by Diana Gainer
Alakshándu groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "Owái, my son, my son!"
Paqúr put a hand on his father's bent shoulder. "I am here, Father. Do not worry about me. I will prevail in the fight."
Alakshándu sat up straight and gazed into his son's face without recognition. "I was thinking of Qántili," the old man whispered.
Paqúr jerked his hand away from his father as if burned. The prince's face hardened. "So you blame me, too! Is that it? Ai, just remember, old man, it was you who sent me on that voyage to 'Elléniya, you who demanded revenge for Ishqíyanna's rape. If I am at fault, you are too."
The king's eyes overflowed with tears. "Owái, my son, my son!" he moaned again. "What have I done to you, my poor son?"
Paqúr stormed from the mégaron, calling on his highest commander. "Ainyáh, speak to the men! I will fight the Ak'áyan champion tomorrow, at dawn."
aaa
When the truce drew to a close, the Ak'áyan forces drew on their battered armor, unenthusiastically. They ate sparingly that morning from their depleted stores, making up for the larger portions they had taken to celebrate on the nights before. "Another month of this, and we will all be food for crows," St'énelo complained.
T'érsite nodded. "I came here without a name and without armor. I have taken three bronze corselets already and lost them all. My name is no better known than before. I am afraid the next time it will be my flesh that takes the spear."
"Quiet, son of a dog," urged Odushéyu. "You do not want the high wánaks to hear that kind of talk. He swaggers with more confidence all the time."
"What does an archer know about confidence?" T'érsite growled back.
Odushéyu became angry. "Archers are soldiers every bit as much as you, little spearman. I happen to know that Agamémnon has no plans to leave these shores any time soon, either. So, you had better get used to lentils and barley gruel. It will be a long time before you eat meat again."
aaa
As his weary troops armed, the overlord drew Diwoméde aside. "I agreed to attempt a single combat once more, but I still want one more battle," the overlord told his young qasiléyu. "I cannot trust Aíwaks any longer. But I know I can count on you. If our champion does not kill Paqúr, have one of the archers finish him off. That will start the fight and, with a little luck, we will storm the walls before noon. I swore to Ainyáh and Antánor that I would not have them or their people touched if they put the agreed-upon sign over their doors. But if we crack the walls today, those traitors will not be ready and we can kill them as they deserve, without penalty. See to it."
Diwoméde frowned. "But, wánaks, your oaths to Ainyáh and Antánor are not the only ones you have taken. What about the oath you will make today, before the combat? Will you not swear to accept the decision of the gods?"
Agamémnon spat. "If I do, it is my own business. Do not worry about me. I will take my chances with my dead kinsmen. By 'Aidé, they would do the same thing if they were in my sandals! Now, can I depend on you?"
Diwoméde nodded, touching a hand to his forehead as if in worship. "Yes, my wánaks." As he turned to go, the overlord called him back.
"By the way, bring Qálki out to the field as well. I want him to witness the end of this war." The overlord's eyes gleamed as he spoke.
Qálki, for his part, did not object. "So, the old blasphemer has finally seen my true worth!" he exclaimed. "My prophecies before the last battle turned the tide in our favor."
Diwoméde did not argue. But he did not believe that was the reason for Agamémnon's command.
aaa
Between the drawn-up lines of warriors, Paqúr strode with his leopard skin over his shoulder, as he had when first the two armies met. But the great cat’s spots barely showed in the dirty fur. The horse-tail crest had long been lost from his battered helmet and, like all his men, he was now barefoot. The grass had gone from the battlefield under the constant trampling of horses and men, and a dusty haze hovered in the air that smelled strongly of death. Even the points of the weapons they all wielded spoke of poverty, as no longer were all the arrowheads and spear points bronze. Now, many were fashioned of rough stone or, at worst, they were merely fire-hardened points of wood. Raising his curving bow over his head with one hand, a spear in the other, the Tróyan prince shouted to men who had nearly forgotten the cause of the conflict, "Who will fight with me?"
Púrwo was the first of the Ak'áyans to come forward, and Idómeneyu inscribed a pebble with the first syllable of his name, to throw in Agamémnon's helmet. Meneláwo and Diwoméde came forward together, Aíwaks behind them. Idómeneyu scratched a syllable of each man's name on his stone. Odushéyu came forward as well, carrying a finely-carved bow of ibex horn. He pulled the amulet from its string at his neck and dropped it in with the other markers. With a piercing look at Agamémnon, the It'ákan said, "May Lady At'ána choose an archer to face an archer."
Agamémnon did not respond to the pirate, either in word or in gesture. "Qálki!" the overlord roared, his eyes fixed on the It'ákan, "pray to all the immortals for us."
The prophet raised his bony arms and called out a prayer that left the men bored and almost eager for war, so long did it last. While it poured interminably on, Agamémnon surreptitiously looked through the pebbles, placing those of his brother and of Ak'illéyu's son under his thumb. At last, the old seer finished his speech and the high wánaks raised the helmet, swirling it until a pebble flew out.
Idómeneyu pounced upon it, then threw it down, announcing in disappointment, "It is Odushéyu. By Díwo, it is a pirate!"
Aíwaks groaned loudly. "And he is an archer. The fickle goddess made a poor choice this time."
But the It'ákan stepped forward eagerly, other bowmen cheering him on. "Show them that we are real men too. Kill that Tróyan sow!"
Paqúr shot first and his dart stuck fast in Odushéyu's chest armor. With a grin, the Ak'áyan plucked the arrow from the tough leather and shot the same one back at the Tróyan. It skimmed the edge of the prince's shield and struck Paqúr in the arm. He wheeled around, crying out in surprised pain. As the prince turned, Odushéyu whipped out a second arrow from his quiver and shot the Tróyan beside the shoulder blade. The wounded man yelped still louder and stumbled, trying to run for cover behind his men's lines. But this time the men backed away, both from the flying arrows and from the dishonor of shielding a coward. They would not protect their champion from his fate a second time. Odushéyu's third arrow bit his enemy's leg, toppling him to the ground. One more caught Paqúr's foot as he lay bleeding and wailing in the dust. The victorious It'ákan stood over the dying man for a final shot into the heart from behind.
The Ak'áyan archers cheered and gathered about their man, as he bent to strip the corpse. But here, the Wilúsiyans drew the line, pushing forward to recover the body and its gear. Agamémnon raised his hand to get Diwoméde's attention. But it was not necessary. Without a moment more of peace, the war resumed, the Ak'áyans moving quickly, relentlessly toward the open gate of the fortress.
Qálki was soon left behind the crowd of advancing warriors, as he shrieked in vain, "Men, put away your arms! Honor your oaths! The gods will punish you for this outrage! I see your dead kinsmen rising from 'Aidé to urge you not to fight!"
Behind him, the white-faced high wánaks pounded with heavy steps. "Qálki," he said, just loud enough to make the seer turn to face him. "Remember my daughter? You wanted me to send her to Préswa on the point of my sword. Now go to 'Aidé yourself." Before the prophet could cry out in fear, the Argive wánaks ran his spear blade into the undefended rib cage. The prophet fell, his eyes glazed. Agamémnon bent down and stabbed the twitching body once more. "And that is for taking my captive woman," he growled. Then the overlord joined the rush for the Tróyan gates, trilling the war cry, "Alalá!".
Ainyáh had considered the possibility of yet another broken oath. He had stationed six men beside the heavy door at the southern entrance to the citadel, ready to close it at the
first sign of trouble. Though the contest was fierce, only a few Ak'áyans entered the city and they died as Ak'illéyu had, surrounded and stabbed from every side, behind the closed gate.
Púrwo and Meneláwo took turns chopping the limbs from Paqúr's body after the gates had closed. As one hacked at the corpse, the other held his shield high to protect both from the occasional arrow that flew from the city walls. When the wánaktes were finally sated with their bloodletting, they left the mangled body where it lay.
"I will not offend the gods the way Ak'illéyu did," Meneláwo panted. "I will not insult this body any further. Paqúr, lie here until the Tróyans find you or the dogs and crows do, whichever ones have the greater courage." His hand at his throbbing hip, the Lakedaimóniyan returned slowly toward the Sqámandro River.
aaa
It was not until dark that the sons of Dáwan dared venture forth to carry Paqúr’s remains back within their shattered walls, draped over a donkey's protruding ribs. The Tróyans had wailed frenziedly over his brother Qántili's remains, but for Paqúr the populace merely rubbed another handful of dirt into their filthy hair and called a single lamentation in voices that had grown all too weary of mourning. The funeral song wound down to tired chanting by the time the royal family received the news and came to the gates.
Looking down at the broken body of yet another son, Eqépa moaned and sank to her knees. "I have no more tears," she sighed. But her torn cheeks were wet, just the same.
Alakshándu swayed on his feet and collapsed beside his wife. Dapashánda and Érinu, the last of the princes, looked at each other as though through a heavy fog, not seeing clearly. Like children who have cried to the point of exhaustion, but who continue their monotonous wails without passion or tears, the brothers clung to each other, lamenting the loss of their third brother in the same war.
War-weary soldiers of Wilúsiya looked down on Paqúr without sorrow. "He was the one who caused all our suffering," Ainyáh heard more than one man say. "We should have left him outside the walls for the dogs."
The man from Kanaqán quietly rebuked those of his countrymen who remained. "In the presence of the royal family, you must make a show of mourning. They are fewer now but not without power. Make your tears come by thinking of your own losses."
aaa
"Take Paqúr's body to Wóinone," Dapashánda ordered when he was thoroughly sick of lamenting. "She was his true wife, not that 'Elléniyan sow."
Érinu agreed. "Wóinone loved him when he was just a young man training to be an archer. She gave him three fine sons before he divorced her for 'Elléniya. Wóinone deserves to see the body first." He helped his parents away from the donkey, delivering them into the hands of his weeping sisters.
Following the princes' orders, Ainyáh led the onager away from the gate with its bloody burden and through streets filled with rubble. The Kanaqániyan commander accompanied the princes to where the ancient stones of the west wall had not been replaced with finely carved limestone. To a modest dwelling they went, close to the circuit wall, to a house with cracked plaster whose roof had fallen in on one side during the earthquake. Érinu entered to tell Wóinone of Paqúr's death.
Dapashánda, standing outside the door, remarked to Ainyáh, "I would hate to be the one to tell her. She always thought Paqúr would take her back one day." But he made no move to join his brother and the woman who had once been his sister-in-law.
With a scream, Wóinone rushed from the little house, and shrieked again, more shrilly, when she saw Paqúr's shredded body. The donkey bearing the dead prince bolted and the corpse slipped to the earth in a crumpled heap. Wóinone hurried to the body and knelt beside it. Her hands fluttered about the mangled, missing limbs. Shuddering, she moved to touch the quiet head, then drew her hand away as if afraid, and repeated the movement again and again, with wails and screams that grew ever louder and more frenzied. The whites of her eyes showed all around the dark iris. Her wide-open mouth dripped saliva. With inhuman cries, she turned her frightful eyes from the corpse to Érinu and back to Paqúr, to Dapashánda and back to Paqúr once more.
Tears returned to Érinu's red-rimmed eyes. He raised his arms to take hold of the frantic woman. "Wóinone," he began. She fell upon him, howling hysterically, her voice now a full-throated cry like that of a wounded beast. Her fists pummeled the slender priest and he could not hold her. Both woman and man tumbled to the ground. Wóinone scooped dirt up by the handful and threw it at her husband's kinsmen.
"Sister-in-law," Érinu pleaded, struggling to his feet as Ainyáh and Dapashánda backed away.
Wóinone hurled herself on Érinu again, kicking, hitting, even biting at the hands that flew up to ward off her blows. "Dog!" she cried in fury. "Traitor! Swine! Coward!"
Dapashánda moved in, trying to pull her away. "Stop it!" he shouted, although the mad woman heard nothing. "It is not his fault."
Wóinone whirled and backed away from the princes, her hair disheveled, her clothing torn. She breathed harshly, glaring at one and the other prince with hatred, saliva thick on her chin. "Not his fault?" she roared. "Not his fault?" Abruptly she leaped on Dapashánda just as violently, knocking him backward to the ground. He threw his hands up to keep her from clawing his face. But she snatched the dagger from his hip and left him untouched. Standing again, she clutched the hilt with both hands.
"Ainyáh," Dapashánda howled from the ground. "Help me!"
The Kanaqániyan soldier hesitated for a moment. Wóinone's eyes rolled back in her head and she shrieked once more. Before anyone realized what she meant to do, she knelt beside the mutilated corpse and stabbed herself in the heart with the dagger. Without another sound, Wóinone fell dead on Paqúr's body.
CHAPTER TEN
‘IQO
When Ariyádna heard the news of Paqúr’s death and of Wóinone’s, she shivered, but shed no tears. With her serving maid, she sang a single, half-hearted lament in her bed chamber. “Come,” she then said to Kluména, when the song was done. “Where is the flax? Where is the wool? Let us spin.”
None of the royal family came to see her, as she sat with distaff and spindle by Paqúr’s chamber door. Darkness began to creep over the strangely silent town. Fires were built up, here and there, as those who still had food began to cook their evening meal.
“They are not coming, wánasha,” Kluména whispered anxiously. “No one is coming to see us. What should we do? Owái, what will they do to us?”
But Ariyádna remained on the plaster bench by the door, spinning in silence. The women heard footsteps in the corridor, steps that passed the chamber door without pausing. Again, Kluména spoke to her mistress, frightened to the verge of tears. “Please understand me, please call my name, my lady. Owái, what is to become of us now? They are not coming to see you!”
“Wait here for me, little daughter,” the ‘Elléniyan wanásha said, patting Kluména’s knee with an absent-minded smile. “I will not be long, ‘Ermiyóna. Be good and I will have Kluména tell you a story at bedtime.” She walked softly through the dark halls of the palace, her head down, her eyes on the floor. Serving maids stared at her with scorn and cursed or spat as she passed. Oblivious to the women and their insults, Ariyádna continued alone to the mégaron, where the royal family was gathered for Paqúr’s funeral feast. Dishes of rough crockery lay on wooden tables, there, devoid of linen. On the plates, lay crusts of dry flat bread, and shapeless lumps of boiled lentils. At this poor feast, the disheveled and unwashed princes and princesses sat in painful silence. None noticed when the captive queen quietly padded into the throne room on bare feet.
Just inside the entrance, Ariyádna announced in a clear voice, “I want to go home now.”
Dapashánda and his parents rose abruptly to their feet, enraged. “Traitor!” cried the young prince.
“How could you?” queen Eqépa screamed. “You witch!” Did we not welcome you into the palace? Have we not always treated you as a daughter?” White-faced with fury, the aging queen’s eye
s threw unseen daggers at the ‘Elléniyan woman.
Ariyádna shivered and blinked. She looked around the room, from face to face, as if she had never seen them before. “I have a l-little girl,” she stammered, quietly, staring at the floor then. “I, I want to hold little ‘Ermiyóna in my arms once more before I die.”
The king rose from his throne and came toward her with ponderous steps. Angrily, he struck her in the face. She fell back, her trembling hands at the welt rising on her cheek. Tears fell from her eyes, but she stood erect and said again, more loudly this time, “I want to go home now.”
Alakshándu struck her again.
She stumbled backward and collapsed on the floor, wailing repeatedly, “I want to go home! I want to go home!”
Dapashánda took the king’s arm to keep him from hitting her again. “Give her to me, Father,” the young prince begged. “Give ‘Elléniya to me.” His voice was so cold and sharp that Ariyádna looked up, gasping with fear.