by Sam Barone
“Shulat, noble. His name is Shulat.” Utu coughed again, but cleared his throat and swallowed hard. He rolled his eyes toward Hamati.
Eskkar nodded again, and Hamati dribbled more wine into the man’s mouth. “How many others, Utu?” Eskkar repeated.
Utu swallowed twice before he could speak, and even then he could barely raise his voice above a whisper. “There is another band of men up north, in Bisitun. Many men there . . . Shulat is the brother of their leader, Ninazu. He rules in Bisitun.” Utu’s voice gave out and he looked pitifully at Hamati, who gave him another mouthful of wine. “Ninazu . . . Ninazu wanted to know about the lands to the south, and Shulat wanted to raid the farms, so we came here a few weeks ago.” The man paused to take a labored breath, and his eyes closed for a long moment.
“Give him more wine,” Eskkar said, while he used the time to think.
Bisitun was a much larger village five or six days march farther north from Dilgarth. Bisitun sat on the northern edge of the lands that bordered Akkad, right at the point where the Tigris turned sharply north. It marked the outlying boundary of the lands Eskkar intended to bring under his rule.
He planned to leave Sisuthros in charge of Bisitun, after they finished ridding the surrounding countryside of bandits and marauders. With Akkad and Bisitun working together, more than half of the best farmlands on this side of the Tigris would be under Eskkar’s control. Eskkar’s plan, worked out with the elders in Akkad, depended on securing Bisitun.
“How many men does this Ninazu have with him in Bisitun?” The man whimpered, but said nothing. Eskkar placed his hand on Utu’s good shoulder and shook him gently, knowing even a small movement would send a wave of pain through the man and keep him conscious. “How many men, Utu?” He spoke sharply, to make sure his words penetrated Utu’s weakening mind. “Tell me! Or there’ll be no more wine!”
Utu rolled his eyes toward Eskkar, his face a mixture of fear and pain.
But the dying man wanted the wine, wanted anything that would ease the pain and the fright of dying. “Seventy or eighty . . . maybe ninety . . . I don’t know . . . maybe more.” His voice trailed off a little.
“Do they plan to stay there, or will they ride on?” Utu’s eyes closed again, and he didn’t answer. Eskkar looked at Hamati and a few more drops of wine were carefully dripped into the man’s mouth. Another spasm of coughing took Utu and he choked on the wine. It took time before his breathing slowed and he could speak again.
Eskkar waited patiently. “Utu, do they plan to stay there, or will they ride on?” Eskkar had to lean close to hear the man’s words.
“Ninazu plans . . . to stay in Bisitun. He says the village is his now. From there . . . he rules over the land.”
Eskkar ground his teeth in anger. Another petty ruler had arisen. With eighty or ninety determined and well-armed men, it would have been easy to take control of Bisitun, already devastated by the Alur Meriki’s passage.
Once in power, Ninazu’s force would grow steadily each day, as more and more desperate men joined him, either out of a desire for loot or simply as a way to get something to eat. Again Eskkar silently cursed the barbarians and their passage. Whatever they touched, they left in chaos. He had expected to find problems in and around Bisitun, but not a village full of fighting men who surpassed him in numbers.
Eskkar had more questions, but Utu’s mind wandered now, his voice weak as he struggled to breathe. The vague answers came slower and slower. Blood seeped into the dirt underneath the man. Utu’s face looked even whiter than before and now a bluish tinge showed on his lips. Finally the only word Eskkar could get out of him was “wine.”
Hamati, still holding the wineskin, looked at Eskkar, who noted the nearly empty wineskin and shook his head. “No, we may need the wine for the other one. Give him water. He won’t know the difference.”
Eskkar stood up, picked up his stool, and walked back outside. The sun still shone bright in the late afternoon sky, and he had to shade his eyes when he left the house.
The square bustled with activity. Drakis, one of Hamati’s men, sat on the ground next to the prisoner, to make sure he stayed alive and to keep him quiet. Before Eskkar could speak, Drakis began. “I’ve posted a guard by the main entrance, Captain, and Mitrac keeps watch from the roof,” indicating the house Eskkar had just left. “The bodies are being loaded on a cart and will be dumped in the river. The rest of the men are helping the women butcher the dead horses or gather firewood. We’ll have plenty of meat for the next few days.”
As Eskkar watched, two soldiers lifted the last naked body and tossed it onto the cart. They’d already stripped the dead of whatever clothing and valuables they possessed. He moved farther away from the house and looked up to the roof.
“Mitrac!” he called out. “Do you see anything?”
The young archer stepped into view. “Nothing, Captain. The fields are empty. Not even any travelers on the road.”
It would be too late in the day for the few travelers brave enough to venture forth. “Good. Keep a sharp watch, Mitrac,” Eskkar said. He walked back to the shade of the tree, put down the stool and sat, his feet almost touching Shulat’s body.
“Well, Shulat, are you getting thirsty yet?” The man had a fresh bruise on his face, no doubt a reminder from Drakis to keep silent. “It’s time for us to talk about your brother.”
“I’ll tell you nothing, Eskkar. I’m not afraid to die.”
“As I told Utu, your death is certain. Only how you die is to be decided.”
Hamati came out of the house, carrying the wineskin in his hand, and stood next to Eskkar. “The other one is dead, Captain.”
“You see, Shulat, your man, Utu, is dead,” Eskkar said. “At least he died full of wine, to ease his pain. Are you going to tell me about your brother?”
“I’ll be avenged when my brother takes your head.” Shulat spat the words at him as a curse. “He likes to kill soft farmers and tradesmen.”
Eskkar smiled at the man’s words but detected the first hint of fear behind the bravado. “I’m a barbarian myself, Shulat. And my soft villagers took your men easily enough. So don’t be so sure of your revenge.” Eskkar turned to his second in command. “Hamati, this man needs to change his ways. Stake him out here in the square. We’ll let the women have some time with him.”
Looking up, Eskkar saw Nisaba standing in the shadows, watching him. Her women had already stripped Utu’s corpse. Now the loaded cart stood there, awaiting only Shulat’s body. Nearby, the rest of the women, eager for the taste of meat, moved about a little faster and worked swiftly to build cooking fires for the butchered horses. Eskkar walked over to Nisaba’s side. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, noble.” Her hands fingered a small, leaf-shaped knife she’d taken from one of the dead. Blood streaked the dull copper blade.
Eskkar saw the gesture. “No knives, Nisaba. And just his hands and feet, for now. Do you understand?” Working only on the man’s hands and feet helped avoid an untimely demise.
“Yes, noble, I understand.” She looked toward the group of women, then back at Shulat. “Shulat killed Nitari’s husband in front of her and her children, then took her. And there was . . .”
“Enough, Nisaba,” Eskkar cut her off. No doubt the man had taken every woman in the village. “Just you and two women, to start with. He is not to die, only to feel pain. Can you do that?”
“Yes, noble.” Her hand gripped tighter on the knife she held.
“I mean it, Nisaba. If one of your women gets carried away . . . I don’t want him to die yet. You can have your revenge after he talks. Make sure they truly understand, Nisaba.”
He walked over to Hamati, who supervised his men as they finished staking the prisoner. They’d cut his garment off, then spread-eagled him in the dirt, with his arms and legs spread wide apart. A hammer and some wood stakes had come from the blacksmith’s stall, and the men pounded four stakes deep into the ground to anchor the ropes that secur
ed him.
Eskkar stood over him. “Make sure the ropes are tight, Hamati. I don’t want him moving around.” If the man could move, even a little, an accidental death might occur. That reminded Eskkar of something else.
“And break his thumbs first.” Eskkar had once seen a man staked out like Shulat grab a woman’s hand and snap her wrist. There was no sense taking any chances. With the man’s thumbs broken, he couldn’t grab anything. “Keep a close watch on the women. I don’t want him to die.”
“Yes, Captain,” Hamati answered patiently. He waited until his men had Shulat securely fastened, then knelt on Shulat’s right wrist, letting his knee pin the prisoner’s hand to the ground. Shulat clenched his fist tightly, but another soldier added his own weight, and together they forced apart Shulat’s hand, ignoring his curses and struggles. It took some effort, but Hamati finally grasped the man’s thumb. A quick twist, accompanied by a popping sound, and the deed was done. The pain forced a low moan from the man, even as it weakened his resistance. The other thumb went much easier.
Eskkar looked down at Shulat. Eskkar knew his own presence would give the man a reason to resist, so he went back into the house and again climbed the ladder to the roof. Up there, a slight breeze blew and the air seemed free of the scent of blood and urine that lingered below. Mitrac turned as Eskkar arrived. “Nothing to see, Captain. Are more bandits in the hills?”
“I don’t think so, but there’s a large force at Bisitun and I don’t know what they’re up to. I want to get back to our men as soon as possible.” He gazed out over the hills, taking his time, letting his eyes slowly traverse every point of the horizon, then moving them back and forth over the intervening landscape. Eskkar knew well how to search the land for enemies.
Everything looked peaceful. He decided there was nothing more he could do. His twenty horsemen would arrive later tonight, and tomorrow they’d link up with Sisuthros and the rest of the soldiers.
“Stay and watch until it’s too dark, Mitrac. Hopefully our men will return soon after.”
Mitrac nodded, and Eskkar went down the ladder. One of Dilgarth’s women had cleaned the room and the signs of Utu’s passing had vanished.
Reentering the square, Eskkar heard Shulat’s first cry of pain. Two women worked on his feet, each sitting on one of Shulat’s legs. The women held stones in each hand, and they had started crushing his toes by smashing the rocks together. Nisaba knelt on Shulat’s right wrist, doing the same to the fingers of his hand. Eskkar noticed that her hands seemed as strong as those of the two younger women.
With all the small bones in his toes and fingers crushed or broken, the pain from each subsequent blow would increase, and soon the man’s extremities would be shooting waves of pain throughout his body. Eskkar lingered only long enough to make sure the women didn’t get carried away, and that Hamati kept his eyes on them.
Eskkar left the square and walked back to the main gate. One soldier stood guard there, sitting on one of the carts, bow across his lap, and looking out through the gate toward the horizon. All of his fighters looked tired enough. They’d had little sleep last night as they prepared for the ambush. Then they’d worked in the fields during the day and finished with a hard fight in the afternoon. It wouldn’t take much distraction for them to relax or fall asleep at their posts.
Nonetheless, the guard seemed alert. Eskkar spoke to him, reminding the man to remain vigilant. Eskkar knew the more time he spent with each man, the more he showed his trust in each of them, the more likely each soldier would do his duty properly.
Even before Eskkar returned to the square, he heard Shulat’s screams.
Five other village women stood a few paces away, just watching, or perhaps waiting their turn. The women had finished with Shulat’s toes and fingers, and had moved up to his knees and wrists. They had fallen into a rhythm.
First one would smash at him with the stones, then pause to let the waves of pain shoot through his body. Then the second woman would strike, then the third, then back to the first. Soon they would begin on his genitals, and by then, Eskkar expected Shulat to begin talking.
Eskkar stood at the man’s head and watched for a moment. He’d seen many men tortured. Five years ago, in the days of his own banditry, he might have been the one staked out and put to the torture. Eskkar nodded to Hamati and walked a few steps away, out of earshot of Shulat.
Hamati joined him. “He’s a tough one, Captain. But I think he’ll talk.”
“Just don’t let the women get carried away. He’ll be hoping they’ll kill him.”
“Nisaba understands what you want. Shulat raped both of them, and killed one’s husband. Nisaba is keeping the women under control. I’ll keep a close eye on them.”
“We both will,” Eskkar said. He walked back to the prisoner, folded his arms, and stood there. He took no pleasure from the man’s suffering. It needed to be done. The man had information Eskkar needed, and Shulat would have to give it up. The hard part would be separating the truth from the lies when he did begin to speak.
The man resisted as long as anyone could, before he began to scream for mercy. By then his hands, feet, and knees were broken, swollen, and oozing blood. Nisaba worked alone now, kneeling between his spread legs, cupping his testicles in her hand. Twice she had clenched her fist, each time extracting a long scream of agony from her victim as he thrashed helplessly against his bonds. Now she looked toward Hamati and Eskkar, and waited.
Eskkar picked up the stool and sat down near Shulat’s head. “Are you ready to tell me about your brother?” Before the man could answer, Eskkar went on. “Would you like some wine, Shulat?”
Hamati already knelt on the other side, the wineskin in his hands, and he shook the vessel under the prisoner’s nose for a moment. Shulat’s eyes stayed wide with pain and hatred, but they followed the wineskin as Hamati withdrew it.
“The wine will make the pain go away,” Eskkar suggested gently. “It can’t hurt to have some wine, can it? Or should I tell the women to continue?” The man’s eyes moved back and forth, but he said nothing. Eskkar turned toward Nisaba and nodded. The woman’s hand clenched again.
Another scream split the air as the man’s body arched up off the ground, twisting and trembling helplessly as it fought against the ropes.
Eskkar let it go on, waiting impassively for the man to break. It didn’t take long. Shulat began to shout that he would talk. Eskkar called out to Nisaba, and she opened her hand. This time he saw blood on Nisaba’s palm and fingers.
Eskkar waited until the pain subsided and the man could speak again.
“If you lie to me even once, Shulat, you’ll suffer for a long time. You will answer my questions instantly, or there will be more pain. Do you understand?”
“Yes . . . yes. Wine! . . . Give me wine!”
Hamati started to move the wineskin to the man’s mouth, but Eskkar held him back. “Remember this, Shulat. If you lie, or hesitate, you will be very sorry.”
Hamati dribbled the wine slowly into the man’s mouth. Eskkar let him have as much as he could take. At this stage, the wine would loosen his tongue even as it dulled his nerves. When the man began to cough on the wine, Hamati lifted the wineskin away from Shulat’s lips, and he began to speak.
It took some time for Eskkar to learn all he could. Only once did he find it necessary to turn to Nisaba and for her to clench her fist again. By then, Hamati had emptied the wineskin and Shulat was barely conscious.
The wine, combined with the pain and exhaustion, had greatly weakened him, and now he drifted in and out of consciousness.
“I think that’s all you’re going to get, Captain,” Hamati said, as the two men took a few steps toward the house.
“Yes, he’s finished. How much of it is true, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Eskkar was thoughtful, his face grim. Darkness had fallen and the cooking fires were well under way, the smell of roasting horsemeat overpowering even the scents of death. With nothing left to
do, most of the soldiers and villagers still stood there, fascinated, watching Shulat take the torture, enjoying the spectacle, no doubt wondering what they would do in his place.
“What shall I do with him?” Hamati asked.
Eskkar looked back over his shoulder. Nisaba still knelt between the man’s legs, waiting permission to continue. One of the women had lit a torch, to provide more light for everyone.
“Nothing, Hamati.” Eskkar took a deep breath and let it out. “Just give him to the women. They’ve earned their revenge. When they’re finished, load him on the cart with the others and dump them in the river.”
He walked away and entered the house, then climbed the ladder to the roof. Mitrac had remained there, though darkness made it difficult to see much of anything. Eskkar told him to go down and find something to eat. As Mitrac started down, the first of another long string of Shulat’s screams pierced the night as the women unleashed their fury on him.
Alone on the roof, Eskkar sat there, sword across his knees, staring out toward the north, and cleared his mind. Shulat’s words had given him plenty to worry about, and he thought long and hard about what to do next. Eskkar had several courses of action to consider. He could return to Akkad, to wait there until he gathered more men. He could even stay here for a while and scout out the lands to the north and east. Or he could continue on to Bisitun.
Going to Bisitun now would almost certainly mean a battle, not just a few skirmishes chasing down some ill-equipped and poorly led bandits. A fight for the village would cost men, and he had too few of those already.
Eskkar’s veteran bowmen had taken months to train, a huge investment in time and effort, and he didn’t want to lose any of them, certainly not without some surety of success. But turning back would leave the inhabitants of Bisitun at the mercy of their occupiers, and for each day he delayed, the stronger his enemy’s position would become. It might take weeks or even a month to gather and train more men, and by then, Bisitun might be beyond saving.
The consequences to Akkad might be as serious. Without a pacified countryside producing crops and herds, the city’s growth might falter, and construction of the great wall itself might be delayed or even halted. That would bring ruin to Trella’s plans. For most of his life, Eskkar had concerned himself with his own problems; now he had to think and plan for a whole city, even the entire countryside. Thousands of people would be affected by whatever he decided, and the wrong choice might plunge the land back into chaos or open war, as devastating to Akkad as the Alur Meriki invasion.