Golden Mukenai (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  At the gate to the courtyard, the Kep'túriyan king stopped, shaking his head. "Go with him," Idómeneyu said to the young qasiléyu beside him. "I will go to Knoshó to assemble my army as I said. As soon as you find out who the marauders were, send a message to me and I will come."

  Diwoméde nodded and trotted after Meneláwo.

  CHAPTER THREE

  AGAMEMNON

  The survivors of the attack on 'Elléniya met their king, as his boats came ashore. The commoners clustered around the wánaks, wailing, shouting the names of gods, numbering their losses, talking all at once. Unable to make out what had happened, Meneláwo shoved all aside and ran up the hillside to the smoldering ruins of the palace. Corpses were everywhere, blackened by the smoke, some burned beyond recognition. Broken crockery littered the streets leading to the palace, alongside charred wooden pillars and fallen roofs, severed limbs of men, and shattered masonry.

  Meneláwo paused at every fallen body, his breath coming in gasps that made his chest ache. Behind him, the rowers from his ship followed, the 'Elléniyans trailing at the back, lamenting. Calling his wife's name, the Lakedaimóniyan king roamed the walled citadel in growing desperation. But it was clear, soon enough, that the royal chambers on the hill's peak had been the marauders' main objective. Ariyádna had been abducted, along with many other women, both servants from the palace and the wives and daughters of the artisans of the lower town. Like a madman, Meneláwo rushed from one site of destruction to another, his wife's name on his lips, calling down curses on all ships at sea, faithless deities, and on himself. His people followed in his train until weariness forced them to abandon their king, one by one.

  Gradually, the hard edge of anger and fear wore down even in Meneláwo's soul. As if pressed down by a great weight, the king slowed his pace, he no longer cried out, no sound at all coming from his dry lips but his ragged breathing. His face became a mask, frozen in an expression of anguish and despair. Still he would not rest until he had seen every house in the lower town and walked through every room of the hilltop palace. The pirates had focused on women and objects of valuable metal, easily carried. Most of the storerooms of the fortress remained untouched, though the doors were unbolted. Close to the citadel's perimeter, even the fire had done little damage, there where stone walls and baked clay urns predominated, depriving the flames of fuel.

  As the wánaks woodenly continued his inspection of the chambers, his chariot master pointed out the almost miraculous preservation of the storeroom contents. "There might be enough grain still here to sow a few fields of barley," St'énelo suggested hopefully. "It will be a small crop we harvest next spring, to be sure. But it would be a symbol of hope to the people. We honor Diwiyána even in misfortune. She will surely favor us in turn." But the great urns, nearly as tall as a man, were mostly empty. What had not been eaten during the earlier times of scarcity had been removed for the ceremonial planting. That had perished in the flames.

  It was nearly dark when Meneláwo came upon a child hiding in one of the great jars where grain had once been stored, in times of plenty. St'énelo glanced into the big urn and declared it empty. The wánaks, not hearing, looked in for himself and stood motionless for a long moment, his eyes bound to the small pair that turned up to his. "T'ugátriyon," he said, so softly that the charioteer at his side could not make out the word.

  "Wánaks?" asked St'énelo. "Did you see something in there?"

  Meneláwo reached into the wide-mouthed jar with both arms. Alarmed, his chariot master caught the king's arm. "What are you doing? It might be a snake!"

  But the wánaks ignored him and pulled the little girl out, tears streaming quietly from his eyes. 'Ermiyóna had pulled her long topknot to her small mouth, the dark curls clamped between her teeth. She was too frightened even to scream, damp with her own urine. But she had not been injured. With silent ferocity she clung to her father and he to her. "Thanks be to all the gods," Meneláwo murmurred, his hoarse voice cracking.

  St'énelo quietly offered to find the child a nursemaid. But the royal father shook his head. With the little girl wrapped in his arms, he continued his tour until he had seen every chamber in the fortress. Even when he left the palace grounds, he would not be persuaded to give his daughter up, though fishermen and bakers offered to take her.

  Diwoméde was surprised at the Lakedaimóniyan king's behavior, as he quietly admitted to the chariot master. "I cannot imagine Agamémnon embracing one of his girls in public," the young Argive whispered. "But here is Meneláwo carrying his daughter on his hip like a woman."

  St'énelo frowned. "You do not have children," the Lakedaimóniyan concluded simply.

  The qasiléyu was equally surprised at Meneláwo's interest in the commoners' losses. The discovery of his daughter had a calming effect on the king. With 'Ermiyóna still in his arms, the wánaks of 'Elléniya and Lakedaimón ended his survey of the city’s damage and sat in the open gateway of the fortress. There, as St'énelo announced the name of each artisan and fisherman, the king listened, grim-faced, until every man had listed his grievances.

  When the sun descended into the western sea, Odushéyu, Néstor, and the old king's son came from a bakery in the lower town, where they had taken refuge. They had hidden from the marauders during the attack, they explained. With pious exclamations, all three commiserated with Meneláwo over his bad fate and his losses, and told what little they knew.

  "It was the Yákk'o who did this," Odushéyu told the bereaved king, hot with indignation, "the stranger from Wilúsiya."

  Meneláwo was suspicious, but Néstor confirmed the tale, Antílok'o nodding vigorously beside him. "It was the man from the Sqámandro River, Paqúr, who led the attackers," the older man agreed. "My son and I barely escaped from the palace with our lives. We must remember to offer a good many sheep to Diwiyána to thank her for preserving us from those accursed pirates and from the fire too."

  Diwoméde glanced round at the scene of destruction, the shattered dwellings, the common folk with blood-stained linen wrapping their arms and legs, the smoking ruins of the fine public buildings. His eyes returned to the uninjured kings and the prince, accusation written on his face. St'énelo met his gaze, equally disgusted, but the chariot master said nothing. The younger man could not keep silent. "Why did you not fight? How could you just stand by and let those foreign dogs sack the fortress of a fellow Ak'áyan?"

  Odushéyu's only answer was to spit, narrowly missing the qasiléyu's foot. Néstor airily ignored the young man. But Antílok'o stepped forward to shake a fist in Diwoméde's face. "Defer to your betters, Argive. Have you no manners? This is not a troop assembly. Kings are talking here."

  But Meneláwo glowered at his royal guests and repeated through clenched teeth, "Yes, tell me why you did not fight. Why have you betrayed me?"

  Deaf to the qasiléyu, Néstor was stung by the question from the wánaks. "I do not care for the implications of these words, Meneláwo. We Mesheníyans are neither cowards nor traitors. No, my son and I had a very good reason for not taking up arms to defend your city, one that any truly high-born Ak'áyan knows. It was a festival night, a holy time, if you remember. The gods are angered by the shedding of blood at a feast. You know there is no greater outrage. If it had not been for that…"

  "Exactly," Odushéyu interrupted, wounded by the accusation. "No man, no matter how brave and strong, can go against the gods."

  "The festival ended at dawn," Meneláwo pointed out, with rising fury. "If you could not fight in the dark, why did you not go after the pirates when the sun came up?"

  "We could not sail," Odushéyu noted, with some irritation. Antílok'o's head bobbed up and down over the burly man's shoulder. "I had ships in the harbor, of course, but I could not get to them. Paqúr's men destroyed all the boats on shore but their own. We heard that Néstor's vessel is no longer sea-worthy. No one has betrayed you, Meneláwo, least of all me! How could you accuse me of such a thing? I am your own kinsman. Our wives are cousins, are they
not? And while Néstor may have taken a few Lakedaimóniyan cattle over the border, in his time, have I not always been your closest friend?"

  Diwoméde could not resist joining the argument. "If impious deeds anger the gods, then Díwo's anger would fall heaviest on Assúwa. You should have taken up spears and swords despite the festival. And since when is Ak'áiwiya's best mariner unable to swim to his ship? Answer that!"

  "Ai gar, I know the true reason you held back," Meneláwo growled, his voice low and menacing. "Assúwa is part of the Náshiyan empire and you are afraid of that power. But where are my brothers-in-law? Where are Kástor and Poludéyuke? They surely did not hide behind such flimsy excuses."

  "They are lost at sea," came the quiet answer, from St'énelo.

  Meneláwo was stricken once more, turning around with his eyes squeezed shut, roaring in impotent rage, "No, no!"

  The little girl in his arms gave her pent-up cries sudden release. She wound her fingers in her father's abundant chest hair and began to scream wildly, sobbing, "Mamma! Mamma!"

  Meneláwo paced about, cursing Paqúr and the Sqámandro River with him, clinging more tightly to his increasingly frenzied daughter.

  Néstor and Antílok'o began to back away from an ever more hostile crowd and Odushéyu moved to go with them. Diwoméde cursed after them, "To 'Aidé with all Assúwans and Ak'áyan cowards! If only Odushéyu had gone with them, Kástor and Poludéyuke might have lived."

  Néstor and his son quickly abandoned the It'ákan island king, seeing him becoming the focus of Lakedaimóniyan anger. The mariner, trying to defend himself, shouted over the tumult, "There was nothing I could do! Paqúr's longboats were pirate vessels with three rows of oarsmen. They could sail circles around that great, heavy merchant ship of Kástor's. Idé, we do not really know whether Lakedaimón's princes are lost at sea or captured. They could still be alive. There is still a chance we might ransom them."

  "If they are dead, that is the best fate to be hoped for," the young qasiléyu retorted, as angry as ever. "No high-born man wants to live in slavery."

  Odushéyu laughed without humor. "Let me put a blade to your neck and we will see whether you still feel so strongly."

  aaa

  "So tell me again, Meneláwo, why did you leave your wife undefended?" the wánaks of Argo asked three weeks later. He sat at ease on his ivory throne, painted frescoes on the walls behind and beside him, showing the gifts he had received from vassals and emissaries all about the Inner Sea. Standing beside the Argive king was his wife, the horizontal stripes of her flounced skirt accentuating her broad hips. Lips trembling, she placed a hand, decked with many rings, on her bare breast.

  Meneláwo, on the edge of a chair at his brother's knees, tore at his stringy, unwashed hair. "But, Agamémnon, who would have expected an attack during a festival?" His eyes were red and rimmed with dark circles from lack of sleep, his beard and mustache uncombed.

  The wánaks of Argo snorted impatiently and ran his fingers through his own glossy locks just beginning to gray at the temples. With methodical calm, he adjusted the sheepskins cushioning his throne. "What sacker of cities worries about the calendar of feasts?"

  "But brother," Meneláwo pleaded, "who would have thought that an enemy would attack at the beginning of autumn? The summer war season was completely over. Ai, that is why it took me so long to reach Argo. After the loss of our princes at sea, my men did not want to risk Poseidáon's storms. We had to come by land. Even Odushéyu would never start a war so early in the year."

  "No? Are you sure?" Agamémnon was unconvinced. "You say he is not to blame. But it was Odushéyu who claimed the attackers were Assúwan, was it not? I would not take his word on it. The man may be our kinsman by marriage, but you cannot trust him any more than you can toss a bull by the horns."

  "My own people assure me it was the Wilúsiyan stranger who did this. Ai, it is an atrocity that the goddess herself will surely avenge!" Meneláwo turned to Klutaimnéstra for confirmation. She nodded, silently lifting her hand from breast to forehead and to sky in salute to the deity.

  But Agamémnon only shook his head, smiling without humor. "Then let Diwiyána herself handle it. Why come to me?"

  The Lakedaimóniyan king groaned in frustration. "You are the most powerful of all the wánaktes of Ak'áiwiya. You have to help me!" Seeing no softening in the bigger man's face, he knelt before the Argive king, his back to the wide central hearth of the mégaron. Raising a hand toward his brother's bearded chin, Meneláwo begged, "Help me, Agamémnon. It is not just a king and an ally who asks you this. It is your own kinsman, your younger brother. I must get Ariyádna back."

  "Get off the floor, Meneláwo," Agamémnon growled. "Do not shame yourself by groveling." But the lesser king stayed where he was, turning blood-shot eyes to his sister-in-law.

  Beside the wánaks, the unhappy queen pushed at her husband's shoulder. "Listen to him, husband," the wánasha urged, in a low voice. "He has humbled himself enough to move a god to pity. You cannot abandon my sister." Her heavy arms shook and breath came harshly through her red-painted lips.

  The wánaks ignored his wife. "I am not unsympathetic, brother," said Agamémnon, his voice not at all sympathetic. "But I have other commitments. Just last month, I sent a third of my warriors north to T'eshalíya. Old Péleyu has been having trouble keeping the wild, Párpariyan tribesmen from coming over the mountains and raiding his lands. Ai, Meneláwo, it is completely unnecessary to humiliate yourself by begging this way. You can remain on the Lakedaimóniyan throne without Ariyádna. Her sister has Argo's gods to keep her busy, her brothers are dead, I understand, and they left no daughters behind. I will support you if Odushéyu tries to take advantage of this situation. Do not worry about your position. All you need is a change of title. Instead of being wánaks, you are now the regent for little 'Ermiyóna."

  "Agamémnon!" the wánasha cried. "How can you be so heartless? Ariyádna is my closest kin. You cannot leave her in Assúwan captivity. I will not hear of it." Meneláwo looked hopefully from the Argive queen to her husband. He remained on his knees, but let his hand drop.

  The Argive wánaks roughly shoved his wife's hand from his robed shoulder. "I am expecting an attack any day from Kep'túr, as well, woman." To his brother, he explained, "I had to execute one of Idómeneyu's qasiléyus last year. Caught the man sleeping with my oldest daughter, you see. There was nothing else I could do."

  "You could have married her to the man," Klutaimnéstra hissed. "Ip'emédeya was quite willing." Her face and breasts reddened as she spoke.

  "But I was not. Klutaimnéstra, I have told you many times that my daughters will marry foreign kings, not petty local qasiléyus!" Agamémnon roared, his mustache bristling.

  "Since when have Assúwan kings asked for Ak'áyan wives?" Klutaimnéstra shouted back, clapping her hands to her head. Strings of colored, stone beads, entwined in her long hair, clattered together at her gesture. "When no foreigners will have our children, is it your will that they die unmarried?"

  "Keep out of this, woman! I rule in Argo, not you," Agamémnon shouted, his face purple with rage. He rose to his feet, balling his fists. The scarlet robe dropped from his shoulders as he stood, revealing broad shoulders and powerful arms. Standing, he was a head taller than his stocky queen. "I have blackened your eyes before, Klutaimnéstra. I will do it again if I have to. Now be still or leave my mégaron."

  "Agamémnon!" Meneláwo called out in alarm. He stood, hands up to calm the bigger man and prevent him from striking the wánasha. "I had no intention of causing strife in your household. But if a man cannot call on his own kinsman for help, what hope is there? We are brothers, tied by blood on both mother’s and father's sides. We are brothers-in-law, too, married to sisters. No man is closer kin to me. Who else would I turn to?"

  With a last, hard look at his queen, Agamémnon turned to his brother and growled, "You have not been listening, Meneláwo. I have other responsibilities. As if that were not enough, there is always
the problem of the Náshiyan emperor. I may seem wealthy to you, but Qáttushli has still more men and bronze. To counter such a powerful ruler, I would have to send every available Argive and all my allies. Even that would probably not be enough. If I were defeated, I would lose everything. We might end up as dark shades in 'Aidé, Meneláwo. Have you considered that? Then you would still be without your wife. Even if I survived, the people would not allow me to return to the throne if I had led their army to disaster."

  Klutaimnéstra bit her lip to keep from speaking out. At her husband's words, her hand rose to her mouth. With intense interest, she listened, her eyes glued to Agamémnon's face.

  "But we would not necessarily be facing the whole Náshiyan empire," Meneláwo protested. "It was not a Náshiyan who attacked me, but a Wilúsiyan, a vassal prince. Ai, think of this, Agamémnon. Think of how long it takes for a message to come to you by sea, from northern T'eshalíya or Wórdo far in the east, or even Mesheníya. Depending on the weather, a war may begin and end in any of these distant allies' lands and you do not hear about it until it is over. Now, Náshiya's capital is far inland, surrounded by mountains. Messages come to the emperor over roads, not rivers, so they must take at least twice as long to arrive. If we send a large force to Wilúsiya as soon as the weather permits, there will be time for a quick campaign before the emperor can send the bulk of his army against us. It has been done before. How else could our grandfather have taken Millewánda? That is a bigger, more powerful city than any in Wilúsiya. Odushéyu tells me that he has seen the capital of Wilúsiya and this Tróya is not even as large as your fortress at Tíruns."