Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) (28 page)

“So I sent my relatives to Párpara. Érinu welcomed us at first. But then I discovered the reason why. It was not out of brotherly love, or loyalty to the code of
areté
, as you would describe it. He considered it a prepayment for services that he was about to demand from me.” A strangled cry of anguish escaped his thin, dry lips. He stood abruptly and clapped his hands to his thighs. “By all the gods of heaven and the
dáimons
of the netherworld, that man is insatiable!”

Diwoméde’s nerves were on fire. He knew that something was terribly wrong and he had to know what it was. If Ainyáh did not tell him now, the old mercenary might never speak this freely again. Standing beside the Kanaqániyan, he suggested, “Let us walk along the shoreline. The others are making too much noise, here. Besides, we will not be overheard down there.”

Ainyáh agreed, without a glance back toward the cluster of refugees, who were finally beginning to settle down, no longer throwing punches or kicking one another. They stood in small groups and only harangued one another half-heartedly from a short distance. The older folk had given up the quarrel completely and were finding places to sleep about the dying campfire, while the women were trying to soothe the crying children before getting them to bed down as well.

By the lapping waters of the small, dark harbor, the two former warriors found themselves turning, time and again, to memories of the Tróyan war. They tried mightily to speak of the future, only to turn to thoughts of a possible new Tróya. They spoke of other, lesser battles, and found that it only recalled to their minds the brave men who had been slain in the greater war, so long ago.

“It seems as if I can never get my fill of reliving that last, great campaign,” the Kanaqániyan admitted. “My whole life has been filled with adventures and strife, of one sort or another. A warrior lives a restless existence, always on the move, expecting more from the future than he ever found in the past. But nothing in my earlier years prepared me for that war. Nothing I have seen since has been its equal. Nothing can ever change that.”

Diwoméde did not intend to respond. He wanted to remain silent and so encourage Ainyáh to speak again of Érinu and of their destination. But he, too, could not resist speaking the words that so burdened his own heart and spirit. “The Tróyan war was different, that is certainly true. It is as if that time were like some great monument to a fallen king, the earth mounded up over his tomb, like a man-made mountain. All the other campaigns are like the small graves of commoners by comparison. Ak’áiwiya was strong and its power was growing when Paqúr raided our land. Agamémnon led us to victory in that war. But we might just as well have lost. The Tróyan war shattered Agamémnon’s elusive dream of a new Ak’áyan empire, in the end. Even when we all banded together to sail against Mízriya, later, our fleet was less than half the size that Agamémnon had led.”

Nodding ruefully, Ainyáh recalled, “I remember the ‘Elléniyan woman chanting her prophecies of doom, over and over, in the royal chambers at Tróya. It was the end of the world, she kept telling us. Long before the end actually came, the serving women, at least, believed that she was right. Some of them ran away and went over to your people. They did not wait for the city to fall. When they began to trickle away, first the daughters of the king and finally his own queen began to listen to her, too. The royal couple had made their daughter Kashánda, my sister-in-law, a priestess, did you know? They did this as a practical matter, a simple contract between themselves and the Assúwan gods. Give one daughter – and one son, Érinu – to the god Apulúno, and receive security in exchange. But then, late in the war, Kashánda herself began to prophesy, as well. She had once demanded the death of a child, a royal child in fact. Did you know that? She had seen a vision of flames consuming the citadel and she claimed that only a royal child’s death would prevent the disaster from taking place. That was when she was very young and no one thought very much about her vision. The king only named his son ‘fire’ in the Náshiyan tongue and laughed at her. He had thirty oxen sacrificed, thirty ewes, and thirty newborn colts. The blood of ninety of his finest livestock was more than equal to that of a single human, he said, and forgot all about it. Little did we know that Paqúr would live up to his fiery name and bring home the disaster that would burn our city to the ground!”

The
qasiléyu
shivered in the cool night, thinking of his own dealings with that Troyan priestess. Kashánda had brought about the very real death of another highborn child. In his mind, he saw again the wide, blue eyes of the T’rákiyan boy, son of the chieftain in whose land the Ak’áyans had spent the winter after the Tróyan war – just before Kashánda slit the child’s throat in an act of well-planned, cold-blooded vengeance.

“Érinu’s queen once had a vision, too,” Ainyáh went on, as his miseries poured from his over-burdened soul. “She told me, because she was afraid to tell her husband about it. She dreamed that the gods had stirred up an enormous cauldron of misfortune. There was bloodshed in that foul dish, and death by starvation. Pestilence was sprinkled all through it by those three monstrous hags of Fate, may Il condemn them to perdition. They added deceit, cannibalism, and every other kind of evil. When the gods’ own flames brought the mixture to a boil, they poured it over all the lands rimming the Great Green Sea, scalding the flesh of every nation. She said she saw the lands as so many scorched lambs. I do not doubt this vision, even though it did not come to any seer trained by a priestess. But why have the immortal gods done this? Why? It makes no sense to me! If they mean to wipe out all of humankind, who will burn incense for them? If they destroy all the holy sanctuaries, who will make the offerings of sprinkled flour and charred meat that feed them? It seems to me that the gods are only bringing grief to themselves with this mad destruction!
Ayá
, I would consult a seeress myself on this matter, except that I no longer trust any of them! These days, they are nothing but charlatans, fakers, tellers of lies and sailors tales!”

Diwoméde shook his head. “I do not think that the gods grieve for particular places or for mortal men. And I have asked all of those questions myself, many times, Ainyáh. I am no closer to an answer than you are. Meneláwo used to tell me about his queen prophesying the end of the world, for that matter. He believed that she was right about that. But the priestess at Put’ó says that all of the evils of these last fifteen years were her doing, that the gods caused them at her bidding! She cursed all of Ak’áiwiya and Assúwa, too, she said. But then, she did not even know about the troubles of Kanaqán, or Aláshiya. I do not think she had ever even heard of Mízriya…” He swallowed hard, fearing that Ainyáh might ask the reason for her curse, fearing that he would answer, revealing Ip’igéneya’s secret, Ip’emédeya’s true identity.

But the mercenary only grunted, unimpressed. “And I have heard a good many people claim that it was all Kashánda’s doing, because, as they claim, it was she who cursed Ak’áiwiya. But, either way, it still does not make sense, because Kanaqán should have had no part in the troubles caused by either of these women. Even so, it seems to me that my homeland has suffered the most! No, I do not think we can expect an explanation from any source, not from a seeress or a priest, not even from a god. The best we can do is try to carve out a place for ourselves somewhere, anywhere. We have nothing but the strength of our right arms to rely on.” The words sounded almost hopeful, but the voice told of the old man spoke of nothing but resignation and utter despair.

Diwoméde would have liked to discuss the matter further. But the finality in the other man’s voice warned him against it. Instead, he focused on the future. “I gather that you do not consider Párpara our future home, even though its king is your kinsman.”

“Érinu is a madman, just like his father was,” the Kanaqániyan growled, repeating his earlier remark and deepening his grim demeanor. “He deludes himself that someday he will rule the whole of Ak’áiwiya and that will be his ultimate revenge. He dreams that his son will one day retake Wilúsiya, too,” he added, rolling his eyes at the utter absurdity of it. “He has had a little success in the northwest, not as much as he claims, but enough to worry his neighbors. I would be willing to bet my ships that he is the fool who sacked Kríswa, there where you consulted the oracle. I would not put it past him to defile the sacred spring there, either, priest though he is.”

Again, the
qasiléyu
nodded his understanding. “It has been my understanding that the slaves of the gods are not so different from the rest of us, despite what they say. Agamémnon believed that our army’s seer was his own worst enemy. It turned out that he was actually a Tróyan.”

“
Ai
, yes, the infamous Qálki, the man of the magic copper mirror,” Ainyáh said, with a wry smile. “He considered it his mission in life to bend the will of every king to that of his gods. Érinu is far too much like him for my taste, considering himself a battling seer, too. That is the worst kind of all. Érinu used to claim that he would make a famous name for himself, when he still a half-grown boy.
Ayá
, he has certainly accomplished that much! He now rules the whole of northern Ak’áiwiya, or so he boasts over his wine. T’eshalíya is actually in T’rákiyan hands, and the Ak’áyan population long ago fled over the mountains to the south. Do you remember the woman Ak’illéyu took at Tróya?”

Diwomede’s brows puckered in confusion at the sudden change in topic. “The woman whom Ak’illéyu and Agamémnon quarreled over?” he asked, as he thought back. “Was she the one they called ‘Iqodámeya? She-Who-Tames-Horses? I heard that she was pregnant when she left Assúwa. But was she carrying Ak’illéyu’s child, or was it Patróklo’s? Or could it have been Agamémnon’s?”

“It was Ak’illéyu’s,” Ainyáh answered confidently. “She had a daughter, Moloshíya. Ak’illéyu’s parents adopted the girl as their own heiress, not that it means anything now. I thought that ‘Iqodámeya might consent to become my concubine, after T’eshalíya fell. Out of respect for Kréyusa, I would not marry the woman formally, of course. Nor I would have her Ak’áyan daughter in my household for any price!” He grimaced, thinking of it. Angrily, he added, “Moloshíya should have been strangled at birth, in my opinion. A high-born Assúwan woman who was true to her family’s memory and her own gods would not have allowed such a child to live, sired as it was by the murderer of her first husband!”

That raised the hair on the back of Diwoméde’s neck, thinking of his own spear-won bride strangling the babies that he had engendered in her belly. He shuddered. “Watch what you say, Ainyáh!” he warned. “I, too, have a woman taken from Assúwa.”

The Kanaqániyan spat on the rocky shore. “
Ayá
, Dáuniya is no Assúwan. I am not familiar with the code of honor of the barbarians in the
ítalo
land…if they even have one.”

If he were to dispute Ainyáh’s insulting comment, Diwoméde knew he would have to speak of another captive woman. But he could not hold his tongue. “Your precious sister-in-law Kashánda herself was pregnant with my king Agamémnon’s child when she died. She had agreed to be his concubine, too. I know this. I was part of the bargain they made. She would not have killed that child, either, if she had lived.”

“You lie!” Ainyáh cried, and this time he drew his yellow blade to emphasize his displeasure. “Kashánda was a dedicated priestess and pure of heart. If an Ak’áyan coward had not slit her throat, she would have found a way to destroy Agamémnon and then died by her own hand!”

The Argive cursed in disgust.
“Ai
, may Préswa herself take you! I do not understand you, Ainyáh. What kind of
areté
is it that demands the death of a helpless infant? What sort of honor compels obedience to a king who destroys holy places? You talk of things that make no sense at all. I say these things are nothing but dry leaves blowing away in the autumn of the year!” He limped away from the old mercenary’s side, to walk alone on the pebbled beach of the island. He felt that he knew little more than when Ainyáh had first begun to speak. But he could no longer abide the Kanaqániyan’s shifting moods.

It was by the water’s edge that Dáuniya found him later. Searching by the light of the moon, she had wandered about the fireside and the shore.
“Ai
, beloved,” she reproached him, softly. “Where have you been, all this time? I saw you leave the fire with Ainyáh and then he came back by himself. He refused to speak to anyone, even shouted at Askán for no reason. I was terribly worried.”

“
Owái
, Dáuniya,” the former slave sighed, laying his head to her neck and shoulder for the little comfort that her touch would give him. He let her put her arms around him and pull him close. But he took little delight in her embrace. “What are we doing?” he asked, not expecting her to answer. “We cannot stay here. There is no food. But Párpara’s king hates all Ak’áyans. How can we think of wintering with him?” He told the woman of his conversation with Ainyáh.

“I will speak to queen Andrómak’e,” Dáuniya promised, when he had finished. “Maybe I can convince her to change Érinu’s mind about invading southern Ak’áiwiya. Or, perhaps, it will turn out that Ainyáh has exaggerated. Just in case, I think that you and Odushéyu should not make your presence known when we get there, since the two of you were such great fighters in the great war, long ago. Hide your faces in your cloaks when we reach Párpara and stay apart from the rest. Érinu knows about the rest of us. He will do us no harm.”