He rocked back on his stool at that. Clearly it was not an answer he had expected.
“Your wife and sons?”
“My wife is among the High King’s slaves,” I added. “If my sons live, they must be with her.”
Odysseos glanced up at the nobleman standing on his left, whose hair and long beard were dead white. His limbs seemed withered to bones and tendons, his face a skull mask. He had wrapped a blue cloak around his chiton, clasped at the throat with a medallion of gold. Both noblemen appeared weary and drained by the morning’s battle although neither of them bore fresh wounds as Odysseos did.
The King of Ithaca returned his attention to me. “Who is he?” he asked, pointing to Poletes.
“My servant,” I answered.
Odysseos nodded, accepting the storyteller. Lightning flashed and he looked up, waiting for the thunder. When it came at last he muttered, “The storm moves away.”
Indeed, the rain seemed to be slacking off. Its pelting on the canvas of the tent was noticeably lighter.
At last Odysseos said, “You did us a great service this morning. Such service should be rewarded.”
The frail old whitebeard at his left spoke in an abrasive nasal voice, “You fought this morning like a warrior born and bred. Facing Prince Hector by yourself! Half naked, too! By the gods! You reminded me of myself when I was your age! I was absolutely fearless then! As far away as Mycenae and even Thebes I was known. Let me tell you—”
Odysseos raised his right hand. “Please, Nestor, I pray you forgo your reminiscences for the moment.”
The old man looked displeased but sank back in silence.
“You say you seek your wife and sons,” Odysseos resumed. “Then you are not here as a representative of your emperor?”
Again I hesitated. And again I decided there was nothing to tell him but the truth.
“There is no emperor, my lord. The lands of the Hatti are torn with civil war. The empire has crumbled.”
Their jaws dropped open. Odysseos swiftly recovered, but he could not hide the smile that crossed his face.
Nestor blurted, “Then the Hittites are not sending troops to aid the Trojans?”
“No, my lord.”
“You came here by yourself ?” Odysseos asked.
“With the eleven men of my squad.” Poletes coughed beside me, and I added, “And my servant.”
Rubbing his beard with one hand, his eyes going crafty, Odysseos murmured, “Then Troy can expect no help from the Hittites.”
Nestor and the other nobleman broke into happy smiles. “This is indeed good news,” said Nestor. “Wonderful news!”
Odysseos nodded, then said, “But it doesn’t change the situation we face. Hector is camped on the plain outside our rampart. Tomorrow he will try to break through and drive us into the sea.”
That sobered the other two.
He looked up at me again. “We owe you a reward. What would you have?”
Immediately I replied, “My wife and sons.”
“You say they are among Agamemnon’s slaves.”
“I saw my wife there, yes, my lord.”
Odysseos breathed out a sigh. “Slaves are the property of he who owns them.”
“They are my sons,” I said firmly. “Little more than babies. And she is my lawful wife.”
He rubbed at his beard again. “The High King is touchy these days about giving up his slaves. He’s in the midst of a dispute with young Achilles about a slave woman.”
“That’s none of my affair, my lord.”
“No, it isn’t. But still …” He glanced up at Nestor again, who remained stone silent now. For long moments Odysseos sat there, saying nothing. It appeared to me that he was thinking, planning. At last he got to his feet and stepped around the table to clasp me on the shoulder.
“What is your name, Hittite?”
“I am called Lukka, my lord.”
“Very well, Lukka,” he said. “I will speak to Agamemnon—when the time is right. Meanwhile, welcome into the house hold of the King of Ithaca. You and your men.” Poletes shuffled his feet slightly. “And your servant,” Odysseos added.
I was not certain of what I should do until I saw Nestor frowning slightly and prompting me by motioning with both hands, palms down. I knelt on one knee before Odysseos.
“Thank you, great king,” I said, hoping it was with the proper degree of humility. “I and my men will serve you to the best of our abilities.”
Odysseos took the armlet from his bicep and clasped it on my arm. “Rise, Lukka the Hittite. Your courage and strength shall be a welcome addition to our forces.” To the officer who had led us in, still standing behind Poletes and me, he said, “Antiklos, see that they get proper garb and all else that they require.”
Then he nodded a dismissal at me. I turned and we marched away from Odysseos and the two others. Poletes was beaming at me, but I realized that my travel-worn clothes must look threadbare to the Achaians. Antiklos looked me up and down again as if measuring me, not for clothing, but as a fighter.
As we left the tent and went back into the weakening rain I could hear Nestor’s piercing voice, “Very crafty of you, son of Laertes! By bringing him into your house hold you gain the favor of Athene, whom he undoubtedly serves. I couldn’t have made a wiser move myself, although in my years I’ve made some very delicate decisions, let me tell you. Why, I remember when Dardanian pirates were raiding the coast of my kingdom and nobody seemed to be able to stop them, since King Minos’ fleet had been destroyed in the great tidal wave. Well, the pirates captured a merchant boat bearing a load of copper from Kypros. Worth a fortune, it was, because you know that you can’t make bronze without copper. No one knew what to do! The copper was …”
His voice, loud as it was, finally faded as we made our way through the faltering drizzle back down the rope ladder to the beach.
15
The rain petered out although the wind still gusted cold and sharp as I rounded up my squad. Antiklos said nothing until the dozen of us, plus Poletes, were standing before him with spears and shields.
“Are those helmets iron?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “The Hatti know how to work iron.”
Antiklos gave a grudging grunt. “You’d better sleep lightly. There are thieves in camp.”
I made a smile for him. “If I see any man wearing any piece of our equipment I’ll give him an iron sword—in his belly.”
He smiled back. “Follow me, then.”
He led us past several Ithacan boats pulled up onto the beach. Then we came to a sizable hut made of logs and daubed with the same smelly black pitch that caulked the boats. It was the largest structure that I had seen in the Achaians’ camp, taller than two men’s height, big enough to house several dozen men or more, I estimated. There was only one doorway, a low one with a sheet of canvas tacked over it to keep out the rain and wind.
Inside, the shed was a combination ware house and armory that made Poletes whistle with astonishment. Chariots were stored against the far wall, tilted up with their yokes nearly touching the beams of the ceiling. Stacks of helmets and armor were neatly piled along the wall on our right, while racks of spears, swords and bows lined the wall opposite. The ground was covered with rows of chests stuffed with clothes and blankets.
“So much!” Poletes gasped.
Antiklos made a grim smile. “Spoils from the slain.”
Poletes nodded and whispered, “So many.”
A wizened old man stepped across the sand floor from his hideaway behind a table piled high with clay tablets.
