Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) (24 page)

“Yes, I could know and I did!” she exclaimed with wide eyes. “I am surprised at you, Diwoméde. Who do you suppose bought your freedom?”

“Ainyáh did…”

She shook her head. “Now, beloved, he was only the one who went to Mízriya to fetch you back. I must admit it took some convincing for him to look for you there. But it was T’érsite and I who bribed him to do it. I stole quite a bit of queen Lawodíka’s jewelry to buy his services.”

Diwoméde stood still for a long moment in open-mouthed amazement. “Including her mirror?” he asked, remembering what he had overheard.

Dáuniya started, the color deepening in her face. “Yes,” she answered, turning away.
“Why?” he demanded, pulling at her arm. “Why, Dáuniya?”

The woman turned toward him, frowning. “For you!”

“But why?” he asked again, with more emphasis. “You do not need me. T’érsite would…”

“
Ai
, that great sack of wine? What would I do with him? Besides, he has a wife, and Mélisha would never let him go, even if I did want him.”

“No, no, I did not mean that you should marry him, of course,” Diwoméde said, turning his head from side to side, unable to look at her. “But he..
ai
, he could have done more for you than I could. I mean to say that I was a captive, a slave. Why did you not go west with T’érsite? Even now, he has greater standing in our group than I do. He seems to have adopted you, as..
ai
, woman, you are like a daughter to him.” He ground his toes into the dry soil as he spoke, the words coming only with difficulty. But he felt that he had to say them. He had to have the truth at last.

Dáuniya clapped her hands, laughing at her former master.
“Ai
, no, no, he has adopted
you
, my foolish, great ox, not me! And your status is a good deal higher than you seem to think. People do respect you, my dear beloved. They ask your opinion at every turn, they call you
qasiléyu
…”

“But why, Dáuniya, why?!” Diwoméde shouted, raising his fists in frustration.

She caught his hands and pressed them over her heart. “Because we love you, my silly, beloved, great lump of a man,” she told him quietly, gently. “Is that really so hard to understand? St’énelo has been talking about you all these years. He says that you were Ak’áiwiya’s greatest warrior throughout the Tróyan campaign. T’érsite tells everyone who will listen that you even fought with gods and
dáimons
while you were there in Assúwa. Mélisha cannot praise you enough for bringing her husband out of the king’s stables and giving them both positions in your fortress when you got back from that dreadful war. When Lawodíka’s husband, the new king, returned from the Mízriyan campaign without you, I thought that you must have died. I was ready to throw myself from the highest tower of Tíruns. But do you know why I did not? Because T’érsite stopped me! He would not let me kill myself. And why not? Because he knew that you were still alive! Do not ask me how he knew, but he knew! He was certain that you had only been taken captive. It was his idea to pay Ainyáh to find you and bring you back. So it was that I began to steal the queen’s jewels. How could you not know that?”

Diwoméde stammered, “I…I assumed…Orésta should have…”

His concubine sighed and nodded.
“Ai
, yes, your half-brother. Orésta gave us sanctuary for a little while, when we fled to Lakedaimón from Argo. But it was not long before queen Lawodíka sent soldiers against her brother’s kingdom. We were afraid to stay there when that happened. She had so many more warriors than her brother did. It was not safe for us. So we went further south, as far as we could, to Kep’túr. But you were always in our hearts, beloved, no matter where we went. I have dreamed of going home to the Bull Country all these years, ever since I was taken from there by Assúwan raiders as a little girl. I can scarcely believe that I am really going home now. But I would never think of going without you.” She put her arms around his neck and pressed his cheek against hers, pleased at how it scratched and tickled with the new growth of his beard.

Diwoméde returned the embrace this time, shutting his eyes against the tears that suddenly threatened to spill. “I dreamed about going home, too,” he admitted in a husky whisper. “And I dreamed about you.”

Her dark eyes brimmed with tears, too, but she smiled brightly. Laying a hand on either side of his face, she told him warmly, “I love you – husband.”

For the first time in four years, Diwoméde smiled with true warmth of feeling. “I love you – wife.” He pressed his lips to hers, taking her in a long embrace.

When the
qasiléyu
and the Italian woman resumed their downward trek, Diwoméde told Dáuniya about his conversation with Ip’igéneya. “I am not convinced that she has spoken with any gods,” he added, at the end. “What she said could have been from the goddess, or it could have been her own message. I suspect that she wants me to go far away only because I could expose her secrets. She made me take an oath that I would spread her fame to every land that I pass. That, too, could be Diwiyána’s command or Artémito’s. But, then again, it might be nothing more than a woman’s boasting, a clever way to keep the clients coming. But she talked about the ‘Elléniyan prophecy, too. That was unsettling. She said that the prophecy was the story of her own life.”

“Mm, and you do not believe that? Do you know this prophecy?”

Diwoméde shook his head. “Not exactly, but I heard Meneláwo recite parts of it when he was drunk, many times. Half of his men did not live to return home from the Tróyan war, you know, and he would lose himself, drinking poppy-tainted wine, night after night, brooding about that. For hours, he would drink and talk about all of his fallen warriors. He talked about his wife, too. She was never the same after she was restored to him, you know.”

“I know,” the woman answered quietly, musing.

“I do not know how to read any kind of writing, especially the sacred kind on the disk,” he admitted. “Most men do not.”

Dáuniya nodded. “I always heard that only priestesses were allowed to learn to read the sacred type.”

“I do know generally what it is about, though,” the
qasiléyu
went on, troubled by the thought. “It contains the tale of a queen being abducted and gods causing men to fight for her. Meneláwo and the ‘Elléniya herself believed that the prophecy told their story, not Ip’igéneya’s.”

Dáuniya raised her eyebrows, surprised.
“Ai
, so you do not believe that the priestess of Put’ó has true sight, after all, do you? You think that she only manipulates people for her own purposes!”

“I do not know what to think,” the man answered, chewing his lip. “Meneláwo may have known only part of the prophecy. That is possible. I never heard Ariyádna herself recite the whole thing. So maybe Ip’emédeya does have the power.”

“
A-a-ai,”
Dáuniya gave a prolonged sigh as the realization struck her. “Not Ip’igéneya, eh, but Ip’emédeya! I see, I see! So the priestess is Agamémnon’s daughter! I am right, am I not? So the little princess did not actually die, all those years ago!
Ai
, that explains a great many things. I thought that there was something very familiar about her. But I must say, she resembles her aunt, Ariyádna, much more than she does her father.”

Diwoméde cringed at that rush of words.
“Ai gar
, I am as bad as old T’érsite! Her true name just slipped out. I should not have told you.”

Dáuniya scolded him gently. “Do not trouble your heart so much about little things. I will not repeat this secret, since you obviously do not want me to. Never mind what the oracle said anyway. We control our own destiny, my beloved. Do not give another thought to poor, old Agamémnon or his daughter. We will see no more of the one in this life than we will of the other.”

Qérayan was the first to reach the abandoned port below Put’ó. Seeing the young man coming alone, and at such a quick pace, the band of exiles rushed forward to meet him, chattering in alarm.
“Owái
, only one is returning alive!” Mélisha lamented, digging her fingernails into the flesh of her lined cheeks. Wailing broke out among the other women and several of the men dropped to their knees, casting dirt over their heads.

“Some disaster must have overtaken them,” St’énelo wept. His withered legs collapsed and he sprawled in the dirt. “We are all doomed!”

Even T’érsite’s face darkened with emotion. But he shouted at them all to wait until Qérayan had spoken before beginning their lamentations in earnest. Nevertheless, his raging had little effect on the general mourning.

Askán left the shore and the Assúwans gathered in a group to one side of the ferry boats. The youth trotted out to meet the returning islander. “What happened to the others?” the young Tróyan demanded at the top of his lungs. Ainyáh succeded in turning the Ak’áyans’ attention to his son, as the boy ran ahead of the rest. The other travelers heard neither Askán’s question nor the reply to it. But they saw Qérayan turn and point back the way he had come.

With a roar of laughter, T’érsite spotted the other two ambassadors far up the mountain slope. “There is Diwoméde!” he announced, nearly dancing with joy. “Dáuniya is right beside him!
Ai gar
, St’énelo, you are as big a fool as these women! Have a little faith in our
qasiléyu
, my friends. I told you he would not let us down. That man is afraid of nothing, I tell you. He fights with
dáimons
the way that most warriors fight other men!”

The whole group began to make for the hillside to meet Qérayan. “You should not have left the others, young man!” Mélisha scolded him, wiping a tear from her eye. “Three is a lucky, magical number. You might have caused some harm, breaking the number in this way. That is not even to mention the terrible fright you gave us!”

“
Ai gar
, wife,” T’érsite laughed. “Just hold your wicked tongue in your mouth for once. We do not care anything about numbers or magic. Tell us what the oracle said, Qérayan. What direction are we to go?”

“Yes, tell us, tell us!” St’énelo and the others called out, clustering closely about the young man.

“We sail west,” Qérayan crowed, beaming at the attention. “The gods are with us!”

The young islander’s cry was taken up by the crowd of Ak’áyans. The men raised the emissary to their shoulders and carried him in a happy procession about the dilapidated ruins of the port town. Rejoicing with the same fervor as they had just carried on their mourning, they sang, “Praise Diwiyána! We sail west! The gods are with us!”

Tushrátta had remained by the shore through the whole performance, with the other Assúwans. But when the other two ambassadors approached, he left the water’s edge. Ignoring the exulting Ak’áyans, Tushrátta ambled easily across the narrow strip of flat land beneath the slopes of Parnashó. Despite his calm and unhurried demeanor, he soon attracted the attention of the other refugees.

“Something must be wrong,” St’énelo began to fret. His muscles fell slack once more and he collapsed in the dust a second time. Around him, the Ak’áyan celebration ended abruptly. The former charioteer’s eyes rolled in his head. He twitched and shook. An eerie cry came from his throat. The people backed away from the unconscious man, making the gesture that would repel the Evil Eye.

“It is an omen!” Peirít’owo gasped. “I knew it could not be that easy.” The bleak landscape suddenly seemed to come into high relief. These were lean times, the refugees reminded one another. With anxious faces, they fell in behind Tushrátta, scurrying to meet the later two of the three emissaries.

Diwoméde and Dáuniya were surprised to find themselves quickly surrounded by questioning voices. Bewildered by the attention, the
qasiléyu
asked, “What is wrong? Did Qérayan not tell you what the oracle said?”

“He did,” Tushrátta told him, in his laconic manner. “He told us that she said to go west. But I have a different question. Why has no one come from the fortress up there?” He gestured toward the mountainside. “They must have seen our ships coming. But no one has come down to us, not to fight, not to trade. Why?”

“Kríswa was sacked. It is empty,” Diwoméde told them, seeing no point in hiding the grim truth. He ducked his head, trying to avoid seeing the shock that he knew would come over the faces at the news.

Consternation overwhelmed the brief moment of joy that Qérayan’s message had brought them. The fate of the citadel that guarded the famous oracle outweighed the importance of Ip’igéneya’s message in their minds. The men and women wondered aloud at the immensity of the crime that had been committed, high on the arid plateau. “How could any man bring himself to burn such a holy city?” Peirít’owo demanded. But no one had an answer.