by Sam Barone
“I know that you are not bound to help the Ur Nammu, but I cannot believe that all wisdom has deserted the Alur Meriki,” Sargon said. “The Ur Nammu have three hundred fighters. If you attack them, they will kill at least that many of your own warriors. Perhaps even more. Can the Alur Meriki afford such losses? And to what end? How many of your warriors died in the fight at the stream? Close to four or five hundred?”
Sargon leaned forward. “Now I ask you to do what I know my father would ask. Join forces with the Ur Nammu, and destroy these Carchemishi invaders, before they destroy you.”
A murmur came from behind, and Sargon glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see that hundreds of people, warriors as well as women and children, had gathered in silence as close as they dared approach, to hear the words of the council. That meant that all of those present now knew of the danger.
“We do not fight the battles of others,” Urgo said. “Especially Akkad’s.”
“My father told me of a saying in the Clan. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Is that not true.”
Urgo smiled, the first time he’d shown any emotion. “A saying is not something we use to decide about going to war.”
“The Ur Nammu have broken their camp,” Sargon went on. “Abandoned their tents and possessions, taking only their women and children. If they were closer to Akkad’s forts, they would have gone there to seek protection from my father’s soldiers. But they cannot reach them in time. The Carchemishi are too close. So I urged the Ur Nammu instead to move toward the Alur Meriki. In three or four days, five at most, the Ur Nammu will be attacked, and even three hundred brave warriors cannot withstand so many.”
“And you want us to risk our warriors’ lives for those of the Ur Nammu?”
“No. To protect the lives of your own women and children. Consider this. After a hard fight with the Ur Nammu, the Carchemishi will be even more prepared and experienced to face your forces. Is it not better to fight while you have others to fight at your side? If you do this, my father will send food and herds to help feed your people, and supply whatever else you require. You will need such help to survive the journey through the now barren lands to the west.”
“And why would he do that?”
“Because the Ur Nammu are the allies of Akkad. Because they are friends to my father and mother. And because you may save the life of their son, Sargon. Because I will be returning to the Ur Nammu. I have not yet completed my training, and I must stand with my friends.”
Another murmur passed through the crowd. Urgo took a deep breath, stared at the ground for a moment, then turned to Fashod. “You are . . . ?”
“I am Fashod, second in command of the Ur Nammu.” He bowed respectfully to the older man. “My thanks to you, Chief Urgo, for letting us speak. First, let me say that I have fought with Eskkar of Akkad in three battles, and with Hathor the Egyptian in three more. Our Sarum is Subutai. He, too, is a friend of Eskkar. Neither of us thought to approach the Alur Meriki for help, but Sargon suggested this. May I tell you what else we have discovered about our enemy, and what we have planned?”
Sargon noticed that Trayack could scarcely conceal his impatience. That should teach him to speak foolishly. Now he dared not interrupt, if he didn’t want to be escorted from the Council.
Urgo didn’t look to his Sarum for approval. “Yes. Tell us what you’ve learned.”
Fashod told them about the hurried ride back to the camp, and of Subutai’s difficult decision to head toward the Alur Meriki. He also told them all they had learned about the Carchemishi, the size and disposition of their forces, and their probable plans.
As Fashod spoke, Sargon felt the presence of the crowd growing ever larger and creeping ever closer with each word. A routine Council meeting had turned into something far more urgent.
No doubt Chief Bekka, if he had known what Sargon planned to say, would have met with him privately. But now everyone knew of the coming battle, and of Sargon’s offer to provide food and anything else they needed. The Sarum and his clan leaders’ decisions would be scrutinized by all.
Fashod finished up. “Subutai knows that he cannot ask for your help out of friendship. But he does ask it, because he knows that it will also help you. Perhaps if we survive the battle, the time may come for friendship, or at least peace, between our clans. Is not Thutmose-sin dead, and Subutai’s father? Both those leaders waged war upon the other. But I was present when Subutai’s father died many years ago, and that day Subutai declared that the Shan Kar between him and your clan had ended. With Thutmose-sin gone, is there any longer a reason for our clans to do battle?”
“Your words have wisdom, Fashod. Tell your Sarum that we have heard his words.” Urgo glanced at the other clan leaders, but no one seemed to have anything else to say. “Then we are finished. Sargon, is there more you wish to tell us?”
“Only that we would request fresh horses, so that we can ride back to join the fight against the invaders. The horses we rode are spent, but they are some of the finest we have. We would trade them for an equal number. And we would leave at dawn.”
“We will consider that as well,” Urgo said
“Then I give thanks to the Council for letting me speak.” Sargon rose to his feet, the scabbard of his sword held in his left hand. “Now I must accept the challenge of those who have spoken against me. Den’rack was the first to offer a challenge, so I will fight him first.”
Even Urgo appeared surprised at Sargon’s foolishness. But a challenge was a challenge, and every warrior could always exercise his right to fight another. Still, no one watching could now doubt Sargon’s courage. Urgo lifted his gaze, and picked out the warrior standing motionless a few paces away.
“Den’rack, do you offer the challenge to Sargon, son of Eskkar?”
“No, I do not. When I challenged Sargon, I did not know he had come to warn our people of danger. Only a fool fights with one who would offer the hand of help and friendship.”
Sargon had faced Den’rack during his reply. Now Sargon bowed to the warrior. “Den’rack is a loyal and wise warrior. I and all the Alur Meriki are in his debt for his help in bringing us here as quickly as he did.”
Sargon turned back to Urgo. “Now I must face Lugal. Is he here?”
“I am here.” Lugal’s voice came from the crowd. He stepped forward until he stood just behind Sargon.
Urgo had frowned at hearing Lugal’s name. “Lugal is a wise warrior, who fought beside me many times when we were both young. I ask you, Lugal, do you demand your right to combat with Sargon of Akkad, son of Eskkar?”
From the expression on Lugal’s face, Sargon knew the man still wanted to fight. But Lugal also understood Urgo’s meaning. If Lugal offered the challenge, he would be pitting himself against Urgo’s wishes. Fortunately, Den’rack’s words had given him an easy opportunity to abandon the challenge.
“I withdraw my challenge. I, too, did not know that Sargon came to warn us.”
“Then you have done your duty as a brave and loyal warrior,” Urgo said.
Sargon bowed again.
That left only Trayack. Sargon shifted his gaze toward the angry clan leader, but before Trayack could offer the challenge, Bekka held up his hand for silence. “There can be no challenge between a clan leader and an untested warrior. It would be beneath the dignity of any clan leader. Is that not right, Trayack?”
Sargon felt his heart racing. He hadn’t thought Den’rack would fight him, not after they had ridden together for three days. And Sargon knew he might stand a fair chance against Lugal, who had already passed his prime as a warrior. But Trayack was tall and strong and in his prime. He would cut Sargon to shreds.
Every eye in the camp went to the still truculent clan leader. A loud murmur rippled through the spectators. No one wanted to see Sargon’s blood spilled in the dirt.
But Trayack could read tracks in wet ground as well as any. He had to unclench his teeth before he could speak. “No, there is no challenge. It would be
beneath my honor to fight someone as young and untried as . . . Sargon.”
Sargon bowed to him, and again to the entire Council. “Then I offer my thanks to the Clan of my father. May they always ride in the lands of the steppes with honor.”
As Sargon turned away, a wave of relief flowed through his mind. His luck had held. He might just live to see another day.
28
Bekka watched Sargon and Fashod, escorted by their guards, disappear into the crowd. A crowd, Bekka noticed, that now seemed more curious than hostile to the young Akkadian and his Ur Nammu companions. The arrogant boy, and Bekka had no doubts that he was indeed Eskkar’s son, had upended the Alur Meriki Council almost as much as his father.
“We need to speak further.” Urgo’s voice broke into his Sarum’s thoughts.
“Oh, yes, we need to talk.” He stood and helped Urgo to his feet. “In my tent.” Bekka glanced at Suijan. “Tell the others to join us.”
The clan leaders reassembled inside Bekka’s tent. His wives had built a small fire, to provide illumination for their leaders. Soon a thin stream of smoke wafted toward the top of the tent. As the chiefs settled into a small circle, no one spoke, each man waiting until the women left. Only when the tent flap closed behind them did the discussion continue.
Trayack’s anger returned unabated. “I say we should kill them all. Take them outside the camp, torture them, and then kill them. Let the Akkadians wonder what happened to them.”
Urgo adjusted his stiff leg until he felt comfortable. “You may want to go to war with Akkad again, but I have had enough of Eskkar and his bowmen. He would find out. There are still enough remnants of the old Hawk Clan who would get word to him.”
“Then let this Sargon whelp and his Ur Nammu scum go.” Trayack’s booming voice filled the tent. “The Carchemishi will kill the boy, and there will be no blame on us.”
“I agree with Trayack.” Bekka’s soft words contrasted with Trayack’s fury. “Best to let them go, and let the gods decide Sargon’s fate. But the question remains. Do we ride to war to help the Ur Nammu?”
“You cannot be thinking of helping that filth.” The fire’s feeble light turned Trayack’s face even redder. “Let them be slaughtered. We can fight off the invaders, if indeed there are any Carchemishi in these lands.”
“You think the Ur Nammu made this up?” Urgo’s temper began to fray under Trayack’s constant complaining. “Something we could discover for ourselves in a few days scouting?”
“I think . . .” Bekka paused until he had everyone’s attention, “we should ride to war to help Sargon and the Ur Nammu. I believe Sargon spoke the truth about these Carchemishi and their numbers. We will have to fight them. They are too few to trouble Akkad, but more than enough to do battle with us. Do you think they will return to their master in Carchemish and say that they failed to defeat Akkad? And then admit that they turned away from the Alur Meriki, and that now we are moving toward their lands?”
“I agree with Bekka,” Urgo said, “but for another reason. We gave our oaths as warriors to Eskkar, and that binds us to him until the debt is paid. But if we help his allies and save his eldest son’s life, he will be in our debt. There may come a time when we ask him to repay it.”
Bekka nodded approval. He turned to Suijan. “What do you say?”
“I think we must go to war to help the Ur Nammu.” Suijan rubbed the scar on his left arm, where not long ago an Akkadian arrow had sliced along the bone. “While you and Urgo questioned Sargon, I watched the faces of our people standing behind the boy while he spoke. By the time he finished speaking, most of them agreed with his position. Sargon chose his words with care and skill. Our people will talk of nothing else for days.”
“You should have let me kill him.” Trayack’s hatred sounded plain in his voice. “He spoke with a serpent’s tongue. The fools listening fell for his lies.”
“In that, the boastful boy is like his father,” Urgo said. “Eskkar rode into our camp, challenged everyone he met, won the approval of half our men, and rode out untouched. Now his son has done the same. If we fail to fight now, and the Carchemishi fall on us, Sargon’s words will be remembered.”
Bekka turned to Prandar. “And what about you?”
“On the word of a boy, do we ride against a strong enemy? No! Let the Carchemishi and the Ur Nammu kill each other. When the Ur Nammu are dead, if we must, we can confront the invaders. We will be no worse off.”
“And where will we find food, if the countryside ahead of us is already stripped bare?” Urgo’s voice had returned to its even tone. “We must follow the foothills for many days before we reach the steppes. Do we watch our women and children suffer, to sicken and die from hunger?”
“We can manage to find food somewhere,” Prandar said. “We still have plenty of horses to eat.”
“Is this what the Alur Meriki have become?” Suijan struck his knee with one fist. “We had to leave the eastern lands early, before the Elamites attacked us. Now we must grovel before some dirt eater in Carchemish, so far away that we don’t even know his name?”
“What do you say, Virani?” Bekka, too, kept his voice calm.
“I have spoken much with my warriors since the battle at the stream. They want a chance to prove themselves. Let us ride down and kill these invaders. If we help the Ur Nammu and Akkad at the same time, and place them in our debt, so much the better.”
That was more support than Bekka had hoped for. He’d expected Suijan and Urgo to agree with his decision, and that Trayack and Prandar would refuse to go along. Virani, however, had the respect of many in the camp, and his opinion mattered. Bekka hadn’t been sure of which way Virani would turn. “Trayack?”
“I say we should leave the Ur Nammu and this boy Sargon to their fate,” Trayack said. “If the Carchemishi challenge us, that will be the time to ride against them. I’ll waste none of my men’s lives on Ur Nammu scum. No warrior of mine will ever lift a sword for them.”
But that threat wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Trayack’s Lion Clan, under Thutmose-sin, had suffered heavy losses in the battle at the stream. Trayack had little more than a hundred and twenty or so warriors fit to fight.
Bekka glanced at each man, as if considering their words. But the only thought in his mind was that Trayack had given him the opening Bekka wanted.
“I say we will ride to fight these Carchemishi,” Bekka said. “If that helps the Ur Nammu and even the Akkadians, so be it. Suijan, Virani, and I will lead our warriors, and depart tomorrow at midmorning. Trayack and the Lion Clan will remain behind to protect the caravan. Urgo, I will need your warriors.”
“You may have them. They will be glad to ride with you.”
Bekka turned to Prandar. “You say you do not approve of helping the boy and the Ur Nammu. If that is your decision, you can stay behind with Trayack. Or you can choose to join us.”
Every eye went to Prandar, who suddenly realized the difficult position Bekka had maneuvered him into. If Prandar sided with Trayack on this issue, Prandar would be forever branded with the same mark – that he had remained behind while others rode to war.
Prandar, older and wiser than Trayack, understood what was at stake. Trayack’s hatred of anything that had to do with Akkad was well known. Since the defeat at the stream, much of that hatred had turned toward his new Sarum. If Bekka returned victorious, Prandar’s warriors would lose faith in their leader, and Bekka could remove Prandar from the Council with a wave of his hand.
As for Trayack, the fool didn’t even understand what Bekka would do to him when he returned. So it all depended on whether or not Bekka could win without Prandar and his hundred and seventy warriors.
Bekka kept his gaze on the hesitating chief as the silence lengthened. “What is your decision, Prandar?”
Prandar had one last thought. Bekka did not need to win a fight to the death. Any small victory, even a brief skirmish, would give the new Sarum the authority to solidify his rule over the Council of C
hiefs and the Alur Meriki people. And if that happened, Prandar had better be on the winning side. Trayack was a fool after all.
Prandar lifted his gaze to meet his Sarum’s. “My men and I will ride with you, Chief Bekka, to fight the invaders.”
Trayack shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
“Good.” Bekka nodded in approval. “Then it is settled. All of you should return to your men and tell them to prepare for a long ride and a hard fight. The Alur Meriki are going to war.”
“You are a fool, Bekka,” Trayack practically spat the words in his Sarum’s face. “All of you are fools.” His face reflected the rage that burned inside him. Trayack scrambled to his feet and left the tent, almost tearing the flap from its fastenings as he passed outside.
One by one, the others left, until only Urgo remained, facing the Sarum.
“You did well, Bekka.”
“Now all I have to do is win.”
“Yes.” Urgo let out a long sigh. “Winning overcomes all mistakes. But better to risk everything than to live with fools like Trayack and his constant complaining behind your back. Sooner or later, he would have brought you down.” Urgo sighed. “Help me up, my friend.”
Bekka assisted the old man to his feet, and offered to help him to his tent. Urgo protested, but Bekka insisted. “Besides, I want to speak to Sargon, and your tent is on the way.”
Urgo glanced at the man he’d chosen to replace him as Sarum. Urgo had selected Bekka, keen of wit despite his relative youth, and then swung the other clan leaders to agree with the choice. “Be careful what you say to that boy. Every time he speaks, I hear Eskkar and his witch wife talking. And I suspect there is more to Sargon’s story than what he told us.”
“I will take care.” Bekka smiled. “I don’t want him to challenge me. Not yet, at least.”
Sargon had just finished retelling the details of the meeting outside the Sarum’s tent to Garal and Jennat for the second time. Both kept shaking their heads at Sargon’s boldness.