On the morning of the fifth day, in the pre-dawn darkness, Trella stood in the Courtyard. A crackling torch provided the only light. Outside in the lane, the horsemen, many still rubbing sleep from their eyes, waited to begin the journey. Eskkar had insisted on an early departure. Trella knew her husband wanted none of the city’s inhabitants to witness the spectacle of the king leading his troublesome son into exile.
“Do not blame your father,” Trella said to Sargon, who stood before her. “He. . both of us believe this is for your own good. In my heart, I am certain that you will return to us.”
“You cannot do this to me, Mother. I am your son. You need me here.”
The words sounded well enough, but Trella heard the anger hidden in them. Her son still could not believe his parents would go through with his punishment.
She reached out and touched his cheek. “You must endure this, Sargon, for your own good. Just remember that I love you, and will pray for your swift return.”
Sargon brushed her hand away. “Then I have no mother, no father! No mother would banish her own son.” The boy’s loud words echoed throughout the Compound. The servants and soldiers averted their eyes at the hurtful words.
Eskkar, seeing to his horse a few paces away, strode over. “If you raise your voice again, I’ll have you gagged.”
Sargon glared at them both, then turned away.
Eskkar gave the order to move out. He led his horse out of the Courtyard, with Sargon following, with two Hawk Clan guards on either side.
Stretching her legs to keep up, Trella accompanied them to the main gate, now called Ishtar’s Gate by the people. She gave Eskkar a brief farewell, and tried to say something encouraging to Sargon. But again her son turned his face away.
Tight-lipped, Trella climbed the guard tower steps just as the sun’s first rays of light topped the hills to the east. She watched from the wall as her husband and son rode out. Tears streaked her cheeks, but Trella refused to brush them away. The last time she felt such grief was when she watched her mother and father die, both murdered before her eyes. As she stared, Eskkar put his horse to a canter, and the soldiers matched his pace.
The moment Eskkar and his men passed out of sight, Trella brushed the tears from her face. She turned away from the wall and spoke to the leader of her four Hawk Clan guards, waiting patiently a few steps away.
“Send a messenger to Ningal the merchant. Tell him that the King would be grateful if Ningal would attend him at the Compound at midmorning. And he is to bring his son, Ziusudra, with him.”
That problem, too, needed to be resolved, though she had already taken the first steps.
At the appointed time, Ningal the merchant, and his wayward son, Ziusudra, arrived at the Compound. As they climbed the steps and entered the upper chamber, no doubt the merchant expected to hear angry words from King Eskkar, followed by some sort of fine as punishment.
The passage of time had lessened the impact of the assault. Even Corio, Sestana’s father, had controlled his rage, though he administered a savage beating to his own son for his part in the drunken attack. Of course Ziusudra was no longer welcome at Corio’s house. But after the first two days with no word from the King, Ziusudra assumed the worst of the storm had blown over, and resumed his usual ways, as the city’s gossip turned to other matters.
As two more days passed without any summons, father and son smiled at each other and relaxed. But that idea disappeared the moment Ningal saw the reception that Trella had arranged.
Trella and Annok-sur sat behind the large table, flanked on either side by a Hawk Clan guard. Bantor, the Captain of Akkad’s Guard, sat at the end of the table. Behind him, Hathor, the city’s cavalry commander, leaned his sparse frame against the wall.
No scribes or servants hovered nearby, but more important, Nicar, the King’s Justice, was absent. Befitting their status as wealthy and influential citizens, any of the city’s important traders expected to plead their case in the presence of Nicar. Ningal’s complacent mood vanished as he took in the hard faces of those arrayed before him.
The door to the chamber closed, as Ningal moved into the center of the room.
“I received a summons from the King.” Ningal glanced around, as if expecting Eskkar to join them from the other chamber.
Eskkar’s planned departure had remained a secret, known only to those soldiers and servants within the Compound. The less anyone knew about his goings and comings the safer he, and Trella, too, would be.
She stared at Ningal, observing the worried look that he no doubt thought he was concealing. Ningal’s fine tunic, soft leather sandals, and etched belt did little to enhance his rotund body. The merchant had eaten far too many fine meals, each one accompanied by the most expensive wines.
A weak man despite his successes, ruled by his appetites and desires for wealth. He had fathered only one child, Ziusudra, though he possessed several wives and an extensive collection of nubile slave girls.
Ziusudra, tall and handsome, looked nothing like his father, and Trella wondered if Ningal had, in fact, sired the boy. Her sharp glance examined their ears, and noted that father and son did not resemble each other in that feature. Perhaps some sturdy household slave had taken advantage of one of Ningal’s absences to slip into his wife’s bed and cuckold his master.
Not that it mattered any more. The father’s laxity and the boy’s deviousness and subtlety had brought this punishment upon their family.
Ziusudra, mistaking the brief silence, favored Trella with his best and most sincere smile.
“Eskkar is not here.” Trella did not intend to waste any more of her words or her time. “Ningal, you are being banished from Akkad, you and your family. You have three days in which to depart. And you will make a payment of two hundred gold coins to the King before noon today. Or one hundred if you do not wish for Ziusudra to accompany you. In that case he will be put to death for treason.”
As she spoke, Trella turned her gaze to the son, the ambitious boy who had twisted Sargon to his own purposes.
The smile had left Ziusudra’s face. “I’ve committed no treason!” Ziusudra had grasped the import of her words even faster than his father. “Your own son can swear to that.”
Ningal’s mouth fell open in shock, and it took a moment before he could speak. “Banishment! For a youthful prank, a prank instigated by your son? And two hundred gold coins? Such a fine is unheard of.” Even for a man as wealthy as Ningal, that much gold would be a serious hardship. “I protest! Lady Trella, I demand to see the King’s Justice. This is not allowed and. .”
Hathor pushed himself away from the wall and stepped across the room. Before Ningal could react, Hathor grabbed him by the throat, the powerful muscles in his arm rippling under the dark skin. At the same time, the Egyptian drew the short sword he always carried.
When the sharp blade pressed against Ningal’s stomach, a gasp of panic escaped from his mouth. He tried to shrink away, but Hathor merely tightened his grip.
“The penalty for treason against the King is death.” Trella kept her voice firm, letting it reach through Ningal’s fear. “And if you have forgotten, treason is not resolved by the King’s Justice, only by the King. So if you continue to argue or protest, Hathor will kill you and your son right now. I can collect the gold from your household myself.”
Far tougher and braver men than Ningal had withered under Hathor’s ruthless gaze. The merchant, lips protruding and his face now bright red, attempted to speak. Hathor released his grip on the man’s neck, and shifted his grasp to the front of the man’s richly woven tunic. But the tip of his sword remained firm against Ningal’s soft stomach.