Battle For Empire

13

That night and the next day strained Trella’s resolve. She had to set aside her own sorrow and worries to deal with her husband, who alternated between the darkest gloom and a burning fury. In his anger, Eskkar wanted to ride out of Akkad the next day, but Trella pleaded with him to wait a few days.

“I want to prepare some things before you go,” Trella said. “And you need time to select your men and ready your supplies. It may be a long journey, and you should get some rest. Also, I want to prepare gifts for the Ur Nammu. That may help them receive Sargon more favorably.”

Grudgingly Eskkar agreed to the delay.

That time stretched out to four days, during which Trella prepared for Eskkar and Sargon’s departure.

“There is much you will need, my husband,” she said, more than once. “Traveling will be difficult, so it is better to take our time.”

She saw how Eskkar hated each day of waiting. Trella understood his dilemma — he feared that he might weaken in his resolve, and release Sargon from his confinement, to give the boy yet one more chance. On several occasions Eskkar turned to her, the anguish plain on his face. Eskkar’s unspoken plea was that she would change her mind about Sargon’s banishment.

Those moments wrenched at Trella’s heart. She had acquiesced to Eskkar’s decision, but her love for her son shook her resolve. If she weakened the slightest, Eskkar would rescind his orders. But though the decision tested her strength of will, Trella refused to relent. The boy was counting on them doing just that. But Sargon had created a crisis that must be resolved, once and for all.

She and Eskkar had labored for too many years to establish their place at the top of Akkad’s hierarchy. They had gambled their lives more than once, and endured too much danger, to risk everything now on a wayward son. As he was, Sargon would never be a good or wise ruler. And the fact that he would keep company with one who spoke against his father’s rule was damning of itself, far worse than anything Sargon could have done to Sestana.

All Trella’s efforts to ensure their rule could still come to naught if Eskkar died without a suitable heir. With a weak son, several of the nobles and even some of the soldiers might be tempted to put themselves forth as the next King of Akkad.

In her heart, she doubted that their oldest son would ever fill the role of heir. And despite Sargon’s claims that he would change, she’d seen youths such as this before. She knew that her son’s shiftlessness would only increase as he grew older. Those who took to drinking too much ale so young rarely abandoned the habit as they grew older.

Trella dared not let the years pass, hoping that Sargon would outgrow his wildness. With the danger from the Elamites approaching, the need for a suitable heir had grown even more urgent.

Better to remove the boy now, give him this one last chance, before he grew old enough to cause more serious trouble. Despite the pain it brought her, Trella knew Sargon had to go the Ur Nammu. He needed the hard training, both physical and mental, that Sargon had failed to receive in Akkad, with its ever-present temptations.

Sargon, of course, only added to Trella’s woes. She visited him several times each day, and at every opportunity to speak he pleaded for another chance, another opportunity. He swore that he would drink no wine, that he would attend to his studies, and obey his teachers. Again and again, Sargon pleaded his case, and as the days passed without setting out on the journey, Trella saw that her son’s belief that they would relent increased.

Both father and son underestimated Trella’s resolve. She needed a suitable heir to the city, someone who could rule one day, and accept Trella’s guidance.

“The time to resolve this problem is now,” she told Eskkar. “Akkad has enemies within and without, all waiting for us to show the least sign of weakness. Many harbor hatred in their hearts toward us. You, because you were born a barbarian, and I because I was a slave. While I love my son in spite of his foolishness, others might use him to threaten us or our family. We must also think of Melkorak and Zakita.”

That thought, in the end, kept her determination strong. Trella had other children to consider. Nor was she too old to have another child. If Melkorak did not yet display the sharp mind needed for a ruler, at least he would accept his mother’s guidance. As would Trella’s daughter, Zakita, who possessed keen wits. Both would play significant roles in Akkad’s expansion in the coming years. No, she would not risk their futures to save Sargon’s.

Both Trella and Eskkar remembered that the boy had lied, and they remembered, too, that he had reached for the knife he’d worn under his tunic. Any son who dared raise his hand against his father might be put to death. Exile from the family would be considered a mercy.

So the days passed. Eskkar fell back into what he did best, choosing his men and horses, and deciding what to take with him. Trella agreed that he should take Chandor and Pekka, his bodyguards, of course, along with twenty of Hathor’s best horse fighters, ten of them already Hawk Clan.

Hathor had insisted on accompanying his king, but Eskkar refused, unwilling to waste Hathor’s time on such a mission. Eskkar did accept Draelin, one of Hathor’s senior men, to be his second in command. Six pack horses would accompany the riders, burdened with supplies for the trip and gifts to the Ur Nammu, most of those selected by Trella herself.

On the morning of the fifth day, in the pre-dawn darkness, Trella stood in the Courtyard. A crackling torch provided the only light. Outside in the lane, the horsemen, many still rubbing sleep from their eyes, waited to begin the journey. Eskkar had insisted on an early departure. Trella knew her husband wanted none of the city’s inhabitants to witness the spectacle of the king leading his troublesome son into exile.

“Do not blame your father,” Trella said to Sargon, who stood before her. “He. . both of us believe this is for your own good. In my heart, I am certain that you will return to us.”

“You cannot do this to me, Mother. I am your son. You need me here.”

The words sounded well enough, but Trella heard the anger hidden in them. Her son still could not believe his parents would go through with his punishment.

She reached out and touched his cheek. “You must endure this, Sargon, for your own good. Just remember that I love you, and will pray for your swift return.”

Sargon brushed her hand away. “Then I have no mother, no father! No mother would banish her own son.” The boy’s loud words echoed throughout the Compound. The servants and soldiers averted their eyes at the hurtful words.

Eskkar, seeing to his horse a few paces away, strode over. “If you raise your voice again, I’ll have you gagged.”

Sargon glared at them both, then turned away.

Eskkar gave the order to move out. He led his horse out of the Courtyard, with Sargon following, with two Hawk Clan guards on either side.

Stretching her legs to keep up, Trella accompanied them to the main gate, now called Ishtar’s Gate by the people. She gave Eskkar a brief farewell, and tried to say something encouraging to Sargon. But again her son turned his face away.

Tight-lipped, Trella climbed the guard tower steps just as the sun’s first rays of light topped the hills to the east. She watched from the wall as her husband and son rode out. Tears streaked her cheeks, but Trella refused to brush them away. The last time she felt such grief was when she watched her mother and father die, both murdered before her eyes. As she stared, Eskkar put his horse to a canter, and the soldiers matched his pace.

The moment Eskkar and his men passed out of sight, Trella brushed the tears from her face. She turned away from the wall and spoke to the leader of her four Hawk Clan guards, waiting patiently a few steps away.

“Send a messenger to Ningal the merchant. Tell him that the King would be grateful if Ningal would attend him at the Compound at midmorning. And he is to bring his son, Ziusudra, with him.”

That problem, too, needed to be resolved, though she had already taken the first steps.

At the appointed time, Ningal the merchant, and his wayward son, Ziusudra, arrived at the Compound. As they climbed the steps and entered the upper chamber, no doubt the merchant expected to hear angry words from King Eskkar, followed by some sort of fine as punishment.

The passage of time had lessened the impact of the assault. Even Corio, Sestana’s father, had controlled his rage, though he administered a savage beating to his own son for his part in the drunken attack. Of course Ziusudra was no longer welcome at Corio’s house. But after the first two days with no word from the King, Ziusudra assumed the worst of the storm had blown over, and resumed his usual ways, as the city’s gossip turned to other matters.

As two more days passed without any summons, father and son smiled at each other and relaxed. But that idea disappeared the moment Ningal saw the reception that Trella had arranged.

Trella and Annok-sur sat behind the large table, flanked on either side by a Hawk Clan guard. Bantor, the Captain of Akkad’s Guard, sat at the end of the table. Behind him, Hathor, the city’s cavalry commander, leaned his sparse frame against the wall.

No scribes or servants hovered nearby, but more important, Nicar, the King’s Justice, was absent. Befitting their status as wealthy and influential citizens, any of the city’s important traders expected to plead their case in the presence of Nicar. Ningal’s complacent mood vanished as he took in the hard faces of those arrayed before him.

The door to the chamber closed, as Ningal moved into the center of the room.

“I received a summons from the King.” Ningal glanced around, as if expecting Eskkar to join them from the other chamber.

Eskkar’s planned departure had remained a secret, known only to those soldiers and servants within the Compound. The less anyone knew about his goings and comings the safer he, and Trella, too, would be.

She stared at Ningal, observing the worried look that he no doubt thought he was concealing. Ningal’s fine tunic, soft leather sandals, and etched belt did little to enhance his rotund body. The merchant had eaten far too many fine meals, each one accompanied by the most expensive wines.

A weak man despite his successes, ruled by his appetites and desires for wealth. He had fathered only one child, Ziusudra, though he possessed several wives and an extensive collection of nubile slave girls.

Ziusudra, tall and handsome, looked nothing like his father, and Trella wondered if Ningal had, in fact, sired the boy. Her sharp glance examined their ears, and noted that father and son did not resemble each other in that feature. Perhaps some sturdy household slave had taken advantage of one of Ningal’s absences to slip into his wife’s bed and cuckold his master.

Not that it mattered any more. The father’s laxity and the boy’s deviousness and subtlety had brought this punishment upon their family.

Ziusudra, mistaking the brief silence, favored Trella with his best and most sincere smile.

“Eskkar is not here.” Trella did not intend to waste any more of her words or her time. “Ningal, you are being banished from Akkad, you and your family. You have three days in which to depart. And you will make a payment of two hundred gold coins to the King before noon today. Or one hundred if you do not wish for Ziusudra to accompany you. In that case he will be put to death for treason.”

As she spoke, Trella turned her gaze to the son, the ambitious boy who had twisted Sargon to his own purposes.

The smile had left Ziusudra’s face. “I’ve committed no treason!” Ziusudra had grasped the import of her words even faster than his father. “Your own son can swear to that.”

Ningal’s mouth fell open in shock, and it took a moment before he could speak. “Banishment! For a youthful prank, a prank instigated by your son? And two hundred gold coins? Such a fine is unheard of.” Even for a man as wealthy as Ningal, that much gold would be a serious hardship. “I protest! Lady Trella, I demand to see the King’s Justice. This is not allowed and. .”

Hathor pushed himself away from the wall and stepped across the room. Before Ningal could react, Hathor grabbed him by the throat, the powerful muscles in his arm rippling under the dark skin. At the same time, the Egyptian drew the short sword he always carried.

When the sharp blade pressed against Ningal’s stomach, a gasp of panic escaped from his mouth. He tried to shrink away, but Hathor merely tightened his grip.

“The penalty for treason against the King is death.” Trella kept her voice firm, letting it reach through Ningal’s fear. “And if you have forgotten, treason is not resolved by the King’s Justice, only by the King. So if you continue to argue or protest, Hathor will kill you and your son right now. I can collect the gold from your household myself.”

Far tougher and braver men than Ningal had withered under Hathor’s ruthless gaze. The merchant, lips protruding and his face now bright red, attempted to speak. Hathor released his grip on the man’s neck, and shifted his grasp to the front of the man’s richly woven tunic. But the tip of his sword remained firm against Ningal’s soft stomach.

“I. . I will pay! Please don’t kill me. I will leave the city, I swear it!”

With a snort of disgust, Hathor released the man. Ningal would have fallen, but Ziusudra, his eyes wide with shock, caught his father’s arm and held him upright.

“That is wise, Ningal.” Trella’s voice still hadn’t risen. “There is another condition. Neither you nor your son will say anything to anyone about this matter. There will be no mention about the fine, no explanations about why you have decided to leave Akkad. You will just leave the city. The first time I hear talk about what has happened here today, that will be your last day of life. Do you understand?”

Ningal nodded. His lip trembled, and his eyes remained wide with fear.

“After you leave, you will not take up residence within two hundred miles of Akkad. If you do, then your treason will be proclaimed, and a bounty set on both your heads. Perhaps a hundred gold coins for each. You do understand what that means, don’t you, Ningal?”

For that much gold, a hundred men would set out to find the merchant and return with his head. And no city, no ruler within the Land Between the Rivers would offer succor to Ningal, not for any sum. The wrath of Akkad was too well known to take such a risk, not when it would be just as easy to seize Ningal’s possessions for themselves and then turn him over to Akkad for the reward.

“I do. . Lady Trella. I will. . I do.”

“Good. Then you may depart. My guards will accompany you home, and remain at your side until the gold is delivered. Do not waste their time. Leave us.”

Numbed, the merchant nodded and turned to go, still clutching onto his son’s arm. His unsteady gait showed his shock.

Trella waited until father and son had left the room and descended the stairs. “Thank you, Hathor, and you also, Bantor.”

Bantor rose and stretched. “For what? I still think you should have killed him. That would have satisfied Corio, too.”

“Come, Bantor.” Hathor slid his sword back into its scabbard. “We’ve got enough to worry about.”

Bantor glanced at his wife in resignation, and shook his head. The two commanders departed, taking the guards with them.

As the door closed, Trella breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad that’s done.”

“Bantor is right.” Annok-sur shook her head. “You should have killed them both. And confiscated all their goods.”

“No, this way is better. Eskkar and I agreed on this. Better not to give Sargon another reason to hate us.” She refused to consider the possibility that she might never see her son again. “Besides, time and uncertainty will work in our favor. You have set everything in motion?”

“Yes. Derina left yesterday for Lagash. She will be in place by the time Ningal arrives. The fool does not even know that he goes where we want him to go.”

Everyone knew that the merchant had kin in the city of Lagash to the west. And that place lay just outside the two hundred miles that Trella had specified. Where else would Ningal go to restart his ventures?

“And Derina’s box is ready?”

“Almost. She will make a stop or two along the way, to gather what she needs. When Ningal arrives in Lagash, he will be searching for household servants. Derina’s cooking skills will make her the obvious choice. She understands she is to wait two or three months before serving her special mushrooms.”

And that would be the end of Ningal and Ziusudra. They would die by poison in a distant land, and no connection to Akkad would ever be established. Nevertheless, many would guess the truth, and even more would respect the long reach of Trella’s power. Most of all, the boy who had poisoned her son’s thoughts would die in agony of poison himself, a fitting end to a short and wasted life.