Turning toward Fashod, Sargon spoke in the language of Akkad. “Well, at least they haven’t summoned the torturers yet.”
Fashod leaned closer and kept his voice soft. “So, Sargon of Akkad, now you are a clan leader yourself?”
Sargon repressed the urge to smile. In less than three months, he’d gone from outcast to horse boy to warrior and had now promoted himself to the rank of clan leader in his father’s army. “My parents would be proud of me.”
Before Fashod could reply, the flap on the larger of the two tents shifted, and a stocky warrior with wide shoulders and a broad chest appeared. His forehead was broad and high, with deep set eyes and a strong jaw. A burnished copper medallion, as big as two clenched fists, hung from his neck and told Sargon that this was the Sarum.
The leader of the Alur Meriki took his time covering the thirty or so paces until he reached a place on the ground just three paces or so opposite Sargon. A folded blanket had been spread out there, but the Sarum took his place beside it.
The four other clan leaders sat on either side of him, until only the space occupied by the blanket remained. As everyone settled in, Sargon saw another clan leader approaching, this one leaning on a younger man for support.
Out of politeness, everyone looked away as the older man was assisted to the ground, settling on the blanket with a sigh and stretching one leg straight out before him. He nodded gratefully to the warrior who attended him, who now moved a step behind his clan leader.
When the Sarum of the Alur Meriki saw the old warrior settled, he nodded to Suijan, the only chief who remained on his feet. The Council Meeting had begun.
“This is the young man who claims that he is the son of Eskkar of Akkad,” Suijan began. “His name is Sargon. The Ur Nammu attending him is called Fashod. Sargon says that Fashod is one of the clan leaders of the Ur Nammu.”
One of the chiefs spat on the ground at the mention of the Ur Nammu. Sargon decided that wasn’t a good omen.
Suijan ignored the gesture, and continued. “Sargon, this is Chief Bekka, of the Wolf Clan, the Sarum of the Alur Meriki. The other clan leaders are Urgo,” he pointed to the old warrior on the blanket to Bekka’s right, “Prandar of the Serpent Clan, Virani of the Eagle Clan, and Trayack of the Lion Clan.”
The Alur Meriki clan chieftains formed a half circle, all facing Sargon.
Suijan dropped to the ground beside Bekka, on his left side. “And I am Suijan of the Fox Clan. There are two more clan leaders, but they are away riding with the scouting parties.”
Suijan turned to Bekka, who nodded approval. Behind each chief stood his attendant, alert and ready to respond to any request. Or any threat.
“You claim you are the son of Eskkar of Akkad.” Bekka made it a statement, not a question. “You say that your father has sent you to us. Why should we believe you?”
And so it begins, Sargon thought. He bowed respectfully to Bekka. “My father is Eskkar of Akkad. My mother is Lady Trella, Queen of Akkad. I was born in Akkad, not long after the Alur Meriki ended their siege. But my father was born here, in this caravan, in the Hawk Clan, one of your own. After the battle at the mountain stream, he restored the Hawk Clan. Those still alive recognized him as the son of Hogarthak, slain at a council meeting by Maskim-Xul, the father of Thutmose-sin.”
Sargon paused to take a breath. Hard eyes met his own, and he saw nothing that indicated any signs of belief.
“You do not resemble Eskkar of Akkad.” Chief Bekka kept his words free of emotion.
“No, I do not. My mother came from the villages of Sumeria, far to the south. But I am Sargon, just the same. And I know all the details of the battle at the stream. I know that Hathor the Egyptian with a hundred horsemen raced through the mountains to reach the stream first. He drove off the warriors who attempted to hold it against him, then defeated an attack that tried to dislodge him. The next day, my father arrived with his archers, slingers, and spearmen. He brought with him over a thousand experienced fighters, many of whom fought in the Sumerian War. By the time the full force of your warriors arrived, it was too late. From that moment, there was nothing the Alur Meriki could do to defeat him.”
Trayack, the chief who had spit at the mention of the Ur Nammu, spoke. “If the warriors had held the stream, instead of abandoning it to the first group of riders, the battle would have ended differently.” He did not bother to hide the bitterness in his words.
Sargon wondered at that comment, actually more of an interruption. Unless the skirmish at the stream meant something more to one of those present.
He remembered the advice his mother had once given him — never assume that your enemy is united, or that he does not have to deal with discontent or ambition within his own ranks. Every force, no matter how strong, always has some weakness to conceal. Now that Sargon considered it, after such a defeat there must still be plenty of rancor among the leaders of the clan.
“I have ridden with Hathor the Egyptian and his horsemen,” Sargon went on, speaking slower now. “They are the fiercest fighters in my father’s army, the ones that smashed the Sumerians and destroyed them in the Great Battle of Isin. Two or three times as many warriors as Hathor found at the stream could not have defeated him.”
This time Virani and Prandar glanced at Bekka, who had ignored Trayack’s remark. Instead the Sarum turned to Urgo. “Perhaps you should speak to Sargon.”
“It seems that you know much about the battle,” Urgo said. “Yet any man present at the stream would know as much.” His deep voice matched his thick and stocky build, though he lacked the hard muscles of one who rode each day. “Still, I believe you are Eskkar’s son. Tell us why he sent you to us.”
“My father did not send me.”
Those words affected the clan leaders. Until now, everyone had assumed the father had dispatched the son. Even Bekka and Suijan’s eyes went wide.
“My father had sent me to the tents of the Ur Nammu almost three moons ago, to complete my training as a warrior. He believes in the old ways, and that only someone who has ridden with the warriors of the steppes can truly learn how to fight and how to lead. But I know that he would approve of my actions.”
“Then you do not speak with your father’s authority.” Urgo made it a simple statement, not a condemnation.
“No. He is in Akkad, and there was no time to seek his approval. But I know his ways, and I know what he would want me to do. That is why I have come both to warn you, and to seek your help.”
“Warn us of. .?”
“I was riding far to the west, with a small scouting party. We encountered a large force of fighters. The leader of our party went to speak with them, and I accompanied him to interpret. We were attacked, and barely got away. The next day, we returned in the night and attacked them. We killed many and captured over forty horses.”
“The Ur Nammu are too cowardly to fight in the light of day.”
Sargon turned to stare at Trayack, surprised at the interruption. Obviously the chief of the Lion Clan spoke his mind without regard to his Sarum.
Then Sargon remembered that Thutmose-sin had led the Lion Clan. They would hold the most bitter feelings for the King of Akkad and his son. And possibly for the man who replaced Thutmose-sin.
Shifting his body to face the man, Sargon met his gaze. He took his time before responding. Another saying of his mother crossed his mind. Always keep your voice calm, and let your words carry your message, not your face.
“I am sure Trayack of the Alur Meriki, no doubt the bravest of the brave, would have led his fifteen horsemen against a thousand heavily armed and experienced fighters, and slain them all. And I see that the battle wisdom of the Alur Meriki has not changed. Perhaps that is why my father has defeated you so easily at every turn.”
Trayack’s mouth opened in disbelief, and his tanned face grew even darker. A thick vein in his forehead throbbed. Before he could speak, the Sarum cut him off.