Free Steep Wilusiya (Age of Bronze) by Diana Gainer

that Tróya cannot be defeated so long as the city retains its most sacred idol.  She called it the Qalladiyón.  Let us question Qálki.  Make him reveal what exactly this Qalladiyón is, what it looks like, and where it can be found.  Then we can find a spy who can find a way into the city to possess this thing and we will finally take Tróya!"
     
    Agamémnon was delighted, and it seemed that his anger was temporarily forgotten.  "If you can accomplish that, Odushéyu, I will see that you take home with you more Tróyan tin than any king but me."
     
    But Idómeneyu was skeptical.  "Why would Patróklo's woman talk to an It'ákan?  Besides, Ak'illéyu still hates us all so much that he would not even let you in the T'eshalíyan section of camp, much less allow you to carry out something as valuable as a woman.  And why would an Assúwan captive give you information that would help her enemies?  I cannot believe that you tortured her without anyone knowing."
     
    Odushéyu laughed.  "It was far from torture, Idómeneyu.  I am surprised at you.  I thought Kep'túriyans were supposed to be men of the sea.  Any trader or pirate worthy of the name seduces a woman in every port he visits.  By the gods, I suppose I have more bastards than you have qasiléyus.  I lured the woman away from the T'eshalíyan huts with the promise of a little goose meat and a juglet of honey.  Wíp'iya told me these things because I slept with her and told her I loved her.  I swore she would not end her days toiling in the flax fields of cold T'eshalíya, among barbarians.  I promised to take her home in my ships and put her on the throne beside me, in place of my wife."
     
    "You would do that?" Idómeneyu gasped, incredulous.  "You would lose your kingship if you divorced your Lakedaimóniyan priestess and wedded a foreign weaver.  Your people would rise up against you before you could consummate the marriage."
     
    The It'ákan mariner chuckled.  "Ai, you are a poor excuse for a merchant, indeed.  What a man intends to do and what he promises a foreign woman on the sheepskins are two very different things, my friend."
     
    aaa
     
    Across the Inner Sea to the west, far from the besieged city, Klutaimnéstra sat on her husband's throne.  The great room was warm, heated by the fire constantly burning on the large, central hearth on its raised platform.  Surrounded by frescoes of painted tribute bearers and armed men marching off to war, the queen administered the southern kingdoms of Argo and Lakedaimón in the absence of the two kings and the abducted queen of the second land.  As befitted the wánasha of Ak'áiwiya's richest and strongest realm, she wore a dozen flounced skirts, each layer woven in a different pattern from the others, each a different color and adorned with small, gold trinkets.  Her long, henna-reddened hair lay in loose curls over her shoulders and her back, entwined with strings of blue lapis and red carnelian beads, necklaces of other precious stones at her neck and lying over her ample breasts, left bare by the tight bodice.  Her lips were painted red with ochre, ground and mixed with a little oil.  The same pigment and oil had been used to paint rosettes on her cheeks and the backs of her plump hands.
     
    On her lap, she held a wooden tablet, hinged in the middle.  Wax, colored yellow with orpiment, covered the inner surfaces of the tablet.  With a small, pointed stick, the queen scratched a series of symbols into the soft wax.
     
    "What are you doing, Mamma?" asked a slender boy at her knee.  "Are you writing to Pappa?"  He leaned over to see the marks she had made, idly scratching his thigh through his short kilt.
     
    "No, Orésta, I am not writing to your father," the wánasha answered impatiently, waving him back.  "This tablet will go to my cousin, queen Penelópa.  Now, stop pestering me."
     
    The boy stepped back.  Orésta thought hard, one hand rising to his head, shaved but for a