the wisdom to keep his impoverished country well supplied with bronze." His lips curled in a slight and calculating smile.
St'énelo was dumbfounded. He stared at the It'ákan wánaks with his mouth agape, as if seeing the master mariner for the first time. Suddenly St'énelo began to laugh, the tension falling from his face and limbs. With a snort of disgust, he crowed, "You mean yourself, I see! So that is what all this talk of omens was really about. You are wasting your time talking to me. Meneláwo is the rightful wánaks of Lakedaimón, you pirate. If there is anything to be done to save my country, it is Meneláwo who will do it. You will just have to stay in your miserable islands. Now, leave me alone and let me get some sleep, or I will not have the strength to row tomorrow."
No longer welcome, Odushéyu left the fireside, cursing his fate.
aaa
The fourth night saw an improvement in the fortunes of the Lakedaimóniyans and It'ákans. Leaving Téno, they were unable to row around the rest of the Islands in a Circle, unable to reach Éyuqoya because of unfavorable winds. It seemed an evil omen to the oarsmen when the next night saw them only on Kéya. These Kukláde islands had sent no men to fight at Tróya. Their sea-going confederation owed allegiance to no outside power. The strength of the island men presented too sharp a contrast to the battered oarsmen for comfort. But, although the weary rowers of Lakedaimón and It'áka were fearful of attack, the islanders gave them dried fish, as well as barley gruel, and sheltered them from the night's winds.
Nevertheless, it was with profound relief that the travelers spied land the following night. In the northern land of Attika, on the mainland, all eagerly knelt to kiss Ak'áyan soil as the sun set for the fifth time since they had left Assúwan shores. In the port of Attika's capital city, they rested for two days. King Erékt'eyu feasted them well, in the citadel of At'énai. This white-haired wánaks welcomed them to a land that had seen sufficient rain the previous year, one that had grown adequate crops of barley and wheat. His was a kingdom that had not sent too many of its menfolk to distant Tróya and had managed to bring in the full harvest. The signs at last seemed favorable, even to Odushéyu. The men began to believe that they would see their homes once again, after all.
On a bright, autumn day, the ships left At'énai and turned their prows south. The rowers' hearts were filled with hope, now that the worst part of the voyage was past. Now, Meneláwo agreed to do as Odushéyu advised, and the ships kept close to the coast. They made an overnight stop in the village nearest the narrow isthmus that divided the northern kingdoms of Ak'áiwiya from the south. On the following night they dined at the table of a qasiléyu of the southern kingdom of Argo. Taking a day to round the eastern promontory of Agamémnon's powerful realm, and one more to row west, they landed on the beach below the fortress of Tíruns on the ninth day since Tróya was sacked.
Graying fishermen helped them pull their vessels up on the shore below the Argive citadel at Tíruns. The wives of the city's bronze-smiths and carpenters clustered around the Lakedaimóniyans while they were still on the beach, asking after their sons and husbands who had sailed away with Agamémnon the previous spring. The oarsmen told the throng about Ak'áiwiya's victory over the east, but they spoke without triumph as they numbered the slain. Wails tore through the brisk air as the news spread – the 'Elléniyan queen of Lakedaimón was returning to her people, but half the warriors who fought for her were left behind.
Odushéyu roared at the lamenting women, "Do not tear your cheeks this way, cowardly fawns! Stop your bawling. You should be celebrating our great victory!" His words did nothing to
St'énelo was dumbfounded. He stared at the It'ákan wánaks with his mouth agape, as if seeing the master mariner for the first time. Suddenly St'énelo began to laugh, the tension falling from his face and limbs. With a snort of disgust, he crowed, "You mean yourself, I see! So that is what all this talk of omens was really about. You are wasting your time talking to me. Meneláwo is the rightful wánaks of Lakedaimón, you pirate. If there is anything to be done to save my country, it is Meneláwo who will do it. You will just have to stay in your miserable islands. Now, leave me alone and let me get some sleep, or I will not have the strength to row tomorrow."
No longer welcome, Odushéyu left the fireside, cursing his fate.
aaa
The fourth night saw an improvement in the fortunes of the Lakedaimóniyans and It'ákans. Leaving Téno, they were unable to row around the rest of the Islands in a Circle, unable to reach Éyuqoya because of unfavorable winds. It seemed an evil omen to the oarsmen when the next night saw them only on Kéya. These Kukláde islands had sent no men to fight at Tróya. Their sea-going confederation owed allegiance to no outside power. The strength of the island men presented too sharp a contrast to the battered oarsmen for comfort. But, although the weary rowers of Lakedaimón and It'áka were fearful of attack, the islanders gave them dried fish, as well as barley gruel, and sheltered them from the night's winds.
Nevertheless, it was with profound relief that the travelers spied land the following night. In the northern land of Attika, on the mainland, all eagerly knelt to kiss Ak'áyan soil as the sun set for the fifth time since they had left Assúwan shores. In the port of Attika's capital city, they rested for two days. King Erékt'eyu feasted them well, in the citadel of At'énai. This white-haired wánaks welcomed them to a land that had seen sufficient rain the previous year, one that had grown adequate crops of barley and wheat. His was a kingdom that had not sent too many of its menfolk to distant Tróya and had managed to bring in the full harvest. The signs at last seemed favorable, even to Odushéyu. The men began to believe that they would see their homes once again, after all.
On a bright, autumn day, the ships left At'énai and turned their prows south. The rowers' hearts were filled with hope, now that the worst part of the voyage was past. Now, Meneláwo agreed to do as Odushéyu advised, and the ships kept close to the coast. They made an overnight stop in the village nearest the narrow isthmus that divided the northern kingdoms of Ak'áiwiya from the south. On the following night they dined at the table of a qasiléyu of the southern kingdom of Argo. Taking a day to round the eastern promontory of Agamémnon's powerful realm, and one more to row west, they landed on the beach below the fortress of Tíruns on the ninth day since Tróya was sacked.
Graying fishermen helped them pull their vessels up on the shore below the Argive citadel at Tíruns. The wives of the city's bronze-smiths and carpenters clustered around the Lakedaimóniyans while they were still on the beach, asking after their sons and husbands who had sailed away with Agamémnon the previous spring. The oarsmen told the throng about Ak'áiwiya's victory over the east, but they spoke without triumph as they numbered the slain. Wails tore through the brisk air as the news spread – the 'Elléniyan queen of Lakedaimón was returning to her people, but half the warriors who fought for her were left behind.
Odushéyu roared at the lamenting women, "Do not tear your cheeks this way, cowardly fawns! Stop your bawling. You should be celebrating our great victory!" His words did nothing to
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