Quest for Honour

by Sam Barone

  “Do you think we can win this new kind of war?” Corio, impatient as always, drummed his fingers on the table.

  “Yes, we can win this war,” Eskkar said. “As we’ve all seen, battles are not won just by having superior numbers of fighting men. We drove off the barbarians, and we outfought Korthac to reclaim our city. Both times our fighters were outnumbered. Until now, we’ve taken great care in selecting recruits. Now we need to use all the manpower we have available to us, even those we’ve passed over when we select our archers.”

  Eskkar glanced at Gatus, the captain of the guard, and the oldest of Eskkar’s commanders. Everyone respected both his courage and his words. More than that, the nobles trusted him. Born and raised in Akkad, he always spoke his mind and never cared whom he offended. Approaching his sixtieth season, he’d trained most of Akkad’s fighters, and helped Eskkar develop his battle plans and tactics.

  “What do you think, Gatus?” Eskkar shifted to face the old soldier. “Can you answer Corio’s question?”

  “Eskkar and I, and all the commanders,” Gatus began, gesturing with his hand to include the rest of the soldiers, “have talked about such things for years. Now it is time to do more than talk. We’ll need soldiers who can fight on foot, who can attack an enemy with sword and spear. And we’ll need horsemen, many of them, to act as our eyes and ears, and allow us to strike at our enemies far from Akkad.”

  The old soldier spoke with passion. Gatus had seen every kind of enemy, and knew what to expect. Whenever he spoke, men listened. But everyone at the table knew Akkad had nowhere near enough men, nor horses, nor gold to pay them.

  “If we have to fight an extended war with Sumeria,” Nestor said, “the expense may be more than we can support. Perhaps it would be better to negotiate with the Sumerians, to make peace with them. They may have learned their lesson. We could even offer them some of the borderland.”

  Trella reached out and picked up her water cup. The simple gesture turned every eye toward her, as she knew it would.

  “Lady Trella, what do you think?” Once again it was Corio who spoke first.

  “Nobles, this conflict between our city and the south will not happen overnight. Eskkar dealt Eridu’s forces a heavy blow. How many men did he lose, husband?”

  Of course, she already knew the answer. Trella seldom needed to hear anything more than once. With her flawless memory, she could recall details even many months after hearing them.

  “We killed about twenty or twenty-five of their horsemen, and over a hundred and seventy soldiers. Twenty-eight prisoners were taken, and I spoke with each of them. Then I let them go, so they could return to Sumer and the other cities and tell the story of what happened. There were many wounded who we left where we found them, to live or die. We captured most of their weapons as well.”

  “That means there will be no more war for the rest of this season,” Trella went on. “And probably not next year, either. Eridu will need time to recoup his losses, and rebuild his reputation. The lost weapons will be expensive to replace, and he will have to pay the ransom as well. His supply of ready gold will be severely depleted, if not exhausted.”

  She paused a moment, to let everyone at the table digest her words.

  “And, as my husband has explained to me, the defeat of the soldiers will be a heavy blow to their morale. They know they were vanquished by a smaller number of fighters. Their king was taken prisoner. Eridu will not find it so easy to recruit replacements. It will take time before he can again raise a large force of men.”

  “So you think we have a few years before the Sumerians begin to trouble us again?”

  “No, the plotting will begin as soon as Eridu returns home,” Trella answered. “But the next year or two will give Akkad time to prepare. In that time, there is much we can do. And as Akkad’s leading merchants, perhaps you can find new opportunities for your trading ventures.”

  Corio laughed, a long chuckle that turned every head. “Of course, Trella, you’re right. My business will prosper because the increased need for protective walls, not only here in Akkad, but in some of the smaller villages on the border. Nicar’s trading will increase, too, as he supplies us with the ores needed to forge weapons. The city will grow again, as we hire new soldiers, and what we pay them will flow back to us in taxes and increased business.”

  “Yes, Corio,” Trella said, letting a smile cross her face for the first time. “If we know what the future will bring, and if we have time to prepare, there is no reason why everyone’s wealth should not increase, even as our soldiers grow in numbers. With Sumer’s defeat, more people will seek Akkad’s protection, more farmers in the borderlands will cry out to join with us. Already the city and the countryside are full of young men who have left their farms to come here. It may be that, in the long run, all of you here today will see your trading ventures prosper.”

  Nestor nodded. “Yes, that may all be true. But what happens when the Sumerians march north with thousands of men? How can we defend the border against such a force?”

  “We’re not going to defend the border,” Eskkar said. “We’ll patrol it with horsemen that Hathor will train. If the Sumerians come north again, we’ll gather our forces and march south. Akkad’s walls will protect the city, while we invade Sumeria. We’ll ravage their lands and crops. Our threat to carry the war to their cities will be what secures the border.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Rebba didn’t wait for an answer. “It won’t be easy to invade Sumeria. You’ll need supplies and food, and you’ll have to march your men a long distance. And when you do arrive at Larsa, you’ll find yourself facing a walled city full of defenders.”

  Larsa, the northernmost of the six cities in the Sumerian alliance, had always been the most troublesome. It would be the first one to face any attack by Akkad.

  “Yes, Rebba, that’s exactly what I expect,” Eskkar said. “So that is what we’re going to prepare for. When we tear down Larsa’s walls and put what’s left standing to the torch, the other Sumerian cities will understand the price of crossing our border and attacking our people.”

  “And have you considered how you will destroy Larsa’s walls and capture it?”

  “Not yet,” Eskkar said with a smile. “My commanders and I meet tomorrow to begin planning for such things. While we train archers, horsemen, and foot soldiers, Corio and his kin will be busy figuring out ways for us to storm a city’s walls. By the time such an attack is needed, we should have both the manpower and the skills needed to capture a city the size of Larsa within a few days. If we can do that, we can end the war.”

  “And if the rest of Sumeria fights on,” Nestor said. “Then what will you do?”

  “We’ll march to the next city and destroy that one, too. Crush every city that resists, and spare each one that abandons war. Put yourself in their place, Nestor. Would you rather fight or make peace?”

  “You assume much, Eskkar,” Nestor answered. “How can you be so certain?”

  “It’s not just me,” Eskkar answered. “My commanders think as I do.” He glanced around the table. The soldiers were nodding agreement. “Don’t forget, nobles, many of our preparations will soon be known to the Sumerians. That may help them choose peace instead of war. If they know what we might do to them, they may just decide to leave us alone. But as long as we have something they want, as long as our fertile farmlands tempt them, or they desire to control our trade, they will search for every opportunity to take what they want. If that means destroying Akkad, those who seek power or wealth will demand it. We must be prepared for war, whether it comes as an invasion or more raids across our border.”

  No one spoke, and it seemed as if the sighing of the trees gave voice to everyone’s thoughts.

  “We fought to save our city from the barbarians,” Nicar said, breaking the silence. “We fought to take back Akkad from Korthac. Would we now give it away to the Sumerians? How much would it take to satisfy their demands? Half our land? All of it?”


  “So you think war is the answer,” Rebba said. “Attacking other cities and destroying them?”

  “Only if they bring war to us,” Eskkar said. “We have to prepare Akkad to meet whatever threat may come, either next year, or the year after that, or the one after that.”

  “No one wants war,” Trella said.

  “Then you think we can avoid a conflict?” Rebba directed the question to Trella. He knew she decided Akkad’s future as much – if not more so – as her husband. And that she wanted peace.

  “No, I think it will come,” Trella said, “but we may be able to delay it, and we can hope to make any conflict a short one. And it will be better for Akkad if the war is fought in Sumeria, and not in our lands. Then it will be their farms and villages that are ravaged.”

  “Whatever course of action we decide, we must speak as one voice,” Eskkar said. “If the people think we are not united, then their resolve will weaken and Sumeria’s desire for revenge will grow stronger. My commanders and I have seen the face of the enemy. We believe Akkad needs to prepare for war. But if the nobles and leading merchants show disagreement, it will give strength to our enemy even as it weakens ourselves.”

  “I agree,” Corio said. “We must prepare for war.”

  “As do I,” Nicar said. “But with one condition. We must make every effort to maintain peace with Sumeria. I do not want our words or preparations to force them into war.”

  “Nor do I,” Eskkar said. “And remember, they have little that we would want. If Akkad is to grow, we will grow to the north and to the west. Sumeria has nothing to fear from us. In time, they should have the wits to understand that.”

  “Then prepare for war,” Nicar said. “The sooner we can achieve a lasting peace, the better.”

  “Prepare for war,” Rebba said.

  Nestor and Decca looked at each other, resignation on their faces. “Prepare for war.”

  All eyes went to Yavtar. As one of the most prosperous traders in the city, his opinion carried weight. The half dozen boats he owned plied the river, carrying cargo north and south.

  And he had risked his life in the battle to save Akkad from Korthac.

  “I spoke with one of the leading merchants in Sumer. Like us, he understands that trade is cheaper than war. It is their leader, Eridu, seeking the glory of a conquest, who brought on this conflict. If we treat them fairly in matters of trade, we may avoid any future raids.”

  “To accomplish that,” Trella added, “we want to set up a trading village just inside the border. That will make it simpler to trade with Sumeria, to exchange food for their goods. A convenient trading outpost will make it easier for them to choose peace rather than war.”

  “Then we’re all agreed. Good.” Eskkar let his body relax. “Perhaps we can start by trying to convince Eridu of our peaceful intentions.”

  “It might be better if I spoke with him,” Nicar said. “He’s not likely to want to hear anything from the man who cut off his hand.”

  “No doubt,” Eskkar said. He wanted nothing further to do with Eridu anyway. “Just make sure he knows what he’ll lose if he tries anything like that again.”

  9

  The next day, with mid-morning approaching, two members of the city’s guard finally found the man they sought. Orodes lay sleeping on his side, stretched out against the wall of a tavern, ignored by the people passing to and fro in the lane. Bodies in the lanes, drunk, sleeping, or dead, were not an uncommon sight. The guards, one a seasoned veteran named Wakannh, and the other much younger, almost walked past the inert body, before the senior man slowed his pace and stopped a few steps away.

  “Wait. I think that’s the one she wants, and about time, too.” Wakannh crossed to the man and peered down. “I recognize him.” He prodded the unresponsive body with his toe. “Drunk and passed out. Get him on his feet.”

  “I’m not carrying a drunk all the way to the compound by myself,” the younger guard protested.

  “Carry him, drag him by his balls, I don’t give a shit what you do.” As a leader of ten, the older guard didn’t intend to waste any of his own muscles on a drunk. That’s what recruits were for. “Just get him moving.”

  Muttering under his breath, the second guard rolled the still snoring Orodes onto his back. “Demons’ piss, the pig threw up on himself. Are you sure this is the one?”

  Wakannh leaned over to look closer at the man’s dirt and vomit-crusted face. “Ugghh, he stinks. Someone’s pissed on him, too. But that’s Orodes.” He grabbed Orodes’s arm and together they yanked him to his feet, waking him up in the process. The groggy man tried to protest, but the two soldiers gripped Orodes by his arms and half-walking and half-dragging, led the helpless man away, to the amusement of those onlookers who stopped to watch.

  Two lanes over, the leader of ten stopped beside one of the public wells. “Might as well clean him up here. No sense bringing anything that filthy into Lady Trella’s courtyard.”

  The second man shoved Orodes head first into the trough that collected the water, and held him there until he coughed and choked, flailing his arms but unable to lift his head. When the guard jerked Orodes’s head up by his hair, he just hung there, helpless, too weak even to raise his arms. “What about his tunic? Stinks of piss and vomit. Probably full of lice, too.”

  “Get rid of it,” Wakannh agreed. “It’s worse than nothing.”

  The guard grasped the tunic with both hands and ripped it apart. Then he jerked the torn remnants from Orodes’s body and kicked them aside. “Wash yourself up, you pig.”

  A few bystanders collected and laughed at the naked man’s plight.

  “What are you . . . ?” Orodes squinted into the morning sun.

  “Open your mouth again and I’ll cut your balls off,” Wakannh warned him. “Someone at the Compound wants you, so that’s where you’re going. They probably want to hang you by your puny prick for stinking up the city. Now clean yourself up or I’ll throw you down the well.”

  The Compound, as anyone living in Akkad more than a day knew, referred to the residence of King Eskkar and Lady Trella.

  The guards stood there, while Orodes splashed water over his face and chest again and again, until most of the dirt and stench had faded away. By the time he finished cleaning himself, Orodes appeared to have regained his senses.

  “By Ishtar’s tits, I hope they do hang him by his prick,” the recruit said. “He still stinks.”

  Orodes had never visited Lord Eskkar’s courtyard, but he had little time for more than a quick glance around. Wakannh had happily handed him over to the soldiers at the entrance, who enjoyed a good laugh at the naked man’s expense. But they found a cast-off garment for him to wear, and let him drink from the private well at the rear of the house. When he finished quenching his thirst, he washed his face and hands once again, this time more to help sober up than get clean. When he finished his ablutions, Orodes turned to find that the courtyard soldiers had departed and a woman taken their place. Even with his head feeling like it might split in two, he recognized Annok-sur’s tall frame.

  “Do you have your wits about you?”

  Orodes nodded, then grimaced at the movement. “What do you want? Why am I here?”

  Annok-sur took a step toward him, examining him with care. “You’re here because Lady Trella wishes to speak with you. If you have some other important business to attend to, I’ll tell her so, and you can return to the tavern where they found you.”

  Orodes ignored the jibe. Whatever the reason, few turned down an opportunity to speak with one of the rulers of Akkad. “I can talk.”

  Annok-sur nodded agreement. “Good. Come with me.”

  She led him into the house, pausing only to speak to one of the women servants, then led Orodes up the stairs and into the workroom.

  “Sit down,” she said, pointing to the table. “Lady Trella will be here shortly.”

  Orodes eased himself onto the bench, then looked up to see the servant approaching
, carrying a tray in both her hands. It contained bread, a handful of dates, and a hunk of cheese only slightly past its best. Orodes realized he felt ravenous. He hadn’t eaten anything yesterday morning, before drinking himself into a stupor at the tavern. Two copper coins, stolen from a drunken patron, provided him with more than enough ale to drink himself unconscious.

  By the time Orodes finished swallowing the first mouthful of bread, the serving woman returned with two cups. “Weak ale, and water.” She put them down and left the chamber.

  He reached for the ale, then stopped. His hand shook, and for a moment he couldn’t control his muscles. Orodes closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shifted his hand to the other cup. A meeting with Lady Trella was not the time to be drinking anything stronger than water.

  When he finished eating, only crumbs from the bread and pits from the dates remained on the platter. Orodes allowed himself to take a small sip from the ale cup. His head had almost ceased throbbing.

  The door to the inner room opened, and Lady Trella and Annok-sur came out. A child started crying in the background, but Annok-sur shut the door, and the sound faded. Remembering his manners, Orodes pushed himself to his feet and bowed.

  “We’ve met before, Orodes,” Trella began. “Almost three years ago, when your father fashioned Eskkar’s new sword. You helped Asmar with the casting, as I recall.”

  “I remember . . . Lady Trella. I’m surprised that you do.” Just before the barbarian invasion, Trella had visited Asmar’s shop. At first his father had tried to patronize the young slave girl dressed in a shabby garment. But by her third visit, Orodes realized that Trella not only knew exactly what she wanted, but how it should be made.

  She sat across from him, and nodded for him to sit. “Since then, I’ve learned some things about you. Have you reconciled with your father?”

  Master smith Asmar. Orodes clenched his teeth for a moment. So Lady Trella had spoken with his father. That meant she knew all about the family quarrel, and probably about the reasons for Orodes’s recent return to Akkad. He’d spent the last year and a half working at a mine in the eastern hill country operated by his uncle. Asmar and his brother both suffered from the same lack of imagination. Both believed the old ways were the best ways, and that the young should do as they were told. Orodes clashed so often with his uncle that he was finally ordered to leave. Otherwise he would still be there, slaving away for little more than his keep. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind.