Jennat shook his head. “No, you should not go. You are needed here, to return to Subutai with whatever we learn. I will meet with them.”
Sargon saw the muscles on Chinua’s shoulders tighten. But Jennat spoke the truth. If anything went wrong, better for the warriors to have Chinua in command. But the Ur Nammu commander didn’t like it. Obviously the idea of sending Skala out to talk with the strangers never entered Chinua’s head.
“Go, Jennat. But take care. At the first sign of trouble, come back.”
“I will take care. .”
“Chinua, I should go with him.” Sargon uttered the words before he had time to think. “I know the ways of soldiers. I can even speak a few words in the trader’s language.”
All the warriors had been following their leaders’ words. Now they glanced at Sargon in surprise, a horse boy who dared to give unasked for advice to a warrior.
“I promised your father that. .”
“That life is over, Chinua,” Sargon said. “Let me help you here.”
Chinua glanced back toward the strangers. The leader still waved his arm every few moments. “Damn these strangers.” He touched Jennat’s arm. “Go. Take the boy with you. But watch out for trouble.”
Jennat nodded. He lifted his right hand and returned the stranger’s signal, sweeping his arm from side to side, until he felt certain that the man understood his acceptance. Jennat handed his bow and quiver to one of his men. Carrying a bow might seem too threatening. “Come, Sargon.” He touched his heels to his horse and moved forward at a trot.
Sargon already regretted the impulse to volunteer, but he couldn’t back down now, not in front of Skala and his son. Dumping his sacks and pots, Sargon kicked his horse forward and followed Jennat toward the west, staying on the warrior’s left.
Jennat waited until they were out of earshot of the warriors. “So, challenging Skala wasn’t enough for you? You should have kept silent. Never mind. What else do you see?”
Sargon had not had much contact with Jennat. He seemed young for a leader, about the same age as Chinua. But the man must have his wits about him. Otherwise, Chinua would not have chosen him as his second in command, over the older Skala.
As Sargon and Jennat drew closer to the interlopers, Sargon felt his heart racing. All those boring sessions with his father and the other soldiers now took on a different meaning. Suddenly Sargon realized his life might depend on what he did once they reached the strangers.
“If this is a scouting party,” Sargon said, “then the main force must be close behind, or off to one side. I would guess no more than two or three miles away in any direction. And it must be a large force, to send so many men out as scouts. If they want to trap us, they will try to keep us occupied, keep our attention away from any reinforcements.”
Sargon saw the lone rider that had ridden to the rear had already vanished from sight. The man could have put his horse to the gallop the moment he’d disappeared over the ridge line.
“Well, we’ll know soon enough.”
Jennat sounded unconcerned, and his air of calm helped steady Sargon’s nerves.
“Maybe you should have kept your bow.”
“One shaft against ten won’t matter,” Jennat said. “If I sense any danger, I’ll raise my left hand, like this.” He scratched his chest. “The moment I do, you run for it. Don’t wait for my order, don’t wait for anything. Understand?”
“Yes.”
Sargon swallowed. Suddenly his throat felt dry as dust. The anger that had burned in him at Skala had vanished, a childish squabble. Now Sargon’s hands felt weak, and his stomach churned within his belly. Bile rose up in his throat, and he swallowed hard.
They rode into a gulley and up the other side. The strangers were only a few hundred paces ahead.
Jennat slowed his horse, then halted about a hundred paces away. If the leader of these men wanted to talk, he could come forward.
Sargon breathed a breath of relief. For a moment he’d thought Jennat intended to ride right into their midst.
The leader, a burly man with scraggly brown hair, called out something to his men. Two men swung back onto their horses, and two others, each carrying an unstrung bow loosely in his left hand, moved forward. When they reached their commander, all five of them formed a line and moved forward together, with their leader in the center.
“Five against two. I don’t like this.” Despite his words, Jennat kept his face placid, as if unconcerned. “If there’s trouble, the two horsemen will keep us busy until the bowmen can string their weapons and attack. If anything happens, don’t try to turn and run. You’ll never make it. Kick your horse forward, and try to run the bowmen down. As soon as you get past the archers, wheel your horse and run.”
Jennat turned to Sargon, a smile on his face. “Trust to your horse, Sargon. He will know what to do.”
Sargon’s mouth opened, but he kept silent, swallowing hard again. The strangers had drawn within twenty paces, near enough to hear anything said. He resisted the urge to loosen the knife at his belt. The gesture would be seen and taken as a sign of weakness. Not that a knife would be much help against swords and bows.
He glanced at Jennat. The warrior sat erect on his horse, his face devoid of any emotion. Sargon tried to keep his own expression under control.
The five men approached, walking their horses, the leader now a single pace ahead of his men. He kept coming, and halted when his horse was only a few steps from Jennat’s. The two bowmen stood on either side of their leader, with the two riders on either end of the line. Up close, Sargon saw the leader of the strangers had thick arms. He appeared to have about thirty seasons. Flashing a broad smile that revealed a missing front tooth, he eased himself back on his horse, then raised his hand and said something to Jennat.
Sargon didn’t understand the words. He glimpsed the hilt of the man’s sword, and saw a brightly-colored tassel dangling from it. Gleaming rings of gold encircled the forefinger of each hand, and a wide gold band glinted on his upper right arm. Either a man of wealth, or someone who had killed a lot of his enemies and looted their corpses.
The others stared at Jennat and him with smiles that were little more than bared teeth. Brutality had left its mark on their faces. These men were killers, and they would kill without the slightest hesitation.
Jennat didn’t understand the man either. He shook his head, then lifted both hands to his shoulders, palms facing the strangers. “We meet in peace.”
The stranger copied Jennat’s gesture, but none of the others did. Sargon could guess why. The men carrying bows kept their right hands closed, and he realized they probably held bowstrings in their clenched fist. On foot, it would take them only a moment to string the weapon. Sargon realized Jennat had foreseen this. If Sargon tried to turn his horse around and run, it would take far too long. He’d have a shaft in his back before he covered twenty paces.
The exchange of words continued, the stranger trying another language before the burly leader settled on the trader’s common dialect.
“I am Khnan,” the man said, thumping his chest.
Sargon recognized the dialect, though the man’s accent sounded odd to his ears. “I am Sargon.” He pointed to his right. “Jennat. Leader”
Khnan gave Sargon a final glance before dismissing him as a mere translator, one not even old enough to carry a sword.
“Ask him where he’s going in these lands,” Jennat said.
Sargon translated, doing as best he could. After a second try, Khnan seemed to understand. He smiled at Jennat, an exaggerated gesture that looked anything but friendly.
“We come from Carchemish, the great city to the northwest. We have just defeated the Haranos, and now we claim all these lands as our own.”
Sargon asked Khnan to repeat his words, then translated them for Jennat.
“Ask him why he wants this barren land,” Jennat said. “And tell him that the Ur Nammu already claim all these lands to the east.”