“They may mention us anyway, when they arrive.”
“Or they may forget all about us in the excitement.” Bantor had anticipated this during the night’s walk. More important, he’d learned from Eskkar the need to appear confident before the men, even when uncertainty gripped your insides. “Besides, it will take them hours to reach Akkad, maybe even until sunset. We’ll cover a lot of ground before then.”
Bantor turned to face Klexor. “Tell the men to say nothing to anyone we pass. Not a word.”
Klexor grunted, and began to pass the word down the line.
Not that anyone wanted to speak to them anyway, Bantor decided. He and his heavily armed men looked gaunt, dirty, and dangerous, and the few wayfarers they encountered shrank aside, staring openmouthed and with fear in their eyes, as the soldiers strode past in silence.
They rested every hour, all of them trying to ignore the pangs of hunger that rumbled in their bellies. Just before noon, Bantor gave the order to halt. The men sank to the ground, too tired to complain about their hunger.
“Klexor, we’re about thirty miles north of Akkad.” Bantor wiped the sweat from his face, as his men grouped themselves around their leaders.
“It’s time to cut over to the river. I know a farm that has some boats. We’ll wait until the road is clear, then we’ll move west. ”
“We’re nearly halfway to Dilgarth. We could be there by early morning, if we push hard.”
“I’d like to, Klexor, but we don’t know what might be waiting for us in Dilgarth. And even if we made it there, we’d never be able to get back to Akkad.” Bantor shook his head. “No, I think the river is safer for us. We can find something to eat at the farm, too. If things are really bad, we may be safer on the other side of the Tigris anyway.”
Klexor shrugged, but didn’t have anything better to offer. “Then let’s get off the road now, while it’s clear.”
One by one, they slipped off the dusty trail, leaving as little trace of their presence as possible. They stumbled along as best they could on the uneven terrain, until they’d passed well out of sight of anyone traveling on the road. They covered the last stretch to the river at a slow walk, the only pace they could manage.
When they cleared a low hill and saw the farmhouse ahead, nestling a stone’s throw from the river, Bantor felt close to exhaustion. The pain from his shoulder, combined with the unfamiliar effort of walking, had tired him more than he would have expected. His men looked no better, and he decided he’d made the right choice; traveling on the road, they would never have reached Dilgarth before riders caught up with them.
Spreading his men out to avoid leaving tracks, they stepped down into the nearest irrigation ditch, and splashed along its winding course down to the river.
The farm, a large one with several separate buildings surrounded by fields of wheat and barley, belonged to a man named Hargar. Children playing under a tree noticed them approaching, and ran to warn the adults.
The family barricaded themselves inside the main building. Bantor knew the appearance of so many armed men would frighten any farmer.
When they reached the sheep pen, Bantor climbed out of the ditch.
“Wait here,” he told the men. “Klexor, come with me.” The two men walked side by side to the house.
“Ho, Hargar! No need to hide in your cellar. It’s Bantor, commander at Akkad, and we need your help.”
Nothing happened, so Bantor and Klexor sat in the dirt under a fruit tree in front of the main house, a few paces from the door. Bantor leaned gratefully against the tree and hoped nobody in the house decided to launch an arrow at him. After a long moment, they heard shuffling at the door, and a young man stuck his head out and stared at them, eyes wide and mouth open.
“Who are you?” Bantor called out.
“I’m Hargar’s son, Hannis. My father has gone to Dilgarth to sell a goat. Is it really you, Bantor?” His voice sounded fearful, but he stepped outside and slowly approached the men sitting on the ground. “By the gods, it is you. What are you doing here? Why did you approach through the ditches?”
“It’s a long story, Hannis. But something’s gone wrong at Akkad. Have you heard any news from there?”
“No, no one’s gone to market in over a week,” Hannis said, still looking nervous at the sight of the rest of Bantor’s men.
“Well, we need your help. If we wanted to slit your throats, you’d all be dead by now. I need food and drink for my men.” Bantor reached into his pouch and took out the last of his silver coins. “Knowing your father, I suppose I’ll have to pay for it.” He tossed the coins to Hannis. “Give these to Hargar when he returns.”
An hour later, Bantor and all his men, full of food and a few mouthfuls of ale, had fallen asleep behind a storehouse nestled next to the river.
Klexor stood watch, as much to make sure no one left the farm as to guard against anyone approaching.
A little before sundown, Bantor and his men ate again, filling themselves on bread, cheese, and several tasteless sausages Hargar had been planning to sell in the market at Akkad.
“We’re taking your boats, Hannis,” Bantor said. “Don’t bother complaining. You’ll be paid when things settle down in Akkad.”
“And if they don’t settle down, then I’ll be out two boats,” Hannis answered. “Can’t you pay me now?”
Bantor smiled. “You’ve learned your father’s ways. I would if I could, but you’ve already got the last of my silver. Besides, you’ll probably get the boats back anyway.”
“Where are you going?”
“We’re going upriver to Dilgarth. It’s better than walking, and there’s no place nearby where we’ll find enough horses.”
“What’s going on in Dilgarth? Has Eskkar returned from the north?”
Bantor took the last piece of bread from the platter and stood. “Stay away from both Akkad and Dilgarth for at least a week. And Hannis, make sure no one in your family says anything about us being here or taking the boats. Or I’ll come back and take that silver out of your hides. You’ll wish the Alur Meriki had returned if I find you’ve told anyone we were here or where we’re going. Do you understand?”
Bantor walked away without waiting for a reply. At the river, two boats bobbed in the water, tied to posts sunk into the bank. One was little more than a skiff, and used as much for working in the irrigation ditches as on the river. The other craft was larger, and sturdy enough to ferry crops and animals to the markets in Akkad.
Four of Bantor’s men knew about boats, and he told them to take charge. They emptied the vessel of ballast, and positioned the men with care. Seventeen men could barely squeeze aboard, and both boats rode dangerously low in the water. Even Bantor could see it wouldn’t take much to capsize them. The sun had just gone down when they pushed off, heading north. Without a breeze, they didn’t bother to raise the tiny sail on the larger craft.
Powering the overloaded boats upstream took plenty of muscle, and the men handed off the small paddles to one another whenever they tired.
They paddled until well away from the farm. Only when the darkness of night covered everything did Bantor order them to turn toward the shore, satisfied no one could see them. If anyone came to the farm and put a knife to Hannis’s throat, the farmer could honestly say that Bantor had gone north, up the river.
They rested, watching the stars appear, before turning the boats around and heading back toward Akkad, with four men working the oars.
The paddling went easier downstream, and they made better time.
Bantor wanted to go faster, but the boatmen refused to speed up, afraid of a spill in the darkness, in an overweighted boat paddled by clumsy oarsmen.
Most of the men sat immobile, afraid to move. No one wanted to go for a swim in the river at night, with a good chance of drowning in the bargain.
Bantor watched the shoreline, and soon the dark outlines of Hargar’s farmhouse slid past. He saw no one, and anyone watching the river would have to be standing at the edge of the riverbank to notice the vessels’ silent passing.
The moon rose, climbed, and began to fall, as they made their way down the Tigris. Bantor guessed they still had another hour or so before dawn when the boatman called out that they were approaching Akkad.
Bantor couldn’t see anything, except the river glinting in the moonlight.
No lights showed anywhere along the river. He knew all the farmers would be fast asleep, thriftily saving their oil and candles. Torches would be burning in Akkad, but Bantor knew they would have to be farther downriver to
