“Get him out of here.”
The moment the door closed behind them, Eskkar whirled and returned to the table. He wanted to strike something, someone. Instead he pounded the surface with the heel of his hand. “Damn him to the pits.” Taking a deep breath, Eskkar regained control of his emotions. He filled his cup with wine, and gulped half of it, spilling a mouthful on his clean tunic in the process.
“My son!” The bitterness grated on his tongue. “I taught him everything but honor.”
“That cannot be taught, unless the pupil already has the seeds within him.” Her eyes closed for a moment. “But perhaps it is not too late for Sargon. You know I have never approved of your idea of sending him to the Steppes People to learn the ways of war. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps it is time for him to learn honor the hard way.”
He stared at her. “Then he will have one last chance to learn it. Tomorrow he will accompany me to the north. I will take him to Subutai of the Ur Nammu. Maybe he can teach our son what I have failed.”
Trella’s eyes closed at Eskkar’s words. She knew what they meant, and she did not protest. Her son would likely die in the north. “You have not failed, Eskkar. It is I who have put up with Sargon’s bad habits far longer than I should. Now I will have to bear the responsibility for that.”
Eskkar sat beside her. Taking her in his arms, he felt her tremble against him, as she rested her head on his shoulder. After a few moments, she regained her composure.
“Now the gods will decide his future.” Trella’s voice had regained its decisiveness.
Eskkar had more faith in Subutai than any gods, but decided to keep that thought to himself.
Loud voices sounded through the door, coming from the common room below.
“Damn every demon, now what?” Eskkar strode to the door, flung it open so hard that it slammed against the wall, and stared down into the house’s main chamber.
Corio stood there, his path blocked by one of the household guards. “Eskkar! I demand to speak to you. Right now!”
The last man in Akkad Eskkar wanted to see. He considered sending the outraged girl’s father away, but decided that he respected Corio too much to avoid him. Besides, if Eskkar sent him away, the man’s anger would only increase. “Come on up, Corio.”
A moment later, the Noble Corio, his face red with anger, stomped into the room. “Eskkar, do you know what your son has done?”
Eskkar held up his hand and shook his head. “Save your words, Corio. If you’re not satisfied with what I intend for the boy, you can use my own knife to cut off his balls.”
13
That night and the next day strained Trella’s resolve. She had to set aside her own sorrow and worries to deal with her husband, who alternated between the darkest gloom and a burning fury. In his anger, Eskkar wanted to ride out of Akkad the next day, but Trella pleaded with him to wait a few days.
“I want to prepare some things before you go,” Trella said. “And you need time to select your men and ready your supplies. It may be a long journey, and you should get some rest. Also, I want to prepare gifts for the Ur Nammu. That may help them receive Sargon more favorably.”
Grudgingly Eskkar agreed to the delay.
That time stretched out to four days, during which Trella prepared for Eskkar and Sargon’s departure.
“There is much you will need, my husband,” she said, more than once. “Traveling will be difficult, so it is better to take our time.”
She saw how Eskkar hated each day of waiting. Trella understood his dilemma — he feared that he might weaken in his resolve, and release Sargon from his confinement, to give the boy yet one more chance. On several occasions Eskkar turned to her, the anguish plain on his face. Eskkar’s unspoken plea was that she would change her mind about Sargon’s banishment.
Those moments wrenched at Trella’s heart. She had acquiesced to Eskkar’s decision, but her love for her son shook her resolve. If she weakened the slightest, Eskkar would rescind his orders. But though the decision tested her strength of will, Trella refused to relent. The boy was counting on them doing just that. But Sargon had created a crisis that must be resolved, once and for all.
She and Eskkar had labored for too many years to establish their place at the top of Akkad’s hierarchy. They had gambled their lives more than once, and endured too much danger, to risk everything now on a wayward son. As he was, Sargon would never be a good or wise ruler. And the fact that he would keep company with one who spoke against his father’s rule was damning of itself, far worse than anything Sargon could have done to Sestana.
All Trella’s efforts to ensure their rule could still come to naught if Eskkar died without a suitable heir. With a weak son, several of the nobles and even some of the soldiers might be tempted to put themselves forth as the next King of Akkad.
In her heart, she doubted that their oldest son would ever fill the role of heir. And despite Sargon’s claims that he would change, she’d seen youths such as this before. She knew that her son’s shiftlessness would only increase as he grew older. Those who took to drinking too much ale so young rarely abandoned the habit as they grew older.
Trella dared not let the years pass, hoping that Sargon would outgrow his wildness. With the danger from the Elamites approaching, the need for a suitable heir had grown even more urgent.
Better to remove the boy now, give him this one last chance, before he grew old enough to cause more serious trouble. Despite the pain it brought her, Trella knew Sargon had to go the Ur Nammu. He needed the hard training, both physical and mental, that Sargon had failed to receive in Akkad, with its ever-present temptations.
Sargon, of course, only added to Trella’s woes. She visited him several times each day, and at every opportunity to speak he pleaded for another chance, another opportunity. He swore that he would drink no wine, that he would attend to his studies, and obey his teachers. Again and again, Sargon pleaded his case, and as the days passed without setting out on the journey, Trella saw that her son’s belief that they would relent increased.
Both father and son underestimated Trella’s resolve. She needed a suitable heir to the city, someone who could rule one day, and accept Trella’s guidance.
“The time to resolve this problem is now,” she told Eskkar. “Akkad has enemies within and without, all waiting for us to show the least sign of weakness. Many harbor hatred in their hearts toward us. You, because you were born a barbarian, and I because I was a slave. While I love my son in spite of his foolishness, others might use him to threaten us or our family. We must also think of Melkorak and Zakita.”
That thought, in the end, kept her determination strong. Trella had other children to consider. Nor was she too old to have another child. If Melkorak did not yet display the sharp mind needed for a ruler, at least he would accept his mother’s guidance. As would Trella’s daughter, Zakita, who possessed keen wits. Both would play significant roles in Akkad’s expansion in the coming years. No, she would not risk their futures to save Sargon’s.
Both Trella and Eskkar remembered that the boy had lied, and they remembered, too, that he had reached for the knife he’d worn under his tunic. Any son who dared raise his hand against his father might be put to death. Exile from the family would be considered a mercy.
So the days passed. Eskkar fell back into what he did best, choosing his men and horses, and deciding what to take with him. Trella agreed that he should take Chandor and Pekka, his bodyguards, of course, along with twenty of Hathor’s best horse fighters, ten of them already Hawk Clan.
Hathor had insisted on accompanying his king, but Eskkar refused, unwilling to waste Hathor’s time on such a mission. Eskkar did accept Draelin, one of Hathor’s senior men, to be his second in command. Six pack horses would accompany the riders, burdened with supplies for the trip and gifts to the Ur Nammu, most of those selected by Trella herself.