Read Online Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) by Diana Gainer - Free Book Online

the wooden wall of his little prison, lying still and hoping against hope that no one would notice anything amiss. No one did. The crewman’s thought were on the shore, not on his feet. Others came after the first one, bringing three stone anchors up from the hull to fling overboard. From the shouts of the men, Diwoméde could tell that small boats were coming toward them from the shore. Soon, very soon, the ship’s crew began to dive into the water around the longboat, one by one, so anxious were they to be on land again.
    But Ainyáh’s voice raged over the tumult of cries and splashing, “Get back here, you two! Unload this barley! Take six bags only, do you hear? Six bags and not one more!”
    Diwoméde instantly grew stiff and cold with fear. They could not help but see the spilled grain now. He shrank back as far as he could against the sloping wooden hull, trying to think of a god to pray to. But what could he offer to buy the favor of a deity? He owned nothing, was nothing. “ Ai , lady Diwiyána,” he whispered in desperation, “remember your mountain sanctuary at holy Put’ó. I helped bring your priestess there, when the power of your oracle was declining. I beg you, do not forget.”
    But he did not go on, stung to silence by a chilling thought. The priestess who was now the voice of the great goddess was the oldest daughter of the deceased Great King of Ak’áiwiya, Agamémnon. She was Diwoméde’s half-sister. That illustrious lady should have been sacrificed to the goddess of wild creatures, as an unmarried girl, before Agamémnon had sailed to Tróya, long years before. But Agamémnon had tricked the whole Ak’áyan army into believing that his daughter had died while he substituted a doe’s heart for hers. It had satisfied the warriors. But the deities could not have been fooled. The gods knew that the girl had survived. What good was it to have the merciful Diwiyána on his side if Artémito’s wild heart was against him? Diwoméde could only close his fevered eyes and hold his breath, not daring either to pray or to hope.
    Ainyáh’s voice was closer now. “By Astárt and the Lord of the City!” he bellowed in fury. “There is barley spilled everywhere! Those miserable Mízriyan rats! They weave finer linen garments than any other people in the world but cannot make a decent grain sack!”
    “ Ai gar , never mind that,” Peirít’owo called down from above, in his higher, lighter voice, brimming with impatience. “We can have the men gather it up, later. What about our one-legged pigeon, our peristerá ? Do we deliver him here?”
    Diwoméde raised his head, fearing that the remark referred to himself. To his horror, he found he was staring Ainyáh in the face. The Kanaqániyan reached over the flattened sacks and gripped Diwoméde’s wrist with a hand that as unyielding as new bronze. The slave yelped, as much with surprise as fear, and tried to pull away. But Ainyáh was a good deal stronger, having been well fed throughout the past weeks – not to mention the past few years. With only a little effort, the Kanaqániyan hauled his human cargo over the torn grain sacks and into the light. Peirít’owo’s hands reached down from the stern platform, too. Resistance was obviously fruitless, and escape out of the question. Diwoméde was soon crouching on the half-deck at the stern, blinking in the bright light, shivering with fear despite the warmth of the day.
    But the hands of his captors did not release him even then. He was quickly shoved overboard. The shock of the cool water made him gasp, and when he floundered to the surface, he was choking. More rough hands caught him, dragging him over the side of a small boat to grovel in a pool of vomited sea water and half-chewed barley.
    “I will take him up to the village,” Diwoméde heard Peirít’owo call up toward the ship, “while you see that the grain is delivered. The men are yours and will listen better if you are the one