Battle For Empire

24

Three days later, a little after midafternoon, Chinua’s war party rode over the crest of a hill and saw the Ur Nammu camp below. Sargon eased his horse to a stop, as Chinua halted the party for a few moments, to give each man a chance to enjoy the sight of home. Every man, gaunt, hungry, and dog tired, breathed a sigh of relief. They had pushed the horses as hard as they could each day.

On the return journey, Sargon had acquired a new skill, riding one horse while leading two more. During the return, each warrior alternated among the horses, enabling them to cover the ground at a rapid pace. Unless their pursuers did the same, no one was going to catch up with them.

On today’s ride, they twice encountered Ur Nammu scouts, three-man parties patrolling the western approaches to the camp.

“That means,” Garal said, “that Jennat made it back, too.”

“So Subutai knows about the Carchemishi,” Sargon agreed. “But he doesn’t know how many of them there are.”

Chinua’s shout interrupted their talk. “Make sure you ride into camp like warriors, not women!” He started down the slope, and the others followed. As Chinua urged his horse to a canter, he called back over his shoulder. “And try not to fall asleep before we reach the camp.”

Sargon saw the warriors straighten up, raising their heads and shoulders. No one wanted to display any weakness in front of the other warriors, or even their own women.

As they reached the outskirts of the camp, people emerged from tents to greet them. Excited children ran toward the approaching horsemen. Sargon understood Ur Nammu customs by now. After a successful raid, Chinua and his warriors had fought an enemy and brought home thirty-four new horses as proof of their courage and skill, and all without losing a man. Once again, he had proven himself a strong war chief.

As Chinua led the way into the camp, the shouting crowd soon slowed his progress. Men, women and children rushed to greet their returning men. Eager hands reached up to touch their kin, and others relieved the grinning riders of their extra horses.

Sargon trailed the others into the camp, and, of course, none of the waiting crowd paid him any attention. The rest of the party merged back among the tents, surrounded by a press of happy friends and family, all grateful for their safe return. As the throng cleared away, Sargon noticed someone standing alone, her eyes fixed on him. Tashanella. She, too, had come to meet the returning warriors.

Since all the others had already moved into the camp, Tashanella obviously had waited for no particular man. Instead, she met Sargon’s eyes as he rode past. Then she turned and disappeared among the throng.

Too weary to think about what it meant, Sargon soon reached Chinua’s tent and swung down from his mount. Two grinning boys darted to his side and took charge of his two horses. For once, Sargon was spared the need to care for the weary animals.

His horses. Earned by his own hand, and as far as the Ur Nammu were concerned, the mark of a true warrior. Horses meant status in the clan, even more than women or other possessions. The more horses a warrior owned, the more successful he must be as a warrior. No word of praise Sargon had ever received in Akkad meant as much to him.

Sargon paced his way to the stream. Some of the men he’d ridden with were already there, washing the horse stink from their bodies before returning to their tents. He didn’t want to get in the way of the happy reunions, so he headed farther upstream, where he could find a bit more privacy. With a loud sigh of relief, he plunged into the cool waters without bothering to remove the remaining shreds of his once fine clothing.

For a time, Sargon just clung to a rock and let the stream wash over him. The sensation of not having anything to do provided a suitably guilty feeling of pleasure.

Suddenly the water exploded beside him, sending a wave across his face and almost knocking him loose from the rock. It was Makko, who had jumped naked into the water with a mighty splash. Sargon had to laugh at the sight of his fellow horse boy splashing his way through the stream.

Unlike most of the Ur Nammu, Sargon had learned to swim in the deeper waters of the Tigris at an early age. His father had taken him down to the river almost every day, and by the time he reached his twelfth season, Sargon could swim all the way across the great river.

“You swim like a great boulder dropped in a small pond,” Sargon said.

“Better that than riding like a sack of grain,” Makko gasped, spitting water from his mouth.

It wasn’t much of a joke, but Sargon knew Makko meant well by it.

During the return ride, the two had put aside their differences. As horse boys, they still had to care for the horses, and both quickly realized that they had to work together. The night after the raid on the Carchemishi, Skala, Makko’s father, announced himself pleased with Sargon’s work with the mounts. That, Sargon decided, was the most apology he was going to get from the warrior.

Later Sargon asked Garal if Chinua had said something to Skala about the incident, but Garal shook his head.

“Skala is proud of what his son accomplished during our journey. That means he must give you the same respect. And once warriors have fought together as we have, there is always a bond that will keep them true to each other.”

“I didn’t do any fighting.”

“Neither did you run and hide, or lose the horses, or not be where you were supposed to be. Every man in a battle has to do as he’s ordered. If you and Makko hadn’t been with us, two other warriors would have taken your place, and there would have been that many fewer arrows to harry the Carchemishi.”

With another torrent of water, Makko splashed his way out of the stream. “Stop by our tent later if you can. They’ll be plenty of meat tonight.”

Sargon said he would try, and ducked his head back underneath the water. When he finally came up for air, Makko had disappeared back into the camp, and Sargon had the stream to himself. He rose and stripped off the remnants of his tunic. His undergarment followed. He’d worn it continuously for nine days of hard riding, and it stank of horse sweat and worse. Sargon tossed it aside. He didn’t intend to wear it again.

He did use what was left of his tunic to scrub his body down, scraping away the dirt, grime, and odor of horseflesh that clung persistently to his body. As he washed, Sargon found bruises on his arms and chest, scrapes on his legs, along with burn marks on his arms and calluses on his hands from constantly holding halter ropes for the last three days.

When he felt sufficiently cleansed, Sargon crawled up on a wide ledge that bordered the stream. The sun had warmed the rock, and he lay down on it and stretched his legs, enjoying the sensation as his naked body dried in the breeze. The sound of laughter from the camp floated over the stream, but he ignored it, content to be by himself.

He thanked Ishtar that the ride had ended when it did. Sargon wasn’t sure he could have kept up with the others for much longer. With that thought in mind, he flung his arm over his eyes to shield them from the sunlight. The sounds of the stream soothed his thoughts. A few deep breaths later, he fell asleep, the water gurgling in his ears.

“Sargon. Sargon. Wake up.”

The voice pulled him back from the well of deep slumber. He forced his eyes open, only to be blinded by the sun that caught him full in the face. Something moved beside him, and then a shadow passed over his eyes, and he could see again. Someone stood over him, shielding him from the sun. Then he recognized Tashanella’s voice.

Tashanella gazed down at the naked figure at her feet, her eyes drawn to the boy’s member peeking out from beneath a crown of soft brown hair. Since his first day in camp, she thought him the most handsome boy she’d ever seen. The urge to touch his bare flesh swept over her, and she felt a burst of warmth from her own loins. She dropped to her knees beside him, but still kept his face sheltered from the setting sun.

Another urge tempted her, to reach out and caress his member. She did not, of course.

“You should not lie out like that in the sun. You’ll burn your skin.”

Sargon’s eyes focused on her face. “What. . what do you want?”

His voice sounded thick in his ears, and Sargon knew his thoughts were muddled and slow. “I’ve come to bring you to my father’s tent,” Tashanella went on. “He wants to speak with you before tonight’s feasting begins.”

Propping himself up on one arm, Sargon gazed at the girl’s face. It had changed somehow, no longer the face of a child, but that of a young woman. Her voice set his thoughts racing, and he could not keep his eyes from the breasts that swelled against her dress as Tashanella leaned over him.

A shiver went through his body as his staff, unawakened for so many days, suddenly swelled and rose up. Sargon remembered he was naked, and the thought made his manhood throb and grow even harder. He reached down to cover himself, but Tashanella stopped his hand, then let her own fingers brush against his penis.

“You are very beautiful,” she said. “It’s strange. I have seen many erect members, but never have I thought any of them beautiful.”

The touch of her fingers had unleashed a wave of passion. He caught her hand in his, and held it tight. Her long hair framed her face, and the wide brown eyes remained fastened on his.

Tashanella smiled down at him. Suddenly she leaned over and kissed his lips, a brief touch that only fanned the flames of his throbbing erection. Sargon reached up to pull her down to him, but she straightened up and rocked back on her heels. All the same, Tashanella did not let go of his hand, and now she clasped it with both of hers.

“You must come to my father’s tent. It is not wise to keep the leader of the clan waiting.”

“I don’t care about your father, Tashanella.” Her name rolled easily off his tongue, and he decided that it was the most beautiful name he’d ever heard. At that moment, Sargon would have risked keeping Subutai waiting until dawn, if he could convince Tashanella to walk with him across the stream and into the trees.

The girl grew serious, and released his hand. “This is important, Sargon. I think my father wishes to hear your advice.” She stood and straightened out her dress. “Besides, I wasted too much time gazing at you while you slept. My father will be growing impatient.”

The thought of her looking at him while he lay there naked brought a flush to his face. How odd. He hadn’t been embarrassed by a girl’s thoughts or deeds for at least two seasons.

“I have to return to Chinua’s tent to borrow some clothes.” He sat up, and glanced around, searching for the remains of his tunic. It must have floated away.

“You will not need to borrow. Your father left several garments with Chinua before he departed. They are yours now. Come. I’ll go with you.”

She reached down her hand, and helped him to his feet. His erection still loomed. It felt as though it would release his seed at the slightest touch. Sargon grimaced. He couldn’t walk through the camp like that.

“Wait a moment.” He turned and dove back into the stream, diving deep until he touched the sandy bottom before he rose up and burst through the surface. Sargon took a few vigorous strokes until the effort combined with the chill of the water softened his excitement.

When he emerged, Tashanella shook her head at his foolishness. Without a word, she started back toward the camp and Chinua’s tent. Sargon followed a few steps behind, shaking the water from his hair.

A man or boy walking naked through the camp usually meant nothing. Sargon had walked naked to and from the stream before, as did other warriors and even a few of the women. This time it was different. Today, anyone who saw him, saw the both of them, would notice more than just the fact that he wore no garments.

It looked, he realized, like a woman leading her lover back to her tent. He wondered what Subutai would do if he encountered Sargon and his daughter like this. Thinking of her father brought back Tashanella’s words. What advice from Sargon could the leader of the clan want? The last of Sargon’s erection disappeared even faster than it had risen.

Outside Chinua’s tent, Sargon found the women busy preparing for tonight’s feast. The young girls and maidens smiled as his body, laughing or blushing depending on their age, while Chinua’s two wives merely glanced up at his arrival.

Nibiru, the older of Chinua’s wives, sat near the family’s big cooking pot, a small knife in her hand chopping mushrooms against a flat stone. Behind her, two rabbit skins were drying on a stretching board. Nibiru had almost the same number of seasons as her husband.

“Sargon, you’re supposed to be at Subutai’s tent. He sent a boy here to look for you.” She pretended to notice Tashanella for the first time, and couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

“I know, Nibiru. I need a garment. Tashanella says that you have some that belong to me.”

“Chinua said. .” Nibiru glanced at Tashanella again and changed her mind. “Yes, there’s a bundle in the tent.” She dropped the knife, tossed the mushroom slices into the cooking pot, and rose.

Sargon followed her into the tent. To his surprise, Tashanella entered it, too.

Nibiru picked up a scrap of cloth and handed it to Sargon. “Dry yourself.” Then she searched underneath some blankets and sacks until she found Sargon’s things. “Chinua said you were not to have this until you were ready.”

Sargon didn’t bother to ask what that meant. He dropped to his knees and began untying the thin leather strips that secured the bundle. The neat knots with the unique twirl told him that his mother had prepared this herself.

Unraveling the outer cloth, Sargon found a plain but well-made tunic, trousers such as Akkad’s horse fighters wore, a pair of sturdy sandals, and two undergarments. The trousers would have been more than useful on this last ride.

Tashanella picked up the tunic and shook it out. Sargon donned the undergarment and trousers, fastening them with the same knot his mother had used. Tashanella handed him the tunic and he dropped that over his chest. He sat and tied on the sandals, enjoying the feel on his now calloused feet.

When he finished, both women nodded approvingly.

“A handsome warrior,” Nibiru declared.

“You must hurry, Sargon.” Tashanella led the way out of the tent.

“You look very beautiful today, Tashanella,” Nibiru called out before the pair started for Subutai’s tent.

To Sargon’s surprise, the girl who had touched his stiff manhood without showing any emotion blushed furiously.

Both he and Tashanella pretended not to hear the giggling of the young girls that broke out behind them. Instead they quickened their pace toward Subutai’s tent.