Conspiracy of the Islands (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  "We were gone a long time last year," Diwoméde said with a pang, "and we took the better part of the fleets of Argo and Lakedaimón. The people were defenseless. Even Ainyáh's small group…"

  Odushéyu shook his head more forcefully. "Hear me out, Diwoméde. It was not Ainyáh. He is from Kanaqán, after all. And what are the Kanaqániyans but merchants and mercenaries? There is really very little difference between the two professions, if you think about it. Each worships wealth above every other thing. A man can easily be both trader and pirate at once. Take what you want when you have the strength for it. Trade when you are weak. Sell your goods or your spear to the king who pays the most. Either way, a Kanaqániyan does not destroy the country that is, after all, the source of his wealth. But Lakedaimón was not just attacked. The whole land was devastated."

  "Ainyáh served the Tróyans most of his adult life, though," the qasiléyu argued. "Remember, they abducted the 'Elléniya at a holy time. They may have taught their troop commander a little dishonor."

  Odushéyu scowled furiously. "Just hear me out. As I said, we first suspected Ainyáh. When we rounded the southern promontory of Lakedaimón and headed west, Meneláwo said no more about his 'Elléniya. He assumed she was dead, since whoever had sacked all his towns had also slaughtered his people, the men, the children, even the women. That in itself is proof that Ainyáh was not to blame. Tróyans and Kanaqániyans both commit atrocities in the name of vengeance. But even Tróyans would not kill all the women. After all, they are more valuable than cattle or bronze."

  Diwoméde nodded somberly.

  Odushéyu's voice dropped to a whisper. "That is not all. The marauders did something no Ak'áyan had ever seen before. They cut off the right hand of every person slain and carried it away with them."

  "What?" gasped the qasiléyu. "Are you sure of this? Why would any man mutilate the dead in such a way?"

  The It'ákan moaned and ran a shaking hand over his face. "We did not realize what had been done at first, because the bodies were decayed and torn by wolves. But when we neared the Éyurota river mouth, the corpses were fresher. There it was clear what had been done. But no man could guess why.

  "I had intended to leave Meneláwo and go on to the west. But he told me to come with him to Spárta. It was his last hope, he said, of finding his 'Elléniya and his son alive. If they were dead, he would join forces with me to track down the marauders. Then, to show his gratitude, he would help me regain my throne.

  "Ai, how could a poor exile turn down such an offer? I sailed up the Éyurota with him to Spárta. Prince Megapént'e was there, nursing a bad wound in his thigh. But the boy told us little more than what we had already seen. Meneláwo had left him in charge of Lakedaimón and he had done his best. But the marauders had come so swiftly that there was no warning. They had been so thorough that Megapént'e himself had barely escaped alive from Aúgeyai. He had sent the queen away only a few days before our arrival, he told us. She went to Wórdo, a wise choice for a refuge. I am surprised that young Megapént'e thought of it. He was never a great one for thinking."

  "Wórdo?" asked the qasiléyu in disbelief. "Only nine ships came from there to fight at Tróya."

  "Ai, it was nothing but a little island kingdom under wánaks Tlepólemo, ten years ago. But under his wánasha Poluksó, it has become a powerful state, even controlling the city of Millewánda, on the mainland, from what I hear. The 'Elléniya will be safe in Wórdo, so long as her ships are not sunk on the way."

  Diwoméde stared thoughtfully at the It'ákan, as the exile drank his wine. "Could the marauders be Mesheníyans?" the qasiléyu asked hesitantly. "Néstor may bear a grudge against his neighbor for not helping him against Penelópa all these years."

  Again the It'ákan shook his head. "That was our next guess. But Megapént'e had seen the attackers and he described them for us. The vessels were without high prows or sternposts, and the masts were secured upright permanently. The sails were large, with no boom at the bottom, as you might expect with a solid mast. But above each sail was a basket where a lookout might sit, without danger of falling. Ai, these ships were truly unlike any Megapént'e had seen before. Naturally, he assumed they could not be Ak'áyans. He thought perhaps they were Alásiyan. After all, those island men are the best ship-builders in the world.

  "Meneláwo remembered seeing such ships in Mesheníyan waters, years ago. He could not remember what foreign land they came from, but Néstor and his father always carried on more trade with the non-Ak'áyan kingdoms than any of the rest of us. Ai, Kep'túr may have done more, in its day, I suppose. But that time was long past before our friend, Idómeneyu, came to power. At any rate, Meneláwo thought that the Mesheníyans must have learned to build these longboats from one of their foreign trade partners. They would have come east to avenge themselves on Lakedaimón, just as you say.

  "So, after tending Megapént'e's wound, we returned to the coast and headed west, toward Púlo. Meneláwo insisted on leaving Orésta and 'Ermiyóna in Spárta, though. His daughter would be safer there than on the open sea, he said. We might come upon the marauders at any time, and no man could predict what would happen if we did. As for Orésta, ai, the boy understood that 'Ermiyóna, and all Lakedaimón with her, needed a wánaks at home, one who was young and healthy and who could look at the future unafraid.

  "But Meneláwo himself came with me and most of his men followed. They were thirsting for revenge, let me tell you! We rounded the southern promontory of Mesheníya and saw the hilltop where Púlo once stood…."

  "Once stood?" Diwoméde repeated, his eyes wide with dread.

  Odushéyu nodded, moaning and rocking himself. "We saw the smoke from a long way off. Púlo was still burning when we stepped onto the shore. Meneláwo would not let us sail past, even though his Lakedaimóniyans urged him to keep going. The men thought we might catch up with the marauders and their blood was hot for combat. Owái, my heart was sick with dread, Diwoméde. You cannot imagine how I felt. All the men were saying, if it was not Néstor who had done these things, then it could only be Penelópa, my own wife.

  "Ai, Meneláwo had become like one possessed. You remember how he brooded on the hills at Tróya, staring at those white walls and sharpening his sword, all through the night. He was the same on our journey, now, though it was the sea and the horizon before those hard, cold eyes. He ate almost nothing, hardly slept, rarely spoke. It was like having a dáimon on board with us. But the Lakedaimóniyans' loyalty was unswerving and I could not persuade a single one to desert their king for me."

  Diwoméde was astonished at the pirate's admission, but said nothing. Chewing his thumb thoughtfully, the qasiléyu waited for the rest of the story. Beyond the two high-ranked men, the servants glanced at each other with fearful eyes and found reasons to continue quietly working ever closer to the exile. They did not want to miss a single word of his dramatic tale.

  Odushéyu frowned into his empty wine-cup. "As we walked through the ruins of Púlo, it began to rain, and the fire, which had already burned low, stopped. Meneláwo searched through the fallen wood and plaster until he came to the room of the scribes. Despite my urgings and those of all his warriors, he would not leave until he had looked over the tablets. Ai, you know how the royal women make a record on soft clay, setting it aside to dry? Then, at the beginning of the new year, they copy these onto leather sheets, to be rolled up and preserved for all time? Of course, the leather records were nothing but ashes by then, but the clay ones were baked hard by the fire, just as a pot is. Meneláwo insisted that he had to look these over. He thought they might speak of the marauders."

  "He can read?" Diwoméde asked in whispered astonishment.

  "He can. His 'Elléniya taught him. Ai, the woman was mad. Who knows what all she has done? Owái, Meneláwo read the tablets aloud, one by one, then dropped them. Most of it was useless, nothing more than what you would expect to find in any archive, so many workers in this lawagéta's fields, so much in taxes owed by that man, how many
captive women weave linen on these estates, and what their rations will be this year.

  "None gave the name of the pirates' country. Néstor must have had some warning, though. Some of the tablets recorded oarsmen sent to Pléyuron, so many from Rówa, so many from Ríyon, and so on. The tablets listed the men in each qasiléyu's command, assigned to watch the coast. Néstor was a desperate man. Púlo had no walls at all, you know. It was indefensible. One tablet spoke of the numbers of men missing from their posts. Ai, it pained my heart to think of the old man deserted. Owai, he had time to call for sacrifices in the temples too. I will never forget the words Meneláwo read--'Perform the rituals at the shrine of Díwo and bring the gifts: to Díwo, one gold bowl, one man; to 'Éra, one golden bowl, one woman.'"

  Diwoméde covered his face with his hands and the serving women in the great chamber moaned. Dáuniya refilled the It'ákan's cup with trembling hands.

  Odushéyu drank thirstily and continued in an undertone. "It was not Néstor we were facing, or any of his sons. We sailed on, then, to my capital on It'áka, to avenge ourselves on Penelópa. I did not know whether to rejoice or mourn. Ai, my land was full of strange people, refugees from every kingdom. The rain still comes to the western islands. It is not a wealthy land or very fertile, never was, but it has more than any other place in the south.

  "I convinced Meneláwo that I needed to spy out the opposition before we attacked, so I went alone to my home city. Ai, but the whole land was a shambles! Diwiyána's laws are respected there no longer. Every man robs his neighbor. No woman opens her home to a traveler in hospitality. I went as a singer of tales, with a lúra under my arm, and still I was treated no better than a slave. Every householder chased me away with blows or set his dogs on me. Only a swineherd would give me shelter and share his miserable meal. I did not tell him who I was, but he soon guessed. My father lived close by, he told me. We visited him. Father knew more about what was going on in the palace, though he lived outside the walls.

  "Penelópa had never remarried, despite our divorce, you see. She played off one potential mate against the other, keeping them always at her feet. There were two in the palace at that time, vying with each other. Each had some troops with him, men who had accompanied him on his journey there. But the main It'ákan army was out to sea, tracking our same marauders.

  "That was a welcome surprise, as it promised to make my work easier. But the problem of the mysterious pirates would remain unsolved a while longer. You see, Penelópa had extended her rule to the northwest coast of the mainland and those places had been hard hit, just as Lakedaimón and Mesheníya had been. My father was sure it was Ainyáh's doing, because a few survivors had come to It'áka seeking sanctuary. These refugees described men with large noses and shaved chins, and they wore medallions and amulets at their necks, like men of Kanaqán. But among the marauders, there were others, too, more dáimon-like. These strange creatures fought with long, thin-bladed swords and their spears had no heads of metal. The points were wooden, hardened only by fire. Some of these beings had skin as red as blood, while others were whiter than bleached linen. Only days before we had arrived, watchers on It'áka's coasts had spied Tróyan ships. The strange ones must be Tróyans, the survivors supposed, Assúwans who had painted themselves as we do for the mock battle at the New Year's festival. So the whole It'ákan fleet was out, hunting Ainyáh down or doing battle with him.

  "I knew that Meneláwo would not stay to help me regain my throne if I told him this news. But I could not bear to leave, not without retaking my home. You can understand that, can you not? I had my father and the swineherd go out to the men who were still loyal to me. They were able to raise a small army from those living close by. When it was all assembled, we marched on the palace and attacked, slaughtering the foreigners to the last man.

  "I knew that I had to work quickly to consolidate my power before the It'ákan fleet returned. I did not know how many of Penelópa's warriors would oppose me. First, I had all the servants and members of my household brought to me, so that I could judge them. One of the older captives lived with my father. She was once my nursemaid. I had her point out to me which few of my serving women had remained faithful to my memory. I questioned her about my wife and my son, too.

  "When I judged who would be rewarded and who punished, I divided them into groups. The disloyal servants I put to work immediately. I forced them at spear point to dispose of the bodies of the men we had killed. They washed my halls clean of blood and burned fragrant herbs to remove the stench of death. They took all the firewood from the prepared stores in the palace courtyard and made a pyre for the bodies, beyond the citadel walls. Then I took the bitches out and hanged them all, in my own vineyard. My loyal followers tossed the disloyal ones' corpses onto the pyre and the smoke rose to heaven. Díwo himself must have rejoiced to see justice done, at last!

  "I forced Penelópa to watch all this, of course, to put terror in her heart. That was my revenge for all the suffering she had caused me. She did not kneel at my feet to beg for mercy from me when I dragged her from her bed-chamber. She did not weep or tear her cheeks, as a woman should, to see her people killed, either. I made up my mind to throw her into the pyre of her followers, still living. I told her what I intended and then at last she made an outcry. Ai, my heart burned to make her suffer, especially when she wept and embraced my knees, begging for her life."

  Diwoméde swallowed. He knew the bitter taste of revenge. "What did you do?" he asked.

  Odushéyu did not answer immediately. He fingered the burnished rim of his ceramic cup and traced the painted spirals on its sides for some time. "My son was overjoyed to see me. He fought at my side against the foreigners in the palace and helped with the work of killing the disloyal servants. But Qelémak'o did not want me to harm his mother. I granted my son's request for mercy, though it went against all the desires of my soul. But, after all, Penelópa spared me once, even though she condemned me to a life of exile. So now it was I who banished her. I dragged her to the shore and put her in a little fishing boat with a single oarsman, and told him to take her to the mainland. Then, with Qelémak'o sitting on my throne in my absence, I returned to Meneláwo to tell him what I had learned about Ainyáh's men.

  "I expected to be gone only a short while. I told Meneláwo the truth, all that I had heard, and I offered to let him take one of my three ships. But I could not go on, I said. Qelémak'o would be loyal to me, I knew. But he was still young and ruling a kingdom is no simple task, even in good times. Now, with his mother exiled and his father absent, the commoners could easily rise against him. I had to return to It'áka and to my son.

  "But Meneláwo cared nothing for my problems. He threatened to march on my capital and sack it himself if I abandoned him. Owái, I regained my kingdom only to lose it again! Qelémak'o will surely be surrounded by enemies. He cannot hope to maintain control of the islands on his own."

  Diwoméde was impatient with the exile's personal troubles. "Tell me more about the marauders," he urged the older man. "Did you ever see them yourselves?"

  "No," Odushéyu groaned, his features twisted with pain. "We set sail again and followed the course that my father pointed out to us, the way the It'ákan fleet had gone. We found the remains of that army on the shores of Enwáli, where a storm had driven them. They had met Ainyáh on the water and closed with him, they told us. They boarded a few of his ships, slaughtered several men, and made prisoners of others. Then the wind rose and a storm drove the It'ákans to shore. They did not know whether Ainyáh and the rest of his people survived or drowned.

  "The Tróyan prisoners claimed that they were not the ones we were looking for. They had left their city because it had fallen to a new invasion, this time from the north. Warriors from T'ráki and Mar-Yandún had sacked their city, driving them out of Wilúsiya. They had spent the last two sailing seasons roaming the Inner Sea, looking for a new home, they said. Kep'túr had welcomed them as kinsmen, but pestilence was raging there, as so ofte
n happens after a famine. Ainyáh did not care to stay for that. They heard of our depredations in the northeast, in Attika and T'eshalíya. So they had gone toward the northwest, hoping to avoid us. Ainyáh planned to offer their services as mercenaries in T'esprotíya, thinking the king would hire them to fend off an Ak'áyan invasion.

  "That was Ainyáh's story. All the It'ákans, mine and Penelópa's, laughed at it. They said he was lying and the Lakedaimóniyans agreed. I had said very little about the marauders, all along. Now I hoped that Meneláwo would consider himself avenged so that I could go home, where my soul longed to be. Owái, but that Meneláwo, that dáimon with burning eyes! He remembered the strange mutilations in Lakedaimón and Mesheníya. 'What is in the holds of Ainyáh's ships?' he asked. 'Bronze,' the Tróyans answered, 'and cattle and women.' The It'ákans who had boarded their ships confirmed this. Then Meneláwo knew that he was not avenged, that Ainyáh's men were not the pirates who had attacked his coast."

  The younger Argive was puzzled and concerned. "But then, who are these strange marauders? I do not think they can be Ak'áyans. The northerners may hold a grudge against us, but they are still recovering from the losses of the summer. I do not believe they could send a force large enough to hit so many places. They would not be so systematic, either. No, P'ilístas may burn small villages in great number, but they strike only a few large fortresses and then go home."

  He thought for a moment longer. "The T'rákiyans are often our enemies, but they do not have the skill to build sea-worthy ships. Assúwa is in worse shape than Ak'áiwiya, now that the empire has crumbled. Every former Náshiyan dependency is at war with its neighbor. Besides, why would they bother us when richer lands are close by their own borders. Could the attackers be Ashúriyans? I have never seen such men, so I do not know whether they paint themselves for war. But Meneláwo once told me that Ashúr was most famous for its cruelty."