by Diana Gainer
Ainyáh's scowl deepened. "Now that you see it is only us, there is no more need for these, is there?" He gestured with a scarred hand toward the spearmen at the walls. "Or am I no longer your ally?"
The qasiléyu nodded and waved at the armed men. "Go. All is well here." With many backward looks, they marched from the chamber, followed by relieved workmen. "Now sit," Diwoméde offered his guests. "We will build up the fire and you will eat and drink, as friends should. Dáuniya, have the women prepare food for my visitors," he called to the nearest servant. Turning back to the newcomers, he continued, "You must tell me everything. Odushéyu, I heard that you and Idómeneyu attacked Mízriya. When I could learn nothing more, I assumed that the two of you had either been killed or taken captive. Ai, I did not know which was worse or which to pray for."
The visitors, dressed in Mízriyan kilts of bleached linen, seated themselves on chairs around the raised, central hearth. Dáuniya, dressed in a long, red skirt, her hair in a practical braid down her bare back, led the other serving women in their work. The ladies of the household quietly made their way among the visitors, carrying three-legged stands to place on the hearth and, after those, bronze caldrons filled with goose meat to set on the tripods. The long-haired women poked at the coals of the hearth with bronze utensils and added wood, until the flames rose, high and bright. As the meat in the caldrons cooked, enticing smells rose about the travelers. Tables of carved wood came to the mégaron in T'érsite's strong arms. The workman also brought armloads of fleeces, that the women placed upon the wooden chairs, for the comfort of the visitors.
The qasiléyu returned to his throne, unable to keep his eyes from his guests' forms. He was struck by how old Odushéyu and Ainyáh looked, their faces more wrinkled than he remembered, the firelight catching all the white streaks in their hair. When Odushéyu turned away from him, Diwoméde could see the scars of beatings on his back. Ainyáh's face looked almost skeletal, his shadowed cheeks throwing his cheekbones into prominent relief. How battered they were, Diwoméde thought, with their bodies decked with countless scars. He had last seen Peirít'owo when the prince was still a Wolf, guarding the flocks in the mountains through the dry months. At that time, king Idómeneyu had ruled the great island of Kep'túr, Ak'áiwiya's southernmost kingdom. But now the father was dead and the son a grown man with a full beard.
"Ten years," the qasiléyu mused. "Has it been that long since Tróya fell?"
CHAPTER THREE
ODUSHEYU
"When you saw me last, Diwoméde, I was leaving Wilúsiya. I sailed for home, at first, by heading northwest," Odushéyu began, his eyes gleaming, as he sipped wine from a dented, bronze wine-cup, tapping the double handles with his rough fingers as he spoke. "Across the straits of Dáwan, we rowed our ships, landing that afternoon among the T'rákiyans of the peninsula. My men had not done well in the allotment of booty, after Tróya fell. Fortunately, though, T'ráki had many herds of cattle and flocks of sheep, with only a few scattered villages to protect them. We could not resist taking such an easy prize. We brought our weapons out from under the rowing benches of our ships and slaughtered all the barbarians that we saw, possessing their fat animals and their women. I was for setting sail again immediately, but my men were not satisfied. They delayed leaving, since we had already been gone for ten months. What was another day or two, compared to that, they kept asking?
"But in that time, short as it was, more T'rákiyan tribesmen came through the country where we were camped on the shore. These were not like those first shepherds, with their little slings and knives. No, these were warriors, used to fighting. Owái, we managed to keep them away from the hulls of our ships, all right, but out of every vessel's crew, a handful of my people died. We lost a good many of our captives, too. Ai gar, my men came away quick enough, then. But," he added, glancing around at his audience, which listened with eager eyes and ears, "not before we cremated those who had fallen and sung laments for them. I am a pious man, I will have you know, and that is a duty that cannot be ignored even in the worst of times."
Behind the It'ákan, Ainyáh rolled his eyes, as he drank from his own two-handled cup. Peirít'owo suppressed a contemptuous smile at the final remark, also. Even Diwoméde suddenly became more interested in Dáuniya's activity at the wine-bowl than in the exile's boasts.
Odushéyu went on, ignoring their reactions. "A storm caught us on our way south from T'ráki. We were barely able to take down our sails and masts before the wind shrieked down from the north. With our last strength we rowed to the big island, Lázpa, where we rested, waiting for the other Ak'áyans."
He paused to down the wine in his heavy cup, waiting until all of their eyes were on him again. With a hint of a smile, he went on, "You may have heard that I sailed across the Inner Sea with Meneláwo. But you cannot have heard where I went afterward. With the Lakedaimóniyans, my followers went west and south, wintering in Meneláwo's land. We It'ákans set off on our own, then, leaving the mainlanders. Again, the sea god showed us his anger. Poseidáon cursed us with more stormy weather. Nine days we rolled with the waves, unable even to row, clinging to the rowing benches for our very lives. On the tenth day, we washed up on an unknown shore, among strange people who ate nothing but the bulbs of the lotus. When they ate this uncivilized food, their eyes grew cloudy and they sat limp and silent, like men exhausted from days of hard labor.
"There was no decent livestock in that land of lotus-eaters, so many of my men began to eat the bulbs, too. But I did not, preferring to starve. With the lotus in their bellies, my men soon forgot everything. They did not care if they never saw their homes and families again. I longed for It'áka but I would not leave without my people. Those men had served me loyally in foreign lands. I could not abandon them to their fates their in that evil place. When I felt that we had rested sufficiently from our ordeal, I drove them all back to my longboats with a whip, as if they were slaves. Like so many captives, they traveled beneath the rowing benches, bound hand and foot. Alongside the Tróyan captives who had not yet drowned, my lotus-eating men wept and begged for mercy, but I ignored all their pleas."
Peirít'owo shook his head in disgust and spat on the painted dolphins on the floor. "Did you say, lotus-eaters, and on what strange shore did you find them? I think you must mean poppy-drinkers, Odushéyu, and they are to be found in every kingdom in Assúwa and Ak'áiwiya. You did not have to sail to any distant country to find those worthless, half-dead fish!" As the young man spoke, Ainyáh frowned, raising an eyebrow in surprise at the youth’s knowledge.
"Ai, no, no!" Odushéyu quickly assured the Kep'túriyan prince, though he too was a little taken aback by the objection. "I am telling the truth. It was a very distant beach that we landed on, never before visited by civilized men, far to the west of Mízriya. It was a long, hard journey from that country back to Ak'áiwiya, and we suffered many hardships along the way."
Diwoméde listened to the exchange, munching barley cakes and sipping watered wine. But he was as skeptical as his youthful guest. "That is an interesting tale, Odushéyu. But when we were still in Wilúsiya I heard you speak of problems with your wife. Is it not true that you returned to It'áka, after you left Lakedaimafter you left Lakedaimón, and Penelópa divorced you and sent you into exile?"
Odushéyu's eyes widened and he clapped his hands to his thighs, outraged. "What lies have you been listening to? Who told you such things?"
Diwoméde leaned forward in his seat, resting one elbow on his knee, staring down the visitor. "I heard this from Meneláwo. He received a letter from your queen, telling him as much. Admit it, Odushéyu. Penelópa deposed you."
Spluttering and cursing, Odushéyu glanced about at the others in the mégaron. Peirít'owo was nodding, grim satisfaction on his face. It was clear that he bore a grudge against the exiled It'ákan, although the others did not know why. Nor was Ainyáh inclined to ask. He showed Odushéyu no sympathy, but only touched the scabbard at his hip, a silent threat should anything go wro
ng.
Turning back to his host, the It'ákan cried, "What difference does such a small detail make? I have lived many years away from my homeland, in great hardship. No other man has ever suffered as much as I have. Owái, such a bitter fate!"
"To be an exile is a harsh destiny," the qasiléyu agreed. "Go on. Where did you sail next?"
"To the northwest," Odushéyu answered, his outrage instantly forgotten. "Well beyond the southern Ak'áyan kingdoms, north of even Aitolíya, is the island home of the maináds of the sea, goddesses who are incredibly beautiful to look at, but completely evil at heart. They draw passing ships close to the shore, with their lovely, unearthly voices, but then they possess the mariners' souls and drag their bodies down below the waves. Let me tell you how I outwitted them. I collected beeswax from the hives of Enwáli, on my way. With this, I stopped the ears of all of my sailors and rowers, so that they would not be led to their destruction by the seductive singing. But, as for myself, I left my ears unfilled and uncovered, so that I would be the only man to hear the song of the wild maináds and live to tell the tale.
Ainyáh was no longer listening, concentrating instead on the food before him. But Peirít'owo was suddenly interested in Odushéyu's tale. He paused in his eating and listened carefully. "When was this?" the young man asked, with narrowed eyes.
"It was in the early spring, the year after Tróya fell," the balding exile answered easily. "That was before I came to your father's kingdom." Between the attentive audience and the serving women constantly refilling his wine-cup, Odushéyu warmed to his subject. His voice was strong and confident. He leaned back in his heavy chair, rearranging the cushioning sheepskins from time to time. "Ai, you know how good it is to hear the cries of gulls, telling you that land is near, when you have sailed throughout the day over an empty sea. Lovelier than this is the song of the water maináds, sweeter than the voice of your dearest child, after an absence of many months."
Peirít'owo shook his head, growing irritated. "You crossed the Inner Sea that summer. My father and I were in Assúwa with you. Do you not remember that I, too, wintered there, the following year, in Millewánda? You said nothing of singing goddesses or lotus-eaters, back then. It was only Mízriya's cities that you talked about." He spoke with sudden heat, his eyes taking on a fierce gleam. "You talked of nothing else, always urging us to voyage south. Have you forgotten?"
Odushéyu choked on his wine, spewing red liquid over his lap. "I have forgotten nothing!" he cried, when he had recovered.
Diwoméde began to laugh. "I can guess what happened to you next, my friend," he said helpfully, addressing the spluttering exile. "Your men had to tie you, hand and foot to the mast, to keep you from going over the side of your ship. Ai, you were never one to pass up a chance to lie with a woman, be she high born or commoner, Ak'áyan or barbarian, or, in this case, a goddess."
Ainyáh was impatient. "Odushéyu, get on with the tale. I was with you at Millewánda, too. We parted company at the island of Wórdo, the following year. From there you went south to Mízriya. Or did you sail east, first?"
"This I know to be true," Diwoméde interjected, before Odushéyu could speak again. "But tell me, why Mízriya? Why did you take on the greatest power in the world? Even with all of Ak'áiwiya fighting together under Agamémnon, we were only able to sack Tróya after all her allies deserted her. If the Náshiyan empire had sent an army, we could not taken the city at all. So, why take on the southern empire with an army that was less than half the size of Agamémnon’s? That was a very foolish move, if you ask me."
Peirít'owo turned to hear the answer, his jaw set in anger, his food and wine forgotten. Ainyáh tried to catch the young man's eye, but succeeded only in getting Dáuniya's notice and a refilled cup.
Odushéyu threw down his own drinking vessel, spilling the dark liquid. Reddening with anger, he rose to his feet and clapped his hands to his graying head. "Do you really think I did not point this out to Idómeneyu and the others?"
"It was my father who pointed this out to you!" Peirít'owo cried furiously.
Shouting to drown out the young Kep'túriyan's protests, Odushéyu went on, speaking ever faster. "I begged him not to attack the Mízriyans' cities. We had fifty ships between us, enough to take an isolated fortress like Millewánda, or even a small country like Attika. But it was madness to pit so few against a great empire. I wanted to go south, it is true. But it was my intention only to trade with the Mízriyans. Ai gar, Idómeneyu would not listen to me and the men followed him. He was still the king of Kep'túr in their eyes, even though he was just as much an exile as I was and not half as intelligent. But nothing I could say would convince them that he was wrong. Ai, the maináds caught them all on that day and I have had no peace since."
"You are a liar, a fawn-hearted pirate!" Peirít'owo bellowed, standing abruptly. "My father was not to blame for the disaster in Mízriya." He drew the dagger that every high born Ak'áyan carried in his belt.
Alarmed, Ainyáh rose with his own blade in his hand. With sudden squawks of alarm, the serving women ran to the door, ready to leave the large room.
Diwoméde hurried from the throne, stumbling, his own dagger drawn. "Peirít'owo, Odushéyu, Ainyáh, you are all my guests! Listen to your host. Do not spill blood in my mégaron!" Close behind the qasiléyu, T'érsite came running with his fists held up before his face, although he held no weapon.
The two exiles glared at each other briefly, the young Kep'túriyan struggling manfully to stare down the older It'ákan. But Peirít'owo's eyes soon fell and he returned to his chair, quietly cursing. "To 'Aidé with you, It'ákan dog!"
In the doorway of the great room, armed warriors appeared with questioning eyes. Diwoméde sent them away once more, with a wave. But of the serving women, only Dáuniya returned to the hearth side. The other ladies of the fortress disappeared into the dark corridors, as she and T'érsite returned to the wine-bowl, exchanging nervous glances.
"So, you wanted to trade with the Mízriyans, did you?" Diwoméde stiffly asked Odushéyu, encouraging the man to continue his tale.
"Trade?" Ainyáh demanded, a sudden agonizing suspicion gripping his heart. He touched the It'ákan lightly on the ribs to get his attention. "You and Idómeneyu were refugees. You told me that you barely escaped with your lives. I happen to know that you left Millewánda with very little in your ships' holds. What did you have to trade in a wealthy country like Mízriya?"
Odushéyu smoothed the folds of the fleeces on his chair with studied care before seating himself. He raised one eyebrow, a few long, white hairs trailing from its end. With an enigmatic half-smile, he admitted, "We made a few stops on the way."
"Where?" demanded Ainyáh, grasping the It'ákan's hairy arm with ferocious intensity. "Where did you stop? There are no rich islands between Wórdo and Mízriya, but only empty sea."
"Ai," Odushéyu shrugged, lazily retrieving his bronze cup from the floor, "here and there."
Ainyáh sat on the edge of his chair, his face less than a hand's-breadth from the other's. "Where, exactly?"
"I know the answer to that, Ainyáh." Peirít'owo spoke unnecessarily loudly, raising a hand as if to calm the Assúwan. Mimicking the It'ákan's smirk, the young Kep'túriyan announced loudly, "Odushéyu, did you not suggest that we should go east, in the beginning, and stop at the copper island, what was its name, again, Alásiya was it?"
Ainyáh was on his feet in an instant, his fists clenched with white-knuckled fury. Diwoméde caught T'érsite's eye and the laborer headed toward the door, ready to call in the soldiers, if need be.
The visitors had all but forgotten their host. Reckless of the consequences, Peirít'owo continued, "Then we visited Kanaqán, as I recall." Enjoying the rage on the Kanaqániyan's face and the keen discomfort on Odushéyu's, the youngest guest scratched his curly beard, feigning deep thought. "Or was it the other way around?"
Odushéyu rose, stumbling backward, as Ainyáh leaped toward him, shouting, "You swore me an oath th
at you would not go there!"
The It'ákan's chair fell over backward and his wine spilled. Badly frightened, Odushéyu raised both of his hands, still backing away. He began talking quickly, his voice high in panic. "No, no, peace to you, Ainyáh, peace! We never went so far east. I swear by the head of the divine wánaks. Díwo himself is my witness. Peirít'owo is lying, I tell you! He is just angry because I embraced the Mízriyan king's knees when the battle was lost. And my fate was kinder than Idómeneyu's, because the Great King had pity on me, but killed his father. Do you hear me? We did not go east, never. I swear it! Why would we attack Kanaqán? Ainyáh, you helped us sack Tróya. You were our ally. You still are. We would not burn the cities of your kinsmen. How can you accuse me of such a thing?"
Ainyáh was not convinced. His face was purple with rage, as he shouted, "Then where did you go? And do not lie to me, pirate! I am a mariner myself and I have traded all around the Inner Sea and the Great Green, these past ten years. I know which cities have fallen and which have not. Now I demand to know. Where did you stop? What did you have to trade in Mízriya?"
Odushéyu swallowed hard, casting a look of desperation toward the qasiléyu who was watching silently from the throne. "I led Idómeneyu to the far west, beyond where civilized men live. We sailed to ítalo, the Bull Country, and to the great islands south and west of there. Those barbarians have no end of copper and it is easy to take. They have no fortresses, you see. So,we raided their villages for metal and horses, yes, that is it. That is what we carried to Mízriya, copper and fat ponies."
Ainyáh hesitated, glaring into the It'ákan's eyes distrustfully. "Are you lying?" He did not see Diwoméde signal to Peirít'owo to go along, the qasiléyu touching his hand to his knife as a silent threat to his young guest.
Big tears welled up in Odushéyu's eyes. "No, I swear by divine 'Estiwáya, by the hearth of the home that I will never see again."