by Sam Barone
Lady Trella waited, and when my master didn’t answer, she dropped four coins on the floor, called my name, and told me to come with her. Then she turned and left. I wanted to follow her, but couldn’t get to my feet. One of the soldiers had to help me. I thought I’d been saved by a goddess. I couldn’t stop crying.”
He reached across the table and touched her hand. “There’ll be no beatings here, En-hedu. I’ve never had a slave before, and I’m not sure how you can help me. This place will look even worse in the morning, nothing like Lady Trella’s fine house. If you wish, you can return to her service. I’m sure she can find someone . . . someone better for you.”
She pondered his words for a moment. “No. Lady Trella said I could be helpful to you, and that what you do was important to Lord Eskkar and her. I will stay with you. She said you needed a woman to look after you. I’m strong, and work hard. Don’t send me away.”
Before he could answer, En-hedu stood up.
“Now it is time to sleep. Come to bed, master.”
Tammuz heard the rustle of her dress as she pulled it over her head.
Then she took his hand and guided him next to the bed. Without asking, she helped remove his tunic, then crawled into the bed, closest to the wall.
When he joined her, she pulled the blanket over them both.
He felt her naked body against him, and couldn’t resist reaching out his hand. She flinched at his touch, then lay still, submitting to his caress.
Tammuz, his member painfully stiff, hesitated. He remembered Trella’s words. “Be patient,” she’d said. Taking a deep breath, he took En-hedu’s hand in his, and told her to sleep. He waited a long time, staring up into the darkness, until her breathing grew rhythmic and he knew she slept. To his surprise, he found her presence comforting.
And distracting. He felt her warmth under the blanket, and his erection refused to subside. For someone who’d never had a woman—now to have a girl in his bed seemed a dream come true.
To take his mind off En-hedu, he started thinking about Korthac.
Like many others in Akkad, Tammuz had gaped the first time he’d seen the Egyptian walking about the lanes, often with only a single bodyguard. But after a few days, the novelty wore off, and Tammuz, like most of Akkad, forgot about the man. Nevertheless, Lady Trella sensed something odd, something dangerous, about Korthac, and she seldom made mistakes in such matters. Tammuz tried to remember all the things he’d heard about the foreigner.
Korthac spent most of his day at the inn he’d chosen for his home.
His men stayed close by, never wandering about alone, not drinking in the ale shops, not doing much of anything, staying inside even in the light of day. Tammuz realized how odd that was. Servants, whether bodyguards or porters or household slaves, were always wandering about, trying to avoid work and their masters.
Tammuz knew all about the petty thefts servants and slaves engaged in, either from their masters or neighbors. Clothing disappeared, sandals, trinkets, dozens of small items often vanished and reappeared at the local alehouses, sometimes traded for a single cup of ale. Many brought such things to his establishment to sell, or to those traders in the marketplace who didn’t ask questions. But as far as he knew, none of Korthac’s men had ever entered his or any other alehouse in Akkad.
He wondered if Trella had noticed this. No, she would have mentioned it. Something like that was probably too insignificant a detail for Trella’s spies, something that should be, but wasn’t. Tammuz wondered if he’d noticed a small detail Trella hadn’t . . . and what that might mean. He put the thought aside for later. Lady Trella, he knew, had a keen interest in small details, always asking for more and more information. Tammuz made a mental note to ask her about it.
Tomorrow he’d take a closer look at Korthac’s inn. Tammuz could ask one of his patrons to approach Korthac’s men, looking for something to buy. If he could get one of the Egyptians to sell some trinket, he might be able to learn something useful about their master.
This whole business could turn out to be nothing, just misplaced curiosity on Lady Trella’s part. Still, she had summoned him to her house and asked for his help. Never before had she, or anyone, for that matter, asked him for anything. He’d passed on bits of talk he heard, men grumbling over their ale, but nothing of importance had ever come to his attention.
This Korthac might actually present some small danger to Akkad. Tammuz determined to solve the riddle, if for no other reason than to justify Lady Trella’s asking him.
With that decided, he drifted off to sleep, again thinking about the warmth of En-hedu’s body brushing against him, as she turned in her sleep.
It would be difficult to restrain himself. Still, if Tammuz had learned one thing since smashing his arm, it was how to be patient.
They woke together at dawn, bodies curled against one another. Tammuz hadn’t shared a bed with anyone, let alone a woman, in months. Since the day he and Kuri moved into the alehouse, he’d slept alone in the back room, enjoying the luxury of privacy he never experienced before in his life.
Nevertheless, despite the shared bed and the shortened night, Tammuz slept deeply. Turning toward En-hedu, he saw that she’d pushed the blanket down during her sleep, exposing her breasts to the morning light.
The sight made his member harden.
En-hedu, conscious of his gaze, closed her eyes and turned away. She didn’t try to cover herself. She said nothing, simply lay there, waiting for him to take her. Be patient. Trella’s advice echoed in his mind. He pushed himself up off the bed and dressed before speaking.
“The chamber pot is there. I have to wake the customers. Kuri is never much help in the mornings.”
She sat up in bed, and once again he found himself looking at her body. In the light he could see scars and lingering bruises from her former master. He must have enjoyed hurting her. No one should be beaten like that. To carry bruises for so long . . . her old master must be a savage, worse than any barbarian.
Tammuz remembered the countless beatings he’d had growing up.
Like all boys, he expected to be beaten, and not only by his father. The older boys took advantage of the younger, the same as the strong took advantage of the weak. He’d learned that fact of life early. When he’d grown old enough to steal, he’d received a few more beatings, this time by his victims, until he learned not to get caught.
But even the worst of these chastisements left no scars on his body—more punishment than for the pleasure of inflicting pain. Then he’d joined Eskkar’s men as a stable boy. He worked with horses before, knew their ways, and made himself useful to the soldiers. A few weeks later Tammuz begged his way onto the captain of the guard’s first expedition against the Alur Meriki. Tammuz remembered how thrilled he’d been when Eskkar asked if he wanted to care for the horses.
Now he’d grown into manhood, and, crippled or not, no one would beat him again. The knife he wore every moment of the day insured that. When Kuri first saw him fumbling with the blade, the former soldier showed him how to use it. How to hold it, how to move with it, how to strike and counterstrike, how to retreat, and the parts of the body where a thrust would do the most damage. Most of all, Kuri taught him how to read his opponent’s eyes, and how to wait for the right moment to strike. Be patient. Trella and Kuri apparently shared the same beliefs.
As Kuri explained, a knife fight often turned into a bloody affair for both combatants, and even the victor could bleed out. Practice hard now, the old man advised, and stay alive later. Since he’d taken over the alehouse, Tammuz spent an hour or more each day practicing, handling the knife, moving and thrusting with it. He found he had to work extra hard to compensate for his nearly useless left arm.
The patrons helped instruct him. Some had plenty of experience handling a knife, and their nimble hands and feet moved far quicker than the aging Kuri could ever do. Tammuz felt the strength and coordination of his right arm grow each day, and the quickness of his feet soon made up fo
r his weak left arm. Those who frequented the alehouse took notice of his growing skill. No one considered him a boy anymore.
Putting such thoughts aside, he unbarred the bedroom door. Tammuz worked his way through the inn’s only other room, using his foot to nudge those still sleeping awake. Kuri, snoring loudly, slept against the door, the sword at his side. Each morning Tammuz had to wake the old soldier. Depending on how much Kuri had drunk the night before, getting him awake could be a chore.
“Get up, Kuri. It’s past dawn.”
By the time he had the old man on his feet, the other patrons had reached the door, mumbling and shuffling out into the lane, shielding their eyes from the already bright morning sun, to relieve themselves against the nearby walls. Tammuz turned to find En-hedu standing beside him and looking about.
“Is there food here for your breakfast, master?”
There might be, but nothing he would offer to her. He shook his head, and reached into his pouch. “Take this to the market, and buy enough for the three of us,” he said, handing her a few copper coins. “Kuri, go with her, and keep her safe. Make sure everyone knows who she is.”
Once those living and working nearby knew she belonged to him, she’d be safe enough. In a day or so, she could go about on her own.
While they were gone, Tammuz spoke with two men who still remained inside, men who preferred not to be seen in daylight, men being hunted by their victims or by the captain of the guard’s men. Fortunately, most of the guards knew Kuri had soldiered with Gatus. That friendship usually kept any members of the watch outside, though once, while looking for a murderer, they pushed their way inside. Luckily for Tammuz, the killer had already left. The guards’ leader had looked about at the poor furnishings, spat on the floor, and left.
Tammuz told the two men what they owed for food, ale, and use of the floor to sleep. One who had the coins paid up; the other left to earn it, by whatever means he could. He knew better than to come back empty-handed. If desperate men needed a safe place to stay, they would have to pay for it, and how they got their copper didn’t concern Tammuz.
Nevertheless, all of his customers had received one warning: no killing. Murderers would not be protected. Even Tammuz couldn’t chance harboring a killer, exposing himself to the villagers’ wrath for anyone who violated the customs by concealing such an offender.
That task done, Tammuz checked the ale supply, first to make sure none of the guests had tapped the big clay jars during the night, and then to see how much more he needed to buy. His stock needed frequent replenishing. That meant a trip to the market this morning for at least two more jars.
En-hedu returned, carrying a basket that smelled of fresh bread, with Kuri limping behind. The three went into Tammuz’s room to eat their breakfast bread and sausage, and sip well-watered ale from crudely carved cups. When they finished, Tammuz gave Kuri some silver coins, and told him to buy more ale.
Kuri left, grabbing two new customers to accompany him and carry back the filled jars. A free mug of ale would pay for their labor.
En-hedu swept the bread crumbs into the basket, then faced Tammuz across the table. “What should I do, master?”
A good question, one that needed discussing, but one he couldn’t talk about here, not with the door open and men hanging about. “Come, let’s go for a walk.”
Fortunately, during the mornings, usually nothing much happened at the alehouse, and Kuri could take care of the few customers that came. At dusk, things got busy, and Tammuz knew En-hedu would be useful serving the customers.
Once in the lane, she moved to his left side and took his hand without saying a word. He led the way down the lane. Her touch affected him, and the vision of her naked breasts flashed into his thoughts. By the time he got the sight out of his mind, they’d traversed two lanes, and reached the lane where Korthac resided.
Tammuz slowed his pace. “That’s where Korthac is staying,” he said, pointing to the inn a few dozen paces ahead. A bored guard stood at the door, a sword at his waist. “The Egyptian won’t stay in this place much longer. He’ll be moving to a fine house, away from common folk.”
“Lady Trella said only Korthac’s men lived inside, except for the innkeeper,” En-hedu said.
The guard didn’t even look up as they passed. They kept going, and soon they reached the river gate. Turning south, they walked in silence until the walls of Akkad slipped behind them, and the fresh air of the farms cleared their lungs. A flat rock near the river gave them a place to sit.
“You want to learn about this Korthac?” En-hedu pulled her knees up and held them with her arms.
“Yes. Lady Trella wants to know what he’s planning.” Tammuz told her everything he knew about Korthac, his tight control of his men, the way he kept them apart from the rest of Akkad.
“We should find out where his new house will be,” she said. “Perhaps I can help. It would be good to keep watch on his new home, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, but they’d soon notice anyone hanging about all day.”
“Yes . . . but if I were selling something or other, like any street vendor, no one would notice me.”
He looked at her. A woman normally didn’t make such suggestions to a man, let alone a slave to her master. But she wasn’t merely a slave. Trella had urged him to listen to her, which meant Trella believed in her wits.
“And if I set up my cart before they moved in, no one would suspect anything.” She shifted on the rock, to look straight into his eyes. “This is something I can do, Tammuz. A slave has to earn her keep. It’s what any servant would do for her master.”
“And at night, you could return to the alehouse,” he mused, “to help with the serving. Once it grew dark, I could keep watch on Korthac’s home from any of the rooftops.” He touched her hand. “You would do this?”
“To help you, to help Lady Trella . . . this is nothing, master. I worked from dawn to dusk with my old master, tanning hides. Look at my arms.”
She lifted her hands up.
Her arms looked as strong as any farm woman’s who labored all day in the fields. But his eyes noted her arms for only a moment, before being drawn to her breasts. He looked away when she dropped her arms.
“Master, you need not look away. You may take me whenever you wish. I’ve been taken many times.”
Tammuz ground his teeth at the thought of her former master. “En-hedu, I’ve never been with a woman. When I do lie with one, I want her to be willing . . . to want me.” The words had come out without thinking, but what surprised him more was that he remembered where he’d heard such words before: at the campfire a few days before Eskkar’s return to Akkad.
Someone had asked the captain of the guard about his slave, Trella. And Eskkar had answered that he no longer wanted to take women against their will, that he found it more satisfying to take his pleasure with someone who wanted him.
“Tammuz, I’m not sure I will ever want to be with a man. All I have is the memory of pain. Pain and humiliation.”
Her former master again. The man should die. And why not ? “En-hedu, Lady Trella gave you to me so that you could help me.” He stood and extended his hand. “Perhaps we can help each other. But for now, let’s make our plans for this Korthac, before we have to get back. Otherwise Kuri will drink all the fresh ale.”
She clasped his hand, and he felt the pleasure of her touch flow through him. Be patient, he thought. Then he thought about her former master. I’ll be patient with him, too, he decided, patient until I put my knife between his ribs.
Chapter 8
The noonday sun shone straight down on Bisitun before Eskkar sat down for the first time. He stretched weary legs straight out and let himself relax for a moment. Since the sunrise capture of Ninazu, Eskkar and his men had rushed about the village, scarcely pausing to scoop a cup of water or a fistful of bread. Chaos ruled all morning, with a hundred tasks demanding his attention.
While Sisuthros worked on securing the village, Eskkar r
ounded up every horse he could find and put them under guard. Mounted Akkadians already ringed the palisade to make sure no bandits escaped. Sentries stood watch at the two gates as well, while the rest of Eskkar’s men guarded prisoners.
Eskkar had escorted Ninazu, his arms bound tightly to his sides, back to his own house. The sight of the bandit leader being led through the lanes helped restore order to the village. Once there, Eskkar ordered one of Ninazu’s legs broken, to make sure he didn’t attempt to escape.
Meanwhile Hamati took a squad of men and searched every house and hut, looking for bandits trying to hide within the dwellings or on rooftops.
That took most of the morning. When they finished, they’d discovered and captured nearly a dozen more of Ninazu’s men scattered through Bisitun, cowering in corners or huddled under blankets. One bandit attempted to fight his way out, killing an innocent villager in the process. Mitrac killed the bandit with an arrow when he refused to surrender.
By midmorning Eskkar felt satisfied his men had captured or killed all of Ninazu’s men. Gradually a sense of relief settled over the village.
The women stopped their screaming, the men their cursing. Still, most of Bisitun’s frightened inhabitants stayed in their huts, wondering what new woes these Akkadians from the south would bring to them.
Eskkar dispatched men to locate and gather the village elders and leading merchants, though few enough of them remained. At the same time, three messengers on captured horses rode out into the countryside, to spread the word of Ninazu’s overthrow and bring in the more substantial farmers, so that everyone could see what Bisitun’s new leaders had accomplished.
As the populace realized they would not be pillaged and raped, they gathered their courage and headed for the market area, empty except for Eskkar’s men and a few horses. In prosperous times, it would be filled with carts selling all manner of crops, animals, and goods, but for most of the morning, not a cart, vendor, not even a beggar, could be seen.