by Sam Barone
“Yes.” Another wild thought jumped into Eskkar’s mind. “And I will speak to all your warriors myself.”
For the second time, Urgo displayed surprise. “How will . . . when will you do this?”
Eskkar glanced up at the sun. Midmorning had just passed. From all the morning’s activity, he would have thought the sun about to set. “At midday. Bring your warriors to the bottom of the hill. I will come to you then.”
“Our warriors are angry,” Bekka said, obviously not so much concerned for Eskkar’s safety but he knew what would happen if the Akkadian leader were killed. “Some have lost kin, and others may not like to hear your words. In their anger, they may not listen to our words to hold their vengeance.”
Both clan leaders knew a single arrow could end the last chance of the Alur Meriki.
Urgo considered this for a moment. He turned to Bekka. “It is dangerous, but wise. Eskkar must speak to our warriors himself, if this peace is to work. They may not listen to us, but they must listen to the man who defeated them.”
Urgo sighed, and shifted his gaze to Eskkar. “I will speak to them first and tell them of the bitter herbs they must taste. I believe they will hold their anger.”
Once again Urgo had cut straight to the heart of the matter.
“King Eskkar understands the use of power as well as the need for courage,” Urgo went on. “Is there anything else?”
“No.” Taking care not to disturb A-tuku, Eskkar shifted his leg off the animal’s neck. He shook the halter and added a touch from his left heel. A-tuku picked up his head and turned to the left. Eskkar put him to a canter, which he sensed would be more dramatic than simply walking the horse back to his men.
As he rode, Eskkar let out a long sigh of relief. Once again his luck had held. Sooner or later, Eskkar knew it would run out. He just hoped it would last for the rest of today.
On the Akkadian side of the stream, Hathor paced up and down, his dour countenance hiding his concern for his friend and King. Hathor owed much to Eskkar, and the two had grown close over the fifteen years since Eskkar had spared Hathor’s life. It would be bad enough if his friend were killed in battle. Hathor didn’t want Eskkar getting himself killed doing something foolish. Hathor preferred another battle rather than face Trella in her grief.
Hathor would follow his Captain and friend into the very teeth of the enemy, and he had done so at the Battle of Isin. To stand here and watch Eskkar take a foolish challenge from a defeated enemy had been bad enough. Hathor would have met the leader of the Alur Meriki with a shower of a hundred arrows. But Eskkar had given strict orders, and Hathor trusted his commander enough to follow them.
All the Akkadians had rejoiced when Eskkar took Thutmose-sin’s head. Hathor had led the cheering himself for the few moments before the second warrior attacked. Eskkar could have avoided battle by riding back to the stream, but stayed instead and slew his opponent, once again proving his courage against a mounted foe armed with a bow.
Those moments of worry during the brief fighting were nothing compared to what Hathor endured during the long conference with the two barbarian chiefs. Expecting treachery at any moment, he stared open mouthed when Eskkar relaxed so much that he shifted his leg over the horse’s neck. The long talk between the three dragged on and on, and finally Hathor could stand the tension no longer.
He strode down the rank of soldiers until he reached the position where Alexar and Mitrac stood. Mitrac had a shaft fitted to his string, though he held the bow at his side.
“How long will they talk?” Hathor made no effort to conceal his concern. “Has Eskkar lost his wits, to meet with his enemy like this? Sooner or later, they’re going to kill him.”
“I’ve known him for almost twenty years, since he came to Orak,” Alexar said. “He’s risked his neck at least ten times that I know of. It’s some barbarian code of honor that he still holds to, despite all they’ve done to him over the years. All the same, he usually knows what he’s doing, and with these barbarians, he may be on to something. Those on the hill aren’t getting ready for another attack.”
“Look, he’s coming.” Mitrac gestured with his bow, and the three of them watched as at last Eskkar rode back toward the lines. During the desperate fight with Thutmose-sin, Mitrac had twice raised his bow, ready to shoot if Eskkar fell, but each time Mitrac lowered his weapon.
When Eskkar splashed across the stream, his soldiers roared in approval, shaking swords and spears into the air. The chant of “Eskkar!” sounded again and again, bellowed from close to a thousand throats. He raised his arms to silence their voices, but the sound didn’t subside even as he swung down from his horse. Commanders and leaders rushed to surround him, many clasping his shoulders in relief.
“You will get yourself killed one of these days.” Alexar shouted to be heard over the din. His smile softened the rebuke.
Eskkar took a deep breath. “Silence!” He used his command voice, and the cheering slowly died away. He glanced around for a moment, to make sure he had his men’s attention.
“There won’t be any more fighting. They’re going to give us everything we want.” That elicited another even more thunderous shout. For a brief moment, Eskkar basked in the admiration of his companions, before he raised his hands and ordered them to keep quiet again.
He quickly told them what the warriors had agreed to. His commanders listened in stunned silence, while the soldiers clustered around their leaders renewed their cheering. Every one of them had been expecting a another bloody assault before the morning ended. Now it appeared that they might all get home alive.
Everyone had a question. When the excited soldiers finally calmed down, Eskkar told them the rest of the agreement.
“I’m going to ride into their camp. I want to speak to the warriors. For the last forty years, they’ve heard only their clan leaders and Thutmose-sin. It’s time they heard another voice. This Urgo seems willing to listen to something new.”
Alexar shook his head. “I don’t believe this. You’re going to ride into their camp, to talk to them? You’ll never get out alive.”
“Alexar’s right.” Hathor, too, couldn’t believe what he heard. “This is beyond courage. The battle madness has taken your wits.”
“There is some danger,” Eskkar admitted. “But if I can turn aide the hatred of those warriors, no clan leader will ever be able to renounce the agreement. Think of it, a thousand warriors at our command.” He lowered his voice, so that only Hathor and Alexar could hear. “Remember, the Elamites are coming.”
“I’m going with you,” Hathor said. “And we’ll bring twenty horsemen.”
Eskkar considered the idea. “A warrior chief is expected to bring his second in command with him whenever anything of importance is discussed.”
“Good,” Alexar said. “I’ll go with you, too.”
“No, this time I think it would be better for Hathor to accompany me. And the fact that he is an Egyptian and someone from another land who fights for Akkad may impress the warriors. I’ll take him and two Hawk Clan guards. That will be enough. The rest of you will wait here.”
Nevertheless, all his commanders urged him to reconsider, or at the least to take more men. But no amount of arguing could change Eskkar’s mind. Finally he glanced up at the sun. “Enough talk. The time for the meeting is almost at hand, and I still have some things to prepare.”
At the appointed time, Eskkar led the way across the stream. Though he hadn’t worn it during the fight with Thutmose-sin, Eskkar now wore his bronze breastplate, knowing that it would impress the warriors. His soft brown cloak, a gift from Trella, hung down his back. Like the breastplate, the fine garment would create a favorable image in the warriors’ eyes.
No other Akkadian possessed such an article of clothing. Eskkar’s long hair had been combed and tied back neatly with a thin strip of leather.
Before leaving, Eskkar had plunged into the chilly water of the stream to cleanse himself of the dust and blood spatt
er, and his guards had seen to his horse. While the sleepy looking beast would never look impressive, at least the animal’s coat shone after a quick splash in the stream and a good brushing. Eskkar’s sword had been cleaned and oiled, and once again slid easily in its scabbard.
“Ra’s beard!” In times of stress, Hathor often called up the old gods of Egypt, instead of Marduk or Ishtar, the main deities of Akkad. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
He rode at Eskkar’s left side, with the Hawk Clan guards, Chandor and Pekka, following behind. Both soldiers looked grim, each convinced they were going to their deaths at the hands of the barbarians.
The sight of what awaited gave weight to Hathor’s remark. The Alur Meriki had drawn their warriors up in ranks at the base of the hill. He guessed at least a thousand mounted fighters sat on their horses and watched as the Akkadians approached. Many displayed rough, bloodstained bandages.
Filling the hill behind them stood the women and children of the Alur Meriki, rising up almost to the crest. Apparently the caravan had reached the camp late this morning. Anyone who could walk or ride had abandoned their wagons and climbed the hill to watch their warriors meet with the hated dirt eaters.
Eskkar guessed that close to four thousand warriors, old men, women, children, and slaves stared in fascination at the four Akkadians riding slowly toward them. Led, of course, by the hated outcast Eskkar who had defeated their sons, husbands and fathers.
To his surprise, Eskkar felt no pangs of anxiety as he rode toward the massed horde of Alur Meriki. They were, after all, his own people. They had not declared his family outcasts, only the Sarum, now long dead, and Thutmose-sin, his son, carried on the blood feud.
While such feuds could span generations, fueled by the slightest of incidents, such quarrels could also end abruptly under the right circumstances. That knowledge had determined Eskkar’s decision, and now he had to trust to his instinct to see him through.
Twenty paces in front of the horsemen, Urgo, Bekka, and another clan chief waited.
With scarcely a glance at the grim warriors crowded behind their leaders, Eskkar rode up to the three chiefs, halting when his horse’s nose practically touched Urgo’s mount.
“Greetings, Sarum of the Alur Meriki.” Eskkar raised his voice, so that many of the Alur Meriki could hear. Hopefully, they would appreciate the sign of respect. “This is Hathor, from the land of Egypt. He commands my horsemen.”
Hathor inclined his head to show respect to Urgo’s rank.
The guards needed no introduction. Eskkar hoped they had their faces under control. He had warned them not to show any signs of fear. Now was not the time to look weak.
“Greetings, Eskkar of Akkad.” Urgo acknowledged Hathor’s greeting with a nod, and gestured to the warrior on his right. “This is Suijan, leader of the Fox Clan.”
Eskkar nodded politely. Suijan’s left arm hung in a rope sling, and though he kept his face impassive, he could not conceal the occasional pain he struggled to control. But for such an event, every chief that could sit on a horse would ignore his wounds to partake in this meeting.
Neither Suijan nor Bekka displayed any signs of hostility. All three appeared more interested in Hathor. His tall frame and bald head were as impressive as the scars that marked his body. No doubt they had seen few if any Egyptians in their wanderings.
“Bekka and I have spoken with Suijan, and he, too, has agreed to your requests.” Urgo glanced over his shoulder. “I have told our warriors what you have asked for, if there is to be peace. They have accepted it, and will swear the oath of friendship. You said you wished to speak to our men.”
“I do.” Eskkar reached into his cloak. A pocket on the inside held the copper medallion, taken from the body of Thutmose-sin, that for generations belonged to the Great Chief of the Alur Meriki. Eskkar drew it forth, and held it up for all to see.
“I return this emblem to the people of the Alur Meriki.”
Eskkar’s powerful voice echoed off the cliffs. His words, spoken in the language of his youth, easily reached the top of the hill. He leaned forward and handed the medallion to Urgo. As the new Sarum accepted the token and donned the polished copper, Eskkar guided his horse forward, moving past the three clan chiefs, until he stood between them and the host of warriors.
He took a deep breath. All of them needed to hear his words. “Warriors of the Alur Meriki. I am Eskkar, once of the Hawk Clan. As a boy, I rode with my father and with our warriors in the service of my Clan.”
The name of the Hawk Clan had not been spoken aloud in many years, and in truth, probably most of the young warriors had never heard of it until after this morning’s battle. Nevertheless, many of the older men would have heard rumors and stories about the outcast boy who had grown into a leader of the dirt eaters.
For the first time, they saw Eskkar face to face, wearing his gleaming bronze breastplate, long sword jutting from his shoulder, and the cloak flowing easily down his back. Seeing him stand before them, not one doubted his role as a leader of fighters and a leader of men. And if there were any doubt as to his prowess, the deaths of Thutmose-sin and Bar’rack had ended those forever.
Eskkar shifted the horse and moved slowly down the line. “My clan leader was Jamal, and my father, Hogarthak, served him faithfully. The father of Thutmose-sin, Maskim-Xul, and his son, Seluku, killed Jamal by treachery. My father honored his oath to Jamal and fought to save his clan leader. My father Hogarthak slew Seluku before he died.”
Watching their faces, Eskkar knew that he’d caught the interest of more than a few warriors. Even those with hatred on their faces put that aside for the moment.
“For doing his duty, Maskim-Xul ordered my family slain. My mother, my brother, and my sister died that night. That night, I, too, killed my first man, the warrior who slew my younger brother.”
Once again Eskkar paced his horse closer to the warriors, moving further down the line. He wanted as many warriors as possible to see him close up. As he paced A-tuku along, his eyes sought the faces of the men in front of him. Most were stoic, a few twisted with hate, but now many more showed interest. This story, he knew, would have been told only in whispers.
“I took my father’s horse and fled the Clan, while Maskim-Xul sent warriors to hunt me down. But I escaped his reach, and I swore that someday those who murdered my father and my family would pay that debt with their blood.”
Turning A-tuku around, Eskkar trotted back past the center of the line. He wanted every warrior to see and hear his words.
“Today I have taken my vengeance. Thutmose-sin died at my hands in payment for the life of Hogarthak, my father. My blood oath is satisfied. The women and children of the Alur Meriki have nothing to fear from my soldiers. We will stand aside and let your wagons pass, to drink from the stream in peace. But first, I want to speak to those warriors who once belonged to the Hawk Clan. Those men may think that our Clan died that night with Jamal, but I have kept it alive.”
He swept his arm up and pointed to his two guards, sitting stoically on their horses just behind Hathor. “The Hawk Clan has been reborn in the land of Akkad. See the emblem on my chest, and on the clothing of my guards. Once again the Hawk Clan boasts the bravest of the brave. They are the fiercest warriors among my soldiers and lead the way in every battle. I am called the King of Akkad, but the name I hold most proud is Leader of the Hawk Clan.”
By now the warriors glanced about, looking at each other, wondering about Eskkar’s words. Even the faces once twisted with hatred had softened, curious in spite of themselves.
“I know that after Jamal’s death, his Hawk Clan warriors were scattered in disgrace among the other clans. Today, I ask those that wish to return to their true Clan to join me. Your women, your wagons, your horses and possessions, all will find a place of honor in my service. The people of Akkad have many enemies, and I need brave warriors both for battle and to teach the villagers how to ride and how to fight. For acce
pting that duty, you will be treated with honor for the rest of your days, and your sons will once again ride into battle under the Hawk Clan banner.”
By now murmurs arose from the ranks, as warriors turned to those beside them, some asking questions, others answering. Heads swiveled to and fro. Eskkar sat motionless, waiting, while the warriors absorbed the impact of his words. As Trella reminded him, there is a time to speak, and a time to let others speak.
His eyes searched the warriors’ faces, but no one moved. The Hawk Clan of Eskkar’s youth had been one of the smallest, and over the years many warriors would have fallen in battle or resigned themselves to their fate. Still, there must be one or two who felt the rancor about the treatment of the Hawk Clan. Just as he was about to give up hope, a voice called out.
“I will join Eskkar of the Hawk Clan!” An older warrior, a bloody bandage on his right arm attesting to his courage, stepped his horse from the rear ranks, pushing his way through the lines until he stood in the open space facing Eskkar.
“I am Mutaka, once a member of Jamal’s Hawk Clan, and a friend to Hogarthak, a wise warrior who died bravely defending our clan leader. Now I return to my true clan, if Eskkar will accept my sword in his service.”
Eskkar allowed himself a grunt of satisfaction. He guided his horse closer to that of Mutaka, stopping close enough so that their left knees almost touched. Eskkar stared into the face of Mutaka for a moment.
“I remember Mutaka of the Hawk Clan, who visited the wagon of my father many times. Though the Mutaka I remember had much more hair on his head.”
A faint ripple of laughter spread across the ranks.
“I remember the oldest son of Hogarthak,” Mutaka replied. “Then you were but a boastful boy who trusted too much to his fighting skills and not enough to his wits.” He lifted his arm to encompass all warriors on the hill. “We see that you have not changed much.”
This time the laughter flowed freely, and many riders shifted on their mounts at the exchange. Eskkar allowed himself a smile. One warrior, that was all he’d hoped for. One would be enough.