For a time, that idea tempted him. Of course, Garal might wake up, and the sword might prove as useless as Sargon’s fists had earlier. Even if he killed the warrior, he would still have to find his way back, and Chinua would find his son’s body sooner or later. No, the thought of what the barbarians did to those who offended them didn’t appeal to Sargon.
With a muffled curse, he laid down on his side, his back to Garal, and tried to get some sleep. The hard ground pressed against his stiff and sore muscles. Frustrated at every turn of today’s events, and with his throat feeling as dry as a cup of sand, sleep didn’t come easily. When at last Sargon did slip into a fitful sleep, dreams filled with anger at his father for abandoning him haunted what little rest he could manage.
18
Sargon woke in the predawn with Garal’s foot pushing against his ribs. It took a few moments before the harsh words penetrated, and by then the pressure of the warrior’s foot increased enough to roll Sargon over onto his side.
“Get up. Ride.”
Without waiting, Garal strode to his horse, unfastened the halter, and swung himself up. “Ride.”
Sargon’s anger rose, but he knew there was nothing he could do. The sooner they got to water, the better. Swearing under his breath, he reached his horse and fumbled with the halter. The animal was skittish. Like its master, it had grown accustomed to being fed and watered each day. It took all of Sargon’s agility to keep a grip on the animal’s mane and climb onto its back.
As soon as Garal saw Sargon astride, the warrior turned his mount toward the west and set his horse to a canter. Sargon decided that he might as well vent his anger at both Garal and his own misfortune aloud. The barbarian didn’t understand the Akkadian language anyway. Sargon cursed his companion as an ignorant savage and one that Marduk and Ishtar would soon send to the burning pits below for punishment.
Sargon’s anger soon faded, to be replaced by a parched throat that seemed to have rubbed itself raw from lack of water. He felt the weakness in his body, and the slowness of his movements. His lips felt parched and dry. He’d never imaged that a single day without water could weaken him so.
No wonder his father had defeated the Alur Meriki so easily. And today, his nervous and thirsty horse required even more attention than it had yesterday.
Garal’s horse exhibited none of these problems. The warrior tried to set the same pace as he had yesterday, but by midmorning, Garal realized the Akkadian mount needed more frequent periods of rest. Once Sargon had to fight to keep control of the animal, when it shied at a bush tumbling across their path. The result of their slower pace saw midday come and go, with still no sign of water. Of course there was nothing to do but keep riding.
By now Sargon could barely keep his seat, and the ground seemed to waver under the horse’s hooves. Thirst had sucked the strength from his body, and his youthful vigor had vanished many miles back.
In the end, it was the horse that saved Sargon from tumbling ignominiously to the ground. First Garal’s mount, then Sargon’s, caught the scent of water ahead. Both animals responded with a second effort. Still, they had to traverse more than a mile before they reached the water.
No river or even a stream, only a small sinkhole of brackish water, surrounded by a wide border of mud. Animal tracks and droppings covered the ground, indicating the water was drinkable. Sargon didn’t care. His horse forced its way through the soggy ground and thrust its nose deep into the water. Sargon slid from its back, landing on his stomach, with his face in the water.
He drank and drank, lifting himself up every few moments to catch his breath. Water that he once wouldn’t have bothered to piss in now tasted as sweet as anything that came from his parents’ well. When he could force no more liquid into his stomach, Sargon pushed himself to his knees.
He saw Garal kneeling at the water’s edge, dipping his hand into the water. The barbarian clearly hadn’t suffered as much from thirst as Sargon had. Even Garal’s horse had already stopped drinking, while Sargon’s mount continued to slurp at the muddy water.
Not that Sargon cared. He lay down in the mud again and drank some more, drank until he started coughing and had to stop. When he crawled away from the water’s edge, he felt satisfied, his stomach full for the first time in two days.
By then Garal had led his mount away, and tied its halter to a low bush that had sprouted nearby. The warrior sat on the ground, his face as impassive as when they had first departed the camp.
Chagrinned, Sargon dragged his mount from the water. He knew the animal shouldn’t drink too much, or it might sicken.
With a start, Sargon realized the same thought applied to him. He wiped his hand across his mouth, tasting the foul mud on the back of his hand. Looking down, he saw that his legs and tunic had turned black from the wet earth that clung to him.
“Rest. Then we ride back.”
Sargon eased himself down to the ground. The water had filled his belly, and his hunger had vanished, for the moment at least. He stared at his surroundings, a dreary landscape of occasional clumps of grass scattered among the sand and rocks, with a few bushes here and there. Nothing to see, and obviously nothing to eat. Sargon wondered how long Garal intended for them to rest.
The answer came soon enough. With a sudden pain in his stomach, Sargon felt his insides heave. He barely got to his knees before the burning liquid shot from his lips, as he hunched himself over, his hands clutching the ground. The retching continued, on and on, until Sargon felt as if he had expelled every last drop of water that he’d consumed.
When the heaving finally stopped, Sargon found himself gulping air and panting like a dog. Looking around, he saw that Garal had climbed to his feet.
“Ride. Drink first.” The warrior gestured with his hand as if scooping water from the ground. “Three only.”
With the last of his strength, Sargon returned to the water’s edge. His throat burned from the contents of his stomach. All the same, he followed Garal’s instructions, taking only three scoops of water into his hand, and drinking each handful slowly so as to ease his burning throat. When Sargon finished, Garal had already mounted. “Ride. Home.”
“Yes, ride, damn you.” Sargon’s rage had returned. He swore to himself that he would extract vengeance on this man if it were the last thing he ever did.
Somehow he managed to mount his horse. Sargon faced another long ride back to the camp, and he hoped he would survive it. He comforted himself that at least they would have food and fresh water there.
The ride back to the Ur Nammu encampment took almost two full days, and by the time Sargon saw the smoke trails from the camp leaning their way into the sky, he could barely keep his seat on his horse. Hunger, something completely unknown to him, had weakened his muscles and made thinking difficult.
At the same time, a raging thirst consumed him. His eyes wandered, and at times he found his head nodding against his chest. For the first time in his life, Sargon had gone almost three days without food. Those same three days included plenty of hard riding and almost no water. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him for such hardship.
By the time he approached the outer line of tents, only a grim determination kept him on the horse. Fueled by his rage toward Garal, who seemed unaffected by either hunger or thirst, Sargon refused to quit. Better to die on his horse than to give the filthy barbarian the satisfaction of seeing Sargon fall to the ground and crawl in the dirt.
Sargon’s weary mount, in as bad shape as its master, headed straight for the stream. The trembling animal pushed its way through the line of bushes, staggered into the water, and lowered its head to drink. Sargon tried to dismount, but his hand slipped from the mane and he slid feet first into the stream. For a few moments, he just lay there, letting the cool liquid wash the heat and dirt from his body. Then he remembered to drink, and once again he buried his face into the sweetest drink he’d ever tasted.