by Diana Gainer
"Pray to the goddess," Érinu said quietly, stroking her cheek. "One day, mother Dáwan will forget her anger and hear us. She must."
Andrómak'e clung to Érinu's scarred form. "When will she listen? When?"
"I do not know," the former priest sighed. "She did not warn me that Tróya would fall. Her birds no longer speak to me. But people say that my sister cursed the land of Ak'áiwiya before she died. A woman's curses are the worst. Even if Dáwan Anna ignores you and me, she will do Kashánda's bidding one day."
"Ai, Érinu," his sister-in-law whispered, her head on his shoulder. "They say your sister asked the earth to swallow us all, Ak'áyans and Assúwans alike. If the goddess listens, she will bring about the end of the whole world!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
ORESTA
On the T'eshalíyan coast, a small fleet was drawn up, made up of long, narrow ships with posts that rose high at bow and stern. Their square sails were packed away beneath the rowing benches, wrapped in protective sheepskins. The larger vessels lay at anchor in the harbor, the smaller longboats drawn up on the shore. The oars of the small vessels, unlike the sails, were not stowed, but remained in place in the oarlocks, handles outward, ready for dragging the vessels back out to sea. Clearly, the visitors did not intend to stay long in the northern kingdom.
The boys of the royal household, temporarily banned from the palace, inspected the black-hulled ships. "Mármaro, do you know where they come from?" Sqamándriyo asked of the oldest.
Mármaro walked around the biggest of the ships on the beach, one which had held twenty rowers, ten on each side. He examined the tall prow capped with a wooden dove. His toe lightly touched the large, red eye that had been painted on the side. "Either Lakedaimón or Argo," he pronounced confidently.
He and his brothers spat on the rocky soil. "Dáwan Anna cast them both down to 'Aidé!" they cursed.
Not to be outdone, Sqamándriyo spat as well. "Poseidáon blast their ships with storms!"
At that, a broad-chested man with short hair emerged from a small, covered shed on the stern platform of the ship they had been inspecting. "Idé, what is this?" he demanded in a booming voice that startled the foursome on the shore. "Lakedaimón is allied to T'eshalíya by marriage. Since when do allies curse each other?"
"We are members of the royal family of T'eshalíya and we say what we please! Who are you?" Mármaro demanded, hoping to impress his brothers with his reckless courage in facing the strange visitor.
"I am Odushéyu, wánaks of holy It'áka," answered the bare-chested visitor. He grinned, his eyes gleaming fiercely. "And I could break all four of you in pieces with my bare hands!" He leaped down to the beach and looked the boys over with a haughty air. "I would guess that not a one of you is twenty years old. Ai gar, what are you? Ak'áyan wolves or T'rákiyan bears?"
"Wolves!" Idálu cried, balling his fists. His voice, just beginning to change, squeaked embarrassingly and he felt his face redden.
Odushéyu laughed and put his own large fists on his hips. "You look familiar," he said. "But I cannot recall your names."
The middle boy, Kurawátta, took his brothers' shoulders, whispering, "Do not tell."
But the smallest of the four quickly answered, "I am Sqamándriyo, son of prince Qántili."
The smile fell from Odushéyu's rugged face. "By the gods! You are Tróyans!" he roared. Pointing at the three older boys, he gasped, "You three must be Paqúr's sons!"
The four boys stepped backward, seeing the man's face darken with rage. Sqamándriyo clung to Mármaro's tunic, his eyes wide and frightened. The older youth shoved the little one, making him fall to the ground. "Why did you have to tell?"
But Odushéyu was already pushing his way past them. "Meneláwo will hear about this," he announced, ominously, striding toward the citadel on the nearby hilltop.
aaa
When Meneláwo heard of the high standing of the captives, he was deeply troubled. With Odushéyu beside him, he confronted the wánaks and wánasha of T'eshalíya outside 'Ermiyóna's chamber. "When my daughter wrote to me saying that her life was in danger, I could not believe it," he told Péleyu. "Like her mother, she is easily frightened. I came to calm her heart. But now I find that she is right. Every Wilúsiyan captive that Púrwo brought home now lives in your palace, as a member of the royal family."
Péleyu raised his hands, palms out, in the gesture of peace. "Ai, Meneláwo, control your raging spirit. Your daughter is our grandson's lawful wife, the future wánasha of Lakedaimón. Neither Púrwo nor anyone else here would ever allow her to come to any harm. That would mean throwing away the kingship of your land."
The Lakedaimóniyan wánaks shook his head, not mollified by the answer.
Odushéyu leaned forward, his eyes glittering, to demand, "Where is prince Púrwo, eh? A good husband stays at home to see his children born."
"Meneláwo, Odushéyu," scolded the queen, shaking a finger at them. "Our grandson, that is, Púrwo will be here in a few weeks. He expected to be home at the time of the child's birth. But 'Ermiyóna's baby came early."
Thinking of where the T'eshalíyan prince had been, and what he had been doing that summer, Meneláwo was suddenly furious. Leaning forward till his face was only a hand's-breadth from Péleyu's, the Lakedaimóniyan king growled, "I agreed to marry my daughter to your grandson, despite my misgivings, only to safeguard her. She was already promised to my nephew, do you remember? She was so young, too! But you wrote to me about the abundant harvests and good rains across the Píndaro Mountains. 'Ermiyóna would never go hungry in T'eshalíya, you said, now that Púrwo had extended your realm to the western slopes of the Píndaros. You reminded me that Púrwo and my daughter were both children without any siblings. What an auspicious alliance their marriage would be! That was what you said. But you did not tell me that you would surround 'Ermiyóna with enemies."
"Ai, such talk!" T'éti snapped, wrapping her shawl about her shoulders. "You have less wit than you have children. It is the custom for the victor to carry captives home from a campaign and to keep them in his house to serve him. You know that."
Odushéyu once more leapt into the exchange. "We know that, yes. But we also know that four Tróyan boys and two Tróyan women have become members of your household. They are not slaves, either. No, you made them part of your own family."
Meneláwo nodded, adding, "Ak'illéyu loved his woman and perhaps he meant to take her as his legitimate wife. So, if you keep 'Iqodámeya in the palace, I can understand that and accept it. Since she bore your son a child, I can accept you keeping your granddaughter here, too. The princess may even have a claim to bearing the kingship of T'eshalíya. But you have gone too far! Paqúr was the very pirate who stole my wife and here I find that you adopted the three sons he sired in Tróya as your own!"
Péleyu shouted angrily, "I am the wánaks here, not you! You are only a guest. Do not presume to tell me what I should and should not do in my own house." He moved toward Meneláwo with his fists ready. The southern king watched him come with bleary eyes, but Odushéyu shoved his ally aside to face the T'eshalíyan himself.
"Owái, Diwiyána," T'éti wailed, trying to keep the men from flying at each other's throats. "The maináds have you all. Do you mean to start a war outside 'Ermiyóna's chamber? And the poor, little thing still weak from giving birth out of season?"
From behind the closed door, 'Ermiyóna began to call, "Pappa, Pappa!"
Meneláwo trembled violently at the sound of the shrill voice and shouldered his way past the royal couple. He entered the room, closing the door firmly behind him, to keep the others outside. In the corridor, Odushéyu placed his back to the door, his arms out to block Péleyu and T'éti. "He is her father," the It'ákan reminded the couple. "He has a right to speak to her alone."
The Lakedaimóniyan king sat on the edge of the bed and took 'Ermiyóna's hand. She was pale. The small hand in his was cold. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying, her long, black hair disheveled, scattered over
the sheepskins.
"Owái, Pappa," she whimpered, her lips trembling, "I was afraid I would die before you got here."
Meneláwo patted her hand and wiped the falling tears from her cheeks. "Do not cry, little daughter. I am here now. You are not going to die. They told me what happened."
'Ermiyóna said nothing for awhile, clasping her father's warm hand and gazing on the familiar face. Her father was quiet as well, trying to think how he should tell her about Púrwo. Finally 'Ermiyóna asked, "Will you make me a promise?"
"Anything," he answered without hesitation.
"Swear you will do as I ask." Her hands clung to his tightly and in her eyes burned a hot fire of desperation.
"I swear by the hearth of my home. I swear by lady 'Estiwáya," her father said soothingly. "Now what do you want, t'ugátriyon?"
She bit her lower lip. "I want you to destroy Andrómak'e and her children."
Meneláwo was shocked. His heavy-lidded eyes opened wide and he jumped back at his daughter's words. Pulling his hands from hers, he stood beside the bed, staring down at the white face in the sea of dark curls. "By the gods, 'Ermiyóna, how can you ask such a thing? It would mean war between Lakedaimón and T'eshalíya." He shuddered, realizing that the two lands were already hostile.
The princess raised herself on her elbow, reaching toward him. "Please, Pappa. Andrómak'e is working magic against me. I know she is. That is why I lost the baby. Púrwo loves her and her children. He cares nothing for me, his true wife. You are my father. Who else can I turn to?"
"Owái, 'Ermiyóna!" Meneláwo cried, clapping his scarred hands to his head. "It is an evil thing you ask me to do, to kill a woman and her children. She is a widow, the most helpless of all people. Granted that she was the wife of my enemy and her oldest child is his son. I agree that they should not live in the palace with you. But kill them? No, no, daughter, do not ask me to do that. Why did you not just ask Péleyu to send Andrómak'e away, ask him to set her to weaving in one of his other fortresses?"
"No, Father!" 'Ermiyóna cried, close to hysteria. "She overlooked me with the Evil Eye. She is working magic, I tell you, and she can do that from any place in the world. Ai, she is evil! Kill her! Destroy her evil children or they will do harm to all my babies and every one of them will die, just as this one did. Owái, you promised, you swore by 'Estiwáya! Grandfather will rise from the dead against you if you break your oath. Agamémnon will return from his grave and hunt you down."
Meneláwo ran from the room, clutching at his hair. In the corridor, he slammed the door behind him and rushed through the gloom, his daughter's frenzied cries echoing behind him. King Péleyu hurried after him, to guide him to the mégaron.
Odushéyu was not slow to follow. But T'éti had time to slap the It'ákan with her rolled shawl as he passed. "This is your fault, I am sure," the old woman spat. "You were always a trouble-maker. Ai, Penelópa wrote to warn us about you."
Odushéyu raised his arm, ready to strike back. But the T'eshalíyan queen did not flinch. She flung her embroidered shawl round her shoulders once more and padded slowly after the others. Odushéyu let his hand fall. With a whispered curse in the wánasha's direction, he overtook her and made his way to the throne room.
In the big chamber, the shaken Lakedaimóniyan was seated by the hearth and plied with wine. "Let us forget this quarrel, Meneláwo," Péleyu pleaded. "'Ermiyóna is frightened of shadows. She is in no danger. Púrwo does not behave properly toward her, I will admit. But what can you expect? He was reared by his mother's kin, after her death. Skúro is an uncivilized country. Their customs are not the same as ours. So he is rough. But Púrwo is also a strong warrior. He will protect your daughter."
The words could give Meneláwo no comfort. He downed his wine quickly, groaning. "Owái, Péleyu, Diwiyána's wild daughters are forever weaving disasters for my family. Before I was born, my father fought with his own brother. Between them, they nearly destroyed our house. My brother thought he could build an Ak'áyan empire and that madness led to his destruction. Now the untamed mainád's spirit has entered my little daughter. Do you know what she wants me to do? She wants me to kill Andrómak'e and her children. Owái, sweet goddess, I even swore an oath!"
"You cannot do any such thing!" Péleyu cried, enraged again. "If you try, I will have my warriors drive you out of T'eshalíya and forever after our peoples will be at war."
Meneláwo sighed and gulped more wine. "What can I do? Péleyu, she tricked me, she made me swear by 'Estiwáya, before she told me what she wanted. How as I to know she had such a mad idea in mind? I thought she was going to ask for a...a talisman, or a..a visit to a seeress, or.. or... anything but that! Owái, can we negotiate this matter?"
"There is nothing to negotiate!" the old man cried. "You are a guest here. You have no right even to ask such a thing."
The Lakedaimóniyan glared miserably over his wine-cup at the T'eshalíyan wánaks. "I am not just a guest, I must remind you, but a kinsman." The final word pained him and he grimaced at its sound. But, as Odushéyu entered the great room, Meneláwo continued to argue, "Our houses are joined. All that I have is Púrwo's, and all that he has is mine. Is that not so?"
Péleyu's long-fingered hands rose and then fell to his lap. "Idé, it is. But, still, I am the wánaks here and this is my household. Ak'illéyu's daughter is the principal heir. Moloshíya carries T'eshalíya's kingship. Her husband will have a better claim on Andrómak'e than you do."
Odushéyu sought a chair beside his ally as Meneláwo moaned and shook his head in dismay. "I do not know what to do about this, Péleyu. I am lost."
Odushéyu had been listening and prepared to speak, clearing his throat. Péleyu and Meneláwo looked his way, hoping for new insight. The It'ákan smiled expansively. "Péleyu, old friend," he soothed, "we do not want to offend you. Nor do we care to think of slitting a child's throat, or a widow's. Let us think on this matter. Is there no other way to satisfy 'Ermiyóna?"
Encouraged, Meneláwo nodded, leaning forward unsteadily. "Send the Tróyans elsewhere, at least," the Lakedaimóniyan suggested, his eyes glazed with misery.
T'éti entered the mégaron, walking painfully. "Ai, sweet Diwiyána, such talk," she complained. "Meneláwo, I will tell you the same thing I told your daughter. Mármaro, Kurawátta, and Idálu are no longer the sons of the Tróyan prince Paqúr. They are Péleyu's sons and mine. It is the same with Sqamándriyo. It made good sense for us to adopt these boys. After all, we had lost both our son and our foster-son in the war. Ai, by the goddess, when these children came here, they were just babies! Even our hot-tempered Púrwo does not make war on little children."
Meneláwo clapped his hands to his head, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, unable to respond.
"Imagine how we felt," T'éti went on, her voice becoming gentle and soothing, "how we grieved at the deaths of Ak'illéyu and Patróklo. Owái, we had only our grandson left to us, and he was a practically a stranger to us. Then, here was 'Iqodámeya carrying our son's child in her womb. How could we not raise Moloshíya as our own? And it made sense to honor our granddaughter's mother by keeping her in the palace, as well. 'Iqodámeya is Moloshíya's nursemaid, and a faithful concubine to Péleyu."
Her husband stared at her in astonishment at that. "T'éti, how did you find out?"
T'éti laughed, without bitterness. "Ai, you great ox of a man! A wife always knows. But how could I object? After so many difficult births, I am no longer able to share your bed. How much better it is to give that duty over to someone still young, one who owes her life to her lord, and who has no brothers to conspire with."
"Not many wives give up their husbands' beds so calmly," Meneláwo observed ruefully.
T'éti turned to him with her white head at a haughty angle. "I am no ordinary wife, but a woman of god. I serve Father Poseidáon first, my earthly husband second."
Péleyu grunted, displeased, and slouched in his chair. "I suppose your 'Elléniya says as much to you, Meneláwo?"
Meneláwo remained silent, brooding.
But Odushéyu shook his head. "This is not the true issue. Andrómak'e is 'Ermiyóna's rival for Púrwo's affection, is that not so? Now the wife has lost her first child, while the concubine carries Púrwo's on her hip. That is enough to make the sanest woman jealous."
"Andrómak'e has reason to be hostile to my daughter, at that," Meneláwo added somberly. "The Tróyan woman would not be the first to blame my wife for the war."
"And look at this," Odushéyu quickly interrupted him to say. "Paqúr's three boys are Andrómak'e's nephews. She may be a widow and a captive, but she is surrounded by kinsmen. But 'Ermiyóna has no one here to protect her, no brothers or other men of her own blood, and no fat children in her arms to win Púrwo's favor."
T'éti clucked with her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Tróya is all the way across the Inner Sea and the war is in the past. We are all T'eshalíyans now, even Andrómak'e. When she came here, only the most heartless would not have felt sorry for her. She had lost everything, her parents, her husband, her city. The truly high-born do not add to the sorrows of the downtrodden. Should we have sent her, a royal woman, to work in the flax fields like an ordinary slave? Ai, that would have been completely uncivilized and utterly dishonorable! No, it was only right that we took her in as a member of the family."
Odushéyu would have objected, but the white-haired wánasha continued, addressing only her kinsman. "Now, think of this, Meneláwo, my in-law. Moloshíya is growing up in an evil time. Danger is everywhere. She needs many brothers to keep her safe. Our grandson, Púrwo, is a brave warrior, but he is only one man. He cannot be everywhere. We saw this when he came to us after the war. Adoption was our only choice. So now Moloshíya has five brothers, Púrwo of course, but also Mármaro, Kurawátta, Idálu, and Sqamándriyo. It is only because she has so many that we could propose this marriage between Púrwo and 'Ermiyóna. Would we dare send Púrwo far away, to rule Lakedaimón, if Moloshíya had no other kinsmen nearby?"
