king’s shoulders sagged in defeat.
Hathor shoved him along until they returned to where he left the horses. A handful of his men were busy looting the bodies. “Tie this one up, hands behind his back. Use his sandal straps and make sure they’re tight. We don’t want King Eridu to escape, do we?” Hathor shoved Eridu to the ground, where he lay gasping as the breath fled his body. “And his feet, too.”
While the soldier trussed up the prisoner, Hathor took another glance around. His men were returning, most leading horses that no longer had the strength to carry their riders. A few even herded prisoners along. Hathor frowned at that. He preferred not to bother with captured soldiers, better to just kill them and get them out of the way, but he knew Eskkar would want to talk to them, to learn why they fought, and what they believed in.
Such ideas reminded him of Lady Trella’s influence on her husband. Hathor had the greatest respect for Lady Trella. She was, after all, the one who convinced her husband to spare Hathor’s life, putting her will against Eskkar’s rage and desire for vengeance, not to mention the demands of every inhabitant of the city of Akkad.
Trella, transformed in a moment from slave to queen, offered her enemy his life, even a chance to return to Egypt if that’s what he wanted. Instead, Hathor had sworn an oath on his honor as a warrior to follow Eskkar wherever he led, and Hathor had included Trella in that promise. In the days that followed, when he was greeted with scorn and contempt, if not outright hatred by everyone in the city, only Trella’s influence and firm acceptance of the Egyptian gradually convinced the people of Akkad to separate Hathor from the atrocities of the Egyptian Korthac.
Since that time, Hathor had discovered a measure of happiness serving Akkad’s leaders. Never before had such feelings filled his life, and he welcomed the opportunity to repay Eskkar and Trella for what they’d given him. Destroying their enemies would help pay back the debt that could never truly be redeemed.
And Hathor had proven himself a skilled leader of horsemen, second only to Eskkar himself. In the last year, he’d worked long and hard with the men he now commanded, turning farmers and villagers into a skilled force of cavalry, a name he recalled from his days in Egypt. The Akkadian cavalry numbered less than fifty men in all, and Eskkar had brought only thirty-two with him on this expedition to the southern border. The rest remained in the city, patrolling the nearby farms. Hathor’s riders had demonstrated their worth today. They’d smashed the remains of the Sumerians and defeated them for the second time in one morning. And he’d captured King Eridu.
His grinning and cheering men returned, congratulating each other and their leader. Every warrior had a story to tell, either a brave act that showed his worth, or something foolish the fleeing Sumerians had done. Even the normally grave Hathor couldn’t resist a smile at some of the stories he heard.
“Enough celebrating for now,” he shouted, at last putting a stop to all the chattering. “Count the Sumerian dead, and finish searching the bodies. Kill any of the enemy wounded that can’t walk. Then gather all the weapons and anything else of value. The prisoners can carry it all back to Eskkar’s camp. There’s no water here, so we need to keep moving.”
The men cheered again, and Hathor shook his head.
“Get moving, you fools. We’ve still got a long ride ahead of us.”
More like a long walk, since the horses were nearly exhausted. Hathor looked down and saw Eridu staring up at him, his eyes wide and mouth open in fear. “And I’m sure King Eskkar will be most glad to honor his neighbor from the south.”
The sun had begun its descent toward the horizon when Eskkar finished his second inspection of the camp. His men had established a strong position, digging a ditch across the easiest points of access, and positioning a good-sized number of pickets on the two main approaches. No force of horsemen would be able to sweep in unchallenged, not that he expected any would dare make the attempt.
Mitrac and his men had arrived a little after midday, struggling under the burden of all the weapons they had captured. Fortunately, they had rounded up a few horses, and used them as pack animals to carry some of the load.
One of the sentries gave a shout. “They’re coming in, Captain! Hathor’s men!”
Eskkar strode to the southern edge of the camp. A ragged group of horsemen appeared. Not really horsemen, he decided, but tired men leading their weary animals. Hathor had sent a rider back earlier with the news of the battle. As soon as Eskkar learned of Hathor’s victory and the safety of his men, he let himself relax for the first time in two days. In fact, he took the opportunity to swim in the stream and clean his filthy tunic. At least the garment wasn’t bloodstained.
That would please Trella, who preferred that he leave any actual fighting to others. They’d had that discussion many times. She insisted that his life was too valuable to risk on an insignificant fight. Eskkar countered by reminding her that a leader needed to fight to maintain not only his honor but his reputation. That argument between them, he knew, would continue, at least as long as he remained alive.
Now Eskkar wanted to hear the details of Hathor’s battle.
Hathor led the ragged procession toward them. A cheer erupted from Eskkar’s archers as Hathor’s men reached the edge of the camp, and soon every soldier was shouting and congratulating each other on their victory. The ragged noise soon turned into a chant. “Eskkar! Eskkar! Eskkar!”
He shook his head at the praise. Once again he had accomplished something out of the ordinary. His soldiers and cavalry had defeated an enemy force that outnumbered them greatly, and had done so with very little loss of Akkadian life. Even Eskkar had worried that he might lose half his men before he achieved this victory.
“Welcome back, Hathor.” Eskkar gave the Egyptian a hug that would have crushed anyone smaller. “You and your men have done well.” Eskkar said the words in a loud voice, so that everyone in the camp could hear. “Did you lose many men?”
“No, Captain, just two men dead and four horses. But we killed forty-four Sumerians, and captured three horses and fifteen prisoners, not a bad exchange.”
“Take care of your men, Hathor, then join me at the tent. You look like you could use a bath and some food.”
“Yes, Captain. Would you take charge of this prisoner until then?”
Hathor moved aside. Behind him stood a single prisoner, held upright by a grinning guard. Eskkar glanced at the foot-sore Sumerian for the first time. Not much of a warrior, the man looked exhausted. Fear showed not only on his face, but in his every movement.”
“King Eskkar, may I present you with King Eridu of Sumeria.”
“No!” Eskkar couldn’t believe his ears. A laugh went up from Hathor’s men, who crowded around to see their commander’s reaction.
“I asked the scout not to tell you,” Hathor said. “I thought you might enjoy a surprise.”
“Now I want to hear the whole story,” Eskkar said. “Every word. But first take care of yourself and your men.” He reached out, clasped his hand on Eridu’s shoulder hard enough to make the man gasp, and dragged him into the camp. Eskkar guided the Sumerian along until they drew close to the tent. Eskkar had planned to put the prisoner inside, but now he changed his mind. He shoved Eridu to the ground about thirty paces away. “Stay there.”
“Water, King Eskkar. Please. I need water.”
Eridu’s voice sounded hoarse and dry. He might not have had anything to drink since last night. Well and good, Eskkar decided. It would put the Sumerian in a more cooperative mood. “Perhaps later, after you tell me what I want to know.”
Eskkar entered the tent. Eridu’s two playthings clutched each other at the sudden appearance of their captor. Despite his reassurances, they still believed they would end up dead or worse. He had spoken to them before, and even remembered their names. Both were pleasure slaves, fresh from the slave market. Berlit was the taller one, with brown hair that tumbled around her face. Girsu, shorter and darker of hair and skin, possessed an impressive pair of breasts. He sat down on the thick blankets no doubt once reserved for Eridu.
“Sit before me,” he ordered.
“Yes, master,” they said in unison, as they knelt before him.
“I want you to tell me some things,” he said, keeping his voice firm. “If you withhold anything, if you try to lie to me… there are a hundred men outside the tent who would be eager to show you their prowess.”
“Yes, master, anything you command,” Berlit said. She clutched Girsu’s hand, as much to reassure herself as her companion.
