Free People of the Inner Sea (The Age of Bronze) by Diana Gainer

and reds had washed away completely in some places and retained their original hues only in corners protected from the sun’s harsh glare.  Odushéyu pointed to the bare spots wordlessly as they passed.  Meneláwo only pushed the mariner's hand down, so that Klutaimnéstra would not see the gesture.
     
    A single door led from the courtyard to the inner palace, and the visitors entered it.  They found themselves in a high-ceilinged room, its wall-plaster painted with lively hunting scenes.  The floor was stuccoed like the walls and painted in many colors.  Once bright, the worn zigzags of blue, yellow, and red were now barely visible.  On a raised, gypsum slab beside the entrance to the room beyond, there sat an ancient, royal guard, a spear in his hand.  At the sight of the visitors, he stood, shaking the long, white hair out of his eyes.  Klutaimnéstra paused for him to pull aside the curtains draping the doorway.
     
    The queen and her visitors passed through, into the main room of the palace, the mégaron.  Its plastered floor was painted to match that of the previous room, its walls enlivened with scenes of war and plunder.  On one side, painted horsemen and soldiers marched off to battle.  Another fresco depicted a procession of men and women bearing tribute to the conqueror.  But even here, the decorations were not fresh.  Around the great central hearth, the colors on the floor were completely worn away.  The whole room was overlaid with a layer of fine, gray soot.
     
    As they entered the throne room, Klutaimnéstra's voice quieted still further than before.  Leaning close to Meneláwo's ear, she whispered, "The word from Kep'túr is still worse.  The drought struck even that holy land.  The latest message from wánasha Médeya mentioned pestilence, as well.  Ai, by the sweet goddess, I do not believe Idómeneyu will be able to hold his throne.  Most of his people are not even true Ak'áyans, after all.  What must Kep'túr be plotting when even my loyal Lakedaimóniyans are muttering?"
     
    Meneláwo did not respond, but only sank into the first chair he could find.  Ariyádna wearily sat beside him, drawing her daughter into her lap.  The bruised former captive ducked her head, trying not to see the grim frescoes and pressed 'Ermiyóna's little hands to her face.  Her shadowed eyes tightly closed, the mother wrapped her child in her dirty cloak.
     
    Odushéyu alone remained alert and watchful.  His eyes and ears followed the Argive queen with intense interest.  Seating himself near the Lakedaimóniyan king, Odushéyu murmured to Meneláwo, "She calls it her Lakedaimón, did you hear?  I am afraid you have an enemy in your own brother's house."
     
    Meneláwo did not speak.  He leaned back against the sheepskins cushioning his chair, his eyes half-closed, one hand at his aching side.  His lips were parted and he panted, his breath coming quick and shallow.
     
    To Odushéyu's surprise, Klutaimnéstra now took her place on an oversized, gypsum chair that rested against the south wall of the room.  "She is sitting on Agamémnon's throne," the It'ákan hissed to his friend, scandalized.  "Does she think she is the wánaks now?"  Still, he could not rouse Meneláwo's interest.
     
    The wánasha waved impatiently at the serving women waiting in the shadows.  "Do not stand about like statues, ladies.  Prepare the food.  Bring the wine and mix it with water.  My sister must not think that Argo has forgotten the laws of hospitality."
     
    As the queen gave her orders, Aígist'o settled himself close by her, arranging the fleeces on his chair with studied attention.  He, too, spoke to the serving women, though more quietly, so that the visitors could not hear his words.  But they saw his gestures, directing them to the large, circular fireplace in the center of the room.  About the hearth, four wooden columns held up the roof where it opened to let out the smoke.  Virtually no light