Battle For Empire

15

A chill wind blew down from the hills as Eskkar dismounted in front of Subutai’s tent. Gray clouds had rolled in from the west, obscuring the sun. Subutai, arms crossed over his bare chest, ignored the brisk breeze. He motioned toward the tent, and led the way inside.

Ducking beneath the flap, Eskkar found himself facing one of Subutai’s wives, Petra, if Eskkar remembered right. She had built a small fire, so the interior would be more comfortable for her husband’s important visitor.

Layers of blankets and horsehides covered the ground, except in the center, where a ring of stones surrounded the smoky fire. A small hole at the top of the tent was supposed to let the smoke escape, but from the haze in the air, Eskkar doubted it was working today. Two small chests comprised the tent’s only furnishings.

“Wine and water for our guest.” Subutai’s words sounded inviting enough, and he managed a friendly smile for his visitor. “He’s had a long and hard ride.” He gestured toward a colorful blanket. “Come. Sit at our fire.”

Eskkar bowed in appreciation and eased himself down, shrugging the long sword off his shoulder and dropping the weapon carelessly at his side. The two men sat cross-legged on blankets, facing each other over the crackling blaze.

One of Subutai’s daughters entered the tent and helped Petra fill the cups. The young girl shyly served Eskkar a cup of wine, then returned in a moment with a water pitcher. He allowed her to pour a generous amount into the wine.

Polite conversation followed, as each man inquired about wives and children. Subutai announced that he had two new sons and a daughter. Soon the tent flap moved back and forth as the proud mothers displayed their offspring. Eskkar, as a leader of warriors, touched each child on the forehead, to give them strength and bring them luck.

At last, after refilling their cups with fresh wine, the women and children left the two men alone. Subutai waited until the tent flap settled into place.

“So, Eskkar, what brings you this far from your city? Whatever it is, it must be important.”

Eskkar took a long sip from his cup. “First, I bring good news. My soldiers and I defeated the Alur Meriki in battle. Thutmose-sin is dead.”

Startled, Subutai spilled wine from his cup, ignored it, and stared at Eskkar. “Dead? Are you sure?”

Subutai insisted on hearing the whole story, and Eskkar obliged. A lengthy discussion followed. Eskkar explained the details of the secret march, Hathor’s battle to secure the stream, and the night attack. The duel with Thutmose-sin took longer to relate than the actual fight.

When Eskkar finally finished, Subutai rocked back and forth for a moment. “It is hard to believe. Thutmose-sin ruled for so many years. Thousands have died because of him, and many hundreds of Ur Nammu warriors. He nearly destroyed our Clan. And now he is dead, and by your own hand. We owe you and Akkad a great debt.”

“I thought you would rejoice at these tidings.”

“Later, perhaps.” Subutai shook his head. “But first I must look into my heart.”

Subutai wanted to know where the battle happened, and why that stream was chosen. Eskkar explained, using directions and landmarks that would have been incomprehensible to anyone who hadn’t spent their life on a horse. Then he went into the details of the peace arrangement.

Even Subutai’s inscrutable face showed surprise at the news. “So the Alur Meriki accepted your terms? They will honor the peace?”

“Yes, I believe they will keep it. And they’ve sworn to leave the Ur Nammu alone,” Eskkar repeated. “I assume that you won’t want to challenge them.”

“No, even with their losses, they still far outnumber us. If they do not search us out, we will bide our time.”

Blood feuds between steppes clans could endure many generations, and the Ur Nammu had no intention of ending theirs. Subutai’s father had died in his son’s arms, from an Alur Meriki lance.

“Still, this is good news,” Subutai declared. “We will take our herds and turn to the southwest earlier than we planned, before we once again return to the lands north of Akkad. That should keep us out of their path.”

With that rough timetable, Eskkar guessed the Ur Nammu would not touch Akkad’s borders for at least two, perhaps three years. The Ur Nammu might still be able to help Eskkar face the Elamite invasion.

“If you stay out of their way,” Eskkar agreed, “they should honor their oaths, provided your warriors do not attack them.”

“We will speak more about that later,” Subutai said. “And you will need to retell the story of your battle for my warriors, no doubt many times. They will have many questions. Now, though your news is most welcome, what is the real reason that brings you to my tent?”

Eskkar took another sip of wine, already well into his second cup, more than he usually drank. Subutai was no fool. Sooner or later, news of the battle with the Alur Meriki would have reached him. Or Eskkar could have dispatched a messenger to carry the news.

“The reason for my searching you out involves my son, Sargon. He is at the camp with my men.”

Subutai’s eyes widened, no doubt in surprise at this breach of manners, but he said nothing. Nonetheless, Eskkar knew the heir to the kingdom of Akkad should have been seated at his father’s side during a meeting such as this, not left behind with the other Akkadians. How else could a young leader learn the ways of command?

Eskkar waited a few moments while Subutai worked it out. “Sargon has become. . a trial to Trella and myself. His wildness brought him into the company of those whose thoughts. . they represented a danger to the city. He’s spent too much time in idleness and drinking and not enough learning how to rule. Nor learning how to live with honor. I thought. . I hope. . that if my son spent time with your warriors, if you took him into your clan for a time, he might yet grow into manhood and learn the ways of honor.”

Subutai kept his gaze on the fire. He knew how difficult such words were for any father to believe, let alone utter the thought to another. “Such a thing has been done in the past, in the days of my father. But if I accept Sargon into the Ur Nammu, it might be many years before he can return to Akkad.”

“I understand.” Eskkar reached out and poked the sticks deeper into the fire, keeping it going. He, too, preferred to not meet Subutai’s eyes.

“And if he does not accept our ways? If he is injured or killed, then what?”

“Then he will be dead. Better that than for him to live with dishonor.” Eskkar met Subutai’s gaze. “I know the danger he will face. But if he cannot accept this chance, then it is better that he not return to Akkad.”

“I see. Then my heart is heavy for my friend Eskkar. And for Trella. Did she. .”

Subutai caught himself. One did not ask a warrior what his wife thought about the raising of his son. Despite all that Subutai knew about Trella’s influence, a son remained the property of his father, and the duty and responsibility of raising him belonged only to the head of the family.

Eskkar didn’t care. “Yes, Trella agreed with this decision. She knows that we need a strong heir to follow us, to rule in our place, and to carry our line down through the ages. If Sargon cannot be that son, then it is best that finds his own path.”

Once again Subutai stared into the fire for a few moments. “I will accept your son, Sargon, into the Clan. But I do not think it wise that I should take him into my own family. It would. . it might make things more difficult for your son. If you agree, I will select another warrior to look to Sargon’s training.”

Subutai, Eskkar realized, was offering him a final chance to back out. Probably Subutai didn’t want the responsibility of a wayward son he might end up having to kill, let alone explain an accidental death. Such an occurrence might bring an end to their friendship. Better another be given the responsibility.

“The choice is yours, Subutai. I am sure you have many suitable warriors to choose from. When this is over, no matter how it ends, Trella and I will again be in your debt, Subutai.”

“As I am in yours, Eskkar of Akkad, and doubly so for killing Thutmose-sin.” Subutai took a deep breath. “I will speak to Sargon myself later. Meanwhile, I will think about this, and about which warrior to choose.”

Eskkar finished his wine. He wanted another cup, but that could wait until he returned to his men. With a heavy heart, he bid his host goodnight, got to his feet, and left the tent.

A young boy stood apart from the tent, patiently holding A-tuku’s halter. As Eskkar swung astride, he felt a relief that the most difficult part of the ordeal had ended. Now he just had to face his son, Sargon, and give him the bad news.

Huddled in his cloak, Sargon sat alone, away from the warmth of the soldiers’ fire. By now even his guards had ceased watching him. If he tried to flee, they or the barbarians would gleefully hunt him down.

Despite that knowledge, Sargon couldn’t keep his mind away from somehow trying to escape. But those thoughts always brought a host of fears, and Sargon refused to give up all hope. After all, anything could happen. On the way home, his father could be attacked by bandits, or thrown from his horse and killed. Such accidents happened often enough. No, better to wait and see what the future held.

The sentry on guard called out. “The King is returning.”

Sargon lifted his head at the words. Not that his father’s coming and going from the barbarian camp meant anything to Sargon. The two hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words since the morning of their departure from Akkad. With his eyes shaded by the cloak’s hood, Sargon watched his father arrive at the Akkadian camp, swing down from his horse, and hand it over to one of the guards. The King brushed past the soldiers with scarcely a nod, and headed straight for his son.

Sargon kept his head down and remained on the ground, though he should have risen out of respect for his father.

Gritting his teeth, Eskkar considered ordering the boy to stand. But that would only add one more humiliation for Sargon to bear. Instead, Eskkar settled on the ground across from his son.

“I’ve spoken to Subutai. He’s agreed to take you into the Clan, but not in his own tent. He’s picking a warrior to see to your training.”

Sargon’s determination to keep silent vanished. “Then I’m to be a slave to some filthy barbarian?”

The anger, bottled up so long in Sargon’s breast, spat the words at his father. Sargon watched Eskkar’s jaw tighten. The King had never been very good at concealing his emotions.

“You will not be a slave. In fact, how you are treated will be up to you. It will be difficult, but you must earn the respect of your new family. If you do, then in time you will be able to return to Akkad.”

“I will never return to Akkad!” Sargon practically shouted the words in his father’s face. A few of the soldiers, startled by the outburst, glanced at the two for a moment, before turning their eyes away and pretending they hadn’t heard anything. “I will die here among these ignorant barbarians! Banished by my mother, murdered by my father.”

Eskkar stared at his son for a moment. “It is true you may die. No man knows what the gods have in store for him until it is too late. But that is why you are here. It is not yet too late for you. We thought. . I thought we had trained you well, taught you the ways of honor. It may even be my fault that you turned away from us. All that no longer matters. Whatever fate brought you here, you must learn to make the best of it. Here you will learn honor, or die.”

“Then when you return tell my mother that I am dead. Tomorrow, the next day, I will die, and probably even before you get back to Akkad. Tell her that, and see how much her son’s death matters compared to her precious city.”

His father’s jaw clenched again. Harsh words against Trella never failed to arouse him.

Eskkar rose to his feet. “I will be leaving in a day or two. But I will not carry any such message to your mother. If you want to tell her hateful things, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

His father turned and stalked off into the night, away from the soldiers, and away from the barbarian camp.

Sargon watched him go. His father could brood alone in the darkness for all Sargon cared.

The anger still burned in Sargon’s heart. His scheming mother was as bad or worse than his fool of a father. But perhaps Eskkar had said one true thing. There still remained a chance that one day Sargon could hurl those same words into his mother’s face. As long as that chance remained, Sargon decided he would do whatever it took to stay alive.

After all, these barbarians were simple people. It should be easy enough to deceive them, pretend to accept whatever concept of honor they believed in. Do whatever they asked, grovel in the dirt at their feet if need be. It might take a few months, but in time, they would accept him.

Then he would find a way to escape and return to the Land Between the Rivers. With a horse between his legs and a sword for protection, Sargon felt certain he could make his way to other cities, other places he could go. And perhaps when the time was right, he would return in triumph to Akkad.

Sooner or later the Ur Nammu would turn in that direction. All he needed to do was be patient until that time came. Then his friends and companions within Akkad would help him. Ziusudra had plenty of gold. With his friend’s help, Sargon would strike out on his own, and find a place to live for a time. Someplace where the names Eskkar and Trella meant nothing.

Perhaps Ziusudra would call upon the man he claimed to know, the one brave enough, for the right amount of gold, to kill even a king. After all, Sargon reasoned, however much gold was needed would only be a loan.

Once he became King of Akkad, all the wealth of the city would be his. That thought brought a grim smile to Sargon’s face. Yes, he would deal with these simple barbarians and await his time.