Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) (34 page)

CHAPTER TEN

EIRENA

Sqamándriyo was unable to make his way through the wall of women surrounding his mother. He fell back and sought out his uncle, the chieftain, instead. “You did this to her!” the youth cried, attacking Érinu with his young, energetic fists. “You dog, you jackal! You treat my mother like so much carrion! Why could you not listen to her? My mother did not want me to marry my sister any more than I wanted to. But it means nothing to you that the gods would be offended. My mother wanted only to grow old in peace and quiet, with her children and grandchildren around her. But you do not care what she wants, do you? If it would suit your bloody purposes, you would happily force my little brother and me to fight to the death – and do it in front of our mother, too! That is exactly what she is most afraid of. She says that would be the worst thing she could imagine, worse than being an orphan, worse than widowhood, worse than slavery, worse than all of that put together! What kind of husband are you? Are you a cannibal who ignores his own wife’s tears and pleas, hoping to drink more and more blood? What kind of ruler plots the destruction of his own people? What kind of father devours his own family?”

Érinu was taken aback by the ferocity of this nephew whom he had watched grow from infancy nearly to manhood. Sqamándriyo’s every accusation cut him to the quick. There was a kernel of truth in everything the youth said, he knew. In his pain and anger, he beat back the rebellious teenager with his own work-hardened hands. “I am doing what is best for all of us, boy!” he shouted. “You are too young to understand now, but one day you and your mother will see that I am right! When you see a new Tróya rise on Ak’áiwiya’s accursed soil you will both thank the gods and me for these actions!”

“Never!” his nephew cried, as Párpariyans came to pull the chieftain and the boy apart. “May your miserable Apulúno shoot an arrow into your own wicked heart! You care nothing for anyone or anything but your stupid dreams of empire. Can you not see that you are the only one who believes in your drunken prophecies? How can you plot the conquest of all Ak’áiwiya and Assúwa when you have nothing but a handful of untrained, unarmored tribesmen? They would be facing uncountable hordes of mercenaries who carrying the best bronze weapons available anywhere and wearing the finest armor in the world! How could any reasonable man even dream of such a plan in his sleep? You are dancing with the
maináds
if you seriously believe that you will succeed. The only leader who could accomplish such a feat would be a new ‘Erakléwe! But men like him only exist in songs.”

“
Ai
, you ungrateful, disloyal pup!” his uncle roared, his face dark with fury. “You are an Assúwan yourself by birth! In cursing me, you have condemned your own blood, you impudent, ignorant child! How dare you call on our divine gatekeeper and in the very next breath speak the name of a barbarian champion! Your mother should have taught you long ago about the Assúwan lion-killer, Shardánna, and his divine tasks! He was the demigod who established the twelve months of the year and the three seasons, at the very beginning of time. He set the very stars in their courses, you little fool!
Ai
, this little nephew of the Ak’áyan ‘Éra had no more wits than a gosling and no more honor than a common thief. His miserable pig hunt may be celebrated in songs around here, but it is utterly meaningless!”

“Have you heard anything the boy said?” Tushrátta burst out, his long patience exhausted. “What do songs and legends matter when we are talking about war? Érinu, listen to reason. Give up this quest for vengeance. It is completely impractical. You will only destroy what little remains of civilization if you go on this way.”

Orésta had managed to penetrate the crowd while the kinsmen from the long-fallen city of Tróya argued. He now stepped into the small opening between the chieftain and young Sqamándriyo. “I wish to speak with Párpara’s king, lord Érinu,” the Ak’áyan announced calmly. “I have a proposal that would satisfy the hero ‘Erakléwe himself and the great Shardánna with him.” Seeing astonished and bewildered faces all around him, the southern
wánaks
added, “I see that I must introduce myself. Very well, I am Orésta,
wánaks
of the
Zeyugelátes
, the ox-drivers of southern Ak’áiwiya. I have come to negotiate a peace treaty with the one called Érinu. I understand that he is
wánaks
of the whole north, ruling both the ancient and venerable land of Párpariya and the Ak’áyan
P’ilístas
.”

Érinu stood in shocked silence for a moment, with his men still pinioning his arms, all of them gaping at the Ak’áyan king in surprise. But the northern chieftain soon recovered his aplomb. He threw off the restraining arms and drew himself up, adjusting his woolen cloak. “Hail to you, Orésta,” he said coldly. His dignity somewhat restored, he gestured toward his longhouse before leading the other king there himself. At the open doorway he threw an arm up, gesturing again, meaning for Orésta to enter. But in warning he said, “This had better not be a trick, Ak’áyan. My warriors are as fierce as they are loyal. One false move and you will be food for crows, all your oarsmen with you.”

“This is not a ruse,” Orésta responded, as calm and unruffled as ever, seemingly unaware of the hatred and suspicion in the other man’s eyes. He drew his own cloak more closely around his shoulders, making the brilliant red and blue stripes that were woven there dance in the morning light. “I assure you, I come in peace, as equal to equal, king to brother king. Somewhere about, my cousin is bearing the laurel branch of truce, should you doubt my word.”

The chieftain snorted contemptuously. Following his unexpected guest on still-unsteady feet, Érinu entered the shadowed hall. “I was not aware that Argives respected the laws of the civilized,“ he sneered.

Orésta refused to take that bait and smiled carefully at the insult. “It is true that some prominent Argives have shown a rather tragic lack of respect, in the past. However, like my mother, I was raised in Lakedaimón. It is only recently that I have returned to my native Argo.” He waited for Érinu to gesture toward the floor before taking his seat on the brightly colored rug of beaten felt beside the hearth.

Tushrátta and two Párpariyans stood hesitantly at the threshold of the big cabin, uncertain whether to join the two leaders. Érinu waved them away impatiently. “I do not need protection, fools! Just find my serving women. Have them prepare the morning meal. Tell them to brew some willow tea, too. My head feels as if a tree had fallen on it.”

When the spearmen moved to obey, their chieftain reclined on his elbow on the opposite side of the low fireplace from his royal guest. His relaxed posture belied the sharpness of his voice. Shaking the remaining clouds of strong drink from his mind, Érinu urged his guest, “Eat with me, then, Ak’áyan. That is the custom decreed for civilized men. It is the sacred law of the mother of gods. When you have partaken of my hospitality, I will recognize you as king of the
Zeyugelátes
. Not a word before then! Only after the laws of hospitality have been properly met will I listen to your proposal.”

The southern
wanáks
betrayed no sign of offense or of tattered nerves. “Certainly,” he answered with practiced ease. “Such is the law of great men of all lands, even mine.”

The monarchs dined in a leisurely fashion, through the morning, on venison and millet porridge, speaking of incidental matters. As their grandfathers had once done, in long ages past, they debated the relative merits of base and noble metals. They recalled prize horses they had owned in previous years, and recalled distant cities that they had once visited, repeating famous tales told of them in their childhoods. Each took his turn to speak, listening afterward with patient attention to the other man’s recital. In each case, Érinu’s story was slightly longer than Orésta’s, the fortresses in his stories more magnificent, the morals of his fables more esoteric in their meaning.

Drinking the honeyed mead of the honored guest, Orésta ostentatiously admired the tapestries of tattered felt adorning the walls of the longhouse with their simple appliqués and clumsy embroidery. He complimented Érinu on the skills of the local women in their needlework, asking questions about the legends that had inspired both the anthropomorphic and geometric designs on every side of the cabin. Without any sign of guile or condescension, he especially inquired about the theriomorphic creatures so prominently displayed there. Among the angular, big-eyes figures, he noted those that were half-man, half-beast, some wolf-like, others horse-footed, still others resembling goats with horns on their heads and with the narrow hooves of those creatures. Such a wealth of otherworldly beings, he told Érinu, he had never before seen, in all his travels about the Inner Sea. This was an experience he would not soon forget, he assured his host. “No, indeed,” Orésta claimed, “I feel greatly honored by my visit here, as if I had spent the day drinking honeyed nectar with the immortals themselves on holy Mount Ulumpó itself!”

Half-inebriated once more, the former priest of Tróya spoke with pride of the ancient kinship that had once united Ak’áiwiya and Assúwa, in the days of the legendary Peráskiyans. Sharing the fermented drink with the younger king, Érinu gloried in the tale of the primeval brothers who had established the world’s boundaries, at the Origin. “When Mother Earth and Father Sky first coupled, at the beginning of time, a pair of wondrous twins was born,” he told Orésta, warming to his subject as the mead warmed his belly, easing his aching head and heart. “He was a single being, for these brothers were joined, back to back. Those two cast the first copper. They made the sacred double-headed ax, and between them, they cut apart Sky and his primordial bride, the stony Earth. Then they turned the holy blade on themselves and Lord One or Me, became Two, or Dúwo. That is why the words for the second number, Dúwo, and Díwo, the sky god, sound so much alike, you see. The next act of the divine twins was to set the limits of land and sea. They took new names at that time, of course, and then they cast lots to divide the world between them. The noble Arzáwan took the good and pure, eastern half, while the ignoble west fell to the less fortunate Pírwan.”

“
Ai!”
Orésta exclaimed, raising his two-handled cup of mead, “however did you learn so many of these ancient tales? The more I hear, the more I realize that I do not know!”

As the day wore on, little by little, Érinu’s distrust and foul humor melted away.

While the two rulers were closeted in the main longhouse, the women of Párpara bore their queen’s limp body to her chamber. Lying once again between warm sheepskins, Andrómak’e returned to her senses. Even so, she continued sobbing weakly. Her whole body shook and shuddered. All the assurances of her subjects could do nothing to comfort her. Nor did her children’s distress give her the strength to control her grief. Finally, the younger girl and boy left the room with the old woman whom they had earlier called ‘grandmother.’ Most of the other women followed, agreeing that sometimes tears just could not be stemmed and had to run their course. There was nothing to do but allow them to fall until the well of her sorrows finally ran dry.

Dáuniya remained alone with the queen in her chamber. “We are sisters in spirit, Andrómak’e, if not in blood,” she told the despairing lady, taking her trembling hand. “I will do all that I can for your oldest son. I promise you this, in the name of the goddess of the morning.”

“
Ai
, but what if Érinu will not let him go?” the queen wailed, her voice quivering. “Or what if he decides that all of you must stay here?”

“We will think of something, no matter what happens,” Dáuniya responded, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “One way or another, we are going to sail west. I am going back to my homeland. Do not trouble your heart. Sqamándriyo will have a good fate with us. T’érsite will help to protect him as long as we are here, and Diwoméde is with us now, too. He will see to it that your son is properly initiated into manhood. You will see your Sqamándriyo again, as well, I promise you that. It is no more difficult to travel from the
ítalo
land to Párpara than it is to cross the Inner Sea to Assúwa. My homeland is not really at the end of the world, despite what you may have heard.”

Still, no amount of reassurance could calm Andrómak’e. Nor could she rest. “I do not know your Diwoméde or this T’érsite you speak of. I tell you, I would not even give my serving women over to strangers. How can I trust these men with my own dearest son? Bring Ainyáh to me. He has a son, too, after all, and we are related, at least by marriage. He must adopt my Sqamándriyo. That is the only cure for this terrible illness that is gnawing away at my heart. Go now. You must bring him to me or I will die before this day is over.”

Dáuniya could see that there would be no reasoning with this desperate mother. She left Andrómak’e to summon Ainyáh to the queen’s side. When she found the aging mercenary, he came when beckoned, but only with the greatest reluctance. Once at the sick woman’s bedside, he made her the vow she so desired. “We are related only through marriage,” he reminded her, rubbing his bleary eyes, “not by blood. Even so, I will act as your older brother, according to the Assúwan custom. I accept the responsibility of guiding Sqamándriyo from boyhood to the status of a man. He will become a warrior, as his father was.”