by Sam Barone
Orodes issued a decree that anyone caught attempting to smuggle any precious metal out of the site would labor alongside the slaves for six months. Since a good number of the slaves and thieves forced to work at the mine died within that length of time, not many were willing to risk their lives for the handful of gold they might purloin. Nevertheless, Trella felt certain that small quantities of gold and silver still found their way out of the valley. But as long as Orodes kept such pilfering small and inconsequential, Trella didn’t concern herself about the loss.
As Eskkar’s little caravan approached Nuzi, Trella saw the smoke from the smelting fires rising over the hills. Well before they reached the entrance, the acrid fumes from the open furnaces assailed her senses. The smell alone would have told anyone within a mile that gold, silver, and the other noble metals were being ripped from the earth and burned out of the rocks and minerals that held them.
“About time they saw us coming,” Eskkar said. “The lazy fools wouldn’t have had time to close the gate before we cut them down.”
The group had drawn within a hundred paces of the stout gates fastened to tall beams buried into the hillside before any of the sentries noticed the fifteen heavily armed riders approaching.
“I think they’re more concerned about anyone trying to ride out, not in, husband.”
Trella’s effort failed to soothe Eskkar’s annoyance.
“Four men,” he muttered. “At least one of them should have been keeping an eye on the trail.”
The chagrined sentries scrambled about belatedly. The half-hearted challenge died as they recognized Akkad’s king. Trella heard the muffled chuckles of the Hawk Clan guards riding behind them. Like most fighting men, they enjoyed the spectacle of some other soldier receiving a tongue-lashing for failing to do his duty. They knew the king would point out this dereliction to Tooraj, who in turn would no doubt make the guards’ lives miserable for a few days.
Eskkar gave the merest nod to acknowledge the salutes as they paced the horses through the gate and into the valley. Once inside, Trella wrinkled her nose at the powerful odors of burning wood and molten metal.
Inside the valley, more than seventy people labored. A mix of men, women and children were occupied digging, carrying wood or tending the half-dozen smelting fires. Others worked building mud bricks, using the water from the stream and straw that had been carried in by mule. Carpenters hammered bronze nails into wood, raising structures that enabled the slaves to move the heavy sacks of ores. Work also progressed on new flues and sluices to separate the ores. Stacks of lumber, ordered in prodigious quantities by Orodes, were scattered about. A shaduf, worked by three sturdy women, handled the heaviest loads, its long arm lifting and moving the weight with relative ease.
All this activity fascinated Trella. She turned toward Eskkar, but saw his eyes taking in the guards riding patrol on the hilltops overlooking the valley. Those crests held three watch stations, small shaded towers where a guard could see down into the valley and also anyone trying to gain access to the site from the surrounding hillsides. With so much wealth being taken from the earth, every possible security measure needed to be taken to prevent thefts. The noble metals required too much sweat and labor to wring them from the earth, and were guarded accordingly.
Eskkar helped Trella down from her horse as Orodes approached, wiping his hands on a filthy apron that stretched below his knees. To Trella’s eyes, the mine master seemed older, more mature, and filled with confidence. Orodes had responded well to the responsibility she’d given him. According to Tooraj, everyone respected his skills. Perhaps the time had come to find him a wife, to help him settle down and keep him from falling back into his bad habits.
“Lord Eskkar . . . Lady Trella, welcome to Nuzi. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“We didn’t want to upset your labors.” Trella spoke quickly, to forestall any biting remark from her husband about a surprise inspection. “We’re eager to see what you’ve accomplished.”
“I’ll spend some time with Tooraj,” Eskkar said, as the leader of Nuzi’s soldiers walked toward them, moving as fast as he could without breaking into a run. “I’ve seen the mine before.”
Her husband might be interested in all the gold and silver the mine could produce, but he cared little for how they were obtained. Trella suspected there might be another reason for his lack of interest. Eskkar had told her much about his past, but some parts of his earlier life remained a mystery. He seemed to know more about mining than he cared to admit.
“Then Orodes can show me around the valley.”
The smile Orodes gave her announced that he would like nothing better than to have her undivided attention.
“Let me show you where it all began, Lady Trella,” he said.
Orodes led her to the far end of the valley, where the stream flowed from the cliff face. Stones set in hardened mud now arched the water that spilled into the pool, creating a small waterfall. “This is where I found the first nuggets. Now all our drinking water comes from this place.” More stones set in the pool provided easy access to the falling water. “Once the water leaves this pool, it’s directed into the various sluices to separate the ores. After that, it’s unfit to drink. Even the animals need to be kept away.”
Trella studied the water, watching how the original course of the stream had been divided and diverted into three separate sluices. Orodes certainly knew his craft, she decided. Those water channels maintained an even flow to each trough, and with scarcely any leakage. When she lifted her eyes, she found him staring intently at her.
She recognized the look. Another man smitten by her position. Yes, Trella decided, Orodes definitely needed a wife.
Orodes realized he was staring and dropped his eyes for a moment. “Are you ready for the next step in the process?”
“Yes. And I want you to explain everything to me. Everything.”
They walked and spoke until darkness fell. Orodes explained how the raw ores were washed, inspected, and separated again and again, until each particular pile contained a high content of specific minerals. Then the materials were crushed into smaller chunks, sifted again in running water, then heated in a furnace, sometimes with charcoal or other materials, some of which were delivered daily to Nuzi. When various impurities were burned off, the resulting raw metals were examined again. Some samples were reheated and reprocessed, others bagged into sacks for storage or transport. She recognized the green of copper ore – malachite Orodes called it – and the reddish tint that signified lead.
“With most of the surface gold already gone,” Orodes went on, “we’ll have to extract it in smaller quantities from the other processes that yield copper, tin and iron. Once everything is ground down to a fine powder, we can wash it again to extract the gold dust, though, as I expected, silver will soon be Nuzi’s most valuable product. Already I need more toolmakers to fashion hammers and other implements. We’re breaking tools almost every day, chiseling our way into the rocks and floor of the valley.”
Trella paused and watched laborers hammering a bronze chisel into the rock face until it cracked, then levering the small opening until the rocks broke away. Fire, too, could be used to heat the stones. When they grew hot, a bucket of water tossed against the heated surface would split even the hardest rock.
“How many men will you need to bring Nuzi to full production?”
“Not counting the farmers and soldiers, just those working in this valley, at least a hundred slaves and as many craftsmen. With that many laborers, and the new process I’ve established to sift and sieve the ores, I think we’ll be able to extract as much of the noble metals as feasible. Of course, I’ll need a steady supply of firewood. With that I can make my own charcoal.”
She’d already considered that request. Soon as many boats as departed from Nuzi would be arriving laden down with all the dozens of specialized tools and goods that Orodes needed to operate the mine efficiently. Trella realized it would be up to her to est
ablish and maintain such a flow of materials, some from as far away as the northern forests. And it would take a good portion of the wealth extracted just to keep the flow of the precious metal coming.
Again and again Trella asked Orodes to go into more detail. At last Trella felt she understood every facet of how the mine worked. If another goldsmith were needed, she would know how to question him.
“Orodes, you’ve done well,” she said, after he had finished his tour of the site. “When you first started, you asked for a share of the mine’s profits. After what I’ve seen today, I believe you’ve earned it. From now on, one part in fifty of every shipment will be yours.”
“My thanks to you, Lady Trella, for having faith in me. It is more than sufficient.”
By the time Nuzi ceased operating, Orodes would probably be the richest man in Akkad.
As the setting sun signaled the end of the day’s labors, Eskkar arrived, walking with Tooraj. Her husband would have spent the afternoon discussing ways to stop thieves and raiders, ensure the soldiers stayed honest and alert, and keep the ever-growing number of slaves under control. Tooraj’s labors would be almost as difficult as Orodes. Tooraj would also need to be properly paid. She would see to that as well. He, too, could probably use a wife.
“Have you finished your inspection, husband?”
Eskkar couldn’t keep the smile off his face, as happy for the good news Tooraj had given him as for avoiding a long session with Orodes. What Trella found fascinating would have bored her husband to death. Besides, Eskkar knew he could trust her to keep Orodes in check.
“Yes. Tooraj has everything under control.”
“As does Orodes. He has built a very productive site, as I’m sure Tooraj has already informed you. The silver from Nuzi will flow to Akkad, and it will be enough to meet our needs for some time.” She placed her hand on Eskkar’s arm. “Now I think it is time for supper.”
The three men standing facing her all looked guilty. None of them had given a single thought to a proper evening meal. Oh, well, that would be one more task she would have to perform.
31
Queen Kushanna frowned at the man kneeling before her. The guards had made a half-hearted effort to clean him up at the well, probably by throwing a few buckets of water over him. They knew better than to bring someone filthy into her presence. Nevertheless, the wretch still showed the thick black bands of dirt under the chipped and cracked nails on his hands and feet, and no quick scrub with a rag could remove all the grime imbedded into his face. His thin arms and legs had almost no flesh on them, and the unruly shock of black hair already streaked with gray nearly concealed his face. Death from either hunger or exhaustion would have taken him soon, she realized.
“Are you sure this is the one, Sohrab? I’d hate to think you brought back the wrong man after all this time.”
Sohrab had departed nearly a month ago, and had returned by boat at dusk yesterday.
“Yes, Queen Kushanna. It took some time to find him. The original buyer sold him to –”
She waved her hand to silence him. “Hand me the whip.”
Her chief spy removed the leather lash from his wrist and offered it to Kushanna. She used the stiffened plaited leather grip to lift the man’s head so that she could read his eyes. A man’s eyes revealed so much about him, much more than a woman’s. This one’s gaze appeared dull and listless, the eyes of one grown accustomed to the brutality of others. The ability to think would have been beaten out of him long ago. Now only fear of the whip could motivate a slave this far gone.
“What’s your name, slave?”
The man stared at the whip. No doubt Sohrab had used it often enough on the slave’s back.
“Almaric, mistress.”
The voice was properly humble, the brown eyes downcast. He’d been a slave for more than three years, and the gods must have blessed him to keep alive so long at the mine.
“Look at me when you speak,” she commanded. “Where are you from? Who was your father?”
The eyes blinked, as the man struggled to remember. His mouth opened, but no words came. Kushanna struck him across the face with the whip, not hard enough to break the skin but sharp enough to raise a welt. Almaric flinched at the pain, but knew better than to raise his hands or protest.
“Carnax, mistress. I’m from Carnax.” He glanced about, but saw no mercy from Sohrab or the two guards.
“And your father?”
“Ahhhaaa . . . my father was . . .” His brow furrowed, as he struggled to recall the past.
Kushanna raised the whip again, but before she could strike, Almaric found the words.
“Sargat, mistress . . . my father was Sargat of Carnax, advisor to the Village Elder.”
Any imposter or properly coached slave might know those facts. Kushanna, however, had spoken at length to Drusas the slaver. Even facing the usual threats, he’d recalled little about Almaric, not even the boy’s name. But Drusas remembered a wealth of detail about a young girl named Trella, how she was offered for sale as a virgin who could count and read the symbols, even that she possessed the healing knowledge. He’d sold her to a trader named Nicar on his way home to Akkad, now Eskkar’s Chief Justice.
More important, Drusas recalled having Trella kneel naked before him, while she read the symbols and counted her numbers. “Tell me about your sister. What’s her name?”
The question startled Almaric, but Kushanna lifted the whip again.
“Trella, mistress. My sister’s name is Trella.”
“Good. Very good, Almaric. Perhaps you would like some water.” She gestured to the guard, who filled a cup from a pitcher and handed it the prisoner.
Almaric gulped the contents down in a few swallows, spilling a good portion on his chest and the floor between his knees.
Kushanna forced a smile to her face. If a servant had spilled that much water, she would have had the unlucky offender whipped. “Now describe your sister to me, slave. All you know of her.”
The story required many promptings, but Kushanna only used the whip once more. Eventually, the detail Kushanna sought emerged, as the brother recalled a small brown mole beneath the sister’s left breast. Drusas had remembered the same mark on the slave girl he sold to Nicar. No one else would know that fact, not even Sohrab.
Satisfied at last, Kushanna handed the whip back to Sohrab, then turned to the guard. “Take him down to the slave’s quarters for now. Feed him well, and give him some ale. Tell my master steward Almaric is not to be whipped except by my order.”
She waited until the guard removed the slave, then turned to Sohrab. “You’ve done well. That is indeed Trella’s brother. We were doubly fortunate to find him still alive. In his condition, I’m surprised the mine’s owner didn’t have him killed.”
“Yes, Queen Kushanna. He knew the symbols, so at the first dig, he was put to work helping count the sacks of ore. That kept him out of the pits. After two years, he was sold to a second mine. They had no need of a slave who could count or read the symbols, so he went down into the mine. He would have been dead in a few more months. They sold him for a single silver coin, and were glad to take advantage of me.”
“You could have taken him for nothing,” Kushanna said. “They would have given him up fast enough at my order.”
“I thought it best not to use your name, my queen. This way, no one knows of your interest in such a laborer.”
She smiled at Sohrab’s ingenuity. He was learning to anticipate her commands. “I see I chose wisely when I sent you to find Trella’s brother. Now we have to make use of him. His wits are addled, but perhaps with rest and good food and plenty of time, he may recover. The healthier Almaric is, the more value he will have. For now, take him to my farm south of Sumer. See to it that he is given only simple tasks and treated well. And watch over his progress. If he remembers how to think, we will send for him again.”
“Yes, my queen. And you think he will be useful in the coming war?”
“Perhaps. He is the only one of Trella’s kin that remains alive. Who knows, she may care more for him than her husband. At the least she’ll pay well to have him returned to her.”
“Shall I send such a message to Trella of Akkad?”
“Not yet, Sohrab, not yet. In due time you can deliver the message yourself.”
32
Eskkar frowned at the well-worn tracks that led to the valley north of Bisitun. Three months ago, when he and Hathor first visited the place with a dozen Ur Nammu warriors, the ground showed no sign of anyone’s passage through the land. Now the pristine emptiness of the hill country had changed. From the depth of the tracks, he knew horses, oxen, wagons, cattle, sheep, men, women and even children in increasing numbers had followed the same trail over the last three months, no doubt all of them bearing burdens of one kind or another. Probably not a day went by without another group of men or wagonload of supplies arriving. Still, when Eskkar crested the last hill, a little before sunset, and saw the valley below, he halted his horse in surprise.
“A walled village!”
Grond halted his horse beside that of his captain. “Well, I suppose it is. Not much of a wall, though. Or a village, either.”
Eskkar let his eyes take in the site below. A mud-brick wall, just tall enough to keep a horse from jumping over it, ambled its way across the entrance to the valley. He guessed it to be at least two hundred paces from end to end, maybe even more. A wide gate near the center provided access. Beside the gate, a lone lookout tower twice the height of the gate rose up, its skeletal logs providing little more than a platform where a man or two could stand. Farther behind the wall, huts and tents extended a good distance into the valley, and Eskkar could see three separate horse pens, one of them empty. Smoke rose from several cooking fires, the gray streams curling lazily into the blue sky before following the wind to the east. The ringing sound of a bronze hammer pounding on a shaping stone echoed off the valley’s walls.
