“I. . I will pay! Please don’t kill me. I will leave the city, I swear it!”
With a snort of disgust, Hathor released the man. Ningal would have fallen, but Ziusudra, his eyes wide with shock, caught his father’s arm and held him upright.
“That is wise, Ningal.” Trella’s voice still hadn’t risen. “There is another condition. Neither you nor your son will say anything to anyone about this matter. There will be no mention about the fine, no explanations about why you have decided to leave Akkad. You will just leave the city. The first time I hear talk about what has happened here today, that will be your last day of life. Do you understand?”
Ningal nodded. His lip trembled, and his eyes remained wide with fear.
“After you leave, you will not take up residence within two hundred miles of Akkad. If you do, then your treason will be proclaimed, and a bounty set on both your heads. Perhaps a hundred gold coins for each. You do understand what that means, don’t you, Ningal?”
For that much gold, a hundred men would set out to find the merchant and return with his head. And no city, no ruler within the Land Between the Rivers would offer succor to Ningal, not for any sum. The wrath of Akkad was too well known to take such a risk, not when it would be just as easy to seize Ningal’s possessions for themselves and then turn him over to Akkad for the reward.
“I do. . Lady Trella. I will. . I do.”
“Good. Then you may depart. My guards will accompany you home, and remain at your side until the gold is delivered. Do not waste their time. Leave us.”
Numbed, the merchant nodded and turned to go, still clutching onto his son’s arm. His unsteady gait showed his shock.
Trella waited until father and son had left the room and descended the stairs. “Thank you, Hathor, and you also, Bantor.”
Bantor rose and stretched. “For what? I still think you should have killed him. That would have satisfied Corio, too.”
“Come, Bantor.” Hathor slid his sword back into its scabbard. “We’ve got enough to worry about.”
Bantor glanced at his wife in resignation, and shook his head. The two commanders departed, taking the guards with them.
As the door closed, Trella breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad that’s done.”
“Bantor is right.” Annok-sur shook her head. “You should have killed them both. And confiscated all their goods.”
“No, this way is better. Eskkar and I agreed on this. Better not to give Sargon another reason to hate us.” She refused to consider the possibility that she might never see her son again. “Besides, time and uncertainty will work in our favor. You have set everything in motion?”
“Yes. Derina left yesterday for Lagash. She will be in place by the time Ningal arrives. The fool does not even know that he goes where we want him to go.”
Everyone knew that the merchant had kin in the city of Lagash to the west. And that place lay just outside the two hundred miles that Trella had specified. Where else would Ningal go to restart his ventures?
“And Derina’s box is ready?”
“Almost. She will make a stop or two along the way, to gather what she needs. When Ningal arrives in Lagash, he will be searching for household servants. Derina’s cooking skills will make her the obvious choice. She understands she is to wait two or three months before serving her special mushrooms.”
And that would be the end of Ningal and Ziusudra. They would die by poison in a distant land, and no connection to Akkad would ever be established. Nevertheless, many would guess the truth, and even more would respect the long reach of Trella’s power. Most of all, the boy who had poisoned her son’s thoughts would die in agony of poison himself, a fitting end to a short and wasted life.
14
At about the same time that Ningal and Ziusudra learned their fate, Sargon slid from his horse and stretched his stiff legs. He hadn’t ridden a horse for at least ten or twelve days, though Eskkar had told Sargon often enough that he should ride every day. Now, with his father pressing the pace, Sargon’s lack of endurance showed itself. Eskkar obviously had wanted to get as far from Akkad as possible before stopping. Though Sargon knew how to ride, he’d never covered so much ground without stopping to rest.
The soldiers milled around, talking among themselves while easing their own muscles, though none of them showed any signs of weariness. No one paid much attention to Sargon, except for Chandra and Pekka, his father’s bodyguards, who had ridden at Sargon’s side during the journey. They, too, had received their orders — to keep a close eye on the King’s son.
Sargon felt tempted to tell them not to bother. He knew better than to try and run away. Any of these men Eskkar had chosen for this expedition would have little trouble catching Sargon, binding his hands, and leading him back. He didn’t intend to give his father that satisfaction.
Instead Sargon tossed his horse’s halter to Chandra and sat on the ground. Though surrounded by twenty men, he remained as alone as if he were still imprisoned in his room. The soldiers ignored him. They knew of Sargon’s banishment, and that knowledge made them keep their distance. No one wanted to get caught between the King and his son.
The guards meant nothing to Sargon. He thought as little of them as they did of him. Simple creatures, they did as they were told.
Sargon glanced up, to see Eskkar striding toward him.
“We’ve a long ride ahead of us, Sargon.” Eskkar kept his voice low, and his words cold and flat. “Don’t give the soldiers any trouble. If you try and run away, they’ll hunt you down. When they find you, they’ll break one of your legs, to make sure you don’t try it again. So unless you want to face a long and painful ride with a broken leg, do as you’re told.”
Sargon glared at his father, but said nothing.
Eskkar met his son’s gaze for a moment, then turned away and raised his voice. “Mount up. Let’s get moving.”
At that moment, Sargon’s last glimmer of hope, that his mother and father might be testing him vanished, dispelled by the grim look in Eskkar’s eyes. His father never spoke much, but when he did, especially in that tone of voice, Eskkar meant what he said.
Sullenly, Sargon mounted his horse — not his own horse, just some nag the soldiers had given him — and started moving. Four guards accompanied him, two in front and two behind. Two of them had ropes slung over their shoulders, which Sargon knew would be used to restrain him if he attempted to slip away.
Sargon’s fist tightened around the halter rope, and he fought the urge to take his anger out on the horse. He hated the soldiers, hated all of them, especially Chandra and Pekka, his father’s efficient bodyguards, both loyal members of the Hawk Clan.
The fact that Sargon was the heir to the kingdom meant nothing to them. Their loyalty lay with the King, not his son. They were too stupid to understand that Akkad’s future lay with Sargon, not his father.
His horse needed little guidance. The animal followed those ahead of it, so Sargon had plenty of time to brood. He remembered his mother’s goodbye, uttered just before they left the courtyard. This is not the end, she said, leaning forward and kissing his cheek, only the beginning. After those brief words, she moved away, to linger much longer as she whispered her farewell to the king.
Sargon glimpsed her once more, as he rode through the gate and left the city. A glance back toward Akkad’s walls revealed her, bathed in the first rays of dawn, standing atop the tower, watching the company of toughened fighters depart. But her gaze, Sargon knew, was directed at her husband, not the son that she had condemned and banished.
He decided that he hated his mother even more than his father. Despite Eskkar uttering the shocking words that he would take his son to the Ur Nammu, Sargon blamed his mother for his banishment.