Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) (36 page)

An aged Párpariyan, his skin hanging in folds, wrapped himself tightly in his cloak of bearskin. “Indeed, boys, indeed! How can any true Párpariyan recognize either an Ak’áyan or an Assúwan as having any claim to the mountains and valleys of our ancestors, here in this holy land? It is just too much to ask! We were the first ones and they are all latecomers. No, no, this will never do.”

Even Tushrátta nodded, taking from his mouth a sprig of willow that he had been chewing. “For that matter, what T’rákiyan chief has ever sided with anyone for long, even another T’rákiyan, even his own brother by the same mother and father? It is an interesting proposal, I will admit. But I do not believe that peace can come as easily as that,” he concluded, his sentiment quickly echoed by many of several nationalities all around him.

Tears welled up in St’énelo’s sunken eyes. “It is a fine plan,” he wept, “a very good and noble and wonderful plan, if only foolish men would listen to it.” His feeling found support among a good many others who had not yet dared to speak up.

“Is this not what our own Dáuniya has been calling for, these last three years?” T’érsite demanded with nearly as much emotion as the Lakedaimóniyan and a good deal more volume.

However, to the disappointment of both of these low-ranked Ak’áyans and their fellow travelers, most of the local Párpariyans still disagreed with their own leader. “It does not matter how many women talk it up,” the vocal spearman warned. “If the gods are against it, nothing can succeed. And when have the gods lived in peace? Despite what the chieftain says, as far as I know, the gods battle each other as often as men do. Sometimes, even more often!”

“That is right,” his aged fellow countryman agreed, his voice strong with conviction in spite of his white hair. “We have seen too many broken oaths in our experience to risk our lives on this one. All too often I have seen wars begin for many reasons, petty as well as just. If vows and weddings could not prevent hostilities in the past, when we had plenty of food in our bellies and bronze in our storehouses, what hope is there in such evil times as these when there is too little of everything?”

“Ties of blood are strong,” Orésta called out over the other voices. When they began to quiet down, he continued with his speech again, appearing completely unperturbed by the negative reception that his plan had received thus far. “Bonds through treaties are like stone. But, just the same, they have never proven to be enough to guarantee peace for long. We must also have assistance from the gods, if we are to succeed. That is true enough. Each and every one of the immortals must favor us, too, whether they be the gentle guardians of prosperity, or the angry authors of misfortune.

“Therefore, our twin nations will also divide control of the two holiest oracles on this side of the Inner Sea. You know which sanctuaries I am speaking of – the cavern of Put’ó and the island of ‘Elléniya. At the first of these, at northern Put’ó, the year will be divided between our two greatest deities. The festivals of autumn and winter will continue to honor the common god of Ak’áyans and Párpariayns, the twice-born Diwonúso, son of the Great Lady. Also, so that even that god will recognize our brotherhood, our two peoples will no longer call themselves by the warlike names that our nations chose in the distant past. Ak’áyans will no longer be the Battle-Ax People. Párpariyans will henceforth renounce their title of the Feathered Arrow Folk. Instead, we will recognize only that both tribes are descendants of the divine Fire. From now on, we are both ‘Eilótes, People of the Torch.”

Erinu came forward again. “Put’ó is the navel of the civilized world and the birthplace of Lord Flame. So, it is only fitting that spring and summer, with their bright skies, should be henceforth dedicated to the one god who is shared by all nations, our celestial father who drives the chariot of the sun. As for the sacred island of ‘Elléniya, it will revert to its older Párpariyan name, Kut’éra. Two goddesses will share the horned altars there, the Lady of the Sweet Waters with her many names, and Lady Astárt of Kanaqán.”

There were shouts of dismay at the name of the eastern goddess. Párpariyans and Ak’áyans protested the addition of this all too foreign element. “Kanaqániyans murder their own children!” the young spearman cried, aghast at the very idea. “Their goddess will pollute the shrine of our lady.”

“Astárt will only further defile the island sanctuary,” St’énelo wept, agreeing with the northerner. “It will never be purified at this rate!”

But neither
wánaks
took back that proclamation. Érinu only demanded quiet, explaining, “Whether she is called Dáwan
Anna
or
Mátar
Dodóna, the divine queen is everywhere honored as the mother of all things. However, she must be growing old and weary, since she has allowed her children to suffer so. Her declining strength has condemned us to live in a time even worse than when her daughter first went below the ground, and the earth became barren for the first time. This second divine lady, Astárt, is foreign, I admit, but she is a youthful goddess. That is the point. Many of you men know Astárt only as the patroness of the intoxicating poppy. Far more important is the fact that she once traveled to the Great Below and ascended again to heaven
in her full glory
. No other deity can make such a claim, not even Préswa. No, when the dark lady returns from the land of the dead, it is only for a season, as the Maiden Kórwa, and then she must go beneath the earth again. Despite her previous journey there, the underworld has no claim on Astárt. She provided a substitute in her place. So, it is decided. Astárt will reinvigorate the queen of the gods, who has abandoned her sons and daughters.

“Everyone here must take an oath of allegiance to our new treaty, now. Each man must swear by the souls of his ancestors and by the soil and water of his native land. It does not matter what he is, what his rank, whether he is a warrior, a craftsman, a farmer, or a herdsman. Every man in our two realms will swear to uphold this peace, or he will be banished from both our lands! If any of the
Zeyugelátes
fails to make this vow, he will be sent westward, never to return to his homeland. If any of the
P’ilístas
refuses this duty, he will be sent toward the eastern rim of the world, his descendants with him, to live in Kanaqán for all time.”

A moment of stunned silence followed the speeches of the two leaders. In the next moment, everyone was talking again, heatedly arguing as before, praising or condemning the pact and both the kings. “The island of Qéra is an independent nation!” the young Qérayan cried. “I will die before I accept that Assúwan chieftain as my king!”

Beside him the stocky spearman prepared to run him through, shouting, “That suits me!”

But, before the Párpariyan could strike the blow, Tushrátta rushed forward and grappled with the warrior. The two quickly became the center of a crowd of watching men, women, and children. Each shouted encouragement to one or the other, as the skin-clad tribesman attempted to raise his javelin over his head and bring it down on the loud-mouthed island youth, at the same time wrestling with the kilted exile who was trying to pull the weapon from his clasp. Their broad hands grabbed at each other’s ears and arms, raising red welts. Sweat began to pour down over their bare flesh. With bull-like grunts and curses muttered between clenched jaws, they strained against each other. Tushrátta was taller, but he was also older, his long, graying locks tossed here and there in the struggle. The shorter spearman was broad in the shoulders, as powerful as his opponent, and much better fed. But the Párpariyan’s feet began to slip on the loose dirt of the well-trampled hillside, in his new calf-skin boots. The barefoot Assúwan took full advantage of this, wrapping his leg around the smaller man’s lower limb. The spearman lost his balance and fell backward to the ground. His wind knocked out, he stayed where he fell for a short moment.

Tushrátta began to dance, both of his hands raised over his head. Laughter bellowed from his lips. “I have won!” he exulted. “By Tarqúnt, that is omen enough for me. Westward, my friends, we sail to the west!”

By that time, the Párpariyan was on his feet again. Throwing his muscular arms around the Lúkiyan’s waist, the spearman threw all his weight against Tushrátta. Both of them tumbled to the ground to roll in the dirt, cursing furiously.

“He cheated!” Qérayan and Askán shouted at the same time. Around them, other Assúwans and Ak’áyans made similar accusations. Before their chieftain could stop them, the Párpariyans fell upon their unwelcome guests in a group. The assembly rapidly degenerated into a general melee. The younger children screamed in fear, running for their thatched houses. Only some of the mothers followed. Sharing the passions of their menfolk, most of the women joined in the riot, beating men of other nations over the heads and shoulders with their spindles and distaffs.

Érinu called on his men to stop their fighting, but they did not hear or obey. He would have entered the fray himself, but Orésta put a hand his shoulder. Leaning close to the chieftain’s ear, the southern king said, “Let them fight for awhile. We will see then who is loyal to his
wánaks
and who is not. Afterward, given a belly full of poppy-tinged wine, they will all become friends, eager to swear the oaths that we require.”

Diwoméde had listened to the announcement of his half-brother and of his former enemy. But he did not stay to witness the reactions of the populace. He was unaware of Tushrátta’s fight and of the response to its outcome. Returning as quickly as he could to the Párpariyan queen’s cabin, he found Ainyáh still squatting by the door. The Kanaqániyan’s head was down, his grizzled head in his hands. For the first time, Diwoméde noticed a bald spot at the back of the older man’s head. It struck him how rapidly Ainyáh was aging these days. It would not be much longer before the mercenary could not wield his spear even as a war leader who directs his troops from the back of the field – and guides his ship from the stern platform. His sixtieth year, beyond which very few men lived, must be near.

Diwoméde quietly seated himself beside Ainyáh. Idly toying with bits of dry grass, the
qasiléyu
told him, “Érinu and Orésta have made a treaty of peace.”

Ainyáh did not reply except for a stifled groan.

“Did you know?” the younger man asked, still more quietly.

The Kanaqániyan groaned again, raising his head and squinting up at the darkening sky. “No, but it does not surprise me. It will only give the appearance of peace, though. Just wait and see. This will only become part of Érinu’s grand plan. By Il and Astárt, my brother-in-law has a devious mind! He is almost as bad as Odushéyu.”

“That is quite an accusation,” Diwoméde responded, astonished. Both men found themselves smiling, nonetheless, especially since Odushéyu’s most recent ‘grand plan’ had been so completely foiled.
“Ai gar
, Ainyáh, who would have guessed that things would turn out the way they have? You and I together…”

“So,” the other cut him off, “you do not intend to follow Orésta south?” His piercing, black eyes examined Diwoméde’s face carefully, all his mirth instantly gone.

Turning away from that searching gaze, the
qasiléyu
answered, “No, I do not. I am sure he would find a place for me if I begged him for it. I am his kinsman, after all, after a fashion anyway. But what kind of fortress could I command now, like this? Maybe I could lead a little village, a few poor hovels behind a wooden palisade. Maybe if all of the inhabitant were fools or thieves, I could do it. No one with any sense of dignity and honor would serve a former slave, especially one who cannot walk properly, or carry a spear, or…” He did not continue.

“Perhaps,” Ainyáh began, running a hand over his leathery face. “But I am no better off than you, Ak’áyan. Even though I am Érinu’s kinsman, he has no more regard for me than for an old hunting dog that has gone lame. And I am in no mood for a new war, whether it be in the east or the west.”

The two weary warriors were startled into silence when the two kings suddenly appeared from around the corner of the queen’s house. “I will melt the
P’ilístas
down with my wrath, like so much bronze,” Érinu was boasting, his chest puffed out with pride and confidence. “Then I will pour them into the mold of a single people, creating one great sword blade. I am a worthy successor to my father, in spite of everything that I have suffered all these years. I only regret that he did not have the good fortune to live to see this. Under his rule, Wilúsiya prospered as it never had before, from the trade in tin. ‘Copper is as common as barley,’ he used to say to my brothers and me. ‘But no spearhead or sword of mere copper has the strength needed for war. Our noble bronze would not exist without that rarest and best of all metals, the glorious tin.’ And we controlled the sea route to the source of tin, you know.

“So it will be with my subjects. Tribesmen are as common as barley. Ak’áyans, the true ones that is, are rare and noble. It may surprise you to hear me say that. But there is Ak’áyan blood in Tróya’s royal line, too. My father himself was born as one, though he served an Assúwan king. Still, the good ones are too few to stand alone. Until now, they have been basically leaderless, squandering their talents and their meager wealth on petty schemes and mere cattle raids on one another’s lands. Together, though, these two peoples will be invincible! If lord Apúluno wills it, I will yet create a new Wilúsiya that will outshine the old!”