by Sam Barone
“Meanwhile, General Jedidia will take a large cavalry force, at least six thousand men, through the Jkarian Pass, to cut Akkad’s food supply. Once that is accomplished, General Jedidia will swing to the south and provide whatever support is needed to Lord Modran and his siege of Akkad.”
The words came like a blow, and Jedidia struggled to keep his astonishment and anger under control. “My King, if I may speak, I have raised, equipped, and trained nearly fifteen thousand men. The lands north of Akkad are mostly barren and . . .”
“Most of your infantry and siege workers will be transferred to Lord Modran, General Jedidia,” Meweldi cut in. “Some will be assigned to Grand Commander Chaiyanar. You will not need them once you leave the Jkarian Pass, since there are no cities or villages there capable of serious resistance. Our plan,” Meweldi turned slightly and bowed to King Shirudukh, “the King’s plan, is to overwhelm Sumer and Akkad with irresistible force, and so force them to collapse as quickly as possible. Once they fall, the remaining cities of Ur, Lagash, and Isin will be only too eager to throw open their gates and welcome our armies.”
Jedidia stood there, speechless. Not only were his best fighters being taken from his command, but he would have no chance to capture a jewel worthy of the campaign. The riches of Sumer and Akkad would guarantee enormous wealth to Chaiyanar and Modran, while he, Jedidia, Elam’s most capable general, would have to search for any crumbs remaining.
“My King, if I may protest, my soldiers are some of the best in Elam. I would . . .”
“There is no need for concern, General Jedidia,” Shirudukh said. “Once Sumer and Akkad fall, there will be plenty of opportunity to demonstrate your leadership. And there are many other cities in the Land Between the Rivers that will challenge your skills. You will have many chances to win glory and wealth.”
Clenching his jaw, Jedidia fought to retain his composure. The King had made his decision, and would certainly not change his mind. Anything else that Jedidia said now would only undermine his position even more. Modran and Chaiyanar would get the two richest cities to capture and plunder, and Jedidia would get nothing. If he argued or protested, Jedidia might lose more than his soldiers. He took a deep breath.
“My King, it is an honor to serve. I will sweep the northern lands clean of every Akkadian dog.”
“Excellent, General Jedidia. You are a great leader, and your men will help speed the fall of our enemies.”
Jedidia didn’t dare let himself look at Modran or Chaiyanar. Their smug expressions would only infuriate him.
Meweldi glanced at the King, who nodded. “There is still much work required to plan and make the final provisions for our invasion. Our three great generals will need to remain here in Sushan until those plans are complete. Meanwhile, orders will be sent to General Jedidia’s northern camp, to begin the movement of his troops to the locations where Lord Modran is assembling his forces.”
Meweldi lied, of course. Those orders, signed by the King and delivered by a few hundred Immortals, would have gone north the day Jedidia entered Sushan. Even if he slipped out of the city and tried to return to his army, by the time he arrived, Lord Modran’s men would be firmly in command. And, of course, that would be the same as committing suicide. Even with his entire army, he would be no match for the forces of Modran and Chaiyanar, and the King’s Immortals.
Jedidia would have to wait his turn. In time, sooner or later, Modran or Chaiyanar would grow too strong, so powerful that either man might present a threat to King Shirudukh. Then the wheel would turn, roles would be reversed, and Jedidia would be used to counterbalance their forces.
The King did indeed know how to manipulate and control his generals.
King Shirudukh smiled pleasantly. “And our mighty armies will be well served by our loyal subjects. My Council of Advisors have their role to play in the invasion as well.” He waved his hand toward Meweldi.
“Master Trader Dajii,” Meweldi said, “will provide slave masters and guards to accompany Lord Modran and Grand Commander Chaiyanar. His men will ensure that, as captures are made, only the fittest are transported back to Elam. Much of the wealth we take from Sumer and Akkad will consist of slaves, and we will need that wealth brought to Elam as soon as possible.”
Jedidia had forgotten about the three advisors, hanging back silently several paces behind he and Modran. Their presence insured that the entire city of Sushan would soon know of Jedidia’s loss of status. Many of the friends and supporters Jedidia had worked so hard to cultivate in the last two years would disappear, transferring their efforts to the others.
“And Master Trader Shesh-kala will be responsible for providing all the food the invasion armies will need, enough to get them through the mountains and ensure the capture of Sumer and Akkad. Once our soldiers capture the enemy cities, they will be able to fend for themselves.”
Shesh-kala’s voice quavered. “It is my pleasure to serve, My King.”
“Master Trader Aram-Kitchu,” Meweldi went on, “will see that our men have all the supplies and weapons they will need to capture the enemy’s cities.”
“I am pleased to help our great generals defeat the King’s enemies,” Aram-Kitchu said. He, too, bowed low.
“Aram-Kitchu has also learned much about our enemy’s strengths and weakness. And he has established a network of spies through Sumer, Akkad, and Isin. Most of our information regarding the Akkadians and Sumerians has come through his efforts.”
For the first time, Jedidia glanced with interest at the three advisors. He had heard of Aram-Kitchu, but had never met the man. So this was the man who provided so much detailed information about the enemy.
“Is there anything new that you have learned, Aram-Kitchu?” King Shirudukh showed his respect for the man by addressing him directly. “Is the enemy preparing to resist?”
“My King, the latest reports are somewhat confusing,” Aram-Kitchu had a deep voice that seemed out of place in his small stature. “It is almost certain that Akkad has learned of the coming invasion. With so many trade caravans, there are more than enough people who will talk too much. I believe that Akkad most likely will attempt to resist. They are training more soldiers and reinforcing their walls even now.”
“You failed to have Eskkar assassinated?” Meweldi made his question sound like a rebuke.
“Yes, Commander, I have been unable to strike him down.” Aram-Kitchu’s voice admitted his failure. “Twice we have made attempts on his life, and both times they have failed. Nor have we been able to get rid of King Eskkar’s wife, the real ruler of Akkad. She spends most of her time within their guarded compound, which we have not been able to enter. But it may not matter. Lately my spies have heard rumors that the barbarian Eskkar may take his gold and flee to the north. He is aware of Elam’s might, and knows his city cannot withstand an invasion.”
Jedidia had let his attention wander, but he picked up on Aram-Kitchu’s statement that the Akkadian King might flee to the north with his personal retainers and wealth. Perhaps there might be an opportunity to seize that treasure.
“But only recently,” Aram-Kitchu said, “we’ve learned that King Naxos of Isin is secretly readying his soldiers to attack Akkad. Naxos has hated Eskkar for many years. Naxos is also trying to secure Sumer’s support, but so far they have not committed themselves despite his entreaties. If the barbarian Eskkar abandons his city, King Naxos will assume his rule. I believe he will be much more amenable to our offers of cooperation.”
Meweldi frowned at that lack of progress as well. “And the Sumerians? Will they resist?”
“They have not yet decided what course of action they will take. But even if they choose to fight,” Aram-Kitchu answered, “their numbers are far too small to withstand Grand Commander Chaiyanar’s forces.”
“That is so,” Chaiyanar spoke for the first time. “Some of my soldiers, skilled in siege craft, accompanied one of Aram-Kitchu’s caravans. They verified his assessment and studied Sumer’s weak defe
nses. They declare that the city will fall within a month at most.”
Jedidia clenched his jaw again. With fifteen thousand men, that fat fool Chaiyanar would capture Sumer and its wealth with ease, while Jedidia would be chasing after cows and collecting sacks of grain in the north.
“And what do your men say of Akkad’s defenses?” Lord Modran’s voice held a slight hint of jealousy at Chaiyanar’s good fortune.
“Akkad’s defenses are far stronger, and they have already withstood one siege,” Aram-Kitchu said. “If the barbarian decides to fight, the siege will be a difficult one. But with so many soldiers, Lord Modran, the city can be cut off and starved into submission within a few months. They will have many more mouths to feed than Sumer. But while Akkad is the largest city, it can raise and equip at best five or six thousand men.”
Meweldi nodded his agreement. “And what can you tell us . . .”
But King Shirudukh had endured enough talk for the day. “We can speak more of this tomorrow. Tonight, we will celebrate with a fine meal that Commander Chaiyanar has arranged for our generals. And now, I am sure that they have important matters that need their attention.”
King Shirudukh rose to his feet, indicating the end of the audience. Everyone bowed low, but the King hadn’t quite finished. “Each of you will be expected to crush your enemies quickly and ruthlessly. This campaign must be a short one, and any general or advisor who does not do his utmost to ensure our victory will be punished.”
With those chilling words hanging in the air, Shirudukh, accompanied by six of his guards, swept out of the room, while everyone bowed low. Jedidia understood the warning. Even victory might not be enough to assuage the King’s judgment. All of them, including Modran and Chaiyanar, would be appraised not only on what they accomplished, but how efficiently they managed their armies in the process. And as Jedidia had just learned, the King’s favorite today might be at the greatest risk tomorrow.
Chapter 6
25 five days later, the City of Sumer . . .
Steratakis strolled through Sumer’s lanes, enjoying the cool of evening after a warm day completed by an excellent repast. As he wandered through the marketplace, he nodded to several acquaintances, and even paused to exchange greetings and pleasantries with many he encountered, especially those with whom he did business.
A very popular man, Steratakis enjoyed the good will of almost everyone he saw. From midmorning to dusk, Steratakis had his own stall, where he offered the famous Akkadian sweet cakes, prepared, baked, and covered with honey only two days earlier. They were a luxury good that only the well-off could afford, and to offer them to friends and visitors increased the prestige of any host.
Even the ruler of Sumer, King Gemama, favored the sweets. Each day, a buyer from the Palace purchased ten of the cakes, supposedly for the city’s Council of Advisors. However a single glance at King Gemama’s portly figure had convinced Steratakis that most of those cakes went directly into the royal stomach.
A fast trading boat carried the precious cakes down river, delivering the sought-after delight that so far none in Sumer had managed to duplicate. The bakers in Akkad claimed it was something in the well water, something unique to the city. Their frustrated counterparts in Sumer and elsewhere grumbled that the secret ingredient was dog piss. People ate them anyway.
Steratakis met the trading boat around midday, and escorted three or four baskets of the delicacy to the marketplace. Since his first day in Sumer, Steratakis had never carried the cakes himself. For the promise of a free cake, any of those laboring at the docks eagerly offered their services for the chance to transport his goods.
Sumer’s marketplace, however, changed dramatically after the sun went down. During the day merchants, traders, craftsmen, laborers, and farmers thronged the large area near the docks. At night, a different class of people frequented the stalls and tables. More women offered themselves, either on their own or at the urgings of their always frowning masters.
Wine and ale sellers, loudly praising the quality of their inferior goods, took over the tables reserved for craftsmen. As it grew later in the evening, the prices went down. When the full darkness of night arrived, shadowy figures appeared, blanket-wrapped bundles under their arms, to deal goods likely stolen during the day.
Steratakis seldom kept his stall open past sundown. By then, the eighty or so sweet cakes had vanished, and he’d collected a respectable amount of copper coins. When he first started selling the cakes, he tended to eat the last two or three cakes himself. But after nearly two years, he’d weaned himself of the habit, and now limited himself to only one per day. A necessity, he declared, to maintain the high quality of his goods for his customers.
The trading venture provided a comfortable profit, but the small house Steratakis had purchased cost far more than any trade in sweet cakes could provide. Fortunately, Annok-sur had supplied those coins. In exchange, she had made only a few demands. The dwelling must be in a good neighborhood frequented by other merchants and traders, have a private entrance, and a back door. Other than that, she’d left the choice up to him.
“You may never be contacted,” Annok-sur had said. “In any case, you’ll stay no longer than two and a half years. Then you will be free to remain in Sumer if that is your choice, or to come home.”
Home to a substantial amount of gold, Steratakis reminded himself. Once he returned, his family would be well established, and under the protection of Annok-sur. Meanwhile, his mother and sister prospered as bakers of bread and sweet cakes. The future looked bright indeed. Not that long ago, Steratakis and his family had nearly starved to death.
His father had been killed by soldiers from Larsa in the last war, and only Steratakis, his younger brother and sister, and their mother had managed to escape to Akkad. In their flight, his mother had fallen ill, and her children could do nothing to help her. Hungry, destitute, and with a dying mother, Steratakis had faced the grim choice of selling his little sister to buy food for the rest of his family.
On the very morning that Steratakis planned to bring his sister to the slave market, Annok-sur had arrived with both a healer and a handful of silver coins. Under the ministrations of the healer, Steratakis’s mother had recovered, and they soon established a small bakery where she could make her mouth-watering desserts. In exchange, all Annok-sur asked was that Steratakis work for her. For years, that had involved little more than carrying messages from one place to another.
Almost two years ago, she had approached Steratakis with a new assignment. He would move to Sumer under the guise of selling his mother’s cakes. In reality, he would wait for a special courier who would bring an important message. But since Steratakis’s arrival, no courier had made an appearance, and by now Steratakis doubted if anyone ever would.
Tonight, he had enjoyed a good meal at one of Sumer’s better taverns, then took some pleasure with one of the establishment’s girls. She’d crouched between his knees, working his rod until he burst inside her mouth, a most relaxing ending to another pleasant day.
His housekeeper waited for his return, guarding the residence and its contents until her master came home. Then she rushed off to her own family.
Yawning, Steratakis barred the door behind her, and settled down for a good night’s rest. A most agreeable day, indeed.
Steratakis awoke with a weight crushing his chest, and a hand pressed firmly against his mouth. Terrified, he struggled to reach the knife he kept on the stool beside the bed, but when his frantically grasping hand brushed its surface, the blade was gone.
“Don’t struggle, and you won’t be harmed.”
The voice could scarcely be heard over the beating of Steratakis’s heart.
“What is your name?” The rough hand lessened its pressure on his mouth, allowing Steratakis to speak.
“Please don’t hurt me. You can have . . .”
“I’ll not ask you again.” This time the chilling whisper was reinforced by the pressure of a sharp point agai
nst his throat.
For a moment, panic seized him, and he almost answered with his true name. But he remembered in time. “Steratakis! My name is Steratakis!”
“Then I have a message for you to take to Akkad. Can you remember what I tell you?”
A feeling of relief washed over Steratakis. He would survive the night. “Yes, yes, I’ve been trained to repeat any message word for word.”
“Good. Then memorize this. In less than four months time, Chaiyanar to Sumer, fifteen thousand by the sea. Modran to Akkad, thirty-thousand through the Dellen Pass. And Jedidia with six thousand, all horse, through the Jkarian Pass. Now you repeat it.”
Gulping air, Steratakis managed to stammer out the message, stumbling only once. The hooded figure, the knife still at Steratakis’s throat, made him say it four more times.
“Good, very good. Make sure you don’t forget a single word. In three days, you will leave Sumer and never return. Move out quietly, and without fanfare. If anyone asks, tell them you are ill, that you have the Bad Blood.”
The terrible punishment sent by the gods that formed pustules on a man’s penis, growing larger and more painful. In time, the disease ravaged body and mind, and reduced its victim to a gibbering idiot.
“In any case, you will leave on the third day, not a day longer, not a day shorter. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes, I understand.” Steratakis’s breathing had finally slowed. “And what is your name?”
“Give my name only to your master. I’m called Tarrata. Now don’t get out of your bed until I’m well away.”
With a quick movement, Tarrata backed away from the bed, unbarred the door, and opening it no more than needed, slipped out into the night.
Steratakis lay there until he could get his thoughts under control. He had never been so frightened in his life. Sweat had soaked the blanket beneath him. Instinctively, he touched his neck where the tip of the knife had rested. How in the name of the gods had the man gotten into the house? He’d secured the front door after his servant left, and the blocked and barred rear door hadn’t opened in a year.