Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) by Diana Gainer Read Free Book Online

Ak'illéyu entered the circle of kings and qasiléyus.  The T'eshalíyan was grim-faced and pale, his long hair tangled and oily, his kilt filthy, and he had not washed the blood from his body after the last battle.  "When do we attack Tróya next?" he asked, his voice a hoarse croak.
     
    "Yes, when?" Meneláwo repeated, unhappy with the course the meeting had taken.  He alone had not risen but remained seated by Agamémnon's fire, a hand at the unhealed wound in his side.
     
    Agamémnon spread his hands wide as if to show he had no control over that.  "As soon as we can coax the Wilúsiyans out from behind their walls."
     
    Ak'illéyu's deep-set eyes fastened upon the overlord's face.  "When will that be?" the T'eshalíyan prince demanded.
     
    Agamémnon met the smaller man's gaze with an equally unrelenting stare.  "When the men have rested and eaten their fill."  On the ground, Meneláwo grunted, nodding with evident satisfaction at the answer.
     
    But the northern prince spat at the overlord's feet.  "The only thing I hunger for is Tróyan blood," Ak'illéyu snarled.  "Until I taste it, I swear by 'Estiwáya, who guards my hearth, that I will not eat.  And if you do not share my thirst for blood, I curse you all, your fathers, and your grandfathers.  Zeugelátes are not men.  Southerners know nothing of honor.  To 'Aidé with all of you!"
     
    Idómeneyu and Odushéyu stood, Néstor and the other bronze-capped leaders beside them.  Each reached for his dagger.  "You will take that back," Néstor demanded.
     
    At Agamémnon's signal, Aíwaks and the northern men with feathered headgear stopped the fight before it began, intervening with their own bodies between the antagonists.  "Listen to reason, Ak'illéyu," Aíwaks urged.  The tall man put his hands on the other's shoulders.  "You and I are friends, almost kinsmen.  Even though I serve a southern king, at heart I am still a P'ilísta.  I invite you, as a fellow northerner, to sit and eat with us, here at Agamémnon's hearth.  Do this to show that you have rejoined our cause, if not for your brother's spirit.  While we eat, Agamémnon can have his people bring out all the fine gifts that he promised.  That will make your heart glad.  You will fight even better for it."
     
    Alarmed, Agamémnon spoke up.  "Yes, as Aíwaks says, I will award you your prize of honor for killing Qántili.  And while your woman is still here in my tent, I will swear before the whole army that I never touched her.  Aíwaks, go, find 'Iqodámeya and bring her to my tent.  Quickly now!"
     
    The big qasiléyu obeyed, but with a scowl on his face.  Clearly, the overlord did not intend to give all that he had once promised to the T'eshalíyan.  But Ak'illéyu did not notice the overlord's duplicity.  And he was no more placated than before.  "We can do this some other time.  Patróklo is lying dead in my hut, bled white by Qántili's spear.  How can you think about eating when my brother's enemies are still alive?  Fight now.  Eat at sunset when we have had revenge."
     
    Meneláwo had quietly calmed the southern kings, inviting them to take their seats about his brother's hearth once more.  Now he came forward, and laid an arm over Ak'illéyu's shoulders.  Soothingly and calmly he spoke, trying to reason with the T'eshalíyan.  "You are a fine warrior, Ak'illéyu, the best spearman here.  And we have every intention of honoring your desire for revenge.  Indeed, we want vengeance ourselves, just as much as you do.  Every man here has lost kinsmen.  And no one has any more reason to fight than I do.  It was my city the Tróyans attacked, starting this war.  It was my people who were slaughtered during a holy festival.  I will not eat well or sleep soundly until I have avenged my wife, who was carried off to be a Tróyan's concubine.
     
    "But think, Ak'illéyu.  If we fasted every time a kinsman died, when would we ever eat?  This is not