Authors: Sam Barone
They camped at the small stream where Esk kar had bathed earlier. Everyone felt glad to be out of the maze of canyons and back on the sparse grasses where the air didn’t smell of blood. A dead tree provided firewood and more horsemeat soon sizzled on the flames.
Esk kar talked with Zantar. He’d recovered his senses and could speak coherently. Zantar had an enormous bruise on his forehead. Strangely, the man remembered nothing of the fight or even the hours leading up to it, and had to be told in detail what happened.
As for Tammuz, he remained fretful. They had no more wine to give him. They’d supported the boy on his horse during the brief ride to the stream, but he fainted again when they lifted him down. Mesilim’s healer examined his patient and rebound the injured arm tightly to the boy’s side to prevent further damage. Now Tammuz slept on the soft grass, his head pillowed by a horse blanket. He tossed and murmured in his sleep.
Three Ur Nammu scouts rode off, while other lookouts took up posts on the surrounding hills. Finally all the animals had been fed and watered, the men had eaten a second time, and the time for talk had arrived.
Mesilim and his son came to Esk kar. He kept Sisuthros with him, even though Sisuthros did not understand the language. The four men found a quiet place on a grassy knoll a hundred paces from the stream, where they could speak privately.
Esk kar shared what information he had about the Alur Meriki, then listened to what Mesilim had to say. Esk kar asked many questions about the numbers and movements of the Alur Meriki. As they spoke, the leaders sketched a map in the dirt between them, using twigs, stones, and knives to represent various landmarks.
“Now I understand why they march as they did,” Mesilim remarked.
“We wondered what they searched for in their movements and why they didn’t ride to the west. It will not bode well for you and your village when they do.”
“Mesilim, I truly believe we can resist them,” Esk kar said. “I’ll have many bowmen to man the wall or swing a sword.”
Esk kar didn’t wait for their polite concurrence. “But I’d like to have your clan’s assistance in my fight. If you help us, I believe you can satisfy your Shan Kar without sacrificing the rest of your men.”
“The Shan Kar is to the death,” Subutai answered firmly. “We’ve all sworn the oath and there’s no turning aside.”
Esk kar nodded gravely. “Of course. I’m a stranger to your clan, Subutai, and ignorant of your ways. But cannot a Shan Kar be satisfied by a great defeat of the enemy in battle? At least that’s what I’ve heard.”
They knew Esk kar came from the steppes, probably from the Alur Meriki clan they’d just fought. But diplomacy prevailed. Neither Mesilim nor his son wanted to ask any questions whose answers might offend them.
“That’s true,” Mesilim responded, “but we’re not numerous enough to create a great battle. The days of our clan are numbered, and we will not recover our strength before we’re overwhelmed. In a few days another ten or twelve warriors and a handful of women will join us, and that is all of the Ur Nammu.”
Esk kar hadn’t known any more of them survived, but took that as good news. “Orak is strong enough to create a great battle. We have almost as many people as in the tribe, and more come every day. It will take all of the might of the Alur Meriki to capture our village. If you join with us, then you could share in the great battle. If we win, your Shan Kar would be satisfied. And if you fight with us, I can help your people with weapons, horses, and supplies.”
Mesilim and Subutai exchanged glances. A Shan Kar sworn in the heat of defeat two years ago condemned them all to death.
“We must satisfy our honor, Esk kar,” Mesilim said, his head held high.
“But if there be such a way …”
Esk kar breathed a silent sigh of relief, then reached to the ground and rearranged the twigs and stones. “Here’s the Tigris to the north,” three small twigs bent at angles to show the big curve of the river. “And here’s Orak,” a small stone set next to the twig. “The main body of the Alur Meriki are here.” He placed a larger stone near the river. “The two raiding parties,” he put two pebbles at the lower end of the Tigris, “will sweep everything in their path toward Orak, and in six or seven weeks the entire clan will be camped before Orak’s walls.”
Mesilim nodded.
“Except for one other war party.” Esk kar picked up a stone and set it across the Tigris, opposite Orak. “This party will cut off those who try to flee, and then round up the cattle and horses we’ve sent across the river.
“This will be a smaller party, probably seventy or eighty warriors, just enough to hold the river and scour the countryside. With your help, I will ambush this party and kill all of them.”
Esk kar’s knife traced a groove northward along the Tigris. “After they are slain, your people can ride north, cross the river well upstream, then turn south and strike their main camp from behind at the height of the battle. There should be few watching their rear, because they know they’ve killed everyone in their path. The camp should be lightly defended. You can ride in and capture as many women and horses as you need to rebuild your tribe.”
His knife traced another line going northeast. “Then you can return to these mountains far to the north and rebuild your clan. If you remain north of the Isogi river, you can help guard Orak’s borders. We’ll establish trade with your people, and even give you protection should you need it.”
Esk kar planted the blade firmly in the earth.
“How will this satisfy Shan Kar?” Subutai’s curiosity got the better of him. “Even if we’re victorious, the Alur Meriki will still be undefeated.”
Careful, this has to be said properly.
Esk kar took a deep breath. “The Alur Meriki have planned this attack on Orak for many months. All their marches and raids have been done only to put their full might against our village. They know we’re fortifying Orak and building a wall, but they think we cannot stop them. If they fail to capture Orak, if they are forced to move south without taking the village, then they will have failed in their plan. By fighting alongside us, you’ll help defeat the Alur Meriki in a great battle. That should satisfy the Shan Kar.”
Whether it did might be open to debate, but it offered a way to save face and would look a lot better than fighting to the death without any hope of survival. And another battle would satisfy honor. Esk kar put his hands on his knees and leaned back. He’d made the offer as best he could.
Now Mesilim would have to decide.
The Ur Nammu leader pondered Esk kar’s words for a long time. “The Alur Meriki will return in another ten or fifteen years,” he said finally.
“Even if you drive them away now, you may be defeated later.”
Esk kar and Trella had talked about that possibility often enough.
“Times are changing, Mesilim. I believe that when the Alur Meriki return, all of the countryside around Orak will be defended, and the walls of Orak will be higher and stronger than they are now, with many more trained defenders. I’ve seen what can be done to prepare for the onslaught, and we’ve learned much. The future is always shrouded in mystery, but I believe Orak will survive, and it will be the Alur Meriki who are again driven off.”
“How would we get across the river?” Subutai’s subtle question left no doubt as to where the younger man stood. His words would send the same message to his father.
“When you’re ready,” Esk kar went on, “in a few weeks, cross the lines again and come to Orak. We have a ferry to move your men and horses across the river. We’ll watch for your coming and escort you in, lest anyone attack you by mistake.”
“Why do you do all this, Esk kar?” Mesilim countered. “And why are you so concerned about warriors across the great river?”
“If I cannot destroy all the barb … Alur Meriki on the west bank, those who escape will warn the main camp. If even a few survive, it could be disastrous for Orak. A dozen men could set the land ablaze. We’ve no provision for war parties on that side of the Tigris, and we don’t have enough men to guard our livestock. The villagers would lose heart to find their herds destroyed or scattered. We need that livestock to rebuild the herds once the Alur Meriki have gone.”
Esk kar stared into the eyes of the chief. “I need to tell my people I can destroy those Alur Meriki on the west bank and get back to Orak in time to man the walls. I must destroy them completely, and I cannot do so on open ground. I don’t have enough horses or men who know how to ride them. So I need your help to make sure they’re driven into some trap where I can kill them with my archers, and use your warriors to make sure none escape.”
“I will speak of this with Subutai and the other leaders,” Mesilim said.
“We’ll give you an answer by nightfall.” He stood up, then extended his hand to help Esk kar to his feet. “You are … you were born on the steppes.
Now you’ve cast your lot with farmers and herders of goats and sheep, and they will never accept you fully. Do you not wish sometimes to return to the life of a warrior?”
It was not a casual question. Mesilim offered him a choice—Esk kar could ride with them, if he chose.
The offer tempted him, but the thought of Trella banished the idea.
“Many times, Mesilim. Many times I’ve wished to return to the warrior’s life on the plains and steppes. But I’ve lived too long with the villagers, and I’m more used to their ways than those of our fathers. And I have a woman, a gifted one, who calls me back to her side. But if fate is not kind to me, then I will remember your words.”
“Even if you win, can you be sure of how you’ll be treated afterward?”
Mesilim’s concern showed he understood much about villager ways.
“It’s true there is much treachery among the village leaders. But I’ve learned much in the last few months, and my power grows each day. Also my woman gives me good advice in these matters.”
Barbarians thought one woman much like another. They also believed any warrior who listened too carefully to his woman showed weakness.
Nevertheless, Esk kar had referred to Trella as a “gifted one” and perhaps Mesilim understood the power and strength of a woman who occasionally showed such wisdom and strength of character as to be accepted at the council fires.
Mesilim nodded in understanding. “We’ve fought together and we can never break the bond of thanks the Ur Nammu owe you. Now we must decide our own future.” He turned, and his son followed.
Esk kar’s men waited, curiosity whetted by watching the four men speak for almost two hours. He stopped in front of them. “Mesilim has told us everything he knows about the barbarians. I’ve asked him to join us in our fight. If he accepts, I think he can help us. If he chooses another path, then ours will be much harder.”
Esk kar turned toward the sudden activity that had broken out in the camp. In a moment Esk kar understood the commotion. “Enough for now.
It’s time to divide the spoils.”
That task took the rest of the morning and lasted into the afternoon at a maddeningly slow pace. Esk kar forced himself to smile and remain patient. The spoils were divided equitably, with Esk kar’s men getting a little more than what he would have considered their due, so no one complained. Esk kar’s share filled a sack. Trella would find good use for the gold and jewels.
The kills had to be counted as well, another involved task that required much sifting of evidence as to who killed whom, how it was done, and who witnessed it. Esk kar received credit for eight kills, though he doubted the number was that high. He certainly hadn’t killed the last warrior himself, though both he and Subutai received equal credit for that body. The highest number of kills went to Mitrac, whose arrows were found in fourteen bodies, plus more than a half dozen horses. Esk kar thanked whatever gods protected archers that no arrow had struck any Ur Nammu. Mesilim personally presented Mitrac with a gold and copper ring of great value, in addition to the double handful of jewels and gold nuggets the boy had earned as his share.
Afterward many Ur Nammu touched Mitrac and his bow for luck, and all wanted to know whether the rest of the villagers had weapons such as his.
Everyone spent the rest of the day eating and resting. Esk kar agreed that his men could use the time to heal their wounds. Subutai persuaded Mitrac to demonstrate his archery skills and some warriors matched him shot for shot until the distance grew too great for their smaller bows. The force of his weapon impressed all the warriors. Even a hit that might not be fatal would send a man to the ground, unable to fight any further.
The feasting extended into the evening with still no decision from Mesilim. Esk kar found himself a little withdrawn from the circle of his men.
Finally he got up and walked over to the stream to relieve himself. Sisuthros came over to join him.
When they finished Esk kar started back, but Sisuthros held his arm, keeping him out of earshot of the men sitting around the fire. “Captain, I would speak with you. There’s something I have to say.”
Turning to face his commander, Esk kar heard the strain in his voice.
“What is it, Sisuthros? Unhappy with the spoils?” Even in the moonlight, Esk kar saw confusion on the man’s face.
“Captain, I … there is …” He stopped and fumbled for a moment with his belt, then brought out a small pouch he handed to Esk kar. “This is gold, twenty pieces, that I was given before we left Orak. It was understood that another ten would be mine if you didn’t return.”
Esk kar felt his face flush with anger. For a moment he wanted to strike Sisuthros down, kill him for what he’d been planning. But the rage passed.
If it hadn’t been Sisuthros, it would have been someone else. A man always had enemies, and as Esk kar grew more powerful, the number of enemies would increase. Besides, he needed a fighter like Sisuthros, both now and probably even more in the future.
Esk kar hefted the pouch in his hand. “Thirty gold pieces. That’s a great amount of gold.” He handed the pouch back. There wasn’t much light, but he detected surprise on the man’s face.