Golden Mukenai (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  Klutaimnéstra sat up as well and took a lock of her husband's shoulder-length hair in her hand. Twisting the dark strands about her fingers, she spoke more forcefully. "Are you saying that you cannot make war in Assúwa? Ai, my husband, I say that you must. If you do not strike back at these godless Wilúsiyans, no woman in all of Ak'áiwiya is safe. Every wánasha is surely pressing her husband on this very same issue. If you do nothing, every barbarian vassal in the Náshiyan empire will believe he can raid our lands with impunity. Ariyádna must be restored to her people and this crime avenged. Surely you can see that every honorable man simply must fight in defense of womanhood. What better cause do Ak'áyans need to go to war? What better man is there than you to rally all of Ak'áiwiya to such a noble cause?"

  "If all of Ak'áiwiya can be brought together by anyone, it will be by me. That is true enough," Agamémnon agreed. He rubbed at his full beard. "Still, it would be no simple task to bring all the wánaktes together. The Mesheníyans are quarrelling with Kep'túr again. Each charges that the other has interfered with the copper trade with Alásiya. Besides, Odushéyu raids his weaker neighbors every summer. So, Enwáli's king will demand that It'áka be dealt with, before he joins me for any purpose."

  "Husband," the queen chided gently. "These are minor issues, easily settled. Take over the copper trade yourself. Argo should have first choice of the metal in any case, as befits our higher standing. Mesheníya and Kep'túr will then make peace by necessity. Neither land could stand against you, my dear man. If little It'áka is a problem, you must simply make wánaks Odushéyu come with you. Then the Enwáliyans will not be afraid to leave their fields undefended."

  Agamémnon's bushy eyebrows rose. "An interesting proposal," he observed, smoothing his mustache. "But even if I manage to bring everyone together, consider who we would be facing."

  "Wilúsiya," Klutaimnéstra said easily, "a country rich in horses. But you have horses, too."

  "Ai, Wilúsiya's king has a good deal more than that," Agamémnon grunted, growing impatient. "Alakshándu is a vassal of the Náshiyan emperor. Even united, Ak'áiwiya is still no match for Qáttushli's great army."

  Klutaimnéstra's eyes brimmed and she laid her head on her husband's shoulder, looking up at him beseechingly. "But you promised me, you swore by 'Estiwáya," she whimpered. "I cannot bear to think of my poor sister as a barbarian's slave."

  Agamémnon spat on the floor and pushed his wife away. "Save your tears, Klutaimnéstra. I will not be trapped by a woman's tricks. You ask too much. I have already done what I could. I sent a qasiléyu and twenty men with Meneláwo."

  Klutaimnéstra wiped away her tears. "Twenty old men and a shepherd boy to lead them," she scoffed. "Ai, you gave Meneláwo a coward's answer! You, the great wánaks of rich and powerful Argo, are afraid to meet the Wilúsiyans, yes afraid! And yet you suggest to me that your poor, little brother can accomplish something with his impoverished Lakedaimóniyans?"

  "I am no coward!" Agamémnon roared, standing abruptly. "I am just being realistic." He looked about, seeking his clothing, and began to dress.

  "Realistic?" Klutaimnéstra cried, standing beside him, her bodice her only garment. "How realistic is it to let a Náshiyan vassal attack our lands unchallenged? What will the rest of Qáttushli's little princes do if you let this crime go unpunished? Will they be content with one queen and a taste of Lakedaimón's measly treasures? Ai, that will only whet their appetites. They will never be content to leave rich Argo alone after that taste!"

  "That is enough from you," Agamémnon growled unhappily, wrapping his heavy robe about his broad shoulders. He did not meet the wánasha's angry glare. Nor did he argue.

  But the wánasha was not finished. She retrieved her full skirt from the floor and shook it at the king before wrapping it around her waist. "Will the Náshiyans stay on their side of the Inner Sea because you are too realistic to face them? Is that what you believe? I tell you, Agamémnon, Qáttushli will take heart from this success and stage a full-scale invasion of Ak'áiwiya next summer." Her hands on her hips, her voice louder at every phrase, the queen cut to the heart of the king's fears. "When that invasion comes, whose name will Ak'áiwiya curse? Yours, my husband, the Ak'áyans will curse your name!"

  The wánaks turned to face her, his eyes troubled. "Woman, you are imagining things that will never be!" he cried, without conviction.

  "Are you sure of that?" Klutaimnéstra asked in a fury. "When have the Náshiyans been content with their frontiers? Was it not in your grandfather's day that the Náshiyans fought the greatest empire of that time? Mízriya and Náshiya clashed in the land of Kanaqán. They fought for possession of those cities of wealthy purple-dyers. Qáttushli surely remembers his people's victory there, even if you do not. Now that the far east is in Qáttushli's hands, why would he not turn to the west and come for the riches of Ak'áiwiya?"

  Agamémnon clapped his hands to his head. "All right, all right, I see your point, woman. But if the Náshiyan army could gain victory over great Mízriya, what can you expect me to do? I am no great king, despite what I have you write in my letters."

  Klutaimnéstra took a deep breath and spoke with icy calm. "I have thought about this a great deal. My answer is not simple. Sit and I will explain to you how Ariyádna can be restored to her homeland. Begin with the southern Ak'áyans. Invite the wánaks Néstor to come here from Mesheníya. He is the second most powerful ruler in Ak'áiwiya and he is older than you by at least ten years, so he is widely respected. You will need his support in any alliance. You may obtain that easily enough. All you have to do is hint that our daughters might wish to marry his sons. If he still does not trust you, promise that our son will wed his daughter in turn. He will gladly swear his allegiance then. It goes without saying that Meneláwo will be part of this alliance. He already said that Idómeneyu had pledged his support, too, did he not? So, with Argo, Mesheníya, Kep'túr, and Lakedaimón allied, it will be a simple matter to pressure the smaller southern kingdoms to join you, if they should be foolish enough to resist. When Arkadíya and Enwáli join you, the whole of the southern peninsula will be at your command. Or, if Idómeneyu forgets his friendship with your brother and insists on making war, he will be defeated quickly. It should not take more than two months at the very most to unite all the Zeyugelátes."

  The wánaks stared at his wife in open-mouthed amazement. "I believe I could do this," he agreed. "You are right that Enwáli will not resist if the It'ákans cannot stay behind to raid them. Odushéyu will not object to joining me, either. He is always eager for a campaign."

  "That pirate will give you precious little aid, though," Klutaimnéstra snapped contemptuously. "What kind of a kingdom is It'áka? That island is no bigger than Meneláwo's little 'Elléniya. There are more rocks on it than there are stalks of grain. It is scarcely credible that it was not taken over by the Mesheníyans long ago."

  The king laughed. "Do not forget that Néstor's capital at Púlo has no walls. The old man relies on the sea and diplomacy to protect him. But Odushéyu has no respect for the rules of diplomacy and the sea is no barrier to a master mariner. Far from endangering Odushéyu, old Néstor can barely hold him at bay."

  "Enough of Odushéyu," the wánasha snapped impatiently. "It is Kep'túr that you must think about."

  The king smiled warmly. "That is no problem. Not really. I told Meneláwo that I was expecting war with the big island. But Idómeneyu is a reasonable man. He has wisely accepted the blood-payment I offered for his man's death. He will prove to be a most valuable ally, too. His army is exceptionally well-trained. There are some advantages to keeping a non-Ak'áyan people under the yoke and fighting your neighbors years after year. It forces a man's army to remain in top condition."

  Klutaimnéstra nodded approvingly. "Still, husband, even with all the Zeyugelátes behind you, the Náshiyan empire is more than your match. Have you no allies elsewhere?"

  "I can count on some of the eastern islands, too," Agamémnon murmurred, fingeri
ng his moustache thoughtfully. "Wórdo would have to send a few ships, at least. They owe me for protecting them from Lúkiya."

  Klutaimnéstra dismissed that with a wave of her hand. "I was not thinking of the east. You must find a way to bring in the north, my husband. "With the P'ilístas on your side as well, you would head a force to match any army in the world."

  Agamémnon's eyes widened. "The north! What are you saying? You asked me when the Náshiyans have been content with their frontiers. I ask you in turn, when have the P'ilístas united for any cause? Ai, those feather-capped wolves would freely hand their lands over to Qáttushli before they would so much as eat at the same hearth with each other, much less with me!"

  "Then this must be changed," his wife shot back. "You have told me often enough how your father faced the same problem here in the south. Now you can draw on his life's work and pull the south together easily. Are you not Atréyu's true son? What he did in the south, you must do with the north, if not for my sister's sake, then for our son. Yes, I know that you intend for him to rule after you. Now, I am not as bound to tradition as you imagine. Think of it, Agamémnon. Handle this campaign properly and our little Orésta may one day rule a veritable Ak'áyan empire."

  The king was overwhelmed. He sank back against his throne. "Such a feat would indeed be worthy of a Great King," he whispered.

  "Indeed," repeated the wánasha. She leaned forward until her cheek nearly brushed her husband's. "Generations will remember Agamémnon and revere him. Argo will erect a magnificent monument in your honor, a funeral mound higher than any peak but Aígina's holy mountain, home of the gods. Ai, your tomb may one day be as revered as the grave circle of your illustrious ancestors. At Mukénai's gate, men will salute the memory of Atréyu's son, second only to 'Erakléwe, son of the Dove goddess 'Éra!"

  The wánaks gazed into the shrouded future, entranced by the picture his wife described. He shook himself free of her spell with some difficulty. "But, unite the north?" he asked, rubbing his forehead, "even clever, old Néstor would have trouble with that. The P'ilístas are hardly worthy of the name of Ak'áyans. I would rather deal with the barbarian tribes of T'ráki, than with the kings of Attika and T'eshalíya."

  "P'ilístas are sons of Mother Diwiyána just as we are," Klutaimnéstra decreed with deadly solemnity. "No man can bear it when his wife accuses him of cowardice. This is as true of the P'ilístas as it is of Zeyugelátes. You can believe me when I say that my northern cousins are urging their husbands to join you. Ai, only a coward would do nothing after Wilúsiya's unholy act."

  "I will certainly consider your proposal, Klutaimnéstra," Agamémnon said, still awed at the thought. "I will send for Néstor, just as you suggest. Yes, yes, woman, I will keep my promise to you and bring your sister back to Ak'áiwiya." He began to laugh. "Why did I not think of this before? This is the perfect opportunity to increase my power. If the P'ilístas were to unite against me, they would be a formidable enemy. But none trusts his neighbor and I can use that very distrust as my weapon. I will pressure each wánaks from without, as his wife acts as my unwitting ally within. By all the gods and goddesses, it will be a fine army indeed that I lead from golden Mukénai!"

  "You will take Tróya easily," Klutaimnéstra pronounced. "I am a true priestess and I have listened to Diwiyána's hidden words. Her sacred geese have given me omens. She is with you. You cannot fail."

  The wánaks snorted, unimpressed. "Save the bird stories for your daughters, Klutaimnéstra."

  "Blasphemy," whispered the wánasha. But she bit her lip and said no more aloud. With a grim smile, she straightened her skirt, and dipped the king's cup in the wine bowl.

  Agamémnon accepted the drink and swallowed thirstily. "Yes, I believe I can do it," he mused, speaking more to himself than to her. "Next summer I will sack Tróya and take back Lakedaimón's stolen treasures. It should not take long, not with such an army as I will have. Wilúsiya could be mine before the month of sailing ends. But there is no need for it to end there. No, Tróya is only the beginning. My father wrested a foothold on the coast of Assúwa, before he died. Millewánda has sent me tribute every year since I took the throne. With Millewánda as my southeastern outpost and Tróya on the northeast, I should be able to wrest half the Assúwan coast from Qáttushli before the summer ends." He laughed heartily. "Ai, Klutaimnéstra, you had no idea what you were starting when you came to me tonight!"

  "No idea at all," said the wánasha, with pretended innocence. "My fine husband, you have pleased me. To show you my gratitude, I will locate for you an honest seer, one who can read both the flight of birds and the secrets that the gods reveal in the entrails of sacrificial goats and cattle. Lakedaimón's priestesses are experts in these matters, as all Ak'áyans well know. I will send you Qálki, a prophet of great renown. He lives at Put'ó in Qoyotíya, and that is where you must go to organize your great army. Qálki has sent tablets already to all the priestess-queens of Ak'áiwiya, so his fame is unparalleled for a seer. His messages speak of a great wánaks who, legends say, will rise and unite Ak'áiwiya for the glory of the gods. It is the same prophecy as that of 'Elléniya's sacred disk. You may not know this, but it was foretold, centuries ago, that a Great King would come to Qoyotíya one day, a warrior descended from the famous 'Erakléwe himself. This wánaks is destined to destroy the old order and begin the world anew. It is the will of the Bee goddess, the will of the Divine Bull."

  "Do as you will about the seer," Agamémnon said lightly. "Men like to hear that sort of thing. As for myself, I have no interest in the plans of cattle and insects, even if they are immortal. But Qoyotíya has a good harbor. Yes, I will sail north next spring and assemble the Ak'áyan fleet at Aúli."

  aaa

  On Wilúsiya's plain, Ak'áyan warriors died bloody deaths, limbs cut from bodies by slashing swords, bellies opened and intestines spilled by thrusting spears. The hooves of heavy Wilúsiyan horses crushed Ak'áyan heads. Brave cries of "Díwo!" died on Ak'áyan lips while ever louder cries of "Poseidáon!" rose from the Assúwan side. Away from Tróya's pale walls, the battle moved inexorably, pressing always toward the Sqámandro's banks, Tróyans pushing ever onward, Ak'áyans giving way, stride by stride.

  Diwoméde thrust his spear through ox-hide and into flesh, drawing blood with the first blow. But with the bronze point embedded in his first victim's ribs, he was forced backward by the dead man's kinsmen. He drew his bronze sword and soon lost the weapon in the same way. Then, unarmed but for a small dagger, he could do nothing but retreat, cowering behind the shield on his left arm. Sharp spearheads stabbed the air about him. A bronze blade tore across his undefended thigh and he cried out, unable to hear his own voice in the din. Out of the corner of one eye, he could see Odushéyu battling desperately for life. The young man knew he could expect no help. With the sun burning down, and the dusty air scorching the fighters' lungs, the youthful qasiléyu turned his back to Tróya's walls. His shield flung hastily over his shoulder, Diwoméde raced back toward the palisade and the boats behind it. On his every side, Argives and It'ákans almost immediately did the same. Even Odushéyu soon dropped his battered shield and ran for the shoreline camp.

  Once his allies' men broke ranks, Meneláwo could not halt the Wilúsiyan advance. He and his Lakedaimóniyans joined those fleeing for the encampment and the retreat became a rout. Undefended backs provided easy targets for the well-armed Tróyans. Half the Ak'áyan contingent was cut down in flight. Spears drove easily between bare shoulder blades and runners died with their faces in the dirt. Back to the tents and their protecting fence the Ak'áyans ran, fear overriding shame. Over the wooden stakes they scrambled, making for the boats that would carry them back to their ships.

  With unaccustomed strength, frantic hands righted the small boats, tossed the oars inside, and carried the light vessels out to the shore of the Inner Sea. Many of those who survived the retreat died on the beach or in the shallow water, as Tróyans cut them down without resistance. Qántili led Wilúsiya's s
oldiers in their attack, reddening the foam at the water's edge, while Ainyáh raced back to the city in his chariot, seeking torches. Before the slaughter on the beach was done, the leader of Tróya's mercenaries had returned and his men quickly set the palisade and the tents on fire. Only three boats survived the flames to reach the deeper water of the bay, for the Tróyans pressed around the others, pulling rowers into the salty waves, hacking holes in the wooden hulls to sink the vessels, or putting them to the torch.

  Ainyáh had to wrap his arms round Qántili's chest to keep the frenzied warrior from swimming after the remaining Ak'áyans. "Let them go, Qántili!" Ainyáh shouted in the younger man's ear. "Let one ship return to Ak'áiwiya to carry the news of this defeat."

  Qántili's blood was hot with battle-fever and he would have struck down his brother-in-law. But Tróyans and Kanaqániyan mercenaries caught the prince's arms and legs and splashed water in his face, calling him back to himself. Before Qántili's ardor had cooled, a single Ak'áyan ship had raised its stone anchors and escaped to the safety of the open sea.

  On board the fleeing vessel, Ak'áyan warriors plied the oars with fear-strengthened arms. Odushéyu manned the steering oar and Meneláwo stood shuddering beside him on the stern platform, clinging to the beaked upright. "Row faster!" Odushéyu shouted to the oarsmen. "They will soon be coming after us."