Authors: Sam Barone
He sighed but kept smiling. Trella, who planned for everything, had foreseen and planned this moment as well, so he felt prepared for his task.
As they moved through the lanes, several of the women, Bantor’s wife among them, preceded their way, encouraging the people, suggesting to them what to say, and shouting blessings to them. Even at the moment of victory, Trella guided and directed the villagers, moving the common people to her will. He shook his head in wonderment, but kept the smile on his face as he gave thanks to the people, holding tight to Trella’s hand.
–-
By sunset Esk kar swore he’d spoken with every man and woman inside Orak’s walls, a task that exhausted him almost as much as the morning’s fighting. While he thanked the villagers, his men worked or cared for the wounded. Later Trella served a simple dinner with no thought of a celebration feast. Too many had died, and angry warriors remained camped beyond the hills.
Esk kar wanted to rest but despite the long and strenuous day, he felt restless. He decided to take one last look at the Alur Meriki camp. Taking Trella’s hand and accompanied by four guards, they walked through the lanes, ignoring the revelry.
By the time they reached the tower the crowd had disappeared. They climbed the steps that still stank from all the blood shed. From the top they looked out over the empty fields that reeked of death.
Beneath them Corio’s men worked on the gate in the fading light, though fires made from Alur Meriki shields had already been lit. Craftsmen hammered steadily, adding so much wood to the gate that it appeared twice as thick as before. They used lumber left behind by the barbarians. The thrifty master artisan had brought everything usable inside the village.
Sisuthros had cleared the ditch of the enemy dead, though on the far side bodies still lay where they had fallen. That task had taken most of the afternoon. They stripped the bodies of their valuables, weapons, and clothes before dumping them in the river. The ditch had been swept smooth, the ruts and holes filled, and debris removed. They’d recovered the arrows and stones as well. The weapons had been inspected, cleaned, and readied for the next attack, and the stones again stacked in readiness.
Orak’s dead lay in orderly rows near the river gate. Tomorrow the ferry would be dragged out of the village and its ropes reconnected. The initial cargo would be Orak’s dead, to be buried in mass graves on the west bank.
Earlier Esk kar had received the count of enemy dead—they’d killed more than three hundred and seventy warriors today. Many more Alur Meriki would be suffering from wounds.
The long summer sun dipped below the western horizon behind them but enough light remained to let them see across to the hills. Campfires outlined the hills against the coming darkness. Across those hilltops a line of mounted barbarians stood guard, watching the village.
“It seems strange, Trella,” Esk kar said, after pointing them out, “now it’s they who fear we may attack them.”
“Not so strange, husband. In the last few months you killed nearly eight hundred of them and wounded many more.”
“They’ve learned a bitter lesson. Half of their fighting men are dead.
Even the Alur Meriki cannot ignore such losses.”
“You’re sure they won’t attack again? Everyone just assumes the battle is over.”
He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “No, the siege is broken. They’ve lost too many men and too much equipment.
Even their horses have been scattered again. It would take them weeks to get ready for another attack and they’re already late in their journey south.
Besides, the warriors have no stomach for another assault. Without a new plan, Thutmose - sin, or whoever leads them, dares not propose another assault unless he can guarantee victory.”
“They almost captured the gate, didn’t they? Might they just try that again?” She leaned her head back against his chest.
He felt her relax against him, soft and warm in his arms, and enjoyed the sensation. “No. Because we held them, and they know in their hearts we could do it again. They fear us now. They won’t underestimate us next time. When they return in ten or fifteen years, it will be different. By then they’ll have new plans and new warriors ready for a fresh challenge.”
He thought about that for a moment. “In a way we’ve changed them as much as they have changed us. They’ll have to learn new ways of fighting.
Knowledge of what we’ve done here will spread. Other villages will resist them.”
Her hands clasped his and again her strength surprised him.
“Yes, other villages will try, but they will fail. They’ll have no one with your strength and courage, Esk kar. You’re a great leader of soldiers and you understand how and why men fight. The Alur Meriki came here not expecting any strong resistance. They made no real preparations to capture the village, even though they knew we were building a wall. You were always a step ahead of them. You anticipated their plans and they never caught up with yours. No other man in Orak could have accomplished what you did in the last few months. You have truly won a great victory.”
Her hands caressed his. “But more important than that, is what you have become. More than anyone, you’ve changed into someone better, someone wiser.”
“And without you, I’d have failed,” Esk kar replied. “You made the villagers work, organized the craftsmen, got the people to support me, and kept the nobles at bay. Without you, there would be no victory. Every soldier that fought today knows that.”
She stayed silent for a moment. “Today many may know that. But in a few months, only your name will be spoken as conqueror of the barbarians. Only the victors in battle are remembered, it seems. I suppose that is a good thing.”
She turned in his arms and faced him. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she looked into his eyes. “Do you truly wish to rule here in Orak, husband? Ruling the village will be different from planning for a siege. It will be even more difficult. A new wall, much higher and stronger, must be built, and it must encompass twice as much land as does this one. You will be building walls for many years, as well as training men to defend them.
There will be more battles to fight, and not just against barbarians. Others from distant lands may come against us. To guard Orak and make sure we are safe, you will have to take control of all of the land surrounding us, every farm and village for great distances in every direction. It will be hard work, even for a great leader of men. But if you wish to rule, then we must begin tomorrow. It’s a task that may last a lifetime.”
“What you ask won’t be easy. It’s one thing to fight from behind a wall.
It is another to carry war to distant places and defeat your enemies in their own lands.”
“I have no doubt that you will find new ways of making war. But those battles are in the future. First you must decide whether you wish to rule here.”
He gazed into her eyes in the gathering darkness. She was asking him to rule but he knew, without saying the words, they would rule together, that she would decide many of the rules and customs that would govern Orak’s daily life. She would select who would have power and who would not, and he would need to listen to her advice. Many of his soldiers and the villagers would know the truth—that she ruled as much as he. Esk kar would see it in their eyes every day.
None of that mattered anymore. He’d accomplished enough. Even his father’s death had been avenged. No one would ever forget his name now.
Besides, all of Orak knew Trella was touched by the gods, that she was truly a “gifted one.” There would be no shame in sharing power with her.
They would rule together.
“Or,” she offered, as his silence began to lengthen, “we can leave Orak in a few weeks.” She lowered her voice and rested her head against his chest. “We can take gold and men, and go wherever you wish.”
“You’d leave the village with me? To go wandering around the countryside, risking danger every day?”
She laughed, and the bright sound rang out across the tower. “I’ve risked my life every day for the last six months. I’ve been enslaved, sold, given away, stabbed, and nearly killed. Would there be any more danger out there than that?”
He squeezed her to him again. Much too late, he knew, for such a choice.
Besides, he remained as much in her spell tonight as that first night when she came into his arms. His fate had been sealed then, and his life would revolve around her until the spell was broken or until one of them died, and perhaps not even then, if the gods’ promise of an afterlife held true.
“We’ll stay, Trella, and we … both of us, will rule in Orak.” He reached out to touch the wall before him, the gritty feeling oddly satisfying. “Our blood is already in these walls. You’re right. There must be a new wall, greater than this.”
Trella laid her hand on top of his. “The wall will hold our voices for a hundred years, perhaps even two hundred. As long as the wall stands around Orak, we’ll be remembered.” She turned her head slightly to look up at him. “I can help you rule over a great village.”
“You will guide me in all things, and I will protect you.” He barely heard her next words, so softly did she speak them.
“Protect us, Esk kar. I carry your child. Now you must protect both of us.”
He lifted her chin up and looked into her eyes as he’d done that first night. “You’re with child? When were you planning on telling me?”
“If Orak fell, then there was no need. I didn’t want to give you something else to worry about. It’s still months away, but I’m certain I carry our child. Annok - sur agrees.”
She turned again, still staying within his arms, but now she faced out toward the fields. Deep shadows hid the dead bodies scattered across the plain. Except for the faint glow from behind the hill, the darkness was nearly complete. Fewer campfires would burn tonight, Esk kar knew.
“There’s so much to do, Esk kar. You must control the soldiers, establish outposts and villages up and down the river, overcome those who resist, and plan for the next barbarian migration.”
She sighed. “The livestock and grain must be brought back from across the river. There will be more fighting, Esk kar, but in the future you’ll be leading it, not fighting yourself, not ever again. In all the time we’ve been together, I’ve asked you for nothing for myself, but this you must promise me. The great sword must stay in your scabbard.”
That might not be such a bad thing, Esk kar decided, his thoughts flashing back to that terrible fight in the Alur Meriki camp. He was getting old.
Even among the steppes people, hard fighting was best left to the young.
He brushed away such thoughts from his mind. “I’ll leave the fighting to others,” he said finally, unable to keep a hint of regret from his words, “but I’ll keep your sword at my side, in case it’s needed.”
He took a breath. “And you will have to decide how to rule Orak, what customs and decrees will come to pass, what families to ennoble, how we will get enough gold to pay for the soldiers and for rebuilding Orak and everything else we will need. I see there’s as much work in keeping power as winning it. Yes, there is much for you to do, Trella.”
The sun had set completely now. The darkness before them stretched all the way to the hills. When she spoke, the question surprised him. “What would you name our child, should the babe be a son?”
He thought a moment, then shrugged. “I know only barbarian names, and they’re not fit for our son, who will rule Orak after us. And villager names are as one to me. Do you have a name that you would choose?”
“I’d like to honor my father, since I owe so much to him. His name was
‘Sargat.’ If you allow, we could name our son after him.”
Esk kar, still getting used to the idea of being a father, considered her request thoughtfully. Even among villagers naming a son was the husband’s responsibility and not something to be passed off lightly. But her father’s name did not convey the qualities of a leader. It was an ordinary name, used by many.
Esk kar knew some names had power of their own, as certain words had influence over men. He had no preference for any name himself, but still …
“Sargat … it’s a good name, but a common one. Our son should have a name that shows strength and power.” He thought again. The name
“Sargat” had no equivalent in his native tongue, but if he had to translate it …
“Suppose we call him Sargon. That’s a name that I haven’t heard before and it seems to me to carry strength. Would that honor your father?”
“Sargon,” she repeated, saying the strange name aloud, as if listening for the gods to approve. “Sargon. Yes, that is a fine, new name and it honors my father as well. He will be called Sargon, and he’ll give honor both to his grandfather and his father.”
“Sargon, who will rule the village of Orak,” he repeated.
“No, Orak is no longer a village. It has grown into something greater.
It is a city, with a wall and brave men to defend it, a city that will grow in strength and have greatness of its own. For the first time villagers and farmers joined together and resisted the barbarians. Who knows what we can do in the future?”
“It should have its own name, then, a new name, like the name of our son,” Esk kar suggested. “Maybe we can think of a new name for Orak as well.”
“Can you choose a new name for Orak, then? A name that will make them forget the old village, and instead remind them of you and your victories?”
Esk kar kept silent for a long time, thinking about names of places.
Trella, as always, let him take his time. “When I was a boy, we spent part of a summer far to the north, by a tiny stream we called the Akkad. I saw my first lion there. It was the last happy time I had with my family.” He smiled to himself at the distant memory. “How does ‘Akkad’ sound for the name of our city?”
“Akkad … Akkad. Esk kar of Akkad … Sargon of Akkad. Yes, it’s a strong name, Esk kar, like your own. Perhaps the lion spirit will approve, and give his protection to both Sargon and the city of Akkad. But let’s not tell the others yet what new name we plan for Orak. The new name can come in its own time, when everyone sees what we have accomplished.”