“As I am in yours, Eskkar of Akkad, and doubly so for killing Thutmose-sin.” Subutai took a deep breath. “I will speak to Sargon myself later. Meanwhile, I will think about this, and about which warrior to choose.”
Eskkar finished his wine. He wanted another cup, but that could wait until he returned to his men. With a heavy heart, he bid his host goodnight, got to his feet, and left the tent.
A young boy stood apart from the tent, patiently holding A-tuku’s halter. As Eskkar swung astride, he felt a relief that the most difficult part of the ordeal had ended. Now he just had to face his son, Sargon, and give him the bad news.
Huddled in his cloak, Sargon sat alone, away from the warmth of the soldiers’ fire. By now even his guards had ceased watching him. If he tried to flee, they or the barbarians would gleefully hunt him down.
Despite that knowledge, Sargon couldn’t keep his mind away from somehow trying to escape. But those thoughts always brought a host of fears, and Sargon refused to give up all hope. After all, anything could happen. On the way home, his father could be attacked by bandits, or thrown from his horse and killed. Such accidents happened often enough. No, better to wait and see what the future held.
The sentry on guard called out. “The King is returning.”
Sargon lifted his head at the words. Not that his father’s coming and going from the barbarian camp meant anything to Sargon. The two hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words since the morning of their departure from Akkad. With his eyes shaded by the cloak’s hood, Sargon watched his father arrive at the Akkadian camp, swing down from his horse, and hand it over to one of the guards. The King brushed past the soldiers with scarcely a nod, and headed straight for his son.
Sargon kept his head down and remained on the ground, though he should have risen out of respect for his father.
Gritting his teeth, Eskkar considered ordering the boy to stand. But that would only add one more humiliation for Sargon to bear. Instead, Eskkar settled on the ground across from his son.
“I’ve spoken to Subutai. He’s agreed to take you into the Clan, but not in his own tent. He’s picking a warrior to see to your training.”
Sargon’s determination to keep silent vanished. “Then I’m to be a slave to some filthy barbarian?”
The anger, bottled up so long in Sargon’s breast, spat the words at his father. Sargon watched Eskkar’s jaw tighten. The King had never been very good at concealing his emotions.
“You will not be a slave. In fact, how you are treated will be up to you. It will be difficult, but you must earn the respect of your new family. If you do, then in time you will be able to return to Akkad.”
“I will never return to Akkad!” Sargon practically shouted the words in his father’s face. A few of the soldiers, startled by the outburst, glanced at the two for a moment, before turning their eyes away and pretending they hadn’t heard anything. “I will die here among these ignorant barbarians! Banished by my mother, murdered by my father.”
Eskkar stared at his son for a moment. “It is true you may die. No man knows what the gods have in store for him until it is too late. But that is why you are here. It is not yet too late for you. We thought. . I thought we had trained you well, taught you the ways of honor. It may even be my fault that you turned away from us. All that no longer matters. Whatever fate brought you here, you must learn to make the best of it. Here you will learn honor, or die.”
“Then when you return tell my mother that I am dead. Tomorrow, the next day, I will die, and probably even before you get back to Akkad. Tell her that, and see how much her son’s death matters compared to her precious city.”
His father’s jaw clenched again. Harsh words against Trella never failed to arouse him.
Eskkar rose to his feet. “I will be leaving in a day or two. But I will not carry any such message to your mother. If you want to tell her hateful things, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
His father turned and stalked off into the night, away from the soldiers, and away from the barbarian camp.
Sargon watched him go. His father could brood alone in the darkness for all Sargon cared.
The anger still burned in Sargon’s heart. His scheming mother was as bad or worse than his fool of a father. But perhaps Eskkar had said one true thing. There still remained a chance that one day Sargon could hurl those same words into his mother’s face. As long as that chance remained, Sargon decided he would do whatever it took to stay alive.
After all, these barbarians were simple people. It should be easy enough to deceive them, pretend to accept whatever concept of honor they believed in. Do whatever they asked, grovel in the dirt at their feet if need be. It might take a few months, but in time, they would accept him.
Then he would find a way to escape and return to the Land Between the Rivers. With a horse between his legs and a sword for protection, Sargon felt certain he could make his way to other cities, other places he could go. And perhaps when the time was right, he would return in triumph to Akkad.
Sooner or later the Ur Nammu would turn in that direction. All he needed to do was be patient until that time came. Then his friends and companions within Akkad would help him. Ziusudra had plenty of gold. With his friend’s help, Sargon would strike out on his own, and find a place to live for a time. Someplace where the names Eskkar and Trella meant nothing.
Perhaps Ziusudra would call upon the man he claimed to know, the one brave enough, for the right amount of gold, to kill even a king. After all, Sargon reasoned, however much gold was needed would only be a loan.
Once he became King of Akkad, all the wealth of the city would be his. That thought brought a grim smile to Sargon’s face. Yes, he would deal with these simple barbarians and await his time.
16
In the morning, Sargon awoke to find the encampment full of activity and himself the last one to arise. Though the sun had risen not long before, he saw the place where Eskkar had spread his blanket empty. His father must have left, to return to the tents of the Ur Nammu.
Before long, young barbarian children wandered over, to stare with big eyes at the newcomers with their odd clothes and strange ways. Yesterday, to Sargon’s surprise, he learned that two of the Akkadian supply sacks contained gifts for the children.
Draelin and two of his men smiled at the shy children and waved them into the camp. Before long, a few of the braver boys and girls crowded around Draelin.
Sargon stared as Eskkar’s commander distributed the pack’s contents, taking his time and drawing out the suspense. Soon the children’s shrill voices turned to happy laughter, directed as much at Draelin as the gifts they eagerly accepted. These included a good quantity of small copper knives for the boys, suitable for carving soft wood.
Some of the girls received necklaces of polished stones, strung together with a strip of leather. Others received lengths of brightly dyed linen, which could be used either as a scarf against the cold, or worn across the body for decoration.
The Akkadian commander made sure that no child received more than one present. Soon even the youngest of the Ur Nammu children had summoned enough courage to approach the strangers and extend an empty hand. Naturally, there were more children than gifts, so those who arrived late returned to the camp empty-handed and envious of their companions’ good luck.
Sargon refused to join in the gift-giving. His mother had prepared these trinkets, no doubt considering them a small price to pay to obtain a measure of good will. When the last of the children had finally departed, Draelin and his two helpers picked up and carried two more sacks across the grassland to the Ur Nammu camp. These contained offerings for the women.