Conflict of Empires es-3

by Sam Barone

  Eridu, his eyes wide with fear and astonishment, tried to call out. But Shanna clapped her hand on his mouth. With his only hand, he struggled to push her away, but by then Shulgi had reached his father’s side.

  He drew a knife from his belt and plunged it into Eridu’s heart, driving the blade deep with a brutal thrust. “I’ve waited long enough for this, Father.”

  Eridu’s eyes flickered from son to daughter one last time before his knees gave way. He was dead before he reached the floor.

  “Quick! Move Petrah’s body closer.” Shanna kept her voice low. She knew Shulgi would have ordered the guard away, but anybody might be outside the chamber, and the door might open at any time.

  Shulgi returned to the other side of the table, and dragged Petrah closer to Eridu’s body. The knife Shulgi used for the fatal thrust belonged to Petrah, taken from his quarters only moments before. Using both hands, Shanna jerked the blade she’d used from the king’s body, and thrust it deep into the remains of the lamb. Any trace of Eridu’s blood vanished. She turned to Shulgi.

  “Are you ready?”

  Shulgi had withdrawn the knife from his father’s body and placed it in Petrah’s hand. “Yes, hurry.”

  Shanna touched his arm for the briefest moment, and took a deep breath. Then she screamed, a loud piercing sound that carried through the upper chambers and through the open window to the courtyard below.

  At the same moment, Shulgi picked up the wine pitcher and hurled it to the floor, where it burst into a dozen pieces, the red wine mixing with the blood and staining the floor. Shanna, using all her strength, tipped the table up as high as she could, before letting it drop back to the floor with a loud thud. Food, cups, and the remains of the meal clattered to the floor.

  Shanna screamed again, then ran for the door. “Help! Help! Petrah stabbed the king!”

  Before she reached the door, servants flung it open and rushed into the room, followed a moment later by the stunned guard. His face turned white with fear when he saw the king’s body, and blood spattered everywhere.

  “Send for Razrek!” Shulgi ordered. “I want him at once. And send my guards to me.”

  “Is the king… is he dead?” The guard could scarcely get the words out.

  “Yes, damn you!” Shulgi snapped. “Murdered by Petrah! Now get moving!”

  The guard opened his mouth as if to speak, but then changed his mind and darted off, anxious to do Shulgi’s bidding. His voice echoed down the corridor, shouting the news of Eridu’s death.

  The rest of the night was full of turmoil and confusion. Shanna pulled at her hair, hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, and left it in disarray over her face. She told the story again and again, in a halting voice that paused every few moments to sob. Her father and Petrah had quarreled over the cost of the soldiers. Eridu had slapped his steward, and Petrah had retaliated by stabbing his master with his knife. Shulgi had then killed Petrah.

  Shanna kept crying, her body shaking with emotion as she shouted again and again for her beloved father. She repeated the story to every new arrival. Soon servants and soldiers filled the room, everyone jostling each other to catch a glimpse of the dead king, still lying where’d he fallen in the midst of the remains of the evening’s meal. Razrek arrived in haste, pushing his way through the crowded chamber, his meal interrupted, his eyes going wide at what he saw.

  As Shulgi repeated what had happened, Razrek’s eyes narrowed. “Petrah?”

  Razrek’s face mirrored his confusion, and Shanna moved quickly to stifle any questions. Razrek was, after all, the only one strong enough to challenge their story.

  “This is your fault,” Shanna shouted, standing before Razrek, her face now contorted with rage. “It was your guard who failed to protect the king, your guard who let Petrah bring his knife into the room. He should be put to death at once. At once!” Her voice broke down, and she began to sob again, her whole body shaking from her sorrow.

  Shulgi caught Razrek’s arm and pulled him aside. “Best to do as she says. Otherwise, she’ll start claiming you put Petrah up to this.”

  “Are you sure Petrah…?” His voice trailed off. Something in Shulgi’s eyes told him not to ask any questions.

  “Do it now,” Shulgi went on, his voice low. “With my father dead, I’ll take charge of the city and the army. You’ll be getting paid by me from now on. Is that clear enough?”

  Razrek recovered his wits in a few heartbeats. Suddenly, he remembered that Shulgi’s men stood in the corridor outside the chamber, and in the courtyard below. “Yes… my king. I’ll take care of the guard, and send my men to guard the Compound.”

  “No need,” Shulgi said. “I have some of my men here already. The rest will soon arrive. Now go get rid of the guard. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

  Shulgi turned to see Shanna seated in a chair, her face covered by her hands as she rocked back and forth. Servants attended her, holding her hands, offering water, wine and cloths to dry her tears. Every part of her body showed her grief, as dutiful as any daughter. Razrek shook his head and departed, glad to have had no part in the night’s turmoil.

  It took most of the evening before everyone calmed down, the bodies removed, and the room cleaned. In front of the household, Shulgi ordered Shanna to sleep in her father’s bed tonight, for her safety. And to ensure that, Shulgi ordered his own bed brought into the dining chamber. Two of his men stood guard outside the chamber when he finally dropped the wooden bar across the doorway.

  Crossing the room Shulgi entered what had been his father’s bedroom, but was now his. A single candle still burned, and Shanna sat on the bed, combing her hair. She wore a clean garment. She’d ordered the other one, stained with her father’s blood, to be burned. Shanna rose and walked toward him. Before he could reach out to touch her, she bowed low, as humble as any servant.

  “My king, is there anything I may do for you tonight?”

  “Oh, yes.” He heard the hoarseness in his voice. But it didn’t matter any more. With Shanna, there would be no need to pretend or hide his emotions. “You can take off that dress before I rip it off.”

  She straightened, and the smile was back on her face. “Yes, my king. We wouldn’t want the servants to see a torn garment in the morning.” Shanna pulled the dress over her head and stepped back.

  His eyes drank in the sight of the lush body. A quick breath extinguished the candle before he picked her up and dropped her down on the bed, as excited as the day he had taken his first woman. His father was out of the way, Shanna lay naked in his bed, and Sumer belonged to him. Soon all of Sumeria, then Akkad and the northern cities would follow.

  17

  One month later…

  Eskkar and Grond, accompanied by four Hawk Clan guards, entered the grounds of Akkad’s main barracks. As the sounds of busy lanes faded somewhat, Eskkar took a moment to enjoy the soldiers’ quarters, where much of his life had been shaped. During the days when he held the post of Captain of the Guard, the barracks housed all the soldiers as well as their weapons and horses. The once familiar stable smell had finally departed, along with the horses. A large corral across the river now held most of the soldiers’ mounts, with the remainder stabled at a smaller holding area just south of the city. When the time came to tear down the malodorous horse pens, the soldiers completed the task in half a morning, glad to see the last of the odor-rich structures. A favorite punishment for petty infractions, many men had labored there over the years, cleaning out the muck in the hot summer sun.

  New barracks soon sprang up to accommodate the growing numbers of men learning the art of war. These provided additional housing for the recruits as well as weapons’ storage. The training ground, located at the back of the barracks, remained untouched, however.

  As he strode across the grounds, Eskkar missed the horse smell. He and a few others who grew up in horse country claimed they could still catch the scent of the endless streams of horse piss that had soaked deep into the earth. Whil
e others complained about the foul odors, even the faint scent of horse sweat always reminded Eskkar of his youth and life with the clan.

  “Have you heard anything about the training?” Eskkar’s long legs covered a lot of ground, forcing Grond and the guards to hurry to keep up.

  Gatus had started training a group of recruits as spearmen less than a month after the meeting at Rebba’s farm.

  “Nothing much.” Grond kept his tone non-committal. “I know Gatus added new recruits now and then, and lost a few, too, but he hasn’t told me anything. And none of his men will say a word.”

  Eskkar glanced at his friend and bodyguard. Only Gatus could convince Grond to keep a secret. “It’s been almost three months since he started training them. He better have something to show for it. How hard can it be to teach a man to use a spear?”

  Grond knew better than to answer that kind of question.

  They turned the corner at the barracks, and Eskkar found Gatus waiting across the open space for them, sitting on his stool and holding a wood rod the thickness of his thumb in his hand. The Rod of Gatus, as long as his arm, had become part of the soldiers’ tradition, and few recruits managed to escape its touch. A good whack on the arm or back, Gatus explained, helped each man concentrate on the orders of his superior, usually shouted in the recruit’s face at the top of his lungs.

  The instructors, too, used their rods almost as freely as Gatus, until even the slowest witted of the recruits learned instant obedience to their superiors’ orders, no matter how seemingly senseless or humiliating. During the early months of training, while the men’s bodies grew hardened by exercise and constant practice with their weapons, that lesson remained the most important. All orders must be obeyed at once, with no exceptions and no excuses. The reason was simple enough. In battle, the enemy cared nothing for how weary or ill or hung over a soldier was. The sooner every recruit learned that bitter lesson, the longer they would stay alive in combat.

  Over time, as the men increased their skill level, the physical abuse tapered off, and the trainers’ efforts shifted to more and longer periods spent practicing with bow, sword, and knife. Another skill every recruit had to master was wrestling. It not only strengthened the men’s bodies, but also taught them how to fight unarmed. And as the long and arduous days of physical effort passed, the men grew more confident not only in themselves and their skills, but in those of their companions at arms, the men who trained at their side, and who would someday fight beside them.

  Gatus had long ago mastered the art of turning farm boys into soldiers. Eskkar had acknowledged that fact early on, and given Gatus responsibility for training Akkad’s archers. Still, while many knew how to train fighting men, the old soldier had learned the best ways to turn individual fighters into a fighting unit. Under his hard tutelage, the men gradually formed a bond with each other. As Gatus had explained many times, first you beat the recruits down, showed them how weak and pitiful their strength and skills were compared to their trainers. That humiliating demonstration usually sufficed to drive the recruits to train harder and harder to master the skills demanded of them. By then, every recruit hated his trainers as much as any enemy they would face in battle.

  When done properly, the grueling ordeal helped the men learn to work and fight together, each one determined to prove to their hard taskmasters that they could not only withstand the brutal discipline, but take strength from it. As that happened, each man’s sense of pride increased. With each improvement in his fighting skills, that sense of worth grew stronger and stronger. Gradually a fighting unit took shape. What started out as a rag-tag group of individuals developed into a band of brothers that learned to take care of its own, the stronger helping the weaker, and the more skillful assisting those who needed extra work.

  Months later, when the recruits had turned into true soldiers, they looked back in awe at what they had accomplished. By then many had changed beyond recognition, muscles bulging where none had existed before. Skills with their weapons progressed as well, from barely knowing which end of a sword to pick up, to supremely confident. Only then did the men grudgingly admit that perhaps their vigilant taskmasters had known all along what they were doing.

  Now Gatus had turned his attention to this new force of spearmen, letting others train the archers and sword fighters. What would result from all this remained to be seen.

  “Well, Gatus, your men look fit enough,” Eskkar said as he approached, raising his voice so that everyone could hear. He got the words out before Gatus could complain about Eskkar’s late arrival. “What are you going to show me?”

  “My spearmen are ready to show you what they’ve learned.” Gatus tapped his rod against his other hand. He, too, spoke loud enough to make sure everyone heard. “Why don’t you and Grond stand over against the wall, where you’ll be out of the way?”

  Eskkar and Grond moved to the side of the barracks, the Hawk Clan guards trailing behind them. Gatus waited until Eskkar and his guards complied, then slid off his stool, tossed it aside, and turned to face his spearmen. Behind him, thirty men stood in two ranks, each of them carrying a shield and a spear, and with a short sword at his waist. Leather helmets made the men look both taller and fiercer. Every spear rested on its butt, the bronze tip pointing at the sky, as the men awaited their orders. Half the spears, Eskkar noticed, extended a forearm length longer than the others. He realized something else. These men had awaited his arrival for some time, standing patiently in the warm sunshine without shifting about or shuffling their feet. No men Gatus ever trained would be found sitting about in the shade when the king arrived. Each man looked confident, and the eyes that followed Eskkar’s movements showed no hint of fear or awe.

  Eskkar knew the importance of hard discipline in building morale. Unlike steppe warriors, whose honor guided their training from the youngest age, villagers first needed to be taught to obey before they learned how to fight. Warriors had learned these lessons as far back as anyone could recall. Eskkar accepted these ideas without question, since that was the way of the steppe warrior. The villagers, without any real clan or code of honor of their own, needed a teacher like Gatus and his methods as a way to gain respect. By the time the recruits took pride in themselves and their fighting skills, they had also learned the most important lesson of all, that of trusting and caring for the soldier who fought beside you. The months of shared suffering they’d endured bonded them to their fellow soldiers. They learned to trust not only their own skills, but those of the man next to them.

  Because, as Eskkar well knew, that’s what made a man fight, not some cause or even hope for a few pieces of gold or loot now and then. You fought because your sense of honor demanded it; you fought because your friend stood at your side and you could not think of letting him stand alone. And you fought on when all appeared lost, because your friends had died beside you, and how could you do anything less to honor their memory than give your utmost? Most of all, you fought because you had mastered the skills that would carry you to victory, and that belief in yourself and your weapons made each man determined to stand strong against his enemy.

  Over the years, while Eskkar wandered the land, he came to understand better the code of the warrior, and the way it helped keep him alive. His father Hogarthak had taught his son well in that regard, so well that even as an outcast boy struggling against an unfamiliar and harsh world those lessons remained ingrained in Eskkar’s mind. Still, he had never quite mastered the teaching of the same lessons to others. Eskkar could lead men in battle, could even train them well enough, but Gatus could turn raw recruits into a fighting unit better and faster than anyone Eskkar had ever seen.

  With this group of spearmen, Gatus had worked hard with each leader of ten to make sure his subordinates knew just how far to go with the men. Recruits needed to be cured of their former habits, but not broken in spirit. When they finished their training, they would be accepted into Akkad’s warrior ranks, and have the status that came with their oath
s to defend their king, their city, and their fellow soldiers.

  For many, it was the first time in their lives that they had ever accomplished something so difficult but so rewarding. Whether it was hitting a target at a hundred paces with a single swiftly launched shaft, or taking a man down with three powerful sword strokes, men soon learned more about themselves, about what they could do and accomplish, than any weapon they took to hand.

  Now Eskkar glanced at a small assemblage on the training ground. For more than a month, he had chaffed at Gatus and his slow and patient methods. Every few days Eskkar had asked Gatus when the first group of spearmen would be ready.

  “Soon.”

  The laconic reply grated on Eskkar’s nerves. Nevertheless, he’d learned during the siege of Akkad to leave the training to Gatus. In those days, Eskkar had been stunned to hear that it would take many months to train a competent archer. He’d fumed at the delay, amazed that so simple a weapon required so much time for a novice to master. But Gatus had proved himself right. One of the reasons why Akkad’s archers remained so formidable was their complete mastery of their weaponry.

  But did teaching a man to use a spear take as much time as learning to use a bow and arrow? This time, he held his tongue, just in case Gatus once again proved himself right. And Eskkar had plenty to occupy his time. He’d spent many days in Nuzi helping establish the gold mine and clearing the nearby countryside of bandits. Visits to Bisitun and the other northern cities took Eskkar away from Akkad for long periods as well. And whenever he returned, there were always the nobles, merchants, traders and craftsmen to deal with, all claiming some urgent need that no one besides the king could resolve.

  Yesterday, just before the sun had set, Eskkar had returned from the north once again. This time Gatus met him at the Compound. “My first group of spearmen is ready for you to see. Come to the barracks in the morning.”