Conspiracy of the Islands (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  "Where would you go with these ships?" the qasiléyu asked, unable to let go of the possibility of vengeance so easily.

  "To the last civilized land not brought to its knees by this never-ending drought," Odushéyu answered confidently, not pausing to consider.

  "What? To Attika?" His host was disappointed.

  The It'ákan exile laughed. "No! It is overrun with refugees. Besides, when have we southerners considered the P'ilístas to be civilized? No, I would go south."

  "Back to Mízriya?" Diwoméde was astonished.

  "Exactly," Odushéyu said, nodding. "I made mistakes the first time, but now I know the place well. I would act differently the second time. We began, first off, by leaving our ships, and attacking the land on foot. That was a mistake. You see, there was some resistance in the ports, but nothing we could not deal with. Ai, even the smallest villages of Kanaqán gave us more trouble than those great southern towns. You said before that it was madness for us to attack Mízriya with so few men. It is certainly true that Mízriya is more populous than any other country in the world. But the people we saw, to begin with at least, were only fishers and herdsmen. They were no match for us trained warriors, and they fled before us. We marched halfway across the country without a single serious battle. Our guard was down, then. I tell you, we thought the whole of Mízriya would be just as easy. That was our worst mistake."

  He tapped Diwoméde on the chest, dropping his voice. The younger Argive was captivated by the apparent sincerity of the exile's tale. "We crossed the whole of that great, wide river delta with ease," Odushéyu went on, "and made our camp at the port, at the place where the river narrows and becomes a single stream. My Libúwan navigator had warned us that the second half of the country would be different, that it would be much harder to take. But we did not listen to him. We had taken the first half so easily that we thought he had to be lying. We assumed he was only telling us a child’s frightening story, in order to make us wait for his kinsmen to catch up with us. You see, his father had led half of the Libúwan tribesmen out of the western desert, and into the western half of the delta lands. Our original plan was for these two armies to join near the capital, our men and the Libúwans. Ai, but then, Idómeneyu and I decided we would just go on and take the big city controlling the delta and let the Libúwan chieftain catch up with us if and when he could. Then we Ak'áyans would rule the land instead of those desert barbarians."

  The It'ákan sighed and shook his head, passing a hand across his eyes. "The Mízriyan army surprised us in camp one morning, just at dawn. They must have marched through the night just for that purpose, can you imagine? Ai, who knew that in a land of so many gods, the people would be so impious? It is amazing that the goddess of the moon did not strike them all dead or that queen of the maináds did not dance them all to madness! But the goddesses allowed them safe passage, may At’ána box their ears! Then, in a moment, the Mízriyans were all around us, cutting us down with arrows. We had no chariots to counter theirs and their Great King had many foreign allies supporting his troops. We lost everything in a single day of fighting." He groaned at the memory. "I knew I was doomed. I dropped my shield and spear and embraced the king's knees. That was my only chance for life and I knew it. After all, I had jumped up to fight with only my spear and shield. My lucky helmet was left behind."

  Diwoméde listened in silence, brow furrowed, his arms crossed on his chest. He wanted to listen but his instincts told him to turn away. "You mean the boars' tusk helmet you had at Tróya?" he asked, fastening on the most trivial element of the story. "Ai, I remember it. A very old-fashioned thing it was."

  Odushéyu was wounded. "I thought you had more understanding. The gods are mysterious and, even if they reveal their intentions in the flight of birds, still we cannot trust the seers to interpret their will honestly. No, each man must find a single god who will stand by him. At'ána is my patron goddess. I know that she deserted me that day because I did not keep faith with her. Always before, with that ancient token of divine favor on my head, I came away with my life and my liberty. But on that day I failed At'ána and she abandoned me because of it. The Mízriyan king spared my life, of course, because he recognized the noble visage of a fellow monarch. He even took me into his own household for his personal slave. The others were either killed outright, or sent to do hard labor in the mines. Idómeneyu was forced to become a temple slave for awhile. Ai, I laughed so hard when I saw him that my sides nearly burst. They shaved his head and chin and put him to work sweeping up after their sacred bulls. You should have seen him, not a hair on his head, his hands full of excrement!"

  The exile laughed heartily, a little too forcefully, Diwoméde thought. The qasiléyu also silently noted Odushéyu's short hair and beard. Clearly, it was the It'ákan who had been shaved only recently. There was also the matter of Idómeneyu's son, obviously filled with hatred for Odushéyu. Ainyáh had said that Idómeneyu died, Diwoméde remembered. Had the It'ákan somehow betrayed his ally in Mízriya? But the Argive said nothing about his doubts. "Still, in spite of everything, you want to go back there?" he asked, finding it hard to understand.

  Odushéyu sighed and wiped a tear from his eye. "Yes, I do. The life of a slave is never easy, but I swear to you, captivity in Mízriya is finer than It'ákan kingship ever was. Ai gar, I could not describe all of Mízriya's riches in a year of talking! The people there build shrines that are larger than Ak'áyan fortresses. Their temples rise a single story that is as tall as two or three of ours, with stone pillars that are as numerous as groves of trees, to hold up roofs of solid stone. Every temple door there is plated with precious metal, too, gold or silver or bronze. The livestock is bigger than ours, too, and fatter, whether cattle, goats, or horses. And there are so many of them! And the grain, what lovely grain they grow! Not barley, either, but the finest wheat. Ai, it never snows and rarely rains in that land, and still famine is rare because of their wondrous river. Every year it floods, and when the water recedes, it leaves the blackest mud on top of the earth, wherever the water has been. In that mud, whatever is planted grows faster and taller than anything we can grow anywhere in Ak’áiwiya in the best year!

  "Their merchants are richer by far than any of our kings, Diwoméde. As for their nobles, they are the wealthiest men in the world. They live in great houses, each a city unto itself. Every high-born man has fifty wives, as many concubines, and over a hundred children, every one of them fat and healthy. What is most amazing is that even the commoners keep every single child that is born to them. They never expose a newborn or strangle it, not even the girls. I tell you, they never feel they have too many children, not if they ten or twelve, or even fourteen sons and daughters apiece! Ai, such wonders I have seen that you cannot even imagine."

  "More pirate's lies," Diwoméde countered uncertainly.

  "No, no!" Odushéyu cried. "It is all true. Owái, I have told lies all my life and made people believe in monsters and maináds in imaginary lands. Now I tell the truth and no one believes me." The exile fumbled with a small sack tied at his belt and brought out an amulet. Made in the shape of an eye, crafted of ivory and lapis lazuli, and set in gold, it was unlike anything the qasiléyu had seen before. "This is only a child's trinket," Odushéyu said, laying the thing on his open palm, "but it gives you an idea of the fine workmanship of Mízriyan craftsmen. This thing wards off the Evil Eye. It really works, too. That is why so many Mízriyan children grow to adulthood."

  Diwoméde took the little thing and looked it over. He felt torn, wanting to believe, but afraid of being deceived. The old pirate read the look of distrust in the younger man's face. "Ai!" Odushéyu wailed, with a depth of feeling that surprised the qasiléyu, "If only Peirít'owo had not spoken so rashly and angered Ainyáh! You could ask him about these things. Ainyáh has been to Mízriya many times. Where do you think he gets the grain to feed Wilúsiya, year after year?"

  "From T'ráki," Diwoméde suggested.

  Odushéyu groaned and slapped
his thighs. "No, no, he goes to Mízriya, of course! I have seen him come every summer since I was captured."

  The qasiléyu was suddenly curious. "Idé, and he only now returns you to Ak'áiwiya? What made him buy you from the Mízriyans? What did you offer him this time that was so enticing?"

  Avoiding the younger man's gaze, Odushéyu shrugged. "Ai, I cannot even remember. It was some little ornament I stole from the king's house."

  The Argive began to laugh. "You dog, I know you too well! You must have been the one who told him where the Qalladiyón was." As the pirate's eyes widened with alarm, the qasiléyu went on, "Ai, never mind, it makes no difference. Let the idol go back to Wilúsiya, for all I care. May she blight that land as she has done to Argo these past ten years!"

  The It'ákan smiled as the tension dissipated. Throwing an arm over the younger man's shoulder, he crowed, "Diwoméde, I have not even told you about the best thing yet! Mízriya's Great King is dead and he left no heirs. The whole land is in disorder, now, divided among countless nobles, each with his own little army, constantly making war on all of his neighbors. This is the perfect moment for us to attack."

  Diwoméde removed himself from the It'ákan's side. "Odushéyu, I do not know whether I believe your stories of Mízriya. But I like your plan to bring down Klutaimnéstra. I will go along with you that far. Tomorrow, I will begin recruiting men for an expedition. I will have the carpenters of Tíruns repair my ships and I will order the bronze-smiths to make new spearheads and sword blades. But you still must leave Argo, at least temporarily. Klutaimnéstra never liked you and now that her cousin, queen Penelópa, has divorced you, you cannot stay here."

  "I realize that," Odushéyu agreed quickly. "Just give me half a dozen ships with full crews. I will sail from port to port around Ak'áiwiya, gathering support for your cause, just as I did ten years ago for your father's. I will return here, at this time next year, with the greatest army ever seen. Then we will see if the alliance that brought down the Náshiyan empire can do the same to the Mízriyan nation."

  "I have a better idea," the qasiléyu countered, as a thought suddenly came to him. "Meneláwo has sent word that he is coming north. He will be here, any time, now. We should both go with him to Qoyotíya, or else to T'eshalíya, whichever he chooses, and on further north to T'ráki, for grain. Then, we will head back to Argo, with our spears in our hands!"

  Odushéyu swallowed hard. But he did not dare argue.

  aaa

  It was very late when Diwoméde sent the It'ákan to a guest room. Returning to his chamber, the qasiléyu crossed it and opened the door to the attached bath chamber. Dáuniya lay dozing beside the tub, her blue-striped skirt rumpled up around her knees. The man dropped his kilt on the floor and lifted his woman, intending to carry her to the bed.

  She roused at his touch and opened her dark eyes. With a sleepy smile, she resisted his hands. "I am too heavy," she objected, walking hand-in-hand with him to the bed. "Ai, you took so long to come," she sighed, when they lay beside each other upon the fleeces.

  "I had a lot to talk about," he explained briefly. Pressing her head toward his, he pulled the woman over on top of him and kissed her warmly. She arched her back and gently pushed away the caressing hands. Straddling him, Dáuniya sat up and began to untie the knotted leather cord that held her skirt. Diwoméde impatiently pulled at the cloth to hurry her along. When she was naked, she lay full length upon him, covering his face and neck with kisses and running her fingers through his shoulder-length hair.

  He pushed her off, onto the bed beside him, and rolled over on top of her. In response, she spread her legs and wrapped them around his hips with a happy moan. Feeling a rising hardness between her legs, she reached down to guide him in. With rhythmic sighs and grunts, they pressed their bodies together, Diwoméde's breath harsh and intoxicating in Dáuniya's ear, she nibbling lightly at his shoulder. But soon his grunts grew louder and his movements slower. He grimaced. In the passion of the moment, Dáuniya could not make the words come, to ask what was wrong, but she placed a hand on his scarred right arm, by instinct. The limb shook. Sweat rolled over his face and back. In a moment, he stopped and with a groan rolled to lie beside her, rubbing his knotted shoulder with his other hand.

  Still breathing hard, Dáuniya sat up. She pushed her long hair out of her face, still flushed and damp. "Ai, Diwoméde," she sighed. "Your arm is troubling you again?" Her hand felt along his strong thigh, toward his now-flaccid member. "Do you want to try again, with me on top?"

  He clasped her hand, pulling her down beside him. "No, I do not like it that way. I cannot stand to be held down."

  She was surprised, but lay quietly at his side. Her breathing returned to normal and she noticed his eyes, staring upward, unseeing, and his brows, brought together over his nose. Raising herself on one elbow to look him in the face, she asked, "Has one of your guests said something to trouble your heart? Is it Ainyáh and the broken alliance?"

  He turned to look at her, chewing his lower lip in thought, suddenly assailed by doubts. "Can I trust Odushéyu, do you think?"

  Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

  Before she could answer, Diwoméde went on. "Or Peirít'owo, can I trust him, for that matter? He blames Odushéyu for their defeat in Mízriya and talks only about getting revenge."

  "Peirít'owo is young and has lost everything, his family, his home, his rank," Dáuniya observed solemnly. "He has nothing but revenge to keep him going. Why should his thoughts concern you?"

  Diwoméde sighed. He laid his arm across his eyes. "It is Odushéyu who troubles me, Dáuniya. Did you hear the things he said? When I talked with him this evening, my heart began to beat strong again and my way seemed clear. But now that I come away from him, I am filled with doubt."

  Dáuniya smiled knowingly. "I would trust Odushéyu."

  Diwoméde lifted his arm from his face to look at her, surprised. "You would?"

  Her smile broadened, showing two full rows of white teeth. "Yes," she said. Pointing at the nipple on his chest closest to her, she added, "I would trust him from here," and she moved her finger to his other nipple, "to here."

  He chuckled, despite the worries oppressing him. "Why is that, woman? You hardly know him."

  "I am from the ítalo land, remember?" So saying, she lay down again, her head close to his.

  He smiled. "And you have never seen a one-eyed man?"

  Dáuniya turned to her stomach, raising herself on her elbows. "Ai, yes, I saw a good many one-eyed men there. What is more, I will tell you how they came to be that way." Mimicking Odushéyu's bellow, she shouted, "These impious men, though their mothers tried to tell them not to run about with sticks in their hands, they would not listen! They fell and poked an eye out, just as they deserved!" She was pleased to hear Diwoméde laugh out loud.

  "No, Dáuniya," he said, turning on his side to face her. "Tonight you must not joke with me. I know the Kuklóq is a fable. But Odushéyu spoke with me about other things, important things. Ai gar, but he has always been an ambitious man. He does nothing without gaining something for himself. But, the problem is, I cannot figure out what he is aiming for, this time."

  "That is what T'érsite says of him, too," Dáuniya replied, serious again. "What did he say to you? I could not hear through the door."

  Diwoméde debated in his mind whether or not to tell her. While he was considering the matter, a sudden thought struck him. He frowned. "If you knew all along that the Kuklóq story was a lie, why were you so engrossed with it? You sat at Odushéyu's knee with your hand at your mouth."

  Her eyes broke from his, a faint smile on her lips. "While T'érsite and I were preparing the tables, we made a bet. You know he cannot pass a single day without gambling! He bet that Ainyáh would drink too much wine and end up picking a fight with you. I bet that Odushéyu would say too much and impale himself on his own tongue. I did not want to lose my bet, so I encouraged Odushéyu's story-telling by pretending to be interested."

 
Diwoméde was mildly annoyed. "What was T'érsite's prize if he won? Was it a night in bed with you?"

  "No!" Dáuniya cried, offended. "Would any woman lie willingly with that fat, toothless sack of wine? Besides, if he slept with me, his wife would take up her father's fishing trident and put an end to all his lovemaking, forever. Such a foolish question! No, if he won, I was to steal a jug of wine for him."

  This pleased Diwoméde no more than the bet. "Steal a jug of wine from my stores? You would do that? Ai gar, woman, I have planned a military campaign with Odushéyu. Must I throw you out of the palace before I go?"

  Dáuniya was stricken. Her face fell. "Owái, Diwoméde, do not be angry with me," she begged. "You know that I guard all that is yours with my life. But T'érsite promised to get me an amulet if I won my bet." She pulled the qasiléyu's calloused hand to her slightly swollen belly and held it there. "I felt the baby kick this morning, for the first time. It has come to life."

  The harsh lines of Diwoméde's face softened. He made no move to take his hand away. "The amulet was to protect the baby, was it? Do you think this one will be all right?"

  Dáuniya shrugged. "It may or it may not. But ítalo's gods do not live in this land and Ak'áiwiya's gods do not listen to foreigners. The amulet might help or it might offend Diwiyána. Do not let yourself hope too much. Even if I carry this one a full ten months, it will probably die before it is weaned."

  Diwoméde watched her face as she spoke. "You do not seem concerned."

  "I never let myself grow to love what is in my womb," she told him firmly. "That way, I am not hurt too much, if it comes too soon. If I manage to give birth to a living child, it will be the same for some time. Too many things can happen to a baby before it is weaned."

  Diwoméde was pensive for a long, silent moment, feeling light taps against the flesh, beneath his hand. "You are wise," he said, without conviction. "But I wonder if you are the same with me. Do you love me?"