by Sam Barone
They both sensed the rising tension. No one enjoyed standing around in the hot sun, which added to the crowd’s anger. The smell from so many bodies filled the still air. The incensed mutterings grew louder and angrier. The soldiers glanced at each other and fingered their weapons.
“Where is our army?” An old man shouted the question with a quavering voice. “What happened to my sons?”
Everyone joined in, and soon the crowd began to shift and move under the pressure of so many struggling to make themselves heard.
“This could get out of hand,” Tammuz said. “Stay close to me.”
A column of eight soldiers strode down the lane, shoving anyone in their path out of the way. Queen Kushanna walked in their midst, wearing one of her finest gowns, her hair combed and arrayed. She wore a necklace of pearls, gold rings on her fingers and bracelets on her arms. Her escort started for the top of the market, but she halted them. Too many people blocked the way. “Stop here. I’ll speak to them from here.”
Kushanna ignored both the people and their cries for answers. A soldier carried over a stool, and helped her step onto it, so Kushanna could be seen and heard. She stared at the crowd, and waited until the din had died down.
“People of Sumer. People of Sumer. Hear me.” Her melodious voice quieted the crowd. “I bring you evil tidings. Our army has been defeated by the Akkadians.”
En-hedu noted the use of just the name, no longer demons or barbarians.
“Our king, my husband, is dead. Now the Akkadian army marches toward Sumer.”
A groan went up from the crowd, along with a few curses.
“To save our city, and protect your lives, I will offer a ransom of gold to King Eskkar when he arrives. These men,” Kushanna lifted her shapely arm to point at the nobles under Jarud’s guard, “will be required to give up their wealth to save the city. With all their gold and possessions, and what little is left of King Shulgi’s goods, we should be able to raise at least a thousand gold coins.”
A cheer burst forth at the nobles’ discomfort. “Let the bastards pay!” Others grew angry, as they grasped the size of the merchants’ wealth, flaunted at them while they went hungry.
Kushanna raised her arm again to quiet the now angry mob. “To ensure that Sumer and your safety is protected, I will also offer myself to King Eskkar, begging him to spare our city. I will kneel before him and throw myself at his mercy. King Eskkar has shown forgiveness in the past. Now I will sacrifice myself to save your lives, and to save our city. And I will present him with the gift of the brother of Lady Trella, who we rescued from the mines.”
Cheers greeted the news, the first bit of hope they’d been offered.
En-hedu exchanged a brief glance with Tammuz. Neither of them had ever heard that Trella had a brother.
Listening to the crowd, En-hedu decided that Kushanna might just manage to do it. She would win over the mob with the sacrifice of the nobles. With more than a little apprehension, En-hedu wondered if Eskkar would fall under Kushanna’s spell. The woman was indeed a witch.
A shrill voice broke through the clamor. “You murdered my sons! I had three sons, and now they’re all dead!”
An old woman with long gray hair hanging limp around her face had pushed her way through the crowd, shoving grown men aside. She flung a stone at Kushanna, only a few paces away, narrowly missing the queen, whose eyes went wide in surprise. No one had ever dared raise a hand toward her.
The woman refused to be silent. “You sent them all to their deaths!” She reached down and scooped up a handful of dirt and threw that as well.
A soldier stepped forward and struck the woman in the face with the haft of his spear, knocking her back into the arms of those behind. Whatever sympathy the crowd had started to give Kushanna vanished in a moment.
“Murderers! She sent our husbands to their deaths!”
The soldiers lowered their spears and pushed the now angry crowd back, while a frowning Queen Kushanna looked on, her lips clenched in anger at the insolence. The throng of people pushed and shoved, moving in all directions, everyone cursing and shouting.
En-hedu realized what could happen. This crowd could be turned. Her elbow jabbed Tammuz in the ribs. “Death to the queen!” She yelled the words with all her strength. “Death to those murderers who led us to war! Death to the queen!”
Tammuz, shocked at his wife’s outburst, took a moment to grasp the situation. Then he, too, joined in. “Death to the queen! Death to those who betrayed us!” In a moment, every voice in the marketplace repeated the same words.
The soldiers, greatly outnumbered, hesitated at the sudden ferocity from the mass of men and women facing them. Most of Sumer’s remaining soldiers guarded the gates and the wall. And Queen Kushanna’s guards were not hardened veterans. Most were either too young or too old to go off to war, and none had ever seen naked anger and hatred such as this.
The crowd saw the doubt and fear on their faces. A wave of people surged forward, as ten, fifty, a hundred voices joined in, all shouting death to Queen Kushanna.
Tammuz pushed his way to the front. “Death to Kushanna!” A soldier tried to hold him back, but Tammuz’s knife lashed out, and the guard staggered back, his nose broken by the weapon’s hilt. A few people in front died, impaled on the spears, but the screaming mob now could not be stopped. “Death to Kushanna!” The words came from every voice, and this time the cry didn’t stop.
Chaos erupted. The people of Sumer had been demeaned and crushed down for many years, and now they saw a chance for their revenge. The soldiers grasped the situation, too. Many shrank aside, others dropped their spears. Some turned toward the queen, as eager to strike as any of the mob. The nobles, released by the captors, added their voices to the din.
Jarud saw the danger. He abandoned the nobles and closed up his men around the queen, shouting at his soldiers to keep together. Enough heeded his words. In moments, they formed a protective ring around Kushanna. They struggled and shoved their way through the clawing mob, moving toward the lane that had brought Kushanna into the marketplace. A few more steps and . . .
En-hedu saw Kushanna slipping away. She ducked low, practically slithering between the legs of the crowd shrieking hatred and venom above her. Then she saw the legs of the soldiers forcing their way forward, then the hem of Kushanna’s gown. Rising up, En-hedu’s long arm stretched out. She meant to strike at Kushanna’s heart, but an unheeding arm knocked the blade down, and instead the weapon sank to the hilt just above the queen’s hip, before it was wrenched from En-hedu’s hand by the forward momentum of the guards. Kushanna’s scream could scarcely be heard in all the confusion. Because the stroke landed so low, none of the soldiers realized what had happened.
Only one man saw En-hedu strike – Jarud.
Her knife gone, En-hedu moved back, trying to return to Tammuz’s side. A dozen paces away, her husband pushed and shoved against the nearly unmovable mass of people to reach her. She looked back, and saw Jarud knocking people aside, determined to get his hands on her. En-hedu struggled as hard as she could, trying to move away from Jarud. But the Captain of the Guard was bigger and stronger, and the crowd gave way before him as he forced his way closer.
Looking up, she saw the nobles fighting the angry crowd for their own lives. Stones and clods of dirt flew through the air. Gemama had both arms raised, trying to protect his head from the people’s wrath. The sight gave En-hedu another idea.
“Gemama for king! Gemama for king!” She snapped her gaze at Tammuz. The soldiers escorting Kushanna had pushed their way clear, dragging the faltering queen with them. Jarud had moved almost within arm’s length.
“Gemama for king!” Unable to reach his wife through the surging mob, Tammuz bellowed the words. “Gemama for king!” Rimaud took up the cry, and others joined in, a few at first, then dozens and more.
At the head of the market, Gemama lowered his hands, looking at the shouting mob, as surprised as anyone. At least the stones pelting him and the other nobles cea
sed. His eyes sought the place where the call started, and he picked out En-hedu and Tammuz.
“Gemama will save us!” En-hedu shouted the words as loud as she could.
Those standing beside Gemama stopped their attacks. One man, his anger vanished in a heartbeat, grabbed the merchant’s arm and lifted it high. “Gemama will be our king!”
The sight of the stout merchant’s arm raised high turned the mood of the mob. “King Gemama! King Gemama!” The chant filled the marketplace, repeated again and again.
Jarud pushed aside the last of those blocking his way, and his hand closed on En-hedu’s shoulder with a grip of bronze. Tammuz and Rimaud struggled a few paces away, helpless to reach her side. The words “King Gemama” came from every voice now, along with appeals for him to save their city.
En-hedu saw Jarud’s sword jerked from its scabbard.
“Wait! Listen to me!” She leaned toward him, shouting the words into his face to make herself heard over the noise. “You will be commander of all of Sumer’s forces!” The sword’s tip reached her breast. “Gemama will need you! You will lead his soldiers! We can help you!” She tried to push herself away from the blade, but the crowd held her fast, swirling around the two of them. No one paid any attention to them. Every eye now remained fixed on Gemama, standing dazed before the chants of the crowd.
Two soldiers moved forward to protect the merchant, who now held both arms high.
Jarud’s eyes burned into hers, but he stayed his sword. He glanced at Gemama, then at her. Understanding came, as he worked out what had happened.
“Help him, Jarud!” she said. “To save Sumer, help him!”
Tammuz and Rimaud pushed their way to her side, both with weapons in their hands. Whether it was their presence or his own choice, Jarud lowered his weapon.
“Make way for the king’s men!” he shouted. “Soldiers, defend King Gemama! Protect Sumer’s king!”
Then he was gone, knocking people left and right until he reached the forefront, to clear the way for Gemama.
En-hedu breathed a sigh of relief and fell against her husband. Her heart still raced in her breast.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tammuz said. “Rimaud, lead the way home.”
They headed toward the same lane that Queen Kushanna had used. They pushed through the last of the crowd. A dozen paces farther, Kushanna lay in the dirt, a large pool of blood staining her dress and the ground beneath it. The pearl necklace and gold rings had vanished. Her guards had abandoned her.
En-hedu stared down in astonishment. Her knife stroke had managed to cut the big blood carrier. Queen Kushanna was dead.
The next day, at mid-afternoon, Hathor and four hundred horsemen appeared outside Sumer’s walls. They had made a fast passage, encountering no resistance and finding a steady source of supplies originally intended for King Shulgi. Now to Hathor’s surprise, he stared at Sumer’s walls and found them undefended, the gates standing open, and a delegation of the city’s inhabitants stepping outside the city and walking toward the Akkadians. Hathor halted his men just out of bowshot of the walls and waited.
A portly man led the way, a single armed soldier accompanying him, but Hathor’s gaze went to the dozen or so frightened men and women walking respectfully behind. Only two strode upright and met his eyes unafraid. Hathor saw the hint of a smile on Tammuz’s lips, while the slight incline of En-hedu’s head told Hathor everything he needed to know.
The man leading the little troop stopped a few steps from the Akkadians. He announced himself as King Gemama. He offered to surrender the city and pay a ransom if they would spare Sumer and its inhabitants. He pleaded for mercy, and blamed the war on Shulgi and his evil wife, both dead.
Gemama’s voice droned on, but Hathor scarcely heard him. The man’s words didn’t matter. Later on, Hathor would find an excuse to speak to En-hedu in private, and she would tell him what had happened and how to resolve Sumer’s future.
Whatever happened, King Eskkar would get quite a shock. Sumer taken without a battle, Queen Kushanna dead, a ransom offered, and all with En-hedu and Tammuz standing directly behind the city’s new king and the leader of his guards. Incredible.
Perhaps, Hathor decided, the gods of Egypt did have power even this far east of the Nile. They had stayed his hand and spared Tammuz’s life. That mercy had saved Hathor’s own life, and in time delivered Cnari into his arms. No man, it seems, could fathom the ways of those who ruled the heavens above and earth below. The conflict between Sumer and Akkad had ended, and neither Hathor nor any of his men needed to risk their lives in battle any more.
Hathor offered a silent prayer to the mighty Egyptian god Ra for this new gift of life. Then, just to be certain, Hathor muttered the same prayer to every single one of the gods that held sway over the land of the Nile.
Epilogue
Eskkar guided Trella up the last and steepest flight of stairs until they reached the open space at the top. The two watchtowers that overhung the city’s main gate were the highest structures in the land, climbing more than twenty-five paces above the ground. No other city, including those in Sumeria, had dared to raise any structure that high. Sunk into the battlement, a tall staff rose even higher into the sky. From its tip, the lion pennant fluttered over their heads, the symbol of the city’s power. Opposite, on the right tower, flew the pennant of the Hawk Clan, its bronze cap catching the rays of the setting sun.
Trella rested her elbows on the waist-high wall and gazed out over the countryside. Eskkar stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her. He touched her stomach, and felt the swell of the child within. Soon there would be another son or daughter to carry on their line. Eskkar hoped for a boy, but Trella shook her head. “This one feels different, husband. I think you will soon have a daughter.”
Behind them, the city of Akkad celebrated once again, its people happy in their deliverance. The Sumerians had pillaged the southern lands, but Akkad itself had avoided the devastating horror of war. The inhabitants had suffered through hardships, but already that memory was fading, as trade resumed and new crops burst from the rich soil. Akkad’s victory turned the city into the hub for every merchant, trader and shipmaster throughout the land. Once again, hundreds, perhaps thousands of people would converge on the city, eager to pass through its gates. Commerce would flourish, and the people would be happy and secure.
Eskkar had returned to Akkad last night, little more than a month after he marched the army south to meet the Sumerians. In that time, the world had changed. Larsa destroyed, Uruk humbled, Isin turned into an ally and trading partner, and Sumer now ruled by Trella’s agents. Shulgi and Kushanna dead and already forgotten.
Even Trella’s brother had survived, rescued by Tammuz and En-hedu from the chaos of Sumer. As soon as Almaric recovered his strength, he would journey north to be reunited with his sister. Whether he would ever fully regain his wits, only time and the gods would decide.
With all its enemies vanquished, Akkad reigned supreme over the land between the rivers. There was no place her soldiers could not march, no land so distant her horsemen could not penetrate, no enemy so bold as to offer challenge. Soon her influence, if not her soldiers, would spread even beyond those boundaries.
Trella raised her arm and pointed toward the north, where the wide ribbon of the Tigris glistened in the setting sun. “That’s where the future of Akkad will lie. Those empty lands will fill with farms and villages. In five or ten years, they will be the source of our strength.”
“Sargon will rule over those lands,” Eskkar said. “He will grow up to be their king as much as Akkad’s. No one will challenge his right to rule now.”
In another few months, the boy would be five seasons old, and already he’d begun to outgrow his childish toys.
“He will be safe for a time,” Trella said, “perhaps for many years. But there will be new enemies, if not from outside these walls then from within. There will always be those who will seek to take what belongs to him.”
“When he is old enough, I will send him north to the lands of the Ur Nammu. They will teach him how to be a warrior. When he returns, you will teach him how to be a king.”
“We’ll talk about that when the time comes.”
Eskkar knew she wasn’t convinced of the wisdom of sending the boy away. But that day of reckoning lay seven or eight years in the future.
“En-hedu is also carrying a child,” Trella said. “Though he may grow up to be more Sumerian than Akkadian.”
“And Cnari has given Hathor a son. Our children and those of our friends will all grow up together.”
“And you and I, Eskkar, will make sure they do. We must never forget that our strength lies in the hearts of our people. As long as we care for them as much as we care for Sargon, they will give us their allegiance. Sumer and Larsa showed what happens when rulers place their own desires above those of their subjects.”
“You will make sure of that,” Eskkar said, “while I will make certain our army remains strong. Gatus would have made sure of that. And who knows from what direction the next danger will come?”
She turned away from the expanse, and put her arms around his neck. “Our blood is still in these walls, husband. And soon our children will draw their strength from these same walls.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I think you will give them more strength than any wall, no matter how high or strong.”
Eskkar glanced up at the heavens. One by one, the stars were breaking through the darkness. Perhaps because of them, he’d survived another battle, another conflict. Whatever role they planned for his future was yet to be played out. But for now, they had given him what he wanted, and he didn’t intend to waste the moment.
“Come, Trella. Let’s go home. I want to play with my son.”
Acknowledgements
Writing about historical events has turned out to be a tricky business. There are so many experts in the various fields, and sometimes it seems they are all arrayed against the lonely writer, who has to get it right while attempting to write an engaging story. Fortunately, for me at least, one author has unwittingly come to my assistance. I want to give special mention to Philip Sidnell, author of Warhorse: Cavalry in Ancient Warfare. His research into the use of horses in warfare confirms what I always believed but could not convincingly prove – that warhorses were used as far back as 3500 BC. Many thanks to Mr Sidnell, who crafted an engaging and well-written history of early cavalry.
