by Sam Barone
With as much care as he could manage, Sabatu sat up in the bed, slipping from the embrace of the women. Neither one woke, despite his clumsy efforts to climb down off the bed. No doubt the women at Zenobia’s slept long in the morning, to make up for their hard work at night.
At last he got to his feet. Sabatu found his tunic and sandals piled neatly on a stool in the corner of the room. When he lifted the garment, he saw that someone had attached a sheathed knife to his belt. A parting gift from Daro no doubt, who understood the importance of a weapon to any soldier, even one who could not yet use it properly.
It took extra moments to dress, his maimed hands still refusing to work properly. But at last he finished. He stared down at the two naked women, both sleeping soundly. Even in repose, their beauty made him catch his breath. Sabatu had no coins, nothing to leave them for his long night of pleasure. They had asked for no payment. Te-ara had lavished her finest efforts on him at Daro’s simple suggestion. He hoped they would not think less of him.
Sabatu sighed. Perhaps one day he would return to this place, and enjoy again the company of Te-ara and Ducina.
He left the chamber, went down the steps, and out into the courtyard. Sabatu saw a few yawning servants moving about, before he passed by the guard still at the door. The bright sun, reflected off the spotless wall, made it difficult to see. Sabatu moved into the shade of the portico, until his eyes adjusted.
His thoughts returned to King Eskkar. He and Daro had both delivered the same message, without once speaking the words. A man could lose everything in his life, and still be a man as long as he kept his honor. And honor demanded that Sabatu avenge his family’s destruction, by any means, and no matter what the cost. Otherwise his whole life was wasted, his name deservedly forgotten.
In the end, the only thing that really counted was how a man lived, and how he died. Life was, after all, only a prelude to death, and no warrior should fear to die. Death is only one of the possible consequences of a man’s actions, neither valued nor feared above any other. Death is merely a release from a man’s obligations.
Last night, Te-ara and Ducina had shown Sabatu that life still went on, and that he was yet a man. Suddenly he remembered how Daro’s bow had felt in his hand yesterday, the power that had flowed from his arm to the shaft. Perhaps in time, Sabatu would be able to once again harness that power. And if he could guide an arrow to its mark, he could still fight. For the first time since he arrived in Akkad, Sabatu straightened his shoulders and lifted his head high.
His thoughts turned to his meeting with King Eskkar yesterday. A plain man, without pretensions. Perhaps there was more to being a king than a gilded throne or golden statues.
In that moment, Sabatu made his decision. He would fight against those who had destroyed his life, killed his family, and sentenced him to death. Perhaps with Akkad’s help, he could strike some small blow against his enemies. Perhaps someday, maybe he, too, would find and embrace a new family.
Most of all, Grand Commander Chaiyanar, ruler of the city of Sushan, and loyal servant of the King of Elam, needed to be reminded that Sabatu still lived, still fought, and would one day take his revenge. That would be the price Sabatu would require from King Eskkar – the chance to destroy the man who murdered his family.
Chapter 2
3128 BC, eleven months later . . .
The midday sun shone down on the grove of trees, awash in a blaze of spring colors. Eskkar, who had not left Akkad’s mud brick walls in the last ten days, couldn’t help but contrast the farm’s cheerful surroundings with the dull and dirty lanes that separated the crowded structures of the city. Nestled against fields of golden wheat and barley, the white sycamores supported a tall and leafy awning. On the other side of the grove, a stretch of pale green and purple alfalfa waved in the afternoon breeze. Further on, Eskkar glimpsed the soft blue flowers of the hardy flax plant.
The farm sounded a melody of life. Brightly feathered chickens clucked as they hunted through the grass. Birds sang overhead, bees hummed as they hovered over yellow and red tulips, and a light wind from the nearby Tigris River rustled the leaves overhead and wafted the soothing scent of living and growing things. The occasional lowing of cattle from the nearby pasture added to the peaceful sounds and smells so familiar to anyone raised on a farm.
Eskkar, however, had not grown up tilling the soil or herding livestock, but rather, so his barbarian ancestors claimed, on the back of a horse. Years later, and with Trella’s help, he had learned the value of planting and harvesting the earth’s gifts, and how these pleasant fields created the wealth that flowed throughout the Land Between the Rivers. But today Eskkar scarcely noticed these signs of serenity as he paced back and forth, striding from one end of the small grove to the other.
From habit, his eyes took in the terrain around him. To the south, well separated from the main farm house, stood crooked fences and pens that enclosed small herds of sheep and pigs. To the north and east, the crops stretched out over the fertile ground for more than a quarter mile, until they merged with those of the neighboring holding. On the west side, a wider than usual irrigation ditch connected this farmstead to the Tigris, which flowed peacefully along about three hundred paces away. The summer breeze waved the grain back and forth, in a soft, undulating motion.
In a few months, the gleaning and harrowing would begin, and this fall every tiller of the soil expected a bountiful crop yield. As usual, Akkad’s farmers kept their eyes and their thoughts on the coming harvest. Most had forgotten the other activity of men that often followed the end of the annual gathering – preparations for war.
Eskkar and Trella had not forgotten. Her agents in Akkad had already promised a generous price for each basket of grain gleaned from the soil, and much of this would be stored in the granaries that Trella had ordered constructed in the past year. Food, Eskkar knew, was as much a weapon of war as the sword. When the Elamite invasion came, the City would be well prepared to feed the influx of people clamoring to take shelter behind its walls.
In the last two and a half years, the King and Queen of Akkad had taken many other small steps to prepare the City for war, most of them in secret. Now the day had arrived to reveal not only what precautions they had put in place, but to set in motion the plans that they hoped would save their City.
Today, that need had brought them to Yavtar’s extensive farm holding a few miles south of Akkad. Important guests were arriving, and their decisions would determine not only Akkad’s future, but the destiny of all the people and all the cities in the Land Between the Rivers.
Eskkar, his hands clasped behind his back, halted at the edge of the sycamores, and stared at the offshoot of the Tigris. One aspect of this homestead made it different from all the others that dotted the countryside south of Akkad – the weathered quay, long enough to dock three good sized boats, that ran alongside the canal.
Many farms possessed a few warped planks or a rocky stone jetty projecting out into the rivers and streams, big enough for one or two of the small and often precarious boats that carried men, crops, and the occasional animal to nearby markets. But this solidly built docking place could handle river craft capable of plying the Tigris from its headwaters to the Great Southern Sea.
The connection to the river had taken months of backbreaking labor to dig out and line with stones to prevent its collapse. That effort had cost the farm’s owner a goodly sum of gold, but that had presented no problem to Yavtar. Over the last ten years, the Boat Master had become one of the richest men in Akkad. His river trading ventures paid handsomely, and his fleet of ships traveled up and down both the Tigris and Euphrates, as well as many of their smaller tributaries that crossed the land from west to east.
Yavtar also fulfilled another role – advisor to the King and Queen of Akkad. His connections to traders throughout the land provided a steady stream of valuable information. In addition, Yavtar’s wide-ranging boats moved supplies needed for Akkad’s army. And when Trella had sough
t a quiet place away from the city, Yavtar had volunteered both his services and his farm as a place for today’s meeting.
Even that offer fretted on Eskkar’s nerves. He hated relying on others for anything. Now he had to plot and plan in secret, away from his city, lest anyone guess what he and Trella might be doing.
Nevertheless, he had no choice. Akkad, its people still unaware of the looming danger from the east, could not be saved by their rulers’ efforts alone. The efficient military force he had developed, even the city’s thick and high walls, would not be enough. Eskkar required the help of others, and despite his misgivings and reluctance, the time had come to ask for it.
Today’s meeting, carefully arranged and kept secret from all but a handful of the most trustworthy, would soon begin. Not that Eskkar concerned himself with the beginning. He worried more about how the gathering would end.
“Come and sit with me, Eskkar.” Trella’s voice, soft yet persuasive, sounded appropriate in the grove. She had, after all, grown up surrounded by farms.
Eskkar, far too tense to just sit around and wait, ignored his wife’s suggestion. “This seems a strange place to prepare for a war.”
He rapped his fist on the surface of the large table, sheltered from the warm sun by the trees’ canopy, and big enough to accommodate ten or twelve people. Servants had removed the usual benches that flanked the table, and replaced them with seven mismatched chairs, more appropriate to the expected guests. Trella sat there, alone, going over the maps needed for the meeting one last time.
“This war would come to us whether we prepared or not, Husband. Best not to dwell on what brought us here.”
Trella wore a simple brown dress, and her only jewelry was the silver head band that held her hair away from her eyes. Neither she nor Eskkar had wanted to attract any undue attention today by dressing in more formal clothes. As far as the people of Akkad knew, the King and Queen had gone out riding.
Eskkar returned his gaze to the dock. Only one craft lay tied up there – the ship from Sumer that had arrived not long ago. For a moment, he frowned at the gaudy vessel, decorated with a wide stripe of deep red along its hull, and with the yellow sun of Sumer carved and painted on its prow. To his eyes, a boat should be plain and sturdy, whether built for war or trade. Eskkar disliked men who called attention to themselves.
He took one last look around to make sure everything was in place. The four mud brick houses that sheltered the owner and his servants were a hundred and fifty paces from where Eskkar stood. The servants and laborers had all been sent off to another farm for the day.
Only the sixty Hawk Clan soldiers remained, scarcely noticeable as they patrolled the grove in a wide ring that brought them no closer than two hundred paces, well out of earshot. Rousted from their barracks before dawn, not even Eskkar’s most loyal soldiers knew what today’s meeting portended.
He turned his thoughts back to the grove, and glanced toward the table. His wife showed not the least hint of anxiety, though she had planned and worked for almost two years to prepare for this meeting.
A dog barked, a deep sound powerful enough to frighten a wolf. Eskkar swung around to face the main farmhouse. Yavtar had emerged from the house, accompanied by two men. Each man carried a large platter, covered with a cloth to keep away the flies. The dog, black as a night demon, trotted over and rubbed against his master’s thigh for a moment before it settled down to match Yavtar’s pace.
Eskkar eyed the brute as they approached. Yavtar swore the animal was tame, but Eskkar had some bad experiences in his younger days with farm dogs, and he still distrusted anything that could rip the flesh from a man’s leg with a single bite. The two men accompanying Yavtar appeared to have similar doubts about the dog. They gave the creature plenty of space.
“Lord Eskkar,” Yavtar said when he drew near, “this is King Gemama of Sumer, and the leader of his soldiers, Lord Jarud.”
Gemama, bald, stout, and with a straggly white beard, looked exactly what he was, a rich merchant trader. Perspiration gleamed on his forehead, though he’d done little but walk to the grove. His stomach pressed hard against his spotless tunic stitched with a red and black design.
Once merely one of Sumer’s leading merchants, Gemama had been acclaimed ruler of Sumer by its people nine years ago, albeit encouraged in their choice by Trella’s agents. Yavtar had been one of those agents, and he and Gemama had already been trading partners and friends for many years. Without Akkad’s help, Gemama would have died, murdered by the Queen of Sumer. Instead he became Sumer’s ruler.
His companion, Jarud, had about fifty seasons, and he also looked as expected. A soldier first and last, he’d obviously grown up with a sword in his hand. In the same wave that swept Gemama to the kingship, Jarud rose from a newly assigned Captain of the Guard to commander of Sumer’s soldiers.
To everyone’s surprise, probably including their own, the trader-turned-king and the soldier-turned-leader had grown close over time, and for the last nine years had ruled the city of Sumer together. They had also restored prosperity to the inhabitants, who had suffered long under the harsh rule of their previous despotic and war-hungry leaders.
Eskkar had met neither man before, but numerous messages had passed between the two cities in those nine years. Trella’s agents, of course, had provided many details about Sumer’s leaders.
He forced a smile to his face and bowed to the visitors. “I thank you both for coming. Our other guest should be here soon.” Eskkar reached out and took the platter from King Gemama’s hands. No doubt it had been years since Gemama had lifted anything heavier than a leg of mutton or a slave girl’s breast. “Join us at the table.”
As Eskkar set the platter down, Trella stood. She bowed to the Sumerians, then helped arrange the platters.
“You should not have put our guests to work, Yavtar,” she chided him gently. “I could have carried the platters.”
“My wife just finished preparing them.” Yavtar took a seat at the table, the dog settling at his feet. “And none of us are too proud to carry our own food.”
Trella turned to her husband. “Yavtar has done well with the arrangements. We must find a way to thank him.”
Eskkar gazed at his wife. “I’m sure that asking him to risk his life a few more times will be more than enough thanks.”
She didn’t bother to reply to that. Trella recognized the small signs that indicated Eskkar’s anxiety, though he hid them well. She knew that he would be impassive enough in front of the others.
“It’s good to finally meet you, Lord Eskkar, Lady Trella.” King Gemama eased his bulk onto the largest chair he could find. He tossed the cloth off the nearest platter and inspected its contents – dark dates from the south, a bowl of apples, another of sweet cakes. “Ah, the famous Akkadian sweet cakes. There are none better in the land.”
Trella reached out and removed the other two cloths. The smell of fresh bread rose into the air. There were also bowls of honey for dipping. Two pitchers of water and two of wine completed the preparations.
“It is we who are in your debt, King Gemama.” Trella gave him a warm smile. “Though I am sorry that your visit to our lands comes at this time.”
“Yavtar has told us little, except that grave danger threatens all of us. We decided to accept your invitation, and find out for ourselves.”
“Sumer is peaceful enough.” Jarud broke off a hunk of bread and tested the honey. “No bandits, not even the usual pirate raid or two from the sea.”
A distant horn sounded, a low growl that floated over the water. Everyone glanced toward the canal.
“Naxos must be on his way in.” Yavtar pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll meet him at the jetty. He and Kuara can carry the rest of the food. The two of them will eat most of it anyway.” Yavtar headed back toward his house, to greet and fetch the remainder of their guests. He couldn’t quite manage to keep the smile off his face. The rest of the day promised to be very, very interesting, and he intended
to enjoy every moment of it.
On the canal, a boat hove into sight and glided toward the shore, slipping gracefully through the water. The craft flew a pennant from its mast, the emblem of the City of Isin. A second boat appeared in its wake. One of Akkad’s fighting boats escorted the ship from Isin, and the two boats touched the dock at almost the same moment.
Following their orders, the Akkadian crew remained on board. From the other craft, two men jumped to the dock, one tall and powerfully built. He glanced around, left hand on the hilt of his sword, as if expecting trouble. Though Eskkar had not seen him in several years, he recognized King Naxos of Isin, ruler of the second most powerful city in the Land Between the Rivers.
Yavtar greeted the two men at the end of the jetty. But instead of escorting them to the grove, he led them past the house, where Yavtar’s plump wife met them at the door. She handed over two more platters and another pitcher. It took only a moment before the three men were again on their way to the grove.
Jarud chuckled. “That’s a sight I’ll never see again. King Naxos carrying a pitcher of wine.”
Eskkar had to smile as well. “I’m glad I didn’t go to the dock. Yavtar would have me carrying a platter, too.”
Everyone rose to greet the new arrivals. King Naxos, as tall and well-muscled as Eskkar and about the same age, thumped his pitcher down on the table, as if daring anyone to say something. His companion, however, had a broad smile on his face. For many years, Kuara acted as Chief Advisor to Naxos and the City of Isin.
Kuara had about the same number of seasons as Gemama and Yavtar, all in their late fifties. Unlike them, however, he also had fought in several battles. His right hand possessed only a thumb and forefinger, the other fingers sliced off by an enemy sword. As the story went, Kuara had still managed to kill his attacker. A long shock of gray hair reached to his shoulders, and a thick mustache half-covered his mouth.