by Sam Barone
Since then, through the evening meal and continuing long into the night, servants had crept past Korthac’s room, moving up and down the stairs to her quarters. Even now her muffled groans echoed throughout the house, diluting his pleasure and upsetting his sleep. He’d be glad when she dropped the babe, or died in the delivery.
Not that he wanted her to die. He planned to keep her beside him, to show the city’s inhabitants that he possessed complete control over their lives. Perhaps he wouldn’t need her for much longer. Since he’d seized power three days ago, his men had killed more than a hundred people, and the brutal lessons appeared to be working. The last two nights had seen Akkad quiet down.
Anyone who protested, anyone who failed to show proper respect, anyone who failed to yield to his men as they walked the street, all met the same fate: torture and death in the city’s marketplace. The people of Akkad had taken the first step to their proper place in his world—on their knees and at his feet.
As for Trella, he would wait until she became fit to bed. He wanted to enjoy the look in her eyes when he took her. Her child would be the means to keep her respectful, and he intended to turn her into the most obedient and pleasure-giving slave in the city. Yes, that would satisfy him for some time, perhaps even a few months. When he grew tired of Trella, she would pleasure every one of his men. Only then would he toss the child into the flames, in front of her.
Unable to sleep, Korthac rose from his bed as he contemplated that pleasant future. He often went through days when he found it difficult to sleep at night, and had learned not to fight against it. Better to just get up and walk around.
Another muffled moan from upstairs recalled Trella to his thoughts.
As soon as she gave birth, he’d move her out of her quarters and into this room. Then, at last, he would have privacy and a quiet place to sleep at night. Korthac had examined all of the larger residences in Akkad, and Eskkar’s home came closest to his ideal. It would do for a few months, until his new slaves built him a much grander residence.
He frowned at the faint voices drifting down from above. The lamp burned low, and he ordered the guard standing just outside his door to refill it. Fully awake, Korthac pulled on his tunic and belted the sword around his waist. The guard returned with more oil, and the room brightened again.
Korthac, wide awake now, noticed the forgotten child still staring at him from the floor, her tear-streaked face showing both fear and pain. “Go home,” he ordered. “Tell your family that you failed to please me.” That would bring terror to her parents, who would wonder what horror would befall them next.
He went outside, taking a deep breath of the fresh night air. His room had only a small aperture high in the wall for ventilation, and its air easily grew stale. A glance at the heavens told him midnight had already passed.
Korthac walked around the compound, checking the guards at the courtyard gate, and stopping at the soldiers’ quarters to make sure they stood ready.
Not that he expected trouble. After the bloodbath of the first day, he had crushed every look or word of opposition. His men executed two entire families, dragging them to the marketplace so that all could witness his power. One man dared to protest the new tax, and the other had struck one of his Egyptians. Korthac determined to kill any that failed to show respect.
Meanwhile his followers grew more numerous with each day, paid for with the tax he demanded from the nobles. Most of his newest followers appeared little better than rabble. Once again he wished for another hundred of his Egyptian fighters. Not that it mattered. He had enough men, and Ariamus continued to gather more. In three or four weeks, all in Akkad would have forgotten all about their previous lives.
Feeling refreshed by the night air, Korthac sat at the big table in the garden, glancing up at the starry sky. A nervous servant brought water and wine out to him, and Korthac listened with half-interest to the report of the night-watch commander. The city remained quiet, its inhabitants in their homes where they belonged, afraid to step out on the streets at night.
Since the first day of the city’s capture, he had given his men free rein after darkness fell. That meant they could stop any man or woman they encountered away from their homes. After that first night, the streets and lanes were deserted, as families huddled together in their huts.
That didn’t protect them for long. His men soon began entering houses at random, pulling wives and daughters from their families’ arms. Korthac knew that he would have to restrain his men somewhat after a few more days, but for now, they kept the inhabitants paralyzed with fear while they indulged themselves in the spoils of war.
Another cry came from the house. Annoyed, Korthac finished his wine and went back inside. He climbed the stairs and entered the outer room.
One of his Egyptians waited there, detailed to guard Trella and keep her in her chamber. Korthac paused at the bedroom door. Two lamps burned inside, adding the bitter tang of heated oil to the dank, warm air that smelled of sweat and birthing blood.
Annok-sur sat on a stool next to the bed, holding Trella’s hand. She lay there, legs apart, moaning in pain. Sweat covered her naked body, and her hair hung limply over her face. Even in her suffering, Trella knew better than to try and cover her body from her master’s eyes. Two other women attended her, one of them he recognized as the midwife. Korthac remembered how Annok-sur, on her knees before him, begged him to grant the midwife safe passage into Akkad and back to her home after the birth. It had pleased him to agree.
Trella’s body contracted. Her back arched, as she struggled to force the child from her womb. Eyes wide, she looked at him, unable to control either her body or the pain.
“You’re keeping the household awake, Lady Trella.” Korthac enjoyed using her former title. He leaned against the doorway, enjoying her helplessness. “How much longer will I have to hear your whining?”
“The child is coming, master,” Drusala said, her voice humble. “It won’t be long now. Please forgive us.”
At least the midwife knew her place, Korthac decided. Not that he intended to keep his promise of safe passage back to the countryside. His men wanted women, and soon there would be plenty of need for her skill in Akkad.
Trella’s body heaved again. The contraction forced another moan of pain from her clenched lips, despite her effort to remain silent. Korthac peered at her belly. Yes, the infant’s bloody head now showed. The birthing had started.
Without a word, he turned away from the oppressive atmosphere.
“Call me when the child is born,” he said to the guard. “I want to see it, to make sure it’s fit to live.”
He went downstairs and back outside, to the fresh air. The servant brought more wine, but he took only a sip. If the child survived, he’d let Trella nurse it for a few days, just long enough for her to grow attached to it, before he took it from her. Her milk would dry up after that, say in another week or so, and she’d be ready to begin serving him properly.
Not that he intended to wait that long to begin her training. He’d already thought of many things she could do to please him.
Chapter 22
As Eskkar and his men slipped through the darkness and approached Akkad’s north wall, he refused to dwell on the countless things that could go wrong. He had to get into Akkad. If he could accomplish that task, the most difficult part of the plan would be behind them.
To scale the wall, Eskkar brought with him Grond, Mitrac, Alexar, and two of Mitrac’s best archers, the same bowmen who had followed him over the palisade at Bisitun. Mitrac with his keen eyesight led the group down into the ditch. They crept in silence across the empty space, bent over as much as possible to reduce their silhouette.
A hundred paces behind them, Drakis waited, out of sight and hopefully out of earshot, with twenty-eight more soldiers. They would approach the wall only when Eskkar and his own group reached the top.
Bantor had taken the rest of the men, leading them off toward the river gate, ready to supp
ort the handful who’d gone ahead with Yavtar.
Eskkar put everything out of his mind except the need to move without making a sound and without stumbling over some obstacle hidden by the darkness. He couldn’t see any sentries on the wall above him, but they would be there.
With his handful of men, Eskkar reached the base of the wall, at the exact spot where the Alur Meriki had launched their night attack months earlier. Eskkar led the way out of the ditch, and one by one, they spread out along the base of the wall, hugging its rough surface as much as possible.
Except for the three archers with their bows, neither Eskkar, Alexar, or Grond carried any ready weapons that might clink against the wall and give them away. All their swords and knives had been wrapped in a blanket Alexar carried. Eskkar bore a ladder, and Grond had two coils of rope slung around his neck. The ladder and ropes had come from Rebba’s farm.
They had gotten this far without seeing anyone, following the riverbank from Rebba’s house before cutting across the fields. Now Eskkar and his men knelt in the dirt, freezing into immobility when they heard the sentry’s footsteps above their heads. Time dragged by as they waited, listening to the sentry’s tread as he walked along the parapet above them.
He strolled back and forth a few times, then the sounds faded away. Eskkar couldn’t tell if the guard had moved along, or simply sat down to rest his feet, no doubt leaning his back against the wall.
Only Mitrac, waiting in the center of the ditch and covered with a dark cloak, could see the sentry. Eskkar and the others waited, still pressed flat against the wall. As long as they made no noise, they wouldn’t be discovered. The guard would have to lean out over the wall to see directly beneath it.
Eskkar heard footsteps again as the sentry returned, walking slowly, until once again his footfalls faded away. Still they waited, and Eskkar stared into the ditch, looking for Mitrac’s signal. In the heavens, the three-quarter moon had begun to descend, but it would still shed some light until nearly dawn.
Grond’s hand suddenly tightened on Eskkar’s arm. “The signal, Captain.”
Eskkar swore to himself. He hadn’t seen Mitrac give the sign, but that didn’t matter anymore. “Hurry, then. The moon is sinking fast.”
Grond took the ladder hidden beneath them and leaned it up against the wall, taking care not to make any sound. Eskkar grabbed one side of it, Alexar grasped the other, and between them they held it firmly against the fifteen-foot high wall. Eskkar had measured the ladder before they left and found it just short of ten feet. Rebba’s men used it mainly for picking fruit from trees. The soldiers had selected the sturdiest one on the farm, then tightened and reinforced its bindings and steps; a snapped rung might ruin the attempt to scale the wall.
Under Grond’s weight, the ladder sank a little into the sandy soil, and Eskkar leaned on it with all his weight to keep it from twisting. Grond mounted the rungs until he reached the highest place on the ladder, then reached up with his arms.
With his head twisted upright, Eskkar saw that Grond’s fingers were still short of the top by nearly an arm’s length. Grond merely bent his knees, taking care not to disturb his balance, then straightened them with a rush. For a moment, Eskkar thought the man had missed and would come tumbling back down on top of them. But Grond caught one hand on the top, then the other. He hung for a moment before pulling himself up. Once he had an elbow atop the wall, he jerked his body and swung a leg up and over the top.
Grond disappeared from sight. No one had raised an alarm, and Eskkar breathed a sigh of relief. He let go of the ladder and stepped back, glancing along the wall in both directions. He heard no sound or outcry.
Grond carried no weapon with him, nothing but his bare hands, but Eskkar had no doubt as to the outcome if a sentry encountered Grond.
The faint rasp of a bow being drawn made him turn around. Mitrac had moved forward and joined the others at the base of the wall, his bow ready. By now all three archers knelt in the dirt, arrows pointed toward the top of the wall.
Grond called down to them in a whisper, and Alexar straightened up and threw the first rope up and over the wall. As Eskkar watched, the rope and Grond vanished from sight. A moment later, the rest of the rope slithered up the mud-bricks. The thick hemp strand, knotted every arm’s length, would making climbing easier. Grond’s head reappeared, and he waved his hand.
Instantly, Mitrac replaced his arrow back into his quiver, climbed up out of the ditch, and stepped up to the ladder. He handed his bow and quiver to Eskkar, who took them in one hand as his weight leaned against the ladder. The young archer moved nimbly up the ladder, then took hold of the rope and pulled himself up the last few feet.
The rope made a rubbing noise against the wall, loud to Eskkar’s ears but slight enough not to be noticed from above. The instant Mitrac went over the top, the next archer started moving, clutching bow and quiver in one hand. Reaching the top of the ladder, he paused and handed up his weapon, then reached down, took Mitrac’s from Eskkar, and passed that one up as well. When the archer started up the rope, he slipped. For a moment he hung there, his feet scratching the wall for purchase, until Grond leaned down and caught the man’s arm and pulled him up the last few feet.
The third archer had already reached the ladder and began climbing, the tip of his bow nearly poking Eskkar in the eye as he handed it up before seizing the rope.
At last it was Eskkar’s turn, with Alexar holding the ladder. Eskkar pulled himself up the rope, though he welcomed Grond’s help when his friend reached down and caught him under the arm. Once over the wall, Eskkar found no one there but Grond.
The archers had disappeared along the parapet, following Mitrac’s orders to eliminate any sentries, leaving Grond and Eskkar to work the rope. They called down softly, and Alexar tossed up one end of the second rope. Attached to the other end was the blanket containing their weapons; it, too, was quickly drawn up the wall. The men’s swords and knives had been carefully rolled inside, as well as Alexar’s bow and quiver.
Only Alexar remained on the ground. He lowered the ladder, too unsteady to use without being braced, against the base of the wall, then wrapped the first rope around his waist. A moment later, Eskkar and Grond pulled him up and over the wall, to stand beside them on the parapet.
The first part of the plan had succeeded—six men had scaled the wall, and no one had detected them.
Eskkar’s eyes searched the parapet as Grond untied the bundle and distributed the weapons, the three men crouched low against the wall. Alexar took his bow and vanished down the steps and into the darkness to watch the lane, leaving Grond and Eskkar alone on the parapet. Eskkar breathed a thanks to the gods, then dangled his sword carefully alongside the wall and waved it back and forth. There would be just enough moonlight for Drakis to see the signal.
Meanwhile Grond fastened the second rope to a wooden brace a dozen paces away from the first one, then tossed the trailing end over the wall. Eskkar looked up and down the parapet, but saw nothing. Turning toward the ditch, he watched as Drakis urged his men forward and began sending them across the ditch, ten at a time. They lined up five to each rope and began pulling themselves up the wall. Eskkar ground his teeth at every noise, certain they would be discovered at any moment.
The head of the first soldier appeared over the wall and Eskkar dragged him up and over with all his strength, both of them almost falling to the parapet from the effort. But with the two of them working together, the next man came over easier and with less noise.
Eskkar took a moment to make sure he had his bearings and that no one wandered the lanes. Reassuringly, the lane remained empty. He whispered to the soldier, to make sure the man knew where to send the men when they climbed the wall. Before Eskkar left the parapet, he glanced out over the ditch, but he could scarcely see Drakis’s men as they slipped across the open space facing the wall. Turning toward the village, he heard only silence. The sentry would be dead by now, killed by one of Mitrac’s arrows, or he would hav
e returned, making his rounds.
Stepping away from the edge of the wall, Eskkar descended the steps from the parapet and entered the city of Akkad. He crossed the space at the bottom of the wall. During the siege, this open area once measured about thirty paces wide, but since the Alur Meriki had been driven off, villagers had rebuilt or extended their houses, once again encroaching on the wall. Less than a dozen paces of open space remained at the base of the parapet. Butcher’s Lane ended there. Its familiar smells recalled the memory of how they had ambushed the Alur Meriki exactly at this spot, slaughtering their proud warriors like sheep caught in a pen.
Eskkar went to the end of the lane and waited for his men to catch up.
His eyes strained in the darkness, and he listened for every sound. Then Grond reached his side, with three more men. Looking back toward the wall, Eskkar could just make out the moving shadows as they climbed over the wall. To his ears, they sounded as loud as a herd of horses, but so far, no one had raised an alarm.
Mitrac returned, along with his two archers, at the same time that Drakis, breathing hard, came down the steps to join him.
Eskkar put his hand on Drakis’s shoulder. “You know what to do, Drakis? Wait here until all your men are with you. Then get to the gate as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Captain,” the man replied in a whisper. “We’ll be there.”
“Good hunting, then.” Eskkar clasped his arm, then turned away, Grond, Mitrac, and five more Hawk Clan following, all of them experienced archers. Eskkar resisted the urge to rush, forcing himself to walk along at a regular pace. Counting himself, he had eight men, not as many as he preferred, but Bantor and Drakis would need every man. Besides, if Eskkar had to fight his way into his house, Trella would likely be dead before he could reach her.
They had several streets to cross as they turned and twisted their passage toward their destination. He glanced up at the fading moon. It would be dawn soon. The light of the moon had almost disappeared.
