sure Meneláwo must have a bastard son somewhere in Lakedaimón who would be happy to take my other girl out of Argo. Do you see the pattern? I am changing the very method of inheritance! If I succeed, my son Orésta will end up taking Argo’s throne when I die, even if my daughters are still alive!

  “So now, this is how I stand. With all the large, southern kingdoms safely aligned with me, I can pressure any island nation to do my will, whether that country is poor, little It’áka or rich Kep’tur. For all practical purposes, Idómeneyu, Néstor, and Odushéyu are my vassal kings, now, dependent on my favor. With so great an alliance under me, I can also pressure any northern land to do my bidding. It is my will that we return to Assúwa next year, to carry war all down the coast, to add every kingdom between Tróya, here in the north, and Millewánda, midway to the south, to my dominion. Another campaign or two like this one, and all Ak’áiwiya will be firmly in my grasp as well as the better part of the Assúwan coastline into the bargain.

  “All I need for this plan to succeed is a priestess to share my throne. By no means am I willing to forgo kingship to obtain a divorce. You are right about that. But do you see my plan now? That is where Kashánda comes in. Her status is equal to Klutaimnéstra’s in that regard. Besides being royal and holy, Kashánda has the added advantage of having no kinsmen to conspire with.”

  “Idé, my lord, I have heard this tale before!” Diwoméde exclaimed. “This was your plan for Wastunóme, was it not?”

  “Ai, you do understand. Good. But, you see, Wastunóme had a living father and I am sure that he plotted against me with Qálki.” The overlord chuckled. “At the time I was furious, of course, but time has shown me that there was a better way. Kashánda’s father cannot possibly harm me now, you see. Her only living brother is a slave now, and he will be far to the north. Her brothers-in-law are my vassals and quite inferior. So the woman poses absolutely no threat to me. What is more, I believe Kashánda will actually make a passable wife, once she realizes that her life depends entirely on my good will.” He laughed again, this time more heartily than before. “Ai, there are two things that a man enjoys above a good woman in bed. They are vengeance and power. At last, I will have my fill of all three!”

  Diwoméde was perplexed. “If that is so, then have you planned some punishment for Aíwaks? He continually reminds the men of the quarrel between you and Ak’illéyu, showing no respect to you as a qasiléyu should. Will you shame him, too, and take his woman, as you did the T’eshalíyan’s?”

  Agamémnon’s smile became grim. “I will indeed,” he answered harshly. “But I have learned something from that first encounter. I will avoid an open confrontation this time. I will use the very beliefs of these sheep-like men against them. A sacrifice was necessary when we first set sail from Aúli, or so they told me. Ai gar, that works both ways. I can demand that another be made before we leave these shores. Another young woman, still unwed, will have to die, to assuage the angry sea god’s heart and guarantee us safe passage home. But it will be none of mine who lies on the altar this time! Whether we draw lots or I name the victim by decree, it will be Aíwaks who pays the price. He will lose his prize of honor, by the will of Diwiyána, or I am not the overlord! Piyaséma’s blood will ensure us fair sailing and success in our future battles.”

  The young qasiléyu frowned, chewing his lip. “I suppose I will be the one to take the woman again?”

  Agamémnon was amused. He clapped Diwoméde on the shoulder. “What is this? I cannot believe my ears! Can this be my little warrior who thinks nothing of doing battle with Wilúsiyan máinads and dáimons? Do not tell me you are afraid of a mere Ak’áyan mortal!”

  Diwoméde winced at the great king’s words. “Wánaks, I will obey any command you give me. Just let me have a poppy
jar first and...”

  The Argive overlord interrupted with a wave of his hand. “No, son, I will not need your services this time. I have already made arrangements with another.”

  “Is it Odushéyu?” the qasiléyu asked, more worried than ever. “He claimed that he would be your highest ranked lawagéta by the time this war was over.”

  “Ai gar, there is no need for you to be jealous of that depraved pirate!” Agamémnon assured the youth. “No, Odushéyu is most useful when he thinks that I will reward him lavishly. But if I were to allot him some position of real power, I would have to watch my back constantly. He is too crafty to be trusted. No, Tíruns and Mukénai are too close to one another for me to place anyone but the most loyal man in the port city as administrator. You have shown ample proof of your loyalty to me in this war. When Orésta takes Argo’s throne, still I will be able to trust you, since by then everyone will know that you are my bastard. If you were to become so mad for power that you marched against your own half-brother in the capital, the people would rise up against you and see you banished for that crime.”

  “I would never turn against you or your son!” Diwoméde cried, hotly indignant at the very idea.

  “Yes,” the Argive king smiled. “I know. That is why Tíruns will remain in your hands. And that is why Odushéyu will stay on his miserable, little, western isles.”

  aaa

  Before dawn, a shout rose from the shore, rousing the Ak’áyan camp. “Aíwaks is dead!” came the word. At the overlord’s behest, Diwoméde went to see. It was, indeed, the tall champion lying face down in the shallow water of the bay. His back was peppered with arrow wounds and the word in the camp was that the name of the killer was Odushéyu. The It’ákan hotly denied the charge and pointed out a scattering of animal carcasses close to the water’s edge.

  “The man was half-T’rákiyan and you know they are prone battle-madness,” the master archer shouted to the grumbling troops. “He must have been overwhelmed by the máinads of war and in his fury killed these dogs and asses, thinking they were Assúwan men. When he came to himself and realized his error, shame must have made him desire death. Obviously that is what must have happened.” Odushéyu spoke quickly, sweating profusely and waving his arms more than usual.

  Púrwo furiously confronted the older, taller island king. “You cannot be saying that he shot himself in the back!”

  Automédon backed up his young prince. “We know that you killed him, pirate! All the north demands your blood!”

  Only the intervention of Agamémnon’s men prevented an Ak’áyan civil war there on the beach. Under the protection of Argive shields and spears, Odushéyu hurriedly set his followers to dragging their boats out to sea. When the first vessels entered the shallows, his men loaded them down quickly and carelessly, leaving many small articles behind on the shore. But when the It’ákan ships set sail, the dead giant’s woman, Wíp’iya, was sitting beside the pirate wánaks on the platform at the stern of the largest vessel.

  aaa

  As Odushéyu’s vessels left the eastern harbor, Meneláwo gave orders to his own men to begin preparations for their journey, too. While controversy raged in the camp, he remained in his hastily erected tent, avoiding his older brother, his wife in his arms. “Let Agamémnon worry about the Ak’áyans’ quarrels,” the wánaks of Lakedaimón told Ariyádna. “He thrives on power and war. But my work is finished here. I came for you. Now it is time for us to go home.”

  Diwoméde came to the king’s fireside once the threat of violence among the assembled warriors was past. The young man told Meneláwo of Agamémnon’s desire that no other ship set sail before the overlord’s own. But the Lakedaimóniyan king did not care to see a Tróyan princess sacrificed to Poseidáon and Artémito. He had no taste for vengeance any longer. He intended to turn his back to the pillar of smoke still rising above the battered citadel, and to the mounting hostility among the Ak’áyan factions. “Go on to bed, Diwoméde,” Meneláwo told his nephew. “Get some sleep while you can. My brother will run you to death if you let him.” The qasiléyu left obediently, only too happy to rest his aching limbs.

  While the rest of the Ak’áyan camp drifted into unquiet slumber, the royal couple of Lakedaimón and holy ‘Elléniya remained awake. Ariyádna could not get her fill of gazing on her husband’s careworn face, or of caressing his ragged beard, now shot through with gray. “I was afraid that Paqúr had taken me so far away,” she whispered, “that you could not come after me. And the kings of the east are so very powerful, I thought that I would remain in Tróya for the rest of my life.”

  “Never,” Meneláwo whispered back. “Never, my love. No place was too far. No power was too great to face. I want you with me always, Ariyádna, my ‘Elléniya.” He buried his face in her thick, dark hair, moaning happily. “Ai, Ariyádna, I fought both men and dáimons to possess you again. I lost over half my men in the struggle. But I vowed I would not leave these shores without you, even if every single Lakedaimóniyan died beside me. Nothing could keep you from me, nothing. Préswa took half the warriors of Ak’áiwiya and as many from Assúwa, before her Dáwan Anna would yield you up to me. Still, I would not have considered abandoning you if the price had been ten times that high. Ai, my ‘Elléniya of Tróya, I love you, I love you.”