by Sam Barone
“They do,” Eskkar said with a laugh. “Just don’t try and drink it all.”
The soldiers made good time that first day, the men glad to stretch their legs, out of the city and into the fresh air that already bore a hint of the autumn’s coming coolness. By the time they made their first camp, Eskkar relaxed enough to smile and joke with his men, enjoying the freedom of the trail and putting all thoughts of Akkad and its intrigues behind him.
In his heart, he felt glad to be away, free to be himself without worrying about what some merchant or tradesman would think about him.
For the last few months, he’d struggled with his changing role. No longer merely a soldier defending the village, Eskkar now had to rule nearly three thousand people, all of them demanding immediate attention to their particular problem. Nothing in his years of wandering had prepared him for such responsibility. Even with Trella’s help, the weight of constant decision-making strained his patience. Unlike the preparation for the siege, when he could just make military decisions, now every conflict-ing claim seemed to require endless hours of discussion, which invariably turned into arguing and complaining that left neither side satisfied.
Eskkar had believed he could deal with his new position, but in the last few weeks, doubt had crept in, and he found himself growing more and more irritable and short-tempered. And that, he realized, made dealing with everyone even more difficult. So he felt glad to put down that mantle, even temporarily, and deal with something familiar-like ridding the land of thieves and murderers.
Out here in the countryside, among his men, he could be a soldier once again. That satisfaction, combined with the fresh air, the rough-cooked food, and the tiredness from walking and riding all day, let him enjoy a good night’s sleep for the first time in weeks.
The next morning Eskkar rose before dawn, happy that his body remembered the old ways. He demanded the soldiers be on their way an hour after sunup, and threatened to leave anyone and anything behind that wasn’t ready. The men had scarcely enough time to eat a hasty meal, care for the animals, and pack their goods before the march resumed. Almost immediately, complaints of sore feet and tired muscles rang out as they continued their way north, still following the east bank of the great river Tigris.
Today Eskkar ranged ahead of the main group, accompanied by Grond and six of his horsemen. They rode more toward the east, away from the river and into the countryside. Eskkar wanted to see for himself the devastation the barbarians had caused. Everywhere the scattered homes and fields lay barren, the crops burned. The grass had just started to return, having first been burnt by the villagers to deny food and fod-der to the approaching enemy, and then the fresh growth overgrazed by the barbarian herds. This winter’s harvest would be small. Still, the farmers considered themselves fortunate. At least they’d have a chance to get enough of the precious and carefully preserved seeds planted in time for next season.
As they rode farther to the northeast the farms grew smaller and more isolated, and they encountered fewer people. Many fled at the sight of them. Others stood their ground, hands clenched nervously on crude weapons or farm tools. When they learned who Eskkar was, and that he meant them no harm, they relaxed their vigilance. From these farmers he learned that the small village of Dilgarth, now only a few dozen miles ahead, had in fact been captured by bandits more than a week ago. The tales of Dilgarth’s plight grew worse and worse as Eskkar’s band encountered more people wandering in the ravaged fields. His face turned grim once again.
Dispatching a rider to return to the main column and order them to speed up their pace, Eskkar and his men rode as hard as they could push the horses, alternating between a fast walk and a canter, toward the village of Dilgarth. The sun had moved well past noon when they rounded a bend in the river and saw the village less than a mile away. While they rested their horses, a party of armed men rode leisurely out of the village, heading north.
“Looks like they knew we were coming,” Grond commented. “Should we give chase?”
Eskkar stretched upright on his horse, counting the distant riders, his lips moving silently. Twelve men had ridden out, more than twice his own number and on fresh horses. “No, we’ll wait here until the rest of the men get here.” He could say that easily now, without having to worry some might think him afraid to fight. No one doubted his courage. And it would make a better impression on Dilgarth’s inhabitants if he entered with the whole troop.
It took another three hours before the rest of the soldiers arrived, breathing hard and complaining of the quickened pace. Eskkar gave them no rest. He entered the village at the head of his men an hour before sunset.
Dilgarth was a small place, with fewer than forty mud-and-reed houses, none with a second story. Eskkar had visited it several times in the last few years, tracking runaway slaves or thieves. Before the barbarians came, more than a hundred and fifty people lived here. All of those had fled their homes, most going to Akkad, then known as Orak, though many passed across the river or continued south. Some of those original inhabitants might have already returned, but most would have abandoned their homes for good.
Eskkar understood Dilgarth’s importance. The last sizable resting place before Akkad, the fields surrounding Dilgarth supported many crops, with soil almost as fertile as that surrounding Akkad. Perhaps as important, Dilgarth’s inhabitants had learned special skills in working with their principal harvest, flax, a plant grown not for food, but for its thin, durable fibers that could be woven into linen and other materials.
Before the invasion the local farmers and villagers had selected the finest fibers and woven them into quality linen cloth. The merchants in Akkad wanted to know when the supply of linen would be restored. The barbarian incursion had created a shortage of skilled craftsmen who could fashion linen into fine tunics, dresses, or skirts. Dilgarth had thrived for years before the barbarians swept through the land. There was no reason it shouldn’t be prosperous again.
As Eskkar and his soldiers rode in, less than a dozen men stood scattered about, watching the visitors in silence as they filed into the village.
None greeted them. Those few that met Eskkar’s eyes looked sullen or suspicious. Everyone’s clothing looked ragged and filthy, covering bodies thin from lack of food. Many had bruises on their faces or bodies. He didn’t see any women or children.
Eskkar rode down the narrow lane until he reached the tiny marketplace, located at the rear of the village. He saw no carts with goods for sale, no cooking fires accompanied by the smell of roasting meat, not even any dogs running loose to yap incessantly and nip at the heels of his men’s horses. Once the dwellers of Dilgarth had lived happy and content with their lives. Now its few inhabitants had little more than rags to cover their gaunt bodies. Those who possessed anything more had lost it, either in the initial barbarian onslaught or to the departed bandits.
Without some hope for the future, these villagers might abandon their homes and take to the roads, perhaps even head toward Akkad. His city needed tradesmen and craftsmen, plus a steady supply of flax, not more refugees.
He took all this in as his horse reached the village well. He remained astride until his men, horses, and pack animals filled most of the square.
The village’s center had barely enough room for all of them, but they stood patiently, waiting for his order that would give them leave to put down their burdens. Unbidden, Trella’s words came into his mind. “As you won over the hearts of your soldiers, you must win over those whom you seek to rule.”
Eskkar turned toward Sisuthros, his second in command, standing in front of the men, awaiting his orders. “Sisuthros, rest the men here, until you fi nd places for them to sleep. Keep part of the square clear.” His eyes turned to Grond. “Gather all the villagers and bring them to me. I want to hear what’s happened to them since they returned to Dilgarth. Don’t alarm them, just bring them.”
His order to rest the soldiers, rather than dismiss them for the night, meant they could put down their burd
ens and sit on the ground, but little else. Eskkar didn’t want them wandering around, poking into people’s houses, frightening the villagers even further until he knew exactly what new calamity had taken place in Dilgarth.
He swung down from the horse, handing the halter to one of the camp boys, as Sisuthros began shouting orders. Some of the soldiers left the ranks, taking the horses to the crude corral to water and feed them.
Sisuthros gave further instructions, and the majority of the soldiers, along with their animals and supplies, wedged themselves around the sides of the square, leaving the center empty.
Eskkar paced over to the rough stone well in the center of the marketplace and stood there, waiting. His mind tried to sort out what had gone on here. Except on the battlefield, where he trusted his instincts, he no longer made decisions in haste. He had learned to use whatever time he had to think things through. That included understanding what he wanted to accomplish, and what words he would use to obtain his goal. So he stood there, imagining what had befallen the village, using the time to prepare and anticipate what he would do after he heard their story.
By the time Grond and a few soldiers fi nished searching the huts and rounding up all the inhabitants, Eskkar had his thoughts in hand. Grond escorted the last few stragglers into the market just as Eskkar ended his count. Thirty-six people stood before him. Fourteen were men or older boys fit for manual labor. Many of the women shook with fear as they gazed at the crowd of soldiers surrounding them. Others had the look of hopelessness on their downcast faces. Eskkar noted the signs of repeated rape and beatings easily enough. He didn’t see any tears. Days or weeks of weeping had dried their eyes. The women had reached the point where even death might look inviting.
“Who speaks for the village?” he asked, keeping his voice calm. Silence greeted his words, and he repeated the question.
“Those who speak for the village are all dead, noble.” The words belonged to an old woman, gray-haired and stooped from laboring in the fields, almost invisible in the center of the crowd. A little girl of three or four seasons clung fearfully to her hand.
“Are there any village elders, then?”
“All dead as well, noble.” Her voice sounded weary, without any emotion, but her gaze met his without fear.
Eskkar scanned the crowd but every face stayed downcast, no one willing to say anything. He felt his patience wearing thin but kept his temper as he walked toward them. They shrank out of his way until he stood in front of the old woman. “And what is your name, elder?” Eskkar kept his voice low and his words polite.
“I am called Nisaba, noble one. As for these others, they are all afraid to speak to you, lest they be killed by the bandits when they return. They said they would come back as soon as you are gone.”
“But you’re not afraid, Nisaba?”
“They have already killed my two sons. My life is finished, and I am too old for their sport. The most they can do is kill me.”
“No one is going to kill you, Nisaba, I promise you that. You are under my protection now.”
He took her free hand and led her back to the well, the child following along, eyes wide and still holding fast to the old woman’s hand. “Sit down, elder.” He unslung his sword from his back, then joined her on the ground, sitting on the dirt in front of her and placing the scabbard flat across his knees. “Do you know who I am?”
She took her time answering him, as she gathered what was left of her ragged dress about her. “You are the Noble Eskkar, and, for now, the ruler of Orak.”
He couldn’t resist a smile at her use of the words “for now.” In the last few months he had often thought the same thing. “It is no longer called Orak, Nisaba. Now it is the City of Akkad.”
“Orak… Akkad… it makes no difference, noble one. It was called Orak when I was a child, and I see no need to change the names of things.”
Eskkar tugged at the thin beard on his chin. Trella had suggested the change of names, from Orak to Akkad, to help the people identify themselves with Eskkar and a new beginning. Eskkar had warned her that the switch might not be as smooth out in the countryside as within Akkad’s walls.
“Well, elder, we’ll talk more of that later. For now, you are the elder of the village of Dilgarth and you will speak for the village.” He lifted his eyes over her head to watch the reaction of the villagers. “Is there any other that thinks he should be the village elder?”
No one challenged his decision. “Nisaba, Dilgarth is under the protection of the City of Akkad, and all here will obey the laws of Akkad from now on.” Eskkar raised his voice, and addressed Dilgarth’s inhabitants.
“Akkad’s soldiers will soon clear the land of bandits, and you and your families will be safe in your shops and on your farms. The trade of flax and other goods will resume with Akkad, and, as before, you will be fairly paid for your goods. If you have complaints, bring them to your village elder,” he nodded toward Nisaba, “and she will present them to the soldiers stationed here or bring them to Akkad. If necessary, I will make the final decision. The customs of Akkad will apply to all equally, and Nisaba and the soldiers will see that they are enforced fairly.”
Eskkar felt glad to have that formality over with, though he doubted many understood what it really meant. Not that it mattered. Over the next few months, everyone in Dilgarth will soon appreciate the stability and security Akkad could provide. He returned his gaze to the new village elder.
“Now, tell me about the bandits that rode off when we arrived.”
The story came out slowly, as Eskkar’s commanders gathered close around their leader, anxious to hear the tale. The rest of the soldiers strained to hear Nisaba’s soft words, and for a long time the only other sound came from the occasional movement of one of the horses crowded together across the square.
Two months ago, the villagers began returning to Dilgarth after the barbarian migration had moved on, slipping back to their houses by ones and twos as they started to rebuild their homes and look to their crops and animals. They had rejoiced when they heard that the invaders had been defeated and driven off from Akkad, and even more farmers and craftsmen had returned.
But a little less than two weeks ago, while Eskkar and his men remained locked behind their walls, still afraid to venture forth until the barbarians moved out of striking distance from the city, a band of about twenty bandits had ridden into Dilgarth in the middle of the night, forcing the small fence and killing any who opposed them. By dawn, they had taken what women they wanted and looted the village.
Nisaba thought they might move on after a few days of pleasure, but these raiders seemed content to have the villagers gather and prepare food for them while they enjoyed their wives and daughters. The bandits remained in the village, a few now and then riding out on small raiding parties, looking to rob any farmers trying to work their lands or searching for any weak or isolated travelers on the road to Akkad.
The intruders had been cunning enough to kill any who attempted to escape to Akkad, and so only rumors had reached the city of their activity, though enough travelers had been robbed and attacked on the roads. The bandits had commandeered all the local food while the villagers went hungry. This morning, a little after dawn, a rider brought word of Eskkar’s approach. They had taken their time before riding off, insolently waiting until the soldiers from Akkad had been spotted less than a mile from the village.
When Nisaba finished, the crowd remained silent. Eskkar knew that everyone, soldiers and villagers alike, waited to see what he would do. Not two full days’ march from Akkad, and already he had a problem. Dilgarth was an insignificant place, a mere way station on the road to Akkad, and no one, soldier or villager, would be surprised if he left it and its misery behind. Eskkar had urgent business farther north, at Bisitun, and he could ill afford the time to scour the countryside looking for a small party of well-mounted and well-armed bandits, or to worry about the fate of a few pathetic villagers. Eventually, the bandits would leave t
he area when they had exhausted its food or tired of its women. Or when Eskkar established control of the land to the north. So in a matter of days or weeks, the problem here would be solved even if he did nothing.
Nevertheless, these villagers had now come under his protection. If Eskkar could not look after these wretched people by killing a few brigands, then his own authority would be little better than any bandit leader.
But as long as he stayed here, the bandits would not return, and he could not remain here long. Nor could he leave behind enough men to protect Dilgarth properly. He would need all of his soldiers in the north.
If he rode on, the bandits would return as soon as he had passed on. Without sufficient men, and even more important, without enough horses, he couldn’t chase after the bandits either. Besides, Eskkar didn’t know how many men they had, and he might soon find himself fighting a force equal to or greater than his twenty horsemen. So he had a problem with no easy solution, but one he needed to resolve, and quickly.
Eskkar looked at Nisaba, and he could almost see the same thoughts running through her mind. “Elder, I will think about this for a while. You and the others must eat. My men will share their food with you.” He looked at Sisuthros, seated a few steps away, making sure his second in command understood the request. “Then we will talk again, Nisaba.”
He stood up, and his men began to move. He heard Sisuthros give the orders to establish the camp, post the sentries, and feed the villagers.
Leaders of ten assigned sleeping places to their men while others saw to the pack animals. With all the activity underway, Eskkar entered the village’s largest dwelling, the home that the bandit leader had taken for his own headquarters.
Inside, Eskkar found the floor covered with discarded bones and shreds of cooked and raw fl esh scattered among broken pots and furniture. Flies buzzed about, feeding on the refuse. One corner had served as a casual latrine. Blood smears covered one wall and the dirt fl oor in the far corner was crusted red, either with wine or more blood. An odor of something rotten hung in the air, overpowering even the smell of urine.
