soothe the bereaved.
Ariyádna shuddered at the women's grief and clung, trembling, to her husband's arm. Breathlessly, she chanted, "Warriors battle for the wánasha of the fertile land…the will of the Bull, it is the will of the Bull." Collapsing in a heap at Meneláwo's feet, she wailed, "The ancient prophecy is coming true. Owái, the end of world is upon us!" Hearing their priestess-queen's words, the Lakedaimóniyans were alarmed. More than one joined the lamentations of the local women.
Into the tumult rode a tall Argive on a painted chariot, he and his driver wrapped in ankle-length cloaks of wool, the hemlines embroidered with rosettes and spirals. "Owlé, Meneláwo! Hail to you!" the well-dressed passenger called from the cart. He shouted the words a second time, cupping his hands at his mouth to make himself heard over the cries of the wailing women. "Owlé! Welcome to your homeland, cousin. Is your brother with you? Or is our wánaks coming close behind?"
"Aígist'o, owlé!" Meneláwo called back with forced cheer, dragging his queen to her feet. Pulling Ariyádna along by the wrist, he struggled through the massed people to stand beside his cousin's cart. "No, Agamémnon is not with me. He left Assúwa after I did. I do not know how far behind me he may be or which route he chose to cross the sea. Have you come from Mukénai?"
Aígist'o nodded, his long, oiled locks shining. "I have. The wánasha Klutaimnéstra would have come to greet you herself, but the duties of government are too pressing. She sends you blessings and invites you to ride to her city in the morning."
"Owái," Ariyádna sighed, "my poor child…"
The tall man left the chariot, staring in disbelief at the Lakedaimóniyan queen. "Your daughter is well, wánasha," Aígist'o assured her, looking her up and down. "Tomorrow you will see for yourself that I speak the truth."
As Aígist'o directed, on the following day, onager-drawn wagons carried the Lakedaimóniyan king and queen to the capital city of Argo. Odushéyu went with them, but the rest, It'ákans and Lakedaimóniyans, rowers and helmsmen, remained in Tíruns, resting in the guest rooms of the port citadel, before the final journey home.
In each village along the inland road, the scene from Tíruns repeated itself. Meneláwo addressed the women and children who came running alongside the wagons with questions about their kinsmen. Torn cheeks quickly surrounded them in every village. Mourning wails soon filled their ears, all along the way.
In Mukénai itself, the following evening, the king of Lakedaimón fell grimly silent. He left Odushéyu to answer the tearful queries of the Mukénayan women. Shouldering past these low-ranked Argives, Meneláwo put his arm around his wife's trembling form and half-led, half-carried her up the hillside capped by the main citadel of the kingdom. Between ruts carved by chariot wheels over the years, the royal couple approached the entrance-way with its massive door of bronze-plated oak. Above the gate stood two stone lions, their front feet on the pedestal of a sacred column, gilded tongues hanging from gaping, stone mouths. Beneath these symbols of the paramount Ak'áyan state, the Lakedaimóniyan king and queen marched without an upward glance. Once within the lion gate, Meneláwo made a perfunctory salute to a broad circle of graves on the right.
Behind them, Odushéyu paused at the gate to lift his hand to his forehead and to the sky in respect. Aígist'o, too, stood still a moment beneath the lions for a more dramatic salute. At the circle of graves, the Argive caught his kinsman's arm as Meneláwo turned to press on. "Will you not you stop to leave an offering to the souls of the illustrious dead and to pray for their support?" Aígist'o asked. With his free hand, he gestured toward the walled enclosure with its six underground
Ariyádna shuddered at the women's grief and clung, trembling, to her husband's arm. Breathlessly, she chanted, "Warriors battle for the wánasha of the fertile land…the will of the Bull, it is the will of the Bull." Collapsing in a heap at Meneláwo's feet, she wailed, "The ancient prophecy is coming true. Owái, the end of world is upon us!" Hearing their priestess-queen's words, the Lakedaimóniyans were alarmed. More than one joined the lamentations of the local women.
Into the tumult rode a tall Argive on a painted chariot, he and his driver wrapped in ankle-length cloaks of wool, the hemlines embroidered with rosettes and spirals. "Owlé, Meneláwo! Hail to you!" the well-dressed passenger called from the cart. He shouted the words a second time, cupping his hands at his mouth to make himself heard over the cries of the wailing women. "Owlé! Welcome to your homeland, cousin. Is your brother with you? Or is our wánaks coming close behind?"
"Aígist'o, owlé!" Meneláwo called back with forced cheer, dragging his queen to her feet. Pulling Ariyádna along by the wrist, he struggled through the massed people to stand beside his cousin's cart. "No, Agamémnon is not with me. He left Assúwa after I did. I do not know how far behind me he may be or which route he chose to cross the sea. Have you come from Mukénai?"
Aígist'o nodded, his long, oiled locks shining. "I have. The wánasha Klutaimnéstra would have come to greet you herself, but the duties of government are too pressing. She sends you blessings and invites you to ride to her city in the morning."
"Owái," Ariyádna sighed, "my poor child…"
The tall man left the chariot, staring in disbelief at the Lakedaimóniyan queen. "Your daughter is well, wánasha," Aígist'o assured her, looking her up and down. "Tomorrow you will see for yourself that I speak the truth."
As Aígist'o directed, on the following day, onager-drawn wagons carried the Lakedaimóniyan king and queen to the capital city of Argo. Odushéyu went with them, but the rest, It'ákans and Lakedaimóniyans, rowers and helmsmen, remained in Tíruns, resting in the guest rooms of the port citadel, before the final journey home.
In each village along the inland road, the scene from Tíruns repeated itself. Meneláwo addressed the women and children who came running alongside the wagons with questions about their kinsmen. Torn cheeks quickly surrounded them in every village. Mourning wails soon filled their ears, all along the way.
In Mukénai itself, the following evening, the king of Lakedaimón fell grimly silent. He left Odushéyu to answer the tearful queries of the Mukénayan women. Shouldering past these low-ranked Argives, Meneláwo put his arm around his wife's trembling form and half-led, half-carried her up the hillside capped by the main citadel of the kingdom. Between ruts carved by chariot wheels over the years, the royal couple approached the entrance-way with its massive door of bronze-plated oak. Above the gate stood two stone lions, their front feet on the pedestal of a sacred column, gilded tongues hanging from gaping, stone mouths. Beneath these symbols of the paramount Ak'áyan state, the Lakedaimóniyan king and queen marched without an upward glance. Once within the lion gate, Meneláwo made a perfunctory salute to a broad circle of graves on the right.
Behind them, Odushéyu paused at the gate to lift his hand to his forehead and to the sky in respect. Aígist'o, too, stood still a moment beneath the lions for a more dramatic salute. At the circle of graves, the Argive caught his kinsman's arm as Meneláwo turned to press on. "Will you not you stop to leave an offering to the souls of the illustrious dead and to pray for their support?" Aígist'o asked. With his free hand, he gestured toward the walled enclosure with its six underground
Similar Books
