by Sam Barone
Outside, Alexar and a handful of soldiers stood there, curiosity on their faces, no doubt wondering about what had passed inside. Eskkar shoved the torch into the dirt to extinguish it, then handed the still-smoking stick to the nearest man.
“Watch him closely. No one is to visit him or hurt him. Keep two men with him at all times. He must not kill himself. We want him alive, to take the torture in the morning. Give him plenty of water and a few mouthfuls of wine. Food if he wants any. I don’t want him passing out too soon.”
“We’ll watch him, don’t worry about that,” Alexar said.
Eskkar went to the well at the back of the house, drew up a bucket of water, and washed his hands and face. By the time he finished, a servant joined him, carrying a clean tunic. A soldier drew up more water and Eskkar washed the rest of his body, taking his time and scrubbing away the last traces of blood and dirt.
Feeling refreshed, and dressed in a clean tunic for the first time in days, Eskkar returned to the workroom and sat down, the first chance he’d had to take some rest since leaving Rebba’s farm. He’d hardly slept from the time he left Bisitun. The servants had left pitchers of wine and water on the table, next to day-old bread. No one in Akkad had the thought or time to bake this morning. Eskkar soaked the bread in his wine cup before eating, but drank only water to wash it down. Too much wine, and he’d be of little use to anyone.
For the first few hours after the fighting ended, everyone sought to speak, plead, or advise Eskkar. But as soon as he knew Akkad had been secured, he refused to deal further with anyone. He ordered Gatus and Alexar to keep everyone but the subcommanders, healers, and servants away from the upper rooms. A dozen Hawk Clan guards, released from the barracks and still weak from their ordeal, stood guard over the house, directed by Mitrac, whose arrows had brought down the last of the insurgents within Akkad an hour after sunrise.
With something in his stomach, Eskkar felt himself relaxing. It was good to just sit and rest.
Steps sounded on the stairs and Gatus limped into the room and closed the door behind him. He took the seat across the table. A fresh bandage wrapped around his body above his sword belt. “How are they?” He kept his voice low, and inclined his head toward the bedroom.
“Good. Both asleep, along with the child.”
“Thank the gods for that, Eskkar.” Gatus kept his voice low, even though the door stood closed. “I wanted to help her, but . . . I couldn’t even get word to her.”
“There was nothing you could do.”
The old soldier picked up a cup with hands that trembled a little, filled it with wine, and took a sip. “If it weren’t for Tammuz and his woman, I’d be twice dead. Now we both owe him.”
“His woman?” He remembered seeing Tammuz and a girl earlier in the day, just a glimpse in the lane outside the house.
Gatus laughed. “You remember the slave girl Trella rescued, the one being beaten half to death by her master? She gave the girl to Tammuz. You should have seen the boy’s face. He was more scared of her than any three barbarians. She killed at least one bandit that I know of, maybe two. Tammuz killed a few more during the confusion.”
“I’ll have to thank him, then. There are so many to thank . . . especially you. Then Drakis, Annok-sur, even Rebba, they all put their lives at stake.”
Gatus ignored the praise. “Not me. All I did was hide, then kill a few rogues in the confusion. By the time I got to the barracks, Klexor had finished off most of the Egyptians. The rest surrendered.” He sighed. “Anyway, I set up a command post at the barracks. Corio is there, working with Rebba and the nobles still alive. They’re finding those who collaborated with Korthac, and locking them in the same prison the Egyptian kept our men. What will you do to them?”
Eskkar shrugged. The traitors could be dealt with later, when order was established and the council reconvened. “When Trella recovers, she’ll decide who should be punished. How is Nicar?”
“He took a nasty knock from Ariamus, but he’s back in his house, carried there by his friends and family. He’ll be up and about in a few days.”
“What else?” Eskkar’s legs ached from weariness. His eyes felt heavy again, and the need for sleep passed over him like a wave.
“There’s been at least a dozen murders since the fighting stopped, people taking their revenge against those who supported Korthac.”
“To be expected, I suppose,” Eskkar said. “Anyone I should be concerned about?”
“No, not really, just . . . I did recognize one of the dead. A tanner, who also happened to be the former owner of Tammuz’s new slave. Old Kuri found the body, it seems.”
Eskkar shrugged. No one would concern themselves over a drunken and unpopular tanner.
“Drakis lost most of his men,” Gatus went on. “He took several wounds, but seized and held the gate despite being greatly outnumbered.
He had the worst of the fighting, but because of him, Bantor slaughtered most of Korthac’s men and captured the rest. They never got the gate open, and the ground there was covered with bodies.”
“Will Drakis live?”
“So Ventor says. And Grond is resting downstairs. He should recover in a few weeks. The man’s made of bronze.”
“He not only saved my life, he found the way into the house, Gatus.”
“You’ll have to raise his pay again, I suppose.”
Eskkar smiled for a moment before he drained his water cup and refilled it. “I told Alexar to take charge here. He’s organizing the search parties, looking for any of Korthac’s stragglers.”
Gatus shook his head in admiration. “Not a scratch on the man. Fought at both gates, killed at least a dozen men, and didn’t even get his tunic dirty.”
“Did you meet Yavtar? I gave him some men and told him to guard the docks, and to make sure that no boats leave Akkad.”
“Yes, he fought at the main gate, too. I’ve given the same order to those at the main gate. No one is to leave until we’ve rounded up all of Korthac’s men and our own traitors. I’ve got men riding around the walls, looking for anyone trying to slip away.”
Hundreds of angry Akkadians seeking revenge had joined in the search for the remnants of Korthac’s men. The Egyptians, recognizable by their darker skin color, proved easy to find. Some of the men who Ariamus had brought into the city still had to be unearthed. Together, soldiers and citizens searched house by house, and one by one, were rounding up the bandits who had terrorized Akkad.
“Good. When Bantor returns, we can start patrolling the countryside.”
“The soldiers searched Akkad for Ariamus, but no one saw the traitorous filth. His body wasn’t among the dead. Finally a boy came forward and said that he saw Ariamus and some Egyptians go over the south wall.”
Eskkar yawned. “The battle rage is still on Bantor. He won’t be back until he finds Ariamus. I told him to bring him back alive if he could.”
Gatus finished his wine and ripped a handful of bread from the loaf.
“Bantor fought well. Do you think he’ll catch Ariamus? The man’s like a snake in a swamp for hiding.”
“You wouldn’t ask that if you’d seen Bantor.”
“I’ll be just as happy to piss on his body,” Gatus said. “Ariamus strutted around Akkad, looking pleased as any rich merchant with three fat wives.”
Gatus leaned across the table. “Your eyes are closing. Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll relieve Alexar and keep watch downstairs.”
Before Eskkar could argue, Gatus was on his way, closing the door to the upper chamber behind him. Eskkar tried to finish his bread, but he had no appetite. His thoughts wandered, so he lowered his head on his arms and closed his eyes, to rest for a few moments.
He fell into a deep sleep within a dozen heartbeats. So deep that he didn’t hear the servants passing to and from the inner room, nor his son waking and crying to be fed.
When he awoke, his neck and arms felt stiff, and his back complained when he straightened up. His thro
at felt parched, and he drained his water cup, then stretched his arms until the stiffness went away. Rested now, a glance at the window told him he’d slept for more than an hour. The door to the bedroom stood open, and he heard Trella’s voice. The chair scraped loudly when he arose, and in a moment Drusala appeared.
“Lady Trella is asking for you, Lord Eskkar. Can you come to her?”
Trella, her head propped up by a cushion, smiled at him when he approached. Annok-sur had gone. Sargon nestled in Trella’s arm, nursing, and a bandage covered her side. Drusala slipped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.
“Have you seen your son, Eskkar?” Her voice sounded stronger, and she reached out toward him with her hand.
He sat on the edge of the bed, taking care not to disturb the child.
“Yes. The midwife told me of his delivery, and what you suffered. Are you in pain?” He took her hand in his.
“Ventor and Drusala say I will recover. The pain is passing now that you and Sargon are both here.”
“Trella, I’m sorry. I should have come sooner.” The words came out in a rush.
“We’ll speak of it later, husband. All that matters is that you returned to save Akkad.”
“I didn’t come back for Akkad. I came for you. The moment I heard . . . I came as fast as I could.”
She squeezed his hand, and tears formed in her eyes. “You saved our son’s life. That’s all that matters. Korthac would have killed us both soon enough, after he’d taken his pleasures.”
The thought of the humiliation she’d endured wrenched at him, and he held her hand tighter. “As Korthac reminded me, you saved my life last night. Without your little knife thrust . . . Where did you get such a thing?”
“The birthing knife. A gift from Drusala. We’ll have to repay that debt.”
The baby squirmed at her breast for a moment before settling down again, and she stroked his head. “We knew Korthac was concealing something, but I never thought . . . none of us suspected anything like this.” She shook her head at her failure. “He laughed at me, said I was just an ignorant girl trying to play at ruling men. He made me . . . I had to . . .”
Eskkar reached out to touch her lips with his finger, stopping the flow of words. “I’ve fought many men, Trella, but no one with Korthac’s skills. Never. But for the luck of the gods, and your help, he might have won. It’s no disgrace to battle a worthy opponent.”
She blinked back the tears. “Your luck still runs true, then. The gods continue to favor you.”
“The gods favor me because of you.” He gazed down at the child in wonder, and his voice softened. “Now they’ll have to watch over Sargon as well. He seems . . . so small and helpless.” Eskkar touched the child’s cheek with his finger, fascinated by the boy’s soft skin.
“Sargon will need your protection and strength for many years, husband. He will rule over our city someday. Who knows what he will accomplish?”
“He and Akkad will need your wisdom. Just as it needs Corio’s new walls to defend it.”
“Long after we are gone, our voices will linger in these walls, for as long as this place remains. Let us hope our son honors us both.”
The child had stopped nursing and fallen asleep. Eskkar stroked its fi ne black hair, feeling a pride grow inside him that he’d never known before. His son. The son who would carry on his line, who would make Eskkar live on through the ages to come, lay before him, nestled safely in his mother’s arms.
“You seem pleased with our son. I hope you will teach him many things. How to rule, how to fight, how to lead.”
“He will learn more from you than I can ever teach him. You speak of fighting, but fighting a war is easy. Destroying is easy. Building a new way of life out of what is left is hard. That’s what he will learn from his mother.”
“Then we will teach him together, husband.”
“Yes, together.” He leaned down and kissed her, taking care not to awaken the child. But her lips were warm, and still held the promise he’d always found there, the gift of love and tenderness that had won him over months ago. Eskkar put his arms around both of them, holding them close.
Trella had more tears on her face, but this time he knew they were tears of happiness, and he kissed them away.
Chapter 31
Hathor woke to pain, pain that possessed every part of his body. It had started yesterday with the arrow in his leg, the heavy shaft tearing into hard muscle above the knee before lodging in bone, but thankfully missing the big blood carrier. He’d fainted for a few moments when they held him down and tore the shaft from his body. When Hathor regained consciousness, he found his wound bound with a piece of tunic taken from one of the dead. Rough hands lifted him onto a horse.
Dazed from the wound, he clutched at the horse’s mane with both hands, struggling to stay on. If they thought he couldn’t ride, they’d tie him across the animal’s back, and the pain would be even worse.
One man held the halter while another rode alongside, in case Hathor started to fall off. They rode at an easy pace, laughing and talking among themselves, all except for their leader, named Bantor, who rode at their head in silence. Another horse carried the corpse of Ariamus, the only body the Akkadians bothered to bring back with them.
This Bantor apparently had some personal grudge against the traitor Ariamus. No doubt Ariamus’s body would be displayed next to that of Korthac. The bodies of Hathor’s men remained where they had fallen, left to animals and carrion eaters.
Thinking of Korthac made the anger bubble up inside Hathor. He’d seen the wave of Akkadian soldiers jogging down the lane to attack the main gate, followed by hundreds of the city’s inhabitants. One look at their sheer number had stopped him in his tracks. Hathor had nearly recaptured the gate, but the sight of hundreds of angry citizens carrying makeshift weapons and rushing to support their liberators told him the effort had failed. Sounds of battle from the other tower made Hathor look up, and he saw that more Akkadians had captured that one as well.
Ariamus had seen the same thing, and reached the same conclusion even faster. All was lost. The wily bandit deserted first, slipping away, running toward the southern wall, escape the only thought in his head. At that moment a chill of fear had come over Hathor, the first time he’d felt fear in years of fighting, as he thought about his fate.
Ariamus could possibly escape. He could blend in with his country-men. But the Egyptians, wearing the mark of the west on their features and in their speech, had no place to hide. Hathor knew his only hope was to run.
With that realization, Hathor turned and sprinted after Ariamus, cursing himself as a coward for abandoning his men and refusing to fight to the end. Without a word of protest, the handful of men standing alongside Hathor followed. Korthac, even if he still lived, had lost the city and everyone knew it. Now they had to save themselves.
Ariamus had dodged through the back lanes, leading them away from the fighting. Their swords clearing the path, they reached an unguarded portion of the south wall. They climbed the parapet and hung from the wall before dropping to the ground. Then they ran, as hard and fast as they could.
In an hour they’d managed to cover more than three miles, and reached countryside untouched by the chaos behind them. They kept moving, and with every step, Hathor felt more confident. When Ariamus led them to the farmhouse, he shouted that everyone must die, lest anyone give the alarm. Hathor’s men, without even a glance to their former leader, obeyed the Akkadian, slaughtering the family in moments. Nevertheless, after they secured the two broken-down plough horses, Ariamus handed the halter of one of them to Hathor.
Once mounted, Hathor felt certain they would be safe. Ariamus knew where to flee and how to hide. It would be days before the troubles in Akkad settled down, if anyone even bothered to chase after them.
Hathor remembered the shock that went through him when he turned and saw the horsemen, riding purposefully after them. Somehow, in spite of all the confusion and fighting
in Akkad, the cursed soldiers had managed to find men and horses, organize pursuit, and pick up their trail.
Less than an hour after catching sight of his pursuers, the Akkadians had run him down. Contemptuously, they’d refused his attempt to die fighting. The arrow had taken the strength from his body, and, before Hathor could even kill himself, they’d captured him.
From what he heard spoken by the riders around him, this Eskkar had taken Korthac just as easily. The barbarian had stormed Korthac in his house, surrounded by his Egyptians, and made him a prisoner. Hathor still found it hard to believe his cunning leader had been defeated, not only defeated but captured alive. Nevertheless, as Hathor clung to his horse, he slowly realized that what his captors said must certainly be true. These men rode too relaxed, unconcerned about any danger; they must have retaken Akkad and killed all those who’d opposed them.
Thoughts of how swiftly they’d killed his men still rankled Hathor.
The Akkadians hadn’t lost a man, not even taken a wound, and they’d finished off his Egyptians and taken him prisoner. Bantor had personally killed Ariamus with scarcely a fight, then stood over his victim to watch his death throes. Hathor knew Ariamus could handle a sword better than most, and yet the leader of these men, by himself, had challenged Ariamus without hesitation. And this Bantor, according to Ariamus, was reckoned to be the slowest of Eskkar’s subcommanders. Hathor nearly wept in shame, but the thought of humiliating himself further in front of these warriors halted his tears.
They stopped twice on the return journey. A burly soldier named Klexor checked Hathor’s bandage each time, and gave him water, a gesture that worried Hathor even as he gulped it down, unable to resist the need to quench his thirst.
By the time they reached Akkad, the sun had started to touch the horizon, marking the end of a long day of fighting and running. Hathor, growing weaker with each step of his horse, remembered moving through streets and lanes already lit by torches and filled with revelers. People shouted and cheered at the sight of Bantor and his riders. That turned into a roar of approval as one of the soldiers reached down and lifted Ariamus’s head into view, its mouth hanging slack in the torchlight.