by Sam Barone
Esk kar realized his mistake. When clan leaders spoke, only the chief ’s family or his subcommanders could be present. All others must be out of earshot, lest they heard words not fit for their ears.
“Sisuthros, move the men away.” Sisuthros looked apprehensive, but led the men about twenty paces away, barely out of earshot.
Esk kar waited until Sisuthros returned. Sisuthros followed the example of the warrior, and stood behind him. “My name is Esk kar, war leader of the village of Orak, and I give honor to the great clan leader Mesilim who has killed many warriors this day.”
Esk kar looked up at the son. “And to his strong son who slew all Alur Meriki who dared to face him.” Better too much praise than risk offending anyone’s honor.
“Your men fought bravely, Chief Esk kar,” Mesilim said, “but I would know why you joined the fight. You ride and dress as people of the farms, and they’ve little love for any steppes people.”
A delicate way to put it. “People of the farms” was about the politest way a tribesman could say “dirt digger.” Still, Mesilim had made an effort.
“My people fight the Alur Meriki. Is not the enemy of my enemy my friend? We were on a scouting party when we saw your warriors attacked.
Who would not join such brave fighters?”
The hint of a smile crossed Mesilim’s face. Esk kar wondered whether he’d overdone the praise. Nevertheless, Mesilim and his men would have all been dead by now without Esk kar’s help, though of course the chief couldn’t ever admit that. Out of respect and politeness, Esk kar couldn’t mention it either.
“It’s as you say, Chief Esk kar. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
You saved many lives today, including my own. But can you tell me why you fight the Alur Meriki? They are a clan of many, many warriors, and the people of the farms cannot stand against them.”
“It is not our wish to go to war against any of the steppes people, Chief Mesilim. But the Alur Meriki march toward our village with all their strength, and we’ve chosen to fight rather than run.”
Esk kar saw disbelief cross Mesilim’s face and guessed what Mesilim was thinking-that no farmers stood a chance against such a great force of warriors. “My village has many people, almost as many as in the Alur Meriki tribe. We’ve built a great stone wall around our village, and we will fight the Alur Meriki from the wall, not from horseback.”
Mesilim looked down at the ground, too polite to show either his doubts or disgust with such an un — warrior — like strategy. Instead he explained his own clan. “My people first fought the Alur Meriki more than two years ago. We fought bravely and killed many of them, but they overwhelmed us with their greater numbers. Now the Ur Nammu are almost gone. Most of our warriors have been killed. Only we are left to carry on the fight. Almost all our women and children… dead or taken by the Alur Meriki.” His voice couldn’t conceal the sadness of his heart. “We fight on because I’ve sworn the Shan Kar against them, though it might have been better if I’d fallen in battle today.”
Esk kar glanced up at Subutai with even more respect. Many a son would put a knife in a father’s back some dark night rather than continue a death fight. For that’s what the Shan Kar proclaimed, a fight to the death, and Mesilim had condemned his followers to that fate since they had no chance of victory. The son must have great loyalty as well as great strength to protect such a father.
“Great Chief, there’s much I would ask you regarding the Alur Meriki.
You have knowledge of my enemy and it would aid my people to learn these things from you. If you’d be willing to share your knowledge with me.”
Mesilim nodded. “Yes, we’ve much to talk about. But first, let us take care of the wounded, bury the dead, and divide the spoils. It’ll be dark soon.” He offered up his hand to his son, who reached down and helped him to his feet, then escorted him back to the Ur Nammu.
His men rushed back as Mesilim moved away, their questions coming fast. When they gathered around, Esk kar explained their position. “For now, we’re considered to be friends to the Ur Nammu, since we fought beside them. They’ll collect all the valuables from the dead, and it will be divided later amongst all who fought. By custom, Chief Mesilim will make the division since he has the most warriors on the field. We must bury our dead and tend to the wounded.” He saw doubt in some eyes, and decided to explain further.
“Don’t worry. They could kill us easily if they chose to.” The Ur Nammu had about twenty — five warriors still fit to fight. “These people have much knowledge about our enemy. More than that, they could help in our own fight. So make sure you give no offense to any of them. They’re all that’s left of a proud people, fighting a war to the death against our own foes. Now, help me up.”
Sisuthros and Maldar pulled him to his feet and watched as he tested his leg. The swelling on his thigh looked enormous now, but he took a few steps with their help and realized gratefully the bone hadn’t broken, or the leg would not have stood his weight. Nevertheless, whenever he tried to put weight on it, sharp pain lanced through him. Esk kar asked for a crutch of some kind. Maldar picked up a broken lance and gave it to him.
Despite his injuries, Esk kar insisted on examining each of his men.
Most of the wounds didn’t appear too severe, mainly cuts and slashes.
Zantar, knocked unconscious during the fight, remained stretched out on the ground, his eyes unfocused, still woozy and barely coherent. Only Mitrac had escaped without a scratch.
The surviving horse boy, Tammuz by name, had the worst wound.
Standing over him, Esk kar saw the boy’s left arm was badly broken, probably in more than one place. The slightest touch or movement brought a moan of agony to Tammuz’s lips.
“Well, Tammuz, I see you disobeyed my orders. Next time, maybe you’ll know better.” Aside from the arm, the rest of his cuts and bruises seemed minor enough.
“I wanted to fight, Captain,” Tammuz answered, his voice thin as he fought back the tears. Even the effort to speak made him wince. “I killed one of them, I did, with the… bow. Mitrac saw it, I’m sure … he did.”
Eskkar had brought two riding bows with the expedition, but they’d been left behind with the other horses. The foolish boys had strung them and followed behind the men when they could. “I’m sure you did, Tammuz. Rest now.”
The broken arm was beyond Esk kar’s ability to bandage and the boy would likely be dead in a day or two. He turned to Maldar. “Give Tammuz water, then wine, lots of it, to ease his pain.” Using his crutch, Esk kar turned and looked toward the Ur Nammu.
Mesilim and his son, nearly finished caring for their wounded, had begun the burial process. As Esk kar watched, several riders dashed off on some unknown errands, while others started clearing a burial space against one of the canyon walls. He hobbled toward Mesilim, leaning heavily on the crutch, until he reached a knot of warriors around Mesilim. They eyed him curiously but parted to let him through. Mesilim looked up.
“Honorable Chief,” Esk kar began, “I have a wounded boy. His arm is badly broken and is beyond our skills to set. Perhaps you have someone who can tend to him?”
Mesilim considered the request. “A boy must be tended last, after the warriors. We have a healer, though he has his own wounds. I’ll send him to you after our warriors are tended.”
Mesilim looked toward those men clearing the burial site. “We’ll bury our dead there as soon as possible. Do you wish to put your dead with them?”
“Yes, we would gladly bury our men with yours. Thank you for the honor. Would it be allowed for my men to help digging the burial mound?”
A mass grave would have to be dug out of the hilly earth, deep enough to keep wild animals out. It would take many men’s efforts to get it done.
“We have one digging tool with us that might make the work easier,” Eskkar added.
“I must consult my men about that,” Mesilim replied.
Any handling of the dead must be done with g
reat care and the proper rituals, to make sure their spirits rested in peace for all time.
Mesilim began speaking to his son and two warriors. Each had something to say, but they all seemed to agree. He turned back to Esk kar. “Your men may help us and we are grateful. Your dead will honor our own.”
Esk kar bowed in thanks and walked to his men, leaning heavily on the stick and clenching his teeth against the pain. “Mesilim will send a healer to help with the… Tammuz.” You didn’t call anyone who’d killed an enemy in battle a boy. “Gather our dead and prepare them for burial. Then all who can dig will help Mesilim’s men prepare the grave. We bury our dead with theirs, and they honor our own by the offer.”
“What are they doing now?” Sisuthros asked. A dozen or so warriors had mounted horses and ridden off, half of them leading spare animals.
“They’ll gather the bodies from the other battleground. After everyone is buried, the corpses of the Alur Meriki will be left to rot on top of the grave and to feed the carrion, so all will know how many died here. Then, I think, we’ll all get out of this damned canyon.”
Leaving all this behind sounded better and better every moment.
Flies buzzed everywhere, and vultures and crows circled above, waiting their chance, attracted by the blood and death. Esk kar tried to ignore the coppery — blood smell that wanted to make him retch. He saw Mitrac swat at a fly. “Mitrac, have you recovered your arrows yet?”
The guilty look on the boy’s face answered the question. “Go find your shafts. We may need them again and while you’re doing that, count the number of your kills.” It would give the young man something to do.
“Sisuthros, leave one man to watch Zantar and the… Tammuz. The rest of you, get the shovel and start digging.”
Digging turned out to be too much for Esk kar, who found he couldn’t put any extra strain on his leg. But five of his men began digging alongside the Ur Nammu, and the small bronze shovel they’d brought with them proved a big help. In all, twenty men were soon digging as hard as they could, though Esk kar knew darkness would fall long before they finished.
Mesilim planned for that as well. Two men returned carrying firewood.
They started a fire, then rigged up some branches to serve as torches. Strips of fat torn from the dead horses would keep them burning.
Esk kar’s men dug as hard as the tribesmen, to prove themselves as strong and tough as their newfound friends. Despite their help, it took twenty — five men nearly four hours to dig a pit long and deep enough to hold almost fifty bodies. That included the Ur Nammu killed in the earlier fi ghting.
Those bodies were brought to the gravesite, tied two to a mount. Almost two thirds of Mesilim’s people had died today. They’d fought bravely and if their numbers had been more evenly matched, they might have defeated the Alur Meriki by themselves. Now only about twenty — five Ur Nammu warriors, many of them wounded, remained to carry on their leader’s sworn vengeance.
Darkness fell and men built up the fire and lit more torches. An hour later the moon rose and helped illuminate their work. Nevertheless the effort exhausted every man who finally staggered from the pit.
“By the gods, Captain.” Sisuthros appeared ready to fall down. So much dirt covered him that his eyes gleamed white in the torchlight. “I don’t think I’ve ever worked as hard.” He looked around at the other equally tired Orak men and grinned. “But we showed them that we could keep up.”
“Get yourself some water, then bring our dead here.”
One of the Ur Nammu began chanting a death song to consecrate the ground and prepare it to receive the bodies. Esk kar and his men stood and watched silently in the firelight until the brief ceremony ended.
Mesilim walked stiffly but on his own over to Esk kar. “You may put your men at this end of the pit to signify the direction from which you came. We’ll cover your dead with ours to protect them in the afterlife.”
“We thank you for honoring our dead,” Esk kar replied formally, then nodded to Sisuthros, who began moving the bodies into the ground. The Ur Nammu bodies followed, each corpse handled as gently as possible, legs straightened out and arms crossed over their chest. At last all the dead rested at the bottom of the pit.
Esk kar approached the end of the grave where his men lay, completely covered by the other bodies. In a loud voice he spoke the words that gave honor to the dead, calling out each man’s name and his deeds, so that the goddess Ishtar and great god Marduk would know to receive and honor true warriors.
When Esk kar stepped back, Mesilim strode to the other end and did the same, though his words lasted longer and included more details of the bravest. At last all the gods, demons, and shades were appeased. The men began refilling the hole, a process that took almost as long as the digging, because of the need to tamp down the earth as tightly as possible.
When they’d filled in the grave, the warriors walked their horses back and forth across the dirt to pack it even harder. By the time they fi nished, midnight approached, making it much too dangerous to try to leave the canyon. Esk kar’s men found a clear space as far away from the killing ground as possible. Everyone fell to the earth, wrapped in their horse blankets, and slept the sleep of the completely exhausted, all of them too tired to eat or worry about anyone slitting their throats in the middle of the night.
14
The morning sun woke Esk kar. He sat up with a start, then flinched in pain. Lifting his hand, he shaded his eyes and looked around the camp. His men were moving about, except
Zantar and Tammuz, who remained in their blankets. Mesilim’s healer had done his best for the boy’s arm, but his screams had echoed through the camp despite the wine poured into him. He’d fainted twice during the ordeal. Now the boy slept, but feverishly. Nothing more could be done. Tammuz would recover or die, assuming riding a horse didn’t fi nish him off.
Someone left a water skin at hand and Esk kar emptied it before he got to his feet, fighting the pain in his leg. He hobbled back and forth a few times, his teeth gritted, until the stiffness in his limbs lessened and he felt confident the leg wouldn’t give out. At least he didn’t need the crutch.
Esk kar checked the bandage on his arm. No fresh blood stained the crude dressing, though pain accompanied any sudden movement. In daylight he saw blood, dirt, and even worse covered his body. The rank smell turned his stomach.
“Morning, Captain.” Maldar walked over. “The barbarians brought in some more firewood. We’ll have fresh horsemeat soon.”
Bile rose in Esk kar’s throat at the thought of food and he had to swallow before he could speak. “I want to wash in the river. Bring me my horse.”
“Good idea, Captain. The rest of us have already cleaned up.”
The men had gone to the river and returned while he slept. Esk kar swore at his weakness.
Maldar returned leading the horse, then held it while Esk kar mounted cautiously. He rode slowly out of the valley, ignoring the throbbing in his thigh and the dizzy feeling in his head.
At the bank of the stream he dismounted, wincing as his leg took the sudden weight. He let himself fall into the slow — moving water, where he washed his body and his clothes at the same time. The effort exhausted him, so he lay back in the cold water until the last of the stink and dried blood faded away.
When Esk kar could stand the cold no longer, he pulled himself out and rested next to the stream, letting the sun’s rays warm him as they dried his garments. He thought about what the day would bring.
When he returned to the canyon, he found his men standing about, waiting. The horses had been fed and watered, weapons cleaned, and the wounded tended. The Ur Nammu had completed the burial pit. A single lance buried in the earth, blade thrusting skyward, marked the site. A long yellow streamer bearing the sign of the Ur Nammu fl uttered from the tip.
More prayers had been chanted to appease the gods and sanctify the ground. The bodies of the Alur Meriki lay in a tangled heap around the lance. They’d be
left to the carrion eaters, so all would know they’d been conquered in death as well as in life. When the Alur Meriki discovered this place, they would leave the bodies untouched and unburied. The dead would suffer in the afterlife for their defeat.
One of Mesilim’s warriors greeted him with a slice of well — roasted horseflesh, the meat burned almost black and nearly too hot to hold. Eskkar wolfed it down, surprised at his hunger. It took a second strip to satisfy him.
Mesilim walked over. “Chief Esk kar, we’re ready to leave this place.
We’ll camp on the other side of the stream. I’ll send scouts out in case another war party arrives.”
If one does, we’ll all be dead. It took time to load the men and animals with the captured weapons, food, and loot. At last they walked their horses from the canyon, their pace dictated by the wounded men and animals. As Eskkar left the canyon, he glanced back at the place where so many had died.
Already a flock of vultures and other birds fought over the dead flesh. The steppes people had lived and died this way for generations. It might be as good a way to die as any other, though he hoped his bones would find peace under a patch of earth someday, instead of above.
They camped at the small stream where Esk kar had bathed earlier. Everyone felt glad to be out of the maze of canyons and back on the sparse grasses where the air didn’t smell of blood. A dead tree provided firewood and more horsemeat soon sizzled on the flames.
Esk kar talked with Zantar. He’d recovered his senses and could speak coherently. Zantar had an enormous bruise on his forehead. Strangely, the man remembered nothing of the fight or even the hours leading up to it, and had to be told in detail what happened.
As for Tammuz, he remained fretful. They had no more wine to give him. They’d supported the boy on his horse during the brief ride to the stream, but he fainted again when they lifted him down. Mesilim’s healer examined his patient and rebound the injured arm tightly to the boy’s side to prevent further damage. Now Tammuz slept on the soft grass, his head pillowed by a horse blanket. He tossed and murmured in his sleep.
