Fummirrul, a sleek figure in black from his cap down to his mittens, was in the far corner of the enclosure with one of the new rams and several ewes. It might have been Trouble, but Dett wasn't quite sure. Fummirrul jumped with alarm when his father called his name.
"Why do you start so, my son? Are you up to some mischief?" asked Dett. "I have important news. Your great-uncle Tal—what is that stuff? What are you doing there? Have the wind demons swept all sense from your mind?"
Dett advanced purposefully on his son, who cowered beside the wall. At his feet was a large pile of seaweed, which Trouble and the ewes were munching. "When you told me these animals had a fondness for seaweed and even leaped the wall to get it, I took it as a joke. You children, when mere tots, would often unknowingly place yourselves in danger, trying to get something forbidden to you. So, I thought, it was with these sheep. Being ignorant creatures, they do not know any better. You, the shepherd, like a parent to a wayward child, would teach them the right way to behave.
"Now, in this time of troubles, I find you have abandoned your duty and have given in to the whims of these beasts, supplying them with what they crave. Likely they will all die, thanks to your foolishness! What made you think you could do this?" Dett did not often shout, but he did so now, frightening the sheep and sending a nearby flock of gan-nets flapping into the sky.
"Father, you gave me the idea!" Fummirrul blurted out. His face, like Dett's, was red with suppressed emotions, but he had ceased his trembling.
"I? I never said a word!"
"That day when you stopped by the pen with Uncle Mebaw, you said a man must do his best to cope with a dilemma. My dilemma was that the sheep kept eating seaweed on the shore. How could I deal with it? Building the wall higher would only stop them while they were in the enclosure, but they were constantly running off when I took them to the pastures, too. Tying them up didn't work—they chewed through every rope I tried. So I thought to ask Gefalal what they did with the sheep on her southern island. You remember, she and her brother, the boy that died on the boat trip, were shepherds to this very flock of bothersome sheep."
Dett blinked. Until this moment, he had forgotten his original purpose in coming to the pen. "Gefalal. Yes. What then?" "I'd talked to her before, Father. It's so interesting to know her people have many different words from our own. For instance, she calls the ocean—"
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"You stray from your story. Uncle Mebaw and the Mastersinger would scold you for rambling. What did she say of the sheep?"
Fummirrul rubbed the head of a nearly grown lamb as it butted him with affection. "It took a while to understand enough of her words. We learned more from each other when I brought her out to the pastures. She is very good with the sheep. Father, you will never guess what she told me! These southern sheep eat seaweed nearly all year long, save the summertime when the ewes are lambing. When the young lambs are a few months old, they too eat the seaweed. See this rascal here? He likes it as much as his father does." The lamb was now taking delicate nips of the seaweed at the boy's feet. Trouble, nearby, took far larger mouthfuls, as did the ewes that had ambled over, now that Dett had stopped shouting.
"At first, Father, I didn't know what to think. It seemed stupid. But then Klevey walked in your dream, and the Seaman appeared, too, with seaweed draped over his flipper." "And he left the seaweed after he vanished," said Dett, thinking hard. "Do you think he left it for us to feed the sheep?"
Fummirrul shrugged. "I am just a boy. I don't know much about interpreting dreams. But it seemed to make sense. So I used that—and Gefalal's advice—to convince myself that it was all right. Father, it must be all right! For the grasses have grown poorly and there is not enough grain for the village, let alone the flock, but there is still seaweed. The old sheep are starving, but I have lost but one of the new flock, and that a swaybacked lamb."
Dett didn't reply at first. Only minutes ago, he and Mebaw had been discussing the meaning of his dream. His brother thought he, Dett, would somehow help save the village from Klevey's destruction, and maybe he was right. Well, partly right. Dett did not see how he could be a savior when all he had done was fuss and fret. He was a confirmed worrier. Jolpibb used to tease him about it. But perhaps his cautious ways had saved lives.
Fummirrul, on the other hand . . . He had interpreted an elder's dream and taken action on it—a bold thing to do for a mere boy, but the interpretation could be a valid one. Dett's gaze passed from the weak older sheep to one of the new ones. Most were gray, but this was the brown ram, and he stared back with bright brown eyes. The brown was having his share of the ladies, too, Mebaw had said. The sheep's robust condition—and that they were intent on breeding—certainly seemed to vouch for the validity of the interpretation. Come spring, the Western Islanders who had lost their flocks would lack wool and mutton, but Dett's village would not.
"F-Father?" Fummirrul sounded anxious. "7s it all right?"
"Yes, I think so," Dett said. "I will talk to the council about it. Grandmother may be irked to realize that you may have interpreted an important dream more accurately than she or the Mastersinger did. My son, if you have a talent for such things, perhaps you will be Mastersinger after Uncle Mebaw."
Fummirrul wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I want to go to sea with Grandfather and the uncles. That is why I want to learn Gefalal's tongue. Then, if we go to the Great Island, I can speak to the people there, and trade for their things." He scratched the lamb's ears, looking wistful. "But, of course, someone else would have to watch the flock."
This intention surprised Dett only a little; Fummirrul was a restless spirit, not given to staying in one place, growing grain and gathering seabird eggs off the cliffs. Dett believed his son would do well as a fisherman-trader, especially if he made the effort to learn other people's tongues.
But that was all yet to come. "You have done well with the sheep, but when you are a man, some other clever youngster will take your place as shepherd." That youngster might have heen Orrul. Or the baby. "However, I fear you must wait some time before learning more of Gefalal's language. Great-Uncle Talloc has forbidden you to see her." When Fummirrul began to cry out in protest, Dett raised a restraining hand. "I do not agree with him, but as she is in his household, I cannot countermand his desires. He may change his mind, given time.
"Look. It is beginning to snow again. I will help you move the sheep into their barn, and then we will see what messes little Rarpibb has made for us, eh? That mutton stew last night was so tough, I thought she'd cooked her doll."
That won a sly grin from his son. "True, Father! Say, if I hid her doll and pretended to eat it, that would make her squeal indeed. May I play such a joke?"
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With that, Dett understood that Klevey's rampage had caused only some of Fummirrul's low spirits. The rest came from worrying about his feeding the sheep. "Indeed you may. It will be fine to hear her squeal again. I have sorely missed that sound."
The elders readily accepted Fummirrul's interpretation, once they had inspected the old and new sheep, and heard from Gefalal that the creatures did thrive on seaweed on the Great Island. Klevey and Lord Father Winter continued to torment the islands for another year. Illness took more lives during the second winter after the Day of Darkness; Glinaw, the Mastersinger, and even Grandmother Glin succumbed. The elders, however, took care that no one starved, carefully doling out precious mutton as needed. Talloc, in particular, readily shared what his depleted family would not need. It also helped that they were better prepared for Lord Father Winter's fury; everyone had plenty of warm woolen clothes and thick blankets.
As the community dwindled, new unions formed to take the place of the old. Dett married again, to Aip, the widowed sister of one of his brothers-in-law. Aip was a pleasant woman, not as lively as Jolpibb, but kind-hearted, with a young son who regarded Fummirrul with awe and eagerly helped with the sheep. Everyone rejoiced when the first warm spring days returned. Mebaw, now Mastersinger, san
g "The War Against Winter," and there was a feast at the Pit to celebrate the binding of the Chill One to the seafloor. They dined on a whale that had beached itself, but Dett found himself savoring the fresh cheese made from ewe's milk nearly as much as the whale-meat. He had a dream that night, as he did after the feast of venison, but it was an enjoyable one. He saw his dream-self walking on the shore with dream-Fummirrul. The pair of them found tracks in the sand running down into the sea—ones that matched those of Klevey. Dream-Dett surveyed the horizon and rejoiced to see a distant red smudge vanish into the waters.
He turned to tell dream-Fummirrul, only to discover the boy was crouching, eye-to-eye with the gray seal. "Hail, Seaman," dream-Dett said. "Have you come to tell us the Red Scourge has returned to the Mother?"
The seal nodded, and then nosed at the sand just in front of their feet, partially uncovering something. It jerked its head at the object, so dream-Dett pulled it out: a beautiful metal knife, like those the southern tra der had. The moment he touched it, the Seaman vanished.
"A treasure of the south, my son, and a gift of the Seafolk," dream-Dett said. "I present it to you, in gratitude for your youthful wisdom." With that, he gave the valuable thing to his dream-son, who beamed with pleasure.
That morning, he went to relate his dream to the elders, not wanting to wait until the next council meeting. They rather hurriedly brushed him off, being occupied in casting charms over the fishing fleet, which would set out with the tide.
"This dream clearly does not portend any grave disaster," said his father. "Rather, it is a good omen, for Dett saw Klevey return to the sea and the Seaman confirmed he is gone. As for the knife, I interpret it as meaning if Dett stumbles across something rare from the south, it is his. Do you all concur?"
The elders, including his brother the Mastersinger, readily agreed, and returned to their chanting.
Several days later, Dett was weeding in the fields when his little stepson ran up, urgently calling his name. "Father Dett! Come quickly! There has been a disaster." "What has happened?" "Klevey reached up through the waves and smashed Great-Uncle Talloc's ship! Talloc, Klebaw,
and Nerrul have perished!"
Thoughts raced through Dett's mind. "Does anyone else know?"
"No, I just found out because I was gathering shellfish at the harbor.
I saw Grandfather's boat come in. Everyone is busy helping Clett, for he was near to drowning. I came to get you right away." "Good lad. Go tell your mother. I will come shortly." After the youth pelted off, he ran also—to the sheep meadows, not the village.
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Fummirrul was there, as always, tending the sheep. The remaining dozen old sheep grazed on grass; the new sheep chomped contentedly on their seaweed. Dett quickly told his son the news, and the pair hurried to the village, where they burst into Talloc's house. They startled Gefalal, but Fummirrul managed to make her understand Talloc was dead. She showed no remorse, which did not surprise Dett.
They swept her belongings into a heap; Fummirrul proudly carried the bundle himself, muscles straining under the shirt he had clearly outgrown. Dett's new bride Aip looked on with interest as they piled everything in a corner. "She is to stay here? I do not mind, but perhaps your father will want to claim her. She is a comely girl."
"He has two other daughters-in-law still living. Besides, I have the backing of the elders on this," Dett said with a grin. "For they agreed I should keep a southern treasure if I could find one." "Ah!" Understanding swept over his wife's face. She glanced at Fummirrul, who was a trifle slower to comprehend. "A southern treasure?" he asked, then blushed as he remembered the rest of Dett's dream, in which dream-Dett gave the treasure to dream-Fummirrul. "Oh, Father, how grand!"
"Interpretations aside," Dett said, "I thought it best to settle her here before anybody else got any ideas. As you say, she is comely, though too thin." Dett privately thought Talloc—blessings upon his spirit—did not treat the girl as well as he might have. He was more eager to share his extra grain with the village than feed the stranger girl. Small wonder her courses had been delayed. No matter. Fummirrul still had a few years till manhood himself.
Gefalal clearly wasn't understanding what was said around her. Her fingers nervously played with her skirts.
Dett was wondering what to say, how to put the girl's new circumstances into simple words, but his son spoke first. He took Gefalal's hands, then said something that sounded like gibberish. Gefalal smiled broadly and nodded. She squeezed Fummirrul's hands.
"What did you say, my son?" Dett asked.
Fummirrul grinned. "I do not know her word for 'welcome,' so I said, 'This is home to you.' I think she understands."
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Perhaps no event of the Bronze Age is better known than the Trojan War, and this is also one of its most famous puzzles. Homer's Iliad speaks of the sack of Ilios—of Troy. Hein-rich Schlieman found the remains of a destroyed city in western Anatolia, a city contemporary with the Hittite empire farther to the east. The Hittite palace archives speak of "Wilusa" and the "Ahhiyans." Could they mean "Ilios" and the "Acheans"? Historians and archaeologists can only speculate if the Hittite kings might have come to know the Trojan War centuries before Homer sang his first verse. Lois Tilton, wise to the true nature of war, speculates how.
The Matter of the Ahhiyans
Lois Tilton
So now I am to be a spy.
Well, I have been many things 1 besides a scribe in the service of the Great King Tudhaliya, ruler of the Land of Hatti, and his father before him. I have traveled to many foreign lands to set down the terms of the treaties made by his ambassadors. I have gone with him to his wars, writing accounts of his battles and victories for the palace archives.
Now the king of Wilusa has written to plead for aid against the sea-raiders from Ahhiya.
Priamos King of Wilusa to the Tabarna, the Great King Tudhaliya, the Sun, Lord of the Land of Hatti:
You know for how many years I have been your loyal servant and obeyed your commands, for how many years I have sent tribute to you, of gold and silver, and of high-necked horses, how I have sent soldiers to serve in your distant campaigns. Now my domain is threatened with destruction. The king of theAhhiyans has come in his ships to lay waste the whole land of Wilusa. He has burnt my cities and carried off my people into slavery. My palace at Taroisa is now under siege.
Now if I have ever been the Great King's loyal servant, I beg you to come at once with your chariots and your footsoldiers to drive these invaders back into the sea, or else the land of Wilusa may be lost.
When I finished reading this letter, the Great King cursed the Ah-hiyans. "Always, they cause trouble! Even in my father's day and his father's day they were always raiding our lands and inciting insurrection among our subjects, even when my father wrote to the Ahhiyan king as an equal and a brother, offering a treaty. They pledge their good faith, and at the same time they are conspiring with our enemies. Whenever our armies meet them on the battlefield, they retreat in their ships and we cannot touch them. We can drive them into the sea, but always they come back to make more trouble in our lands!"
Indeed, I knew the truth of this, for I had been on campaign with his father when he fought the
Ahhiyans over the matter of Wilusa, years ago. Yet as I reminded Tudhaliya, we were now supposed
to be at peace with Ahhiya. Perhaps this was the moment for diplomacy, not armies.
So I set down the words of the Great King, using the language of the Ahhiyans:
I, the Great King Tabarna, the Great King Tudhaliya, the Sun, Lord of the Land of Hatti, to
Agamemnon King of Achaia:
King Priamos of Ilios writes to me saying: The king of the Achaians has attacked my lands. But the king of Ilios is my servant, and his lands are my lands. Why therefore have you attacked my lands? Are we not at peace? Is there not a treaty between us? Are we not as brothers?
Now if Priamos has given you just cause to make him your enemy, then tell
me of it, and I will send my army to punish him. But if you have attacked Priamos without just cause, then know that I, the Sun, will come with my whole army, my chariots and my infantry, to drive you back into the sea.
This was the letter the Great King sent to the King of Ahhiya. But to me privately he admitted, "Hantili, you understand the problem I face in this matter. I dare not risk sending my army so far west as Wilusa, not now."
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I understood his reasons well. In the east, Assyrian armies were on the march in the borderlands near the Euphrates. In the north, the Kaska tribes were raiding again, probing for weakness. He dared not withdraw his armies from these borders just to repel a few sea-raiders from Wilusa, so far away from Hattusa, the center of the kingdom.
Yet if the Ahhiyans took the citadel of Taroisa, they would be in a position to control all the sea traffic through the straits into the Black Sea. They could strangle our trade. They might even make an alliance with the Kaska tribes along the coast. The Great King knew he could not allow this to happen.
In due course there came a reply from the Ahhiyan king Agamemnon:
Indeed I am at peace with the Land of Hatti, my brother. I have only attacked Priamos at Troia because the gods require me to avenge a great sacrilege. Paris, son of Priamos, has violated the guest-friendship he had with my brother Menelaos, king of Sparta. He came to the palace of Menelaos and stole from the altar the golden figure of the goddess He-lene. He took with him also treasure and women from the palace. The gods would destroy me if I ignored such a crime.
I have taken a sacred vow to punish Priamos and restore the golden goddess to her altar. But let this not be the cause of war between us, my brother, between the land of Achaia and the Land of Hatti. My quarrel is only with Priamos and Paris his heir, not with my brother the Great King of the Hittites. In token of my good will I send you these gifts, a gold and crystal flask of scented oil and a two-handled silver cup, embossed with images of the Wine God.
Turtledove, Harry - Anthology 07 - New Tales Of The Bronze Age - The First Heroes (with Doyle, Noreen) Page 36