People of the Inner Sea (The Age of Bronze) (19 page)

He stopped and looked into his cup.  Seeing it empty, he frowned and held it out to Kashánda.  "Get me more wine," he told her, smiling to see her eyes narrow and nostrils flare.  He grinned still more broadly when she rose obediently.  As the Tróyan priestess moved away from the king, Agamémnon leaned close to Aígist'o.  In a loud whisper, the wánaks said, "I will have a surprise for Klutaimnéstra at the end of the celebration."  He began to laugh.

An icy smile on his lips, Aígist'o whispered back, "Tell me more, cousin."

"It is a secret," Agamémnon chuckled.  He covered his mouth with his hand to keep the words in.

"Ai, you can trust me," Aígist'o said smoothly.  "Did we not always play together as boys?  Did I not find a way for you to lie with Tudéyu's wife, when even Meneláwo would not help you?"

The king nodded.  "Yes, of course, you are right.  Well," he looked to each side, chortling, and leaned toward his kinsman until his beard brushed Aígist'o's cheek.  Agamémnon whispered, "I plan to divorce Klutaimnéstra and put Kashánda on the throne beside me."  With a great guffaw, he leaned back, clapping his hands to his thighs.

Aígist'o was caught by surprise and put a hand to his mouth.  Kashánda returned with the king's wine cup, at that moment, ignoring the priest with a haughty air.  Hiding his feelings as best he could, Aígist'o managed to choke out, "How clever of you."

But Agamémnon was not listening.  The wánaks pointed to T'érsite, still busily serving wine to the higher ranks.  "Ai, you there," the king called out.  "Sing us a good fighting song, that one about the frogs and mice."  He laughed at the thought and raised his wine cup to his lips.

T'érsite happily left his work and took up his stringed lúra from where it stood by the wall.  Seating himself on the edge of the great hearth, he bawled out the words of his song.  "Here me maids and maináds…"

The song had scarcely begun when Aígist'o rose suddenly from his seat and sprang upon Agamémnon, dagger in hand.  The priest stabbed the surprised king in the chest, three times in quick succession.  Agamémnon was scarcely able to raise his arms before he collapsed.  The wánaks slipped from the throne and his limbs jerked their final movements on the painted floor.

Kashánda stood and screamed.  She turned to run but tripped over her cloak.  Aígist'o fell upon her, grasping her by the hair.  "Be still, woman, or you die," he growled in her ear.  She continued to shriek, tearing at the priest with her hands, trying to free herself from his grip.

"I curse you, Argive, I curse you and all your land!" she cried.  "May all the punishments meted out to Tróya fall back upon Argo threefold!  In the name of the great goddess, may Ak'áiwiya's fate be four times worse than Assúwa's!"

The lawagétas staggered to their feet, looking for their weapons.  No bronze was to be found at their sides, none upon the tables or benches, either, but for their cups.  Suddenly, a dozen warriors entered the mégaron, fully armed and armored.  They were older men, with gray hair and lined faces, bearing the marks of wounds healed long ago.  But, with the fury of young bulls, they fell upon the drunk and unarmed troop leaders, slaughtering the younger men as easily as they would sheep.

In the pandemonium, T'érsite threw down his stringed instrument and sought cover in the shadows beneath a plaster bench that ran the length of one wall.  There he lay, shivering in silent terror, watching until the painted floor ran with the blood of high-ranked lawagétas. Tróyan captive women cowered together about him, wailing, trying to find refuge for themselves.  After what seemed a long age, T'érsite heard one last shriek as Aígist'o drove his blade into Kashánda's breast.  Then there was only the sound of lesser ranked captives keening.

The priest spoke in a low voice.  "I thank you, aged warriors of Argo.  And your holy wánasha thanks you.  You have saved Argo from an evil wánaks.  Klutaimnéstra will reward your courage with bronze and the gods will reward the land with rain at long last.

"Stay with me awhile longer now, men.  I will announce the news of Agamémnon's death to the troops outside the palace.  You must protect me until I have time to ask if they think it just.  Then the serving-women are to release the doves from their cages.  Timing is essential.  The birds must fly immediately after I ask for the men's judgment.  And the direction of the birds' flight is equally crucial.  The doves must be on the soldiers' right-hand side.  Even the most ignorant men will know to interpret that as a good omen.  Then I must have a sheep for sacrifice.  Have it ready for me as soon as the birds have flown.  After the sacrifice, I will examine the animal's entrails to verify the omen.  But you need have no fear.  Agamémnon's crimes were too many.  I know that the gods are with us."

aaa

As Agamémnon's mass of ships drew up on the shores of Argo, Odushéyu set sail from Lakedaimón's southernmost port at Aúgeyai.  He had wintered with Meneláwo, fearing death in a storm.  But it was spring at last and he could delay his followers no longer.  They were anxious to be reunited with their families, even if their leader was not.  It was time to finish the homeward journey.  Ten small ships sailed west, past the rich kingdom of Mesheníya, before heading north for the western islands centered on holy It'áka.  Odushéyu urged his navigators to keep to the coast in their journey, and to spend the nights in Néstor's Mesheníya.  He wanted to cross the western sea to the southernmost of the islands, Zákunt'o, on the fifth day.  It was still very early in the season, he reminded his men, and the danger of bad weather was still present.

But the navigators were untouched by Odushéyu's arguments.  They had been as eager as he to spend the winter in Lakedaimón, as it would have been madness to tempt the gods of sky and sea in that season.  But there had been no storms, no rain at all, there in the southeast that winter.  After all, had they not crossed the whole of the Inner Sea the previous autumn without incident?  They were impatient and homesick, and confident that the Divine Horse, Poseidáon was not against them.  The sails were raised and they crossed the Mesheníyan gulf in the first day, taking again to the open sea on the second.

Out of sight of land, they were caught by the sudden storm that Odushéyu had feared all along.  Clouds rapidly piled up over them, darkening the sky.  The It'ákan king shouted to those in his own longboat to take down the sail and they obediently complied.  But the other navigators did not follow his example, in their rush toward land.  The rowers bent over their oars with all their strength in an attempt to reach the shore before the rain fell.  But they were not quick enough.  The waves rose, as the wind picked up.  The vessels rode low in the water even at the best of times and two of the ten quickly swamped.  A third capsized before the rain even came.  The rising blast whipped the square sails with a frenzy, and the men feared for the masts.  The wind snapped the supporting ropes on one vessel and the mast crashed down upon the head of the navigator, killing him instantly.  Oarsmen were tossed overboard into the heaving waters, to disappear in the sea, dark as wine.  Captives beneath the rowing benches called upon the god of earthquake to have mercy on them.  But Poseidáon was not listening to his dispossessed people.

Lines gave way on a second ship.  When the mast fell, it cracked the hull, letting Tróya's treasures sink into the waves.  Water poured from the sky as if from a broken wine bowl.  Thunder clamored overhead, the wind shrieked, and the waves crashed against the slender hulls.  Odushéyu called to his men to throw their belongings over the sides, to lighten their loads.  But, in the surging water, it was all they could do to hang onto the benches.  Two longboats came together on the crest of a wave and both shattered upon impact, spilling their contents into the sea, both human and bronze.

As suddenly as it had risen, the wind and rain died down.  Odushéyu limped into Zákunt'o's southernmost port with only four ships left, the bulk of his meager loot lost on the way, along with most of his men.

On the shore of Odushéyu's kingdom, as he had feared, he was not met by welcoming throngs waving boughs of sacred laurel.  Instead, feather-capped warriors, foreigners from the north, came, dressed for battle, to meet him and his men.  The P'ilístas collected the half-drowned travelers and marched them to the center of the port town as if Odushéyu's followers were prisoners of war and not conquering heroes.  As they went, the people of the surrounding villages spat on the returning travelers, calling curses down on their heads.

Their destination was less than a mile from the shore, an unfortified town.  The commoners' flat-roofed houses were of plaster and wood, white and gleaming in the sunlight.  Small courtyards separated the larger dwellings from the narrow streets.  On a low hill, a slightly taller wall protected the largest house from the curious eyes of the low born.  The town shared none of the massive architecture so common in mainland Ak'áiwiya.  Here, the largest stones in the highest walls were hardly larger than a man's head, and the walls rose only to a tall man's shoulder.  Within the enclosure on the low hill lay a villa, a mere two stories high.  Although it was the largest structure on the island, it was far less grand than the palaces of most of the Ak'áyan kings, whether from the north or the south.

In the sunny courtyard of this villa, queen Penelópa awaited her mariner king and husband.  Like her kinfolk on the Lakedaimóniyan and Argive thrones, she wore a colorful, flounced skirt and a bodice that was tight at the waist, leaving her breasts bare.  Her long, dark hair, entwined with strings of beads, fell past her thick waist.  Sandals protected her feet from the rocky ground.  Her manner, too, was as commanding as her appearance.  The land she ruled might not be the most prosperous, but here she was as much a wánasha as her cousins on the thrones of wealthy Argo and pious Lakedaimón.

"Penelópa!" Odushéyu cried when he caught sight of her.  "What is the meaning of this, my queen?  My men and I have been treated like Assúwan captives by our own people.  What have you done here?"

Her eyes were large and heavy-lidded but they narrowed at the sight of the weather-beaten wánaks and his men.  "You are no longer my husband, Odushéyu," she announced with a glare.  "I divorce you."  She turned to face each of the four cardinal directions in turn, raising her hands to the sky and repeating three more times, "I divorce you."  Then she turned again to face Odushéyu, her eyes as malevolent as before.  "There.  I have said it four times.  Gods and men are my witnesses.  It is done.  Because of this, you are no longer wánaks of the western islands.  He who marries It'áka's queen will have that title and that honor."

"What?" Odushéyu roared, red with fury.  "You cannot divorce me or depose me, you foreign witch!"  He advanced on the woman, only to be stopped by blows from the spear butts of the feathered warriors.

"I can do it," Penelópa retorted firmly.  "I am wánasha of Zákunt'o, Dolik'íyon, Ek'íno, and holy It'áka, by the will of the gods.  And I have done it.  You are a commoner now, Odushéyu.  Your life is in my hands."

"But what are you saying, my lady?"  Odushéyu waved his arms wildly as he spoke, trying to fend off the fate that was so close.  "My mother was the wánasha when I left home."

Coldly Penelópa told him, "She died while you were away in Assúwa and thus your father lost his claim to the throne.  Then I became the sole legitimate wánasha."

The former wánaks clapped his hands to his head, his eyes wide, disbelieving.  "Dead?  Mother?  Owái, that cannot be true."

Penelópa rolled her dark eyes.  "Ai, do not act so wounded.  I know you better than that.  You had little enough use for the woman when she was alive.  Do not pretend to be surprised, either.  She had been sick for several years.  The true surprise is that she lasted as long as she did."

"But…but…It'áka will never accept you," Odushéyu spluttered.  "You are a foreigner, a Lakedaimóniyan by birth.  But I have always lived on It'áka.  It is I who rule the western islands, not you."

Penelópa smiled, her thin lips little more than a gash in her smooth face.  "Ai, but Odushéyu, the people do accept me.  I have taken Antikléya's place in the festivals for years.  The common people never disapproved of me in this role, any more than they mourned to see me rule in your absence.  And why should they not accept me?  Even the gods are on my side.  Surely you have heard of the drought ravaging Ak'áiwiya.  But here, rain has been as plentiful as it ever was.  What better proof could there be of my legitimacy?"

The former wánaks glanced around at the P'ilístas with their spears and round, leather shields with their central, bronze bosses.  He recognized the gear but not the men, as these warriors had not gone to Tróya the previous year.  The pirate king shuddered.  But he continued to argue with the queen.  "Ai gar, woman, you have not considered the consequences of your actions.  Without a strong king on the throne, It'áka will soon find itself preyed upon by more powerful kingdoms.  There is Mesheníya to the southeast, with that rapacious, old Néstor just waiting to gobble up the islands.  Besides him, only my alliance with the small kingdoms of Enwáli and Arkadíya has provided us with a buffer from Agamémnon's unquenchable lust for territory.  Obviously some northern land supports you.  But you cannot think the north will stand against both Lakedaimón and Argo, for our sake."