Conspiracy of the Islands (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  "I will go," Ainyáh agreed icily. "But now I know who my true friends are and who they are not. All Ak'áiwiya pledged itself to be Wilúsiya's ally, at the end of the Tróyan war. Your king Agamémnon and my king Antánor sealed their oaths on that point with blood. But Agamémnon is dead. And now I find that an Ak'áyan sacked the towns of my kinsmen, in my native land, even though he took a sacred vow that he would do no such thing. Today, you supported the criminal against me, against your own best ally. I will tolerate no more from you people – our alliance is broken. Beware, Diwoméde, I leave Argo as your enemy."

  "Go, then," Diwoméde growled, "but do not pretend that you are the one who was wronged. Yours are not the only people who have suffered betrayal or loss. I happen to know for a fact that it was you who burned at least six of the fortresses on Argo's islands, these past ten years."

  aaa

  Despite his bravado, Diwoméde took heed of Ainyáh's warning. It was only when the visitors' ships had gone that he allowed his men to put away their arms and armor. He stationed more watchers on the towers, even so, to keep their eyes on the sea, in case the ships returned. Sending Peirít'owo to Mukénai in the company of several warriors, the qasiléyu was at last able to send a written message warning his rulers of the possibility of Wilúsiyan attack. "Watch this young Kep'túriyan prince," he ordered his men, "but do not let him know that he is a prisoner. Tell the queen what happened here and let her decide Peirít'owo's fate."

  Only when the fortress corridors were quiet once again did he released Odushéyu from his prison storeroom. Diwoméde dragged the bewildered and frightened It'ákan to his own bed chamber, to speak with the exile in private.

  "You are free, Odushéyu," the qasiléyu told the former slave. "But you cannot stay here in Argo. I swore my loyalty to queen Klutaimnéstra when I returned here. Unlike some people, I do not lightly break my oaths. I have already sent a message to Mukénai, to warn the wánasha and the king, that Wilúsiya is now our sworn enemy. Everyone in the capital will know in a day or two what you have done in the past decade."

  "By the gods," the former slave moaned, "You free me just to kill me?"

  "I am not going to kill you, although I think you deserve it," Diwoméde said bitterly. "I just refuse to protect you. After all, you and Peirít'owo are to blame for angering Ainyáh and turning him against us. Besides, it was my duty to inform Aígist'o as well my queen. He is my wánaks."

  Odushéyu struck his thighs with open palms. "Ai, Diwoméde, I cannot believe what I am hearing! You say that Aígist'o is wánaks? What Aígist'o is this? Not Agamémnon's cousin, surely! What has happened to Agamémnon then? Is he dead?"

  Diwoméde stared uncomprehendingly at the exile for a long, silent moment before answering. "After all this time you have not heard?"

  "Heard what?" Odushéyu demanded in exasperation. "I have been in Mízriya the past ten years, a slave of the Great King. Do you think that monarchs share their thoughts on foreign affairs with their servants?"

  "But you sailed here with Ainyáh. That journey must have taken at least two phases of the moon. In all that time, you never heard any news of Argo, not even when you were in other Ak'áyan ports?" Diwoméde shook his head. "I will believe the story of the Kuklóq before I believe that."

  "Ai, but it is all perfectly true, I swear!" Odushéyu wailed, his eyes wide and his eyebrows raised, in an attempt to look sincere. He knelt at Diwoméde's side, clasping the qasiléyu's knees with one broad arm, and reaching for the younger man's beard with the other. "Pity me, Diwoméde," he said in a quavering voice. "I have suffered terribly, as no other man ever has. Perhaps I was wrong to sack Kanaqán's cities, all those years ago, but the gods have punished me terribly for it. You must not turn me away, now that I have finally come home to Ak'áiwiya. Treat me as a friend, as Ainyáh never did. Tell me what has happened and do not send me away."

  Diwoméde broke free of the pleading It'ákan, growling, "Get up, old man. You should know better than to embrace my knees. You and I were never true friends. If I owe you anything, it is only because Agamémnon favored you and he was my father."

  Odushéyu almost laughed, rising to his feet. "Your father! Ai gar, boy, you are not Tudéyu's son, that is certain. But that does not make you Agamémnon's bastard."

  "Watch your tongue, pirate," Diwoméde spat. "Agamémnon himself told me that I was his son, before he died. And yes, he is dead, killed by his faithless wife and Aígist'o. They murdered Agamémnon when he came home, along with his captive priestess. Ai gar, no one can blame a woman for killing her rival. You know, as well as I do, that Agamémnon was planning to replace Klutaimnéstra on the throne, with that foreign priestess. And for that impiety, if for nothing else, I suppose it is right that the gods allowed him to die. For the same crime, your own goddess abandoned you as well. Did you not plan to replace your Penelópa with the Tróyan queen, at one time?"

  Odushéyu was thunderstruck. He fell back against the painted wall, his dark eyes rolling back in his head. "Owái, you would not lie to me, would you? Agamémnon is really dead? You did not protect him against his disloyal sow of a wife?"

  "That is what I have been telling you! All that you did at Tróya to curry Agamémnon's favor was for nothing! Ai, but there is no point in gloating over your misfortune! I am not much better off, myself. Agamémnon sent me to Attika, on a punitive expedition, on our way home. That is why I was not here to protect him, when his cousin greeted him with a knife. By the time I returned to Argo, I was half dead, nothing but a ransomed slave. Agamémnon was already buried. Klutaimnéstra was on the throne. Aígist'o was ruling at her side in Mukénai. If I had not embraced the wánasha's knees and taken an oath of loyalty, she would have executed me on the shore."

  Odushéyu still could not believe it was true. "But…but…what of Orésta? Klutaimnéstra had her faults, true enough, but the woman had a soft spot in her heart for the boy. She would never endanger one of her own children. Why, Orésta was not even ten years old when the war ended. How could she remarry with the boy so little?"

  Diwoméde sighed heavily and leaned against the wall beside the exile, his arms crossed on his chest. "Ai gar, Odushéyu, I believe you really have not heard any of this. Owái," he groaned, closing his eyes. "Just the same, I cannot protect you."

  "And Orésta…," the pirate repeated, no longer distraught, listening carefully, and studying the qasiléyu's face.

  Diwoméde avoided the It'ákan's eyes and looked up at the tiled ceiling. "He is living with king Meneláwo in Lakedaimón, as Klutaimnéstra wished."

  Odushéyu nodded admiringly. "Ai, I see. The uncle takes the boy, a placating gesture to the brother's spirit. That was well thought out, especially for a woman. But now, tell me this, and do not be angry with me for asking. Why is it that you did not attack Klutaimnéstra's men with your own, on your return?"

  Diwoméde kept his eyes on the painted rosettes of the ceiling, his brows knitted with pain. But he answered without anger. "I lost nearly all of my troops in the battle at At'énai. Those few of us who survived were dragged before the northern wánaks. Erékt'eyu held us for ransom, locked in a storeroom, but he seldom fed us and what we got was half rotten, and very little water. We had no linen to bind our wounds, no cloaks for warmth. Most of the time we were too weak to do anything, but lie on the floor in our own filth. Three died of lockjaw in our prison, most of the rest from fever. Only I survived to see Argo. My arm had only partly healed by then, but my foot had not even begun to improve. It was black and rotting. I expected to die, to tell the truth. Ai gar, I wanted to die. Sometimes I even prayed for death. What could I do?"

  "Ai, I see that you lost most of your toes," Odushéyu nodded sympathetically. "No one can blame a man for doing what he must to survive, even if it seems dishonorable." At Diwoméde's answering frown, the It'ákan added, in a rare moment of candor, "I mean that truly, Diwoméde. I have done such things myself, more than once."

  "You do not have to tell me what kind of man you are,"
Diwoméde said, untouched. "I know you. That night we spied out the Tróyan camp, you were ready to cheat me out of my due."

  "What?" cried the pirate. "How can you accuse me of such a thing? Did you not gain those magical, white T'rákiyan horses, that night? And I, what did I get for all my efforts? I was in as much danger as you were, but I earned nothing but a spear and a wolf-skin cloak. If anyone was cheated…"

  "Agamémnon gave me the horses," Diwoméde broke in. "I did not steal them from you. Besides, what difference does that make now? They were dead before Tróya fell. I brought no treasures home from Wilúsiya."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DAUNIYA

  "Mm," Odushéyu murmured, thinking, one hand to his whiskered chin. "But still, you are qasiléyu at Tíruns, I see. That is most interesting. You must have spoken your oath well for Klutaimnéstra to trust you with this post."

  Diwoméde gave a short, bitter laugh. "Tíruns is no reward in these hard times. The wánasha placed me here, because this is where an attacker will come first. I am in the front line so that I will be the first to fall, when war comes."

  The pirate's bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. "So Klutaimnéstra plots your death. And still you are loyal to her? Boy, no true son of Agamémnon could be so stupid."

  Angrily, the qasiléyu leaped forward and caught the It'ákan by the throat. "I am no boy and do not call me that again. When I was twenty, I let you get away with calling me that, across the Inner Sea in Wilúsiya. But I have fought as a man for ten years, leading other men to their deaths. Nor am I stupid. I swore my loyalty only because I had to. But it was an oath, just the same. The gods heard me. I keep to it for their sake, not the queen’s." He shoved Odushéyu backward, releasing the man's throat. The It'ákan stumbled and gasped, his eyes wide, raising both hands in the gesture of peace. Diwoméde spat to show his contempt. "But you would not know about such things."

  His hands still up, Odushéyu knelt before the younger man. "Forgive me, qasiléyu, if I offended you. It is said that Díwo takes away half a man's virtue when he becomes a slave. I am afraid that is true. Owái, I am a broken and worthless husk of a man after so many years of captivity. Idé, Diwoméde, if you were still a boy when we first sailed to Tróya, you were certainly a man when you came back to Ak'áiwiya, a year later. Although you got little enough credit for your deeds in Wilúsiya, you were as great a champion as any other, equal to Ak'illéyu, or even to Aíwaks. Agamémnon had no vassal more loyal. Owái, it is my grief at this news that makes me say evil things now. Agamémnon is dead? It hardly seems possible that the greatest wánaks of Ak'áiwiya could be brought down after so great a victory, and by a woman."

  Diwoméde began to pace about the chamber. "I do not know whether to strip you naked, like the slave you are, and drive you from Argo with a whip, or send you on your way with a ship loaded down with bronze."

  Odushéyu was intrigued. "You have ships and bronze?"

  "Yes," the qasiléyu answered, biting his lip with regret for having spoken. He stopped his restless marching and faced the former pirate. "Why do you ask?"

  A sly smile creased the It'ákan's leathery face as he stood. "It seems to me that you have not considered all your options."

  "What do you mean?" The younger man was still suspicious.

  Odushéyu strode forward with confidence and laid a hand on Diwoméde's scarred shoulder. "Klutaimnéstra may have forced you to take an oath of loyalty, but were you not already bound by an older oath? Did you not take a vow to Agamémnon? And is it not true that he was your father, your own flesh and blood, as well? But Klutaimnéstra is no kin to you."

  "You know these things are true. Why ask?"

  "Perhaps the gods want you to avenge Agamémnon. That is why they spared your life at At'énai, why Klutaimnéstra did not finish you off when she had the chance, why you remain alive despite years in the front rank." His voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper. "You have ships and bronze treasures. From Tíruns you can send out expeditions of men, wherever you choose. You control the route from the sea to Mukénai. That gives you power, real power, no matter what the Argive king and queen think of you."

  "Yes, I suppose so," said Diwoméde, intrigued in spite of his better judgment, anxious to hear the rest.

  Odushéyu tapped his chin, with its still-sparse beard, pondering briefly. "No doubt there are a few others in Argo who preferred Agamémnon's rule to Klutaimnéstra's. After all, the old wánaks presided over a wealthy land, the foremost in Ak'áiwiya. What does the wánasha rule? Argo is now a poor country, surrounded by enemies, one that cannot seem to bring in a decent harvest anymore. Who would not long for the days of the great Atréyu and his greater son?"

  "It is true that there is unrest among the common people," the younger Argive admitted, "especially in the border areas. They complain that the new wánaks lives at ease while they starve. But what of it? Are you suggesting that I call up the farmers and potters and carpenters, and lead a rebellion? Do you expect me to sack the capital city of my own country and put Aígist'o and the queen to death? You can twist words better than any man I know, but the people would not accept a leader who broke his oath of loyalty. I would avenge Agamémnon if I could, but it is not possible." He tried to sound angry but the idea excited him and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

  Odushéyu was not fooled by the forced emotion in the qasiléyu's voice. He leaned his grinning head closer to Diwoméde’s. "You would not have to kill either one, yourself. Begin with an expedition overseas. That should be easy enough. Build a few ships, gather the men to form decently sized crews. Say that you are going north, to buy grain from the T'rákiyans, or, if they will not sell, to make war and take it. Do this much, just as you say. That way, you are still an honest man, since that means so much to you. But then, when you bring home the barley, march inland to Mukénai. Distribute the food yourself, at every village along the route, reminding the people of their sufferings and of all the crimes and failings of their rulers. Do this and you will reach the capital with a great crowd at your back. Sack the city then, with full justification in the eyes of the people. Have Aígist'o put to death at another’s hand. Sit on the throne yourself with Klutaimnéstra as your spear-won bride, if you feel you must spare her life. Or exile her to Lakedaimón, her native land, where she can plot against you with her sister, if it makes you feel better. Or, here is an idea, send her to her sweet cousin in the western isles of It'áka." He threw his hands in the air, as if to say that it made no difference to him. Then, with a sly smile, he dropped his voice. "Or, if you are wise, recruit Agamémnon's son, and have him deal with the queen as he sees fit."

  "Orésta!" the qasiléyu cried in astonishment. "But he is barely grown, hardly more than a boy!"

  Odushéyu winked. "Whatever do you mean? Ai gar, I saw him when we stopped in Lakedaimón, on the way here from Mízriya, just before coming to Argo. I will have you know that Orésta is precisely twenty years old, your own age when you went to Tróya. That is certainly old enough to take revenge for his father's death."

  "Avenge his father by killing his mother?" Diwoméde demanded, aghast. "No man could bring himself to do that!"

  "Ai, that boy was always closer to his father than to his mother. You said so, yourself. Queen Klutaimnéstra sent him away, ten years ago, exiled her own son."

  "No, no, no, Odushéyu, you were not listening to me. Surely, she sent Orésta away to live with his aunt and uncle, in order to protect him from Aígist'o. The boy must know that, too. No, no, I do not want to listen to any more of your mad ideas. Just go, leave Argo. You have already caused enough trouble."

  The grizzled exile shrugged to show his indifference. "Very well, I cannot force you to do right by your dead father. I cannot force Orésta, either. If Agamémnon's soul wanders the earth, tormenting his descendants, that is nothing to me. I am no kin of his, so he will not trouble me. Give me a single ship and send me away, if you must." He turned to the door of the chamber and took hold of the latch.
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br />   The image of a knife at Agamémnon's throat came vividly to the younger man's eyes at the words of the pirate. The anguish that Diwoméde had felt at learning of the king's death burned in his soul afresh. He stopped the It'ákan and closed the chamber door. "All right, I accept my responsibility," the qasiléyu groaned. "I must avenge Agamémnon. That is my duty as his son. And I accept your proposal of a northern expedition. That should be done in any case, to keep the people from starving. Qoyotíya has been our main source of grain so far, but wánaks Panaléyo is now at war. We must go elsewhere, this year." Musing a moment, Diwoméde pulled at his dark, bushy beard. "But tell me now, Odushéyu. Suppose that I do all you say. Suppose that Orésta deals with Klutaimnéstra, though I think that unlikely. What then? Do you think I could rule Argo?"

  "Why not?" Odushéyu asked.

  "I have no priestess for a wife. That is why not," the younger man answered, with considerable irritation.

  His guest shrugged. "That is simple enough to change. Take one. Agamémnon had three daughters, did he not?"

  "Yes, but two are dead, Ip'emédeya on the altar and K'rusót'emi in childbirth. Lawodíka is the only one left, now, and she is promised to the Aitolíyan prince, Puláda. Are you suggesting that I force princess Lawodíka to marry me, instead? That would anger the commoners more than if I killed queen Klutaimnéstra." The younger man's ardor had slipped away. He saw himself clearly at that moment, still imprisoned in Tíruns. Diwoméde clapped his hands to his thighs. "I wish you had never come here!"

  The old pirate waved impatient hands. "Then do not rule Argo. It is all the same to me. Let prince Puláda take the throne beside Lawodíka. Maybe he will even allow you to keep Tíruns, once he is the king. Or, perhaps, his wife will have you banished in revenge, for overthrowing her mother. I cannot see the future, any more than I can force you to do something that you do not want. Just give me three ships and the men to row them and I will leave Argo."