by Sam Barone
Chaiyanar lurched forward, his face lifted imploringly. His mouth agape, he gazed up in horror as Jarud raised his sword.
“No!” Sabatu stepped between the prisoner and Jarud. “King Eskkar promised me that I could have Chaiyanar. He killed every member of my family. For that, I swear to you that he will die a slow, very slow and painful death. You can come and watch each day, and hear his screams of pain.”
Jarud glared at Sabatu. “He will die right here, with my sword in his belly, while I watch him bleed to death.”
“Hold on, hold on! What are you two doing?”
King Gemama, accompanied by Yavtar, had wended his way through the bodies to reach Jarud’s side. “I’m glad you captured Chaiyanar alive. This filth must repay the gold that Sumer has wasted fighting. Crops have been lost, houses burned, tradesmen killed . . . his ransom will repay much of that expense. We must keep him alive.”
“I think King Eskkar would like to speak to Chaiyanar,” Yavtar added. “He should be sent to Akkad. After he spends a few days with Annok-sur and her pain givers, the Grand Commander will reveal everything that we want to know. Then Eskkar can ransom him or give him back to you so you can torture him to death.”
“Yes! Yes! I’m worth a great ransom,” Chaiyanar pleaded. “Do not let these men kill me.”
With a snarl, Sabatu fit another arrow to his bow. “He is my prisoner. My arrow brought him down, and his body belongs to me.”
Jarud hefted his sword. “No, he dies now. He’s as cunning as a fox. He’ll find a way to get himself ransomed.”
“Wait! Hold your sword, Jarud.” King Gemama stepped in front of the captive. “Put down your bow, Sabatu. I may have a way to satisfy everyone, if my good friend Yavtar will agree. He does owe me a favor or two, as I recall.”
Yavtar lifted his hands and let them drop. “He’s not my prisoner. Do whatever you like with the scum.”
“Good, good,” Gemama said. “Now let me see this man.” He turned and peered down into Chaiyanar’s bloody face for a long moment. “This dog is not Grand Commander Chaiyanar,” Gemama declared. He glanced around. A dead Elamite lay a few paces away.
Gemama stepped over to the corpse, and pointed down at the body with his finger. “That is Grand Commander Chaiyanar. He was killed during the attack, so there can be no ransom.”
Sumer’s King returned to stand in front of the prisoner. “For daring to impersonate Chaiyanar, I order this common soldier to be tortured to death by Sabatu. When the prisoner is ready to die, Captain Jarud can run his sword through his belly. That way all will be satisfied. Sabatu? Jarud? Is that not right?”
“Oh, damn the gods!” Jarud lowered his sword and spat on the ground. “I suppose it will have to do. But Sabatu must swear to let me deliver the final blow, and Chaiyanar must know it is I who sends him into the fire pits.”
Gemama faced Sabatu. “Will you agree to this? You can torture him as long as you like.”
Sabatu’s eyes went from Gemama to Jarud. He took a deep breath, then nodded his head. “I will keep him alive for Captain Jarud. I swear it on my honor.”
Chaiyanar, his eyes wide with fear, gaped in silent terror as the men talked about his coming torture and death. “You must not do this. I am Grand Commander Chaiyanar and I . . .”
Yavtar, who happened to be closest to the prisoner, kicked him in the side of the head. “This filthy soldier, to save his own life, still claims to be the Elamite commander. He should not be allowed to speak to anyone.”
“Well, I can take care of that,” Jarud declared. He returned his bloody sword to its scabbard without bothering to clean it, and then drew a slim knife from its sheath. “Who wants to hold his head?”
Even though Chaiyanar’s hands were bound, it took all four of them to hold him fast while Jarud cut off his tongue. When Jarud finished, he held up Chaiyanar’s bloody tongue, so that everyone could admire it, and then spat again, this time in Chaiyanar’s face.
“Time to get back to work,” Jarud said. “We’ve got to clean up this mess, and Hathor and Naxos will need food and supplies, before they can start hunting down the remaining invaders. I won’t feel satisfied until every last Elamite is dead or driven into the sea.”
Chaiyanar, blood still dripping down his chin, stared at his captors in horror.
“Come with me, Grand Commander.” Sabatu grabbed the dazed Chaiyanar and jerked him to his feet. “I will lead you into the City of Sumer, and you can receive the reward you deserve. I promise you that your first night in Sumer will be one you will remember. But not for long.”
Later that evening, Yavtar and Gemama sat together on the terrace of the Palace. Yavtar had dined with his old friend. The servants had all disappeared, out in the lanes celebrating the destruction of the Elamites, so there was no one to cook a proper feast. Even so, King Gemama had plenty of fine wine yet stored in his cellar, and two pitchers of his best rested on the low table between the men.
The people of Sumer, jubilant that the siege had been lifted, would get little sleep tonight. Already three boats had arrived, two from the north, and one from Lagash. As word spread that the siege had broken, food and supplies would once again flow into the city.
“How do you think King Eskkar is doing?” For Gemama, it was no idle question. If Akkad fell, Sumer would soon be facing another, perhaps even more intense siege.
“Well, he’s getting all the supplies and weapons he needs,” Yavtar said. “My boats have hauled little else for the last three months.”
“Even so, Eskkar will be outnumbered.”
Yavtar waved his wine cup in the air. “He’ll find a way to even the odds. You know, I fought with him many years ago, when he recaptured Akkad from Korthac and his Egyptians. I transported Eskkar and his men down the Tigris to Akkad. I gave into a foolish impulse and volunteered to fight beside Eskkar and his men. But even then, I knew the man wouldn’t be stopped. He was greatly outnumbered and locked outside the city’s walls. Yet he got in and slew the Egyptians. Killed all of them. Except Hathor, thank the gods.”
“Men say King Eskkar has the luck of the gods.”
“You can believe that, if you must,” Yavtar said. “But Eskkar has mastered every kind of warfare and way of fighting. Most of all, he knows how to win.” He chuckled. “But I can tell you a secret, something else about Eskkar that few even in Akkad know.”
“And what is that, old friend, that makes you laugh?”
“Eskkar, the King of Akkad, hates to waste gold. He’s going to be really annoyed when he finds out about Chaiyanar.”
“I thought you weren’t going to tell him.”
“Oh, not me. But Trella will find out, sooner or later. However, it’s more than likely that King Shirudukh would not have paid a single gold coin. It’s said he has no patience with those who fail him. But if there were a ransom, I can tell you what Eskkar would have done to Chaiyanar. He would have cut off both his hands before selling him back to Susa.”
“Barbarians are a bloodthirsty lot.” Gemama shivered. “Perhaps it is for the best, though. “We would have had to guard Chaiyanar’s worthless life day and night while every man in Sumer demanded his death. All the same, my people would never have forgiven us if we turned him over to Akkad, let alone sent him back to Elam. At least this way Jarud will avenge his nephew and the ransom be damned.”
“Yes, barbarians do like to wallow in blood.” Yavtar filled his cup again, then lifted it high. “To King Eskkar of Akkad. May he destroy the Elamite Modran and save the Land Between the Rivers.”
“If he does, I will sacrifice a goat to the goddess Inanna, may she . . .”
“Not another goat,” Yavtar pleaded. “One more sacrifice offered up, and the last goat will vanish from the land.”
Chapter 36
The Elamite supply station at Zanbil . . .
The morning after the capture of the supply depot at Zanbil, Sargon awoke to find he had slept through the dawn, something he had not done in months. Groggy, he
pushed himself to his feet, and discovered that the sun had already lifted clear of the horizon. He and Garal had spread their blankets in a quiet place next to one of the huts. To Sargon’s surprise and despite the hard ground, he enjoyed a good night’s rest for the first time since they started riding east.
The strain of riding for days on end, and not even knowing if they could reach Zanbil in time, had worn on Sargon’s nerves. War, he’d come to realize, occupied a man’s thoughts from dawn until dusk, and then plagued the night’s rest.
This coming fight – he regarded the capture of the village yesterday as nothing of consequence – would be his first campaign. This time he bore a good share of the responsibility for the plan’s success or failure. Unlike Garal and most of the warriors, Sargon had all the worries that went with any campaign – would they reach their goal, would they achieve their objective, would the Elamites fall upon them and destroy all of them.
Another concern – would he fight bravely or would he dishonor his name – troubled him as well. Thoughts of whether he might die in battle always lingered, as they did with every warrior, in the back of his mind.
Sargon had worked with his father and Chief Bekka to map out the route as well as the timing. Sargon’s presence with the Alur Meriki was meant to ensure that the warriors played their role in the battle, and did not wander off on some senseless raid to loot and pillage. Though Sargon never mentioned it, Chief Bekka understood that Sargon would decide when the Alur Meriki’s oath to Eskkar had been fulfilled.
Part of the responsibility for stopping the entire Elamite invasion now rested on Sargon’s shoulders. His concern also included the warriors themselves, already hundreds of miles from their homes, in a hostile land, with a large and formidable army of fighting men ready to fall upon them. Mistakes on his part might mean the deaths of hundreds, including many of his friends.
The easy capture of Zanbil had resolved little. To the north, General Jedidia and his six thousand horsemen might emerge from the Jkarian Pass any day, on route to Zanbil for supplies and another pathway to the Land Between the Rivers.
To the west, Lord Modran and his forces, should they fail to breach Eskkar’s defense of the Dellen Pass, might turn about and fall upon the Alur Meriki. Farther to the south lay the large city of Sushan, which, if his mother’s spies were correct, now housed the Elamite King and his own force of dangerous Immortals.
Nevertheless, now was not the time for such apprehensions. Sargon went down to the stream, to relieve himself and wash his face and hands. The warriors had occupied the village because the clean flowing stream was far too valuable to ignore. Later, after he ate a healthy meal from the Elamite supplies, he intended to take a swim and clean his clothes. But when he straightened up from his ablutions, he found Garal, always an early riser, striding toward him.
“Sargon! Come at once,” Garal said. “Our men have captured some riders coming through the Pass.”
He and Garal jogged across the village until they reached the place where Chief Bekka, Subutai, and the other clan leaders had gathered. Ten or twelve warriors, their horses tethered nearby, surrounded three prisoners kneeling on the ground. Sargon saw the fear on their faces, as they stared wide-eyed at the menacing barbarians encircling them.
Sargon moved closer to the Elamites, but waited until Bekka told Sargon to proceed. Then he turned to face the wretched men, now staring up at him.
“If you wish to live, if you wish to avoid being tortured, you will answer my questions, truthfully and without hesitation. Or you can choose silence, and the torture will begin.”
They seemed surprised that any of the barbarians spoke their language, but they all hastened to assure Sargon of their cooperation. His mother had suggested that not many of the Elamites would be eager to die for their King.
Sargon ordered the men separated. Then he and Garal began the interrogation. This one lasted much longer than yesterday’s, as these men had much more information to divulge. The men were questioned, and each man’s answers compared to the other two. Well before midmorning, Sargon felt certain he had extracted the truth from them.
He and Garal joined the three clan chiefs still in Zanbil, Bekka, Subutai, and Suijan. Den’rack, Virani, and the others had departed to patrol the approaches to the village.
“What did you learn?” Chief Bekka’s voice had a hard edge. No doubt he, too, worried about the Elamite forces that might easily surround him.
“The day before yesterday, Modran’s army reached my father’s battle line and tried to break through. Apparently the fighting lasted some time. The Elamites were repulsed, and with heavy losses. Modran is preparing to attack again. But in case his army is delayed, he sent these three messengers back to Zanbil, to demand more supplies be sent on ahead, especially food and water, and as fast as possible. Then the messengers were to continue on until they reached King Shirudukh at the city of Sushan. They would tell Shirudukh of Akkad’s decision to fight the decisive battle inside the Dellen Pass. The riders took extra horses, and rode all day and into the night. Last night they halted about ten miles away, when it finally became too dark to ride.”
“Two days ago?” Bekka rubbed his chin in surprise. “That means they covered more than seventy miles through the Pass in less than two days. I didn’t think dirt eaters could ride that well.”
Sargon decided that now was not the time to remind Bekka that, in the past, the warriors had frequently underestimated the capabilities of the villagers. “Modran demanded that the messengers travel as fast as they could, even if it meant killing the horses.”
Bekka shrugged. “At least your father has survived the first encounter, and this Modran now realizes it may take some time to break through the Pass. It also means that Modran is not already on his way here.”
“The prisoners didn’t think Modran would attack again for another day or so,” Sargon said. “If this is true, and my father can hold them off in a second battle, Modran will soon be desperate for the supplies he is already expecting. If we can occupy Zanbil for another two or three days, the Elamites may have to retreat.”
“If Eskkar drives them off,” Bekka said, “we may soon have nine thousand Elamite horsemen coming back through the Pass, looking for food and water. Yet if there is nothing here for them to eat, we should be able to out ride and out fight them easily enough.”
If the Elamites were low on food and water, their cavalry would ride as hard as they could to reach this place. The rest of Modran’s infantry fighters wouldn’t be far behind, driven by the same need.
“All the same, his army is not likely to abandon their attack for some time. It will probably be another few days before we learn what happens . . .”
The sound of a galloping horse interrupted the conversation. In moments, a sweating warrior on a well-lathered horse pulled up before the Sarum.
“Chief Bekka, we spotted a supply train coming up the trail from the south. At least two hundred pack animals, and perhaps fifty or sixty guards, about half of them mounted. Chief Suijan and Chief Den’rack have moved their men out of sight, to let the dirt eaters approach this place.”
Bekka glanced at Sargon.
“I suggest, Chief Bekka,” Sargon said, “that we let them ride in. You might conceal some of your warriors in the huts, and we could bring out the women and prisoners. Seeing them standing about should help lure the Elamites into the village.”
Bekka never hesitated. “Do it.”
Sargon turned to Garal, and soon the two of them were giving orders, shifting men from place to place, and removing any signs of their warriors. In the center of the village, Sargon stood beside the eight women who had survived the raid. Many of them were scarcely able to walk, after the repeated rapes. Most were bruised as well, but Sargon knew that those signs wouldn’t be visible until the supply column had fully entered Zanbil.
Sargon told the women what would happen to them if they tried to warn the approaching Elamites. Since they knew how many men Sargo
n had at his call, they nodded dejectedly. They understood that only Sargon’s presence had saved their lives yesterday.
He stood there as the long line of men and animals wended their way into the village. The leader had nearly reached the marketplace before he noticed something was amiss. Sargon shouted the order, then pushed the women back toward their hut.
Warriors burst from the nearby huts, bows in hand, shouting their war cries, and loosing shafts as fast as they could. The Elamite commander leading the column managed to grasp his sword, but two arrows struck him from his horse, his blade still half in its scabbard. Most of the warriors used their bows. Others pulled guards from their horses using their swords or impaled them with their lances.
Many of the Elamites tried to flee, but now hundreds of warriors, previously out of sight to the east and north, galloped at full speed, to cut off any possibility of escape. In moments, a ring of mounted clan warriors encircled Zanbil.
The guards, caught by surprise, had little chance. By the time the last of Den’rack’s warriors arrived, almost all of the Elamites were dead, and the rest died moments later. Garal ordered the men to secure the pack animals and collect the weapons.
Before long Sargon faced another four prisoners kneeling in the dirt, the only survivors of the supply column. By now, Sargon knew exactly what to say and what to demand. His third interrogation took little time, and soon he and Garal stood once again before Chief Bekka.
“The men guarding the supply column say that there is only one more caravan coming behind them. It should arrive here in two days. After that, Lord Modran’s forces will be expected to live off Akkad’s lands, or get supplies from Sumer. The supply caravans were to keep Modran’s men fed until they were through the Dellen Pass and could establish the siege around Akkad. Once there, they were to forage for themselves.”
