Golden Mukenai (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  CHAPTER ONE

  ARIYADNA

  Four black longboats drew toward the shore of the southern island, heading for a harbor already crowded with broad merchant ships. A great, square sail billowed above each oncoming vessel, the stout linen suspended from a yardarm, its bottom corners fastened down with ropes of twisted flax. The prow of each slender ship curved and rose high, above the head of the helmsman standing on a platform at each vessel's stern. Capping each post was a two-pronged trident. With a long steering oar, the kilted man at each helm guided his longboat into 'Elléniya's harbor. As they neared the land, bare-skinned men took to the rows of benches along the sides of the sleek, pitch-darkened vessels. Other crewmen bustled about the partial decks or shinnied up the masts with practiced ease.

  On the stern platform of the largest ship, two men stood in bright red kilts, calling out orders to their unclad men. At a shouted command, sails were furled and bound tight to the yardarm. The men in red spread their arms wide. At the gesture, oars were pushed out into the water, bound with strips of leather to thole-pins of oak.

  Bare-skinned fishermen, standing in small boats closer to the shore, forgot the tridents in their hands and stared wide-eyed at the newcomers. "Look at them, Ainyáh," said the taller of the two men in red. "They do not recognize us. This is almost too easy." He threw back his head, tossing long, dark curls over his shoulders, and laughed.

  The other man, nearly as tall as the first and broader across the shoulders, nodded. "Our spears and shields are well hidden. The season for war is over. It is time for their festival of sowing. No, they should suspect nothing." But he did not smile. Nor did the tense lines creasing his high forehead soften.

  Behind the small fishing vessels of the local people rose hills clad in green, the peak nearest the harbor capped by a high-walled fortress. Watchers on those stone walls watched the approaching longboats, as the fishermen did, with curiosity and some surprise. But only two men came from the citadel to the water's edge to watch the strange vessels, as the smaller three were beached and their crews dragged them up on shore. The two watchers halted their approach a little way apart from the throng of commoners preparing to greet the newcomers. The pair of high-born men stood aloof in yellow kilts and leather sandals, the breeze tossing their shoulder-length hair. The older man bore a gold ring on his thumb and his full beard was graying around his mouth. He frowned at the light craft, narrowing his brown eyes.

  "Who could be coming so late, wánaks Idómeneyu?" the younger one asked respectfully. "The sailing season is nearly over and it is time for the festival of the autumn sowing. Do you think they came for the games?"

  Idómeneyu merely grunted in reply, not moving his dark eyes from the longboats and the naked oarsmen dragging them out of the salt water.

  His youthful companion, brows bent over his nose with concern, shifted his feet. "Or do you think they could be pirates?" he asked. "They cannot be fishermen blown off course from Kep'túr. The ships are too long. But I suppose you know that better than I do," he added quickly, glancing at the other man to see whether his words had roused ill feeling. When Idómeneyu made no response, the young man went on. "With those high prows, they cannot be merchants from Kanaqán, delayed by adverse winds. I do not recognize those emblems on the prow-posts, either, and I have seen the standards of every Ak'áyan kingdom. I think we should tell king Meneláwo about this."

  "Ai, there is no need to trouble Meneláwo," Idómeneyu answered abruptly. "I cannot place these emblems, either, not exactly. But they are surely pilgrims just the same, here to celebrate the sowing. 'Elléniya's reputation as a holy island draws men from many nations, not just Ak'áyans. Times are uncertain everywhere, with poor harvests on all sides of the Inner Sea. Bad years always bring out more pilgrims. Meneláwo told me that last year he had visitors from as far away as Millewánda. These people come from further away than the usual pilgrims, probably somewhere in Assúwa further north than Millewánda. That would explain their late arrival."

  "You are probably right," said the younger man, trying to feel more confident. His brown eyes darted from the ships to the hilltop fortress and back to Idómeneyu. The older man was rubbing absently at a prominent scar that ran the length of his left arm. The men in red had remained aboard the largest of the four new ships, a narrow craft now anchored in the harbor among wide-beamed trading vessels. Both watchers took silent note of that.

  Taking a deep breath, the young one decided to speak once more. "It is not just these ships that concern me, wánaks Idómeneyu. The omens were not good when I left Argo. Besides, I hear that the water is low in the sacred spring here, lower than it has ever been before. That could mean that the underworld below is hungry for souls. Even wánaks Meneláwo's queen is nervous and she knows more about the gods than anyone. I really think we should tell the king about these ships."

  Idómeneyu made a face and dismissed the other's anxiety with a wave of a muscled arm. "You cannot put too much faith in that sort of thing. Ariyádna is always nervous, even when the signs are good. As for the omens, they concern the weather and the crops, nothing more. Many Ak'áyan lands had poor rains last winter and lost the grain harvest. Signs may well be bad for the coming crop and not just in Argo. Still, Meneláwo and I have dealt with worse problems since we were made kings. We will simply buy grain from Mesheníya if we cannot grow enough in our own lands. My friend has trouble enough in his own household. Say nothing to Meneláwo about these ships, Diwoméde."

  aaa

  In the courtyard of the hilltop palace, a mother and daughter stood together by a wooden table. Upon the table the woman kneaded a fine, gray clay, her body bare to the waist. Her multi-colored skirt stirred in the breeze that swept about the painted, wooden pillars of the great building behind. At her side a little girl hopped on one foot, naked, her head shaved but for a long lock at the back of her head and another, shorter one at her forehead. "Mamma, when will we be finished?" asked the restless child. "I want to play with my new top."

  "Be still, 'Ermiyóna, there will be time to play later," said the mother. "You are a big girl now, five years old. You must learn the holy symbols. Now pay attention." She pushed long, black curls from her face and rolled a stone cylinder over the clay to flatten it. "First we will make the disk. It must be a perfect circle because that is the symbol of the great goddess, Mother Diwiyána."

  The little girl pouted, leaving her mother's side to peer over the low wall of the courtyard. "I know that, Mamma. We did circles yesterday. Look, there are some more ships in the harbor. I want to go see them."

  The mother straightened and shook a clay-covered finger at the little girl. "No, 'Ermiyóna. You still have a lot to learn. Come over here. Today you will learn to write the holy spiral of the prophecy."

  "But I already know how to write, Mamma," the child whined. "I can write my name. Watch me." She came to her mother's side and scratched with her fingernail in the damp clay. At each symbol she recited the accompanying sound, "E, mi, yo, na, 'Ermiyóna. And I can do your name, A, ri, ya, da, na, Ariyádna. And Pappa's name, Me, ne, la, wo, Meneláwo." She beamed up at her mother.

  Ariyádna had to smile back, deepening the crow's-feet just appearing at the corners of her eyes. "Yes, 'Ermiyóna, you know how to write names and numbers. You are a good scribe, as every high-born girl should be. But the symbols you have learned are only for ordinary things, for listing offerings to the gods, numbers of sheep, taxes paid, and the names of bakers and bronze smiths. Today you must learn the special signs that we use for holy things."

  'Ermiyóna was disappointed. "Why do we have to have two kinds of writing? Why does everything have to be so hard?"

  Ariyádna to
ok her child's face in her clay-covered hands. "Listen to me, t'ugátriyon, little daughter," the mother said, her voice low but firm. "This is a most important thing you are about to learn. It is the prophecy that tells us how this world will end. One day you will be queen and you will need to know these things. So listen to me carefully, t'ugátriyon." Ariyádna turned back to the clay and stared at it a moment, as if mesmerized. "Warriors will do battle for the queen of the fertile land," she whispered. Her dark eyes widened. A shudder ran through her slender frame. "Sweet Diwiyána, do not let it come to pass in my lifetime." With an effort, she shook off the unpleasant thought. Putting her hands to the clay, she rolled it again to smooth out the markings 'Ermiyóna had made.

  The little girl watched the distant ships with a petulant frown, rubbing at the drying clay her mother's hands had left on her cheeks. "When I grow up," she promised herself quietly, "I will not make my daughter learn to write. I will let her play all day."

  aaa

  Young Diwoméde's sense of foreboding grew, as the crowd thinned about the newly beached ships and the high-born watchers could see the longboats more clearly. "Look, wánaks Idómeneyu," the young man said, pointing. "There are three rows of benches. Odushéyu is the only man I know who has such ships and he is a pirate. We must tell wánaks Meneláwo about this right away."

  "Just more pilgrims, I tell you," his scarred companion said, impatient now. "The western pirates always top their prows with carved fish. Besides, Odushéyu is already here, under oath to your own king Agamémnon not to attack any more Ak'áyan cities. No, as I said before, these ships must be from the east, from one of the kingdoms of the Assúwan mainland. Look at those wooden tridents on the prow-posts. The Millewándans use the same standard to honor the sea god."

  "But our Poseidáon's trident has three prongs and these have only two. Have you seen that before? I do not think these people worship an Ak'áyan god. No, these men could well be raiders. If we do not warn king Meneláwo we may have the blood of his people on our hands." Diwoméde was growing agitated and could hardly keep his place. Still he would not go to the palace on the hill without convincing the older man.

  Idómeneyu was stubbornly unimpressed. "There is no need to bother Meneláwo. Let him spend the morning in peace. I cannot tell you exactly which land these ships come from. But it must be near Millewánda, some minor kingdom in Assúwa. The number of prongs in the trident means nothing. Pirates! What nonsense! You do not see any weapons on these longboats, do you? No, of course not. The men of the east may not be Ak'áyans, but they are not uncivilized. They do not break the laws of hospitality. Even they would not attack during a festival."

  On the waters of the small bay, broad, flat ferry boats paddled out from the shore to the anchored ship. The taller of the red-clad men disappeared briefly beneath the platform at the stern. When he came back into view, he led a horse, a long-limbed creature with a hide the color of pitch.

  Watching this, Diwoméde chewed his shaved upper lip. He was no happier than before. "Assúwans may be civilized, but they do not worship our goddess. How can we rely on them to follow Diwiyána's laws? I still think we should warn the king."

  "Ai gar, boy, you are as fretful as an old woman," the older man snapped. "Look there, they have brought out a horse and it is a big one. They have obviously come to join the festival games. Do you see how high the bigger ship sits in the water? It is not heavily laden. Now, think about this a moment. Use your sense, if you have any. How many islands are there between us and the Assúwan coast? Dozens! If these men were pirates, they would have sacked any number of island cities on the way here. Their main vessel at least would now be riding low in the water from the weight of the booty. I tell you these are Assúwan pilgrims, come to compete in the race against the finest horses of Ak'áiwiya, nothing more."

  Diwoméde's frown remained as deep as ever. "They could still be raiders. This could be their first stop." Despite his doubts, he remained on the shore and did not seek out king Meneláwo.

  aaa

  The royal mother on the hilltop continued her lesson. "We roll the clay until it is flat and smooth, like so. Are you watching, t'ugátriyon? Then we cut the edges to make the circle." She took a bronze knife from beside the mound of clay on the table, deftly trimming the edges of the rough round.

  But 'Ermiyóna's attention was on event in the harbor. She rested her elbows on the low wall of the courtyard, cheeks on her hands, captivated. A ferry boat carried a painted chariot, one wheel hanging precariously over the side. Alongside swam a pair of dark horses, bare-skinned men swimming alongside them, directing them toward the shore.

  "Now we are ready to begin the tale," Ariyádna went on, speaking loudly. "Where is the jug, little daughter? We need the markers." Reluctantly, 'Ermiyóna left off watching and brought a painted, clay vessel from beneath the table. Carelessly, she dumped the contents of the jug onto the table. There were several small, metal cylinders. At one end of each, an image had been cast in the bronze, a helmet of boars' tusks, a bird with outstretched wings, a bare-breasted woman with a flounced skirt, and more. Ariyádna chose a cylinder and pressed its image into the damp clay. "We begin with the symbol for a warrior," she said.

  'Ermiyóna dutifully inspected the mark, her lower lip jutting forward in a pout. "It looks like a feathered soldier. I do not like P'ilístas. Pappa says they are barbarians."

  "Hush, t'ugátriyon," Ariyádna said in quiet alarm. Her dark eyes grew wide and her hands trembled. "Long ago, every warrior of Ak'áiwiya put feathers on his head when he went to war, not just the men of the north. In the golden age, feathers crowned men of every nation that faces the Inner Sea. In the language of the ancient Párpariyans, P'ilísta means feather. So, when Diwiyána gave us this sign, she did not mean that we should look only for a northerner to begin the final days. Perhaps she was speaking of an Ak'áyan, perhaps of an Assúwan. Or perhaps she meant the great Warrior himself, the god Arét.…" The woman's voice faded away as she peered into a realm unseen by her child, a place of darkness and thrusting blades of bronze, peopled by fierce, bearded men crowned with the feathers of the eagle and the falcon.

  "Yes, Mamma," 'Ermiyóna murmurred dutifully, pulling strands of hair from her topknot down into her face. When her mother said no more, staring silently with empty eyes, the child wandered back to the courtyard wall, and looked down on the crowd around the strangers on the beach. Low-born fishermen and bakers from the town were gathering there to admire the foreigners' tall, black horses.

  After a long moment, the mother came back to the present with a start. In a tremulous voice, she began, "Now we need the sign that is a shield. Come, daughter, we have work to do. Give me the symbol for battle." Again she pressed a small, bronze cylinder to the clay and pulled 'Ermiyóna from the courtyard wall to look at the mark.

  With only a cursory glance at the clay, the little girl announced, "It looks like a flat barley cake with olives on top. I am hungry, Mamma. I wish we were not fasting."

  "I know, t'ugátriyon. But we must eat nothing until nightfall. Let us finish the first line of writing and we will have a drink. Now, the third sign is the fork, symbol of the reason for things."

  "It looks like a green onion," 'Ermiyóna decided, her head down, pouting up at her mother through her dark eyebrows.

  Ariyádna ignored the remark and pressed on. "Then we must take the symbol of the fertile place, the sign that is a bull's testicles. Some say that this refers to our own land of Lakedaimón."

  The little girl leaned disinterestedly against the table. She pressed her finger into the clay, ruining the last picture. "It looks like two cooked fishes."

  Ariyádna frowned at her daughter and spatted the child’s hand. "To complete the first line, we must have the symbol of the wánasha, the sign that is the queen's breast."

  "A loaf of bread," whined 'Ermiyóna, rubbing her hand.

  "Hush," the woman snapped. "We are all fasting, not just you. It does not help to talk constantly of food.
"

  'Ermiyóna's large, brown eyes filled with tears. "Owái, Mamma, I am starving!" She plopped herself down on the smooth paving stones of the courtyard and began to cry angrily. "I want to eat right now."

  The mother sighed. Squatting beside 'Ermiyóna, the queen took the little girl in her arms. "I know it is hard, especially when you are so young. But we must do this to honor the great goddess and the grain maiden. Now Kórwa is with the dead, beneath the earth. Mother Diwiyána is alone in her house. She will not eat or drink wine until her daughter comes back to her. We must do the same or the wheat and the barley will not sprout in the fields this year."

  'Ermiyóna's tears washed channels in the clay smudges on her cheeks. "I am so hungry I am going to die," she bawled.

  "Kluména," Ariyádna called, over the child's heaving shoulders.

  A heavy-set woman entered the courtyard from an open doorway. Her single garment, a long skirt, was brightly colored. But it was not flounced like Ariyádna's and her feet were bare. With a work-worn hand she brushed at a stray lock of black hair, just beginning to gray. "Yes, wánasha, what is it?"

  "Bring the barley water," Ariyádna commanded, in the voice of a queen. "We will have our kukeyón now. Put plenty of meal in 'Ermiyóna's cup."