“If you were interested in taking some of them into your army for a time, they would make fine fighters for you. They could learn much about the ways of war, and practice their skills on your enemy.”
A force of steppe warriors, even a small one, would be a blessing from the gods, Eskkar knew. They could act as scouts and messengers, and could harass the enemy as well. “If any of your warriors wished to join my men, they would be welcome.”
“Just for a year or two,” Subutai cautioned. “I don’t want them deciding to stay with your army when they’re needed here. But what they would learn would be very useful.”
It certainly would, Eskkar decided. They would learn more about Eskkar’s army and his forces, their strengths and weaknesses, than he would have cared to share with the Ur Nammu, but that couldn’t be avoided. Like Subutai, Eskkar understood that the day might come when they faced each other across a battlefield. But such a day would not come soon, he knew.
“I think we can make a fair arrangement, Subutai, that satisfies you and your needs.”
“Good. We’ll speak of this again in a few days. Better to let my men get used to the idea of delivering and breaking horses for you first.”
When the leader of the Ur Nammu had gone, Eskkar stretched out on his blanket. A force of warriors under his command. Something he’d dreamed about as a young boy. He found the idea strangely satisfying, and knew his father’s spirit would approve of his son leading horsemen into battle. The Ur Nammu might not be the Alur Meriki, but they shared a common ancestry, both clans riding down from the distant northern steppes many generations ago.
With their skills, Subutai’s warriors would make a powerful addition to his future army. There would be risks, of course, and plenty of problems, but he felt sure he could manage it, with a little luck. Hathor would help, and he would make a fine leader of Akkad’s horse fighters.
Eskkar wrapped his blanket around him and closed his eyes. Horses and fighting men from the Ur Nammu. Trella would be pleased.
21
Little more than a month after King Shulgi took control of Sumer, En-hedu stood with her hands on her hips, looking about the crowded tavern full of happy patrons. Since their arrival in Sumer, both she and Tammuz had worked hard, but at last the Kestrel Tavern had settled into a satisfying routine. Irkalla and Anu handed out the food and ale, and serviced the customers, those able and willing to pay for their special services. The cook, helped by En-hedu and the girls, made the evening stew, while Rimaud carried ale and anything else of bulk to the Kestrel by day, and kept the crowd under control at night.
With Tammuz’s reputation in the neighborhood established by knocking the three thieves unconscious, and Rimaud’s massive arms and shoulders, not to mention the short sword he wore day and night, only the very foolish or very drunk dared to make trouble. Guardsman Jarud stopped by almost every night, often with two or three of his men who either had done something well during the day, or possibly just avoided their leader’s ire. He usually arrived well after sundown, to enjoy a late-night cup of ale. His presence helped convince the gangs who lurked in the marketplace and roamed the lanes at night that it made more sense to leave the Kestrel and its new owners alone, and concentrate on more vulnerable and less popular prey.
Serving decent food and strong ale, the Kestrel soon earned a good reputation, especially among those sailing or working on the riverboats and docks, located only a few hundred paces away. Patrons could drink themselves senseless, fall asleep on the floor, and still find their purses, not to mention their throats, intact in the morning. Rimaud even accompanied an occasional sailor back to his boat at closing time or got them to the docks just after dawn.
Tammuz and En-hedu still labored from dawn to dusk each day. Everything and everyone had to be under someone’s watch, lest problems arose. Even good customers would cheerfully take advantage of any lapse of the owners’ guard, either by stealing ale or pilfering from another customer who might have drunk too much.
Still, people came to the Kestrel to eat, drink, meet and talk with their friends, or just to find a safe place to sleep at night. That kept the little tavern open for business from dawn until well after dark. En-hedu and Tammuz made sure that one or both of them were present to keep an eye on things at all times, though they soon realized that Rimaud could be trusted as well. His gratitude for their concern showed on his broad face. He made sure that neither the customers nor the staff could take advantage of the Kestrel’s owners.
Like any trade or craft, the owners also had to exercise constant care to maintain a profitable business. En- hedu kept track of all the expenses, and informed Tammuz that, in another month or two, the Kestrel would be turning a profit. That was important, not only because they had to earn their own bread, but because an unprofitable inn that remained in business would attract suspicion. And there were plenty of informers, who dropped in to hear the latest talk on the river, ready to take notice of anything out of the ordinary. En-hedu and her husband soon knew who they were. Their clumsy attempts to gather loose talk and draw information from the northern boatmen made many of the regular customers laugh.
En-hedu was working alone one afternoon when a man entered the Kestrel, his eyes squinting into the shadowy interior. Not much light entered from the door or the roof hole, and it was still too early in the day to start a fire. He glanced around, then went to a table and sat down. The tavern was almost empty, except for two drunks snoring their heads off in the corner. Tammuz and Rimaud were out buying ale, while the girls were trying to snatch some sleep in the tiny room that they shared with Rimaud and those clients who were willing to pay extra.
En-hedu reached the table, sizing up the potential customer. He looked like a man with a coin or two in his purse. “Welcome to the Kestrel. Ale costs one copper coin for two mugs, or one cup and a loaf of bread.” It was always best to get the prices clear in the customer’s mind right away. Otherwise, they would claim they’d been distracted and hadn’t realized what things cost. Or they claimed to have forgotten, which she could almost believe from some of the more ignorant farm workers, especially after they’d drunk a few cups of ale. By now En-hedu had heard every trick and sad story a customer could come up with.
The man smiled, reached into his tunic, and pulled out a leather pouch that remained looped around his neck. “And to stay the night, how much is that?”
A customer with ready coins always received a smile and a softer tone. “For two copper coins, you can have as much ale as you like, with stew for supper and a place to sleep tonight.” That wasn’t as generous as it sounded. Almost no one could drink more than three or four cups of the powerful brew. One customer had downed six cups before passing out and cracking his head on a table. He didn’t wake up until nearly noon the next day.
A man with plenty of coin might also be interested in Irkalla or Anu, especially after a few cups of ale. En- hedu would point this one out to Irkalla. The woman knew how to take advantage of such situations, and sometimes ended up doing little more than bring the man into her chamber and put him to bed. In the morning she would tell the confused customer how strong and virile he was.
“Two copper coins, then,” the man said. “My name is Malok. I just arrived today from Akkad.”
En-hedu showed no sign of recognition at the man’s name. Lady Trella had said they would be contacted by a man named Malok. The name was half the password.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t be quick to tell people I’m from Akkad. Travelers from that evil city are still not very welcome in Sumer.”
Despite Shulgi’s announcement of peace with his northern neighbor, people’s feelings took a long time to change. And offering that bit of advice meant nothing. Sumer’s spies kept watch on the docks, and would take note of anyone from Akkad, even a lowly riverboat crewman.
“I grew up here in Sumeria,” Malok said. “I only attend my master, who travels up and down the river, wherever the trading takes him.”
“Well, I hope you’ll return to the Kestrel many times,” En-hedu said.
She scooped up the two coins and went to the ale table. Pouring a generous amount into the wooden cup, she carried it back to the table. “Supper won’t be ready until just before dark. The cook hasn’t even started.”
“The ale will do until then.” Malok took a mouthful of ale, and sighed with pleasure. “And you are…?”
“My name is En-hedu. My husband Tammuz and I own this place.”
“I knew an En-hedu in my village where I grew up. A place called Ubaid. You remind me of her.”
