People of the Inner Sea (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  "…we will make him qasiléyu at Tíruns," Klutaimnéstra snapped, finishing the sentence. "Yes, yes, I agreed to all this days ago, Aígist'o. How could I argue when you showed me the favorable omens in the goose's entrails? But I still do not like it. The men taken captive at At'énai were Agamémnon's picked warriors. Any soldier who was that loyal to a godless overlord is suspect in my eyes. I do not like the thought of any of them guarding the seaward approach to Mukénai."

  "Those men were and are Argives, my dear," Aígist'o explained, grinding his teeth with the effort to appear calm, as he had been over this ground many times before. "These are hard times and we cannot be choosy. Our kingdom needs all the trained warrior it can muster."

  "Ai, at least I take comfort in the fact that Diwoméde will not sit on the throne of Tíruns," the wánasha said with a deep sigh, accepting a measure of defeat. "He is a mindless shepherd boy just like Tudéyu was. Once he swore loyalty to Agamémnon, it was 'death before dishonor.' Nothing was worse in my husband's eyes than listening to his queen and we can be sure his addled qasiléyu will not humble himself before me."

  "Klutaimnéstra," Aígist'o began in warning, "we agreed…"

  "Yes, we agreed," she said curtly.

  The king put a long-fingered hand on her shoulder. "It will be as we said, even if it is Diwoméde who kneels before you."

  "He will not," she said confidently.

  "As we said, even for Diwoméde," the wánaks repeated, growing impatient.

  Pressing her ochred lips together, Klutaimnéstra gave her second husband a thunderous look. "Even for Diwoméde."

  Behind the queen, a youthful captive woman suddenly gasped, as the advancing ship's hull scraped the sand in the shallows. A broad-shouldered man leaped down from the stern platform and turned back to the ship, his arms reaching upward to receive. As the oarsmen scrambled over the sides of the vessel to begin pushing and pulling the longboat up on the beach, the helmsman handed a limp body down to the big man in the water. "Ai, T'érsite," the captive whispered, her hand to her mouth.

  The low-born T'érsite carried the young man's silent form in his arms, toward the royal couple. When he stood before them, he set down the youth, supporting him so that he could sit, and patted his face to waken him. Diwoméde's eyes fluttered open for a moment, then rolled back in his head and closed again.

  "He is the only one?" Aígist'o asked, disappointed.

  T'érsite silently nodded, looking down on the wasted limbs still covered with a layer of grime, the hair as matted as any bird's nest, the swollen, draining wound in the shoulder, the right foot half cut away and black from its fiery cauterizing.

  "Diwoméde!" the wánasha cried, recognizing him. The color drained from her rosette-painted cheeks and she clasped her hands over her heart. "Owái, Mother Diwiyána, what have you done to me?"

  The wounded man opened his eyes again at the sound of his name and looked without comprehension at the people assembled before him. Blinking away the fog that engulfed him, he stared at the queen's face, passed on to the king's, and then back to the queen's. A deep groan came from his lips. His face twisted with pain as he realized what must have happened. He shut his eyes tightly against the tears that threatened, whispering, "Agamémnon…"

  "Agamémnon is dead," T'érsite quietly told him, biting his lip with anxiety. "Come now, Diwoméde, wake up." He patted the younger man's face again, more vigorously than before.

  Aígist'o cleared his throat. "We require an oath," he began. But he did not finish. It hardly seemed worth the bother now. The sole surviving warrior looked more like a dead man's shade than a soldier.

  Diwoméde's eyes opened again, tears spilling down his cheeks. Leaning forward to take his weight on his uninjured arm, he began to cry. Slowly, painfully, he crept toward the queen's feet, until he lay flat before her, a trembling hand on her sandaled foot. Choking with sobs, he said, "Please have mercy, wánasha. I swear by the Stuks," he gulped, hardly able to go on. "You are the rightful queen of Argo. I am your loyal servant."

  Her mouth open in horrified amazement, the queen stared down at the filthy man who was bathing her feet with his tears. "Owái," she whispered. "It is fate."

  aaa

  Encouraged by the news of Náshiya's distress, Idómeneyu could hardly keep his men in check until his fellow exiles returned. The entire western coast of the Assúwan continent was ripe for the taking, with ships and soldiers now far away in the southeastern end of the Great Green Sea. There seemed little chance of retaliation from Qattúsha city, if the exiles attacked these shores. Nor did it seem likely that, as marauders, they would face competition from Lúkiya. Not with Madduwátta's army of vermin, as Tushrátta called them, busily swallowing up the provinces of Kuwalíya and other destabilized neighbor kingdoms.

  The Kep'túriyan exiles' wait was not long. Well before the festival of midsummer fires, Odushéyu arrived with additional reinforcements, men of Kanaqán and of Tróya under Ainyáh's leadership. The commander of Tróya's army repeated his tales of the restless north, further encouraging Idómeneyu. The troop leaders met in the abandoned mégaron of Millewánda's palace to plan their first campaign, Idómeneyu and Odushéyu representing Ak'áiwiya, Ainyáh and Tushrátta speaking for Assúwa, Mirurí trailing along unhappily, pining for the continent south of the Great Green Sea.

  Odushéyu stood before the others, grasping a spear to show his position as speaker. "I say we forget about Mízriya for now," the pirate king suggested firmly, stating his position as forcefully as he knew how. "That empire is too far away and probably too strong for us anyway."

  "I agree," Idómeneyu stated, equally firm.

  Ainyáh nodded. "We would need a far larger army."

  "But," Mirurí began. But he saw he was outnumbered and he said no more.

  The It'ákan leader continued. "Conditions in the far north look very promising, though. Let us sail to T'ráki first, to replenish our stores of food, weapons, and horses. Next, I say we take advantage of our new alliance with Wilúsiya to pass through the straits of Dáwan to whatever sea lies beyond. It is time that we Ak'áyans commanded the tin route."

  Idómeneyu and Ainyáh both leaped to their feet, taking hold of the speaker's staff at the same time. The two men were of nearly equal height and build, neither one particularly tall or broad-shouldered. Neither had suffered a serious wound in the Tróyan war, though both bore many small scars from that conflict and from others. But Idómeneyu was clearly older, his hair shot through with gray, his face more deeply lined.

  "Defer to your elder," said the Kep'túriyan exile. "Let me speak next."

  Ainyáh hesitated, his dark eyes flaming above his prominent nose.

  Odushéyu, broader in the chest, though somewhat shorter, rested his hands on his hips and spat to show his disgust. "Ai, my boys, do we have to draw lots to decide who will speak?" the It'ákan asked. Behind him, still seated, Tushrátta and Mirurí shared quiet jokes, beneath their breath, about the hot-headed Kanaqániyan and the exiled Kep'túriyan.

  The commander from Tróya frowned and sat, pressing his lips together, his fists clenched with suppressed anger. "I yield."

  Spear in hand, Idómeneyu ignored all but his fellow Ak’áyan, addressing Odushéyu. "T'ráki does not interest me. The gods brought us here at this time for a purpose. I say we stay where we are for now. We should make Millewánda our base and take up raiding the coast where Lúkiya left off. All the Náshiyan forces are occupied with Ashúr. That is nearly the other side of the world from here. With no opposition to speak of, we could take every port in Assúwa this summer, before Tudqáliya could muster ships against us."

  Ainyáh did not bother to rise and grasp the spear. "What if you did take the coast?" he asked scornfully. "There is nothing worth having on this side of the world. The Lúkiyans have already taken everything of value."

  "That is right," Odushéyu argued. "If we wanted to go hungry and wait for commoners to throw us out, we could have stayed in Lakedaimón, or in Meshen�
�ya, for that matter. There was no need to cross the sea to Assúwa. Leave the gods out of this, Idómeneyu, and listen to reason. What we must do is head north, where there is no drought. Not only will we find tin there, but also plenty of food."

  "Ai gar, where is the honor in burning barbarians' huts?" Idómeneyu growled. "That is all we would find past Dáwan's straits. No, that is no place for true men. I want my son to remember me as a sacker of cities, not as a miserable pirate."

  "Ai gar, yourself," Odushéyu argued back. "Honor and fame are all well and good. But they do not buy much in the market place. If we stay on the Assúwan coast, we will have nothing in the end but empty bellies and a few bronze trinkets in our ships' holds."

  "What more did Agamémnon allot you from Tróya?" Ainyáh asked quietly, his voice harsh and bitter.

  Idómeneyu glared at the Tróyan commander in amazement. "That was different. Tróya had amassed a great army with many allies. The siege took too long, and the city spent its riches feeding that crowd of spearmen. That is why we gained so little in the end. But now, most of the Assúwan warriors are gone, serving in Ashúr. It will be easy to sack the undefended cities. We will have no long sieges this time, no impoverished monarchs holding out for the sake of their family honor."

  Chuckling, Odushéyu put a burly arm over Idómeneyu's shoulders. "But, you see, Ainyáh agrees with me. Leave Assúwa to the Lúkiyan pirates. We should go north."

  "No, Odushéyu, I do not agree with you," Ainyáh argued, standing. "The north is an evil place, especially beyond Dáwan's straits. You would not know this, despite your prowess as a mariner," he added, when the It'ákan opened his mouth to object. "Tróya earned great wealth by controlling the northern tin route, it is true. But the city has paid a terrible price for its riches, over the years. Once every generation, a Tróyan royal child must die to appease the blood-thirsty northerners, the Mar-Yandún tribesmen. These people are unlike any other tribe on earth. They are completely uncivilized. They worship the bull and eat the horse."

  "You should know better than to tell sailor's lies to a sailor," Odushéyu guffawed. "I never heard of any such people."

  "I have," Tushrátta said lazily, popping a dried fig in his mouth. All eyes turned on him. It took awhile for him to notice, as he picked through a basket of dates, imported from the distant south. "Do not look at me," he told them, when the silence drew his attention. "I do not care which direction we sail, so long as there is plunder at the end of the journey."

  Ainyáh's face remained grim as he rapped the floor with the speaker's staff. He continued his speech, his eyes fixed, unblinking, on Idómeneyu's uncertain visage. "The northern waters are called the Hostile Sea by my people, and not without reason. These Mar-Yandún tribesmen are cannibals. They sacrifice strangers at their festivals, to please their evil gods. When the victim is freshly dead and still warm, they divide his flesh among men and women alike and eat it raw. Even if you survived the sacrificial knife, you would not gain much there. The Mar-Yandúns have heads like dogs, with long noses and sharp teeth. Their hair is as pale as their eyes, whiter even than that of the T'rákiyans. If you attacked such people, the Evil Eye would blight every man's soul."

  Idómeneyu looked at Odushéyu in alarm. "I have sailed as many places as you, Odushéyu, but I have never been through the straits of Dáwan. I have not seen what kind of people live there. But I have heard tales of dog-headed men and bull-worshippers and people who drink mare's milk."

  Odushéyu snorted. "By the gods, I thought you had more sense than that, Idómeneyu. I have heard of dog-headed men myself. They are usually said to live in T'ráki, on the easternmost peninsula. The usual ridiculous story is that the goddess Dodóna lost her child there and became a dog in her grief. She turned all the people's heads into those of dogs, too, just for good measure. But I have been all over T'ráki. I have never seen a single man, woman, or child with the head of a dog. And no one could possibly be paler than a T'rákiyan. Ai gar, some of these northerners have white hair even as children. What is paler than white?"

  "But I have been to the Mar-Yandún land," Ainyáh insisted. "And you have not. I have seen the things I speak of."

  "That is good enough for me," Mirurí was quick to interject. "The north is not to my liking, not at all. White hair and pale eyes trouble my very soul!"

  Idómeneyu shuddered. "I agree. I had enough of the T'rákiyans last winter. Owái, Lukúrgu had a gray-haired child, just as you describe. That dáimon boy looked at me with those evil, white eyes the morning before he died. It was Díwo's own Evil Eye looking at me, burning for revenge. I am sure that is why I had such bad luck when I returned to Kep'túr."

  "Your fortune was not bad because of a T'rákiyan child," Odushéyu argued impatiently. "No, a woman is to blame for that."

  "Yes, and her name is Kashánda," Idómeneyu moaned, clapping his hands to his head. "Owái, Dukoméde told us of the curse of a Tróyan priestess. It was Kashánda, I am sure. We should have listened and stayed on Skúro this summer."

  Ainyáh was surprised at the name. "Kashánda!" he cried. "What could the priestess have done to you? She sailed from Tróya as Agamémnon's captive."

  The Kep'túriyan exile groaned again, more loudly, shaking his head. "Captive she was and Agamémnon's concubine, too. But in T'ráki, where we wintered, she took a terrible vengeance on Lukúrgu. He had killed her youngest brother during the war."

  "I do not believe you," Ainyáh scoffed. "I knew Kashánda. She was my sister-in-law. The woman was quiet and even tempered except when she raving during her prophecies. I never even saw her strike a slave."

  "She was not even tempered in T'ráki," Idómeneyu insisted. "Kashánda killed Lukúrgu's son before the eyes of his father and put out the king's eyes, so that his last vision was the death of the boy. Owái, it makes the hair on my neck stand up just to think about it. That is what caused this drought."

  "I still cannot believe that," argued the mercenary from Tróya, growing angry. "I have known men to commit atrocities for the sake of revenge, especially Ak'áyans. But I have never seen a woman do such a thing and certainly not an Assúwan woman."

  Odushéyu and Idómeneyu exchanged glances. "You would be surprised at what a woman will do," the It'ákan sighed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ALASIYA

  "Nevertheless," Ainyáh persisted, his voice sharp, "I am against a northern war. If you decide to sail through Dáwan's straits, you will have more trials to face than just the Mar-Yandúns. The waters themselves are guarded by the blood thirsty, northern goddesses. Surely you have heard of those rocks inhabited by evil spirits. No? Then let me describe them to you. I saw them as a boy, when I sailed with my father into the Hostile Sea.

  "We were bearing the king's brother, Ganuméde, to the sacrifice, although he did not know it. We set out at dawn from the harbor of Tróya. By noontime, we had entered the waters of the Mármara, the small and shallow sea that T'rákiyans and Ak'áyans know very well, that lies just beyond the straits. But, at the end of that deceptively easy journey, we came upon the gates of the dáimons that every ship must pass before touching the much larger Hostile Sea. There, at the end of the small Mármara Sea, we saw two great cliffs towering on either side of the passageway. The water narrows in that place, until the weakest archer could shoot an arrow from one side of the water to the other.

  "The one cliff rises, straight and sheer, to a high peak that is always covered by dark clouds. Hidden from sight in those clouds, high above the bowshot of even the best archer, there is a cave, where a dáimon lives that the Tróyans call Qalánta. Her name means the Head, in the language of the Náshiyan priests. You have seen figurines of the Tróyan double goddess, have you not? The statuettes have a single, round body, with but a single pair of breasts to share between them, but there are two necks standing on that body. That is exactly what this monstrous being, Qalánta, is like. She has two ghastly heads, on necks that are so long, she can lap up the sea water with her tongues, while her fat
, beastly body is sitting high above the clouds, unseen. No ship can pass her cliff-side cave without losing men. I do not mean a religious offering either, the kind that mariners will sometimes make, of their own free will, in a bad storm. You cannot bribe this deity of the sea not to sink you. No, the goddess herself takes whoever she wants and chooses as many victims as she desires, too. Qalánta swings her heads down from the cliff and devours men on the very decks of their ships, as they row past the high place where her cave lies.

  "My father was a warrior, on that far-off day, just as I am now. His heart was not afraid, in spite of the horror. He did not just stand idly by, watching his men die in such a ghastly way. No, he was ready for this immortal enemy! Before they ever reached the gates of the sea, he had his crew arm themselves, as if for war, wearing all their armor, whether it be bronze or leather. Half of the men sat at their oars, while the other half stood guard, as we sailed toward Qalánta's peak.

  “By all the gods and maináds, I tell you, that female dáimon cared nothing for our arms and armor! Like gnats and flies to her, our swords and spears flew at her! But her hide was tougher than any bull's, and our sharpest blades could not pierce it. Those heads came down on us, shrieking like the wind in a foul storm, both of her vicious mouths gaping wide, each one rimmed with hard, black teeth. There was venom, too, deadlier than that of any snake, dripping from each of her two long tongues. It spilled onto the decks of the longboats as if bath-pourers had emptied seventy stirrup jars of it from each muzzle. Three men died in the time it takes to pull an oar around once, two in her jaws, and one from her poisonous spittle. Blood poured from the dáimon's twin mouths and splashed down onto our ships, as Qalánta crushed the bodies of her victims between her massive jaws.