Conspiracy of the Islands (The Age of Bronze)

by Diana Gainer

  Ainyáh's vessels set out as the first flock of arrows soared overhead. While the other Ak'áyans were still swarming over their ships in confusion, the Kanaqániyan led the way toward the open sea. Ten longboats made their way north, under the command of the man who had once defended Tróya.

  Penned in the middle of the fleet, Diwoméde ordered his men to fight. "Forget your oars. Raise your shields, men. Raise your shields!" It was only a partial measure, but the Argives did not rely on the protection of bull's hide alone. Over this bulwark, the qasiléyu had his own archers fire back at the shore. They could not see their enemies clearly. But the cries of the wounded and the dying began to rise from the land as well as from the longboats. Still, the Ak'áyans were at a disadvantage, directing their arrows into the sun, while the Mízriyans aimed their weapons with deadly accuracy.

  On either side of Diwoméde's ship, pandemonium reigned. Some of the officers had their men haul up their stone anchors to follow Ainyáh out of the delta. Others held their positions in the river after the Argive qasiléyu's example. Each vessel's ranking lawagéta made his own decision, and called out his commands without listening for his overlord. The ships of those who chose to flee crashed into their companions' unmoving longboats. Wood met wood, fragile hulls cracked, and water swept in among the anchors and bronze weapons stored in the hulls. As one vessel sank, its neighbor, lying low in the water, was swamped. Men jumped or were cast into the Aigúpto, where they could not fight. Over it all, arrows continued hurtling into men's flesh. Screams of agony drowned out the lawagétas' orders.

  Meneláwo's ships were closest to the advancing longboats that now clearly appeared on the river. All were piloted by Kanaqániyan mercenaries, some manned by oarsmen from Kanaqán also. But there was no doubt in any man's mind that the oncoming fleet was Mízriyan. Lakedaimón's warriors listened to their king's roared command to take up their spears and shields. There was no time for them to get away. The enemy was too close and the ships of the other Ak'áyans blocked their passage. For those ships on the front line, where Meneláwo's vessel lay at anchor, there was not even room enough to draw upon their own bows and arrows, as the longboats of the southern empire met those of Lakedaimón.

  For the rows of longboats behind Meneláwo's, the situation was little better. Encumbered by the high posts at the stern and prow of each ship, the Ak'áyan archers were hampered in their ability to aim their missiles. But the native Mízriyan commanders, standing on platforms at the low prows of their vessels, sent volley after volley down upon the Ak'áyans, picking off Lakedaimóniyans with sure aim.

  Mízriya's mercenaries threw heavy grappling hooks at the Lakedaimóniyan ships as soon as they were near. Great bronze teeth caught in the hastily unfurled sails of some of the vessels, around the masts of others. The Kanaqániyan crewmen pulled upon the ropes attached to the hooks, dragging the masts down, and capsized several of the Ak'áyans' longboats. Meneláwo soon disappeared in the muddy river, along with his ship's crew. Most of his Lakedaimóniyans quickly drowned beneath their overturned hulls or clung to floating wreckage, only to be picked off by Mízriyan archers aboard the on-coming ships.

  Meneláwo himself was one of a mere handful with the skill to swim. But even those with such an ability soon floundered in those waters, strewn as they were with wreckage and men. Longboats passed over them, oars struck them, arrows flew all round. Meneláwo struggled to the second line of his vessels, pulling upon a hanging oar to get the attention of the rower. Hauled aboard beneath the cover of ox-hide shields, the king found only temporary refuge, before this longboat, too, was attacked. Other swimmers were dragged, half-drowned, into the Mízriyan ships, where their hands were bound at their backs and they were forced to kneel beneath the rowing benches.

  Where the Mízriyan grappling hooks caught wood, the Ak'áyan rowers came forward to try to disengage the metal before being drawn to the enemy ships. When they were unsuccessful, Kanaqániyan mercenaries left their vessels to board those of the Ak'áyans. The paid warriors of the southern empire fought the decimated crews from Ak'áiwiya hand to hand, with swords and spears. The quiet tributary of the Aigúpto was quickly dyed with the blood of dying men. Corpses bobbed in the disturbed waters all around the ships.

  As the Ak'áyans in the ships died above or in the river, those few on land fared no better. Peirít'owo had guided a company of Mízriyan archers to the small Ak'áyan encampment on the shore, at first light. The camp was soon engulfed. Bewigged Mízriyan officers stood behind the rectangular shields of their men, to hurl their arrows from bows of cane and horn. Though the raiders from Ak'áiwiya stood their ground, gripping their spears, they were slaughtered to the last man, as their fellow countrymen's longboats sank.

  Odushéyu dared not look behind him, as Ainyáh led the way to the Great Green and Inner Seas to the north. Sweating with anxiety, the It'ákan came from the shed to urge that they make as straight and fast a run for Kep'túr as possible. Ainyáh silenced the exile with a kick and drove him back into his thatched shelter.

  But the men in the ships all around Ainyáh's contingent clearly had the same goal in mind. Seeing some of their number getting away, the rowers in the longboats nearest the Kanaqániyan's group abandoned their embattled companions further off. P'ilístas and Zeyugelátes alike followed the Kanaqániyan toward the north and home. As men of northern and southern Ak'áiwiya deserted the battle, so too, did the nearest ships beyond them.

  Even Puláda, overlord of the expedition, was stricken with sudden panic, as cries of pain rose about him, mingled with the choking and panicky splashing of men drowning in the silt-laden Aigúpto. "Man your oars," the Ak'áyans' high wánaks called out, his voice high with fear. Perspiring profusely in his terror, he ordered, "Row toward the sea! Get us out of here!" His oarsmen, facing the bulk of the Ak'áyan ships and the advancing enemy as they obeyed, could not help but watch the slaughter of their kinsmen as they bent over their oars.

  The Mízriyans were many, just as Odushéyu had warned. As the Ak'áyan fleet broke into different contingents, their enemy's advantage increased. None of the ships of the southern empire turned away from the fight. And, despite Ainyáh's promises, no Kanaqániyan mercenary changed sides, to aid the northern seamen. White-kilted Mízriyan archers on the river continued their deadly work without let-up, shooting an unending supply of metal-tipped, cane arrows. Their brothers on land anxiously watched the battle of the ships. Though they kept their bows raised, soon their commanders ordered them to hold their fire. Now Mízriya's own forces fought hand-to-hand with their enemy upon the anchored ships. In the mix of men and vessels, arrows from the land were as likely to kill friend as foe.

  As the ships of the southern Black Land advanced into the Ak'áyan ranks on board their ships, the Mízriyan warriors drove the sons of Diwiyána apart into small groups, to be surrounded by enemy ships, or hemmed in between their attackers and the shallow waters near the shore. Only there, where the Ak'áyans' ships were pressed up against the riverbanks, did the Mízriyan officers let their archers use their deadly skills. Still upon the Aigúpto River, the crews of one after another Ak'áyan longboat were finished off with Mízriyan arrows or Kanaqániyan swords.

  Attika's vessels were among those caught up in the papyrus reeds close to shore. The newly crowned king, Demop'ówon, died with most of his troops, beneath the hail of Mízriyan arrows. Few survived aboard his grounded longboats to be taken captive by lesser-ranked Mízriyans. Once caught, the prisoners' hands were tied behind their backs, their bound wrists tied to cords wrapped around their necks. Struck by bows and spear butts, the Attikan captives were tossed from their ships, into the shallows. From there, they were driven away from the fight, gathered together on the high ground beyond the marshes.

  The Ak'áyans rowing toward the north redoubled their efforts at the sight of their companions' destruction. Each horrified leader urged his oarsmen on, shouting until he was hoarse. As quickly as possible, those who were able pressed toward the safety o
f the Inner Sea. Youthful Mármaro froze in his terror and clung silently to his brother, pale and shivering. The still younger prince, Kurawátta, clasped his sibling's arm as he had at Tróya years before. "Go! Go!" Kurawátta cried, choking on tears. Few T'eshalíyans heard the boy's order. But all the rowers responded with strength increased by fear for their lives.

  Further down the river toward the north, Ainyáh blew upon his conch shell and, at that signal, his vessels turned around. With hearts made ferocious by desire for long-sought vengeance, his crew of Kanaqániyans and Tróyans fell upon the longboats of the Ak'áyans who had followed them. T'eshalíya's vessels were easy prey, without a strong leader. Ainyáh's followers closed with the milling ships and boarded them, slaughtering feather-capped T'eshalíyans until the rowing benches were painted with blood.

  Desperate to escape the Kanaqániyan spears, the two young princes jumped into the water. Side by side, they swam to shore. Here, north of the main battle, they were safe from the masses of archers upstream. But a crocodile, surprised among the reeds choking the shoreline, opened its toothy jaws. The animal caught the older of the unsuspecting T'eshalíyans, dragging him screaming into the river. Beneath the surface, predator and prey disappeared, leaving only a short trail of bubbles. Sobbing with the abandon of youth, Kurawátta ran into the fields beyond the riverbank. He escaped both the big lizard and the Kanaqániyans who had betrayed the Ak'áyans. But companies of Mízriyan bowmen marched along the banks of the Aigúpto, following the way Ainyáh had led. Kurawátta and the other survivors were soon met by the approaching enemies. With their arms bound, stripped of all weapons, the sons of Diwiyána were driven south to join the growing number of their captive countrymen.

  Upon the Aigúpto's waters, P'ilístas and Zeyugelátes alike struggled to guide their ships past the archers on the shore and the disturbances to the north and south. As part of Argo's fleet deserted Diwoméde, a retreating helmsman fell with an arrow in his chest. A hand at his freely bleeding wound, he tumbled over the side of his longboat into the turbulent water. At the sight, an Argive rower vomited, spewing his last meal over the oar in his hands and the back of the man on the rowing bench before him. But neither the sick man nor the one he sprayed slackened his pace. Behind them both, an oarsman cried out in sudden pain and shock, an arrow in his arm. Arrows flew more thickly than ever, though at first the ship's commanding lawagéta did not know why.

  King Puláda had crouched on the stern platform as his men were stricken. But, between the uneven losses among the rowers and the death of the helmsman, his lead ship began to veer toward the turncoat longboats under Ainyáh's command. When he realized what was happening, the young overlord stood and took the steering oar in hand himself, to head his vessel away from the unexpected battle between the ships of T'eshalíya and their supposed ally. There at the stern, Puláda remained, despite the trembling in his knees, shouting encouragement to his men. Just before his ship passed beyond the range of his enemies' arrows, the young wánaks collapsed on the platform, struck twice in the thigh. The oarsman with the injured arm recovered sufficiently at that sight to come forward and take over as steersman. Soon they were out of bowshot. Even then, the Argives did not slow the pace of their rowing. The Kanaqániyans would soon finish their slaughter in the river delta and then they might well come after the rest of the ships, out into the Great Green Sea.

  Most of Argo's fleet remained in the waters of the delta, seeking no escape. Against this knot of resistance, the mercenaries of the southern empire made slow headway. One after another of the Mízriyan ships was driven back, unable to board the Argive vessels under Diwoméde's command. But Lakedaimóniyans and Mesheníyans died on the Ak'áyan fleet's southern flank, and the northern contingents broke away. Before the sun was at its peak, only a few ships remained, clustered in the center of the river.

  A Mízriyan longboat came skimming over the water toward Diwoméde, the black-wigged archer at the prow sending one arrow after another into the bodies of those around the qasiléyu. The Mízriyan put his dart to his bow and took aim, drawing the string back to his nipple and releasing it with one fluid motion. The arrow flew to its target. Its bronze tip easily pierced an already torn shield, striking the eye of the man behind The stricken soldier dropped his shield into the water and fell backward, screaming shrilly and gripping his face.

  "Shoot back," Diwoméde called out to his own bowmen in a fury, "kill that Mízriyan archer!"

  They aimed as best they could, their longboat tossing in the confused waters, and sent their own arrows flying toward the bronze-breasted officer. The Mízriyan crumpled, hit several times, and Diwoméde's men cheered. But the longboat of the wounded Mízriyan was quickly overtaken by another, an untouched archer at its prow already stringing his bow. Beside the new bowman crouched a soldier with quilted chest coverings, a grappling hook in his hands. Under the cover of his officer's rapid bowshots, the kneeling warrior held the hook to his face and took aim. When the Ak'áyan vessel was near enough, the Mízriyan threw the heavy tool and caught the mast of Diwoméde's ship. The Mízriyan rowers and their Kanaqániyan helmsman cheered. Several rushed forward to help pull the rope attached to the deadly hook. Diwoméde's captive ship rocked, tossing men to one side and spilling several into the river.

  "Get it loose!" Diwoméde cried, his eyes on the grappling hook as he clung to the mast. He struggled with the metal object himself but could not pull its claws from the wood. "Help me!" he called.

  But there was no more time. The Mízriyan ship closed with Diwoméde's. The warriors of the Black Land dropped their oars to take up spears and daggers. With cries of "Amún!" and "Saqmít!" they boarded the Ak'áyan vessel. The qasiléyu's sword had fallen from his hand when his longboat tipped to the side. He was left with no weapon in hand. In desperation he lunged forward against the nearest Mízriyan shield, ramming it with his shoulder, and knocked the man into the water. Taking up an oar, Diwoméde tore it free of its leather fastening and wielded it like a club against the enemy swarming over his ship. Swinging the oar, he warded off the thrusting spears and a Mízriyan knife-blade. But around him his men fell, impaled on lances and thrown into the river to drown.

  His ship was lost and Diwoméde knew he could not save it. He jumped from the side of his overrun vessel. In the Aigúpto's waters he found himself grappling with the Mízriyan he had earlier shoved overboard. The Mízriyan's curly wig had come off in the river and the bare face and scalp were coated with mud. The man gave a triumphant cry of "Amún!" at the sight of his enemy and went for the Ak'áyan's throat. The river smelled of blood and of fear as Diwoméde's head was forced beneath the surface. He struggled upward with his lungs bursting, to find his enemy dead, his temple pierced by a Mízriyan arrow from the shore. At the same time, the qasiléyu saw his own ship's hull crack wide open, as a neighboring Argive vessel crashed into its side. Diwoméde's longboat quickly filled with water and disappeared beneath the surface. As it went down, the Argive commander was dragged with it, flailing helplessly, choking on muddy water.

  Just as he thought he would surely drown, a rough hand grasped one of his. Blinded by the silt and blood in the water, Diwoméde clung to the hand desperately. He felt himself being pulled from the river, dragged over the side of a boat to safety. Around him were the shouts and the clash of bronze as men still battled for their lives. But he was unable to do anything but lie in a heap, vomiting the foul liquid he had swallowed. He hardly knew enough to hope that the feet moving about him were those of fellow Ak'áyans.

  Again hands took hold of him with fingers hardened by war. As Diwoméde still gasped for breath, his vision obscured by the mud dripping from his hair, his arms were twisted behind him. A stiff cord went around his neck, linked to the one that soon pinioned his arms.

  "Owái, Diwiyána," he moaned, sick to his very soul.

  aaa

  It was a decimated Argive fleet that sailed back to the harbor of Tíruns at the end of summer. Watchmen on the fortress towers spotted
the masts far out to sea and shouted out their warnings. Cheers and war-like cries of "Alalá!" sounded through the streets as the news spread that the army was returning. The women and old men of the port town crowded the shore to watch them come in. They talked in excited voices, hardly able to stand still in their eagerness to see their kinsmen again and hear the news of the expected victory. But a pall fell over the people on the shore as the ships themselves came into view. There were few longboats, far too few. Even those who could not count saw that.

  "This may be just the first group," the spectators told each other hopefully. "Perhaps others were delayed along the way and will arrive a little later."

  But the sight of the returning warriors roused little hope that the rest of the fleet was following behind. The men who climbed down from the rowing benches were bone-weary. Those men who had been left behind in Argo had to help drag the longboats ashore. As they worked, the women wandered among them, looking for their loved ones.

  Dáuniya sought her qasiléyu with dimming hopes. The serving woman asked each man in turn about Diwoméde. None could tell her whether he lived, a captive, or had died. They only knew he was not among them. She ignored the queen's summons when king Puláda was carried ashore, unwilling to leave the beach until she knew the qasiléyu's fate. But, at last, Dáuniya had to give up her search. Like others disappointed and bereaved, she gave a full-voiced wail and drew her fingernails across her cheeks.

  Strong hands caught her wrists and stopped her from scratching her face again. "Wait. He may come later," T'érsite suggested, for he, too, looked for the qasiléyu in vain. "He will want to see your face as he saw you last, not marred with scabs and scratches."

  Dáuniya looked at the laborer through welling tears. "You think he is still alive?" she asked. He hesitated to answer, fearing as the woman did that he was not. She burst into wails again. "Owái, if he is dead, I will throw myself from the highest tower of the fortress."