Battle For Empire

16

In the morning, Sargon awoke to find the encampment full of activity and himself the last one to arise. Though the sun had risen not long before, he saw the place where Eskkar had spread his blanket empty. His father must have left, to return to the tents of the Ur Nammu.

Before long, young barbarian children wandered over, to stare with big eyes at the newcomers with their odd clothes and strange ways. Yesterday, to Sargon’s surprise, he learned that two of the Akkadian supply sacks contained gifts for the children.

Draelin and two of his men smiled at the shy children and waved them into the camp. Before long, a few of the braver boys and girls crowded around Draelin.

Sargon stared as Eskkar’s commander distributed the pack’s contents, taking his time and drawing out the suspense. Soon the children’s shrill voices turned to happy laughter, directed as much at Draelin as the gifts they eagerly accepted. These included a good quantity of small copper knives for the boys, suitable for carving soft wood.

Some of the girls received necklaces of polished stones, strung together with a strip of leather. Others received lengths of brightly dyed linen, which could be used either as a scarf against the cold, or worn across the body for decoration.

The Akkadian commander made sure that no child received more than one present. Soon even the youngest of the Ur Nammu children had summoned enough courage to approach the strangers and extend an empty hand. Naturally, there were more children than gifts, so those who arrived late returned to the camp empty-handed and envious of their companions’ good luck.

Sargon refused to join in the gift-giving. His mother had prepared these trinkets, no doubt considering them a small price to pay to obtain a measure of good will. When the last of the children had finally departed, Draelin and his two helpers picked up and carried two more sacks across the grassland to the Ur Nammu camp. These contained offerings for the women.

Those gifts, Sargon guessed, would disappear even faster than the children’s. When Draelin returned just after midmorning, each of his men carried a large wineskin. The commander handed one over to the smiling soldiers, but held the other back for the evening.

Sounds of revelry floated over the meadow from the Ur Nammu. Cheers and shouts erupted, separated by long silences. Curious in spite of his desire not to converse with anyone, Sargon called out to Draelin when he walked nearby.

“What’s going on over there?”

“Your father is telling Subutai and his people about the battle with the Alur Meriki. The Ur Nammu can’t believe their good fortune. They’ll be safe from the Alur Meriki, for a time, at least. That’s why they’re celebrating. They know they won’t be hunted when the Alur Meriki come through these lands.”

“But the noise. . it’s been going on all morning.”

“Aye, and probably the rest of the day and all night, too. Your father will be telling and retelling the story for the rest of the day. He had to sketch a map in the dirt, so that they could see where everyone fought. Every warrior has a handful of questions. If I could speak the language better, I’d be over there helping explain, too.”

With a shock, Sargon realized that he would be expected to speak the barbarian tongue when the soldiers departed. Two years ago, Eskkar had attempted to teach him the dialect of the steppes people, but Sargon had not tried very hard to learn it.

Like most inhabitants of Akkad, Sargon saw no need to learn the barbarians’ crude language. Of course he had studied the various dialects and symbols of Sumer and the other cities in the Land Between the Rivers, as well as the language used on the trade routes. His mother had insisted on that, but those were little more than variations of the Akkadian tongue and easily grasped.

Now Sargon wished he’d paid more attention to his father’s urgings. The smattering of steppes words Sargon understood would not allow him to converse with his new clan. Not only would he be alone, but he would have to depend on others to speak. The sooner he could escape the barbarian camp, the better.

As the celebration in the Ur Nammu camp continued, Sargon watched as small groups of grinning warriors galloped out, bows in hand, to hunt game for the evening feast. A few waved at the soldiers as they rode by. In the afternoon, a handful of Ur Nammu women from their encampment dragged over a pair of bleating sheep and enough firewood to get the cooking started.

By the time the flames caught, Draelin’s men had gutted and skinned the bleating animals, and already had the still-bloody carcasses turning on spits.

The soldiers of Akkad would not be allowed to mix with their allies in the main camp, but Sargon knew his father would see to it that they enjoyed their own feast. By now the Akkadians knew they would depart for home in the morning, more than enough reason for the men to enjoy a fine meal and a few mouthfuls of wine.

Just before sundown, the noise from the barbarian camp finally died down, as warriors returned to their tents and wagons. Sargon stared at the Akkadian cooking fires, watching the smoke tendrils rise into the sky, the sheep revolving on the spit, and soldiers taking turns to keep the meat cooking evenly. Even quartered, it took a long time to cook a whole sheep, and Sargon guessed the sun would be well below the horizon before the meat cooled enough to be eaten.

A shout from Draelin turned Sargon’s head, and he saw his father, Subutai, and another warrior approaching.

Both Ur Nammu warriors looked fierce. Subutai had a powerful build, and Sargon saw the thick muscles that bulged on his chest and arms. The other, much younger, stood a hand’s width taller, but with a slim build, narrow hips, and more delicate features. Both wore their hair tied back, in much the same fashion that Sargon’s father preferred.

Eskkar called out to his son. “Sargon! Come, join us.” Eskkar’s words carried to all the soldiers.

Every one within earshot paused to watch what would happen next. Even the men turning the spits forgot their tasks, wondering if the wayward son would dare to disobey his father in front of the warriors.

Part of Sargon’s mind told him to ignore his father’s command, but he knew Eskkar would likely just order Draelin and the others to drag him over. While he didn’t care what his father or these barbarians thought, Sargon didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the soldiers. Better not to have such a story told in Akkad, that the son of the King needed to be carried like a child to meet his destiny.

Sargon gritted his teeth. There was nothing to be gained by waiting. He climbed to his feet, his heart beating faster as the dreaded moment approached, and followed his father’s order. The three men stopped at the edge of the camp.

Still, the command in his father’s voice rankled Sargon, and he took his time walking through the camp until he stood before his father and the strangers.

“Walk with me, Sargon.”

Eskkar placed his hand on Sargon’s shoulder and guided him away from the camp. The warriors followed behind. About fifty paces away, a small circle of stones marked a place where the Ur Nammu children had played during the day. Eskkar sat on a rough slab, and his companions found places to sit facing him.

“This is my son, Sargon of Akkad.”

The two warriors nodded in acknowledgement.

The older one spoke first, using the language of Akkad. “I am Subutai, leader of the Ur Nammu. This is Chinua, one of my chiefs and third in command. He fought with your father at the great battle before the city of Isin, though Chinua had only sixteen seasons at the time.”

The serious looks on their faces silenced the angry words that Sargon had in his mind. He bowed to show respect. “Greetings to the Great Chief of the Ur Nammu.” Sargon remembered enough to give the proper greeting.

“Your father tells us that you do not yet speak our language,” Subutai said. “Until you learn, we will talk in the language of the. . villagers.”

Sargon nodded his head in gratitude.

Eskkar spoke. “Subutai is a wise leader of his people, and three times we have battled the Alur Meriki together. I have asked him to teach you the ways of the warrior, and he has agreed. But since he leads the Clan, Subutai has many duties and little time to spend training a young warrior. Chinua, a most worthy warrior, has offered to guide you in the ways of the Ur Nammu. He will teach you how to ride and how to fight.”

“Your father is a mighty warrior.” Chinua’s gentle voice contrasted with the harsher tongue of his leader. “I followed him on the great charge into the ranks of the Sumerians.”

Sargon saw his father smile at the memory. “The moment I gave the order to attack,” Eskkar said, “Chinua raced to the front. His was the first arrow to strike at the Sumerians.”

Chinua laughed, too. “That arrow fell short, as I remember. It was my first battle, and the blood raced in my body.”

Almost nine years had passed since that battle, and yet his father and Chinua spoke of it as if it had been fought yesterday. Sargon nodded. He didn’t know what to say.

“Chinua will take you into his household,” Eskkar went on. “You will be treated as one of his own sons. There will be many lessons to be learned before you can be considered a warrior, but you have the battle skills, and your wits are quick to learn. Your courage and your strength will be tested, but I am sure you can master their way of living and fighting. When that day comes, you can return with pride to Akkad.”

“Yes, Father.” Sargon had to clench his teeth to hold in his rage. Whatever Sargon uttered would be meaningless. Eskkar had set these events in motion. This Chinua would now rule Sargon’s life.

Once the Akkadians departed the camp, the barbarian would have the power of life and death if he should so chose. Sargon would be alone. He wondered what instructions his father had given these men in private.

“We have prepared a great feast in your father’s honor,” Chinua said. “The women labored all day to prepare it, and there will be plenty of food and wine. You are welcome to come with us and sit beside your father and the leaders of the Ur Nammu.”

The words sounded honest and respectful, and Sargon guessed they came straight from Chinua’s heart. But Sargon couldn’t. . wouldn’t sit beside his father and pretend that all was well while these barbarians heaped praises upon Eskkar and his latest deeds. Sargon couldn’t bear such a night of endless humiliation.

“I thank you. . Chinua.” Sargon hoped he pronounced the warrior’s name properly. “But I would prefer to spend the night with the soldiers. It will be my last chance to be with my own kind.”

If either Subutai or Chinua thought Sargon’s refusal odd or disrespectful, neither let their face betray their feelings. And while Eskkar could usually control his emotions, Sargon saw a flicker of anger twitch at his mouth.

“Then you will enjoy the celebration with your own warriors.” Subutai’s words showed no resentment. “There will be many more meals for us to share in the future.”

Subutai rose to his feet, and Chinua followed. “We will return to our camp. The meat should be well cooked by now, Eskkar, so come as soon as you can.”

The two clan chiefs strode off, leaving father and son together.

“You insulted Subutai by not joining him at the feast.”

Sargon heard the rebuke in his father’s voice. Sargon, his fists clenched, felt his lips tremble. “They are your friends, not mine. When you are gone, I will have to live with all of them, sharing a tent with four or five others, all of them stinking of horse sweat.”

“This is the path you have chosen. So be it.” Eskkar stood and stared down at his son. “Before we left Akkad, your mother told me not to weaken in my resolve. She said I would be tempted to change my mind and bring you back to the city, to give you one more chance. I was proud when you answered Subutai with the proper respect. But your mother was right. I see your heart is still blind with anger. You will have to rise above it, if you ever wish to return home.”

“I have no home. I have no father or mother. You are both dead to me. And even if I survive this fate, I will never return to Akkad. Tell that to your wife.”

Sargon rose and stalked away in the growing darkness, leaving his father standing there. Sargon would eat by himself tonight, though surrounded by the soldiers of Akkad. But in the morning, Eskkar and his men would be gone, and Sargon realized that, for the first time in his life, he would truly be alone.

The next day, just after midmorning, Sargon stood by himself in the remains of the Akkadian camp. The soldiers had gathered their weapons and collected their horses. With nothing more to do, they waited impatiently for the command to depart, all of them no doubt eager to return to Akkad.

Sargon paced back and forth, his hands limp at his sides. His father had spent most of the morning first making sure the men had readied themselves for the departure, then galloping to the Ur Nammu camp for one last talk with Subutai. Whether by chance or on purpose, Eskkar returned just as Draelin finished his final inspection. With the Akkadians standing by their horses, Eskkar had little time to spend with his son.

Their parting was as impersonal as it was brief — neither had anything else to say to the other. Sargon took some small consolation that at least his father would never torment him again.

“Mount your horse, Sargon, and ride with me to the camp.”

His father’s voice sounded hoarse, probably from drinking too much wine. The talking and singing had continued long into the night, and this morning more than a few soldiers had sore heads. Sargon had fallen asleep before his father returned.

Sargon’s horse awaited, and the soldier attending it gave him a friendly smile as he handed over the halter.

“I’ve already given Chinua a sack containing your sword and knife.” Eskkar brusque words sounded cold and distant. “And there are some things your mother wanted you to have.”

Sargon didn’t answer. He swung onto the horse and grudgingly guided his mount beside his father.

“Is there anything you want to say? Any message for your mother?”

“No.” Sargon hadn’t wanted to speak at all, but that single word escaped his lips. Let his parents suffer the tiniest pain for what they’d done to him.

Swearing under his breath, Eskkar touched his heels to his horse, and cantered over to the Ur Nammu camp. The Ur Nammu warriors had already returned to their usual routine. A small crowd of mostly women and children stood around in scattered groups, to watch the men from Akkad depart.

Sargon followed his father, though at a slower pace. He saw no need to rush. Eskkar reached the outskirts of the camp where Chinua stood, and then waited, his jaw clenched, until Sargon guided his horse to a stop facing them.

“Sargon, try to remember what I’ve taught you. Chinua will take good care of you.” For a moment, Eskkar hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more.

But his father had nothing else to add to his goodbye. Sargon watched as Eskkar wheeled his horse around and headed out. Draelin already had the Akkadians on the move, and his father put his horse to a fast canter to catch up. A few soldiers glanced back toward Sargon, but not his father.

“Sargon, come walk with me,” Chinua said. “My sons will tend to your horse.”

Sargon dismounted. Chinua took the horse’s halter and called out something in his own tongue. A young warrior, perhaps a few seasons older than Sargon, jogged over and accepted the horse.

Chinua led the way back toward the circle of stones where they had spoken last night. A handful of young boys had already reclaimed the place, but Chinua ordered them away with a wave of his arm. He settled himself on the same slab Eskkar had taken yesterday.

“Sit.”

The single word carried the man’s authority in a way no command of Sargon’s father ever had. Sargon eased himself down facing the warrior and studied his new master.

Chinua appeared far too young to be third in command over all these warriors. If he had indeed fought at the battle of Isin at sixteen, he could not even have reached twenty-five seasons.

“Your father has told only myself and Subutai that you do not understand the warrior’s code, that you lack the honor and respect a son should display toward his mother and father. That secret will remain between us.”

Chinua kept his eyes fixed on Sargon. “As far as my sons and the other warriors will know, you are here only to learn the ways of the warrior. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Many young men your age already ride with our fighters. Some have even fought against our enemies. The others work the horses, help around the camp, and make themselves useful. They are also given the chance to improve their own skills with sword, bow, and lance. Even more important, they must train their horses and learn to ride well. After a year or two of accompanying our men, or whenever Subutai thinks they are ready, these young men are accepted as warriors. Only then can they take a wife, and take part in the life of the Clan.”

No words seemed to be called for, so Sargon merely nodded.

“Despite your age, you are not ready to ride with the warriors. No young man is permitted to ride with the warriors unless he is trained and prepared to fight in support of his kin and his clan. So, Sargon, first you must prove you can handle a horse. Then you must learn to use your weapons, the ones you choose to fight with, sword, lance, or bow. If a warrior cannot master the bow from horseback, he will pick the lance or sword as his main weapon.”

“I can use both a sword and a bow,” Sargon said.

“Perhaps.” Chinua rubbed his chin for a moment. “You know your father never mastered the use of the bow. He told me that he left the Clan when he was too young, before he could master that skill. Though I believe he would have been too tall. I’ve seen Eskkar fight. A sword fits his hand very well.”

Sargon nodded, but said nothing.

“But that matters not,” Chinua said. “Until you master these skills, you will practice with the younger boys. My son,” Chinua glanced toward the boy still holding Sargon’s horse, “will help you. Your training will be long and hard, but no different from what Ur Nammu young men receive from their fathers. All the same, I expect you will find much of it difficult.”

Sargon found the young clan leader’s words reassuring. He’d expected the Ur Nammu to be little more than savages, but Chinua spoke with a calm wisdom that belied his years. But it really didn’t matter. Sargon intended to leave as soon as he could, and the sooner Chinua accepted that, the better.

“I. . I thank you for your effort, Chinua, but I do not believe in your ways, or even the ways of my father. In Akkad, we no longer have need of such skills. The days when a ruler needs to go into battle himself are past. Now men of wealth pay others to protect them and fight for them.”

“And you have much wealth,” Chinua agreed. “Even so, Subutai and I have promised your father that we will try to teach you the code of the warrior. But I will not waste my time or even that of my son if you will not learn. So this is what I will do. The moon will be full,” he glanced up at the sky, “in two more days. When three more full moons have risen in the night sky, if you wish to leave the Ur Nammu camp, you may take your horse and depart. You may go wherever you wish, even return to Akkad if that is what you want. I do not think that would be wise, but there are many villages and cities in the Land Between the Two Rivers, and even more beyond.”

For the first time, Sargon felt a glimmer of hope. All he had to do was wait for. . less than ninety days, and he could simply ride away from all this. Chinua was right. There were other places, other cities.

And sooner or later, Eskkar would die. He was old, after all, already in his middle forties. Many men were dead by that age, and with his father’s willingness to take risks, it might not be long before Sargon could return to Akkad. Then he could claim his birth right and accept the welcome of the city’s inhabitants.

Chinua must have understood Sargon’s feelings by the expression on his face. The warrior rose to his feet.

“But until the third moon is full, you will work hard to master the skills of our fighters. If you do not, you will be punished. And if you try to leave before I give you permission, we will hunt you down. And then you will suffer the same penalty as the slaves and those who disobey our laws — your legs will be broken, and you will work as a slave for the rest of your life.”

Sargon also stood, and his own determination hardened. “I will obey your orders, Chinua, until the third full moon. Then I will take my leave and depart.”

“Good. The sooner a task is begun, the faster the time passes. My son, Garal, awaits us, and your horse is ready. He will take you for a ride. That is how all warriors begin their training.” Chinua turned and started back toward the camp.

That didn’t sound too bad. Sargon already could ride as well or better than most of Akkad’s soldiers. His father had seen to that. Ninety days would pass soon enough, and he would be on his way back home, or to wherever he decided home would be. Lagash would be the closest large city, and it was far from Akkad. Yes, Lagash would be his home for as long as his father remained alive.