“You will get yourself killed one of these days.” Alexar shouted to be heard over the din. His smile softened the rebuke.
Eskkar took a deep breath. “Silence!” He used his command voice, and the cheering slowly died away. He glanced around for a moment, to make sure he had his men’s attention.
“There won’t be any more fighting. They’re going to give us everything we want.” That elicited another even more thunderous shout. For a brief moment, Eskkar basked in the admiration of his companions, before he raised his hands and ordered them to keep quiet again.
He quickly told them what the warriors had agreed to. His commanders listened in stunned silence, while the soldiers clustered around their leaders renewed their cheering. Every one of them had been expecting a another bloody assault before the morning ended. Now it appeared that they might all get home alive.
Everyone had a question. When the excited soldiers finally calmed down, Eskkar told them the rest of the agreement.
“I’m going to ride into their camp. I want to speak to the warriors. For the last forty years, they’ve heard only their clan leaders and Thutmose-sin. It’s time they heard another voice. This Urgo seems willing to listen to something new.”
Alexar shook his head. “I don’t believe this. You’re going to ride into their camp, to talk to them? You’ll never get out alive.”
“Alexar’s right.” Hathor, too, couldn’t believe what he heard. “This is beyond courage. The battle madness has taken your wits.”
“There is some danger,” Eskkar admitted. “But if I can turn aide the hatred of those warriors, no clan leader will ever be able to renounce the agreement. Think of it, a thousand warriors at our command.” He lowered his voice, so that only Hathor and Alexar could hear. “Remember, the Elamites are coming.”
“I’m going with you,” Hathor said. “And we’ll bring twenty horsemen.”
Eskkar considered the idea. “A warrior chief is expected to bring his second in command with him whenever anything of importance is discussed.”
“Good,” Alexar said. “I’ll go with you, too.”
“No, this time I think it would be better for Hathor to accompany me. And the fact that he is an Egyptian and someone from another land who fights for Akkad may impress the warriors. I’ll take him and two Hawk Clan guards. That will be enough. The rest of you will wait here.”
Nevertheless, all his commanders urged him to reconsider, or at the least to take more men. But no amount of arguing could change Eskkar’s mind. Finally he glanced up at the sun. “Enough talk. The time for the meeting is almost at hand, and I still have some things to prepare.”
At the appointed time, Eskkar led the way across the stream. Though he hadn’t worn it during the fight with Thutmose-sin, Eskkar now wore his bronze breastplate, knowing that it would impress the warriors. His soft brown cloak, a gift from Trella, hung down his back. Like the breastplate, the fine garment would create a favorable image in the warriors’ eyes.
No other Akkadian possessed such an article of clothing. Eskkar’s long hair had been combed and tied back neatly with a thin strip of leather.
Before leaving, Eskkar had plunged into the chilly water of the stream to cleanse himself of the dust and blood spatter, and his guards had seen to his horse. While the sleepy looking beast would never look impressive, at least the animal’s coat shone after a quick splash in the stream and a good brushing. Eskkar’s sword had been cleaned and oiled, and once again slid easily in its scabbard.
“Ra’s beard!” In times of stress, Hathor often called up the old gods of Egypt, instead of Marduk or Ishtar, the main deities of Akkad. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
He rode at Eskkar’s left side, with the Hawk Clan guards, Chandor and Pekka, following behind. Both soldiers looked grim, each convinced they were going to their deaths at the hands of the barbarians.
The sight of what awaited gave weight to Hathor’s remark. The Alur Meriki had drawn their warriors up in ranks at the base of the hill. He guessed at least a thousand mounted fighters sat on their horses and watched as the Akkadians approached. Many displayed rough, bloodstained bandages.
Filling the hill behind them stood the women and children of the Alur Meriki, rising up almost to the crest. Apparently the caravan had reached the camp late this morning. Anyone who could walk or ride had abandoned their wagons and climbed the hill to watch their warriors meet with the hated dirt eaters.
Eskkar guessed that close to four thousand warriors, old men, women, children, and slaves stared in fascination at the four Akkadians riding slowly toward them. Led, of course, by the hated outcast Eskkar who had defeated their sons, husbands and fathers.
To his surprise, Eskkar felt no pangs of anxiety as he rode toward the massed horde of Alur Meriki. They were, after all, his own people. They had not declared his family outcasts, only the Sarum, now long dead, and Thutmose-sin, his son, carried on the blood feud.
While such feuds could span generations, fueled by the slightest of incidents, such quarrels could also end abruptly under the right circumstances. That knowledge had determined Eskkar’s decision, and now he had to trust to his instinct to see him through.
Twenty paces in front of the horsemen, Urgo, Bekka, and another clan chief waited.
With scarcely a glance at the grim warriors crowded behind their leaders, Eskkar rode up to the three chiefs, halting when his horse’s nose practically touched Urgo’s mount.
“Greetings, Sarum of the Alur Meriki.” Eskkar raised his voice, so that many of the Alur Meriki could hear. Hopefully, they would appreciate the sign of respect. “This is Hathor, from the land of Egypt. He commands my horsemen.”
Hathor inclined his head to show respect to Urgo’s rank.
The guards needed no introduction. Eskkar hoped they had their faces under control. He had warned them not to show any signs of fear. Now was not the time to look weak.
“Greetings, Eskkar of Akkad.” Urgo acknowledged Hathor’s greeting with a nod, and gestured to the warrior on his right. “This is Suijan, leader of the Fox Clan.”
Eskkar nodded politely. Suijan’s left arm hung in a rope sling, and though he kept his face impassive, he could not conceal the occasional pain he struggled to control. But for such an event, every chief that could sit on a horse would ignore his wounds to partake in this meeting.
Neither Suijan nor Bekka displayed any signs of hostility. All three appeared more interested in Hathor. His tall frame and bald head were as impressive as the scars that marked his body. No doubt they had seen few if any Egyptians in their wanderings.
“Bekka and I have spoken with Suijan, and he, too, has agreed to your requests.” Urgo glanced over his shoulder. “I have told our warriors what you have asked for, if there is to be peace. They have accepted it, and will swear the oath of friendship. You said you wished to speak to our men.”
“I do.” Eskkar reached into his cloak. A pocket on the inside held the copper medallion, taken from the body of Thutmose-sin, that for generations belonged to the Great Chief of the Alur Meriki. Eskkar drew it forth, and held it up for all to see.
“I return this emblem to the people of the Alur Meriki.”
Eskkar’s powerful voice echoed off the cliffs. His words, spoken in the language of his youth, easily reached the top of the hill. He leaned forward and handed the medallion to Urgo. As the new Sarum accepted the token and donned the polished copper, Eskkar guided his horse forward, moving past the three clan chiefs, until he stood between them and the host of warriors.
He took a deep breath. All of them needed to hear his words. “Warriors of the Alur Meriki. I am Eskkar, once of the Hawk Clan. As a boy, I rode with my father and with our warriors in the service of my Clan.”