Footfalls sounded on the stairs. Then Sargon stepped into the room. Unlike his father, Sargon stood only of average height, and his frame, while sturdy enough, appeared closer to that of a counting house clerk than a soldier. Wide-spaced eyes made him look older than his years. Despite his detention, someone had combed and arranged the long brown hair, and his tunic appeared fresh and clean. Sargon must have summoned one of the servants to attend him.
Eskkar jerked his head at the guard, who hurriedly closed the door. Eskkar waited while the guard descended the stairs, treading more heavily than usual, no doubt to make sure that the King could hear his descent.
“Welcome home, Father.” Sargon acknowledged his mother with the slightest bow. “Congratulations on your latest victory.” The voice held the tiniest trace of insolence.
Eskkar decided it might just be the lingering effects of the wine. He leaned back against the edge of the table. “Perhaps I should have stayed away a few more days. By then the King’s Justice might have sentenced you to be stoned to death in the market.”
Sargon swaggered to the table and scooped up a handful of grapes. “Nicar would never do such a thing. Nor would Corio demand it, once he calmed down.”
The boy spoke the truth. Nicar, the dispenser of the King’s Justice, would have stayed his hand from that punishment. And while Corio might shout and bluster for a few days, even he would not want a serious breech between his house and the King’s. Sargon was no fool, Eskkar granted his son that. “And what should I do in their stead?”
Tossing a grape into his mouth, Sargon stepped away from the table. “Nothing happened, Father. Besides, Sestana told me she wanted me to take her. She’d been drinking wine before we got there. Then she changed her mind.”
“And after you finished with her, Ziusudra would have taken his turn as well. Your friend knew better than to rape the girl first. He was willing to let you have all the blame.”
Drunk or sober, virgins of Akkad’s noble families were not debauched without serious consequence. Disgraced, Sestana’s bride dowry would have vanished, and the embarrassment to Corio’s House would have had other lingering effects. Eskkar set that thought aside for a moment.
“More important, you disobeyed both your mother and me. You left your teachers, and joined with Ziusudra, despite our orders. What should be your punishment for that?”
Sargon met his father’s gaze. “I promise I will attend to my studies. But I already know more than most of the Noble Families about how to rule a city. There will be plenty of time to study when I am King.”
“Ah, then you think you will rule Akkad someday?”
Sargon seemed to realize that his words might sound presumptuous. “Not for many years yet, I’m sure, Father.”
“And if I decide to choose your brother Melkorak as my heir?”
Melkorak, Eskkar’s other son, had five fewer seasons than Sargon.
Sargon shrugged, unconsciously imitating his father. “Melkorak is too young. And he is slow to learn the symbols. He will not be strong enough or wise enough to command the City.”
Leaving only you to rule when I am gone, Eskkar thought. “You press too hard on my patience, Sargon.” He turned to Trella. “And what do you suggest we should do with our son?”
Trella, sitting so quietly that she had almost faded from the room, fastened her gaze on Sargon. One of the candles illuminated her face, and Eskkar caught the glint of anger in her eyes and in the tension of her lips.
Her look startled him for a moment. He hadn’t seen that expression for. . almost fifteen years, since the night Trella had helped him fight Korthac. She’d saved Eskkar’s life by stabbing the Egyptian usurper in the leg, slowing him down just enough so that Eskkar could defeat him.
When Trella spoke, however, her voice remained calm. Whatever emotions she felt about her son remained locked in her heart, but Eskkar recognized the signs of anger, the signs of a woman and mother pushed too far.
“Perhaps we should ask Ziusudra. Sargon listens to his counsel.” She turned away from Sargon to face Eskkar.
“You should know, Husband, that Ziusudra has a loud voice, and when he talks many hear his words. Yesterday he suggested that you were lucky to survive this battle with the Alur Meriki, and that you might not be so fortunate in the next encounter. He also told Sargon that the Kingship of Akkad was his for the taking. I wonder what he meant by that? Perhaps if Ziusudra spent a session with the torturers, they could obtain the explanation.”
Sargon’s eyes widened. Obviously it had never occurred to him that Trella’s agents might be spying on him. “He never said that! I swear he. .”
Eskkar pushed off from the table, covering the distance between himself and his son in two long strides. For a tall man, Eskkar could move with both speed and agility, a fact that had surprised his enemies and saved his life more than once. Before Sargon could react, Eskkar’s hand clamped on his son’s shoulder with such force that Sargon gasped in surprise and pain.
Jerking his arm, Eskkar shoved Sargon so fiercely that he staggered across the room and slammed into the wall, hard enough to send the sound throughout the house.
Eskkar never stopped moving. He caught Sargon as he bounced off the wall, and this time his right hand fastened around his son’s throat. “You call your mother a liar to her face!”
The grip tightened. Sargon clasped his hands on his father wrist and tried to loosen his grip, but far bigger and stronger men had failed to move that arm.
Sargon’s face turned red, and he gasped for breath. He dropped his right hand to fumble with his tunic. But before he could draw the dagger from beneath his garment, Eskkar caught Sargon’s wrist with his left hand and squeezed. Sargon cried out as the bones in his wrist ground together. The blade clattered to the floor.
“Damn you!” Eskkar twisted his shoulders and flung Sargon back into the center of the room. The boy stumbled and went down, landing awkwardly on the plank floor, his head within the shadow of the table.
The door burst open. The guard, summoned by the noise, took one step into the room, his hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted around the room, seeking any sign of danger.
Eskkar’s frown froze the man in mid step. “Fetch the commander of my guards. At once! And find my Hawk Clan guards, the two who returned with me.”
“Yes, My Lord.” The soldier looked grateful for any excuse to leave the room. He turned and raced back through the door, his heavy sandals pounding on the stairs.
Sargon twisted on his side, and started to rise, but Eskkar clamped his foot on the boy’s chest, pinning him to the floor. “Move and I’ll crush your ribs.” A shift of Eskkar’s weight brought a gasp from Sargon.
Chandor and Pekka arrived together, rushing up the stairs and into the chamber. Saruda, the commander of the Compound’s guards, followed them into the room.
Eskkar’s glare halted all three just inside the chamber. “Saruda, my son Sargon is to be placed in the smallest of the guest quarters. He is to see no one, speak to no one. That includes the servants. You will not obey any of his orders, and you will ignore any requests. If you fail in this duty in the slightest, I’ll have you hung from the city’s walls. Do you understand me?”
Over the past few months, perhaps even longer, the guards had grown accustomed to taking orders from Sargon. That practice had to stop.
“Yes, My Lord.” Saruda glanced down at the boy. “Of course.”
Eskkar turned to the other guards. “You two will remain in the chamber with Sargon. I give you the same orders as Saruda. No one is to see him or talk to him. And he is not to speak with you. If he does, for each word he utters, I order you to punch him as hard as you can in the stomach. If either of you fails to obey my orders, you’ll both wish you’d never been born.”
Eskkar glanced at the guards and his son. Then he turned to Trella. She remained seated on the bench, expressionless, her face drained of color. She met his eyes and nodded.