An hour after dawn, the Akkadians marched out of Dilgarth. The villagers stood around sullenly, watching them go and waiting until the soldiers were well on their way before turning to their own tasks. Some of the men went down to the fi elds, others to the river.
The women soon followed their men out of the ruined gate, to kneel in the mud and repair the vital irrigation ditches that carried precious water from the river to the ever-thirsty crops. A thin plume of smoke rose up from the smith’s fire, and the carpenter’s hammer rang out as another day’s work in the rebuilding of the village began. Like the bandits, the soldiers had come and the soldiers had gone. With no other option, the villagers would attempt once again to get on with their lives.
The morning passed uneventfully. Noon arrived, and the villagers trudged back to their homes, to eat a meager meal and take a brief rest before returning to their labor. At midafternoon, despite the sun still high in the sky, they began moving back to the village, carrying their burdens or tools, walking slowly, heads downcast, their exhausted stares fixed on the dust of the earth.
When the last of them passed inside the gate, Eskkar stepped back from the edge of the square. From there he could just see the village entrance. He returned to the village elder’s house and pushed open the door.
For most of the day he had stood guard over the house and its eighteen occupants, mostly children or those too old or ill to work, making sure only his soldiers had gone forth to the fields. Eskkar didn’t want to take any chance the villagers would betray him, either willingly or with a knife at their throat. His men had kept track of the women they took with them into the fields. Only those Nisaba vouched for were allowed to depart, and then only in close contact with Eskkar’s men.
The rest of Dilgarth’s men, dressed in soldiers’ garb, had marched off with the rest of Eskkar’s force in the morning. The tallest “soldier” in the column wore Eskkar’s tunic and sat astride the captain’s horse. That soldier had ridden at the head of the column, between Grond and Sisuthros, as the Akkadians departed the village and continued their northward journey. If the bandits had left behind a spy, he would report that Eskkar personally led the column.
If the spy could count, he could also declare that all of the soldiers went north. At least Eskkar hoped his departure would be reported that way. Meanwhile, the soldiers would march north until they made camp at dusk. Then the twenty horsemen would turn about and begin retracing the journey back to the village. With luck they would arrive before midnight, though Eskkar expected everything to be long over by then.
Eskkar had stayed behind with ten men, the only number he could match against the able-bodied men of Dilgarth. But he selected some of the finest fighters and archers in his troop, all eager to prove themselves at Eskkar’s side, to show themselves worthy of the Hawk Clan.
In Eskkar’s rise to power, many of the old ways had fallen aside and many new customs created. After one of his earliest battles, Eskkar established a new kind of clan, a clan not of blood or place, but one of fighting brotherhood. Since then, every Hawk Clan member had sworn an oath of loyalty first to Eskkar and then to each other.
In the subsequent fighting against the barbarians, the Hawk Clan grew in number, though many died in the final assault. Only those who had proven themselves in battle could be nominated for entrance to the Hawk Clan. If accepted, their past, their homeland, their old clan did not matter.
Now men from the corners of the earth, many once homeless and friend-less, had a clan of their own, a new family, where all stood equal in honor.
The Hawk symbol grew into a mark of valor and prestige, and any soldier worthy of his sword hungered to wear the Hawk emblem. Though they numbered less than thirty, these elite soldiers formed the backbone of Eskkar’s subcommanders and bodyguards, the core of fighting men who supported Eskkar’s power.
Each Hawk Clan member wore the emblem proudly on his left shoulder, so that all could see the mark of bravery and distinction. Any of Eskkar’s soldiers would jump at the chance to demonstrate his courage and worth, and how better to do it than to fight at Eskkar’s side. Five of the ten soldiers who stayed with Eskkar belonged to the Hawk Clan. The others hoped to earn that honor in any upcoming battle.
Without any way to know if the village remained under the bandits’ scrutiny, Eskkar ordered the men back from the fields early. He didn’t want the bandits riding in while his few soldiers were scattered in the fields, or heading back to the village, to be killed or captured by ones and twos. Besides, his men would need some time to rest, to prepare their weapons, and take their stations. Eskkar hoped that the bandits, if they were watching, wouldn’t think the early return of any significance.
Hamati, the only other senior man in the group, walked to his captain’s side. Hamati had stopped only long enough to take a deep drink of water at the well and to wash the mud and muck from his hands and face.
“Marduk’s curses on these farmers, Captain, and their filthy way of life. I haven’t worked so hard in years.”
Legend told that Marduk, ruler of the heavens and father of the gods, had created the first farmer from river mud to till the soil. Farmers asked his blessing for their crops, even while they swore at him for making farming such a difficult labor.
“You’re soft from too much easy living, Hamati,” Eskkar said with a laugh. “Not even a full day in the fields and you’re complaining. Be grateful you don’t have to do it each day. Did the women give you any trouble?”
“No, but they kept looking over their shoulders toward the hills. Half of them wanted to run back to the village and the other half wanted to hide in the fields or along the river.”
A few nervous women wouldn’t arouse anyone’s suspicions. After what Dilgarth had been through, it would be natural enough for them to keep their eyes out for bandits and robbers. “Make sure your men are fed and ready, Hamati. If I were the bandits, I’d be here an hour or two before sunset. That will give them enough time before dark to gather what they need and be gone.”
Or they might not come at all. Eskkar worried they could already be far away, or be planning to come back in a few days or a week’s time. He had tried to put himself in their place and hoped they would do what he would have done. If he were wrong, if they had moved on.. three days out of Akkad, and he’d look like a fool in front of his men, outsmarted by a few lazy bandits. He resolutely put the thought away. The afternoon sun promised several more hours of daylight. If they didn’t come today, his horsemen would be back tonight, and he could ride out and search for them tomorrow.
If Hamati had any doubts of his own, he didn’t voice them. Instead, he moved off to see to the other soldiers.
Eskkar turned to find Nisaba standing before him. She, like Hamati, was covered with dirt from the fields. The women had rebuilt an irrigation ditch a few hundred paces from the village. Even in the best of times, ditches needed constant repair as they channeled the life-giving water to the growing crops. “What do you need, elder?”
“Nothing, noble. I have already offered prayers for your success in battle. Kill all of them, noble. Avenge my sons.”
Eskkar smiled at her. “Take the bravest women and keep them at work just beyond the village entrance, elder. The bandits might think it strange if they see no one outside the village. At the first sign of trouble, return to this house and bar the door.”
As soon as the meaningless words left his lips, he wanted to recall them. If he and his men failed, a wooden stick across a door wouldn’t stop any bandit.
She bowed and left him. He strode quickly through the tiny square, making sure the men stood ready and that everyone understood the plan.
That earned him a disapproving look from Hamati, who had just performed the same rite. Nevertheless Eskkar wanted to take no chances, and his concern showed each man how important their orders were.
In his successes against the Alur Meriki, Eskkar had learned no detail was too small to leave to chance, just as no order was too simple, but that some fool would forget it in the excitement of battle. Only when he felt sure everyone was ready and in place did he go to his own station near the main entrance. He’d assigned the best archers to Hamati. While Eskkar could shoot a fair shaft, he’d never managed to match the rapid-fire pace of his best trained men. Better to help hold the entryway, where his sword might prove useful.
Once a crude gate had stood there, more to keep tame animals in and wild creatures out at night, but the bandits wanted nothing to impede a quick entrance or exit from the village. So they knocked it down and used it as firewood.
After a few moments standing about, Eskkar realized he didn’t have the patience to just wait there, where he couldn’t see much of anything.
Swearing under his breath, he returned to the elder’s house, entered, and climbed the wooden ladder to the roof.
Mitrac, the youngest of Eskkar’s archers, glanced up at his captain’s arrival. The youth reclined on his elbow, studying the approaches to the village, a blanket under him and his bow and two quivers of arrows close at hand. A long dagger, almost as long as the short swords the soldiers carried, rested on the blanket. His powerful bow stretched a foot taller than any that the soldiers carried, and Mitrac’s arrows were not only three inches longer, but slightly thicker-all marked with a red streak near the feathered end.
The boy’s face looked even younger than his seasons, and Eskkar had to remind himself that no one who killed an enemy in battle could be considered a boy, let alone someone who had killed as many as Mitrac.
“Is something wrong, Captain?” Mitrac said, surprised at Eskkar’s unexpected visit. “I thought you would be at the gate.”
Eskkar sat down at the roof ’s edge. “No, Mitrac, I just want to see what’s happening, and I could see nothing from the gate.” Looking out over the fl imsy palisade, Eskkar saw a half-dozen women working on one of the closest irrigation channels. Part of the embankment had collapsed, either of its own accord, or because some bandits had ridden their horses through the soft sides.
Three women stood in the ditch, in brown water reaching their knees, as they scooped the mud from the channel back onto the embankment.
Only one had a shovel. The others used clay shards or even their hands to pick up the mud and pack it into place. As Eskkar watched, Nisaba came into view and stood at the edge of the ditch. She would be trying to reassure the women and keep them at their task. The village had to appear as normal as possible to the returning bandits.
“The women are frightened, Captain,” Mitrac offered. “They keep looking to the hills.”
“Well, they’ve been raped and beaten enough times.” He turned to the young archer. “Are you nervous as well, Mitrac?”
“No, Captain, not as long as you’re here. Where you go, I can follow.
You always know what to do.”
Eskkar smiled at the boy’s trust. Mitrac and his bow had probably killed more barbarians than anyone else in Akkad. Eskkar hoped the young man’s confidence in his leader wouldn’t prove misplaced.
“Let’s hope our luck holds, Mitrac.” Part of Eskkar’s reputation consisted of his ability to anticipate his enemies. Luck had favored him more than once in the last few months. Trella had suggested the idea of trying to think like his enemies, to put himself in their places and to anticipate their actions. No doubt those efforts had helped the gods bestow their good fortune upon him and his followers. Now that Eskkar thought about it, his young wife had turned out to be the greatest piece of luck in his life.
The women’s shrill cries turned his head back to the countryside, to see the women fleeing toward the gate. It took a moment before he spotted the band of horsemen. The bandits were approaching more from the south than from the east, where Eskkar had anticipated they would appear.
He watched them ride toward the village at an easy canter, cutting across the fields and angling toward the path that led to the village.
They would reach the trail in a few moments, and then there would be only the last five hundred paces to the village entrance. They rode in barbarian fashion, shouting their war cries as they galloped, intending to frighten and panic the villagers as much as possible. Eskkar stayed immobile only long enough to get an accurate count of the riders.
“Damn the gods! I count eighteen of them. Good hunting, Mitrac.”
Without rising, Eskkar slipped back down the ladder and raced to the main entrance. His ten men were going to be outnumbered. Today he would need all the luck the unpredictable gods could dispense. Eskkar reached the gate as the last of the women, breathing hard, stumbled back into the village.
Then Nisaba walked through, still wiping her hands on her dress. She nodded at him as she passed by, letting him know that all the women had returned. Eskkar took up a bow and nodded to the two soldiers on the other side of the gate. One of them had a bow in his hands, an arrow already fitted to the string, while the other man leaned against a low cart, the sort farmers used to display fruits and vegetables in the market. Eskkar knelt down behind a similar cart, his shoulder against the rough stakes of the palisade, and peered through a crack between the logs. He ducked back his head and fitted an arrow to his string. The bandits were only moments away. The rush of battle tingled his nerves, and he felt his heart racing, the way it always did before a fight.
Shrilling a war cry, the first rider burst through the gate at a canter, a sword swinging easily in his hand. Eskkar stayed down, counting the horses as they crossed into the village. Riders eased back their winded mounts, slowing as they entered Dilgarth. They didn’t expect any resistance, and the women’s panicky cries had already faded. Straggling behind, the last horse finally passed through the opening at barely a trot, its rider apparently more concerned with the animal’s halter than his surroundings.
As soon as the last rider moved past the gate, Eskkar rose up and drew his bow. At the same moment he let fly the arrow at the man’s back, a great shout came from the rear of the village, followed by the screams of frightened and wounded horses. Eskkar’s target was less than twenty paces away, but the man’s horse jumped at the noise, making for a poor shot that struck the rider low in the back instead of squarely between the shoulders.
Nevertheless, at that range the shaft landed with enough force to knock the bandit off his horse.
The moment he loosed the missile, Eskkar turned and, keeping the bow in his left hand, pushed hard against the heavy cart that had concealed him, and shoved it with all his might into the space between the palisade.
From the other side of the opening, the second cart bumped up against his own, blocking easy exit from the village.
Two waist-high carts didn’t form much of a barricade. A really good horse and rider might even jump the obstacle, but Eskkar was determined to give no bandit an opportunity to test his horsemanship.
By the time Eskkar had strung another arrow to his bow, the second archer had fired four times at the distant horsemen, fitting and loosing shafts with a speed Eskkar couldn’t hope to match. But hitting a moving, twisting target was another matter. Dust swirled everywhere, rising high into the lane. At the rear of the village, the surprised bandits had encountered Hamati and six of his men as they entered the square. The soldiers would continue pouring arrows into their confused targets as fast as they could.
Eskkar knew the bandit leader would have only a moment to make his decision. If he dismounted and urged his men forward, to attack Hamati’s archers, things would get very bloody. But mounted warriors rarely wanted to fight on foot, and attacking an unknown number of men standing behind a barricade of carts and tables wouldn’t be too appealing.
A mass of panicked horses broke out of the dust and surged back toward the gate. From the hoofbeats, Eskkar knew the bandit leader had decided to run, not fight. Eskkar picked the man out, hanging low over his animal’s neck, shouting to his men, and urging his beast back toward the village entrance.
Mitrac, standing exposed on the edge of the roof, wreaked havoc with nearly each shaft he loosed. Only three riders remained on their horses as they charged back toward the main gate. Ignoring the other two, Eskkar aimed at the leader and fired his arrow into the man’s horse, an easy target even Eskkar couldn’t miss at such close range. The animal screamed and twisted in its tracks before stumbling to a halt, and its rider, clinging to the wounded beast’s neck, couldn’t hold on and tumbled to the ground. A second bandit went down, but the last rider put his horse directly at the carts, and the animal leaped high into the air. Horse and rider cleared the carts and landed cleanly outside the fence. Then one of Mitrac’s heavy arrows struck the man high in the shoulder, and the bandit pitched from his mount at the same moment the animal landed.
“Stop that man,” Eskkar shouted. “Don’t let him get away.” Eskkar slid his own sword from its sheath. The bandit leader had fallen hard, but already he’d climbed to his feet, sword in his hand, and started racing toward the gate. The riderless horses all turned back at the sight of the carts, the dumb beasts racing back the way they’d come. For the moment, the area in front of the gate stood empty. Eying the horse wandering a few paces outside the gate, the bandit leader made a dash for the opening.
Eskkar blocked the way. “Put down your sword!”
The bandit chief showed himself a true warrior, and flung himself at Eskkar with all the speed and force he could muster, his sword striking at Eskkar’s head. Trapped, the man knew there might still be a chance to escape, if he could get outside the village.
Eskkar’s sword, made from the finest bronze, flashed up to parry the blow, and the loud clank as the two blades clashed carried over the other battle noises. In the same instant, before the man could recover, Eskkar lowered his shoulder and thrust himself into the bandit leader’s chest.
The two men met with a crash. The bandit, moving at a run, had momentum behind him, but Eskkar was the bigger man, and he put the force of his body behind his shoulder. Gasping as the air was knocked from his lungs, the bandit went down, and before he could get up, one of the soldiers from the gate leapt upon him, pinning his sword arm until Eskkar could stomp his sandal on the blade just past the hilt. The man let go of the useless weapon and grabbed for a knife at his belt, but Eskkar pushed the point of his sword against the man’s neck. He stopped moving, though his eyes darted from Eskkar to the sword.
Before the prisoner could change his mind, Eskkar’s soldier ripped the prisoner’s knife from his belt, then used its hilt to strike the man hard across his forehead. That stunned the bandit for a few moments, and before he could begin to resist, the soldier cut free the man’s sandal straps, rolled the prisoner onto his stomach, and started binding the prisoner’s wrists behind him. Eskkar kept the sword against the bandit’s neck until the man’s hands were bound.
“Captain! Over here.”
Eskkar turned to see the other soldier who’d helped defend the gate.
He’d scrambled over the carts and had the wounded bandit on his feet, the arrow still protruding from the man’s shoulder. That prisoner grimaced in pain either from the arrow or from the fact that the guard had twisted his other arm up behind his back and had a knife at the man’s neck.
Eskkar shoved one of the carts out of the way so that the two could enter.
Hamati arrived, bow in hand with an arrow to the string, his step as assured as if he strode on Akkad’s training ground. He had a big grin on his broad face.
“I saw him take that cut at you, Captain,” he said. “Not many men could have parried that blow.”
Eskkar glanced down at the weapon still in his hand, then raised it up to Hamati. A tiny gouge in the metal showed where the two blades had met, but nothing of consequence, though Eskkar knew that a common sword might have shattered under the impact of such a ferocious blow.
“Trella’s gift keeps me safe.” The great sword, painstakingly cast from the strongest bronze by the best craftsmen in Akkad, had taken months to forge. Trella had ordered it cast especially for him, and it had saved his life once before.
“How did it go, Hamati?” Eskkar asked.
“As we expected. As soon as they rode into the marketplace, we put seven arrows into the horses. That put them in a panic. The poor beasts started rearing and twisting, and two men were pitched right off their mounts. My men just kept shooting. Each of us got off at least five arrows.
That took the fight out of them.”
Eskkar wasn’t particularly adept at counting, but some numbers came to him more easily than others. Horses, men, arrows, these kinds of things he could count quickly enough. Thirty-five arrows from Hamati and his six men, in about twelve or fifteen seconds. In those same fifteen seconds, Mitrac, standing on the rooftop, had fired at least seven shafts, since he was
much faster than the others. Nearly forty-five arrows loosed into a crowd of sixteen or so bandits, since a few hadn’t made it all the way into the square before the ambush started.
“Did we lose anyone?”
Hamati grunted in disgust. “One of the bandits finally got an arrow fitted to his bow and Markas took a shaft in his arm. But it was poorly drawn. It didn’t even go through. The women are tending to him. He’ll be fine in a few days.”
Fitting an arrow to a bow, while trying to control a panicky horse at the same time, sometimes meant you couldn’t pull the shaft as far back as you wanted. With the smaller bows the horsemen used, that could result in a weakly launched shaft. The bows Eskkar’s men used were much larger, more powerful weapons, shooting a heavier arrow, and were as useful for hunting game as men. Their weakness was that they were too big to be used from horseback. That disadvantage didn’t trouble Eskkar, since he didn’t have many horses, nor men who knew how to fight from them.
The bandit leader on the ground groaned, and Hamati kicked him casually in the ribs, but not hard enough to break anything. “Captain, except for one bandit at the square who was knocked senseless when his horse was killed, these two are the only ones left alive. All the rest back there are dead or dying.”
The other prisoner was shoved to the ground, alongside the man Eskkar had fought. The wounded man gasped in pain at the impact. The shank of the arrow, still protruding from his back, had brushed against the ground, twisting the shaft inside his shoulder and no doubt sending a wave of pain through the man.
“Better pull that out of him,” Eskkar ordered, looking at the wound.
Mitrac’s arrow had struck the man’s right shoulder, but looked low and deep enough to be fatal. The man would likely die, but might live long enough to answer some questions.
“Bring them both back to the square, and we’ll see what we can get out of them.” Eskkar glanced up at the sun and realized it had scarcely moved.
The whole fight had lasted only moments.
Hamati, meanwhile, stepped over to the injured prisoner. Before he realized what was coming, Hamati gripped the shaft and ripped it from the man’s shoulder. A piercing scream erupted from the wounded man; then he fainted from the pain and shock.
Eskkar returned to the square. He counted nine carcasses, several with multiple arrows protruding from breast and neck. The rest of the animals, some of them wounded, their eyes still wide with fear and nervous from the smell of blood, had been rounded up and pushed into the same rope corral that had contained the soldiers’ animals last night. The stink of blood, urine, and feces rose up from both man and beast. Eskkar didn’t mind the familiar smell. He knew you had to be alive to notice it.
A horseman since he’d grown old enough to sit astride one, Eskkar hated the thought of killing such fine horsefl esh. But despite the familiar pang of sorrow at their deaths, he knew that, in battle, you did what you had to do. The men remembered their training, to shoot fi rst at the horse.
When you shoot the horse, even if it’s only wounded, the animal panics and the rider can’t control it. When the horse goes down, the rider is usually stunned or injured from the fall. First you stop the charge, then you kill the dismounted riders. Hamati’s veterans had all fought in the siege of Akkad and they had learned that lesson very well indeed. Tonight, there would be plenty of fresh meat for everyone, and Eskkar had gained himself another eight or nine riding stock animals for his men.
The other sight wasn’t as pleasant. A woman, blood spattered all over her face and arms, sobbed as she knelt against the side of the elder’s house.
Nisaba and another woman attended her, their arms around her, trying to give comfort. The bandit captured in the square lay dead, his throat slit by the still-shaking woman. She had waited until Hamati’s men had bound the prisoner and gone off to chase after the loose horses.
Blood still dripped from the man’s eyes and nose, as well as from his neck and chest. Eskkar guessed she stabbed the helpless man a dozen times before someone pulled her off him. The victim must have done some injury either to her or to her kin. Eskkar couldn’t do anything about it now.
He turned to Hamati, but the soldier, after shaking his head in disgust at his men’s carelessness, had already given orders to guard the two remaining prisoners.
Eskkar went to the well and brought up a fresh bucket of water, drinking his fill and dumping the rest across his face. Once again, he was surprised at how thirsty he became after a fight, even one as brief as this. That was the way of most battles, he decided-a sudden, brief burst of activity with no time for thought or fear.
Then he recalled the long battles for Akkad’s walls. Those fights had seemed endless, and every man had been completely exhausted when they ended. He remembered men on their knees, trying to catch their breath, some with tears running down their faces, suddenly unable to control their emotions or even to raise their arms. Eskkar shook off the gloomy vision, refilled the bucket, and drank again. His thirst satisfied, he went back inside the house, picked up the same stool he had used last night, and brought it back outside.
He sat down under a small tree barely large enough to provide a bit of shade. Hamati’s men dragged the two prisoners in front of Eskkar. Both of them were bleeding and covered with dust. They were forced to their knees, the hot sun directly in their faces. No doubt they were even more thirsty than Eskkar. They had ridden a wide circle to return to Dilgarth, where they found death waiting for them instead of food and water.
“What are your names?” Eskkar asked sharply.
The wounded man answered immediately. “I am called Utu, noble.”
His voice cracked as he spoke, and he swayed a little from side to side.
Loss of blood had drained the color from his face. “Water, noble, can I have…”
“Keep silent, you dog of a coward!” His leader spat the words at him, though his own voice croaked harshly as well. Before anyone could stop him, the bandit leader threw his shoulder against Utu’s body, knocking him into the dirt and wrenching another long moan of pain from the wounded man who lay twitching in the dust.
This time Hamati kicked the leader with force, using the heel of his sandal. Once. Twice. And a third time, until the man let out a moan through clenched teeth.
“Bring Utu into the house, Hamati, and give him some water. Go easy with him. Keep the other here, and keep him quiet! ” Eskkar stood, picked up the stool, and carried it back into the house.
Inside, the mud walls and roof provided some shelter from the heat of the day. Eskkar sat down again while Hamati and one of his men carried Utu inside, then held a ladle of water to his lips. Eskkar studied the man while he drank. His face had turned as white as unleavened bread, and his wound still bled, though not as rapidly as before. The man had lost much blood, and Eskkar guessed he didn’t have long to live. Utu finished the water and asked for more. Eskkar nodded, then waited while the wounded man emptied a second ladle.
“Utu, you’re in pain, and you’ll probably be dead within the hour. I want you to tell me about your leader and what you’ve been doing for the last few weeks. If you do, you can have plenty of wine and water to comfort yourself. If not, you will be put to the torture. I can even hand you over to the women outside and let them toy with you. They won’t be in such a rush this time.”
A sob came from the man, and tears ran from his eyes. “Then I’m to die?” He whispered the words in a trembling voice.
“You are dying, Utu. The arrow struck deep and hard. Nothing can save you, not even the gods. Only how you die is left for you to choose.”
Eskkar spoke with the certainty of one who had seen many die before.
Then he waited, saying nothing. The dying man needed some time to grasp his plight.
It took Utu only moments to decide. “Wine, noble! For the pain.”
“Untie his hands and put something under his head,” Eskkar ordered.
He had done this many times before. Tell them the truth, that they were dying or would be put to death. It didn’t matter which. In that state of mind, most wounded men would appreciate every comfort. Hamati untied the man, then eased him down on the dirt floor, with his head elevated by a folded blanket. Hamati brought over the last of the soldier’s wine and held the wineskin to Utu’s lips, letting the man drink until he coughed and spat up some of the harsh liquid.
“Now tell me, Utu,” Eskkar asked, “what is the name of your leader, and how many others have been raiding the lands?”
“Shulat, noble. His name is Shulat.” Utu coughed again, but cleared his throat and swallowed hard. He rolled his eyes toward Hamati.
Eskkar nodded again, and Hamati dribbled more wine into the man’s mouth. “How many others, Utu?” Eskkar repeated.
Utu swallowed twice before he could speak, and even then he could barely raise his voice above a whisper. “There is another band of men up north, in Bisitun. Many men there… Shulat is the brother of their leader, Ninazu. He rules in Bisitun.” Utu’s voice gave out and he looked pitifully at Hamati, who gave him another mouthful of wine. “Ninazu… Ninazu wanted to know about the lands to the south, and Shulat wanted to raid the farms, so we came here a few weeks ago.” The man paused to take a labored breath, and his eyes closed for a long moment.
“Give him more wine,” Eskkar said, while he used the time to think.
Bisitun was a much larger village five or six days march farther north from Dilgarth. Bisitun sat on the northern edge of the lands that bordered Akkad, right at the point where the Tigris turned sharply north. It marked the outlying boundary of the lands Eskkar intended to bring under his rule.
He planned to leave Sisuthros in charge of Bisitun, after they finished ridding the surrounding countryside of bandits and marauders. With Akkad and Bisitun working together, more than half of the best farmlands on this side of the Tigris would be under Eskkar’s control. Eskkar’s plan, worked out with the elders in Akkad, depended on securing Bisitun.
“How many men does this Ninazu have with him in Bisitun?” The man whimpered, but said nothing. Eskkar placed his hand on Utu’s good shoulder and shook him gently, knowing even a small movement would send a wave of pain through the man and keep him conscious. “How many men, Utu?” He spoke sharply, to make sure his words penetrated Utu’s weakening mind. “Tell me! Or there’ll be no more wine!”
Utu rolled his eyes toward Eskkar, his face a mixture of fear and pain.
But the dying man wanted the wine, wanted anything that would ease the pain and the fright of dying. “Seventy or eighty… maybe ninety… I don’t know… maybe more.” His voice trailed off a little.
“Do they plan to stay there, or will they ride on?” Utu’s eyes closed again, and he didn’t answer. Eskkar looked at Hamati and a few more drops of wine were carefully dripped into the man’s mouth. Another spasm of coughing took Utu and he choked on the wine. It took time before his breathing slowed and he could speak again.
Eskkar waited patiently. “Utu, do they plan to stay there, or will they ride on?” Eskkar had to lean close to hear the man’s words.
“Ninazu plans… to stay in Bisitun. He says the village is his now.
From there… he rules over the land.”
Eskkar ground his teeth in anger. Another petty ruler had arisen. With eighty or ninety determined and well-armed men, it would have been easy to take control of Bisitun, already devastated by the Alur Meriki’s passage.
Once in power, Ninazu’s force would grow steadily each day, as more and more desperate men joined him, either out of a desire for loot or simply as a way to get something to eat. Again Eskkar silently cursed the barbarians and their passage. Whatever they touched, they left in chaos. He had expected to find problems in and around Bisitun, but not a village full of fighting men who surpassed him in numbers.
Eskkar had more questions, but Utu’s mind wandered now, his voice weak as he struggled to breathe. The vague answers came slower and slower. Blood seeped into the dirt underneath the man. Utu’s face looked even whiter than before and now a bluish tinge showed on his lips. Finally the only word Eskkar could get out of him was “wine.”
Hamati, still holding the wineskin, looked at Eskkar, who noted the nearly empty wineskin and shook his head. “No, we may need the wine for the other one. Give him water. He won’t know the difference.”
Eskkar stood up, picked up his stool, and walked back outside. The sun still shone bright in the late afternoon sky, and he had to shade his eyes when he left the house.
The square bustled with activity. Drakis, one of Hamati’s men, sat on the ground next to the prisoner, to make sure he stayed alive and to keep him quiet. Before Eskkar could speak, Drakis began. “I’ve posted a guard by the main entrance, Captain, and Mitrac keeps watch from the roof,” indicating the house Eskkar had just left. “The bodies are being loaded on a cart and will be dumped in the river. The rest of the men are helping the women butcher the dead horses or gather firewood. We’ll have plenty of meat for the next few days.”
As Eskkar watched, two soldiers lifted the last naked body and tossed it onto the cart. They’d already stripped the dead of whatever clothing and valuables they possessed. He moved farther away from the house and looked up to the roof.
“Mitrac!” he called out. “Do you see anything?”
The young archer stepped into view. “Nothing, Captain. The fields are empty. Not even any travelers on the road.”
It would be too late in the day for the few travelers brave enough to venture forth. “Good. Keep a sharp watch, Mitrac,” Eskkar said. He walked back to the shade of the tree, put down the stool and sat, his feet almost touching Shulat’s body.
“Well, Shulat, are you getting thirsty yet?” The man had a fresh bruise on his face, no doubt a reminder from Drakis to keep silent. “It’s time for us to talk about your brother.”
“I’ll tell you nothing, Eskkar. I’m not afraid to die.”
“As I told Utu, your death is certain. Only how you die is to be decided.”
Hamati came out of the house, carrying the wineskin in his hand, and stood next to Eskkar. “The other one is dead, Captain.”
“You see, Shulat, your man, Utu, is dead,” Eskkar said. “At least he died full of wine, to ease his pain. Are you going to tell me about your brother?”
“I’ll be avenged when my brother takes your head.” Shulat spat the words at him as a curse. “He likes to kill soft farmers and tradesmen.”
Eskkar smiled at the man’s words but detected the first hint of fear behind the bravado. “I’m a barbarian myself, Shulat. And my soft villagers took your men easily enough. So don’t be so sure of your revenge.” Eskkar turned to his second in command. “Hamati, this man needs to change his ways. Stake him out here in the square. We’ll let the women have some time with him.”
Looking up, Eskkar saw Nisaba standing in the shadows, watching him. Her women had already stripped Utu’s corpse. Now the loaded cart stood there, awaiting only Shulat’s body. Nearby, the rest of the women, eager for the taste of meat, moved about a little faster and worked swiftly to build cooking fires for the butchered horses. Eskkar walked over to Nisaba’s side. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, noble.” Her hands fingered a small, leaf-shaped knife she’d taken from one of the dead. Blood streaked the dull copper blade.
Eskkar saw the gesture. “No knives, Nisaba. And just his hands and feet, for now. Do you understand?” Working only on the man’s hands and feet helped avoid an untimely demise.
“Yes, noble, I understand.” She looked toward the group of women, then back at Shulat. “Shulat killed Nitari’s husband in front of her and her children, then took her. And there was…”
“Enough, Nisaba,” Eskkar cut her off. No doubt the man had taken every woman in the village. “Just you and two women, to start with. He is not to die, only to feel pain. Can you do that?”
“Yes, noble.” Her hand gripped tighter on the knife she held.
“I mean it, Nisaba. If one of your women gets carried away… I don’t want him to die yet. You can have your revenge after he talks. Make sure they truly understand, Nisaba.”
He walked over to Hamati, who supervised his men as they finished staking the prisoner. They’d cut his garment off, then spread-eagled him in the dirt, with his arms and legs spread wide apart. A hammer and some wood stakes had come from the blacksmith’s stall, and the men pounded four stakes deep into the ground to anchor the ropes that secured him.
Eskkar stood over him. “Make sure the ropes are tight, Hamati. I don’t want him moving around.” If the man could move, even a little, an acci-dental death might occur. That reminded Eskkar of something else.
“And break his thumbs first.” Eskkar had once seen a man staked out like Shulat grab a woman’s hand and snap her wrist. There was no sense taking any chances. With the man’s thumbs broken, he couldn’t grab anything. “Keep a close watch on the women. I don’t want him to die.”
“Yes, Captain,” Hamati answered patiently. He waited until his men had Shulat securely fastened, then knelt on Shulat’s right wrist, letting his knee pin the prisoner’s hand to the ground. Shulat clenched his fist tightly, but another soldier added his own weight, and together they forced apart Shulat’s hand, ignoring his curses and struggles. It took some effort, but Hamati finally grasped the man’s thumb. A quick twist, accompanied by a popping sound, and the deed was done. The pain forced a low moan from the man, even as it weakened his resistance. The other thumb went much easier.
Eskkar looked down at Shulat. Eskkar knew his own presence would give the man a reason to resist, so he went back into the house and again climbed the ladder to the roof. Up there, a slight breeze blew and the air seemed free of the scent of blood and urine that lingered below. Mitrac turned as Eskkar arrived. “Nothing to see, Captain. Are more bandits in the hills?”
“I don’t think so, but there’s a large force at Bisitun and I don’t know what they’re up to. I want to get back to our men as soon as possible.” He gazed out over the hills, taking his time, letting his eyes slowly traverse every point of the horizon, then moving them back and forth over the intervening landscape. Eskkar knew well how to search the land for enemies.
Everything looked peaceful. He decided there was nothing more he could do. His twenty horsemen would arrive later tonight, and tomorrow they’d link up with Sisuthros and the rest of the soldiers.
“Stay and watch until it’s too dark, Mitrac. Hopefully our men will return soon after.”
Mitrac nodded, and Eskkar went down the ladder. One of Dilgarth’s women had cleaned the room and the signs of Utu’s passing had vanished.
Reentering the square, Eskkar heard Shulat’s first cry of pain. Two women worked on his feet, each sitting on one of Shulat’s legs. The women held stones in each hand, and they had started crushing his toes by smashing the rocks together. Nisaba knelt on Shulat’s right wrist, doing the same to the fingers of his hand. Eskkar noticed that her hands seemed as strong as those of the two younger women.
With all the small bones in his toes and fingers crushed or broken, the pain from each subsequent blow would increase, and soon the man’s extremities would be shooting waves of pain throughout his body. Eskkar lingered only long enough to make sure the women didn’t get carried away, and that Hamati kept his eyes on them.
Eskkar left the square and walked back to the main gate. One soldier stood guard there, sitting on one of the carts, bow across his lap, and looking out through the gate toward the horizon. All of his fighters looked tired enough. They’d had little sleep last night as they prepared for the ambush. Then they’d worked in the fields during the day and finished with a hard fight in the afternoon. It wouldn’t take much distraction for them to relax or fall asleep at their posts.
Nonetheless, the guard seemed alert. Eskkar spoke to him, reminding the man to remain vigilant. Eskkar knew the more time he spent with each man, the more he showed his trust in each of them, the more likely each soldier would do his duty properly.
Even before Eskkar returned to the square, he heard Shulat’s screams.
Five other village women stood a few paces away, just watching, or perhaps waiting their turn. The women had finished with Shulat’s toes and fingers, and had moved up to his knees and wrists. They had fallen into a rhythm.
First one would smash at him with the stones, then pause to let the waves of pain shoot through his body. Then the second woman would strike, then the third, then back to the first. Soon they would begin on his genitals, and by then, Eskkar expected Shulat to begin talking.
Eskkar stood at the man’s head and watched for a moment. He’d seen many men tortured. Five years ago, in the days of his own banditry, he might have been the one staked out and put to the torture. Eskkar nodded to Hamati and walked a few steps away, out of earshot of Shulat.
Hamati joined him. “He’s a tough one, Captain. But I think he’ll talk.”
“Just don’t let the women get carried away. He’ll be hoping they’ll kill him.”
“Nisaba understands what you want. Shulat raped both of them, and killed one’s husband. Nisaba is keeping the women under control. I’ll keep a close eye on them.”
“We both will,” Eskkar said. He walked back to the prisoner, folded his arms, and stood there. He took no pleasure from the man’s suffering. It needed to be done. The man had information Eskkar needed, and Shulat would have to give it up. The hard part would be separating the truth from the lies when he did begin to speak.
The man resisted as long as anyone could, before he began to scream for mercy. By then his hands, feet, and knees were broken, swollen, and oozing blood. Nisaba worked alone now, kneeling between his spread legs, cupping his testicles in her hand. Twice she had clenched her fist, each time extracting a long scream of agony from her victim as he thrashed helplessly against his bonds. Now she looked toward Hamati and Eskkar, and waited.
Eskkar picked up the stool and sat down near Shulat’s head. “Are you ready to tell me about your brother?” Before the man could answer, Eskkar went on. “Would you like some wine, Shulat?”
Hamati already knelt on the other side, the wineskin in his hands, and he shook the vessel under the prisoner’s nose for a moment. Shulat’s eyes stayed wide with pain and hatred, but they followed the wineskin as Hamati withdrew it.
“The wine will make the pain go away,” Eskkar suggested gently. “It can’t hurt to have some wine, can it? Or should I tell the women to continue?” The man’s eyes moved back and forth, but he said nothing. Eskkar turned toward Nisaba and nodded. The woman’s hand clenched again.
Another scream split the air as the man’s body arched up off the ground, twisting and trembling helplessly as it fought against the ropes.
Eskkar let it go on, waiting impassively for the man to break. It didn’t take long. Shulat began to shout that he would talk. Eskkar called out to Nisaba, and she opened her hand. This time he saw blood on Nisaba’s palm and fi ngers.
Eskkar waited until the pain subsided and the man could speak again.
“If you lie to me even once, Shulat, you’ll suffer for a long time. You will answer my questions instantly, or there will be more pain. Do you understand?”
“Yes… yes. Wine!.. Give me wine!”
Hamati started to move the wineskin to the man’s mouth, but Eskkar held him back. “Remember this, Shulat. If you lie, or hesitate, you will be very sorry.”
Hamati dribbled the wine slowly into the man’s mouth. Eskkar let him have as much as he could take. At this stage, the wine would loosen his tongue even as it dulled his nerves. When the man began to cough on the wine, Hamati lifted the wineskin away from Shulat’s lips, and he began to speak.
It took some time for Eskkar to learn all he could. Only once did he find it necessary to turn to Nisaba and for her to clench her fist again. By then, Hamati had emptied the wineskin and Shulat was barely conscious.
The wine, combined with the pain and exhaustion, had greatly weakened him, and now he drifted in and out of consciousness.
“I think that’s all you’re going to get, Captain,” Hamati said, as the two men took a few steps toward the house.
“Yes, he’s finished. How much of it is true, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Eskkar was thoughtful, his face grim. Darkness had fallen and the cooking fires were well under way, the smell of roasting horsemeat overpowering even the scents of death. With nothing left to do, most of the soldiers and villagers still stood there, fascinated, watching Shulat take the torture, enjoying the spectacle, no doubt wondering what they would do in his place.
“What shall I do with him?” Hamati asked.
Eskkar looked back over his shoulder. Nisaba still knelt between the man’s legs, waiting permission to continue. One of the women had lit a torch, to provide more light for everyone.
“Nothing, Hamati.” Eskkar took a deep breath and let it out. “Just give him to the women. They’ve earned their revenge. When they’re finished, load him on the cart with the others and dump them in the river.”
He walked away and entered the house, then climbed the ladder to the roof. Mitrac had remained there, though darkness made it difficult to see much of anything. Eskkar told him to go down and find something to eat. As Mitrac started down, the first of another long string of Shulat’s screams pierced the night as the women unleashed their fury on him.
Alone on the roof, Eskkar sat there, sword across his knees, staring out toward the north, and cleared his mind. Shulat’s words had given him plenty to worry about, and he thought long and hard about what to do next. Eskkar had several courses of action to consider. He could return to Akkad, to wait there until he gathered more men. He could even stay here for a while and scout out the lands to the north and east. Or he could continue on to Bisitun.
Going to Bisitun now would almost certainly mean a battle, not just a few skirmishes chasing down some ill-equipped and poorly led bandits. A fight for the village would cost men, and he had too few of those already.
Eskkar’s veteran bowmen had taken months to train, a huge investment in time and effort, and he didn’t want to lose any of them, certainly not without some surety of success. But turning back would leave the inhabitants of Bisitun at the mercy of their occupiers, and for each day he delayed, the stronger his enemy’s position would become. It might take weeks or even a month to gather and train more men, and by then, Bisitun might be beyond saving.
The consequences to Akkad might be as serious. Without a pacified countryside producing crops and herds, the city’s growth might falter, and construction of the great wall itself might be delayed or even halted. That would bring ruin to Trella’s plans. For most of his life, Eskkar had concerned himself with his own problems; now he had to think and plan for a whole city, even the entire countryside. Thousands of people would be affected by whatever he decided, and the wrong choice might plunge the land back into chaos or open war, as devastating to Akkad as the Alur Meriki invasion.
Eskkar didn’t consider himself a quick thinker, and Trella had advised him to take his time, to take into account all the possibilities. Now he had many choices, and each choice led to yet more possibilities, all of them carrying their own risk and benefit. He went over them again and again, weighing the consequences and considering all the things that might go wrong. At last he made his decision. With that settled, he began planning, working out in his head how the entire campaign would go. Only after finishing that did he know what he would need, and how to proceed.
At last, Eskkar felt satisfi ed. It might not be the best course of action, but only time would answer that question. He never wanted this kind of responsibility, never dreamed that some day his decisions would affect so many people’s lives. Or even bring about their deaths. Nevertheless, Trella believed in him, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. Eskkar shook the dark thoughts from his mind. Right or wrong, he would continue the course he had chosen.
He stood and stretched muscles grown stiff from inaction, looking up at the star-filled sky. The little glittering points of light that moved across the night sky had fascinated him as far back as he could remember; his father had taught him the stars’ names, and how to use them to travel at night.
The moon had risen, shedding its own pale gleam on the land. For the first time, he noticed the silence of the night. Shulat’s screams had ended long ago. No doubt the women of Dilgarth regretted their revenge had ended so swiftly. The bandit’s demise had been the first of this campaign. Eskkar knew there would be many more death cries in the next few weeks. Just how many would depend on the course of action he’d chosen.