by Sam Barone
So I think we should find out as much as possible about him.” She finished her watered wine, then poured herself a cup of plain water. “Korthac will need furniture for his house, servants to care for him, and food for his kitchen. And he and his men will need women, especially after such a long and dangerous journey.”
Annok-sur smiled. “Yes, I’m sure we can learn much about Korthac and his plans in the next few weeks.”
“Be discreet,” Trella said. “I don’t want him to learn we are spying on him.”
“As a stranger, he’ll expect to be watched. But I will be careful.” Annok-sur got up and moved behind Trella and began massaging her shoulders.
Her fingers worked steadily, and in a few moments Annok-sur felt her mistress relax. Trella nibbled at another date, separating the pit from the meat with her slender fingertips. Her hair swirled around her cheeks, her long lashes accenting her eyes. Even when doing something as simple as eating, Trella demonstrated a presence that enhanced her beauty. No wonder all the men in Akkad watched her with hot eyes whenever she walked the lanes.
“You should drink a little more wine, Trella.”
“No, now that I’m with child, it tastes even worse. Besides, my father warned me that strong drink dulls the senses and weakens the wits. He never drank wine at all, only a cup of ale with his supper.”
Most of the nobles, including their women, drank as much wine as they could afford. Annok-sur had never seen Trella with the glazed eyes or slurred speech that showed the effects of too much wine or even the local beer, which nearly everyone consumed in large quantities. In the old days, the days before Trella, Eskkar had passed out often enough from too much ale. But Eskkar stopped the heavy drinking the day he met Trella, restricting himself to a few cups of well-watered wine or ale a day. Even Bantor, despite the fact that her husband could now afford as much wine as he wanted, drank only enough to wash down his supper.
Trella pushed her plate away. “Even the dates taste different. I don’t think the child cares for them.”
“You should rest… sleep a little more before dinner.”
“I will.” She sighed. “Eskkar is gone barely a week, and already I miss him.”
“He will be away for at least a month. And already the people accept your rule. They feel as safe with you as they do with Eskkar.” Annok-sur stopped massaging. “Now rest, for the child’s sake if not your own.”
Trella moved back to the bed, letting herself stretch out. “You worry too much about me, Annok-sur.”
“After you’ve had a child or two, you’ll know enough to rest whenever you can.” Since her marriage to Bantor, Annok-sur had delivered three children. The first died stillborn, the second from fever before it reached its first year. Only the third child, her daughter Ningal, born five years after her marriage, survived, but since the long and painful delivery, Annok-sur had not gotten pregnant again.
Trella folded her hands on her stomach. “Even now, he’s moving inside me. Can you feel him?”
Annok-sur sat beside her on the bed and placed her hand beside Trella’s. “Only six months pregnant, and already the child seems strong. It will be a boy, I’m sure of it.”
“Eskkar is a strong man. He will give me many sons.”
“Yes, mistress, you will have many sons. And I’ll help you care for all of them. Now try to sleep, while I think about this Korthac. I’ll stay here with you.”
“You’re like the older sister I never had.” Trella closed her eyes, and it took only a few moments before she slipped into sleep.
Annok-sur gazed at her mistress, watching her breasts rise and fall with each breath. She did think of Trella as a sister. As a child, Annok-sur had often longed for a little sister to be a companion. Instead she’d grown up with three brothers on a small farm just outside Akkad, and her parents admonished her childish request for a baby girl. Instead, they gave thanks to Ishtar for her brothers, who could share the farm’s labors.
Her parents soon had their only daughter selling vegetables in Akkad’s market. There Annok-sur, a plain but sturdy girl only a few months into the mysteries of womanhood, first noticed a young farmer gazing open-mouthed at her. Something about his wide brown eyes made Annok-sur smile back at him. Nevertheless, it took Bantor three days before he gathered enough courage to speak to her. A few weeks later, Bantor, only a year or two older than she, stood before her parents.
“Honorable Father, I have five copper coins for a wife. It would please me to give them to you for Annok-sur.”
Her father had asked for double that, but Bantor only shook his head.
“Five is a good price for a young bride,” he answered stiffl y. “And it is all I have.”
Annok-sur’s heart had faltered when Bantor turned away, ready to leave. But her father relented. The coins changed hands, and in a few moments, her future husband led her away from her family, while she clutched the few things she possessed to her breast. That day, she stood beside him facing the image of Ishtar, and became Bantor’s wife.
Together they worked on his father’s farm for six years, hard toil from dawn to dusk, but Annok-sur’s body grew strong from the years of laboring. She was pregnant with her third child when Bantor’s father died. His oldest brother took possession of the farm and, by the custom of ascen-sion, ordered Bantor to leave. She and her husband owned nothing but the clothing on their backs and two food bowls. Desperate, they moved to Akkad where Bantor sought work as a common laborer, eager for any menial job. The birth of their daughter caused even more hardship. Raising Ningal, the three of them lived with another family, who charged them rent to occupy one corner of their single-room hut. Annok-sur baked bread, worked in the market, and joined the farmers during harvesttime, any work she could find to supplement her husband’s efforts.
Their first two years in Akkad, they seldom had enough to eat, and Annok-sur watched her husband grow ever more dour and grim, as their life of poverty drained his spirit. When they had no coins for food, she resorted to selling herself along the riverbank with the other prostitutes.
On those occasions, Bantor would look away, embarrassed at his failure to provide for them. Even Ningal proved a disappointment, a frivolous child who complained often.
Another year went by before Bantor found work as a recruit in Akkad’s guard. He hated the long days on guard duty, each dreary task interrupted only by another just as wearisome. The occasional assignment to track down runaway slaves proved more to his liking, and provided him a chance to get away from the crowded village and breathe once again the clean air of the countryside.
Annok-sur’s world, too, began to shrink as the burden of life grew heavier and heavier. Once, while Bantor rode after some slaves, the captain of the guard had summoned her for an afternoon of pleasuring him.
That act of humiliation tortured her for months, but she had to obey, lest Ariamus dismiss her husband. Annok-sur never spoke of that incident, but somehow she felt certain Bantor had learned about it. Whatever the cause, Bantor sank into an apathy so deep that he seldom smiled or even spoke.
She scarcely noticed when Eskkar arrived in Akkad. The tall barbarian soon took charge of the horses and most of the pursuits of runaway slaves. Eskkar and Bantor worked together often enough during the next few years, but they spoke little and showed no signs of any particular friendship. Then Ariamus ran off, as word spread of the coming barbarian invasion.
“Eskkar the barbarian will be the new captain of the guard,” Bantor told her, an excited gleam in his eyes. “He has asked me to be one of his subcommanders.”
Stunned, she listened as her husband explained his new duties. The night before, Bantor had told her that they must fl ee the city; as refugees, their desperate situation would only grow worse. Now he planned to stay and fight. For a brief moment, she thought about the coming danger, but one look at her husband convinced her; his face hadn’t shown such excitement or intensity in years.
“Then you must do all you can to help Eskk
ar,” she said, placing her arms on his shoulders. “If he can manage to defeat the barbarians, you will be one of his subcommanders, and he will remember your loyalty.”
Bantor’s fi rst test of courage and loyalty came not against the barbarian Alur Meriki, but against one of the ruling nobles that wanted Eskkar out of the way. Instead, the rich merchant had died, and Eskkar had taken possession of the man’s house. Aware of Bantor’s difficult situation, Eskkar invited his subcommander to move into the spacious quarters. Annok-sur remembered the tears that came when she saw the chamber, a whole room they would have to themselves, the first such luxury they’d ever had.
Then she met Trella, Eskkar’s new slave. It took only a few encounters for Annok-sur to realize how sharp Trella’s wits were, how carefully she considered everyone’s words, and how deep she saw into people’s hearts.
The gods had surely arranged the joining of Eskkar and Trella. Between them, they saved Akkad from rape and ruin.
Annok-sur soon took over the task of managing the large household, leaving the young slave girl plenty of time to work with Eskkar preparing for the siege. She had labored side by side with Trella during the assault, astonished at each task Trella undertook, and more amazed at how she achieved each goal. They’d both risked death during those evil days, helping defend the wall during the attacks, and tending the wounded afterward. Even before Eskkar vanquished the barbarians, Trella set her mind to a new task: to ensure that she and her husband ruled Akkad for the rest of their days. To that end, Trella still labored, influencing all the men and councils of the new city to her will.
Annok-sur had joined the venture with all her heart and strength, determined to make certain that Trella succeeded. Even Bantor had changed under Eskkar and Trella’s influence. Now he thought more before acting and, watching his captain’s example, had learned to take heed of Annok-sur’s words.
“We must follow wherever they lead,” she told Bantor. “They will rule this city someday, and Eskkar will remember who stood at his side. A chance like this might never come again.”
Bantor heeded her advice, and as his responsibilities and prospects grew, he’d somehow returned to the ways of his youth, softening his words and touch toward Annok-sur, and for that she gave thanks every night to Ishtar. Only the great mother goddess herself could have sent Trella to them. The two women had grown closer than sisters in many ways, working and planning together to secure Eskkar’s rule over the city.
Pushing the past out of her mind, Annok-sur returned her thoughts to Korthac. She had many tasks to start in motion. The women of Akkad would begin watching the Egyptian’s every move and reporting back through the network of spies and informers Trella and Annok-sur had established. Soon, she was sure, they would know all about this Korthac.
The future of both women depended on so many things beyond their control. Only moments ago Annok-sur had glimpsed the long scar, stretching from Trella’s left armpit to her hip. An assassin had come within a finger’s width of killing her, and anyone in Akkad with a few coins in his purse could hire a villain to do murder. Annok-sur worried every time Trella walked the streets, even though two alert bodyguards accompanied her. And now Eskkar had gone off riding around the countryside, risking his life for the chance to play warrior like any common barbarian. An arrow in the back or a knife in his ribs, and everything Trella had worked so hard for would come crashing down around them.
Well, Annok-sur could do nothing about Eskkar. The man took as little heed of his own life as he did of Trella’s. Nevertheless, Trella needed Eskkar, needed him to protect not only her and the child-to-come, but Annok-sur and her husband Bantor as well. Both women realized how dangerous their position in Akkad really was. One slip, one mistake, and they could all vanish. During the siege, everyone had clamored for Eskkar and Trella to save them. Now, if Eskkar got himself killed, Trella’s authority would disappear. Everyone would remember her days as a slave, and Trella’s control of the nobles and soldiers would vanish like the morning mist on the river.
In a year, even six months, Annok-sur knew things would change. Eskkar and Trella would soon have an heir, and by then the people would be used to their rule. Wealth would flow into Akkad and be shared by all of its inhabitants. The people would be happy and content; gratitude and praise would flow to Akkad’s rulers.
Annok-sur sighed and stood. She picked up Trella’s comb from the side table and arranged her own hair, then left the bedroom closing the door silently behind her. She still had an hour before night set in to spread the word about Korthac. By tomorrow, half the women in Akkad would be watching his movements. But her thoughts flowed in the same circles as her mistress, with the same worries. Time would save them all, if there were enough of it. Until then, no one could be allowed to harm her mistress. No one.
5
The sun beat down from directly overhead when Eskkar and his men topped a low rise and saw the village of Bisitun in the distance, about an hour’s march away. Like Akkad, it nestled against the eastern bank of the river Tigris. At Akkad, though, the great river curled halfway around the city. Here at Bisitun the river ran straight. A mile more to the northeast, and the Tigris would begin to curve sharply northward, continuing its long journey to the mountains of its birth.
Also like Akkad, Bisitun offered easy fordage of the great river. The Tigris here stretched wider from bank to bank, and the water flowed slower and somewhat shallower than at Akkad. A narrow, sandy island split the flowing water in two, and allowed travelers to rest at the river’s midpoint.
During the late summer season, when the depth ran even lower, a strong man could walk and swim across to the other side, though the distance reached almost a quarter of a mile. Usually small boats made of reeds carried men, supplies, and even horses on their journey. With the coming of the fall season, the river ran deeper and stronger, and its strength would continue to increase until midsummer.
Eskkar signaled a halt, and the Akkadian soldiers took their rest, glad to have reached the end of their journey. It had taken them five days to march here from Dilgarth, long days with hard traveling broken frequently by training and special drills. Those had puzzled the men, but Eskkar, ignoring their questions, pushed them ever harder. With a conflict almost certain, he wanted the iron discipline that had saved Akkad, and Eskkar demanded every order be instantly obeyed, without question or argument.
The soldiers got no respite from the drills even after dark, their rest and dinner often interrupted by subcommanders barking out orders to prepare a line of battle or form up for an attack. At least once each night, the men found themselves jolted awake, their leaders shouting that the enemy was attacking, and bellowing at them to find their weapons and places.
By the middle of the second day, a shouted command would quickly transform them into a crude square, with the pack animals and supplies in the center, ringed by ready bowmen. Well drilled by now, they would not be surprised by any attacking force. Moreover, they had the soldier’s confidence in themselves and their comrades, knowing that every man knew his place and his duties.
Even the liverymen, scribes, and merchants received extra tasks, and these noncombatants drilled as rigorously as the soldiers, taking charge of the men’s baggage or making sure spare arrows and extra water stood ready. That night, a few of the men had grown weary enough to complain, but they did that only once. Hamati had knocked one down so hard that the man lay unconscious for almost an hour.
By the time they reached Bisitun, Eskkar’s men had achieved the mood he intended. Tired, near exhaustion, footsore-they’d transferred their anger to the men in Bisitun, the bandits who had wearied their legs and interrupted their sleep.
The Akkadians took in their surroundings with grim interest, knowing that, from today on, there would be no more drills. If the men felt worried about what would happen now that they’d reached Bisitun, they were too tired to show it. The scene before them seemed peaceful enough. The usual farms lay scattered across the landsca
pe, crisscrossed by the ever-present irrigation canals, with the occasional brown mud houses. A single dirt pathway, well trodden, continued its way up to the village. Everything appeared peaceful, and it looked much the same as on Eskkar’s last visit here, nearly two years ago.
“Well, Captain,” Sisuthros said, as he rode up to the head of the column, where Eskkar and Grond had stopped their horses, “do we camp here or should we press on?”
“Let’s stay here for an hour, at least,” Eskkar answered. “We’re in no rush now.”
“They won’t come out to challenge us,” Grond said. “That would be too easy. Even bandits aren’t that stupid.”
“No, I suppose not,” Eskkar said. “But the men need a rest anyway, and from now on, we have to convince Ninazu of our plan.”
Eskkar caught the glance that passed between Sisuthros and Grond, but neither man said anything. The time for arguing had passed, and the next few days would resolve everyone’s doubts.
So the men rested and stared at the village for over an hour before they resumed their march. They moved slowly, the soldiers walking close together, ringed at a good distance by the twenty mounted riders. During the last four days, Eskkar had drilled the men for an attack by a large, mounted band of riders. The soldiers had learned to form up rapidly, string their bows and prepare their weapons, and make ready for an attack from any or all sides.
Nevertheless the soldiers moved cautiously, every man alert, and it took another hour to reach their destination. Eskkar gave the order to halt fifty paces out of a long bowshot from the village’s palisade.
Eskkar nodded at Sisuthros. His subcommander turned and began shouting orders to the men. First they straddled the road that led to the village and dropped their packs and supplies. Unencumbered, they got right to work, though every man kept his weapons close by. While twenty men stood guard with strung bows, the rest began to dig a ditch across the road. They had plenty of shovels and digging tools, most of them acquired during the last four days as the horsemen checked every farm they passed for digging implements, paying copper coins to the farmers only too eager to sell them. The rest of the men used their hands, sticks, or whatever else they could obtain. Fortunately, the sandy soil made the work proceed quickly.