Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) (34 page)

The It'ákan started and gasped.  Then he recognized the off-center way the man was standing.  "Ai gar, Diwoméde," the pirate king growled, "what are you doing here?"

"Agamémnon told me to guard you, coming and going," the younger man answered.  "Do you have what you came for?"

"What do you know about my mission?" Odushéyu asked, irritated.  Before the qasiléyu could reply, the island wánaks began trotting across the plain.  Odushéyu easily outdistanced the other man.  Raising his prize overhead when he reached the waters of the Sqámandro River, the It'ákan laughed and whooped in triumph, rousing the quiet encampment.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AINYAH

Agamémnon was pleased to see Odushéyu with the small stone, but not inordinately so.  "We may be able to end this thing without your pebble," the high wánaks said, when the It'ákan came to his tent.  "Have you heard about the single combat?"

"What about my tripods?" Odushéyu fumed.  "And Alakshándu's wife?"

Agamémnon laughed, reclining on his pallet.  "Ask me when Tróya's walls are down and her buildings burned.  Now go.  I need my sleep."

Swallowing his disappointment and anger, the It'ákan asked, "So tell me about the fight.  Who will be Ak'áiwiya's champion?  Yourself?"

The overlord chuckled.  "I think not.  I am getting a bit old for that.  The men will toss their tokens and let the gods decide, of course."

Odushéyu squatted close to the bigger man, grinding his teeth.  "Of course, but you know, do you not, that you can hold a token or two under your thumb, to make sure the gods do not make an unsuitable choice.  I would not suggest you toss out the token for lady Fortune, you understand.  But women, even immortal women, sometimes need a little nudge in the right direction, if you know what I mean."  He winked.

Agamémnon laughed and waved expansively toward a row of jugs in his tent.  "I know exactly what you mean, Odushéyu.  Ai gar, I have half a mind to make you my qasiléyu at Tíruns when I get back to Argo.  You have an answer to everything!  Yes, I may have to nudge Lady Luck a bit tomorrow.  That Diwoméde has turned out to be quite a little fighter and I am certain he will volunteer in the morning.  But, between his wounds and the effects of the poppy, it would be too risky to let him be Ak'áiwiya's chosen."

aaa

At dawn, as on many mornings before, the Ak'áyans breakfasted on thin gruel, then armed for battle.  At the same time, the Wilúsiyans ate their morning meal of figs and sandy flat bread in their city, and prepared for war as well.  Diwoméde found himself scarcely able to stand, after a sleepless night.  His knees buckled every few steps and, after he had fallen in the dust three times, he made no unlucky fourth attempt to rise.  T'érsite lifted the qasiléyu on his strong shoulders and took him to Mak'áwon's tent.

"Dáuniya!" the foot soldier called, drawing the young captive woman from her work at her master's hearth.  "Come look at Diwoméde's foot again.  And where is Mak'áwon?  Not visiting Antílok'o again, is he?"

"No," the woman answered, entering the tent and kneeling beside the Argive qasiléyu.  "He has gone to the assembly at Agamémnon's tent this time.  You must have come that way.  I am surprised you did not see him."

T'érsite only grunted, watching as Dáuniya unwrapped Diwoméde's foot and inspected the wound.  "Can you heal him?" asked the low ranked man.

"Possibly," she answered, wrinkling her nose as she tossed aside the dirty bandages.  "The condition of his foot is truly disgraceful.  The bandages should be changed every day.  Ai, look at this!  These cloths have collected enough dirt and clay to make a pot with."

"That is Agamémnon's fault, not mine," the foot soldier said defensively.  "He will not give the boy any rest, giving him tasks day and night.  That is what is disgraceful."

Diwoméde's eyelids fluttered and he moaned.

"He is feverish again, too," Dáuniya announced, her voice matter of fact.  "I will wash the wound again, as if it were fresh, and wrap his foot in clean linen.  But, unless he gets some rest, the spirit of plague will take hold and carry him off before the injury can heal."

But Diwoméde was not destined to rest that day.  In Agamémnon's great tent, Ak'illéyu stood stiffly, his thigh wrapped in cloth, and commanded, "All men must fight today!  Even those who did not fight before will take up arms this day.  Helmsmen and carpenters will leave their beds of ease by their tents.  Find swords and spears for them and make them take the field with us, Agamémnon.  All Ak'áyans should witness the death of Tróya’s champion. But they must be prepared to fight, if the Wilúsiyans resort to treachery, as they did before.  Their fates hang in the balance here just as ours do.  If any man stays away, I will find him and slit his throat myself!  Make the wounded come to the assembly, too.  No man is exempt from duty today unless he is dead."

"Carpenters and helmsmen know nothing about war," St'énelo complained quietly to his king.  "They were very little help the one time we armed them and today they should be seeing to our ships.  The war will be over by nightfall and we will sail at dawn, will we not?"

But Meneláwo supported Ak'illéyu's demand.  "I am tired of this endless siege," the Lakedaimóniyan wánaks growled to the gathered lawagétas.  "We all are.  Let us all swear an oath to fight to the death today.  We must take Tróya now, at whatever cost."

"If even the noncombatants must fight this day, and even if we continue until death, what can it mean but the end of the world?" Idómeneyu complained.

Beside him, Odushéyu stretched his aching limbs and scratched his recently shorn locks.  Dryly, he observed, "It can also mean that the maináds have been dancing with Ak'illéyu and Meneláwo both."

Mad though the T'eshalíyan and Lakedaimóniyan troop leaders might be, their wishes were obeyed.  To the surprise of P'ilístas and Zeyugelátes both, Agamémnon agreed with them.  "We have tried single combat before, without successfully concluding the war," the overlord reminded his troop leaders.  "The Wilúsiyans have repeatedly shown themselves to be oath-breakers.  If their champion falls today, as I fully expect he will, I want to be sure we have enough men to overpower the Mízriyans."

"But the wounded?" Néstor asked, incredulous.  "Do you know what you are asking?  Diwoméde and Meneláwo are so weak now that they can hardly cross our encampment without help.  It may have been acceptable for them to fight when our survival was at stake, but now we must return to Diwiyána's ways.  Do not listen to the P'ilísta prince.  Leave the wounded men in their tents this time."

Agamémnon spoke vigorously.  "I have better things to do than listen to a half-barbarian, drunk on poppy nectar.  Ak'illéyu is only my vassal.  I am not his, by any means.  I am not taking orders from him or any man.  But this is not a simple raid, Néstor.  Today's battle will determine all our fates.  We may be wounded," he said dramatically, raising his arm to show the half-healed cut running jaggedly through the hair and flesh of the limb, "but we are determined to do our part just the same."  Nodding his heavy head, his jaw grimly set, "All men fight today," he commanded, repeating the order Ak'illéyu had first given.  "All."

To the utter astonishment of Néstor and the lesser kings of the north, Qálki then stepped forward to address the Ak'áyan leaders.  The wiry seer, too, agreed to the unusual order, leaving the lawagétas to speculate on whether he, too, had been into the poppy jars.

By dawn, the whole encampment bustled with life.  Men took their time over the morning's meal, consuming opium with their wine, spilling more than the usual few drops to the divine beings who controlled their fates.  They donned their armor and took up their arms.  Fully prepared for war, they danced around their campfires reciting Odushéyu's magic formula.  The sun's chariot wheel stood above the eastern mountains before they were ready to pass beyond the camp's earthen wall.  But, at last, when every man was restored to battle condition by the poppy, Diwoméde blew a long note on a conch shell to summon the army out to fight.

Ak'illéyu quickly took his position at the front of the advancing Ak'áyan line, shouting with every step he took, cursing the Tróyans and dead Qántili above all, reviling the deities who supported those whom he hated.  Clad in shining bronze, from head to toe, he contrasted sharply with the soiled and cratered gear of the rest of the lawagétas.  'Iqodámeya had held a vigil over the prince throughout the previous night, polishing his armor while all others had slept.  "I will tell him that a goddess did this for him while he slept," the captive had prayed to Dáwan as she worked, "and in exchange for the undeserved thank offering he gives to you, you must be charitable toward my unborn child."

By mid-morning, the Ak'áyans had crossed the Sqámandro River, Qálki trailing at the back among the more seriously wounded men.  The unfamiliar weight of his long spear and stout, ox-hide shield slowed the prophet's usually frenetic pace.  From the back of the army, he called out prophecies that roused the fervor of the warriors.  "Once again the gods of heaven, earth, and the waters have joined us on the field of battle!" the seer cried.  As he spoke, the ground trembled yet again and distant thunder was heard from the direction of the mountains.  As the troops neared the citadel commanding the dusty plain, the men raised their spears, pounded upon their shields, and cried out to their protecting god.  "Díwo!  Díwo!"

The earth shuddered again in response and the waves of the sea crested and foamed, breaking with unusual violence against the nearby shore.  Qálki waved his round shield toward the sky.  "Even Préswa below hears us marching across the roof of her realm in the underworld.  With the gods themselves taking the field, the earth will fall in on the dread queen.  'Aidé itself will crack wide open today and expose the dark shades to the light of the sun!"

The Ak'áyan huts shuddered in the encampment near the shore and several tent posts fell.  Debris crumbled from the surrounding rampart and tumbled down on some of the captive women who were grinding grain nearby.  To the north of the river, the once great citadel suffered equally.  The great limestone walls of Tróya shivered, spilling broken brick from their heights.  The tall houses that had survived the previous quake, now weakened, collapsed on their inhabitants.  The terrified populace, decimated by the earlier tremor and fire, wailed and rushed about the falling city, calling on the gods, offering to give one or another of their dearest children as sacrifices if only the deities would spare their own lives.  The Sqámandro's dwindling waters battled their shores, too, but this time the river god did not leave his accustomed bed.  Although fires began here and there in the hilltop fortress, they were separated by stone or brick rubble and no general conflagration drove the people from the gates.

"The battle today determines the fate of the world!" Qálki shouted.  His voice carried all across the plain.  In spite of the threatening natural signs, men of both sides strode forward, struggling toward each other.  Even without the seer's interpretation, all were convinced of the day's significance.  "It is Díwo who leads us today!" Qálki boomed.  "Today will see the end of the world, the end of the greatest of ages!"

The earth quieted and both armies lined themselves up on the parched fields below the hill of Tróya, certain that their gods stood beside them.  When the two rows halted before their enemies' spears, Amusís stepped forward into the gap, his sword raised over his head.  In heavily accented speech, he shouted, "Who will fight with me?"

Several Ak'áyans immediately stepped forward, eager to take advantage of what they assumed would be their last chance to win glory.  Idómeneyu scratched a sign or two on a pebble for each man to toss into his overlord’s helmet.  Long gone were the gold thumb-rings that rich men customarily used as their tokens, when drawing lots.  No man cared to cut a bronze plate from his chest armor, either, as it might prove to be the very one that would cost him his life.  Nor would those with amulets remove them from their necks, even briefly, fearing the loss of fortune's favor.