Battle For Empire (The Eskkar Saga)

by Sam Barone

  “Then I welcome Mutaka and the wisdom of his years to my service,” Eskkar said.

  Another warrior weaved his way through the crowd, then another. Soon five veterans, all of them mature in years, had left the mass of Alur Meriki horsemen to cluster at Eskkar’s side. He welcomed each of them in turn, learning their names, and clasping arms in the sign of brotherhood.

  Well satisfied, Eskkar returned to where Urgo waited. “I will accept these five warriors into the Hawk Clan. They will help form a bond between our peoples.”

  The three clan leaders had listened to Eskkar’s exhortation in silence. There was, after all, little they could say or do.

  Urgo, Bekka, and Suijan turned to face the crowded hillside. Each held up both their hands, palms outward, and swore the oath of friendship to Akkad. When the leaders finished, Urgo called on every warrior with honor to repeat the pledge. Every warrior raised his open hands and repeated the oath. When the voices faded away, Eskkar nodded in satisfaction.

  “Urgo, Sarum of the Alur Meriki, from this moment there is peace between the people of Akkad and the Great Clan. Now I will return to my men. We will break camp, and move away from the stream.”

  Turning toward Mutaka, Eskkar raised his voice. “Members of the Hawk Clan, I welcome your return.”

  He lowered his voice, so that only the three chiefs could hear Eskkar’s next words. “I think we should all do everything we can to avoid any fighting between your warriors and mine.”

  “You are indeed wise,” Urgo said. “And I see you know the ways of power.”

  “As do you, Urgo. Will you make sure that Mutaka and the others leave in peace, with all their belongings. When they are ready to depart, send them to me.”

  “I will see to it,” Urgo said. “It is not every day that a new clan is born. Or should I say, reborn.”

  “Then today is indeed a good day,” Eskkar answered.

  He nodded to Hathor, and the Akkadians turned their horses aside and headed back to the stream and their camp.

  Hathor moved to Eskkar’s side. “Captain, you are either the luckiest person alive or a damn fool. I’m still waiting for an arrow in the back.”

  Eskkar laughed. “We’ll need to get you a breastplate for the next battle.”

  As they rode back to the stream, another cheer erupted from his men. They might not understand all that had transpired, but they understood well enough that there would be no more fighting, and that they would be returning home to their wives and children.

  Eskkar considered what he had accomplished – a decisive victory over the Alur Meriki, one more than enough to convince them to accept peace on his terms. The Akkadians had lost men, but in return Eskkar had gained the promise of a thousand warriors for the coming fight against the Elamites. And the additional horses Urgo promised would enable Hathor to add another two hundred or more fighters to his cavalry.

  Men would say that Eskkar’s luck had aided him again, but he knew luck had little to do with this victory. The Alur Meriki had brought defeat upon themselves. They had kept their eyes to south, when Eskkar and his soldiers had come from the west. Nor had they taken precautions to secure the water before their arrival. And most of all, they had underestimated Akkad’s power, and failed to prepare for a real confrontation.

  It was, Eskkar knew, a hard lesson. All warfare, to some extent, is based on deception. Akkad had seemed a distant threat, and Trella’s rumors, carefully fed to those greedy traders who dealt with the barbarians, had placed the city’s soldiers far from the northern frontier

  The Alur Meriki would not make the same mistakes again, and Eskkar felt satisfaction that he had turned aside at least part of their hatred. Now it was time to make a true peace with them, to make sure this conflict never arose again.

  The ongoing relationship with the Alur Meriki would be difficult, but Trella would find a way to help them and in so doing, gradually turn them to Akkad’s side. She would also find a way to make sure the peace held. All and all, Trella would be pleased about his arrangement with the Clan. Eskkar suspected that she would be less happy about his two fights and his riding unprotected into the Alur Meriki camp.

  Eskkar sighed. He did not look forward to that part of their coming discussion.

  12

  Twelve days after the battle, and just before sunset, a weary but still jubilant Eskkar rode through the gates of Akkad at the head of a column of one hundred horsemen. Messengers had reached the city days earlier, to announce his latest battlefield success. Nevertheless, as word spread through Akkad at the sight of the approaching cavalry, the inhabitants clogged the lanes from the city’s main gate to the Compound, hoping to catch a glimpse of the King as he returned. The sight of his tall figure riding A-tuku elicited cheers from the throngs that nearly blocked the riders’ path.

  Many of Akkad’s denizens had kin in the northern parts of the country, and they rejoiced in the knowledge that friends and family would be spared any further raids from the Alur Meriki. Others in the crowd had lived through the desperate siege of Orak, and even more through the attack on the city during the war with Sumer.

  Relief showed on the faces of those who had survived that attack. For villagers who once shook in terror at the mere mention of the barbarians, this success meant so much more.

  To celebrate the victory over the Alur Meriki, Eskkar had again donned the bronze breastplate and his luxurious cloak, with the image of a fierce hawk stitched across his shoulder, for his entrance into Akkad. He knew the armor and garment would impress his own people as much as it had the barbarians. The gleaming metal caught the last rays of the sun as A-tuku cantered through the twisting lanes of the still-growing city and its cheering inhabitants.

  Abandoning his usual reserve, Eskkar waved his hand at the cheering throng eager to catch a glimpse of their king and deliverer.

  A-tuku reflected the spirit of its rider, and its hooves kicked clods of dirt into the air as it snorted and pranced its way through the press. Some of the crowd’s exuberance came from the effect of too much ale or wine. Many had started drinking early, not waiting for the official three days of feasting to begin. Still, everyone wanted to celebrate the soldiers’ bravery and give thanks to the Goddess Ishtar for the city’s good fortune.

  Eskkar felt as much satisfaction as his subjects. The strategy he and his commanders had developed had worked even better than anyone expected. Battles rarely went as planned, but this clash had succeeded beyond Eskkar’s most optimistic expectations. Not only had the threat from the Alur Meriki vanished, but Eskkar had gained a new ally for the coming war with the Elamites.

  And within the Great Clan, the remnants of the once-disgraced Hawk Clan would increase his influence among his father’s people, as well as a handful of warriors sworn to serve him. In the future, these older warriors would help facilitate the exchange of goods and information between the two peoples.

  To strengthen the new alliance, Eskkar knew Trella would soon have gifts and supplies moving toward the Alur Meriki. Not that he expected any sudden show of harmony between the two hereditary enemies. But the seeds of mutual respect had been planted. It would take years, perhaps many years, but at last the chance to build a bond between villagers and steppes warriors existed.

  And he now had one thousand warriors at his command! Such a force, used properly as light cavalry and aimed at the right target, would be more devastating than two or three times that number of Akkadian trained horsemen.

  Eskkar swung down from his horse in the courtyard of the Compound with a smile of satisfaction on his face. Almost every one of the household servants and guards had turned out, to greet his arrival with words of praise and congratulations. As always when he returned from a hard day’s ride, Eskkar strode through the courtyard to the well at the rear of the house, to cleanse the dust and dirt from his body.

  With the Tigris so near, many of the wealthier residents had dug their own wells, and Eskkar and Trella’s dwelling was no exception. Their wel
l was surrounded on two sides by the Compound’s walls, while the house formed the third barrier. A large bench offered seating, and two small trees provided shade for the tiny garden during the day. In Eskkar’s Compound, the water source provided a private area where the Lord and Mistress of the house could relax or bathe in relative seclusion.

  Tossing his sword and belt to one of the servants, he stripped off his rank garments and kicked them aside. Another servant poured the first of many buckets of cold water over his naked body, while one of the women handed Eskkar a square of linen, which he used to scrub the grime and horse smell from his body.

  It took ten buckets before Eskkar finally felt clean, and told the servant to stop. Picking up another piece of linen, Eskkar dried his face and chest. Trella joined him, carrying a clean tunic and a larger, more luxuriant drying cloth. The servants, smiling broadly, respected their wish for privacy, and left them alone.

  “By the gods, you grow more beautiful each day.” The words slipped from Eskkar’s mouth without volition. He stroked her long, thick hair for a moment, before taking her face in his hands. Nearly thirty days had passed since his departure, and to his stirring manhood, it seemed even longer. He took her in his arms, and held her close.

  “Welcome back, Husband. You’ve done well.” For a fleeting moment, she pressed herself against his naked body before stepping back and handing him the fresh garment.

  Eskkar had shared his life with Trella long enough to know when something was amiss. His pleasant thoughts about a relaxing romp in their bed chamber before supper faded.

  He slipped the tunic on, ignoring the soft feel of the fine garment. “What’s wrong?” He reached out and grasped her by the shoulders.

  “There’s been an . . . incident with Sargon.”

  “Is he alright?”

  She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Come upstairs where we can speak in private.”

  So it was serious. Eskkar followed her into the house. Inside, he noticed the suddenly somber expressions on the faces of their personal servants. Those who spent their days within the residence would, of course, know all about the problem, whatever it was. Servants always knew about such things, usually before the master or mistress.

  In their quiet chamber, Trella closed the door. She went to the table, where servants had placed fresh food and drink. Two thick candles already burned, lighting the room and holding dusk at bay.

  “Sit, husband. You must be tired.” She picked up the wine pitcher, and half-filled a cup, adding water to weaken the strong drink.

  Eskkar ignored his usual chair and instead slumped onto the long bench, covered by a soft blanket, and stretched out his long legs. It was a bad sign when Trella poured his wine.

  “What trouble has Sargon gotten himself into this time?” The question wasn’t an idle one. He knew it must be something important for Trella to bring it up at once.

  “Corio will be here shortly, demanding to see you. One of his daughters, Sestana, she has thirteen seasons and was just initiated into the rites of the women. She was . . . injured by Sargon.”

  His fist tightened on the cup and he took a long sip from the cup. “What happened?”

  Eskkar was well acquainted with another of Corio’s daughters, Ismenne, who visited the Compound each day to work with Trella and the other commanders in the Map Room. But the master builder had sired many children from his two bountiful wives, and Eskkar couldn’t recall a face to match the name Sestana.

  Trella slipped into the chair beside the bench, and took Eskkar’s hand. “Sargon and Ziusudra were visiting at Corio’s house, to spend some time with one of his sons.”

  The last of Eskkar’s good mood vanished. He straightened up and set the wine cup down so hard that the table shook, and a splash of red splattered across the wood.

  “I ordered Sargon not to have anything to do with Ziusudra,” he said. “I told him . . .”

  “I know, husband. You must stay calm.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “Sargon had slipped away from his teacher and gone to visit Ziusudra. They spent a good part of the morning drinking wine, before heading to Corio’s. They had more wine there, with Corio’s boy. The house was nearly empty, except for a few servants. Somehow they encountered Sestana and she joined them. They offered her wine, and I think she drank some. Then Ziusudra and Sargon tried to force themselves on Sestana.”

  “Damn that Ziusudra.” Even the boy’s name grated on Eskkar’s nerves.

  Trella continued the story. “Sestana struggled, and . . . one of them struck her, and split her lip. Her clothing was torn, but she resisted. When a serving woman arrived, summoned by the commotion, she saw Sargon straddling the girl, holding his hand over her mouth. At the same time, Ziusudra held her shoulders down.”

  Eskkar gulped the rest of his wine. “He raped her.” The words sounded harsh in the quiet of their chamber. Not just the chamber, he realized. The whole house had gone silent, aware of what was happening in the upper chamber.

  Trella shook her head. “No, Sargon hadn’t quite reached that point. The housekeeper screamed so loud that the guard at the front door ran inside. By the time he arrived, Ziusudra and Sargon were leaving. The guard recognized Sargon, of course, but didn’t think to stop him. So the guard waited there with Sestana and the housekeeper. By then, both of them were screaming. They sent for the girl’s mother, and she and Corio arrived together.”

  “I’ve told him, ordered him countless times to stay away from Ziusudra.” Eskkar’s voice held a hard edge. “He’s nothing but a worthless fool.”

  “I know.”

  Neither of them had to say anything else about that. Ziusudra, a year or so older than Sargon’s fourteen seasons, was Akkad’s leading mischief maker. Handsome and daring, he’d been involved in every kind of trouble and prank imaginable.

  His father, a wealthy merchant named Ningal, doted on his only son. Money, clothes, jewels, Ziusudra possessed them all, and displayed them at every opportunity. Girls and even women old enough to know better looked with favor on his handsome face and golden hair. Nearly every boy in Akkad idolized him, including Sargon.

  “Where is Sargon?”

  “He’s in the guard’s quarters, probably sleeping off the effects of the wine. I ordered the commander of the Hawk Clan guards to keep him there.”

  Sargon’s chamber, which he shared with his younger brother, Melkorak, was on the main floor. Their sister Zakita, two seasons younger than Sargon, had another room, one she shared with the matron who attended her. Just across the courtyard from the main structure was a row of small rooms, used by the Hawk Clan to quarter some of the Compound’s guards, or serve as visitor’s lodgings.

  “And the girl . . . Sestana? Are you sure he didn’t rape her?”

  “Corio’s wife examined her. Aside from a cut lip and a bump on her head, she’s unhurt. Frightened, of course. Still, this incident will reflect on her reputation and hopes for a good marriage. Otherwise, I’m sure she’ll be fine in a day or so.”

  Eskkar’s first thought was that any maiden who allowed herself to cavort with men unsupervised should suffer a serious stain on her reputation. It could have been worse.

  His second thought was to go downstairs and have the boy whipped. Raping a virgin, according to Akkad’s laws, was punishable by death. Trella and the King’s Justice, Nicar, had written the law only a few years ago. Attempted rape, including injuring a young woman in the process, would be almost as bad.

  “Corio can insist Sargon be punished. He can demand . . .”

  “I spoke briefly to Corio, Husband. Of course he wants to see you. The blood is still hot in his veins, but he will calm down by tomorrow. By then he will not want to press this matter too hard. In a few days, Sargon can apologize. Perhaps I can convince Corio to accept some payment as restitution.”

  “No, don’t insult him. Corio has no need of gold.” As Akkad’s Master Builder and the man who built the walls that saved the city, Corio possessed more wealth
than most of the city’s merchants and traders. “His honor will demand more.”

  “He values your friendship, Eskkar. He will not want to lose that.”

  “There is friendship, and there is blood.” He stared at her. “How would you feel if one of his sons did this to Zakita? Would you accept a few gold coins to satisfy her honor?”

  “No, my husband, I would not.” She pressed his hand again, then released it. “I agree something must be done with Sargon. This wildness must end. He could have been killed by Corio’s bodyguards.”

  Eskkar bit back the words that nearly reached his lips. Better if the boy had died. No father should ever wish for such a thing. Still, for more than a year, Sargon had brought them nothing but trouble. Willful, disobedient, lazy, and now taken to drinking wine and ale early in the day, with others just as wild and shiftless as himself.

  “Then it will end.” Eskkar pushed himself to his feet and went to the door. Out on the landing, he called down to the guard and ordered Sargon brought to the upper chamber.

  Back inside the Workroom, Eskkar turned to Trella. “What do you think I should do?”

  “All day I have been thinking about what to say when you asked that question. My heart says to forgive him. But as your eldest son and the heir to the Kingdom of Akkad, Sargon is bringing disgrace to our family. Until today, the people have smiled at his foolishness. Now many will think he is dangerous, and likely to bring the wrath of the gods down on their city. As leaders of Akkad, we cannot allow such thoughts to grow in their minds. If they believe we are too weak to control our son and their future king, then they will soon think as little of us as they do of Sargon. When that happens, they will look to others to take our place.”

  Footfalls sounded on the stairs. Then Sargon stepped into the room. Unlike his father, Sargon stood only of average height, and his frame, while sturdy enough, appeared closer to that of a counting house clerk than a soldier. Wide-spaced eyes made him look older than his years. Despite his detention, someone had combed and arranged the long brown hair, and his tunic appeared fresh and clean. Sargon must have summoned one of the servants to attend him.