Conflict of Empires (2010)

by Sam Barone

  The other three men ranged themselves alongside their leader, who folded his arms across his chest. Thutmose-sin gave Razrek’s men little more than a dismissive glance, but took his time studying the Sumerian leader.

  “You are the one called Razrek.”

  A statement, not a question. Razrek found his mouth dry, and had to swallow before he could answer. “Yes, Sarum. My name is Razrek, and I’ve been –”

  “You’ve been sent by the leader of the village called Sumer. You wish to wage war against the village of Orak, now called Akkad, and you want us to join you in your fight. Why? Are you not strong enough to fight your own battles?”

  Razrek knew better than to answer that question either yes or no. “My Lord … Sarum … the people of Sumeria are determined to fight Eskkar of Akkad, who is your own sworn enemy. My king wishes to offer the mighty Alur Meriki a chance to join in the spoils of battle. Akkad is a rich land with much gold and silver, large herds, and thousands of possible slaves. Is not the enemy of my enemy my friend?”

  The saying meant the same to the barbarians as to the tribes of the desert.

  “The Alur Meriki will fight their enemies at a time of our own choosing,” Thutmose-sin said. “For dirt-eaters to suggest that we fight alongside them is an insult to our honor.”

  “Sarum, I mean no such thing. I spoke as one warrior to another …”

  Rethnar took a step forward and kicked Razrek in the chest. The savage blow knocked the breath from his body, and he toppled over.

  “Do not dare to compare yourself to true warriors,” Rethnar shouted, his face red with anger.

  Razrek twisted his body upright, and managed to get back on his knees, gulping air into his lungs. If he were going to die, he didn’t intend to grovel before these barbarians. “Untie my hands and give me a sword,” he said, “and we’ll see who is a warrior and who is a coward!”

  Rethnar reached for his sword.

  “Hold your anger, Rethnar,” Thutmose-sin commanded, his hand staying his companion. “He is only a dirt-eater seeking a quick death. Do not give him what he wants.”

  “We did agree to meet with these Sumerians,” another man said. He was the oldest of the four clan leaders, probably approaching his fiftieth year. “We should hear his words. We can always kill him later.”

  “As always, Urgo, you give good counsel,” Thutmose-sin agreed. “Bring this one into my tent. We will hear what he has to say. Give him some water. It seems his mouth is dry.”

  The guards untied his hands and handed him a water skin. They kept him on his knees while he drank, but that was expected. No warrior, let alone their Sarum, could admit treating a dirt-eater as an equal.

  Inside the tent, the guard pushed Razrek back on his knees before leaving. The Sumerian found himself facing the four clan leaders. He explained his purpose for visiting. A war was coming, a mighty conflict with many thousands of men on each side. The purpose of this war was to crush Akkad into the dust, to leave no stone of the accursed city standing atop another. The forces of Akkad, led by Eskkar, would find themselves arrayed against the might of all the cities of Sumeria. The Akkadians would be forced to leave their walled city and march south, to face the army of Sumer. That would leave the city almost undefended, its walls guarded by old men, women and children. The time would be ripe to pluck the city.

  Razrek spoke until his voice gave out. They gave him more water, and he went on. Razrek told them he would have brave men inside the enemy’s city, men who would lower ropes for the Alur Meriki to scale the walls. Once inside, the city’s inhabitants would be no match for the fury of the mighty Alur Meriki warriors. Finally, Razrek had nothing more to say. The faces of his captors revealed nothing about what they felt.

  “Take him outside,” Thutmose-sin ordered.

  Razrek bowed. In his chest, he felt relief. At least the Sarum hadn’t ordered him to be tortured. Not yet.

  Thutmose-sin waited until the guards dragged Razrek out. The four commanders of the Alur Meriki shifted to face each other, sitting cross-legged on the thick blanket with only a small space separating them. Thutmose-sin looked at each man in turn. “Tell us what you think, Urgo.”

  The oldest clan leader shook his head. “We should not get involved in the affairs of dirt-eaters. Akkad is too strong for us to challenge for now. In another five or seven years when we have recovered our strength, then it will be different.”

  “This is our best chance to attack Akkad,” Rethnar said, his voice harsh in the tent’s confines. “We need to take our revenge now, before the accursed dirt-eaters grow even more numerous. Our blood stains the ground around their filthy walls and cries out for vengeance.” He fingered the scar on his cheek. An Akkadian arrow had torn his mouth and cheek open during the final battle. “If fighting on the side of these Sumerians gets us over the walls, so much the better.”

  “We can afford to wait,” Urgo replied. “Each year more of our young men become warriors. If we strike now, if we rely on these Sumerians, we may risk more than we can gain.”

  “If you’re afraid …”

  Thutmose-sin held up his hand to stop Rethnar’s hot words. “No one here is afraid. But we must do what is best for our clan.” He turned to the other commander, by far the youngest of the group. “What course would you choose, Bar’rack?”

  “My blood cries out for vengeance against Eskkar and his dirt-eaters. My brother lies dead and unburied in some nameless ground, ambushed by the renegade Eskkar and the cowardly Ur Nammu. Since that day, I’ve sworn to take Eskkar’s head from his shoulders. But, like Urgo, I do not think we should let ourselves be used by these Sumerians.”

  Rethnar swore under his breath. “Our warriors cry out for revenge, and none of you want to fight. The young men think their leaders are weak, unwilling to fight. When they learn that we have let slip an opportunity to strike Akkad, they will burn with fury.” He set his gaze on Thutmose-sin. “What do you say,sarum?”

  Thutmose-sin ignored the hint of insult in the use of his title. There was already too much bad blood between Rethnar and himself, fanned to a red-hot heat since the defeat at Akkad’s walls. Rethnar was right about one thing. Word of this offer of alliance would get out. Rethnar would be the first to tell every member of his clan.

  “I, too, want to see the renegade Eskkar killed.” Thutmose-sin touched the scar on his forehead. “I fought him the night he burned the wagons, and would have killed him if my sword had not shattered. One more stroke.” He shook his head at the grim memory.

  “In the years since that battle, we have added hundreds of warriors. But Akkad has grown by thousands, and we know they have learned from Eskkar the way of a warrior. They are no longer simple villagers who can be swept aside. They’ve trained themselves to fight with bow and sword and lance. Even if we get into the city, the fighting will be fierce. If we attempt this, we would need to send every warrior we have into the battle. Anything less will fail. Even if we win, our losses will be heavy, and might well doom the Alur Meriki.”

  “That is wise,” Urgo said, speaking quickly before Rethnar said anything to make things worse. “If we lose too many warriors, we may never recover. Already we face a growing number of enemies.”

  “But if these Sumerians can get us over the wall,” Rethnar said, “I don’t care how many men they have inside the city. If the dirt-eaters are at war, we can take advantage of those staying behind. Once inside, we can slaughter thousands, burn the city from within. If the traitor Eskkar is not there to lead them, they will be no match for my fighters.” He glanced at the other commanders. “I will lead the raid with all the men in my clan, if no one else has the courage to fight. I will take the help of the Sumerians. We can deal with them later.”

  “Your three hundred warriors will not be enough,” Urgo said. “Better to not attempt any raid unless you have enough men to be certain of success.”

  The Alur Meriki now counted almost a thousand warriors fit to ride and fight. But most were young and
inexperienced. Thutmose-sin had more than four hundred under his standard. Two other clan chiefs, both absent on raids, controlled another two hundred. But all four clan leaders present knew these other leaders wanted no part of a return to Akkad’s walls. Whatever decision would be made, would be made by those present.

  Both Urgo and Rethnar turned toward Bar’rack. His clan was the newest of the Alur Meriki, made up of survivors of three other clans that had taken heavy losses in the fight against Akkad. More than a hundred and fifty warriors rode under Bar’rack’s banner.

  Bar’rack glanced at Thutmose-sin, and caught the slightest inclination of his head. Rethnar, caught up in his rage, didn’t notice. Bar’rack took but a moment to comprehend what Thutmose-sin wanted. “If the sarum approves, I will ride with Rethnar,” Bar’rack said. “Between our clans, we have enough warriors to punish Akkad. But if we cannot get over the walls by stealth, then I will not waste my warriors’ lives attacking the city.”

  “I accept Bar’rack’s warriors.” Rethnar couldn’t hold in the smile of satisfaction. “We will destroy Akkad.”

  “If we cannot get in,” Bar’rack repeated, “then we will raid the countryside and devastate the lands of Akkad. That will be more than enough to repay us for the risk, at least for now.”

  Thutmose-sin looked at Urgo.

  “It is almost enough,” Urgo said. He, too, had caught the Sarum’s signal. “I will contribute fifty warriors to fight under Bar’rack’s orders. That will give Rethnar at least five hundred men. He speaks the truth when he says our warriors need to fight. A raid such as this will give them a chance to avenge their honor.”

  That many men would constitute a major raid, more than enough to destroy the crops and herds of the Akkadians. No matter what happened at the walls, the devastation to the countryside would be crippling to the city.

  Thutmose-sin nodded in acceptance. “Then the Alur Meriki will raid the lands of Akkad next summer. But both of you will safeguard your warriors. I do not want lives thrown away.”

  Rethnar climbed to his feet. If he heard the Sarum’s words, he didn’t bother to agree with them. “Then I will go and speak with this Razrek. There is much that needs to be discussed, but we have nearly a whole season to prepare.”

  Later that evening, as most of the vast camp prepared for sleep, Thutmose-sin and Bar’rack walked to the edge of the narrow stream. They reached a small boulder and sat down, facing each other. No others were within a hundred paces.

  “You are satisfied with the Sumerian?”

  Rethnar and Bar’rack had spent most of the night working out the details with Razrek.

  “Yes. He’s brave enough for a dirt-eater, and he has planned out every step that will be needed. There will be more meetings in the coming months, but if things happen as the Sumerian believes, we should be able to get into Akkad.”

  “And if not, then I will count on you to save as many warriors as you can. Do not let Rethnar throw away the lives of his men or yours. Remain calm in the heat of battle, and think not of the glory of fighting, but of winning.”

  “You do not think this plan will succeed?”

  Thutmose-sin took a deep breath. “I don’t know. If it were so certain, the Sumerians might try it themselves. I do know that Eskkar is no fool. The night my father put his family to death, Eskkar managed to escape the warriors, even though he was but a boy. He even killed a man before he fled. Then, instead of dying in the lands of the dirt-eaters, he survived and grew strong. Now he rules one of their largest cities. He will not be defeated easily, either by these Sumerians or by Rethnar.”

  “Still, we may win a great victory.”

  “Rethnar is right about one thing. Our young men grow restless. They need a challenge like this if they are to grow strong. We lost much honor when we were defeated outside of Akkad’s walls. This would regain much of that.”

  “Then I will do my utmost to make sure Rethnar succeeds.”

  “In that case, every member of the clan will praise your name, Bar’rack.” He paused for a moment, then shrugged. “I should give you my thanks now. Because if Rethnar destroys Akkad, then when he returns with his victory he will be Clan Leader of the Alur Meriki. And I will be dead.”

  35

  With each passing month, Tammuz and En-hedu watched in satisfaction as business at the Kestrel improved. As trade among the Sumerian cities picked up, traffic on the river had grown. Boats arrived almost each day from the north, venturing down the Euphrates and Tigris rivers, as well as the numerous streams that flowed between them, to deliver cargoes to anxious buyers waiting on Sumer’s docks. After the boats unloaded, their crews sought refreshment from the many inns or simple taverns that sold ale or wine.

  The Kestrel, now open for business almost a year and a half, attracted many of these crewmen, most eager to part with a portion of their pay for a chance to drink with their friends and new acquaintances, eat a good meal, and in many cases obtain relief from their more basic urges. Tammuz told En-hedu that they would soon need another girl to help Irkalla and Anu.

  En-hedu’s massage business had grown even faster than the Kestrel. With Ninlil paying for a massage every other day, more women from the better classes soon enquired after En-hedu’s skills. Since the wealthy in Sumer now included many wives of the senior soldiers, women of all classes and ages sought En-hedu’s soothing hands. Within a few months, she earned as much from her massages as Tammuz did from the Kestrel.

  Despite her success, En-hedu enjoyed her evenings helping Tammuz in the alehouse. The need to provide massages at night had vanished, and except on rare occasions, the last massage ended at sundown.

  Tonight, customers filled every available table and bench in the inn. A trading boat from Akkad had made port today, as well as two from Larsa and another from Nippur. With such a large crowd, Tammuz and Enhedu kept a close watch on the ale, while Rimaud kept the more boisterous patrons under constant observation, alert for any signs of trouble. Despite their vigilance, an occasional fight still broke out, but Rimaud’s reputation for flinging any offenders out into the lane lessened the number of such conflicts. Why fight, when there was good ale to be drunk in the company of pleasant companions? Those with more serious issues resolved them outside in the lane.

  After sundown, the cook and her staff departed, their work for the day finished. Anyone still hungry at this hour would have to make do with bread from the basket hanging on the wall behind the ale table.

  When Jarud stepped through the open door, Tammuz waved a greeting and started filling a pitcher. Most of the ale he purchased each day at the market was of only fair taste. But now he could afford to include a few jars of better quality brew that he reserved for his best customers.

  The recently promoted leader of twenty for Sumer’s watch settled into his bench just as Tammuz arrived with the ale and a reasonably clean cup. Four other members of the night watch were already crowded around the table, but they made room for their leader.

  “Hello, innkeeper.” Jarud scooped up the fresh cup the moment Tammuz placed it on the table. “I’ve worked up a thirst tonight. Two fights already broken up, and a thief caught in the act and sent to the work gangs. And it’s still early in the evening.”

  “Greetings, Jarud. Are you through for the night?”

  “No, I just stopped in for a cup of ale and to get a bit of rest. One of my men is guarding two boatmen from Nippur outside. If their captains don’t want to pay for them in the morning, they’ll do twenty days’ labor in the work gang.”

  Tammuz smiled. “They always pay, don’t they? Not many captains want to pull an oar themselves, especially upriver.”

  Everyone laughed at that. Only in dire circumstances was a boat captain likely to pick up an oar. Some boatmen claimed they’d never seen one do any real work. That fact helped Sumer’s guards make themselves a few extra coins when desperate ship owners, no doubt with a schedule to keep, had to purchase their sailors’ freedom.

  “A full hou
se tonight.” Jarud glanced around the inn. “Anyone causing problems here?”

  “Not a one. Your men have been helping keep the place quiet most of the night.”

  “Well, then at least they’re doing something to earn their pay, besides sitting on their lazy asses. What they should be doing is walking the lanes, looking for troublemakers. But I’ll have to take them with me when I leave.”

  “Not all of them.” Tammuz let the dismay sound in his voice. Except when he was short-handed, Jarud could usually be counted on to leave at least one of his men at the Kestrel.

  Jarud shook his head. “New commander in charge tonight, so we can’t afford to look like we’re loafing on the watch. He’ll be here a few months, until he gets a command of his own.”

  “I thought you just got a new commander.”

  “That was thirty, forty days ago.” Jarud laughed and took another mouthful of ale. “You need to get out of your tavern more often. Still, Kourosh won’t be here long. He’s too good to be wasted guarding Sumer’s fat merchants and lazy shopkeepers. He brought a few of his men with him from the desert, and they worship him like a god. King Shulgi is already preparing a command for him.”

  Sumer’s king had returned from the desert months ago, and immediately started recruiting and training an army, supposedly to wage further war against the desert tribes, though only a fool believed that. Desert fighting belonged to those on horseback, and King Shulgi already had a vast contingent of cavalry. Now he spent his time visiting the other Sumerian cities, helping them raise their own forces, supposedly for protection against future desert raids.

  Tammuz showed no particular interest in Jarud’s new commander. Instead, Tammuz held out his hand. “One copper for the pitcher. I still have to make my living.”

  Jarud pointed at one of his men. “Pay the innkeeper.”

  A worn copper coin appeared, and was grudgingly handed over, despite the fact that the pitcher had been a large one and contained the best ale in the house, in honor of Jarud’s appearance.