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

high-born men ate.  With a rough, wooden ladle she stirred together wine and river water, dipping the liquid out to fill and refill the men's two-handled wine cups.  She hardly recognized the grim and dirty T'eshalíyan sitting beside Agamémnon.  Ak'illéyu's eyes did not meet hers and, true to his word, he took neither food nor drink, though 'Iqodámeya laid both before him in shining, bronze dishes.  He stared straight ahead, his eyes focusing on nothing, fingering the handle of the knife that rested in its scabbard at his hip.
     
    Another woman, heavy-set, her hair braided like 'Iqodámeya's and wearing the same nondescript garment, beckoned from a distance.  'Iqodámeya quietly backed away from the assembled kings.  "Wíp'iya," she asked quietly, "what have you heard?"
     
    Her companion gave her a sad smile.  "Agamémnon is returning you to Ak'illéyu.  All the camp is talking about it.  I do not know whether to congratulate you or lament your fate.  Your old master is much changed."
     
    In the T'eshalíyan section of the camp, by the embers of the prince's abandoned campfire, the women embraced, tears coming to their eyes.  Wordlessly they looked each other over.  'Iqodámeya gently touched a recent bruise on Wíp'iya's arm and scratches just beginning to heal on her cheeks.  "I lamented Patróklo as if he were my own husband," the heavy-set Wíp'iya said.  "But that was not enough for Ak'illéyu.  Yes, he was the one who struck me."  She covered the blue mark with a hand and, with inquiring eyes, looked at 'Iqodámeya.
     
    The younger woman placed a hand on her belly with a rueful smile.  "Ak'illéyu's," she whispered.  Looking from side to side to make sure none of the men noticed, 'Iqodámeya brought a dagger from where it had been concealed in the folds of her ankle-length skirt.  "I took this from Agamémnon's stores during the last battle," she said quietly and handed the short, bronze blade to Wíp'iya.  "I have nothing to fear from Ak'illéyu now.  So, this is yours.  Keep it, in case your new master is worse than Patróklo was."
     
    Wíp'iya was reluctant to take it.  "If Ak'illéyu finds I have this, he will probably kill me."
     
    "Then give it to 'Ékamede," 'Iqodámeya suggested, "if she still wants revenge."
     
     
    "Fasting is unnatural," Néstor scolded at Agamémnon's fireside.  "I hear you married young, Ak'illéyu, and your wife was a T'rákiyan barbarian.  I suppose your wild father-in-law raised you as much as your own father did.  So it may be that you do not know any better.  But it has been the Ak'áyan custom since the beginning of the world to hold a feast in honor of the dead."
     
    The grieving man would not listen.  "I am as Ak'áyan as you are," Ak'illéyu retorted, irritated.  "I married a woman of the island of Skúro and lived with her people for several years.  But I know the custom.  Just the same, I do not care for it.  Hear me, Zeyugelátes.  Listen to me, you southern ox-drivers.  I will not eat.  A pain is burning in my chest.  That will give me all the strength I need to take my revenge.  Now leave me alone or I will put my spear in your full bellies!"
     
    The prince rose and left the overlord's tent, the other kings shaking their heads at his unreasonable behavior.  As the T'eshalíyan moved out of earshot, Agamémnon complained, "The man never does anything halfway, does he?  Anyone else would force himself to take a mouthful or two, just for show.  But not Ak'illéyu!  If he takes it into his head not to eat, it becomes an issue for a new war."
     
    "True enough, but leave it, brother," answered Meneláwo, his hand at his unhealed wound.  "We need him.  After all that has happened, we do not want to turn him against us again."
     
    aaa
     
     
    Returning to his own fire and hut, Ak'illéyu sat and rested his head on his hands, his elbows on his knees.  "Dogs," he groaned, "Zeyugelátes are nothing but weak fawns!"  Quietly