People of the Inner Sea (The Age of Bronze) (31 page)

But Idómeneyu had a moment of doubt.  "Your oath to Ainyáh does not trouble you, Odushéyu?  Or have you already forgotten that you swore you would not touch Kanaqán?"

Mirurí was troubled by the reminder and shot an angry look at the Kep'túriyan.  But Idómeneyu did not notice.

The It'ákan only roared with laughter, Tushrátta joining in.  "Ai gar, I have broken nearly as many vows as I have made, my friend," Odushéyu chuckled, "and Díwo has never struck me down yet!  Neither have the shades of any of my ancestors.  Idé, they are probably cheering for me, down in 'Aidé!"

"He is a better pirate than you, Idómeneyu," the Lúkiyan crowed.  "Now I see why Piyamáradu's ally was Ak'áyan."

"Ai, but what about your wife, my friend?" Idómeneyu asked pointedly, annoyed by the other men's laughter, which was clearly at his expense.  "Penelópa exiled you from your own kingdom, did she not?  Was that not bad luck?  Is that not a sign of divine displeasure?"

Odushéyu dismissed that with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand.  "That was Penelópa's doing, not Díwo's.  No, if the sky god wants to punish you, he splits the mast of your longboat with lightning or strikes a fire in the dry fields of summer to consume you."

Beside him, Tushrátta nodded in agreement, chuckling merrily.  "I agree.  The king of the gods would not whisper a plot in a woman's ear!  Use your liver, Idómeneyu, and think!"

aaa

Eastward they sailed into summer, confident that the dreaded storm season would again be slow in coming, planning for a long, leisurely circuit of the eastern rim of the sea, on their way toward Mízriya.  They made no attacks on the Lúkiyan coast, in deference to Madduwátta's men.  But along the southern coast of the Assúwan continent, Kizzuwátna's ports suffered heavy damage at the hands of the sea-going allies.

On the dark waters of the Great Green Sea, the remaining ships under Náshiya's control were forced to grapple with the Ak'áyans, along with the emperor’s enemies from Ashúr, and longboats from a re-ascendant Lúkiya.  Ship met ship, the men of one vessel boarding the other to fight and die on the rowing benches or drown in the waves.  On land, city after drought-starved city went up in flames, the treasures of the rulers collecting in the hulls of the pirates' longboats.

Emperor Tudqáliya continued to send desperate messages in all directions, from him beleaguered capital of Qattúsha, as rumors began to spread of a rival king of Náshiya taking up residence on the Ashúriyan frontier.  The Náshiyan king's own son, Arnuwánda, was said to be in league with Ashúr's hard-fighting overlord.  Even the merchant ships of Kanaqániyan Ugarít, although heavy and slow beside sleek ships of war, were now called into the empire's service to patrol the turbulent waters of the Great Green Sea.

The Alásiyan king had received news of new marauders appearing in the southern lands of Assúwa from the embattled monarchs of those drought-starved nations themselves.  Watchers stationed on his own coasts warned him that ships were approaching his very island from the west, as spring came that year.  The vessels were largely unfamiliar to the watchmen, with high posts at both the prow and stern, their hulls blackened with pitch to make them watertight, and great, red eyes had been painted on the sides to give them living spirits.  Rowing with three men abreast instead of the more usual one or two per side, the men of the sea on these oncoming longboats outmaneuvered all their rivals on the Great Green Sea, Alásiyan, Náshiyan, and Ashúriyan.  Losses would be heavy, if the marauders touched the great island's cities.  Alásiya's fleet was ordered to remain in native waters rather than out on patrol, or even accompanying trading expeditions.  Only a few ships were allowed to leave the ports with warning messages on clay tablets, bound for the coastal cities of Kanaqán, letting them know that enemy ships had been sighted.

Idómeneyu's Ak'áyans and Mirurí's Libúwans parted from the rest to sail east, toward the merchants' towns of Kanaqán.  Their allies, meanwhile, divided Alásiya between them.  Tushrátta laid waste to the whole of the eastern coastline of the big island, as Odushéyu closed with the local fleet in the west.  When he was eventually driven from Alásiya's shores, Odushéyu led his mixed contingent all about the Great Green Sea, sinking Náshiya's remaining ships and the last of Ashúr's loyal vessels.  Striking first at smaller towns and villages, Idómeneyu and Mirurí proceeded to the cities of Kanaqán.  They made no distinction between those owing allegiance to the Náshiyan emperor and those under Mízriya's yoke, sacking each as it appeared over their longboats' prows.

aaa

The Kanaqániyan lord of Ugarít sat upon his throne of carved ivory, wrapped in embroidered robes of rich purple, the characteristic product of his wealthy city.  Behind the royal chair, a broad window overlooked the sea, dark as mulled wine, that had made his port so wealthy.  But to this, the ruler turned his back.  At his feet knelt a messenger, a packet of sun-dried clay in his hand.

"My lord," announced the letter-carrier, "this has just arrived for you from the king of Alásiya.  The ship is still in the harbor and will not leave until tomorrow morning.  Do you want me to have them wait for your reply?"

The city's monarch frowned, deep lines creasing his forehead.  "Only the one longboat came from Alásiya?  What does this mean?"

"I do not know," the messenger replied, nervously bowing his head several times in succession to avoid the ruler's furious gaze.

"Wait in the outer courtyard," commanded a third man, who had been waiting in a shadowed alcove to the side of the throne, speaking in a reedy voice.  "My lord Ammurápi will have a reply for you shortly."  The speaker was older than the king, his hair thin and his beard completely gray.  His garment was long, shielding withered limbs from cool weather.

The letter-carrier rose with a nod.  "Yes, councilor," he said with evident relief, and scurried from the room, his sandals pattering quickly against the stone floor.  Despite the chill of the day, he wore only a kilt of red and blue linen, and a turban on his head.  But he was sweating and, in his haste to be gone, he tripped and fell headlong in the doorway of the audience room.  With a glance behind, filled with anxiety, he scrambled to his feet and hurried on.

Ugarít's king rested his elbows on the arms of his ivory throne and pressed his forehead to his hands.  With a groan, he told the old man, "Read the letter, councilor.  I know that it cannot be good news.  But read it just the same.  Let me know the worst."

The vizier took the clay bundle from the floor at his sovereign's feet, where the messenger had laid it.  He broke the thin outer covering of unbaked clay, letting the pieces crumble and fall against the painted floor.  In a trembling palm, he held the pillow-shaped clay and stretched out his arm, full length.  Tilting his head back, he struggled to focus his weak eyes on the neat rows of wedge-shaped symbols.

"Alásiya's great king sends greetings to Ammurápi, noble lord and baqál of Ugarít.  May the gods give you good health."  He took a deep breath.

Ammurápi interrupted before the councilor could continue.  "That is all?  No salutations to my family?  No blessings wished for my country?  Only my health?"  He threw his long, slender hands in the air, in exasperation.

The old man did not answer the ruler's questions.  He waited patiently, clearing his throat when the cries of the city’s governor subsided.

"Yes, yes, go on," Ammurápi sighed, with a listless wave of his hand.

"You write that you have sighted enemy ships at sea.  If this is true, you need only take a firm stand.  Assemble your troops and chariots behind the walls of your towns.  Station extra guards at the gates and towers.  Then there is nothing more to do but wait to see if the enemy appears in your land.  After all, is anyone else pressing you from the land?  Is another army coming from the hills at the same time?  Why write to me about this trivial matter?"

Ammurápi rose from his seat with a roar of anger and frustration.  He snatched the tablet from the vizier's gnarled hand and inspected the wedge-shaped imprints in the clay for himself.  "By all the gods and goddesses!" he shouted, his face darkening with emotion.  "He has not been reading my letters through.  It is hopeless, Danúl.  We are doomed!"

The elderly man beside him raised his hands, shivering with fear.  "No, no, my lord, surely not!  Write him another letter.  The messenger is still waiting in the courtyard and the ship is even now in the harbor.  You can see it out the window, there.  Send a message before this very night falls.  Alásiya must send us men and vessels.  It must!"

He hurried to the writing table at the far wall, slipping twice on his slippered feet.  With unsteady hands he lifted a damp, linen towel from a low, rectangular basket on the table.  He scooped a small handful of clay from inside the heavy basket and patted the grayish material between his palms, making it smooth.  Neatly carved sticks lay in a row beside the basket, each twice the length of a man's finger.  The councilor took one of these and hurried back to Ammurápi, who was by then sitting down, slumped miserably on his throne.

Seeing Danúl coming, Ammurápi moaned once more.  But he sat up straight and smoothed his robes when he saw the clay tablet in the vizier’s palm.  "Very well, we might as well try one more time.  Write the words just as I say them."  He began to dictate his message, considering each phrase carefully, staring up at the ceiling where golden stars had been painted on a blue background.  "To the Great King of Alásiya, my...oh, ah...Royal Father, I ah, I grovel at your noble, no, make that illustrious feet."

The old man stopped writing and stared up at the governor of the citadel in astonishment.  "My lord Ammurápi," he began, aghast, "just this morning you wrote to the emperor, Tudqáliya, calling him 'Father'.  Are you sure you want to humble yourself before the island's king?  After all, he is scarcely as old as your grandson!"

"What choice do I have?" Ammurápi cried, flinging his arms wide.  "I have enemies that I do not recognize right here at my doorstep!  Besides that, the hill people, those war-like ‘Apirú, are pressing me from behind, at the same time.  Even if Emperor Tudqáliya grants my request and sends all of my troops back home, can they get here in time?  Write my words, Danúl, write exactly what I say."

"Yes, my baqál," said the old man, still shaking his white head.  He dutifully pressed his stylus once more into the damp clay.

Ammurápi continued, glancing back over his shoulder at the wide expanse of sea.  "I send greetings, my esteemed father, to you and your whole household, to your wives, to your army, to all that belongs to you, greetings, no, make that multitudinous greetings!  The enemy ships are here!  Now!  They are burning my towns and destroying the countryside.  What is this you write me about standing firm?  My ships and soldiers are all stationed far away, on the borders of Lúkiya, and my own country is abandoned to its fate!  Seven enemy ships are plundering my land at this very moment!  Are there more longboats on the way?  Tell me, my father.  I must know!"

Distraught, Ammurápi stood and began to pace about the room.  A strong breeze entered through the window, tossing the king's long curls and ruffling his robes.  The councilor wrote hurriedly, mouthing the words to himself, finishing long after the ruler had stopped talking.

"Danúl," said the city governor with a grim look, "you yourself must take the tablet to the kiln to be baked.  See that it is ready before nightfall.  The letter must go out when the ship sails for Alásiya in the morning."

The old man nodded.  "The king will have to send help when he reads this," he announced, his voice wheezing from his chest.  "He will surely understand how desperate our situation is.  After all, he was the one who wrote to you in the first place, warning of enemy ships on the way."

Ammurápi continued to pace, shaking his head in despair.  "It will be too late, I am afraid.  Even if the pirates do not appear, we are sure to be overrun by Qapirú nomads.  By holy Il and Astárt, I wish I had not sent my troops away!"

"But, my baqál, how could you have kept them at home?  The emperor himself demanded them," Danúl reminded his sovereign.  "In fact, Tudqáliya may yet attack Alásiya because it did not respond to his call to arms."

As the elderly vizier finished speaking, shouts rose from the corridors, and the double doors leading to the throne room burst open.  Breathless men in long robes rushed toward the king's throne, their hands in the air.  "Ships have been sighted!" cried one.  "The men are painted red and white!  Libúwans!"