by Sam Barone
“Welcome back, Hathor.” Eskkar gave the Egyptian a hug that would have crushed anyone smaller. “You and your men have done well.” Eskkar said the words in a loud voice, so that everyone in the camp could hear. “Did you lose many men?”
“No, Captain, just two men dead and four horses. But we killed forty-four Sumerians, and captured three horses and fifteen prisoners, not a bad exchange.”
“Take care of your men, Hathor, then join me at the tent. You look like you could use a bath and some food.”
“Yes, Captain. Would you take charge of this prisoner until then?”
Hathor moved aside. Behind him stood a single prisoner, held upright by a grinning guard. Eskkar glanced at the foot-sore Sumerian for the first time. Not much of a warrior, the man looked exhausted. Fear showed not only on his face, but in his every movement.”
“King Eskkar, may I present you with King Eridu of Sumeria.”
“No!” Eskkar couldn’t believe his ears. A laugh went up from Hathor’s men, who crowded around to see their commander’s reaction.
“I asked the scout not to tell you,” Hathor said. “I thought you might enjoy a surprise.”
“Now I want to hear the whole story,” Eskkar said. “Every word. But first take care of yourself and your men.” He reached out, clasped his hand on Eridu’s shoulder hard enough to make the man gasp, and dragged him into the camp. Eskkar guided the Sumerian along until they drew close to the tent. Eskkar had planned to put the prisoner inside, but now he changed his mind. He shoved Eridu to the ground about thirty paces away. “Stay there.”
“Water, King Eskkar. Please. I need water.”
Eridu’s voice sounded hoarse and dry. He might not have had anything to drink since last night. Well and good, Eskkar decided. It would put the Sumerian in a more cooperative mood. “Perhaps later, after you tell me what I want to know.”
Eskkar entered the tent. Eridu’s two playthings clutched each other at the sudden appearance of their captor. Despite his reassurances, they still believed they would end up dead or worse. He had spoken to them before, and even remembered their names. Both were pleasure slaves, fresh from the slave market. Berlit was the taller one, with brown hair that tumbled around her face. Girsu, shorter and darker of hair and skin, possessed an impressive pair of breasts. He sat down on the thick blankets no doubt once reserved for Eridu.
“Sit before me,” he ordered.
“Yes, master,” they said in unison, as they knelt before him.
“I want you to tell me some things,” he said, keeping his voice firm. “If you withhold anything, if you try to lie to me… there are a hundred men outside the tent who would be eager to show you their prowess.”
“Yes, master, anything you command,” Berlit said. She clutched Girsu’s hand, as much to reassure herself as her companion.
Berlit seemed the one with the quicker wits, so he started with her. “Describe Eridu for me. I want to know what he looks like.”
The slave girl described Eridu, and after a few sentences Eskkar held up his hand. “Enough.” The prisoner outside the tent was indeed Eridu, not some impostor sacrificing himself for his king.
“Now I want you tell me what Eridu’s plans were, why he sent men across the border, what he wanted to accomplish. I want to know everything you’ve seen and heard for the last few weeks. If you do, I’ll take you back to Akkad with me. My wife will care for you, find something useful for you to do. Otherwise…” He lifted his hand and pointed to the tent flap.
They started talking, and soon the whole story came out. They had only been with Eridu for nine or ten days, a gift from one of the king’s wealthy merchants. Eridu had taken possession of them just before he led his men out of Sumer, and decided they should accompany their new master on his campaign.
As Berlit spoke, her voice grew more confident, and the words that had first come haltingly now flowed like a steady stream. Even Girsu joined in the conversation, waving her hands around as she spoke, filling in details left out by her companion.
They were well into their story when Grond and Alexar entered the tent, followed a few moments later by Mitrac. Hathor arrived soon after that, his tunic still wet from its encounter with the stream. The commanders sat behind the girls, so as not to appear threatening, and after a few nervous glances over their shoulders, Berlit and Girsu soon forgot their presence.
Eridu’s slaves talked and talked. Eskkar even interrupted them once to have water brought in for them. The girls had been present during almost all of Eridu’s planning sessions. For the first time Eskkar heard the name of Razrek, the leader of the Sumerian horsemen, who had ravaged the borderlands, and somehow managed to escape Mitrac’s arrows. Even to both wretched girls, this Razrek appeared to be the mastermind of Eridu’s plan.
At last Berlit and Girsu ran out of things to say. “That’s all we know, Lord Eskkar. We were just waking up when the soldiers raised the alarm. King Eridu snatched his tunic and ran outside. That’s the last we saw of him, until you arrived.”
“You’ve done well,” Eskkar said. “You will return with us to Akkad. Something will be found for you there.” Better that than turning them over to his men. Two women tossed among eighty men would start half a dozen fights before the girls died. He turned to Grond. “Send someone to untie Eridu. Make sure he gets plenty of water and something to eat.”
He turned to the girls. “Stay in the tent. You know what will happen to you if you leave. Hathor, come with me. I want to show you something.”
Eskkar slipped through the flap, and all the commanders followed. Outside, he stepped around to the rear of the tent. “We found these in the camp, more than a hundred of them.” He picked up a long wicker shield and held it up. Each shield was covered with hide, and was pierced in the center to form a grip for the hand. When Eskkar raised it up, it covered his body from the chin nearly down to the knees.
“Mitrac’s been shooting arrows at these all afternoon. Our bows will penetrate them, but only at close range.” He tossed the shield aside and stooped to pick up a slim, bronze-tipped lance. “Eridu’s men had about three hundred of these. I think that’s why he didn’t fear our archers. He intended to have the shield-bearers form the first wave, with the rest of their men behind them carrying one or two lances. A quick charge to get close enough to throw the lances, then overwhelm us with their swords.”
Hathor inspected first the shield, then the lance, wrapped at the center to provide a good throwing grip, and nearly as tall as a man. “In Egypt, many of our soldiers carried shields like these, just thick enough to stop an arrow. And the lances, flung with all a running man’s strength, would be deadly at close range. If they could have closed with our archers…”
“Our archers would still kill half of them before they got into throwing range,” Mitrac said.
“Perhaps,” Eskkar said, “but if enough did get close enough, we might have lost more than half of our fighters.”
He picked up the lance, and thought about what it implied. A simple weapon compared to the bow, which took months to shape, and relied on bowstrings that snapped all too often, and arrows that had to be straight and true, nocked and feathered, and tipped with bronze. A thrown javelin such as this would pierce a man’s body with ease, the bronze blade emerging from the body’s back. If Eridu had a few more moments to prepare, if he only lost half his men to Akkadian arrows, the remaining Sumerians might have cut down Eskkar’s archers. A grim thought indeed.
“It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Alexar said, breaking the silence. “Everyone knows about the skill of our bowmen. Our enemies will try to find a way to counter Akkad’s archers.”
“In the great siege,” Grond said, “our archers fought from behind a wall. In all our battles outside the city, we’ve had to find a way to protect our bowmen. Even in today’s battle, we were fortunate to arrive at dawn, and with the sun behind us. If the Sumerians had time to gather their weapons and take up these shields, our losses might
have been much greater.”
Grond understood the implication as well as Eskkar.
“We’ll speak more about this when we return to Akkad. Now, I think it’s time to talk to Eridu.” Eskkar led the way back toward the tent. The Sumerian sat on the ground near one of the campfires, guarded by two men. His hands had been untied. Eridu looked up as Eskkar and his commanders approached.
“King Eridu of Sumer,” Eskkar said. “Have you eaten your fill?”
Eridu, his mouth hanging open, stared at Eskkar and the grim-faced men surrounding him. “What… what do you want?”
“I want to know why you attacked our lands.” Eskkar didn’t bother to keep his voice down. The more his men heard, the better.
“The borderlands belong to no one,” Eridu said, trying to put some authority in his voice. “Sumer and the other cities have as much right to the crops here as Akkad.”
“Still, for two years you recognized the Sippar river as our southern border. You did nothing to lay claim to these lands, said nothing to anyone in Akkad. Instead, you sent soldiers pretending to be bandits to kill our farmers and devastate our lands. You marched across the border with your soldiers, to kill those you knew would be sent against you, and to seize all these lands, and perhaps even more.”
Eridu wet his lips. His eyes darted around, and saw that the Akkadians soldiers had moved closer, all of them eager to see and hear what would be done.
The only sound was the crackling of the nearby fire. “I will pay you a ransom for my safe return to Sumer,” Eridu said.
Eskkar smiled. “You came north to wage war upon Akkad and its people. You wanted to lead your soldiers to a great victory, and have everyone in Sumeria proclaim you a great warrior. But a real warrior should be able to fight his own battles.” He turned to Grond. “Give King Eridu a sword.”
The words had scarcely left Eskkar’s lips before Grond slipped his sword from its sheath and tossed it, hilt first, on the ground, where it landed close to Eridu’s hand. The two soldiers guarding the Sumerian moved back, as did Eskkar’s commanders, creating an open space for the two to fight.
“I won’t challenge you,” Eridu said. He moved his hand away from the sword’s hilt. “Your men will…”
“My men will give you a horse and set you free if you win,” Eskkar said. “Hathor, Alexar, you will see to that. Give your oath to let Eridu go free if he wins.” Eskkar took a step back and drew his sword. “You can ride back to Sumer and tell everyone how you killed Eskkar of Akkad in a fight. That should be enough glory for you.”
This time Eridu had to swallow before he could speak. “I won’t fight you. You’re a barbarian… you’re a skilled swordsman. I’ll meet whatever ransom you set, anything. I swear never again to send men across the border. Two hundred gold coins… three hundred. Petrah, my steward, will see to the payment. That should more than repay for the damage done to the crops and farmers.”
Eridu looked around the ring of men staring down at him and saw nothing but stony faces. He pushed Grond’s sword away with the back of his hand. “I won’t fight you. I’ll pay four hundred coins for my freedom.”
A staggering sum, enough to pay for all the damages and the cost of sending the soldiers south. Akkad could use all that gold, Eskkar knew. If he’d met Eridu in battle, Eskkar would have killed him without question or hesitation. But no one would pay for a dead man. The silence dragged on while Eskkar made up his mind.
“Your ransom will be eight hundred gold coins. From that sum, every one of my soldiers will receive one coin.”
An intake of breath passed through the soldiers at the sum, followed by murmurs of approval. That would be several months pay for most of them.
“But first there is another price to pay, Eridu,” Eskkar said. “You stretched out your hand to take my lands and kill my people. Helpless farmers tortured and murdered, their women raped and killed, their livestock plundered, and the crops burned. For that, there is a separate price. Get him on his feet.”
Grond stepped forward and jerked Eridu upright as if he were a child.
“Alexar, Grond, take hold of his hands. Spread him out.”
The two men extended Eridu’s arms out to either side. Alexar used both hands, clasping Eridu’s left wrist. Grond also used both hands, but he grabbed the Sumerian’s right hand, leaving his forearm bare. Eridu started to struggle, but his captors held him fast, his arms spread wide. Before Eridu could understand what was to happen, before he could prepare himself or plead for mercy, Eskkar’s sword flashed in the firelight, and the sharp bronze blade, delivered with all of his force, sliced through Eridu’s right wrist. Blood sprayed out everywhere.
With a scream, Eridu collapsed on the ground.
“Get him in the fire,” Eskkar ordered.
Grond caught the now helpless Eridu around the waist with one arm, and clasped the handless arm with the other. In a moment, Grond dragged the king toward the campfire and shoved the blood-spurting stump into the flames.
This time the screams went on and on, echoing throughout the camp. Grond needed all his strength to hold the arm in the flames long enough to seal the wound. The smell of burning meat wafted on the air before he pulled Eridu away. With a sob, the Sumerian king fell on his face, his knees drawn up, weeping into the dirt. The pain racked his body again, and he slipped into unconsciousness.
“Get someone who knows how to bandage that up,” Eskkar ordered. Several of the soldiers knew how to treat wounds. He wiped his blade on Eridu’s tunic. “If he lives,” Eskkar raised his voice so all could hear, “he’ll walk back to Akkad, where he’ll stay until his ransom is paid. Tomorrow we start for home!”
A roar went up from the men, and this time it went on and on. They had won a great victory, and their king had outwitted and defeated Akkad’s enemy. Most of all, they would receive a share of the ransom, and that gold made all the hardship and danger of the last ten days slip from their minds. Meanwhile, the Sumerian king had paid a harsh price for his evil deeds, one that he would remember for as long as he lived. And best of all, they were returning home.
7
Trella pushed a glass goblet half full of wine across the large table. Yavtar held it up to the light for a moment to admire the thick glass. Such goblets remained rare in Akkad, and those wealthy enough to afford them swore that they sweetened the taste of wine. A few skilled craftsmen had mastered the art, and learned the secrets of carving each one, hollowing out the green glass with painstaking care. Yavtar took a sip, then murmured his appreciation. Setting the heavy glass down, he lifted a pitcher of water and filled the cup to the brim.
“Since I took up farming, Lady Trella, I find I can’t drink as much strong wine.” Yavtar took another taste of the watered mix, and nodded appreciatively. “I must be getting old. The weaker the wine, the more I seem to like it.”
“Isn’t that how it should be? The more delicate the flavor, the better everything tastes. Still, for such an elderly man, you made a fast return trip to Akkad,” Trella said. While he might be six or seven years older than Eskkar, no one would call Yavtar old. He had arrived at dusk yesterday, offering to visit Trella as soon as he settled his accounts from the trip to Sumer with Nicar. Instead, Trella suggested they meet tomorrow at mid-morning. Others would also want to hear his words, and the small delay would give the trader some time to rest and attend to his family and farm.
Lady Trella wore a simple red dress, cut square across her breasts. A silver fillet kept her dark hair from her eyes, but she wore no other jewelry. Her thick tresses, carefully combed by a servant several times a day, remained her best feature. She had seventeen seasons, and her body had matured into that of a graceful young woman. Though she would never be called beautiful, her inner strength and keen mind made her the envy of all of Akkad’s women. Every man that gazed into those dark eyes felt the urge to possess her. The strong feelings Trella aroused made many call her a witch. Whatever they called her, no one who knew her doubted her sharp wits or h
er ability to command respect from friend as well as enemy. She studied everyone she came in contact with, and her thoughtful eyes noticed every body movement, every hesitation, every gesture that revealed to her a person’s true thoughts.
In the same way, her mind analyzed every word and inflection. As her reputation grew, more and more people found themselves nervous in her presence, which only made it easier for her to divine their thoughts and secrets. Trella understood not only the traits and habits of men, but the ways of power.
Now six people sat in what everyone called Eskkar’s workroom. The house had a second story containing only two chambers. After climbing the stairs and passing through the thick door, visitors entered the large workroom, which offered two good-sized tables, a chest, and an assortment of chairs and benches. Another door, equally sturdy, provided access to the second and more private chamber, Eskkar and Trella’s bedroom. With a Hawk Clan guard at the base of the stairs, those gathered around the table could speak freely, without worrying about whether anyone could overhear their words.
“Merchant Gemama was pleased with the lapis lazuli you brought him?”
“More than pleased, Lady Trella, especially with the price. He knew he was being bribed for information, but for stones like those, he was willing to take a chance. It probably helped that Eridu wasn’t in the city, and that I was leaving the next day.”
“Did you need to leave so soon?”
“It seemed wise. Right now, the city is unsafe for anyone from the north, especially from Akkad. Talk of war was in the air. Besides, I didn’t trust those Sumerians on the dock.” Yavtar took another sip of wine. “With all that gold on board, I didn’t want to take any chances. We left Sumer early, and didn’t even put ashore for the night. The Hawk Clan soldiers helped us row. I worked them and my crew like slaves. Fortunately, we didn’t have much cargo for the return trip, just enough to act as ballast.”
The riverboats, Trella knew, behaved better when they had a certain amount of weight on board. When they rode empty and high, they tended to tip over, often from nothing more than a stiff breeze or a sudden movement.