by Diana Gainer
Meneláwo rose with grim determination. "Listen to Odushéyu. This campaign is a matter of necessity. If we do not attack Mízriya to avenge our losses, then we will be hit again and again. Our survival as well as our honor depends on our actions. We must unite, we must. We must choose someone to lead us. And we must go south and make war." The lawagétas nodded, but their faces were as somber as the Lakedaimóniyan's.
Diwoméde took the speaker's staff to instill a bit of enthusiasm in those solemn eyes and souls. "If Mízriya is still divided, then our task will be easy, despite their greater numbers. We need only sail to the mouths of the Aigúpto River and sack the towns and fortresses along the shores. That will show the world that we are not weak. Then, those who desire it can go home to the honorable poverty of their native lands. Others will stay in Mízriya to carve out new and wealthy kingdoms for themselves."
The faces of the men began to glow. This talk was more to their liking.
Odushéyu was not finished. He was not prepared to be outdone by the qasiléyu, either. Taking Puláda's scepter, he continued, "I suspect that Mízriya has reunited by now. But even if it has, still, all is not lost. To accomplish reunification, a king would have to march from one province to another, battling each governor in turn. This would take years. So if Mízriya is indeed one nation again, its king must be relatively new. He cannot have consolidated his power. That, too, takes years to accomplish. Such a king would have many enemies, men who do not care to pay the larger portion of their earnings each year as tribute, as well as the kinsmen of those he killed to gain power. We must unite, but we must also draw in these disaffected Mízriyans. Do these two things, and victory will be yours!"
The former exile's speech thrilled the hearts of the assembled war leaders. They called out the name of the god of thunder, "Díwo!" and trilled the war cry, brandishing their swords.
"Choose Puláda as overlord of all the Ak'áiwiya, both the north and the south," Odushéyu shouted to the excited assembly. "Follow him to Mízriya as you once followed Agamémnon to Tróya. I will lead the way for you, as soon as Artémito sends a favorable wind. Sons of Diwiyána, my brothers, stand together. The whole world must fall at your feet and embrace your knees!"
aaa
Even when their blood had cooled and their spirits calmed, the men of the south agreed to follow Puláda. Diwoméde's arguments prevailed over their instinctive doubts. Puláda was, after all, the rightful king of Argo, as the qasiléyu pointed out. Despite the drought and internal dissension, Argo was still the paramount kingdom of Ak'áiwiya, as well as a southern land. For their part, the men of the north accepted Puláda unreservedly, reminding each other that he was one of them by birth.
aaa
Despite his public support for his wánaks, Diwoméde had his own doubts. Inviting Meneláwo to a private meeting in his bed chamber, the qasiléyu revealed his deepest fears. "We may be making a mistake. Puláda is young and has no experience leading an army."
The Lakedaimóniyan was not concerned. "Tróya was your first campaign," he reminded his nephew, "and in Attika you led men when you were younger than Puláda is now. Do not forget your brother, either. Orésta is Puláda's age. How did he do in Qoyotíya?"
Diwoméde hung his head. "Orésta fought bravely and proved himself a good strategist. But he had good teachers in you and Agamémnon. Aitolíyans are not known for their champions or their wisdom."
Meneláwo reclined on the qasiléyu's bed, rubbing his aching side. "Others can make up for whatever the overlord lacks. Agamémnon was clever but you yourself had to rebuke him at times for his lack of persistence. I would not worry too much about this, Diwoméde."
The younger man lay back, supporting his weight on his elbow to face his uncle. A sharp pain made him sit suddenly and he put a hand to his scarred shoulder. "What about Odushéyu?" Diwoméde asked.
Meneláwo was more interested in the qasiléyu's old wounds than in the It'ákan. Pointing at the younger man's arm, he asked, "What about you? Can you still use a spear? And your foot, does it still give you pain? Perhaps you should ask Puláda to let you stay here to guard his home front while we are gone."
Diwoméde shook his head. "My arm and my foot are fine. I will fight alongside my men in Mízriya. Do not waste your time arguing with me, either. I could not ask king Puláda such a thing even if I wanted to. He has told me that I will no longer be qasiléyu of Tíruns when this campaign is over. He intends to put Odushéyu in my place."
Meneláwo was surprised. But he quickly dismissed his nephew's concern. Clapping a hand to Diwoméde's thigh, the older man said, "Do not worry about that, my boy. Make every effort to impress your new king with your loyalty and courage. You have already made a good start, speaking for his overlordship. You should marry your captive woman, too. What is her name? Dáuniya?"
Diwoméde nodded. "How will that help?"
"It makes a man seem less of a threat when he takes a spear-won bride. It shows he lacks the ambition for a higher post. Do your best and do not be concerned about the future. After all, Klutaimnéstra finally accepted you. She was surely harder to win over than Puláda is. Besides, if Puláda does not keep you, after all that you do, go to Lakedaimón. Orésta will certainly take you in. He must. He is your brother."
The qasiléyu was taken aback. He frowned as he realized that the older man expected to die in this campaign. "Orésta?" he asked. "If I go to Lakedaimón, will you not be there?"
Meneláwo smiled ruefully and turned his eyes from the younger man's. "I am getting old," he said simply.
"Then you should be the one to stay behind and guard your homeland," Diwoméde urged. "I would not want to see you fall in Mízriya."
His uncle sighed, running his fingers through the soft fleeces on the qasiléyu's bed. Quietly, he explained, "Ariyádna would not like it either. But I must go. If I do not, Orésta or Megapént'e would have to lead the men in my place. Can I send my nephew or my son to fight and possibly die for me? Ai, if I had a choice, I would go south alone."
The younger man nodded unhappily. The deaths of so many of his people at Tróya had oppressed the older man's soul for years. It was no easy matter to face another such loss. Diwoméde pressed his lips together in distaste as he returned to his original topic. "But there is still the problem of Odushéyu. I do not trust him. He is holding something back, keeping some secret. I tried to warn Puláda but he would not listen. We must do something, Meneláwo."
"Ai gar," the Lakedaimóniyan smiled, "you fret as much as my serving woman. Is it not obvious what Odushéyu is doing? He has spoken with your king about becoming qasiléyu of Tíruns. Puláda is temporarily impressed with the pirate. I would not let Odushéyu stay in It'áka last autumn, you see. We were tracking the marauders in waters I did not know and I needed his skill as a mariner – or pirate, that is. He is facing a second exile, he thinks. He is trying to line up a new post for himself, just in case. But he always trips himself up in the end. Just watch and see. Puláda will see him for what he is before this campaign is over."
When Diwoméde later confessed the same fear to T'érsite, the laborer's outlook was grim. "Meneláwo is probably right about Odushéyu wanting your post. Be careful, qasiléyu. He may not have killed Aíwaks at Tróya, as the P'ilístas claim. But if Agamémnon had asked him to, he would not have hesitated. Do not turn your back on any It'ákan, not for a moment. Ai, Diwoméde, if you must go to Mízriya, take me with you. I do not relish the thought of serving that pirate if Puláda does replace you."
Diwoméde smiled and put his arm over the low-ranked man's broad shoulders. "You are too old for another campaign, my friend. Besides, I need you to watch out for Dáuniya while I am gone. But do not worry about working for Odushéyu. If Puláda will not keep me as his vassal, I will turn to Orésta. He is my kinsman. He will not abandon me. And you can go wherever I go."
T'érsite was not as confident as his qasiléyu or Lakedaimón's king. "You cannot depend on Orésta's good will any more than on Puláda's," h
e warned. "Meneláwo once chose to abandon his brother to spare his wife. As for Agamémnon, he was not always as loyal to his kinsmen as he should have been. He did not leave Wilúsiya without the 'Elléniya, but he tried many times to find an excuse to do so. No, Diwoméde, you cannot depend on any man but me. You must take me with you. I am older than you, but Meneláwo is still older and he is going. Besides, I have no old war wounds to slow me down."
But Diwoméde would not give his consent. T'érsite must remain at Tíruns. The qasiléyu would not admit it, but he was afraid that he would not return from Mízriya. For it seemed that Ip'emédeya's curse was destined to come true, that every man who had fought at Tróya was doomed. Diwoméde was prepared to accept his own fate but could not release T'érsite to his.
aaa
Preparations for war continued at a feverish pace, while the ships of other lands came to crowd the port and while the wánaktes and qasiléyus met to decide questions of leadership and strategy for the campaign. Messengers went out to the more distant lands, to kingdoms only nominally Ak'áyan. Kep'túr's now numerous and independent chieftains were approached and asked to contribute men and ships. The men of the other islands were urged to join, as well, spearmen from the Kukládes, from the half-T'rákiyan Sporádes, ethnically mixed warriors from Wórdo and Millewánda across the Inner Sea. For no man could say where the Mízriyans might sail that year, if they were not stopped in their homeland.
Ainyáh surprised them all by coming from northerly T'esprotíya, leading a mixed band of Párparo commoners, Wilúsiya's high-born soldiers, and his own kinsmen from Kanaqán. Puláda was suspicious, but greeted him warmly nevertheless. Ak'áiwiya needed all the troops it could muster. To cement the unexpected alliance, Argo's king even insisted that Odushéyu make a token blood-payment for the men that Ainyáh had lost to It'ákan warriors the year before. In return, the Kanaqániyan mercenary, now serving the unknown T'esprotíyan king, sent a shipload of men to distant Alásiya in the east. No Alásiyan islanders were likely to reach Mízriyan waters that summer, Ainyáh admitted. But a single campaign might not be enough to halt the southern empire. If a second expedition were necessary, the following year, additional allies would be needed. And he still had kinsmen on the island of copper, as well as on the mainland further to the east on the rim of the Great Green Sea.
T'érsite growsed privately to Diwoméde, as the Kanaqániyan ship left the port of Tíruns. "How do you know his people will actually go to Alásiya?" the laborer asked, watching the bare-skinned rowers bend over their oars. "They may be planning to sail ahead of you, to warn the Mízriyans that you are coming. How do you know that Ainyáh is not setting a trap? Send one of your own ships to sink this vessel, before it is too late."
But the qasiléyu would not follow this advice. "Puláda is my wánaks and I cannot act against his will. That would be dishonorable. Ai, T'érsite," he added, laughing, laying a hand on the laborer's shoulder, "you are the only man I know who worries more than I do. Odushéyu is a good man to drink with and he tells a better story than Ainyáh. But I would trust Ainyáh with my very life before I would trust Odushéyu with so much as a message."
aaa
Smiths came to Tíruns from kingdoms of north and south, alongside their various troop leaders. All along the shores of Tíruns, these craftsmen worked to make weapons for the army. Bronze was scarcer than in normal times. Much had flowed out of Ak'áiwiya through the preceding decade, sent north to T'ráki or south to Mízriya, always to purchase grain. Now, metal drinking vessels and tools, ornaments and thumb rings were commandeered from every ruling house, to be melted down and reused. Even the bronze gifts that had been amassed by the holiest sanctuaries were confiscated by the king's men. All went into heavy pots of baked clay, to be heated over open flames, fanned to a great heat. When the metal melted, the bronze-smiths poured it into ceramic molds, making countless pointed tips for spears and arrows, and longer blades for swords and daggers.
Despite the requisitioning, there was not enough metal to equip the men as had been done in Agamémnon's more prosperous day. No metal could be spared for armor plates, for greaves, or for helmets. Leather corselets and quilted greaves had to serve instead, prepared by leather-workers and by female relatives of those who prepared for war.
Nor was there a surplus of good ox-hide. Only smaller livestock had survived the years of drought in any number. The tanned hides of cattle were almost as valuable as copper. All went for shields for the fighting men. The smaller skins of goats and sheep were made into corselets, sewn in strips. In an earlier day, only the higher-ranked wore armor of any kind at the beginning of a campaign. But now, every man was valuable. Every soldier had to be provided for.
In the same spirit of practicality, another tradition was discarded. Every man shaved his beard and mustache, formerly grown as the symbols of rank and of Ak'áyan manhood. Puláda insisted on it, even forgoing his own facial hair as an example. There was no point in giving an enemy something to hang onto when he was about to slice off one's head. To those who protested, the young king pointed out that the famed mercenaries of Kanaqán had shaved their own chins for more than a generation. They had done so for the same practical reason.
Many of the southern men had left their homes without helmets, neither bronze nor leather. Falling back upon old tradition, Puláda ordered that feathered caps be made for all his troops. "That way the Mízriyans will see that we are all one," he explained. This pleased the northerners, proving to them that Puláda had not forgotten his origin. Even Meneláwo donned the P'ilístas' crown, though he owned more than one cap of bronze. His metal helmets he gave over to the smiths to be melted. It was more important that every man have spears and arrows, he said, than for one man to adorn his head.
aaa
Only a handful of southern men of rank retained their older helmets of bronze and horn, Diwoméde among them. "Púrwo was a P'ilísta and he committed sacrilege in Qoyotíya," he told Dáuniya, as they lay in bed the night before the planned departure. "His father was no better. Ak'illéyu helped bring about the deaths of many Ak'áyans. As long as I remember these men's deeds, I will not be a P'ilísta."
Dáuniya listened thoughtfully, running her fingers lightly over his newly bare chin. "Do you think Odushéyu is telling the truth when he says there are so many Mízriyans?"
"Yes," he answered, a little surprised. "Have you been listening to me?"
She raised herself on her elbow and looked in his eyes. "Owái, beloved, do you have to go? You cannot run fast any more."
Diwoméde pulled her back down to the bed and wrapped his arms around her. "Of course I have to go," he answered impatiently. "I am a qasiléyu. I do not expect to do much running anyway, in any case. If we fight at sea, I will be giving orders from the platform at the stern. If the battle is on land, I will have my chariot."
"But every wánaks leaves one or two qasiléyus behind, to guard his homeland, if he does not stay himself. King Puláda is going. Why can you not stay here?" she asked, clinging to him tightly.
"My king does not trust me enough to leave me behind," he replied, with some bitterness. "But even if he did, I would not want to stay. I want to go to Mízriya. I must help defend Ak'áiwiya. It is a matter of honor."
Dáuniya began to cry. "Owái, I do not want to lose you. I do not want to see you hurt. Ai, do not go, Diwoméde, please do not go. I am afraid."
Diwoméde scowled at the woman in his arms. "Ai gar, Dáuniya, do not cry. I cannot stand it. You have no reason to be afraid. I have spoken to the wánasha about you. I told her I would marry you when I returned. I explained that you have had trouble carrying a baby for the full ten months, too. She will not work you hard, only have you serve her meals. You will have to bathe her, I suppose, but that should not be often. There is not enough water for many baths. You will not have to work the flax or carry water. Serve Lawodíka loyally and she will see to it that you have goat's milk when this child is born. T'érsite will be here to help you if anything e
lse happens. Do not be afraid. Everything will be all right."
"Owái, Diwoméde," the woman wept, not consoled. "I am not afraid for myself but for you. You once asked if I hardened my heart against you and I said that I did. I told you that because I thought you would abandon me one day. But it was not true. I do love you, Diwoméde. Ai, beloved, you cheated death at Tróya, when so many fell around you. You cheated Préswa again in Attika, when Menést'eyu cut off your toes to stop the gangrene. But now, the people are saying that you will not be fighting in Mízriya at all, but in 'Aidé! They say that this is the start of the final cataclysm and that the world is coming to an end. The goddess surely will not let you go a third time. Stay with me, please!"
"By the gods, woman!" Diwoméde cried. He grasped her upper arms and held her up over him. Shaking her, he shouted, "What are you trying to do? Frighten me, so that I will turn tail at the first sign of danger? Is that what you want? Should I dishonor myself and my nation?"
He released her arms and pushed her aside, covering his face with his hands. She continued to weep, and he embraced her again. "Dáuniya, listen," he said, more gently than before. "It is hard enough to go into combat without this kind of talk. A man never knows if he will live or die. I have been in many battles and before each one, still, I am afraid. Even the best warrior is easily slaughtered, if the enemy can cut him off from the rest and surround him. A man can thrust a spear and swing a sword only so many times before his arm muscles give way from fatigue. It might be easier if I were an archer. I could stand at the back of the army, with rows of spearmen and their shields between me and the blades of the enemy. But I am a spearman and a qasiléyu. My place is in the front, where I can see the line of advancing warriors and count their spears."