by Sam Barone
“Then we are agreed.” Eskkar leaned back in his chair. He felt as if a vast weight had lifted from his shoulders. “Now, let me show you how we can defeat these invaders and drive them back across the mountains.”
Chapter 3
Later that evening, well after the moon had risen, Annok-sur set in motion the last step of her plan to confound and confuse the Elamites. She had waited at the Compound until King Eskkar and Trella rode back from their meeting at Yavtar’s farm. As soon as Eskkar helped his wife dismount from her spirited horse, Annok-sur needed only a few whispered words from Trella to confirm the success of the day’s meeting at the farmhouse.
“Is everything ready?” After the long day of tense negotiations, Trella’s weariness sounded in her voice, though only Annok-sur knew her well enough to notice.
“Yes, Trella. Everything is in place.”
They hugged for a brief moment, then Annok-sur crossed the courtyard and stepped out into the lane. Two Hawk Clan guards waited to escort her. She set out for her destination, with one guard walking ahead and the other behind.
At the time when the hard-working men and women of the city prepared for sleep, Annok-sur and her guards passed through the city’s narrow lanes. The few people who glimpsed the shadowy figures shrank aside, more apprehensive of Annok-sur’s presence than that of the formidable looking guards. The sentinels at Akkad’s northern gate passed them through without a word, and the trio headed for the farm almost two miles away.
The half-moon made the night walk pleasant enough, illuminating the few places where the ground might prove difficult. Annok-sur had traversed the path many more times than her escorts. Her sturdy legs had no trouble keeping pace with the longer strides of the soldiers.
They arrived at the small farmhold close to midnight, but more than enough night remained for her purpose. Some things were best done while the city slept, and far from the eyes and ears of others.
Three mud-brick huts comprised the homestead. All the dwellings needed repair, and daylight would reveal the extent of the neglect. Only one showed a glimmer of light through a narrow doorway as they approached. Annok-sur knew the others would be waiting for her inside. She spoke to her guards. They halted fifty paces from the farmhouse, and Annok-sur finished her journey alone.
She eased her lean body through the narrow doorway and sat down on an old stool with its shaky legs, behind a wobbly plank table. Annok-sur barely noticed the odor that permeated the room, though newcomers had a tendency to gag the first time they entered the chamber. Over the years, she had grown accustomed to the rank smell of dried blood, sweat, piss, and excrement that had seeped into and now lingered in the mud walls and dirt floor, despite an occasional sweeping or bucket of water.
A glowing fire pot on the opposite side of the table gave off its own vapors that ascended to the roof’s sagging wooden scantlings, covered with mud. A jagged hole overhead provided the room’s only ventilation, aside from the door, but plenty of smoke from the fire never seemed to find its way out.
Two candles also burned, an unknown luxury for most households, but somehow provided little light, as if the flickering flames themselves recoiled from the dank room and its foul air. A solitary but stout pole in the center of the room helped support the weight of the roof. It also had other, darker purposes.
In the light of day, the single room hut didn’t appear so sinister. But once the sun went down, the chamber became a place of pain and terror, a secret place where Annok-sur questioned Akkad’s most dangerous enemies. And learned, in time, their secrets.
Tonight the half-moon had risen late, and only now touched the highest point in the sky. It was time to begin.
Annok-sur stared at the man sitting less than three paces away, a dirty grain sack covering his head. “Is he conscious yet?”
Years ago, the torturers had nailed a small bench to the center pole. Zahara sat on its blood encrusted surface, his hands bound behind the pole and his spread ankles fastened to the wide legs of the bench. Aside from the hood, Zahara was naked.
“He’s coming around.” Wakannh’s booming voice filled the chamber. The hood jerked and twitched, reacting to Wakannh’s words. He reached over and yanked off the covering, then tossed it on the table.
Zahara’s eyes stared blankly for a moment, then widened in horror as he took in his surroundings. First he stared at Wakannh, Akkad’s Captain of the Guard. When his gaze rested on Annok-sur, his mouth fell open and he gasped, seemingly unable to catch his breath.
The door behind her opened and a man named Rue-el, Wakannh’s second in command, entered. Using a rag to protect his hand, he carried a dented copper bowl brimming with glowing embers, and proceeded to dump them into the fire pot. The flames crackled, welcoming the additional fuel, and another burst of smoke rushed upwards, to swirl around over their heads.
Annok-sur waited until the prisoner grasped the extent of his situation. “It’s good that you understand your position, Zahara. You’re going to talk to me. And if you don’t tell me the truth, if you don’t tell me everything I want to know, you’re going to die, slowly and painfully. I can see to it that you linger in agony for several days. But if you speak truthfully,” she hesitated for several moments, to stretch out the suspense, “you may yet be allowed to live. The choice is yours, so make it carefully.”
“But I’ve done nothing! Nothing!” Zahara glanced down, as if seeing his widespread legs for the first time. The ropes held him fast, his genitals completely exposed. “My grandfather is Noble Rebba. He will tell you. Whatever you think I did, it’s not true!”
Annok-sur sighed, and shifted to a more comfortable position on the stool. She kept her voice low and pleasant. “Do you think we don’t know that you’ve spied on Akkad for the Elamites for over a year? That you’ve made two trips through the mountains, to report to your masters in Elam? And that you’ve sent messengers to them on nearly every caravan that departs to the east? Did you think we didn’t know what you were doing? Are you going to say that you are not a spy?”
Zahara gaped at the revelations, no doubt wondering exactly what and how much Annok-sur knew. “I . . . I don’t know what to say. I would never spy on Akkad. I’m loyal to the king. Ask my grandfather. I’m a member of the Noble Families. Ask anyone . . .”
“The last two men who sat on that bench swore that they took your orders, that you gave them information for a man named Sacarra, who lives in the village of Zanbil, just beyond the Zagros Mountains. One of them died, unfortunately. But not before he revealed your name. The other spoke to you only two days ago, didn’t he? But I haven’t all night to waste on you, Zahara. You can start by giving me the names of those who have carried messages for you. Now.”
“I . . . I don’t know what it . . . what you want. Please believe me. I’m loyal to King Eskkar.”
Annok-sur glanced toward the Captain of the Guard.
“I think our guest needs encouragement,” Wakannh said. “Rue-el, warm him up a little.”
“Yes, Captain.” From the wall behind him, Rue-el selected a long bronze rod and thrust it into the fire pot. Wood strips bound with cord formed a crude handle, to protect the holder’s hand from the heat the bronze absorbed from the fire. He stood there, twisting the rod around and stirring the embers, but always keeping the tip in the hottest part of the fire. The smell of heated metal joined the other vapors that wafted through the chamber. Zahara’s chest rose and fell.
Annok-sur noted the prisoner’s agitation. By now fear, and the room’s vapors, would be making it hard for him to breathe.
Zahara’s eyes darted from one to the other, then back to the fire. “You must believe me! You’re making a mistake. Talk to Noble Rebba! He’ll tell you who I am.”
“It’s warm enough.” Wakannh’s impatience sounded in his voice. “Give him a taste.”
Rue-el snorted at his commander’s eagerness. But he withdrew the rod. He only had to turn and take a single step to slap the heated tip against the insi
de of the Zahara’s left thigh.
Zahara had no time to protest or prepare. His scream filled the room, as he jerked and tried to shrink his leg away from the heated metal, his back arching up and away from the pole. Rue-el held the rod fast, for as long as a man might count to three.
When he removed it, an angry welt about the length of a man’s small finger had already blossomed on the prisoner’s leg. Zahara’s cry of agony slowly eased into a drawn out and gasping moan, as he slumped back onto the bench. Wide-eyed, he stared at the source of pain exuding from his leg.
The smell of burning flesh mixed with Zahara’s urine wafted through the room.
“It’ll be better when it’s hotter.” Rue-el shoved the rod back into the fire, and wiped his hand on his tunic.
“That pain, what you just felt, is only a start.” Annok-sur leaned forward. “The bronze was scarcely warm. We have all night, if necessary, and the rod grows hotter the longer it lingers in the flames. When the rod is held against your prick, you’ll learn the real meaning of pain.”
Breathing hard, Zahara managed to catch his breath. Sweat covered his face and dripped down onto his chest.
“So, what are the names of your men?” Annok-sur waited for a response. When none came, she nodded to Rue-el.
“No! By the gods, no!”
Rue-el gave the rod one last poke in the flames, then rapped the bronze against the edge of the bowl, to shake off the ashes. With a grin, he turned back to the prisoner. This time Rue-el chose the right leg.
Zahara’s screams filled the room, as his body contorted, trying to shrink itself away from the glowing bronze. But the ropes around his ankles held firm, and all he could manage was to twitch his legs. When Rue-el lifted the tip away, Zahara slumped against his bonds, tears already merging with the sweat from his brow. The odor of burning flesh grew stronger, even as it joined the other vapors within the closed and dank room.
Zahara’s eyes fixed on Rue-el, as he returned the rod to the coals, moving it around to keep it heating evenly.
“Almost hot enough.” Rue-el’s cheerful voice sounded out of place in the torture chamber.
“A few more moments should do it.”
“What are their names . . . look at me, Zahara!” Annok-sur’s voice demanded obedience. “Tell me their names!”
“Please, don’t burn me again!” His hoarse voice struggled with the words, and his legs twitched from the pain. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” Gasping, Zahara gave up the men’s names. Even those few words exhausted him, and he gulped air into his chest.
“That’s good, Zahara, that’s good.” Annok-sur used her most soothing voice. “So, Zahara, I want you to tell me everything you’ve told the Elamites. You’ve been their most important and reliable source of information, someone very close to Akkad’s Council of advisors. Now you will tell me all you know about them, everything you’ve revealed. Everything. Since the first day they approached you. If you do that, you may keep your life. But you must not lie to me. We already know much more than you think. If you leave anything out, if I think you’re holding back anything.” She gave the signal to Rue-el.
“Where should I place it this time?” He held the rod close to the prisoner’s cheek, forcing him to lean back against the pole to escape the heat. “On his face, or on his balls?” With a quick movement, he waved the glowing bronze just above Zahara’s shrunken member.
“NO!” Zahara thrashed against his bonds, his ankles already bloody from the friction of the ropes. “Please, I’ll tell you what you want to know! Anything. Anything.”
“Good. Very good. Would you like some water? You must be thirsty by now.”
A pitcher of fresh water from the farm’s well rested on the table, next to a pair of battered cups. These interrogations often lasted long into the night, and Annok-sur saw no reason for being thirsty.
“Yes, please! Water, by the gods! Please.”
Annok-sur filled a cup to the brim with water, then rose and carried it to Zahara. She touched his cheek gently, almost intimately, before she held the cup to his lips. After three swallows, she took the cup away. “Not too much, Zahara, not until you’ve told us what we want to know. You have much to reveal, don’t you? And remember, the rod is still in the fire, and now it is red hot. Its next touch will give you more pain than you’ve ever known.”
“Please . . . no more . . .please!”
“We’ll see.” Annok-sur returned to her stool. She doubted she would need Rue-el’s touch again, certainly not more than once. In the last fifteen years, Annok-sur had questioned many of Akkad’s enemies in this room, as well as the usual lot of murderers and thieves. She had learned how to gauge a person’s tolerance to pain, and how much pain a man, and the occasional woman, could take. Only a few had the good fortune to escape into an early death before revealing what their inquisitor wanted to know.
She’d watched many a man squirm and shrink under the torture. Some men were strong, others weak. Zahara’s noble upbringing and easy wealth made him weaker than most. He lacked not only the strength of character to resist, but also the physical stamina. Annok-sur had no doubts about his coming conversion, no matter how reluctant.
He had two wives and several children. They, too, had much to lose if Zahara’s betrayal was revealed. His family would be stripped of all their goods and banished from the City. That threat had worked equally well against those Akkadians who’d traded information for Elam’s gold. Their families very way of life would depend on their remaining loyal. Long before dawn arrived, Zahara would turn to her side and become one of her most loyal spies.
Zahara would soon say and do exactly as she wanted. Starting tomorrow, he would be a spy for Akkad, telling the Elamites only what the rulers of the City wanted them to learn.
To make sure of his complete conversion, she would remind Zahara that Elam had no further use for failed spies, and that Elam’s torturers were considered even more brutal than Akkad’s.
“Now, let’s talk. Shall we begin with the first time you were approached and asked to provide information for Elam?” She smiled pleasantly at her guest.
Question followed question, and only once more did Rue-el need to prompt his victim’s memory.
At last Annok-sur leaned back, satisfied. Over the last two years, she and her agents had uncovered all of the Elamite spies working for Zahara. One by one, she already had twisted all of them to her side. Fortunately, an offer of even more gold to reveal what they knew often sufficed to make them collaborate.
The threat of returning to this chamber helped keep them loyal, of course. They knew that Annok-sur could find them anywhere within the Land Between the Rivers. And should they attempt to flee to Elam, they could expect nothing more than a quick death. Faced with those choices, they had cooperated readily enough.
Those who resisted, or she deemed untrustworthy, had died screaming on the same bench now occupied by Zahara. But only after they revealed every secret and gave up every name they wished to hide.
Today, the final stage of the campaign of misdirection and lies against the Elamites had begun. And so Wakannh and his men had swept up Zahara, as he left his favorite ale house. A member of one of Akkad’s Noble Families, he knew much about what was discussed in the ruling council chamber. His occupation as a trader gave him access to many of Akkad’s training camps and made him the perfect, well-placed spy for the Elamites. But now he would be forced to work for Akkad.
With the threat of war only months away, the Elamite King and his war leaders had come to trust what information his spies had collected. After all, everything they learned had proven true. From today, however, all that would change. Those planning the invasion would receive only that information Trella wished them to know.
In a few days, Zahara would dispatch another courier to Elam, detailing the open distrust and suspicion between Akkad, Sumer and Isin, along with the latest preparations for the anticipated siege. Even more intriguing would be the description
of Eskkar’s plan to abandon Akkad in the event of an invasion and flee to the north, taking all his gold and most trusted retainers and soldiers with him.
By the time King Shirudukh of Elam learned he’d been duped, he would have committed his forces, his armies would be in the field, and it would be too late.
Chapter 4
The morning after Trella and Eskkar met with the kings of Isin and Sumer, another meeting took place, this one in the upper room of the Compound. There private matters could be discussed without worrying about anyone overhearing.
“Welcome, Alcinor.” Trella motioned their visitor to a seat across the table. “We didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Tall and thin, with hunched shoulders that emphasized a narrow face beneath a serious brow, Alcinor did not resemble someone raised in a wealthy family. He looked more like some over-worked apprentice, one who rarely received enough to eat. Nevertheless, in his twenty-eight seasons, the oldest son of Noble Corio had already faced danger once before, when he had traveled with Eskkar’s army and participated in the Battle of Isin.
“Always good to see you.” Eskkar smiled as he took his seat, facing their visitor.
Trella noted the warmth of Eskkar’s greeting. Her husband had not smiled much in the last few days, but a special bond existed between Eskkar and Alcinor. The two men had fought together, after a fashion, during the conflict.
Not that Alcinor had ever swung a sword at anyone in anger. His weapon at the Battle of Isin had been a shovel, or rather, hundreds of them. Alcinor’s threat to flood the city of Isin had forced King Naxos out of the battle, and out of the war.
And Eskkar, Trella knew, placed great value on such bonds. Any man, he’d often said, who fought at your side deserves to be treated as a friend.
Alcinor bowed as he sat. “Lady Trella, Lord Eskkar, it is good to be back in Akkad.”
“You must be weary after your long journey,” Trella said. “You could have waited until tomorrow to see us.”