by Sam Barone
Now, just before dusk, the Star approached the end of the Karum River, where its waters emptied and dissipated into the Great Sea. After leaving the river’s mouth, the vessel needed to turn its bow to the west, toward its home port of Sumer. However the stubborn wind and the sea’s current had a different plan, as they combined to force the ship to the east.
By now even Daro’s powerful arms, strengthen by years of archery practice and countless voyages up and down the Tigris, protested the grueling demands. He struggled to keep his rhythm – reach, pull, withdraw, and reach – but the rocking and pitching of the vessel fought his efforts. His hands burned from the oar’s roughness, and pain grated against his knees with every stroke.
More than any man in the crew, Daro knew exactly what awaited them if they were captured. He’d seen Sushan’s prison and its torturers.
“Pull, you bastards! Pull, unless you want to sail to the Indus!” Ship Master Yavtar bellowed above the grunts and heavy breathing of his crew.
“Pull yourself, damn you,” one of the rowers called out. “I’ll steer the boat.”
Daro and a few of the crew found enough breath for a brief laugh. Yavtar, one of the wealthiest men in Akkad, probably hadn’t touched an oar in years.
“When you own the boat,” Yavtar shouted in reply, “you can steer. Until then, you lazy excuses for sailors had better earn your pay, and row!”
Daro glanced over his shoulder at their passenger. Sabatu hadn’t moved, and might not even be aware of the frenetic activity taking place around him. Before his arrest and condemnation, Sabatu had climbed high in the Elamite army’s hierarchy, attaining the position of High Commander. That rank meant he’d led at least five hundred men, which made him far more valuable than Yavtar’s lost cargo. What Sabatu could reveal about Elam’s armies, strategies, and tactics might save hundreds of Akkadian lives in the coming war.
Daro had hoped the Elamite garrison would suspect some of Sabatu’s loyal soldiers or close relatives had carried off the rescue. But either someone had noticed Daro’s midnight swim to the military compound’s dock, or the city’s soldiers were just being thorough when they rushed to search the boats in Sushan’s harbor. Of course, the Star’s flight told the Elamites all they needed to know.
Now, however, no one gave a thought to Sabatu. Yavtar’s next bellow ordered Daro to drop the sail. It also warned the crew that the moment of danger approached – against wind and tides, the boat needed to turn to the west. Every rower strained at the grueling labor, aware of what was at stake. If the Great Sea didn’t roll the ship over and drown all of them, the Star of Sumer would be driven far to the east, wasting who knew how many days of hard rowing to get back to this very location. And if that happened, they might find the Apikin and even more Elamite ships waiting for them.
Ignoring the sweat dripping from his brow, the pain in his knees, and the strain on his arms, Daro pulled at his oar with all the remaining strength in his body. To his surprise, Yavtar continued to guide the Star directly toward the heart of the Great Sea.
The roiling water smacked the Star’s broadside, and threatened to swamp the vessel. Daro heard the crew muttering. Turn the boat, head into the wind. Turn now. Daro’s mind echoed the same thoughts, but he trusted in Yavtar’s seamanship. The Ship Master knew more about boats and water than any man in the Land Between the Rivers.
Yavtar ignored the grumbling and kept the craft moving into deeper water for almost a mile, until Daro could just make out the thin line of sand that marked the shore behind him. At last, as Daro’s muscles weakened, Yavtar shouted the order to turn, even as he leaned all his weight on the tiller.
The crew of the Star of Sumer responded, summoning what little remained of their strength. For a moment, the vessel hung up in its turn, and a wave splashed over the bow, splattering the rowers with water and threatening to capsize the ship. A few men cried out, and Daro, too, thought their watery demise had come.
But Yavtar knew both his crew and his boat. Suddenly the Star leveled out and lunged ahead, as the vessel slipped past the worst of the shoreline current. The crew’s day-long unrelenting labor had nearly ended, as the Star of Sumer at last reached the open sea. The craft had traveled far enough from the river’s mouth and the wind-tossed breakers. Now the boat rode gracefully in its motion, rising and falling with the water instead of struggling against it.
“Make headway!” Even Yavtar’s voice revealed a trace of relief.
With a chorus of sighs and groans, the oarsmen slacked their efforts, rowing just hard enough to keep the Star moving. Once again, a skilled Ship Master and an experienced crew had thwarted the powerful waves, driven by the wind from the west.
After gulping a long breath, Daro glanced behind him. The Elamite ship, powering its way through the choppy waters, had turned far sooner than the Star, clearly attempting to cut off the Sumerian ship. But the bigger boat could not handle the cross-currents that Yavtar had so carefully avoided. Before the Apikin could get its bow pointed westward, a wave spilled over the vessel’s side.
Daro watched, fascinated by the spectacle playing out before his eyes, only a few hundred paces away. He could hear the men shouting, the fear in their voices carrying over the water. Another wave splashed onto the Apikin’s pitching deck, and he saw three men tumble over the side and into the water. Despite the crew’s desperate efforts, the boat slowed its pace, and sealed its own doom. Two more waves pushed it broadside, and the next one swamped the boat.
Scrambling back to the stern, Daro watched the Apikin’s death struggles. “Can they make it?
Yavtar shook his head. “Too much water, and too much weight. There’s not enough time.”
And then it was over. The boat’s stern dipped beneath the sea. Men clung to the hull, as its bow lifted into the air for a moment, before sliding backward into the sea, pulled beneath the waves by the weight of water in its stern. Daro heard the sound of snapping beams. In moments, the ship, the crew, all had disappeared beneath the fast moving water.
“Will any of them get to shore?”
“Not here. The current’s too strong. Even if a few survive, they’ll be carried far to the east. It will be days before anyone gets back to Sushan.”
Daro hoped every single man aboard the Apikin drowned, but knew he would risk the sea gods’ anger to say something like that aloud. “Thank you, Yavtar. You saved all of us.”
“Let’s just hope your precious prisoner was worth risking our lives, and my lost cargo.” He swore again at the thought, then lifted his voice. “Up sail!”
The crew’s collective sigh of relief was loud enough to make Daro smile. He moved to the slender mast, ignoring the pain in his knees and the ache in his back. With the help of two crewmen, he dragged the heavy cloth up to its highest position. His hands, still stiff from holding the oar, fumbled with the fastenings. At last Daro secured the sail, taller than two men, and watched with satisfaction as it filled with air. The mast creaked under the strain and the boat heeled a little, while the crew cheered.
“In oars, men,” Yavtar shouted.
The groaning crew pulled in their oars, and slumped against the gunwales, too exhausted even to crawl to the water skins stored in the bow.
“Daro! Your friend is tossing about.” Yavtar’s voice resumed its usual rough growl now that the danger had passed.
No one on board, save Yavtar and Daro, knew Sabatu’s name. The crew remained unaware of their passenger’s identity or how the bloody and unconscious man had inexplicably appeared onboard the Star in the middle of the night. After today’s terrifying chase, they might guess at what had happened. Even so, the less they understood the better.
Daro moved to Sabatu’s side. A square of linen covered the sick man’s face, protecting him from the sun rays. Daro moved it aside.
“Where are we?” Sabatu had drifted in and out of consciousness since his rescue, and even when he appeared aware, his eyes looked vacant and unfocused. For this moment, however, his min
d once again controlled his tongue.
“Out of the Karum River at last, thank the gods, and onto the Great Sea, heading west for Sumer.” Daro smiled encouragingly at his patient, even as he searched Sabatu’s face for any hint of madness. Men tortured to such an extreme often lost their wits, never to regain them. “With luck and a favorable wind, we’ll reach the mouth of the Tigris by midmorning the day after tomorrow.”
“Sumer.” Sabatu took a ragged breath, as he struggled with the knowledge of their destination. “I’ve heard of the city in the Land Between the Rivers.”
Daro nodded reassuringly at Sabatu’s words. But before Daro could reply, Sabatu’s head lolled back. Asleep or unconscious, Daro couldn’t be sure. He replaced the cloth over the man’s face.
“Will he make it?” Yavtar had disapproved of Daro’s rescue efforts. Whether Sabatu lived or died, Yavtar could never dare voyage to Sushan again.
“He’s strong,” Daro said. “And he’s a soldier. He’ll fight to live.”
“Well, if he’s going to die, let’s hope he dies before we get to Sumer. That way we can just dump his body and avoid all those prying eyes on the dock.”
Sumer would indeed be Yavtar’s first stop, but Daro knew the boat would be in port just long enough to pick up cargo and take on a new ship master. Then it would continue on to the Euphrates and its final destination port, the City of Lagash. Yavtar would ensure that the Star and this crew did not get back to Sumer for at least a month or more. By then, the memory of the injured and unnamed passenger would be well in the past and hopefully forgotten.
Yavtar, Daro, and Sabatu would disembark at Sumer, where another of Yavtar’s river ships waited to take them up the Tigris to the City of Akkad.
Daro had served Eskkar, the King of Akkad, and Lady Trella, his queen, for many years. Despite his youth, he’d commanded the three fighting boats at the Battle of Isin ten years ago. Last year he’d fought again, against the barbarian horde of the Alur Meriki in the battle at the northern stream. Though trained as an archer, Daro’s early experiences as a boy on the river brought him to Yavtar’s attention. Before long, Daro had become a leader of one hundred, and in command of Yavtar’s fleet of fighting boats.
Three years ago, Daro had married Ismenne, Akkad’s most skilled Map Maker, and another of King Eskkar and Trella’s close confidants. When Daro asked her father Corio for permission to marry Ismenne, Corio had turned to his young daughter. “Is this the man you want to marry?” Ismenne answered yes. “Well, you’re more than old enough. If Lady Trella gives her blessing, then you can marry Daro.”
For all practical purposes, Corio had relinquished his authority over his daughter years ago, knowing that opportunities to work with Trella seldom came. Even before Ismenne passed through the women’s rites, she had assisted Lady Trella in the secret Map Room. For many years the Queen of Akkad had functioned as the girl’s mentor and a second mother. Since their marriage, Ismenne had already given Daro two sons.
Yavtar, another of King Eskkar’s close advisors, had used his wealth and influence in the last fifteen years to expand his river trading ventures. He, too, had fought at the Battle of Isin, working the tiller in the same boat as Daro. The two had grown close over the years, and Yavtar looked upon Daro as one of his sons.
Sabatu moaned in his sleep, and Daro glanced down at their passenger. The man could still die. After so many beatings, Sabatu might have serious injuries within his body. Not to mention that a man’s mind might also be destroyed as a result of prolonged torture and repeated whippings. Daro shuddered at the thought of undergoing the same fate, and wondered, as every man did, how well and how long he would last under the same punishment.
Pushing that gloomy thought aside, he muttered a prayer to the sea gods, asking for a fast trip back to Akkad. In the city, Lady Trella’s healers might be able to save Sabatu’s life and mend his wounds. Whether the man would regain his wits was another question. The sooner they reached the City on the Tigris, the better.
Seven days later, Sabatu awoke. Opening his eyes, he gazed at the narrow walls and ceiling of what must be a private chamber. A small window high in the wall glowed with the powerful noonday sun, illuminating the room. The bed felt soft, and a light blanket covered his body, as much to discourage the flies as to keep him warm. His head rested on a second blanket, folded over to form a pillow.
Sabatu tried to sit up, and for the first time, realized that bandages covered both his hands. He tried to speak, but only a hoarse croak emerged from his mouth. Nevertheless, the sound brought the patter of running feet, and a small boy peered at Sabatu from the doorway. Before Sabatu could speak, the boy disappeared.
A few moments later an old man, moving with care, stepped into the room. The grinning boy followed behind, carrying with both hands the heavy wooden box that held what must be the healer’s instruments, potions, and herbs.
The healer drew up a stool and sat beside the bed. He smiled and spoke, but Sabatu didn’t understand. For a moment he thought his mind had lost its ability to comprehend, but then he realized the healer was speaking in a strange tongue. By the time Sabatu understood what was happening, another man entered the room.
“It is good to see you awake. For a time, I thought we were going to lose you.”
The man’s voice and face seemed familiar, but Sabatu couldn’t recollect where or when.
“Where am I? Who . . . what is this place?”
“You are in the City of Akkad, on the River Tigris, in the Land Between the Rivers,” Daro explained. “This is the home of the King of Akkad. We rescued you from the prison barracks in Sushan eight, no, nine days ago. My name is Daro, and this is the healer, Ventor. Since your arrival, he’s spent most of his days at your side, trying to mend your injuries.”
Sabatu, his mouth open, stared at the man who called himself Daro. Then Sabatu’s mind recalled the past, the disgrace, his attempted flight, his capture and the sentence of death by torture for his whole family. His head sagged back on the pillow. Sabatu’s hands fumbled at the blanket. The memory of the days of suffering and pain washed over him, and he screamed. But whether the sound ever left the prison of his mind, he couldn’t be certain. His head spinning, Sabatu slumped back against the pillow, almost welcoming the blackness that ended his thoughts.
When he awoke the second time, Sabatu knew his senses had returned. His body ached and his hands hurt, but agony had assaulted his body for so long that he seemed incomplete without it. Only when Sabatu thought of his torture did he realize that, for once, the pain seemed to have lessened, faded to little more than a dull ache. He realized there were no fresh injuries to sear his body and mind.
Soft voices penetrated his thoughts, first a man’s, then a woman’s. Sabatu opened his eyes. A clean, whitewashed ceiling overhead. He recognized the same small chamber, with its single high window and plastered over walls. He looked up from a large bed which took up most of the room. In one corner he saw two odd-sized chests, stacked one atop the other. Facing the bed stood a narrow bench, with two people seated on it.
“They said you were coming around,” Daro said. “How do you feel?”
Sabatu recognized the voice, but couldn’t recall the man’s name. Vaguely he remembered speaking to the man on a boat, a small craft that pitched and tossed on the Great Sea. He tried to lift his head. Immediately the woman moved to his side and placed another folded blanket under his head.
Sabatu kept his gaze on the man. “Your name. Can’t remember your name.” The words sounded harsh in his ears.
“Daro. My name is Daro. Do you remember your rescue from the barrack’s prison?”
The woman held a cup to Sabatu’s lips. “Drink some water. Then we’ll give you some soup.”
With the woman’s help, Sabatu emptied the cup. “More.”
She shook her head. “In a few moments. Too much might make you sick.”
“Where am I . . . did we sail all the way to Akkad?” Sabatu vaguely remembered hearing
the name of that city. He returned his eyes to Daro.
“Yes, we’re in Akkad, in the King’s Compound. We sailed from Sushan ten days ago. You were delirious most of the voyage. We made a very fast passage and got you here two days ago.”
The woman took his bandaged hand and held it lightly. “You are safe now. No one will harm you.”
In his weakness, Sabatu did not pull his hand away. Her voice seemed oddly reassuring, comforting. Thick dark tresses, held away from her brow by a simple silver fillet, framed the woman’s face. He returned his gaze to the man called Daro.
“Why? Why did you bring me here?”
“We know a war with Elam is coming.” Daro leaned closer. “We hope that you can help us. In the boat, you said you wanted to take your revenge for the deaths of your family. If you help us, help Akkad, you may avenge those deaths.”
For the first time, Sabatu realized that Daro and the woman were both speaking the language of Elam’s southern lands. He looked at the servant. It seemed odd that a woman servant would know how to speak his language.
“I am not a traitor.” His voice held a hint of anger mixed with the pain.
The woman shook her head. “There is nothing you need to do. All we seek is information about Elam’s armies, its leaders, its strengths and weaknesses.”
“And if I do not tell you these things?”
She smiled, a warm gesture that nearly made Sabatu smile in return.
“Then when you are well, you may leave Akkad, go wherever you wish. You’ll be given a horse, some coins, enough to establish yourself.”
“And why would you give me anything, in exchange for nothing?” Sabatu couldn’t keep the anger from his voice. His life, his world, had ended, and now a servant offered to bribe him to betray his country.
The servant laughed, a melodious sound that filled the chamber. “You have already helped us more than you know. Now we understand how ruthless Elam’s rulers are, to torture for no reason one of their most important military commanders, just as we understand how efficient their soldiers are. So we are in your debt.”
