by Diana Gainer
The youthful prince squirmed under the harsh gazes of his father and brother-in-law. "A message came on a clay tablet, from the emperor of Ashúr."
"By the gods!" Paqúr snapped, giving his younger brother an impatient shove. "Ashúr is a poor kingdom whose king is hardly more than one of Qáttushli's own vassals. It was great enough in its day, but it is hardly an empire and certainly no match for the Náshiyan army. Why should a letter from that miserable place concern us?"
Érinu glanced around at the men in the throne room. Not a single pair of eyes appeared friendly. He threw up his hands. "I do not know what to tell you to make you see. When Qáttushli read the Ashúriyan message, he was very angry. He threw the tablet down and it shattered on the floor. He stood and waved his scepter and shouted curses on Ashúr. In his anger, he struck the messenger who came with the tablet, cracked the man's skull with his scepter. His brains…"
"Never mind the man's death," Paqúr interrupted. "Qáttushli has killed more than one messenger in his day. That happens all the time. It is of no consequence to us."
"All right, Érinu. What did the tablet say?" the king asked, his manner that of a patient parent dealing with a small child.
The young priest sighed, looking down at the heavy robes shrouding his body from his neck to the upturned toes of his shoes. "The king of Ashúr wrote that he had taken Qáttushli's eastern province by force of arms. This victory over a great king made Ashúr just as great, so in the letter he called the emperor 'brother.' Qáttushli was insane with rage. He commanded that all the Ashúriyans in the capital be executed before nightfall. He stormed up and down the throne room and all we ambassadors were afraid for our lives. 'That dog and I are not sons of the same mother,' the emperor said again and again. 'He cannot call me his brother!' Of course, the real problem was the loss of the eastern territory. They say that the mountains of that land are rich in black bronze, the hardest metal known."
Alakshándu dismissed that with a wave of his plump hand. "Ai, son, you should know better than that. The black metal is too difficult to work. It will not melt properly, so it cannot be cast like bronze. Even a skilled smith cannot be sure that a sword blade will turn out properly with such an unruly metal. No, Érinu, Tróya is far more important than the eastern hills. We control the best trade route for tin. Through that, we indirectly dominate nearly the whole world's trade in bronze. Qáttushli would never be so foolish as to put the black metal before tin."
Érinu sadly shook his head. "Qáttushli is no fool, father. It is precisely because of his good sense that he values the black metal more highly than the white. Bronze is easier to work, but it is not easy to come by. Copper is plentiful enough, but tin is scarce and expensive. Bronze will never be plentiful enough to meet all of Qáttushli's needs. The black metal may be harder to work, but there is an endless supply of it. And when it is properly worked, it is harder than the best bronze. Besides, there is another trade route for tin and Ashúr will have that too, if it advances any further. No, Father, Qáttushli knows what he is doing. He will concentrate on his eastern territories even if it means losing the west. We can expect no help from him."
Alakshándu clapped his hands to his white head. "But this is senseless! The emperor must have gone dancing with the maináds."
The priest shook his head. "I tell you, Qáttushli is perfectly sane. What is worse, he is also at war in the north. Those nomads came in especially large numbers this year. Even his own peoples are restless. The rains have been poor and the harvests meager throughout his realm for the last several years. Not only will Qáttushli not help us, but he commands us to finish this war quickly and send our troops to aid him."
Antánor turned on the king, a fierce light suffusing his face. "We must do as he says or it will be Qáttushli himself upon us with an army greater than any that Agamémnon could assemble. And Náshiyan warriors have monstrous horses. It is said that these animals can tear down the strongest walls."
Dapashánda had listened in silence from his seat by the wall. But his brother-in-law's statement was more than he could take. "I have never seen any such beast. That is nothing but a story to frighten children. We have the biggest horses in the world, here in Wilúsiya. They are helpless against walls built of stone."
But Érinu confirmed his kinsman's story. "Antánor is speaking the truth. The Náshiyan siege horse is a wooden tower with great, solid wheels. It is built beyond the walls of a besieged fortress. Oxen pull it to the gates of the citadel and men take cover in it. They shoot flaming arrows over the walls, to catch the roofs of the buildings on fire and drive the people out. At the same time, other soldiers are at work under cover inside this so-called horse. They chip away at the brick superstructure of the walls, with sharp stones or metal bars, until they make a breach. Then the citadel can be entered and sacked. That is Qáttushli's great weapon, the siege horse. That is what he will turn against us."
The king groaned, looking from Érinu to Dapashánda, from priest to wounded soldier. "Why did Qántili have to die?" he asked no one in particular. "He was a better man than either of you will ever be. I might as well have sired so many mongrel dogs! You two together do not make a proper warrior! Owái, I have only Lupákki and Paqúr to turn to."
"What are you talking about, Father?" Dapashánda demanded, his cheeks burning. "Did I not fight until I was wounded? What more could anyone ask of me? I swear by Poseidáon's head that if it were my left arm that was wounded, instead of my sword arm, I would still be carrying a spear against the Ak'áyans. Érinu may be worthless, but I am not. As for my brother Lupákki, he is dead. Can you not get that into your mind and heart?"
Érinu was no happier with his father's words than his brother. "Do not forget, Father, it was you who decided on the priestly profession for me, not I. It is not my fault the message I carry is not to your liking. The emperor Qáttushli is the one who betrayed you. I have done all I can."
Amusís had had enough. "With all due respect, lord Alakshandu," he said, pushing aside the arguing princes. "My men and I have had a long journey and we would like to rest."
"Ai, yes, I have forgotten my manners," Alakshándu said, casting his bleary eyes about the room. "Ainyáh, make yourself useful for a change. See to our guests."
aaa
The Kanaqániyan commander did as his royal father-in-law bade him, without responding to the old man's insult. But when he had found quarters for the Mízriyan officer and his Káushan archers, he did not take to his own bed, despite his fatigue. Instead, he went to meet with the second band of reinforcements, the pale-eyed, northern barbarians who had come with Érinu to support the beleaguered fortress.
A short and stocky tribe who called themselves Mar-Yandún, these foreigners refused to come inside the city's stone walls. They camped below the hill crowned by the citadel. The strange, northern warriors brought with them a unique type of armor, cast in a single sheet of bronze to protect the chest, a matching piece to cover the man's back. Beneath the metal, they wore thick clothing of woven wool. The construction of their garments was as peculiar as their armor, with each limb encased in a tube of brightly dyed cloth. Still stranger to Ainyáh's eyes were their lances, small and light compared to those of the Ak'áyans and Wilúsiyans, the points scarcely larger than arrowheads. But each man carried half a dozen with him. Strangest of all was their leader, a heavy woman with hard, gray eyes and hair of the same color, whom they called Bendisiléya.
"Rest well, tonight," the Kanaqániyan told the barbarian queen. "We will cross the Sqámandro River at first light. Prepare to do battle at dawn."
"We are always prepared," Bendisiléya told him, her unfamiliar accent so thick that he could not be sure he understood. "I do not know whether you could see, in the dark, but we brought our own horses with us. We ride at first light."
As he went, at last, to his bed chamber, Ainyáh repeated the woman's words to himself, 'We ride at first light.' She had said nothing about chariots and he had seen none in the Mar-Yand�
�n camp. 'I must have heard wrong,' he told himself.
aaa
Qálki roused the Ak'áyan encampment before the sky had begun to brighten in the east. Once more he climbed up on the rampart wall and danced, shouting about strangers visiting the Wilúsiyan king. "Dáwan listened to the cries of her children. She has cursed the men of Ak'áiwiya. The great queen of untamed nature now sends against you children born of her own body without benefit of the seed of man or god! They are half man, half beast, these sons of Mother Dáwan. Fighting is food and drink for them. Their brutality in war is unparalleled. Even the Náshiyan emperor cowers in fear before them! Ak'áiwiya is doomed! Go home, set sail. Do not wait or you will all be destroyed!"
Agamémnon came from his tent cursing the little man. Idómeneyu and Aíwaks were hard pressed to keep the overlord from cutting the seer down on the spot. "Not here, not now," the Kep'túriyan king urged.
"Not ever!" Aíwaks bellowed, aghast at the implications. "There can be no act more offensive to the gods than to murder a prophet!"
Odushéyu soon joined Qálki on the wall and, by the light of fires quickly stoked, announced that he could see the newcomers as well. "I have met these beings before, too. They are called the Kentáuros. Their feet are those of wild horses," he announced with practiced confidence, "and their upper bodies are women's. If it were not for my knowledge of magic, we would indeed be doomed. Recite the charm, men. Remember the formula I taught you!"
"Be still," the prophet spluttered, waving his scrawny arms at the It'ákan. "They only appear to be women until it is time to fight. Then they take on all the malevolent energy of avenging spirits. They are the followers of Artémito, the ever-virgin wánasha of the maináds!" Most of his protest was drowned out by the rising commotion in the encampment. But those closest to the wall heard the prophet's pronouncements. Several T'eshalíyans gathered fearfully by the rampart to hear more.
"Quickly, there is no time to lose!" Odushéyu responded, pushing Qálki down from the rampart so that the small man was outside the encampment. "You must begin drawing a magic circle around the camp to protect us." As the seer fumed beneath him, the It'ákan rose to his full height on the earthen wall and shouted further orders to the frightened foot-soldiers. "Dress yourselves and arm for battle, men! Remember how I taught you, Zeugelátes. Woman, you there, Wíp'iya! Bring Qálki a duck. He needs freshly spilled blood to complete the magic circle. All men will march beside their brother Ak'áyans today, shield overlapping shield. Never mind what nation you come from. We are all sons of Diwiyána and we fight as one. Drink wine and mix it with the poppy. Three cups or four, take your choice, but each of you must swallow. Recite the spell and feel the strength of 'Aidé itself soften before your blows! My magic is more powerful than Mízriya and Náshiya combined! I tell you, it can draw the moon down from the sky! It can hide the all-seeing sun behind black clouds! It can certainly handle these fighting women."
For added protection, the pirate wánaks handed out to a few picked men some lozenge-shaped amulets to ward off the Evil Eye. "I bought them in Kanaqán three years ago and I have carried them with me ever since, into every campaign. Look at me. Have arrows struck me? Has sword or spear opened my chest or belly? No, never, not with these powerful objects with me. Nothing can stand before you when you wear these, neither man, nor dáimon, nor even Díwo himself!"
By the time Qálki could get back through the rampart gate and find someone to listen to him, he found himself no longer welcome at the hearths of Zeyugelátes or P'ilístas, despite all his efforts. "Those who set themselves in conflict with immortal beings will die early and painful deaths," the seer warned the men of south and north, frantic to stop them. "In the underworld, Préswa, that grim lady, will find torments for your souls to endure throughout eternity. Tróya is a holy city, protected by the gods. The omens are with her and against us. Her every enemy is doomed. Run for your lives!"
However, filled with wine and poppies, following Odushéyu's confident leadership, the men considered the prospect of fighting dáimons and maináds no worse than facing ordinary men. Their hearts beat strong and eager for the battle. It seemed inevitable that they would sack Tróya that day. Victory was within their grasp. Death and Préswa seemed very far away.
Agamémnon took advantage of the effect of the poppies and Odushéyu's song of magic. The overlord spoke loudly of the fabled riches surely hidden behind the walls of Tróya. He recounted for any men slow to arm the ancient legend of an Assúwan king whose very touch transformed things to gold. Diwoméde, absorbing the martial spirit along with more opium, repeated a story Odushéyu had once told him, of fabulous sheep from northern Assúwa, animals whose fleece was of glittering tin, that most valued of metals.
The foot soldiers reminded one another of the persistent rumors that a single, well-guarded object contained Tróya's secret to life. If the Ak'áyans could only discover and possess that one thing, the citadel would most certainly fall into their hands. They had only to scale the walls or breach the gate and then Odushéyu's magic or Qálki's sight would surely reveal the magic idol's secret hiding place. All their suffering was at an end, or nearly so. A truly great reward must be awaiting them.
The noncombatants drank their share of poppy-sweetened wine and took up arms beside the warriors, caught up in the spirit of adventure. Navigators had turned bronze-smith during the long campaign and, alongside the carpenters, had labored night and day, at Agamémnon's command. As their counterparts had done in the citadel, they had built small, rounded ovens and fed them wood from the nearby hills. Caldrons and tripods had been melted for their bronze, the metal reworked for spear points, arrowheads, and sword blades. With beeswax the smiths had created models of the desired weapons and plastered them over with river clay. When the clay was baked hard in the ovens, the melted wax burned away, leaving a hard mold. Sweating profusely beside their fires, the smiths had poured molten metal into the empty spaces in the clay. Once the metal had cooled and hardened, the craftsmen broke away the ceramic covering. With leather lashings or bronze studs, the smiths had fastened the bronze arrowheads and spear points to wooden shafts made straight by the carpenters. They joined wooden hilts to bronze swords. The metal might be rough. It might be flawed. But every man had a shining weapon to carry to the battlefield.
Now, joining the singing of Odushéyu's magic song, filled with thoughts of glory and of plunder, the craftsmen prepared to do battle with dáimons both black and white, called from the northern and southern ends of the earth by a city god desperate to avert his destiny.
CHAPTER SIX
BENDISILEYA
At first light, Ainyáh rose from his bed to find Kréyusa missing. Disturbed, he dressed hurriedly in new sandals and a clean kilt. "Where is my wife?" he demanded of his child's nurse when she came to tell him that breakfast was prepared.
Timidly, the serving woman told him, "The Mízriyan commander told us last night that he had brought chariots and horses, gifts for the princes of Tróya. Your wife went to feed your new horses. She will meet you in the mégaron."
"Feed the horses!" he snapped. "Before me?" But he followed the nursemaid to the throne room. The royal family was seated in chairs placed around the hearth, beside them small tables laden with bread, dried figs, and bowls of barley porridge.
Ainyáh stared down at the food by his chair, frowning. "I planned to eat with Kréyusa by my side," he complained to the quiet room.
Paqúr derided him. "You fuss over that woman and the child like a goose with her goslings. You are every bit as bad as Qántili was about Andrómak'e and the baby. We should talk about the Mízriyan chariots! Or did you not hear? They brought us horses!"
The queen shook a plump finger at her oldest son. "Now, Paqúr, do not be so hard on your brother-in-law. The loss of his two girls last winter has made little Askán doubly dear to him." Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke, and her lips quivered, as she thought of her own two children, so recently fallen.
Ainyáh's f
ace burned as the others discussed him. He left the mégaron, intending to look for his wife. Kréyusa met him just outside the door to the antechamber, breathless, her cheeks pink from running. "Where were you?" Ainyáh demanded, putting his arms around her. "The servants said you went to feed some horses. Is this true? You fed them before me, your own husband?" His annoyance was clear in his voice, but the arms that held Kréyusa were gentle. 'We may not see each other again,' he thought, 'and I want to spend every moment I can with you.' But he could not bring himself to say the words.
"Do not be angry," the woman said, smiling and still panting. "I gave your horses honey with their grain and wine with their water."
Ainyáh was astonished. "What?! Why?"
Kréyusa laughed lightly, pulling him back toward the large central room. "Come, you must eat. I will explain." They took their seats away from the rest of the royal family, as Alakshándu marveled with his oldest son at the well-timed generosity of the Míziriyan. "I told your horses to keep you safe," Kréyusa whispered to her warrior spouse. "I told them to stay with you in battle and carry you safely back to me this night. And I said that if they did as I asked, I would give them honeyed grain and wine with their water every morning, as long as they live."