Battle For Empire

12

Twelve days after the battle, and just before sunset, a weary but still jubilant Eskkar rode through the gates of Akkad at the head of a column of one hundred horsemen. Messengers had reached the city days earlier, to announce his latest battlefield success. Nevertheless, as word spread through Akkad at the sight of the approaching cavalry, the inhabitants clogged the lanes from the city’s main gate to the Compound, hoping to catch a glimpse of the King as he returned. The sight of his tall figure riding A-tuku elicited cheers from the throngs that nearly blocked the riders’ path.

Many of Akkad’s denizens had kin in the northern parts of the country, and they rejoiced in the knowledge that friends and family would be spared any further raids from the Alur Meriki. Others in the crowd had lived through the desperate siege of Orak, and even more through the attack on the city during the war with Sumer.

Relief showed on the faces of those who had survived that attack. For villagers who once shook in terror at the mere mention of the barbarians, this success meant so much more.

To celebrate the victory over the Alur Meriki, Eskkar had again donned the bronze breastplate and his luxurious cloak, with the image of a fierce hawk stitched across his shoulder, for his entrance into Akkad. He knew the armor and garment would impress his own people as much as it had the barbarians. The gleaming metal caught the last rays of the sun as A-tuku cantered through the twisting lanes of the still-growing city and its cheering inhabitants.

Abandoning his usual reserve, Eskkar waved his hand at the cheering throng eager to catch a glimpse of their king and deliverer.

A-tuku reflected the spirit of its rider, and its hooves kicked clods of dirt into the air as it snorted and pranced its way through the press. Some of the crowd’s exuberance came from the effect of too much ale or wine. Many had started drinking early, not waiting for the official three days of feasting to begin. Still, everyone wanted to celebrate the soldiers’ bravery and give thanks to the Goddess Ishtar for the city’s good fortune.

Eskkar felt as much satisfaction as his subjects. The strategy he and his commanders had developed had worked even better than anyone expected. Battles rarely went as planned, but this clash had succeeded beyond Eskkar’s most optimistic expectations. Not only had the threat from the Alur Meriki vanished, but Eskkar had gained a new ally for the coming war with the Elamites.

And within the Great Clan, the remnants of the once-disgraced Hawk Clan would increase his influence among his father’s people, as well as a handful of warriors sworn to serve him. In the future, these older warriors would help facilitate the exchange of goods and information between the two peoples.

To strengthen the new alliance, Eskkar knew Trella would soon have gifts and supplies moving toward the Alur Meriki. Not that he expected any sudden show of harmony between the two hereditary enemies. But the seeds of mutual respect had been planted. It would take years, perhaps many years, but at last the chance to build a bond between villagers and steppes warriors existed.

And he now had one thousand warriors at his command! Such a force, used properly as light cavalry and aimed at the right target, would be more devastating than two or three times that number of Akkadian trained horsemen.

Eskkar swung down from his horse in the courtyard of the Compound with a smile of satisfaction on his face. Almost every one of the household servants and guards had turned out, to greet his arrival with words of praise and congratulations. As always when he returned from a hard day’s ride, Eskkar strode through the courtyard to the well at the rear of the house, to cleanse the dust and dirt from his body.

With the Tigris so near, many of the wealthier residents had dug their own wells, and Eskkar and Trella’s dwelling was no exception. Their well was surrounded on two sides by the Compound’s walls, while the house formed the third barrier. A large bench offered seating, and two small trees provided shade for the tiny garden during the day. In Eskkar’s Compound, the water source provided a private area where the Lord and Mistress of the house could relax or bathe in relative seclusion.

Tossing his sword and belt to one of the servants, he stripped off his rank garments and kicked them aside. Another servant poured the first of many buckets of cold water over his naked body, while one of the women handed Eskkar a square of linen, which he used to scrub the grime and horse smell from his body.

It took ten buckets before Eskkar finally felt clean, and told the servant to stop. Picking up another piece of linen, Eskkar dried his face and chest. Trella joined him, carrying a clean tunic and a larger, more luxuriant drying cloth. The servants, smiling broadly, respected their wish for privacy, and left them alone.

“By the gods, you grow more beautiful each day.” The words slipped from Eskkar’s mouth without volition. He stroked her long, thick hair for a moment, before taking her face in his hands. Nearly thirty days had passed since his departure, and to his stirring manhood, it seemed even longer. He took her in his arms, and held her close.

“Welcome back, Husband. You’ve done well.” For a fleeting moment, she pressed herself against his naked body before stepping back and handing him the fresh garment.

Eskkar had shared his life with Trella long enough to know when something was amiss. His pleasant thoughts about a relaxing romp in their bed chamber before supper faded.

He slipped the tunic on, ignoring the soft feel of the fine garment. “What’s wrong?” He reached out and grasped her by the shoulders.

“There’s been an. . incident with Sargon.”

“Is he alright?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Come upstairs where we can speak in private.”

So it was serious. Eskkar followed her into the house. Inside, he noticed the suddenly somber expressions on the faces of their personal servants. Those who spent their days within the residence would, of course, know all about the problem, whatever it was. Servants always knew about such things, usually before the master or mistress.

In their quiet chamber, Trella closed the door. She went to the table, where servants had placed fresh food and drink. Two thick candles already burned, lighting the room and holding dusk at bay.

“Sit, husband. You must be tired.” She picked up the wine pitcher, and half-filled a cup, adding water to weaken the strong drink.

Eskkar ignored his usual chair and instead slumped onto the long bench, covered by a soft blanket, and stretched out his long legs. It was a bad sign when Trella poured his wine.

“What trouble has Sargon gotten himself into this time?” The question wasn’t an idle one. He knew it must be something important for Trella to bring it up at once.

“Corio will be here shortly, demanding to see you. One of his daughters, Sestana, she has thirteen seasons and was just initiated into the rites of the women. She was. . injured by Sargon.”

His fist tightened on the cup and he took a long sip from the cup. “What happened?”

Eskkar was well acquainted with another of Corio’s daughters, Ismenne, who visited the Compound each day to work with Trella and the other commanders in the Map Room. But the master builder had sired many children from his two bountiful wives, and Eskkar couldn’t recall a face to match the name Sestana.

Trella slipped into the chair beside the bench, and took Eskkar’s hand. “Sargon and Ziusudra were visiting at Corio’s house, to spend some time with one of his sons.”

The last of Eskkar’s good mood vanished. He straightened up and set the wine cup down so hard that the table shook, and a splash of red splattered across the wood.

“I ordered Sargon not to have anything to do with Ziusudra,” he said. “I told him. .”

“I know, husband. You must stay calm.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “Sargon had slipped away from his teacher and gone to visit Ziusudra. They spent a good part of the morning drinking wine, before heading to Corio’s. They had more wine there, with Corio’s boy. The house was nearly empty, except for a few servants. Somehow they encountered Sestana and she joined them. They offered her wine, and I think she drank some. Then Ziusudra and Sargon tried to force themselves on Sestana.”

“Damn that Ziusudra.” Even the boy’s name grated on Eskkar’s nerves.

Trella continued the story. “Sestana struggled, and. . one of them struck her, and split her lip. Her clothing was torn, but she resisted. When a serving woman arrived, summoned by the commotion, she saw Sargon straddling the girl, holding his hand over her mouth. At the same time, Ziusudra held her shoulders down.”

Eskkar gulped the rest of his wine. “He raped her.” The words sounded harsh in the quiet of their chamber. Not just the chamber, he realized. The whole house had gone silent, aware of what was happening in the upper chamber.

Trella shook her head. “No, Sargon hadn’t quite reached that point. The housekeeper screamed so loud that the guard at the front door ran inside. By the time he arrived, Ziusudra and Sargon were leaving. The guard recognized Sargon, of course, but didn’t think to stop him. So the guard waited there with Sestana and the housekeeper. By then, both of them were screaming. They sent for the girl’s mother, and she and Corio arrived together.”

“I’ve told him, ordered him countless times to stay away from Ziusudra.” Eskkar’s voice held a hard edge. “He’s nothing but a worthless fool.”

“I know.”

Neither of them had to say anything else about that. Ziusudra, a year or so older than Sargon’s fourteen seasons, was Akkad’s leading mischief maker. Handsome and daring, he’d been involved in every kind of trouble and prank imaginable.

His father, a wealthy merchant named Ningal, doted on his only son. Money, clothes, jewels, Ziusudra possessed them all, and displayed them at every opportunity. Girls and even women old enough to know better looked with favor on his handsome face and golden hair. Nearly every boy in Akkad idolized him, including Sargon.

“Where is Sargon?”

“He’s in the guard’s quarters, probably sleeping off the effects of the wine. I ordered the commander of the Hawk Clan guards to keep him there.”

Sargon’s chamber, which he shared with his younger brother, Melkorak, was on the main floor. Their sister Zakita, two seasons younger than Sargon, had another room, one she shared with the matron who attended her. Just across the courtyard from the main structure was a row of small rooms, used by the Hawk Clan to quarter some of the Compound’s guards, or serve as visitor’s lodgings.

“And the girl. . Sestana? Are you sure he didn’t rape her?”

“Corio’s wife examined her. Aside from a cut lip and a bump on her head, she’s unhurt. Frightened, of course. Still, this incident will reflect on her reputation and hopes for a good marriage. Otherwise, I’m sure she’ll be fine in a day or so.”

Eskkar’s first thought was that any maiden who allowed herself to cavort with men unsupervised should suffer a serious stain on her reputation. It could have been worse.

His second thought was to go downstairs and have the boy whipped. Raping a virgin, according to Akkad’s laws, was punishable by death. Trella and the King’s Justice, Nicar, had written the law only a few years ago. Attempted rape, including injuring a young woman in the process, would be almost as bad.

“Corio can insist Sargon be punished. He can demand. .”

“I spoke briefly to Corio, Husband. Of course he wants to see you. The blood is still hot in his veins, but he will calm down by tomorrow. By then he will not want to press this matter too hard. In a few days, Sargon can apologize. Perhaps I can convince Corio to accept some payment as restitution.”

“No, don’t insult him. Corio has no need of gold.” As Akkad’s Master Builder and the man who built the walls that saved the city, Corio possessed more wealth than most of the city’s merchants and traders. “His honor will demand more.”

“He values your friendship, Eskkar. He will not want to lose that.”

“There is friendship, and there is blood.” He stared at her. “How would you feel if one of his sons did this to Zakita? Would you accept a few gold coins to satisfy her honor?”

“No, my husband, I would not.” She pressed his hand again, then released it. “I agree something must be done with Sargon. This wildness must end. He could have been killed by Corio’s bodyguards.”

Eskkar bit back the words that nearly reached his lips. Better if the boy had died. No father should ever wish for such a thing. Still, for more than a year, Sargon had brought them nothing but trouble. Willful, disobedient, lazy, and now taken to drinking wine and ale early in the day, with others just as wild and shiftless as himself.

“Then it will end.” Eskkar pushed himself to his feet and went to the door. Out on the landing, he called down to the guard and ordered Sargon brought to the upper chamber.

Back inside the Workroom, Eskkar turned to Trella. “What do you think I should do?”

“All day I have been thinking about what to say when you asked that question. My heart says to forgive him. But as your eldest son and the heir to the Kingdom of Akkad, Sargon is bringing disgrace to our family. Until today, the people have smiled at his foolishness. Now many will think he is dangerous, and likely to bring the wrath of the gods down on their city. As leaders of Akkad, we cannot allow such thoughts to grow in their minds. If they believe we are too weak to control our son and their future king, then they will soon think as little of us as they do of Sargon. When that happens, they will look to others to take our place.”

Footfalls sounded on the stairs. Then Sargon stepped into the room. Unlike his father, Sargon stood only of average height, and his frame, while sturdy enough, appeared closer to that of a counting house clerk than a soldier. Wide-spaced eyes made him look older than his years. Despite his detention, someone had combed and arranged the long brown hair, and his tunic appeared fresh and clean. Sargon must have summoned one of the servants to attend him.

Eskkar jerked his head at the guard, who hurriedly closed the door. Eskkar waited while the guard descended the stairs, treading more heavily than usual, no doubt to make sure that the King could hear his descent.

“Welcome home, Father.” Sargon acknowledged his mother with the slightest bow. “Congratulations on your latest victory.” The voice held the tiniest trace of insolence.

Eskkar decided it might just be the lingering effects of the wine. He leaned back against the edge of the table. “Perhaps I should have stayed away a few more days. By then the King’s Justice might have sentenced you to be stoned to death in the market.”

Sargon swaggered to the table and scooped up a handful of grapes. “Nicar would never do such a thing. Nor would Corio demand it, once he calmed down.”

The boy spoke the truth. Nicar, the dispenser of the King’s Justice, would have stayed his hand from that punishment. And while Corio might shout and bluster for a few days, even he would not want a serious breech between his house and the King’s. Sargon was no fool, Eskkar granted his son that. “And what should I do in their stead?”

Tossing a grape into his mouth, Sargon stepped away from the table. “Nothing happened, Father. Besides, Sestana told me she wanted me to take her. She’d been drinking wine before we got there. Then she changed her mind.”

“And after you finished with her, Ziusudra would have taken his turn as well. Your friend knew better than to rape the girl first. He was willing to let you have all the blame.”

Drunk or sober, virgins of Akkad’s noble families were not debauched without serious consequence. Disgraced, Sestana’s bride dowry would have vanished, and the embarrassment to Corio’s House would have had other lingering effects. Eskkar set that thought aside for a moment.

“More important, you disobeyed both your mother and me. You left your teachers, and joined with Ziusudra, despite our orders. What should be your punishment for that?”

Sargon met his father’s gaze. “I promise I will attend to my studies. But I already know more than most of the Noble Families about how to rule a city. There will be plenty of time to study when I am King.”

“Ah, then you think you will rule Akkad someday?”

Sargon seemed to realize that his words might sound presumptuous. “Not for many years yet, I’m sure, Father.”

“And if I decide to choose your brother Melkorak as my heir?”

Melkorak, Eskkar’s other son, had five fewer seasons than Sargon.

Sargon shrugged, unconsciously imitating his father. “Melkorak is too young. And he is slow to learn the symbols. He will not be strong enough or wise enough to command the City.”

Leaving only you to rule when I am gone, Eskkar thought. “You press too hard on my patience, Sargon.” He turned to Trella. “And what do you suggest we should do with our son?”

Trella, sitting so quietly that she had almost faded from the room, fastened her gaze on Sargon. One of the candles illuminated her face, and Eskkar caught the glint of anger in her eyes and in the tension of her lips.

Her look startled him for a moment. He hadn’t seen that expression for. . almost fifteen years, since the night Trella had helped him fight Korthac. She’d saved Eskkar’s life by stabbing the Egyptian usurper in the leg, slowing him down just enough so that Eskkar could defeat him.

When Trella spoke, however, her voice remained calm. Whatever emotions she felt about her son remained locked in her heart, but Eskkar recognized the signs of anger, the signs of a woman and mother pushed too far.

“Perhaps we should ask Ziusudra. Sargon listens to his counsel.” She turned away from Sargon to face Eskkar.

“You should know, Husband, that Ziusudra has a loud voice, and when he talks many hear his words. Yesterday he suggested that you were lucky to survive this battle with the Alur Meriki, and that you might not be so fortunate in the next encounter. He also told Sargon that the Kingship of Akkad was his for the taking. I wonder what he meant by that? Perhaps if Ziusudra spent a session with the torturers, they could obtain the explanation.”

Sargon’s eyes widened. Obviously it had never occurred to him that Trella’s agents might be spying on him. “He never said that! I swear he. .”

Eskkar pushed off from the table, covering the distance between himself and his son in two long strides. For a tall man, Eskkar could move with both speed and agility, a fact that had surprised his enemies and saved his life more than once. Before Sargon could react, Eskkar’s hand clamped on his son’s shoulder with such force that Sargon gasped in surprise and pain.

Jerking his arm, Eskkar shoved Sargon so fiercely that he staggered across the room and slammed into the wall, hard enough to send the sound throughout the house.

Eskkar never stopped moving. He caught Sargon as he bounced off the wall, and this time his right hand fastened around his son’s throat. “You call your mother a liar to her face!”

The grip tightened. Sargon clasped his hands on his father wrist and tried to loosen his grip, but far bigger and stronger men had failed to move that arm.

Sargon’s face turned red, and he gasped for breath. He dropped his right hand to fumble with his tunic. But before he could draw the dagger from beneath his garment, Eskkar caught Sargon’s wrist with his left hand and squeezed. Sargon cried out as the bones in his wrist ground together. The blade clattered to the floor.

“Damn you!” Eskkar twisted his shoulders and flung Sargon back into the center of the room. The boy stumbled and went down, landing awkwardly on the plank floor, his head within the shadow of the table.

The door burst open. The guard, summoned by the noise, took one step into the room, his hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted around the room, seeking any sign of danger.

Eskkar’s frown froze the man in mid step. “Fetch the commander of my guards. At once! And find my Hawk Clan guards, the two who returned with me.”

“Yes, My Lord.” The soldier looked grateful for any excuse to leave the room. He turned and raced back through the door, his heavy sandals pounding on the stairs.

Sargon twisted on his side, and started to rise, but Eskkar clamped his foot on the boy’s chest, pinning him to the floor. “Move and I’ll crush your ribs.” A shift of Eskkar’s weight brought a gasp from Sargon.

Chandor and Pekka arrived together, rushing up the stairs and into the chamber. Saruda, the commander of the Compound’s guards, followed them into the room.

Eskkar’s glare halted all three just inside the chamber. “Saruda, my son Sargon is to be placed in the smallest of the guest quarters. He is to see no one, speak to no one. That includes the servants. You will not obey any of his orders, and you will ignore any requests. If you fail in this duty in the slightest, I’ll have you hung from the city’s walls. Do you understand me?”

Over the past few months, perhaps even longer, the guards had grown accustomed to taking orders from Sargon. That practice had to stop.

“Yes, My Lord.” Saruda glanced down at the boy. “Of course.”

Eskkar turned to the other guards. “You two will remain in the chamber with Sargon. I give you the same orders as Saruda. No one is to see him or talk to him. And he is not to speak with you. If he does, for each word he utters, I order you to punch him as hard as you can in the stomach. If either of you fails to obey my orders, you’ll both wish you’d never been born.”

Eskkar glanced at the guards and his son. Then he turned to Trella. She remained seated on the bench, expressionless, her face drained of color. She met his eyes and nodded.

“Get him out of here.”

The moment the door closed behind them, Eskkar whirled and returned to the table. He wanted to strike something, someone. Instead he pounded the surface with the heel of his hand. “Damn him to the pits.” Taking a deep breath, Eskkar regained control of his emotions. He filled his cup with wine, and gulped half of it, spilling a mouthful on his clean tunic in the process.

“My son!” The bitterness grated on his tongue. “I taught him everything but honor.”

“That cannot be taught, unless the pupil already has the seeds within him.” Her eyes closed for a moment. “But perhaps it is not too late for Sargon. You know I have never approved of your idea of sending him to the Steppes People to learn the ways of war. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps it is time for him to learn honor the hard way.”

He stared at her. “Then he will have one last chance to learn it. Tomorrow he will accompany me to the north. I will take him to Subutai of the Ur Nammu. Maybe he can teach our son what I have failed.”

Trella’s eyes closed at Eskkar’s words. She knew what they meant, and she did not protest. Her son would likely die in the north. “You have not failed, Eskkar. It is I who have put up with Sargon’s bad habits far longer than I should. Now I will have to bear the responsibility for that.”

Eskkar sat beside her. Taking her in his arms, he felt her tremble against him, as she rested her head on his shoulder. After a few moments, she regained her composure.

“Now the gods will decide his future.” Trella’s voice had regained its decisiveness.

Eskkar had more faith in Subutai than any gods, but decided to keep that thought to himself.

Loud voices sounded through the door, coming from the common room below.

“Damn every demon, now what?” Eskkar strode to the door, flung it open so hard that it slammed against the wall, and stared down into the house’s main chamber.

Corio stood there, his path blocked by one of the household guards. “Eskkar! I demand to speak to you. Right now!”

The last man in Akkad Eskkar wanted to see. He considered sending the outraged girl’s father away, but decided that he respected Corio too much to avoid him. Besides, if Eskkar sent him away, the man’s anger would only increase. “Come on up, Corio.”

A moment later, the Noble Corio, his face red with anger, stomped into the room. “Eskkar, do you know what your son has done?”

Eskkar held up his hand and shook his head. “Save your words, Corio. If you’re not satisfied with what I intend for the boy, you can use my own knife to cut off his balls.”