In the war against Sumer, the Akkadians had raised an army of more than five thousand men, more than enough to defeat and tame the Sumerians and their allies. What could a few hundred barbarians matter against such a force?
By now thirteen days of hard riding had passed. Although well-mounted, the troop had traveled a vast distance. Sargon knew his father and the soldiers had only the most general location of where the small clan of steppes warriors might be found, and the last four or five days included much searching and scouting, all of which required caution on the part of the soldiers.
Far enough from home that even the name Akkad meant little or nothing to the inhabitants, the few people living in these lands remained fraught with fear. Any large party of armed men warranted suspicion, and more than a few farmers or herders fled in fright at first sight of the Akkadians.
Sargon watched with interest when they did cross paths with a band of marauders, about fifteen well armed men, all of them mounted, who watched their progress for half a day. To the soldiers’ disappointment, his father ignored the bandits.
Eventually they abandoned any ideas of raiding Eskkar’s party. The six pack animals promised little reward when balanced against the heavily armed Akkadians and their greater numbers.
None of the soldiers appeared the least concerned, and Sargon soon realized that raiders such as these had little stomach for a tough fight, one that promised only hard knocks and empty purses even if they were successful. All the same, Eskkar ordered extra guards on duty each night, to protect both the horses and the camp. Sargon, of course, had no such duty to perform.
After another day of fruitless searching, Sargon started to believe that they were not going to find the wandering clan, and that his father might soon be forced to return to Akkad. Then Eskkar’s troop sighted a small band of five riders, outlined on top of a hill almost a mile away.
Though yet at a great distance, Sargon heard Draelin claim he could see yellow strips dangling from their lance tips. Sargon couldn’t be sure, but his father ordered the large yellow pennant broken out. Lifting that standard and waving it back and forth brought a reaction.
Two of the riders guided their mounts down the slope, heading for the Akkadians, the other three warriors holding back. If this were a trap, they could escape to the north and gather their clan.
With much care, the two riders approached. Meanwhile, Eskkar ordered his men to dismount. Sargon, at the back of the caravan, stared helplessly, hoping these were not the Ur Nammu. His last dream of returning to Akkad turned to ashes when one of the horsemen gave a shout, and urged his horse forward, calling out Eskkar’s name. The rider had recognized Akkad’s leader.
Sargon watched the barbarian pull his horse to a stop beside Eskkar. The scout, a powerfully built man with long black hair, carried a curved bow with yellow feathers dangling from the tip. A sword slung across his back, the hilt jutting over his shoulder, and he had a quiver of arrows hung on his left hip. His sturdy horse looked more like a wild beast, with a shaggy gray coat and wild eyes.
The two Akkadian columns tightened up, the horses nose to tail, and even Sargon could hear what was said.
“I did not believe it was you, Eskkar of Akkad. I am Unkara of the Ur Nammu.”
“Your eyes are good, Unkara,” Eskkar answered. “Forgive me for not recalling your name.”
“I was just a young warrior when I last saw you, Chief Eskkar. You are far from your lands.”
“And you wonder what has brought me so far north to these empty lands?” Eskkar laughed. “I wish to speak with Subutai. I trust he is well?”
Sargon understood the importance of the question. Men died, not only in battle, but from disease or accidents. A dead clan leader might change the situation.
“Subutai is more than well,” Unkara answered. “Our camp is but a day’s ride from here. I can guide you to him. And I will send a rider on ahead, with word of your coming.”
Sargon caught the implication in those words, too. Subutai might have no use for a visit, or might want time to organize a war party.
“That would be good,” Eskkar said. “These lands are unfamiliar.”
“These lands are dangerous,” Unkara agreed. “There are many roaming bands of fighters crossing through this territory, and none of them have any use for strangers. We hunt them down when we get the opportunity. Most have learned to avoid the reach of our riders.”
Eskkar nodded in approval. “We saw one such band. Still, we will be grateful to ride beside you and your men, Unkara. It will speed up our journey. We’re running low on food.”
“Follow me, then.” The barbarian whirled his horse around and dashed away, to rejoin his companions.
Eskkar gave the order, and the Akkadians moved forward again. Sargon followed more slowly, until one of his guards smacked the palm of his hand against the rump of Sargon’s horse.
Startled, Sargon almost slid off the horse’s back. Instead he kicked his horse forward, taking out his anger on the dumb brute.
Like a slave, he would soon be handed over to uncouth barbarians living in smoke-filled tents and sleeping with their horses and dogs. The meanest slave in Akkad would live a better life. Once again, Sargon cursed the injustice that had brought him here.
The final leg of the journey took longer than expected, as the Akkadians pack animals slowed the usual rapid pace of the warriors. Midafternoon of the next day had passed before the caravan crossed over the crest of a hill and Sargon saw the Ur Nammu encampment. Its tents nestled between the protecting arms of two long ridges extending down from a steep hill.
Despite his gloom, Sargon stared down at the barbarian camp. About four hundred horses grazed in the shelter of the hills. Tents, some made from animal skins, were pitched haphazardly along the banks of a meandering stream, and Sargon could see smoke rising from several campfires.
The camp’s inhabitants stopped whatever they were doing and watched the strangers approach. He could see children running about. A few cattle and a small herd of sheep grazed a quarter mile downstream of the tents.
The barbarian Unkara shouted something to Eskkar, and then rode on ahead. Sargon saw his father turn to Draelin.
“You’ve never dealt with the Ur Nammu before,” Eskkar said. “Our men will be quartered a short distance away from their camp. You must make sure that none of our soldiers leave that place, or do anything to give offense. Otherwise. .”
“I understand, Captain.”
Eskkar gave the order, and the little troop started down the hill. Before they reached the bottom, Sargon saw two riders heading toward them. One was Unkara.
Eskkar halted his men and waited until the two barbarians arrived. Sargon heard the name “Subutai” several times, and decided the leader of the Ur Nammu himself had ridden out to meet the Akkadians.
Sargon stared at this barbarian, who would soon be his master.
Subutai, about the same age as Eskkar, appeared fit. Tall and sinewy, Subutai had a broad forehead and deep brown eyes. A wide mouth filled with strong white teeth flashed when he smiled. Hard muscles covered his chest and his legs were thick and powerful. Only a few strands of gray in his hair gave evidence to his years.
After a brief discussion in the language of the steppes peoples, Eskkar told Draelin to take the men and follow Unkara to a campsite about a half mile from the tents of the Ur Nammu. Eskkar and Subutai left the Akkadians and rode toward the main camp.
No one paid any attention to Sargon, so he followed Draelin. No doubt his father wanted to talk in private with the barbarian chief. Sargon felt certain his presence would be the main topic of the conversation, like a head of livestock offered for sale, or a new slave, fresh on the auction block.
15
A chill wind blew down from the hills as Eskkar dismounted in front of Subutai’s tent. Gray clouds had rolled in from the west, obscuring the sun. Subutai, arms crossed over his bare chest, ignored the brisk breeze. He motioned toward the tent, and led the way inside.