by Diana Gainer
'Iqodámeya whimpered, as dreams of war disturbed her rest. The sound roused the wánaks with a start. He recalled where he was, knew again who it was who lay on the earth close by. Tears brimmed, unseen, in the dark and spilled over the fine lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. "Ai, t'ugátriyon," he whispered, "what have I done to you, little daughter?"
aaa
In the morning, the overlord sent Diwoméde to gather the lawagétas to another assembly at his fireside. Perplexed wánaktes and qasiléyus came, noting quietly to each other that the brother kings of Argo and Lakedaimón seemed confident and at peace that morning. "Agamémnon must have a plan," Odushéyu suggested, eager to hear what it might be. The same thought left Qálki and Néstor trailing the other troop leaders, filled with anxiety.
When all were gathered in a circle before the great tent, Agamémnon raised a gold-plated scepter. Staring out with enameled eyes, two gold hawks perched atop the regal staff. "I have had a dream," the Argive king announced.
Qálki gasped. "Is the high wánaks a prophet?" he demanded, scandalized.
"Díwo sends dreams to all men," Meneláwo growled. The assembled lawagétas agreed. This was a sign from the gods, as sure as any.
Agamémnon waited for the voices to die down before he continued. "The daughters of Díwo came to me in my sleep last night. They promised me victory over Wilúsiya, placing the hand of a Tróyan princess in mine."
Beads of sweat appeared on Qálki's brow, despite the cool morning air. "If the overlord speaks the truth, all is well. But if he lies, Díwo will take revenge, not only on Agamémnon, but on all those who follow him."
Néstor came forward to take the speaker's staff, before Agamémnon's anger found speech. "If anyone else claimed to have had such a dream, I would not have believed it," the gray-haired king said. He stared long and hard at the overlord. Agamémnon looked back without blinking or turning away. Néstor continued. "But the man who had this portentous dream is Agamémnon, wánaks of Argo and commander of this expedition. His word is as firm as stone. I accept this omen as the truth. We will take Tróya. I believe that."
Meneláwo took his turn, shouldering Qálki aside from the scepter they were using as their speaking staff that day. "The gods do not side with one man forever. If we do not take advantage of this moment and begin the battle, Díwo's favor will turn from us and we will not succeed. We must act immediately. Are you with me?"
The lawagétas roared their approval with the ululating war cry, Odushéyu's voice soaring over the rest. P'ilístas and Zeyugelátes, men of north and south, saluted the overlord, their hands touching their chests and foreheads, then raised them to the sky. Qálki could only open and close his mouth silently and wring his hands. Agamémnon had outmaneuvered him.
The overlord took back the golden staff and raised it to command silence. "Men of Ak'áiwiya's royal houses," he called out, "high-born sons of Diwiyána, I have a plan. A large force has gathered against us. The coming battle will not be easy. We must test the men to find out whether they have sufficient courage to meet Wilúsiya and its allies. I will call a full assembly of all the warriors and suggest we sail for home. If you are men of areté, you will turn your soldiers from this idea and we will prepare to do battle."
"What?" Meneláwo demanded, surprised and angry. But his voice was drowned out by the warlike cheers of the troop leaders agreeing to follow their overlord's design.
CHAPTER EIGHT
T'ERSITE
As the troop leaders left the overlord's fireside, Meneláwo said to his brother, "You had better hope that the men pass this test of yours. If they set sail, I will consider you an oath-breaker. You may not fear the anger of our dead kinsmen or Díwo's thunderbolt. But I will make you feel my wrath, by 'Estiwáya!"
Agamémnon's lips twisted in a mirthless smile. "Ai, Meneláwo, you have a mind like an ox hoof. I have thought of everything. You will see. If the men leave, I have only to recall this day of oath-breaking and shame, and they will come together again under my command. But if the men do not sail, and I do not expect them to, I can goad them into attacking quickly, despite Qálki's endless bad omens. Tróya may still be taken this year, despite all our bad fortunes. Just watch and see."
The Lakedaimóniyan king clenched his fists. "I hope you are not lying, Agamémnon. If you betray me, I will reveal what really happened at Aúli. Then all Ak'áiwiya will turn against you." But his brother pretended not to hear in the tumult, as each lawagéta summoned the troops he had brought, cupping his hands to his mouth and giving the ululating battle cry, "Alalá!" From huts and tents, from shore and firesides, men of all ranks gathered, just beyond the rampart, arrayed in groups by nation. Only the T'eshalíyans ignored the call.
"T'érsite," called St'énelo, as they passed Ak'illéyu's unresponsive camp. "What is going to happen? Does this mean that we will soon be going home?"
"How should I know?" T'érsite responded. "Am I a seer? Agamémnon does not confide in his foot-soldiers."
The Argive king stood on the camp's earthen wall to address the men, shouting out the message of his dream. "My followers, brother Ak'áyans, sons of Diwiyána, I have been betrayed by that cruel god, Díwo. He promised me Tróya in the omens at Aúli. But now, he tells me that I must go home and leave the city untouched. You know that we outnumber the Wilúsiyan soldiers. But they have allies from all the Assúwan lands from as Míra in the north and as far south as Lúkiya. They are just too many. All these months, our homes have gone undefended. Our wives and children are unprotected. We must return to them while we still have ships to sail. Let us return to Ak'áiwiya." He raised his arms, the scepter in his right hand, as he ended the last phrase.
Meneláwo was ready to take the speaker's staff from his brother. But before a single lawagéta could take his turn at speech, the men were on the move. Without further urging or discussion, they rushed back into the camp, slowed only by the narrowness of the unfinished rampart gate. They whooped for joy, clapping each other on the back. Their paltry belongings taken from the huts, tents quickly taken down, they righted the small boats that would ferry them to the anchored ships in the harbor.
Qálki cried out against the withdrawal. "Come back! Your victory was foretold at Aúli!" he shouted. But the troops ignored him. Meneláwo, too, tried to stop the stream of men. He dashed into their midst, roaring in protest. His voice was drowned out by the tumult of happy voices and thudding feet.
Odushéyu was one of the few that were not in that first stampede for the boats. "Have the maináds caught you?" he cried out to his fleeing It'ákans. "Where are you going? Come back!" One of his fellow countrymen passed the lesser wánaks and Odushéyu caught the man's arm, dragging him backward. "This is our one great chance for glory and wealth. It'áka is a small kingdom, too poor even to feed us all. We cannot leave now."
For a moment, his man stared at the anguished disappointment in Odushéyu's face, hesitating. "B-but if Agamémnon himself w-wants to go home…" the man stammered.
Odushéyu struck the low-ranked It'ákan hard on the chin, knocking him to the ground. Running after the rest of his fleeing men, the island ruler shouted, "The overlord is only testing you! It'ákans, come back to the assembly. Listen to me. Only cowards desert the field!"
The narrowness of the camp's gate served to slow the crowd. The men dragging or carrying boats were unable to push through the opening against the continuing flow of those entering through the same space. At the back of the crowd that sought to enter the encampment, several men hesitated at the words of the It'ákan king. They stopped pressing forward and stood, looking around at each other, uncertain what to do next. Meneláwo fought his way to the gate and, with his dagger drawn, prevented those in the camp from carrying out the ferry boats. The other lawagétas also called on their men, with insults and with bribes.
"Are you cowards? Are you women?" Aíwaks demanded at the top of his lungs.
"We swore to take Tróya," Diwoméde reminded them. "Does your word mean not
hing?"
Idómeneyu warned his followers, "We all took sacred oaths. If you break your vow, the spirits of your ancestors will rise from 'Aidé to torment you."
Gradually, all movement ceased. The tide had turned. Each man considered his own lawagétas' words and, fearing royal anger or the wrath of ghostly kinsmen, gave up the effort to set sail. Slowly, the men inside the rampart laid the boats down again. In small groups, those still outside the wall turned back toward the assembly ground, more subdued than before. The others followed.
On the top of the wall, Agamémnon waited, watching. He would not have been displeased to see a boat touch the water. A single one would have been enough, he knew. Once one was in the water, another would follow, and another. When the lawagétas saw their men heading toward the ships, even the qasiléyus and wánaktes would have been forced to leave, no matter how glory hungry. But it was just as well his troop leaders had managed to keep the men in Assúwa, he told himself. Tróya might yet be his.
The noise level fell as the troops returned to their places, watching the overlord. But one man clambered up on the wall to address the assembled troops. Without bronze, unclothed, he was a common foot-soldier. "Do not listen to the wánaktes," he roared. "Listen to your own hearts!"
"Get down, T'érsite," Odushéyu shouted, shouldering his way through the crowd. The It'ákan shook his fist. "You are no lawagéta. You lead no troops. Only the high-born have the right to speak to the assembly."
T'érsite stubbornly folded his arms across his broad chest and remained on the wall. "I may not command a fortress. But I am no mere islander, either. I am an Argive and I have the heart of a wolf. That is rank enough."
"There is no fear in him," St'énelo marveled to his neighbor, on the ground by T'érsite's feet.
Diwoméde nodded. "That man speaks to every wánaks as if he were one himself," the qasiléyu noted with reluctant admiration. "Agamémnon is the only man he fears and then only when the king has beaten him recently."
T'érsite turned to the high wánaks. "So this call to the ships was only a test, was it? Agamémnon, what is wrong with you? You have no reason to keep us here any longer. Your tent is full of bronze and you have the best of the captives to serve you. We foot-soldiers ought to know. We are the ones who handed these things over to you. It was we who fought and risked our lives. You have never fought in the front lines with us, but still you got the first and largest share of the booty when the fighting was over. Is that not enough for you?"
Diwoméde stared at his overlord with astonishment, as the Argive king stood calmly, his arms crossed, saying nothing. "Will the wánaks let him go on this way?" the qasiléyu wondered. Naked, short-haired men of low rank began murmuring their agreement all around T'érsite's feet, emboldened by the man's fearlessness.
"Yesterday Agamémnon shamed a king for speaking out and now he listens respectfully to a servant!" Idómeneyu marveled, throwing up his hands in exasperation.
The disgruntled Argive atop the wall waved his arms excitedly. "When Agamémnon wants more than his already over-large share, he takes a ransom from the kinsmen of a captive. But we foot soldiers are the ones who take these prisoners in battle, risking our lives to satisfy one man's greed. Agamémnon sends us to war to stock his bed with young women and his storerooms with bronze, not for the sake of honor. Men of Ak'áiwiya, are you frightened deer? Do you want to see your wives and children starve because you are not there to plant this year's crops? Remember Ak'illéyu. He proved himself a champion on the islands. But what was his reward? Agamémnon confiscated his woman and left him with nothing. I say we go home and leave the overlord here to rot with his treasures and his captives. He will know our value when he loses us."
The troops rumbled with dissatisfaction. Even Aíwaks, towering above all the others, called out, "I agree with T'érsite. I have handed over more than my share of bronze. We qasiléyus have more in common with the men than with Agamémnon and his fellow kings."
Diwoméde stepped forward, glaring harshly at the tall officer. "We have all given up things we would have preferred to keep. But each qasiléyu takes from his own men in the same way. That is the custom. That is our law."
Odushéyu climbed the wall at T'érsite's side. The It'ákan shoved the foot-soldier, trying to knock him to the ground. "Old woman! Windbag! What is all this talk of captives and of treasures taken? You are the worst soldier here."
T'érsite was undaunted. "I may not be a champion…"
Aíwaks burst into raucous laughter at that, his grievances quickly forgotten. "Ai gar, the only captive you took was a Tróyan laundry maid. The only wound you received was that little mark on your thumb where she bit you." There were scattered, nervous laughs from the other foot-soldiers.
Loudly Antílok'o added, "You felt so bad about abducting the girl that you gave her to Mak'áwon. He has no use for women. He only loves boys." More and louder laughs greeted the remark.
"Ai gar," grumbled the foot soldier on the wall. "But what about Ak'illéyu? Have you all forgotten him already?"
"Ak'illéyu is a P'ilísta," the youthful Antílok'o cried, though his father tried to caution him with a cuff on the chin.
"Listen to me, Ak'áyans," Odushéyu urged. "We are all brothers in the end. I will not try to stir up hatred among you. But do not abandon your oaths and your hopes of glory. Our overlord, Agamémnon, has had a dream. Do you hear? No man among you knows the will of the gods. But the daughters of Díwo have spoken to Agamémnon. They tell him that we will sack the fortress. Think of the golden treasures behind Tróya's walls, enough to enrich all of us. What are these little island pots and fillies you are quarreling about? Think of the undying glory you may yet win and the famed Wilúsiyan horses you may yet carry to your homes."
T'érsite bent his thick arms and rested his hands on his hips. "Think of the bronze you had to carry to Agamémnon's tent. Think of how he treated his best warrior."
"Your overlord took what was his, by right of his higher rank," Odushéyu countered. "We have heard this tired complaint before."
"Agamémnon did not take anything," T'érsite argued on. "Ak'illéyu let the woman go. If Ak'illéyu had put up a fight, Agamémnon would not be standing before us today."
The qasiléyus and wánaktes looked at each other in alarm at the rumbles of approval. The mass of foot soldiers began to move again toward the gate again.
Meneláwo leapt forward, a wild light flaming in his shadowed eyes. He barred the approach to the opening in the rampart, waving his dagger at those who approached him. "Take the field today, my brothers. We will sack Tróya by nightfall. Then we can go home with honor."
"And what if we do?" T'érsite loudly demanded. "What will we have to show for it but fewer limbs? Agamémnon will take all the loot."
Odushéyu pounced on the foot-soldier, kicking him in the ribs. With a cry of mingled surprise and pain, T'érsite toppled from the rampart, falling hard on the earth below. "Close your muzzle, dog!" the It'ákan wánaks shouted down at him. "Do not speak of your commander as if you were his equal, you coward! Do not curse your wánaks because the soldiers award him the war booty. That is his due, and let no man doubt that ever again. If I hear your voice raised unlawfully in any other assembly, I will drive you to my tent with my whip and sell you to the first Lámnayan merchant I see, to serve an Assúwan master as the donkey you are."
T'érsite stumbled away from the wall and scurried into the safety of the crowd without another word. Anxious troop leaders broke into laughter at the sight. St'énelo sighed. "It is never wise to anger those in power," he noted quietly to his fallen friend. In wordless agreement, the other men of lesser rank backed away from the gate where Meneláwo remained, his gleaming knife in his hand.
The Lakedaimóniyan king sheathed his dagger. "I understand your desire for home," he said, hoping to placate them all. "This has been a hard campaign, I will admit. We lost many to disease at the very beginning. But, consider this. If we leave now, all our suffering will h
ave been for nothing. I understand all too well the fears you feel for the wives and children you left behind. But we must hang on. We cannot go just yet. Think of what is really best for the ones you love. If you leave now, how long will it be before Wilúsiyan pirates fall upon your lands, too? If the Assúwans think that Ak'áiwiya is weak, all our shores will soon be crawling with Lúkiyan pirates. They will murder your brothers, carry off your little children for slaves, and rape your women." Meneláwo's voice cracked. He could not continue. His shoulders drooped and he gripped the hair at his forehead with an anguished fist.
The crowd listened silently to the Lakedaimóniyan king. With T'érsite now holding his tongue, no voice called any longer for departure. Diwoméde made his way to Meneláwo's side. Briefly resting a comforting hand on the Lakedaimóniyan's shoulder, the qasiléyu said, "Do not worry, wánaks Meneláwo. We will restore your queen to you. The high wánaks knows what he is doing. Watch and you will see. The men were already grumbling and thinking about home. Such thoughts made them weak. My father used to say that a wise commander builds rage in his men's hearts in order to create the courage they need for battle. Agamémnon's dream told him we must attack soon and he is goading his men to do just that."