Two Brothers: Part Nine of the Late Bronze Age Stories

By Joan H. Parks

Part Nine of the Late Bronze Age Stories has the brothers, Diripi and Arudara, returning to the kin in the season of storms acquire a mysterious passenger. Diripi knowing himself to belong on the sea wonders if loneliness is his fate. Arudara, a gifted artist as well as a sailor and trader, needs to spend time on his art. Maeve, from the north country, is conflicted by her haunting past and her present duty.

At the close of the bronze age all is in flux, trade routes are destroyed, empires are being dismembered, danger and bloodshed is everywhere, trust is dangerous. How does the kin survive in these hard times? How can Diripi, Arudara and Maeve make a living and live their lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781663223067

Joan H. Parks

Joan H Parks lives in Chicago, IL, and after a career in clinical research refreshed her life by becoming a fiction writer. Her undergraduate degree was from the University of Rochester in Non-Western Civilizations, her MBA from the University of Chicago. She studies poetry, including Yeats and the Canterbury Tales (in Middle English); has an interest in the ancient world which she has gratified by studying at the Oriental Institute of The University of Chicago; is an aficionado of The Tales of Genji, which she rereads every year or so. Her family regards these activities with amusement, for she also listens to Willie Nelson and Dierks Bentley. She can be contacted at joanhparks.com

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Copyright © 2021 Joan H. Parks.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-2305-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-2306-7 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 05/12/2021

DEDICATED TO:

JARED LEHR

ARTIST, INSPIRATION, FRIEND

HISTORICAL NOTE

The sea peoples menaced the eastern coast of the Mediterranean during the late Bronze Age. The movement of tribes and peoples has left a confusing and scant archeological record. The palace cultures of Minos, and most of the cities along the Mediterranean were destroyed—by whom is still a matter of conjecture. Egypt barely escaped, and the destruction did not extend to Mesopotamia. Whether it was internal corruption, changing climate that provoked tribes to move, or technological advances in weaponry that caused the destruction is still hotly argued in books and articles.

The trade routes were disrupted, kingdoms rose and fell, and through it all traders scrambled to make a living, and the innovative and nimble protected their families and tribes, seizing opportunities as they appeared.

And always, always, men and women to whom their own stories are most important, are at the center.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 The Storm

Chapter 2 Safe Haven

Chapter 3 Maeve Speaks For Herself

Chapter 4 Arudara Reflects

Chapter 5 Return to the Kin

Chapter 6 Surprises

Chapter 7 Petros the Wise Considers

Chapter 8 The Meeting of the Kin

Chapter 9 Maeve Tells Her Story

Chapter 10 Maeve Makes Herself Useful

Chapter 11 Maeve Wonders

Chapter 12 Serena Makes a Judgment

Chapter 13 The Villain Returns

Chapter 14 Arudara Hears the Alarm

Chapter 15 Maeve Remembers

Chapter 16 The Kin Decides

Chapter 17 Another Player

Chapter 18 Diripi Again

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Diripi: Seaman and Trader

Arudara: Seaman and Jeweler

Maeve: Rescued from a storm

Petros the Wise: Head of the wandering kin who are now in Lebanon

Serena the Wise: Sister to Petros the Wise, newly mated to The Bedouin and mother to Arudara, Diripi, Petros the Healer and many others.

Alimah: Mother to the golden haired Muti

Kaliq: Mate to Alimah

CHAPTER 1

THE STORM

I listen closely as Arudara’s mouth opens. The wind pounced, tore the words from his mouth to scatter them unheard. It’s a good thing we have been sailing comrades for so long that words aren’t needed, for the roaring of the waves, and the whistling of the wind prevented any speech whatsoever. The flying foam cascaded over him, drenching him yet again. Back muscles strained as he fought to hold the squaresail sheets steady. He shook his head to clear his eyes and looked over his shoulder, his grip on the sheets secure. I blink rapidly and shake my head as the stinging foam blurs my sight, and, like my brother, I cannot spare a hand to brush the salt water away.

All who sail on the Mediterranean head for home or a safe haven when the weather turns. This season of storms is early. It will be our last trip until the weather turns again. I, Diripi, and my brother Arudara, were taught well by our father, Lukenow. The three of us, until Lukenow fell ill and went to be with his ancestors, had no trouble sailing this boat and now we two brothers sail it. We feel his loss, hear his stilled voice imparting his wisdom to us, miss him as we trade, always aware that we are one short. No one sails alone by choice, it is too dangerous even in calm weather.

Between the howling wind, the immense angry waves, and the raging currents beneath the waves, all I can do is to wrestle the steering oar; it resists me as all the elements fight me. We had partially furled our squaresail to prevent shredding. The reduced sail allows us some control over our trusty boat. There is an ominous creaking when the wind shrieks. I hope the mast survives long enough for us to reach the refuge ahead.

Other boats have capsized like so many toys, blown over by the sudden dangerous storm. When we are on the crest of a wave, we can see other boats laboring to survive, but in the trough between the waves, they vanish, hidden by the mountainous moving walls of water. When on the top of a wave again, we glimpse utter destruction: boats lying helpless on their sides, rigging gone, debris from shattered hulls littering the green and angry sea. We can not help any others; it is all we can do to save ourselves. The boats and those upon them will have a seaman’s burial, deep under the waters that have reclaimed them.

We were not looking for drama on this short voyage for we have cargo to protect. We sailed up the coast to Ugarit, that is no more. The trade routes that converged in Ugarit, though damaged, are still usable if dangerous. On the hills above that ruined city, we delivered fine Egyptian linen for our Bedouin friends to embroider. They, in turn, gave us linen ready for our gifted ones to fashion into garments. The Bedouins also gave us woven wool in many shades from pale cream to a mellow brown, fine oils in amphorae, a valuable property to trade, and gem stones for our jewelers to transform into salable beauty. Our hold is filled with treasures that also serve as ballast to steady our trusty boat in the tumultuous sea.

The Nile was interesting and our adventures there with Nahid more so, but sailing on the Nile, while better than being on land, was frustrating. Because it was narrow, you couldn’t sail far on one tack. It was either up the river or down the river. Because the Nile was heavily traveled we always had to be wary both of other boats which could be anything from royal barges, to war ships to small rowboats used by local farmers. Added dangers were lurking crocodiles, incompetent sailors and political enemies whose ways we dimly understood. It was no life for a seaman used to the open sea. When we left Egypt to bring Nahid and Rabiah back to the kin, we kept to a decorous pace, so as to not draw the attention of dangerous pirates, who coveted our precious load of linen or political enemies who wished to control Rabiah.

While confined to the Nile, I yearned to be out on the open sea with brisk winds whistling in my ears, our squaresail billowing loudly, the water foaming past the rails, sails straining and then luffing loudly as we changed course. I wanted that glorious freedom that only comes from the speed, the sun overhead, the gulls swooping, and the feel of the steering oar in my hand, the sheets throbbing with the rhythm of the waves. I enjoy the excitement of out sailing the robbers on the sea and then when needed, to fight them at close quarters. But nothing is as exciting to me as the danger of storms that test our sturdy boat and my seamanship. The harder the test the more I exult in it, my blood singing in my ears, every muscle straining to its utmost. I glory in the challenge of using all my skills and courage, and never feel more alive. Arudara knows this about me, and patiently endures though never with enjoyment.

Dimly through salt encrusted eyelashes I see the rocks that guard the narrow inlet to the secluded cove where we will shelter from the storm. We had planned to spend the night in this, our favorite stopping place, even before the storm made it imperative.

On the top of a another surge of water, I see another laboring boat, the mast shattered, the sails covering the deck. A floating spar bumps into our hull, I look down and see a human form clinging to it.

Not dead yet?

Another huge wave washes the form over the railing and leaves the body in our cockpit. I cannot take the time to pay attention. Perhaps Petros the Healer, another brother, would take the time, but I cannot.

The waves and the currents try to seize control, but I cling to the steering oar, keeping my balance in the midst of the swirling waters and, using all the muscle I have, keep on course. Arudara, his feet braced against the cockpit, grimly