People of the Inner Sea (The Age of Bronze) by Diana Gainer Read Free Book Online Page B

St'énelo and spoke more quietly than before.  "Every night, Meneláwo went to sit on a low hill as soon as darkness fell.  He remained there very late, alone, staring at the city's white walls, constantly polishing his sword."
     
    He nodded at the Lakedaimóniyan with a knowing look.  St'énelo only frowned and looked away, unimpressed.  Nudging the rower with his elbow, Odushéyu went on, "That wound in his side, do you remember when he received it?"
     
    "I remember," St'énelo muttered, tossing twigs into the bright flames.  "How could I forget?"  He turned to look up at the stars, bright pinpoints in a cloudless sky.  "It was after single combat on the first day of battle.  Meneláwo downed the Tróyan champion.  Then the Tróyans broke their oath and fired arrows at us.  One of them struck our king."  Leaning forward, he added forcefully, "But our wánaks insisted on fighting in spite of the wound.  He ignored his pain and all Ak'áyans admired him for it."
     
    "Not all, not the northerners," Odushéyu argued.  "Remember?  The P'ilístas questioned his honor.  They said it was the custom for wounded men to refrain from fighting.  And what is custom but a law given by the mother of us all, the goddess Diwiyána?  Meneláwo mocks the great Lady, they said.  And the gods bring disaster to those who mock them."  Odushéyu pointed his thumb and index and small fingers toward the Lakedaimóniyan king, who lay with the queen in his arms several yards away.  "Mother Diwiyána, protect us from the Evil Eye," the mariner said in a dramatic undertone.
     
    "Custom!" St'énelo spat.  "Those P'ilístas are great ones to talk about custom.  Their own champion fought when he was wounded and they said nothing about Diwiyána's laws then.  I never saw you make the sign of the Evil Eye toward him during the war, either.  No, when Meneláwo fought, all true Ak'áyans admired his courage and persistence."
     
    "Yes, that was so, at least at first.  No one blamed him for drinking from the poppy jugs, either.  Not in the beginning," Odushéyu said ominously, dropping his hands to his lap and glancing at the other out of the corner of his eye.
     
    "Wounded men deserve that solace," St'énelo countered, disturbed by the direction the conversation was taking.  "How else can a man bear it when a spear has pierced his entrails and it takes him days to die?  You cannot blame the wánaks for craving the essence of poppies."
     
    Odushéyu's gaze was somber.  "No, no man blamed him at first.  But as the days dragged on, the wánaks lost weight, his ribs showed more and more.  He ate little, preferring the poppy to all other good things.  Then, even you must have begun to wonder whether the king's mind was still in this world with us.  Perhaps he was dancing with the immortal daughters of Díwo, the wild maináds.   And what was he thinking about, on that mound by the sea each night?"
     
    "Dreaming of his wife's return, no doubt," St'énelo answered, nervously plucking dried leaves from the twigs stacked beside him.  He squirmed under the It'ákan leader's eyes.  "Dreaming of battle glory," he added in a whisper and he glanced back pensively at the sleeping wánaks.
     
    Odushéyu pressed on, his voice heavy with foreboding.  "Or was he planning a dreadful vengeance like his father took years before?"
     
    "Those were just rumors about Atréyu," St'énelo gasped, looking about in sudden fear that they might be overheard.  "You do not believe them, do you?"
     
    Odushéyu leaned close to the other man and whispered, "They say that wánaks Atréyu murdered his own brother's children, to avenge the rape of his wife.  The old king cooked the children and served them to their father…"
     
    "Shut your muzzle, you worthless pirate!" St'énelo cried, leaping to his feet.  "I do not want to hear any more of this."
     
    Meneláwo raised himself on his elbow, Ariyádna whimpering beneath his arm.  "What is it?" the