Those gifts, Sargon guessed, would disappear even faster than the children’s. When Draelin returned just after midmorning, each of his men carried a large wineskin. The commander handed one over to the smiling soldiers, but held the other back for the evening.
Sounds of revelry floated over the meadow from the Ur Nammu. Cheers and shouts erupted, separated by long silences. Curious in spite of his desire not to converse with anyone, Sargon called out to Draelin when he walked nearby.
“What’s going on over there?”
“Your father is telling Subutai and his people about the battle with the Alur Meriki. The Ur Nammu can’t believe their good fortune. They’ll be safe from the Alur Meriki, for a time, at least. That’s why they’re celebrating. They know they won’t be hunted when the Alur Meriki come through these lands.”
“But the noise. . it’s been going on all morning.”
“Aye, and probably the rest of the day and all night, too. Your father will be telling and retelling the story for the rest of the day. He had to sketch a map in the dirt, so that they could see where everyone fought. Every warrior has a handful of questions. If I could speak the language better, I’d be over there helping explain, too.”
With a shock, Sargon realized that he would be expected to speak the barbarian tongue when the soldiers departed. Two years ago, Eskkar had attempted to teach him the dialect of the steppes people, but Sargon had not tried very hard to learn it.
Like most inhabitants of Akkad, Sargon saw no need to learn the barbarians’ crude language. Of course he had studied the various dialects and symbols of Sumer and the other cities in the Land Between the Rivers, as well as the language used on the trade routes. His mother had insisted on that, but those were little more than variations of the Akkadian tongue and easily grasped.
Now Sargon wished he’d paid more attention to his father’s urgings. The smattering of steppes words Sargon understood would not allow him to converse with his new clan. Not only would he be alone, but he would have to depend on others to speak. The sooner he could escape the barbarian camp, the better.
As the celebration in the Ur Nammu camp continued, Sargon watched as small groups of grinning warriors galloped out, bows in hand, to hunt game for the evening feast. A few waved at the soldiers as they rode by. In the afternoon, a handful of Ur Nammu women from their encampment dragged over a pair of bleating sheep and enough firewood to get the cooking started.
By the time the flames caught, Draelin’s men had gutted and skinned the bleating animals, and already had the still-bloody carcasses turning on spits.
The soldiers of Akkad would not be allowed to mix with their allies in the main camp, but Sargon knew his father would see to it that they enjoyed their own feast. By now the Akkadians knew they would depart for home in the morning, more than enough reason for the men to enjoy a fine meal and a few mouthfuls of wine.
Just before sundown, the noise from the barbarian camp finally died down, as warriors returned to their tents and wagons. Sargon stared at the Akkadian cooking fires, watching the smoke tendrils rise into the sky, the sheep revolving on the spit, and soldiers taking turns to keep the meat cooking evenly. Even quartered, it took a long time to cook a whole sheep, and Sargon guessed the sun would be well below the horizon before the meat cooled enough to be eaten.
A shout from Draelin turned Sargon’s head, and he saw his father, Subutai, and another warrior approaching.
Both Ur Nammu warriors looked fierce. Subutai had a powerful build, and Sargon saw the thick muscles that bulged on his chest and arms. The other, much younger, stood a hand’s width taller, but with a slim build, narrow hips, and more delicate features. Both wore their hair tied back, in much the same fashion that Sargon’s father preferred.
Eskkar called out to his son. “Sargon! Come, join us.” Eskkar’s words carried to all the soldiers.
Every one within earshot paused to watch what would happen next. Even the men turning the spits forgot their tasks, wondering if the wayward son would dare to disobey his father in front of the warriors.
Part of Sargon’s mind told him to ignore his father’s command, but he knew Eskkar would likely just order Draelin and the others to drag him over. While he didn’t care what his father or these barbarians thought, Sargon didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the soldiers. Better not to have such a story told in Akkad, that the son of the King needed to be carried like a child to meet his destiny.
Sargon gritted his teeth. There was nothing to be gained by waiting. He climbed to his feet, his heart beating faster as the dreaded moment approached, and followed his father’s order. The three men stopped at the edge of the camp.
Still, the command in his father’s voice rankled Sargon, and he took his time walking through the camp until he stood before his father and the strangers.
“Walk with me, Sargon.”
Eskkar placed his hand on Sargon’s shoulder and guided him away from the camp. The warriors followed behind. About fifty paces away, a small circle of stones marked a place where the Ur Nammu children had played during the day. Eskkar sat on a rough slab, and his companions found places to sit facing him.
“This is my son, Sargon of Akkad.”
The two warriors nodded in acknowledgement.
The older one spoke first, using the language of Akkad. “I am Subutai, leader of the Ur Nammu. This is Chinua, one of my chiefs and third in command. He fought with your father at the great battle before the city of Isin, though Chinua had only sixteen seasons at the time.”
The serious looks on their faces silenced the angry words that Sargon had in his mind. He bowed to show respect. “Greetings to the Great Chief of the Ur Nammu.” Sargon remembered enough to give the proper greeting.
“Your father tells us that you do not yet speak our language,” Subutai said. “Until you learn, we will talk in the language of the. . villagers.”
Sargon nodded his head in gratitude.
Eskkar spoke. “Subutai is a wise leader of his people, and three times we have battled the Alur Meriki together. I have asked him to teach you the ways of the warrior, and he has agreed. But since he leads the Clan, Subutai has many duties and little time to spend training a young warrior. Chinua, a most worthy warrior, has offered to guide you in the ways of the Ur Nammu. He will teach you how to ride and how to fight.”
“Your father is a mighty warrior.” Chinua’s gentle voice contrasted with the harsher tongue of his leader. “I followed him on the great charge into the ranks of the Sumerians.”
Sargon saw his father smile at the memory. “The moment I gave the order to attack,” Eskkar said, “Chinua raced to the front. His was the first arrow to strike at the Sumerians.”
Chinua laughed, too. “That arrow fell short, as I remember. It was my first battle, and the blood raced in my body.”
Almost nine years had passed since that battle, and yet his father and Chinua spoke of it as if it had been fought yesterday. Sargon nodded. He didn’t know what to say.
“Chinua will take you into his household,” Eskkar went on. “You will be treated as one of his own sons. There will be many lessons to be learned before you can be considered a warrior, but you have the battle skills, and your wits are quick to learn. Your courage and your strength will be tested, but I am sure you can master their way of living and fighting. When that day comes, you can return with pride to Akkad.”
“Yes, Father.” Sargon had to clench his teeth to hold in his rage. Whatever Sargon uttered would be meaningless. Eskkar had set these events in motion. This Chinua would now rule Sargon’s life.
Once the Akkadians departed the camp, the barbarian would have the power of life and death if he should so chose. Sargon would be alone. He wondered what instructions his father had given these men in private.
“We have prepared a great feast in your father’s honor,” Chinua said. “The women labored all day to prepare it, and there will be plenty of food and wine. You are welcome to come with us and sit beside your father and the leaders of the Ur Nammu.”