Conspiracy of the Islands (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  "Agamémnon would want us to rescue Ip'emédeya," Diwoméde cried, exasperated. "Did he not risk everything to save her himself?"

  Noting Orésta's hesitation, Odushéyu broke in quickly. "To go north now would endanger 'Ermiyóna. She lost a lot of blood, you know. She is very weak. A dangerous journey in cold, northern lands might kill her." Orésta's frown deepened and he began to nod.

  Diwoméde stood, his arms crossed on his chest. "If you will not go with me, Odushéyu, then stay behind. I do not care. As for you, Orésta, if you must go south with 'Ermiyóna then do so. But I am going north. I will find Ip'emédeya, with Meneláwo beside me, and I will bring her back to Mukénai. There, I will confront Aígist'o and Klutaimnéstra with their crime. They say that Agamémnon had to die to avenge Ip'emédeya's death. They say he was to blame for the drought. But when Argo's people see the princess alive, and the grain that I will bring along with her, they will know that it was not Agamémnon who angered the gods. The people will support me and then both Aígist'o and Klutaimnéstra will be cast into the streets. Agamémnon will be avenged, whether either of you stands by me or not. I swear this by the river Stuks."

  Orésta listened, open-mouthed with amazement. He stood beside his illegitimate brother. "I will go with you, Diwoméde. You are right. It is a matter of honor."

  The It'ákan rolled his eyes and sighed to himself. "Very well," he agreed resignedly. "The two of you must go north. But, still, there is the matter of 'Ermiyóna. Let me escort her south, at least. Now, what about Meneláwo? You cannot seriously intend to take that drunkard with you…"

  "I told you never to call him that again," Orésta cried in sudden fury and fell upon the exile. Diwoméde joined his younger kinsman, beating Odushéyu until he howled for mercy.

  When they all returned to their seats, breathing heavily, Diwoméde took charge of the discussion without further challenge. Odushéyu could go south, if he desired, but only as far as the isthmus dividing northern and southern Ak'áiwiya. "I will give you a third of my ships for this purpose," the qasiléyu decided, "but remember that the men are loyal to me. They are not It'ákans. They will follow the orders I give them. And those orders are to go no further south than the port of Kórint'o. There they will drag the ships overland, to the western sea. From there, 'Ermiyóna is to be escorted to Aitolíya. There she can safely await the return of her promised husband."

  Beneath Diwoméde's thunderous glare, Odushéyu simply nodded his head. "Yes, qasiléyu," the exile responded meekly, rubbing the new bruises on his ribs.

  "Another third of our joint expedition will patrol the waters of T'ráki," continued Agamémnon's older son. "This group must take barley in as great a quantity as can be had, by whatever means necessary. An abundance of grain is as vital to our ultimate success in Mukénai as any act of honor. Odushéyu, if you do not care to wait about in Aitolíya, he may lead this second contingent."

  Orésta's surprise was as great as his disapproval. "I will be wánaks of Lakedaimón, one day, and as such I should have a voice in any such decision," the youth protested. "Maybe I will be the one to command the ships going to T'ráki. Perhaps I will insist that Odushéyu guard my promised bride."

  Diwoméde shook his head firmly. "Odushéyu may choose his command. That is his reward for reminding me of my duty to my dead father, and for his cleverness in thinking of the means by which Agamémnon could be avenged."

  The younger Argive was not satisfied. "But…"

  Diwoméde interrupted him, thumping his walking stick against the ground to remind Orésta who had the right to speak. "Whatever Odushéyu chooses to do," the qasiléyu went on, "the remaining third of the ships will go northeast, to face whatever dangers lie beyond Dáwan's straits. You and I must be with this group, Orésta. Meneláwo is unfit to lead the Lakedaimóniyans and they will not follow me."

  "I follow your reasoning," agreed the younger man. "But I do not see why we cannot simply put my uncle in charge of one of the other contingents. Let Odushéyu guard 'Ermiyóna and Meneláwo can stay with the grain ships. Give the men their orders and they will do what is necessary while he stays with the longboats, sucking poppy juice."

  Diwoméde thumped his staff again, impatient with his half-brother. "Listen a moment more and you will see why I have taken over the leadership of this expedition. You cannot make decisions based on whims. Think it through to the end. Meneláwo must come with us. Poppies are beside the point. Only he knows the location of Ip'emédeya's hiding place."

  His younger kinsman had to agree. "It may well be that only my uncle will recognize her, when we find her, too," Orésta added ruefully. "I was only ten years old when last I saw Ip'emédeya. I do not even remember my sister's face."

  aaa

  When autumn was well advanced, Tawári, the City of the Bull, made the visitors welcome on the shore of the northern Hostile Sea. Ainyáh's tales had been lies, after all. No steep cliff sides had come together and crushed their ships, as the rowers had feared. Though the oarsmen saw the northern shore close to their boats, then far off, and close again, never did the mountain peaks stir or threaten the southern shore. No monster dwelled in cave or on hillside to menace the southern longboats, either, despite what Odushéyu had heard from the lips of the Kanaqániyan.

  But the It'ákan was not there to see their passage. Appearing thoroughly humbled, he thanked Diwoméde for his generosity and sailed south with 'Ermiyóna. Perhaps Orésta would remember this small service, the exile suggested meekly when they parted. Maybe one day there would be a place in Lakedaimón for an old pirate banished from his home.

  When the northern straits came to an end and the open sea greeted them, the travelers found only tribesmen, along the whole of their route. These barbarians were fully human, too, and wore the familiar fox-skin cloaks of T'ráki. But Lakedaimóniyan and Argive oarsmen remained ill at ease throughout the journey. "We can feel the evil emanating from the barbarians' pale eyes," the nervous boatmen complained to Diwoméde.

  Though the qasiléyu felt the same, he made a show of staring back upon those bearded faces that were tattooed with unfamiliar, blue designs to show their rank. He made the sign of the Evil Eye when the tribesmen looked away and followed the gesture with another sign, this one more obscene, to show his defiance. Reassured, the Zeyugelátes followed his example and no misfortune befell them.

  After an uneventful trip along Assúwa's northern shore, the southern Ak'áyans beached their longboats not far from the mouth of a great river. Meneláwo recognized the place, calling the river by its native name, Mar-Ashántiya. "This is where my journey ended," the wánaks recalled, "at the City of the Bull."

  The king's younger kinsmen were surprised to find men, whose existence they had never suspected, who even considered the Ak'áyans to be allies. As the travelers first walked among the dwellings of the city on the riverbank, merchants in woolen robes described the local country's blessings. In heavily accented speech reminiscent of Wilúsiya, they pointed with pride to the place's treasures, both god-given and man-made. It was a fertile land, there beside the Mar-Ashántiya’s waters. The climate was mild, warmer than much of Ak'áiwiya that time of year, though mist and fog were more common. The place was rich in grain and fruits of all kinds. The sea was full of fish as well, and the nearby mountain slopes thickly covered with hardwood trees. The pasture land was equally fertile, the cattle well fattened. Diwoméde was amazed to find that the shepherds had already brought their flocks down from the hills for the winter. But snow would come earlier in the year than in his native Argo, he learned.

  "It sounds inviting, but they are keeping something from us," he cautioned his half-brother.

  Orésta was less impressed by the wealth of the land. "Look at how they live, in little, square houses built all of wood and thatch. There are no openings for light or air, no windows, not even a smoke-hole in the roof. The door is the only outlet. And look at their clothing, no linen at all, only wool and animal skins. Have you noticed that every man has cu
t his hair short, too? There must have been some kind of disaster here, not long ago. And they all cover themselves from their chins to their toes, even the women. Barbarians!"

  "Perhaps they have no breasts and are ashamed of it," Diwoméde suggested, watching the women scrubbing their laundry along the banks of the river, innumerable, thin braids ringing their light heads.

  The Argives were interrupted by peals of high-pitched laughter. Turning around, Orésta and Diwoméde were surprised to see, not a woman but an enormously fat man, his head shaved and painted with spirals, in red ochre. "I am T'úwa, high priest and ruler of this land," the unusual man announced, in his woman's voice. "We Mar-Ashántiyans have heard of Ak'áiwiya. Make no mistake, honored guests, we may have only wooden dwellings, while you have stone, but we are the truly civilized ones. You are the barbarians. Our men cut their hair short because that is the custom." With a girlish giggle, he added, "And because they do not care to be mistaken for women."

  The Argives felt their faces burn at the implied insult. "Do your women grow hair on their chins?" Diwoméde demanded, pointing angrily at his own full beard. Beside him, Orésta mimicked the gesture, indicating the sparser growth on his own chin.

  T'úwa smiled, his eyes twinkling with merriment. "Ey," he added, "my sister has a moustache." At that, he laughed so hard that his round belly shook, his eyes disappeared in folds of facial fat, and tears were squeezed out upon cheeks as smooth as a baby's. Orésta could not help joining in the odd man's contagious joviality.

  Diwoméde was mollified enough to smile. "And what are the women hiding under all those garments?" he asked, pointedly.

  T'úwa's laughter abruptly ceased. With piercing gaze and an almost malicious grin, he answered, "Their modesty."

  Orésta waved impatiently. "Enough of this foolish talk of buildings and women! That is not what we came for."

  "Why did you come?" T'úwa asked quietly, the strange smile still on his face.

  Diwoméde did not know what to say but Orésta did not hesitate. "Tin."

  To the discomfort of the Ak'áyans, the high priest of the Mar-Ashántiyans burst into more peals of laughter. When he finally calmed himself, wiping a tear from his cheek and sighing, he noted, "Those infernal Náshiyans wanted tin, also. So we procured it from lands far beyond the eastern mountains, at great cost, and sold it at a still greater profit. But we had no use for it ourselves, you see. We hold the secret to working the strongest metal known." His strange green eyes gleaming, T'úwa added in a conspiratorial whisper, "That is iron, which the Náshiyans call black bronze."

  Diwoméde scoffed. "Nothing is better than bronze. I never heard of that eyas, or whatever you called it."

  Orésta agreed. "Gold and silver are too soft to be very useful, and so is lead. Copper and tin by themselves are too brittle. But, just mix tin and copper together and you make bronze. Then you have the finest metal there is. I do not know anything about this 'iron' but it cannot be better."

  T'úwa shrugged. "A good merchant never argues with a potential buyer," he responded calmly. "If it is tin you want, then tin you may have. After all, you are our allies. You may not know it, but we Mar-Ashántiyans have always hated the foreign kings of Náshiya who laid claim to our lands. The defeat in Wilúsiya was welcome news. When the old emperor died and his son ascended the Náshiyan throne, we rebelled along with our neighbors, the nomadic Káshka, whom we had previously considered enemies. Together, we and the Káshka slaughtered every Náshiyan foreigner in our sacred port city and returned to our traditional livelihoods. Now, with Tawári as our capital once again," he beamed, indicating his surroundings, "led by our wise priests, and enriched by our clever merchants, life is good to us again. Our fierce Káshka allies protect us and, in this time of peace, our land prospers as never before. But that is enough of the past. Let us return to the present. You wanted tin." He turned to the surrounding traders, who waited in patient silence.

  Before the priest could address his people, Orésta poked Diwoméde in the ribs, whispering, "Tell him."

  T'úwa turned back to his visitors with his odd smile. "Tell me what?"

  Diwoméde was unnerved by the pale, grass-colored eyes. He coughed and cleared his throat. "We want only the best tin…"

  "Of course," T'úwa smiled, spreading his chubby hands. "Would we trade inferior metal to our allies?"

  Diwoméde cleared his throat again. "We must go to the place where you get it."

  The surrounding crowd of merchants rumbled with harsh laughter. Unaffected, their high priest calmly objected, "We do not know exactly where it comes from. But it is very far away, across the eastern mountains. We cannot take you there."

  "We do not want to go there," Orésta said, with growing impatience, both at his host and his companion. "You buy your tin from Mar-Yandún and it is their capital city that we wish to visit."

  The traders stared at their bare-headed leader in amazement. An ominous twinkle in his pale eyes, T'úwa only said, "If you insist."

  In the morning, Orésta and Diwoméde set out as passengers in a small ship rowed by Mar-Ashántiyans. T'úwa had insisted on this arrangement, for, he said, the Mar-Yandúns were a primitive and shy people. At the sight of strangers approaching, they would pick up their houses, which were only skins and poles, and run. Furthermore, these waters, which his people called Dobrógeya's Sea after their great goddess, were extremely treacherous. Only the most experienced mariners dared to cross them at that time of year. The Zeyugelátes of the Ak'áyan vessels readily accepted T'úwa's advice that they remain in Tawári to await their leaders' return. Meneláwo, having served his function as guide to T'úwa's City of the Bull, stayed with the oarsmen and navigators. His nephews sailed on alone.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MAR-YANDUN

  Orésta and Diwoméde sailed to the northwestern shore of Dobrógeya's Sea with T'úwa's men, going further north than the Argives had ever imagined was possible. For nearly a full phase of the moon they sailed, ending their journey on an island in the mouth of an unknown river. On a low hill stood the semi-permanent settlement of Mar-Yandún, not a kingdom or even a city, but merely a small village. The Mar-Ashántiyan dwellings had seemed primitive to the Ak'áyans, but these more northerly houses were simpler still, being circular, one-room structures of wood and mud. The thatched roofs had no smoke-holes and the doors of the dwellings were covered only by flaps of hide. These little houses were dug partly into the high ground of the hillock. This, the Mar-Ashántiyan guides explained, was to protect them from the fiercely cold northern winter.

  "Speaking of winter," the merchant leader told his passengers, "the cold season is well on its way. We are consequently in a hurry to return to our warm homes on the banks of the Mar-Ashántiya. So, you Ak'áyans should not mind if we do not bother to come ashore ourselves. Rather than take time to beach our vessels, we will let you out in the shallow water. Then, of course, we will await your signal to return. But do not be long."

  Diwoméde was not pleased and would have protested. But Orésta's mind was on the shore and what he might find there. "That is acceptable," he told the Mar-Ashántiyan traders. He had seen a wooden pillar standing in the center of the island settlement, and near the base was carved a rosette, the symbol of his native Mukénai. "Ip'emédeya is here," the youth confidently told the older qasiléyu, as the two waded to shore. "I feel it in my heart."

  As soon as the Argives left the boat, the Mar-Ashántiyan rowers began plying their oars energetically, grunting and straining. Diwoméde stopped, knee deep in the water. He watched them briefly, scowling. "Look, Orésta, those treacherous dogs are leaving us."

  "No, no," his younger kinsman argued, without turning to see. "They are only going to deeper water to wait for our signal." He pressed on toward the shore. At the perimeter of the small settlement, someone gave a shout. Soon, bearded, unkempt men came rushing from all sides, as they sighted the approaching strangers. With cries of "Dúni!" the men leaped upon the bare backs of their little ho
rses and rode toward the newcomers, lightweight spears in their hands.

  "Diwoméde!" Orésta shouted in sudden fear and turned to run toward the rapidly disappearing longboats. The qasiléyu had only his sword with him, in its scabbard by his side. His heart pounding, he drew the blade and stood with his feet apart, hoping to cover his kinsman's retreat. But, though the younger Argive called out and waved his arms, he could not halt the retreat of the vessels that had carried them to that unfriendly shore. Nor could he splash through the waters of the Hostile Sea quickly enough to overtake them.

  The onrushing spearmen were clothed all in leather, in a manner the Ak'áyans had never before seen. On their bodies the people of Mar-Yandún wore tunics, as did the more familiar T'rákiyans. But here, each limb was neatly encased in its own covering as well. Only the T'rákiyan style boots were familiar, rising to mid-calf. The spears they carried were smaller than the heavy lances known to the peoples about the Inner Sea. These javelins were more primitive, with only fire-hardened points instead of cast bronze. But each man carried two or three and, as he rode swiftly upon the travelers, hurled the weapons at the intruders.

  Orésta was forced to a halt by the spears and Diwoméde could only stand with his sword in hand as the riders reined in their horses beyond his reach. What was most amazing and frightening of all was the very fact that these strange men were riding their animals. Diwoméde had once seen Odushéyu jump on a horse's back and cling to its mane for a short distance. Such a feat as that was not unusual for Wilúsiyans, famed for their horse breeding.

  But only in one brief battle of the Tróyan war had either Argive seen such mounted men as these, their movements so closely coordinated to those of their steeds that each horse and rider seemed a single, unearthly creature. Diwoméde remembered them only vaguely, through a fog of years and of poppy-induced dreaming. Odushéyu had called them Kentáuros, semi-divine beings who could be vanquished only by his special magic. What incantation, what spell had the It'ákan taught his followers? Diwoméde could no longer recall. The hair rose on the back of his neck.