by Sam Barone
They all shouted at once, speaking so quickly Eskkar couldn’t be sure of what anyone said. It didn’t matter. They would join, they would train, they would fight. Many of them, he knew, would die, but that didn’t matter now, either. He turned to Trella.
She nodded, and he knew he’d done well, binding more recruits to his side.
“Shappa, take your men to Gatus. Tell him to find quarters for you, and that you’ll start training in the morning.” No doubt Gatus was expecting them. He would have understood the implications of the sling at once.
“Yes, Lord Eskkar.”
“And the first thing you’ll do is make some real targets and repair that wall, before it falls down.”
That made them laugh. Eskkar grinned, too. He placed his arm around Trella’s shoulders and led the way back to their house, their guards falling in behind and in front.
That night, a weary Eskkar lay back in bed, Trella curled up against his side. Their lovemaking relaxed him, almost as if he’d fought and conquered a real enemy today. “My arm is sore.”
Trella started to shift her position, but he held her tight. “No, not that arm. My throwing arm. And my fingers are still swollen. I can’t believe how difficult it was to sling those stones, how much force it took.”
“Do you really think slingers can help the soldiers? They looked so small, so young.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll find good use for them. Everyone sees the sling and thinks of it as a child’s weapon, or something for shepherds to frighten off wolves. But those stones can kill. Akkad is full of boys and young men, all eager to join Akkad’s army and fight Akkad’s enemies. They’ll cost almost nothing to arm and supply, and they might prove very useful in certain kinds of fighting. Now all I have to do is make sure that when we face Akkad’s enemies, the slingers have a role to play, and possibly even a chance to survive.”
“You think most of them will be killed?”
“No, not most, but many. If they come against swordsmen or archers, they’ll be cut to pieces. But they’re young, small, and quick, and that can sometimes keep a man alive when brute strength isn’t enough. It all depends on how we use them in battle.”
“What kind of fighting?”
The question held more than idle curiosity. Everything interested Trella, and every time she bent her will to a task, she found a way to improve it.
“Well, first of all, I think they could be very useful in hilly country, places where a horse can’t go, places where sword or spear-fighters have trouble traversing. Slingers could harry an enemy from above. They could also act as scouts, or rearguards, to keep enemy horsemen at bay.”
“Wouldn’t horsemen just ride them down?”
“Everyone thinks so, but I’m not so sure.” He shifted in the bed to face her. “These boys are small and quick. I think they could get out of the way of a charging horse, dodge the rider’s sword. If they carried knives, knives with very sharp blades, they could hamstring the horse as it went by. I’ve seen that done before.”
“The knife would need to be longer than most. Wouldn’t a curved blade be more effective for such a task?”
All knives and short swords were straight. Some long swords were cast with a slight curve to them, but Eskkar distrusted them. It made the blade heavier without increasing the length, and favored a slashing cut, rather than a thrust. Sometimes that would be more useful, especially on horseback, but he’d fought with a straight blade all his life and didn’t intend to change now.
“For men on foot,” he said, almost thinking out loud, “a curved blade would be better. It would cut deeper and across a greater length of flesh or muscle.” He pictured the scene in his mind. “If we armed the slingers with curved blades, and taught them how to strike at the horse’s rear legs, I’m sure they could bring horse and rider down.”
“Since the weapon wouldn’t be used as a sword,” Trella said, “it need not be as heavy, just very sharp and strong enough to slice through flesh.”
He hadn’t thought of that. A sword needed to be thick enough to block or deflect an enemy’s stroke. A man on foot scrambling around and dodging a horse’s hooves didn’t have that to worry about. No knife, no matter how thick, would stop or even deflect a sword swung with full force from a moving horse.
“That’s true. We don’t want to weigh the slinger down with anything heavy. He’ll be carrying a load of stones with him as it is, so there’s no need to give him something else heavy to lug around.”
“They might have special tunics, ones with many strong pockets sewn into them. That would spread the weight over their bodies and make it easier to move about.”
“A thick belt would be useful, too,” he added. “They could fasten a pouch of stones to it, then cut it free if they needed to move quickly.”
She laughed and kissed his neck, then arched her body and let her breast fall across his chest. “You’ve gotten yourself a new force of fighters. But now it’s time to sleep. We’ll talk more about this in the morning. And in the next few weeks, I’m sure we can find ways to improve their effectiveness. After all, you turned villagers into bowmen. Why not boys into slingers?”
He pulled her close. “Why not? I’m sure you’ll think of something special for them.”
Eskkar knew his wife too well to ask her what she might possibly do. If she put her mind to a task, then something was sure to happen. He kissed the top of her head. “Then they’re in good hands, with you worrying about their lives.”
They drifted off to sleep, secure in each other’s arms, thoughts of war and battle set aside for the rest of the night.
24
Ten days after the messenger from Akkad departed, two men stopped before the entrance to the Kestrel. Late in the afternoon, Tammuz and En-hedu had just finished enjoying the shade outside the tavern’s door. The Kestrel had been open for business for more than a month, and a steady routine had established itself. The mornings kept them busy, serving bread and ale to anyone who stopped by or who had slept over. That meant rising with the dawn, to keep an eye on the customers still sleeping on the floor, or those who might have availed themselves of Irkalla and Anu. The ale had to be watched, of course, at all times, and it wasn’t unheard of for customers to rob those still sleeping, then depart.
When the last of the patrons left the inn, preparations began for another day’s activity. The common room had to be cleaned each morning. A man who’d drunk too much ale seldom bothered to step out into the lane to relieve himself in the middle of the night, even assuming he could get Rimaud to open the door.
While the clean-up went on, ale and provisions needed to be purchased. But most of the day’s preparation ended well before midday. At noon Tammuz and En-hedu often carried a bench outside the Kestrel. They took time to relax and watch the people passing by in the lane, while they shared a loaf of bread and a cup of weak ale. Afterwards, they would take turns getting some sleep.
Late in the afternoon found Tammuz seated on his stool behind the ale table. He took one look at the two men standing before the entrance and frowned. One was a bodyguard, complete with sword and a sack he carried over one shoulder. The other wore the sash that proclaimed him a member of King Shulgi’s officials.
“This is the new tavern, the . . . Kestrel?”
A stupid question, since an image of the bird was directly behind Tammuz’s head, not to mention the one outside, next to the door. He rose from the bench. “Yes, master. Do you need a place to stay?”
The man snorted in annoyance. “I wouldn’t waste my time in a filthy place such as this. I am King Shulgi’s collector of taxes. Fetch the owner.”
That was unfair, Tammuz thought. They kept the Kestrel cleaner than most taverns in Sumer.
“I am the owner . . . my wife and I.”
En-hedu stepped from their bedroom, but the tax man didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence. “Your tax is due. Three silver coins. If you can’t pay, your tavern will be closed and your goods confiscated.”
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br /> “Merchant Gemama told us that the tax would be two silver coins,” En-hedu said, moving beside her husband.
“The tax for a tavern used to be two silvers . . . now it’s three.”
“We’ll pay two,” Tammuz said. The tax collector could easily be trying to take advantage of them, collecting three coins and turning in only two. “That’s what Merchant Gemama told us we had to pay.”
The tax collector tightened his lips. “King Shulgi announced the new tax ten days ago, when he spoke in the marketplace.”
A small crowd of the always curious had gathered just outside the door, to watch the little drama. One of the bystanders called out. “It’s true! The tax was raised to three silvers.”
Tammuz turned to En-hedu, dismay on his face. “That will take more than we’ve earned.”
She shrugged. “What can we do? We’ll have to pay it.”
“The king doesn’t care about your profits, innkeeper. Now pay up, or the tavern is closed.”
“I’ll fetch it.” En-hedu went inside, and a few moments later, returned.
The taxman held out his hand.
En-hedu held her fist to her chest. “I want a stone first, to show that we’ve paid.”
A small clay shard, marked with the king’s sign, a different one starting with each new moon, provided proof that the tax had been paid.
“Not very trusting, are you?” The man’s sarcasm was wasted on her. “All right.” He dug into the bodyguard’s pouch and handed over the red-baked clay marker. En-hedu examined it, then handed him the tax.
Without a word, the man turned and left the tavern. Tammuz and En-hedu followed him to the door, and watched him walk down the lane, heading to the next place of business. With nothing to see, the crowd dissolved, and Tammuz and En-hedu stepped back inside the Kestrel.
“Wait!”
Another man followed them in. Tammuz recognized Melchior, Gemama’s clerk. He muttered another oath under his breath.
“Merchant Gemama’s fee is due today. One silver coin. Do you have it?” Melchior’s voice grated in Tammuz’s ears. Gemama’s clerk spoke as if he expected them to plead some excuse or ask for a delay.
“Yes, I have it.” He nodded to En-hedu once again. She handed over the coin. “Make sure your master gets it,” Tammuz warned. “We won’t be paying twice.”
After a quick inspection to make sure the coin was sound, Melchior placed the coin in his pouch and let it slip inside his tunic. He, too, left without another word.
“There go our profits for the month,” En-hedu said. She lowered her voice. “If we had to earn that from the Kestrel, we’d starve.”
“No, we’d dilute the wine and ale, serve bad food, and steal from our customers, like every other innkeeper in Sumer.”
“Still, we’re going to need more copper coming into the inn,” she said. “Who knows, perhaps the tax will be raised again in a month or two. Maybe it is time to start using Zenobia’s teachings.”
The owner of Akkad’s finest pleasure house had taught En-hedu the secret skill of massage, the hidden pressure points on a body that would respond favorably to a knowing touch. En-hedu had mastered the teaching, learning quickly, and with her strong hands and powerful arms, she could push and prod and knead as well as any man.
Tammuz didn’t care for this part of the plan at all. He didn’t like the idea of En-hedu touching other women, not to mention men. There would always be requests for more intimate services from both sexes.
She saw his frown. “Don’t worry, husband. I’ll take care, I promise.”
He took a deep breath and put his arm around her. “I know. But I still . . .”
Another man entered the tavern. This one glanced around, and seemed happy to find the inn still empty.
“What do you want?” Bad tidings always arrived in threes. Tammuz knew the man was no customer. He looked too well fed, and the long knife in his belt didn’t go well with the run-down clothing.
“I want to talk to the owner. Is that you . . . Tammuz?”
“Yes, I’m Tammuz. And this is my wife, En-hedu. We own the Kestrel. Who are you?”
The man smiled, then sat at the nearest table, and motioned for them to join him.
Tammuz eased himself down onto the bench facing the man, while En-hedu stood just behind him.
“I spoke to guardsman Jarud. He says you can be trusted.”
Tammuz said nothing, still waiting for the man to give his name.
He took the hint. “My name is Enar.” He paused, as if he had just imparted a great secret. “Jarud says that many of your customers are river men, some of them from up north.”
“The Kestrel is close to the docks,” Tammuz said. “Who else but boatmen would come here?”
“Can your wife be trusted to keep her mouth shut?”
“My wife speaks only when she’s told to,” Tammuz said.
“Mmm, a good woman. Then she may be useful, too. An innkeeper and his wife hear many things from their customers, especially when the customers have drunk too much ale. When you hear such things that may be of interest, I would like to know them. You would, of course, be paid for what you tell me, provided it is useful.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Oh, anything of importance. Things that might be of some use to Sumer’s rulers. Any talk about unrest, people complaining about the king’s rule, gossip about Akkad, even information about trade and cargoes, boats, caravans. Anything of interest.”
Tammuz and En-hedu had heard rumors that the new queen, Kushanna, wanted as much information as possible about the six cities in Sumeria, as well as the far north. Enar would be one of her informers, seeking such information from any source he could find.
He glanced at his wife, who nodded. “How much would you pay?”
“At least a copper coin for anything of value. More, if it is especially useful. Much more if what you hear is of real importance, such as anyone plotting against the king.”
“The Kestrel is a good tavern,” Tammuz said, “but not good enough for most ship captains or boat masters. All that come here are the crewmen, the rowers, and some guards.”
“I know who patronizes this place. I’ve been here before. You must not remember me.”
Tammuz didn’t, which annoyed him. He should be alert enough to recognize a Sumerian spy.
“How would I get such information to you?”
“I stay at the White Gull. If I’m not there, you can leave a message with the owner.”
Tammuz nodded. “I’ll keep my ears open. If I hear anything . . .”
“Another thing . . . you might want to encourage some of your more interesting customers to talk. Slip them a little extra ale, if need be. Your wife . . . your whores . . . the more you can get your patrons to talk about home – especially those from Akkad and upriver – the better.”
“We can do that,” En-hedu said, joining the conversation for the first time. “As long as you pay each time.”
A brief frown crossed Enar’s face at her impertinence. Women should speak only when spoken to. “I’ll pay when you tell me something useful.” He returned his eyes to Tammuz. “Best if you didn’t say anything about this to anyone else. Nor to Jarud. Even those who live here in Sumer might need to be reported, should they say anything against King Shulgi’s interest. That includes members of the city’s guard.”
“I understand.”
“Well, then, I’ll be on my way. Your first customers should be arriving soon.” Enar stood, nodded approvingly, and left the tavern.
En-hedu sat down beside Tammuz. “At least he didn’t demand a silver coin from us.”
“Who knows, but we may be able to make a few extra coins this way.”
“It does only seem fair, with what we’re paying in taxes and fees, to get something back.”
They laughed at the idea of spying for Sumer.
The next day, En-hedu gave massages to Irkalla and Anu. Both women worked hard, and En-hedu knew they
would appreciate a little attention. Mother and daughter kept the kitchen, common room, and their own chamber clean. They started working early in the day before the first customer arrived, and then sometimes labored until Tammuz fastened the door, and even after. Some customers wanted servicing long into the night, and again in the morning. As the Kestrel grew more and more popular, the number of customers increased, and Irkalla and Anu rushed back and forth carrying food and ale, in addition to occasionally disappearing into their chamber with a patron for a time, usually as brief an interval as the girls could manage.
Giving the mother and daughter a massage helped En-hedu, who needed the practice. Aside from Tammuz, she hadn’t given anyone a massage since they left Akkad. She started with Irkalla, who had never received a massage before. This early in the day, there were no customers in the Kestrel. Anu covered a table in the common room with a folded blanket, and En-hedu told Irkalla to remove her dress, and lie face down on the blanket. With Anu watching, En-hedu began working the woman’s neck and shoulder muscles. A few drops of oil helped warm Irkalla’s skin, and soon En-hedu moved down to the lower back. By then, Irkalla sighed with pleasure as the stiffness in her body faded, and the muscles stretched without straining.
By the time En-hedu had finished, Anu, showing more excitement on her face than En-hedu had ever seen, pleaded for a similar rubdown, hopping up and down in her eagerness.
“Please, mistress,” Anu said. “My back has been hurting for days.”
En-hedu smiled at the girl. “Give me a few moments to rest.”
While Irkalla dressed, Anu removed her garment and moved up onto the table. As En-hedu began, she saw that the girl’s back really did need work. The muscles in her right shoulder were knotted. Now that she noticed it, En-hedu realized why the girl sometimes had trouble standing up straight.
“You are very stiff, Anu. We shall have to do this every day for awhile, until your back is straight.”
Shadows blocked the door, and En-hedu glanced up to see Tammuz and Rimaud returning. The guard carried a wineskin under each arm, and Tammuz had a third one slung over his shoulder. Tammuz’s mouth opened in surprise at finding his wife working on a naked Anu, who moaned and sighed at each touch of En-hedu hands. She smiled at her husband, who stood there, fascinated. En-hedu saw his eyes fasten their gaze on Anu’s body, and a moment later, she caught sight of his erection pushing up against his tunic.
