by Sam Barone
“Many people left the city before the siege began,” Trella said. “Those who remained were willing to risk their lives for a new start. Still, I suppose there will always be some too lazy to work and too ready to steal. Unfortunately, they prefer to prey on the poor and weak.”
“Why wouldn’t they steal from the rich?”
“Look at yourself, Korthac,” Trella said. “Unlike the poor, you have guards to protect you. And where could a thief sell anything stolen from you? He’d have to leave Akkad, and hope not to be caught or robbed on the road.”
Anyone trying to take his gems would wind up dead, Korthac knew.
He’d selected only those quick and efficient to guard his person, and his guards knew all about thieves and assassins.
“You seem to care more for tradesmen and farmers than for the wealthy traders, Lady Trella.”
She laughed at that, a pleasant sound that made everyone’s eyes turn in her direction. “Perhaps that’s because the wealthy and prosperous need little from me. It’s only those that suffer privation who need help and guidance.”
Her concern was genuine, Korthac noted, surprised in spite of himself. In Egypt, rulers had claimed to lead the people as a wise father guides his family, but in truth, they’d done little more than take advantage of anyone weaker than themselves. And that, Korthac thought, was why he’d win here. The common people couldn’t be depended on, didn’t have the strength to endure hardship or difficulty, or the courage to face up to their conquerors. Once again he wondered about Eskkar, wondered if he, too, had the same feelings about the common rabble. Not likely, Korthac decided. Barbarians, he learned, had little use for anyone not of their own kind, anyone weaker than themselves.
“The people of Akkad are fortunate in their ruler, then.”
“The city is indeed blessed by the gods,” Trella said. “And, now, Honored Korthac, I must leave you. There is another meeting of the council this morning.”
He bowed, and she returned the gesture, before walking away, her guards forming around her. In a moment, she’d passed through the gate and disappeared. The few laggards on the dock who’d wasted time watching their discourse turned away, and returned to their own business, Lady Trella’s visit to Korthac and his tiny stall already forgotten.
Korthac swept the gems off the table and back into his pouch. Turning away from the gate, he stared at the sunlit river, not really seeing it, instead thinking of his words with Trella. She had her wits about her, he decided. Any other women in the city would have been pawing over the gems, commenting on their beauty, admiring them against the soft skin of their breasts. After a single glance, Trella had ignored the sparkling gems, keeping her eyes on his, and searching, he knew, for any hint of weakness.
Since he’d left Egypt, he had conversed with no one as an equal, but this slave girl knew something about the ways of men. If she wasn’t carrying another man’s whelp, he might even keep her on as his concubine, to amuse his thoughts and challenge his wits on occasion. After he trained her properly, of course. But, unfortunately for her, she was much too popular. Instead, she would play another role in his city, proving for everyone to see that he ruled here absolutely. It was a role that would see her dead at his feet soon enough.
Chapter 16
Five more days went by without event, and already a fortnight had passed since Ishtar’s feast. The late afternoon sun drifted toward the western horizon, and En-hedu considered packing up her wares for the day a good hour earlier than usual. This day, like all the other days and weeks before it, had brought little out of the ordinary. Business always slowed down in the late afternoon, when people, tired after a long day’s work, worried more about eating their dinner than buying trinkets.
She’d only sold one belt all day, and that before the noon hour, to a trader whose own had split.
She’d arrived in the lane at first light, just in time to watch Korthac head toward the river, a little earlier than he normally did. But he returned at noon, his regular hour, to take his midday meal in private. Korthac had moved into his new quarters two weeks ago, a few days after Ishtar’s festival. His new residence consisted of three small houses in a row, all attached together, with the central one slightly larger than the other two.
En-hedu had started selling her wares in Korthac’s lane two days before he took possession of his new house. By the time the Egyptian moved in, she’d become just another woman selling goods, her wares displayed only a few paces away from a farmer’s wife selling vegetables. At least half a dozen pushcarts lined the lane every day, sometimes blocking traffic as the vendors moved and shifted their carts and goods about, or their owners took time to gossip.
After so many days at her post, En-hedu knew the name of every one of the seventeen Egyptians, and spoke to all of them whenever they passed. But only if their master were absent. She’d soon learned not to call attention to herself, not with Korthac nearby. None would dare venture into the lane or even acknowledge her greeting.
The only small exception to that rule was Hathor. A serious-looking man who seldom smiled, he functioned as senior steward to Korthac. Or acted as occasional bodyguard, depending on the need. When Korthac left the house, Hathor took charge, and he spent his time moving between the three houses, checking on the men and maintaining order. That brought him out into the lane, and occasionally he would smile or nod a greeting to En-hedu as he passed. Twice he actually bought something from her cart.
A belt one time, and a wrist guard the other. He made other purchases for the household as well, sometimes in the lane, but more often in the marketplace, which held a better selection of goods.
To her surprise, he’d picked up the local language very well, and even ventured to ask about her other wares. En-hedu tried to draw him into conversation, but he never stayed long, or spoke much. He never acknowledged her presence if Korthac accompanied him.
The Egyptian leader remained as elusive as ever. After taking his midday meal, Korthac usually returned to the docks. Boats that had started their journey toward Akkad at dawn often arrived in the afternoon hours, and trading could be brisk until late in the day. Today, though, Korthac remained within his walls. Then in the middle of the afternoon, two men she had never seen before walked up to Korthac’s house. The door wardens recognized them and passed them inside, without the usual challenge. The strangers, hard-looking men in dirty tunics, remained less than an hour, then departed, walking toward the river gate.
As they did so, several of Korthac’s men began passing from one house to the other, and the attitude of the guards changed. Those stationed at the doors seemed more tense, and the quick smiles they often directed at her disappeared. That piqued En-hedu’s interest even more than the strangers’ visitation. She changed her mind about quitting early, and began working on another belt, using a tiny bronze needle to etch a design in the soft leather. The simple pattern occupied her hands and still let her watch the lane, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
——
You say Ariamus is ready to cross the river?” Seated on a small stool, Korthac’s words sounded harsh in the small, windowless chamber he used when he desired complete privacy.
“Yes, lord,” Rihat answered, sitting cross-legged on the floor before Korthac. “All the men are in place, hiding in the hills just across the Tigris. Ariamus said to tell you we can attack today, or wait until tomorrow, if you need more time.”
“No, we will attack today, at dusk, just as we planned. You’re sure no one saw our force?”
“None that we left alive, lord.” Rihat licked his lips. “Ariamus was very careful. We traveled most of the night, then took shelter in the hills. We saw only a few herders, tending their flocks.”
Korthac studied Rihat with care. One of Ariamus’s subcommanders, Rihat appeared to have his wits about him, though he looked nervous at finally meeting Korthac face to face. Not that that meant anything. Korthac knew he made most men uneasy. The man showed the fatigue of days of
hard traveling. His face covered with sweat, he gulped another mouthful of water from the cup. He glanced from Korthac to Hathor, the only other man present in the room.
“Listen to me very carefully,” Korthac said, speaking with deliberation. “Tell them they’re to cross today, an hour before sunset.” He kept his eyes locked on Rihat, probing for any signs of inattentiveness or fear.
“Then you’ll approach the city from the south, and wait for my signal.”
“Yes, lord. Takany and Nebibi explained everything. They made sure everything was prepared before they sent me on ahead.”
Both Takany and Nebibi knew the penalty for failure to obey orders exactly. Korthac worried more about Ariamus and his men. They represented the unknown quantity, and if they failed, Korthac might be left trapped in the city.
“Lord, do you want me to return with Rihat, to make sure the men are ready?”
Hathor offered the suggestion humbly enough, and Korthac considered the question for a moment before he answered. “No, I need you here, Hathor. Rihat can convey my orders word for word to Takany and Ariamus. Isn’t that right, Rihat?”
Korthac’s tone dripped with menace, and Rihat dropped his eyes to the floor. “Yes, lord,” he finally answered when the silence between them stretched out. “Exactly as you say.”
“Good.” Korthac even permitted himself a small smile to encourage the man. “You will be rewarded when the city is ours. Now, return to Takany and tell them to make sure they get across the Tigris without being seen. Then they’re to follow the river to the gate, and await my signal. They must not be late.”
Korthac nodded to Hathor, who stood and extended his hand to Rihat, pulling him to his feet. The two men left the room, leaving Korthac alone with his thoughts. Takany would be the one who’d suggested waiting another day. He would have wanted to rest the men. No doubt all of them were weary after four days of hard traveling, mostly at night, to reach Akkad’s outskirts unseen.
Still, Korthac knew someone in the countryside would have seen something, and a hint of his men’s passage would probably arrive in the morning. Besides, the longer the men had to wait, the more likely something else would go wrong, or that Takany and Ariamus would get in some argument and blood would flow. And right now, Korthac knew he needed Ariamus and his horsemen more than Takany, a brute fighter completely loyal to his master.
Hathor returned to the room and stood in the doorway. “Rihat and his companion are on their way back, lord.”
“Summon Simut. It’s time to prepare.”
Hathor stepped away, returning in a few moments with Simut, another one of Korthac’s “bodyguards” who’d proven himself in many fights over the years.
“Gather your three men, Simut,” Korthac began. “Do you know what to do?” Korthac had gone over this assignment several times with the man, so there was no need to go into the details again. “Make sure you give yourself enough time to find Gatus and kill him.”
Simut nodded. “I understand, lord. He shall die in the lane returning to his house.”
They’d studied Gatus’s routine for over a week. The captain of the guard would finish his duties at the barracks or the council house, then visit his favorite tavern for a single mug of ale before heading back to his house just as dusk fell.
“If something goes wrong, Simut,” Korthac said, “if the alarm is given, you’ll have to kill him as he leaves the alehouse. The man must die, no matter how many men you lose.”
“Yes, lord. I’ll not fail you.”
Of all the men in the city, only Gatus had the experience and presence to act as a rallying point for any resistance. With all of the other senior men out of Akkad, the rest of the soldiers and the city’s inhabitants would look to him for leadership. So the old soldier had to die first, to dishearten the soldiers and the people.
“Then you’ll be well rewarded when we have the city.” Korthac turned to Hathor. “You’ll keep the gate to Trella’s house open?”
Trella’s house, with its surrounding wall and force of soldiers stationed within, would be easy to defend, given sufficient warning. And Trella would provide another rallying point for resistance. Korthac preferred to capture her alive, if possible, but dead or alive, the house must be taken before it could become a stronghold to rally the city’s inhabitants.
Korthac had given that dangerous assignment to Hathor. The man could think while he fought, and he knew the importance of capturing the house.
“As soon as Takany’s inside the river gate, I’ll join you at the house, Hathor. Just hold the gate open until I arrive.”
“Yes, lord. The gate will stay open.”
“Then by tonight, we will rule in Akkad,” Korthac said. He looked from one to the other. Neither man showed any sign of doubt or fear. They’d fought at Korthac’s side before, and he’d always led them to victory. They understood the plan, and had no questions. They were ready.
“Prepare your men,” Korthac ordered. “It is time.”
En-hedu pretended not to notice Korthac’s men moving about, and kept hawking her wares at every passerby, often following shoppers for a dozen steps up and down the lane, a convenient excuse to move about and study any goings-on. The sun had begun to sink toward the western hills when she noted Hathor leaving Korthac’s house, accompanied by four men, two of them carrying rolled-up blankets under their arms. En-hedu thought that a little odd; she’d never seen Hathor go anywhere with more than one guard before. She called out to him, but either he didn’t hear or had no time for her usual banter.
By now business at the river dock would be winding down, and certainly no boats would be setting forth so close to sundown. En-hedu still puzzled over what it might mean when Simut, another of Korthac’s bodyguards, departed the house, accompanied by three more men. Again, two of them carried bulky bundles.
Unsure of what, if anything, these strange goings-on meant, she knew she must tell Tammuz. En-hedu began packing up her leather goods displayed upon the cart’s frayed blanket. The blanket also served to transport the items, and in a few moments it resembled the bundles Korthac’s men carried, only shorter. Using two mismatched leather strips, she fastened the ends of the blanket to seal it.
Her mind kept working, however. Weeks had gone by with nothing out of the ordinary. Now many of the Egyptians were moving about, and the change in their manner worried her.
By the time she finished packing up her goods, she heard voices speaking Egyptian, and looked up to see Korthac exit the house, accompanied by two of his men. Again, one of Korthac’s followers carried what seemed a heavy bundle, this one a bit longer than those carried by the other men.
En-hedu never looked up, even when Korthac passed within an arm’s length of her cart. She watched his feet through her tangled hair, and waited until he disappeared down the lane. The sight of the grim Egyptian worried her. She felt tempted to leave the cart, but an abandoned cart might call attention to herself. Best to move it as she did every night, shoving it down the lane, back to Ninbanda’s house, where it would be safe. But before she could start the cart moving, a fourth group of Egyptians stepped into the lane.
Staring at their feet, she counted five of them. The number surprised her. That meant the three houses were now empty, whatever contents the dwellings contained left unguarded. In the six weeks she’d watched the houses, Korthac never had less than half of his men inside, guarding his property.
This last group, however, did not go toward the river. Instead they went up the lane, toward the center of Akkad. She watched their backs for a moment, then leaned her weight against the cart, which yielded reluctantly with a screech of wood against wood. En-hedu, alarmed now, used all her strength to keep the cart moving, unmindful of those who had to dart out of its path as it creaked and wobbled along. When she reached Ninbanda’s hut, she didn’t pause, just shoved the cart against the hut’s entrance as she called out to the woman to attend it. En-hedu hurried down another lane toward the alehouse.
&nbs
p; Something was wrong. She found herself running, clutching the heavy blanket of wares to her chest and dodging between the work-weary villagers plodding back to their homes. Breathing hard, she turned into the narrow lane that led to Tammuz’s alehouse, ducked past two men who tried to greet her, pushed through the half-open door, and ran inside.
Kuri looked up at the noise, but she ignored his usual smile. “Where’s Tammuz? Is he here?” She dropped her bundle, worried that Tammuz might have been watching the house, might even have followed Hathor or Simut’s party. But Tammuz stepped out from their private room. He’d heard the door bang and her excited voice.
“En-hedu, what’s . . .” One look at her face silenced him.
She pushed him back into the bedroom and closed the door. Keeping her voice low, she described what she’d seen.
“These bundles . . . how big were they?”
En-hedu held her hands an arm’s length apart. “The blankets that Korthac’s men carried were longer, and thicker, too.”
“Mmm, not long enough for bows.” Tammuz’s eyes widened. “Swords? Could they have carried swords?”
“Yes, I suppose . . . I didn’t hear anything clanking.”
Swearing under his breath, Tammuz scooped up his belt and swung it around him. From habit, En-hedu helped him fasten it, fear rising in her when she saw him loosen the knife in its sheath.
“I’m going to Eskkar’s house to warn Trella,” he said. “You stay here with Kuri.”
He slipped through the door, then out of the alehouse, moving at a run.
En-hedu stood there, stunned. What could Tammuz do, with one good arm and only a knife? If there were trouble, he would . . .
She stepped back into the common room. One of the patrons saw her, and called out for another ale and something to eat. En-hedu stared at him unheedingly, then noticed his companion. The man carried a knife on his belt.