Bantor spoke quickly. He wanted Luroc to know the situation before he attempted anything foolish.
“My men could have taken you prisoner any time in the last few days, even last night after you gave your men their final instructions and left their hideout. Or I could have entered the house with a dozen men and rushed you before you knew we were there. Instead, I’ve come to offer you an arrangement. Lady Trella wishes to speak with you. I’m to bring you to her.”
“Who betrayed me?” The gruff voice held more disgust than anger.
Bantor leaned carefully against the courtyard’s entrance. He didn’t intend to get any closer to a desperate man with a sword in his hand. “I really don’t know. Does it matter?”
Luroc, the sword in his hand, shook his head.
Bantor saw the man preparing himself for a death fight. “If you want to live, I suggest you come quietly and listen to what Lady Trella has to say. You’ll find she can be quite generous. Otherwise . . . best fall on your own sword.”
Before Luroc could decide what to do, the Captain of the Guard turned and left the room, leaving Luroc standing there still holding his naked blade.
Luroc took only moments to make up his mind, perhaps assisted by the sight of two armed men who appeared on the roof of the house, peering down into the inner courtyard. One man carried a bow with a shaft already nocked to the string.
Stepping out of Ramal-sul’s front doorway a few moments later, Luroc found Bantor and two guards waiting there. The Sumerian’s sword rested in its scabbard. The soldiers looked competent, and Bantor was known to be a powerful fighter.
“No need to worry, Luroc,” Bantor said. “Walk beside me, as two old friends would do.”
Together they walked the lanes of Akkad, crossing half the city before they reached Eskkar’s house. At Bantor’s approach, the guards opened the gate and the little group passed inside.
Annok-sur waited just outside the entrance to the house. “Please give Bantor your sword, Luroc. Only the Hawk Clan is permitted to carry weapons in Lady Trella’s presence.
For a moment, Bantor thought the man would try something stupid. But Luroc kept control of his emotions. He reached for his blade, and Bantor’s two men moved in closer, just in case Luroc decide to start hacking at everyone. Using his fingers, he drew the sword from its scabbard and handed it to Bantor.
Annok-sur led Luroc into the house and up the stairs, to where Trella waited for them at the big table in the workroom. Another guard stood beside her, in case the Sumerian decided to leap across the table. Bantor remained just behind their guest.
“Please sit down, Luroc,” Lady Trella began. “I imagine you could use some wine. Or ale if you prefer.”
Annok-sur moved around the table to stand beside Trella. Annok-sur reached down and filled a cup with watered wine, which she handed to Luroc.
The man took it with both hands, as he slid into the seat across the wide table. By now the shock of his capture had started to sink in, and he looked like a man who knew he would soon be dead.
“As Bantor may have told you,” Trella said, “we know of your plot to help the barbarians slip into the city. Since that will not succeed, you may want to consider another option. How much gold did King Shulgi promise you?”
Lady Trella’s pleasant voice contrasted sharply with the harder tones of Queen Kushanna. Nevertheless, both women expected to be obeyed when they spoke.
“Twenty gold coins to prepare the men.” He took another gulp from the wine cup. “Fifty more if the attack succeeded.”
“The king of Sumeria is generous, but I am willing to exceed that price. I will give you safe passage to one of the northern cities and seventy-five Akkadian gold coins if you are willing to help us. With that much gold, you should be able to find a place of safety far from this war.”
Luroc’s eyes widened at the sum, and he decided the wild stories of Akkad’s gold mine at Nuzi were true. With that much gold, he would never need to work again. “How can I help you?”
“By making sure the barbarians enter the city, of course. The city’s guard is even now collecting your men. They’ll be sentenced to the labor gangs for the rest of their lives. Bantor’s men will replace them and you will be on the wall at Tanner’s Lane tonight to bring the barbarians into the city.”
“You want the barbarians to cross over your walls?”
“Yes. Our men will be waiting for them, of course.”
“They’ll capture your city. Even if they don’t, they’ll kill so many of your soldiers you won’t be able to resist Shulgi’s army when it gets here.”
“Perhaps. But that will not concern you. You will have your gold and be on a boat going north. Unless you prefer the alternative.”
Luroc glanced behind him. Bantor still stood there, but now his right hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The guard standing just beside Lady Trella had not taken his eyes off Luroc for a moment.
Luroc wet his lips, then realized he still held the wine cup. Another mouthful seemed to ease his choice.
“How do I know you will keep your part of the bargain?”
“The word of Lady Trella has never been broken,” Annok-sur said. “If you do as we ask, you will not be harmed. You and the gold will be free to leave at sunup. Several boats will be departing to the north. Or you can even return to Sumeria, if you wish.”
Returning to Queen Kushanna’s presence without the destruction of Akkad to report didn’t appeal to Luroc.
Trella gave him a moment to work things through. Then she nodded. “I give you my word you will not be harmed.”
Luroc drained the wine cup, and pushed it toward the center of the table. Like any good gambler, he knew when he was beaten. “I don’t think I’ll be going back to Sumer. What do you want me to do?”
T
he long day had finally given way to dusk, then darkness. Since Luroc decided to change his allegiance, if indeed the mercenary ever had any, Trella had remained with Bantor most of the day. She and Annok-sur questioned the spy at length, obtaining the names of all his men, and ascertaining that no other Sumerian agents remained in Akkad. Bantor had dispatched Wakannh, who had been present at last night’s meeting, to gather up all eight Sumerians, and they now languished in a single room at the barracks, guarded by a dozen men.
Trella insisted that Bantor go over every part of the plan. She knew the way her husband’s mind worked, and she’d watched him in enough planning sessions over the last five years to know how he would proceed. Every step, every part, had to be discussed, responsibility assigned, every commander and his second in command had to fully grasp and understand the role he would play.
The carpenters had to be summoned and given their instructions. The rest of the city had to remain guarded as well throughout the night, as the barbarians might have more than one plot. No soldiers would be sleeping tonight. Those not involved at Tanner’s Lane would be manning Akkad’s walls, alert for any attack.
At the barracks, behind its closed gates, the soldiers prepared torches and poles, readied shields and spears, while archers tested their bows and changed to new bowstrings. The handful of spearmen remaining in the
city prepared themselves for this new way of fighting. Even food and water had to be readied, to make sure that no one lacked for anything.
All this needed to be accomplished before sundown. Tonight, Trella wanted everything in Akkad to appear as normal as the night before. Only when the city lay cloaked in darkness were the men and equipment quietly assembled, brought together in small groups, and taken to their stations.
The waiting began. Trella leaned against a wall a hundred paces from Tanner’s Lane. Annok-sur had wanted her to remain in the Compound, but Trella insisted on being there. Bantor protested as well, but gave way when he saw her determination.
“I must be there,” she said. “I know how Eskkar would think and act. Tonight you will think of me as you would of him.”
“But if it fails, you may be in danger.”
“If I am sending men to fight and die, then they need to see me there, standing beside them. Would Eskkar do any less?”
No amount of words changed her mind. Before midnight, she arrived at Tanner’s Lane, accompanied by her four Hawk Clan guards. She wore the short sword Eskkar had given her belted around her waist. He had taught her how to use it after Korthac’s defeat.
Near one of the watch fires, Bantor and Luroc waited together for her arrival. Even in the flickering light, she saw the worry on Bantor’s face.
“The men are ready, Lady Trella.” At least Bantor knew better than to argue with her in front of the Sumerian.
“Nothing was said about me being tied to a rope.” Luroc’s words, though spoken just above a whisper, sounded bitter.
Luroc had been forced to remove his tunic, and a slim but stout rope was fastened around his waist, then fed out through a hole cut in the back of the garment. Wakannh had the other end of the rope fastened around his body.
“That’s just in case you decide to slip over the wall and rejoin your companions,” Trella said. “Though they’d probably kill you anyway at the first alarm.” She had been the one who suggested the rope to Bantor. “Wakannh will stand next to you at all times, as if one of your trusted men. If you try to escape, or give us away, you’ll find yourself hanging over the fire pit in the morning.”
“I’ll keep my end of the bargain.”
“Then all will be well for both of us,” she answered.
The waiting began. The moon still climbed upward in the heavens, slower than it usually did, it seemed to those watching. But at last the moon reached its zenith.
“Clear the wall,” Bantor ordered in a low voice. One by one, the sentries on the wall ducked below the wall, then dropped to the ground below or moved rapidly but silently down the parapet’s steps. The barbarians, if indeed they were out there, would have been waiting for the guards to be taken out.
Luroc, with Wakannh at his side, moved to the top of the wall, now empty of sentries. Luroc leaned over and waved a bit of white cloth.
Neither man could see much, but then Luroc stiffened. Wakannh saw them, too, and his hand tightened on the rope.
The ground beyond the ditch seemed to be alive, like a field covered with locusts, as crouched men moved quickly and silently over the empty ground. In moments, a wave of men dropped down into the ditch. Bent low, they raced to the base of the wall. It took only moments to locate the two ropes Bantor’s men had thrown over the edge.
The ropes tightened as men started the climb. Ladders bumped softly against the wall as well. Then a figure swung up over the top, glanced around, and saw the two men standing there. The whites of the barbarian’s eyes shone in the moonlight. He swung over the wall, his hand on his sword.
“Wait!” Luroc whispered just loud enough to be heard. “I’m Luroc. The way is clear.”
Without waiting for a reply, Luroc turned away, and he and Wakannh moved to the steps and raced down the steps. They disappeared into the shadows at the entrance to the lane.
Bantor waited for them there. He could hear the small sounds of bodies scraping and slipping over the wall. Soon he saw the barbarians, their number swelling, readying weapons.
From the shadows a few steps away, Trella watched the parapet fill with the enemy. More and more kept coming, helped up and over by their companions. She heard the faint rasp of swords being drawn from scabbards, and noted the silhouette of one or two bows.
Behind her the soldiers shifted, their breathing coming faster as they tensed up for the coming struggle. But their small sounds were masked by those on the wall. In the faint moonlight, Trella saw that everyone had moved to their assigned places. At last she heard the sound of wood
scraping against wood as the barricades moved into position, blocking off the parapet. If the barbarians detected them, they made no outcry.
“It’s time.” Bantor’s whisper sounded harsh.
Trella moved silently across the open space at the end of the lane. Behind her the soldiers formed up in silence. Looking up, she saw the wall now swarmed with men. Some began to drop down off the parapet, others found the steps and ran down, and still more heads and shoulders crawled over the wall into the city.
Wakannh’s voice boomed out over the lane. “Hoist the torches!”
The Alur Meriki froze in place as the first torch flared into being and was pushed out over the lane from the rooftop. Every eye watched as the long pole extended its flaming contents over the intruders, joined quickly by another and another, until five torches sputtered and blazed on each side of the open space and the barbarians could see the line of bowmen facing them, with another line of spearmen kneeling just in front of them, lances extended upwards. The Alur Meriki had time for that one glance.
“Loose!” Bantor’s voiced echoed off the walls. For a brief moment the barbarians didn’t move, not until the first wave of forty arrows crashed into their midst.
Warriors dropped like stones, screaming in pain as the arrows struck them. But the arrow storm unleashed the fury of men who suddenly realized they’d been lured into a trap. In the torchlight they could clearly see that every house and stall in the lane was boarded up, giving them no place to go but into the arrows ahead of them.
Bantor drew his sword. The leader of the bowmen continued to call the cadence and another flight of arrows, aimed low, struck at the invaders. Those barbarians still standing rushed forward, screaming their war cries as they charged at the forty men in front of them. Other Alur Meriki reinforcements continued to climb over the wall, eager to join the fighting and as yet unaware of what was happening.
Bantor’s third wave of shafts included shafts from other archers on the rooftops, as bowmen climbed into position and added their own arrows to the carnage below them. The barbarians had only to cover about thirty paces to come to grips with their opponents, but the shafts flew again, and this time the charge broke.
The warriors had brought few bows of their own, certain that swords would be the most useful weapon once inside the walls. Instead they found
themselves attacked by bowmen under the blaze of torches that lit the scene all too clearly.