Conflict of Empires (2010) (13 page)

“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.

T
rella 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 her 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.

“I did give him a good price.” Nicar sat next to Yavtar. Nicar had once been Akkad’s leading merchant. Now his son Lesu had taken over that responsibility, while the father acted as Chief Judge of the laws of Akkad. “Those stones were my share of the goods from Lesu’s trip to the Indus Valley. I hope the information you received was worth the lower price.”

“I think Gemama would have paid more for your stones,” Yavtar said. “And I’m sure you could have set a higher price if you’d sold them here.”

Nicar smiled. “Actually, I didn’t want to cut into my son’s profits. If we had both sold our stones in Akkad, the price would have dropped. There are, after all, only so many who can afford to buy such things.”

“Then I think we made a good exchange, Nicar. Gemama spoke bluntly, but I heard the truth in his words. King Eridu would have cut the tongue from Gemama’s mouth for what he revealed.”

“So you’re certain it’s war, then?” Gatus, the oldest of Akkad’s soldiers and the captain of the city’s guard, leaned across the table.

Two others sat on either side of Trella. Annok-sur, Trella’s friend and confidante, who also directed the large number of spies in Akkad and throughout the land that gathered information for Trella and Eskkar. Bantor, Annok-sur’s husband, had the seat at Trella’s right. He commanded all the soldiers in and around Akkad during Eskkar’s absence.

“It’s war,” Yavtar answered, “and it’s going to be bad. King Eridu left Sumer a week before we arrived, heading a large force of at least three or four hundred soldiers. No one knows exactly how many. Apparently, Eridu felt confident of victory. The other cities have submitted to his rule, or allied themselves with him, willingly or not. For whatever reason, they all contributed soldiers to his venture. For the last two years, Eridu has blamed every ill, every grievance, every problem on Akkad. Our name is like a curse to them now. The whole of Sumeria believes demons rule here in Akkad, and that our only purpose is to create misery for Sumer’s inhabitants.”

Taking his time, Yavtar recounted almost every word of his conversation with Gemama. When he finished, silence hung in the air for a few moments.

“Eskkar must have encountered Eridu and his Sumerians by now,”
Bantor said. “He has only a hundred men with him. Enough for bandits, but not for that kind of fighting.”

“I’m sure my husband will know what to do,” Trella said. “He knows when to fight, and when to retreat.”

She made sure her voice carried conviction, though a tiny doubt remained in her heart. If anything happened to Eskkar, the whole balance of power in Akkad would shift. No matter how much she accomplished, or how well she administered Akkad’s affairs, everything depended on Eskkar’s presence. His fair rule of Akkad’s few laws had created a trust in his leadership, while his warrior skills made everyone feel safe from danger. No woman could equal those feelings in the populace.

Unfortunately, those same warrior skills often led him into personal danger, and he trusted in his luck to carry him through, heedless of the risks he ran, not only to himself but to Trella and their son. Sargon, their firstborn, was only two years old, and while many in Akkad would acknowledge him as the heir to the kingdom, others would step forward to challenge the ascension of one so young. The danger would remain until Sargon grew old enough to share in their leadership.

“He’s the luckiest bastard I’ve ever known,” Gatus said, uttering words no one else in Akkad would have dared to speak. “One of these days his luck is going to run out.”

“But not anytime soon, I think,” Yavtar said. “This Eridu is not a soldier, though he preens himself as one, and seeks the glory of a conquest. And no matter how many men he has, they will not be as well trained as our Akkadian soldiers.”