En-hedu laughed. “I am her, Malok. I remember now. There was a boy named Malok, son of Grimald.”
“No, Grimald was my uncle. Tibor was my father.”
They laughed at the seemingly chance encounter. En-hedu felt satisfied. Their little string of falsehoods agreed. Malok was the first messenger from Annok-sur, the man who would deliver and carry messages back to Akkad.
Like any old friends reunited, they spoke of Ubaid, and En-hedu realized that Malok was indeed familiar with the village. He’d probably gone there just as she and Tammuz had done, spending just enough time to blend in. Malok had chosen a good time to visit the Kestrel. That timing might not be by chance, she decided. A quick glance toward the snoring drunks reassured her. They would sleep the remainder of the afternoon.
“So, what’s happening now in Sumer? I hear you have a new king.”
“Yes, King Shulgi, son of Eridu, now rules here. King Shulgi is young, but wise for his seasons. Unlike his father, our new king wants only peace. Some evil people think he murdered his father, that he wanted to seize control and to take his half-sister to his bed.” She laughed as she delivered the local gossip. “People always have to have something wicked to talk about. But I heard him speak in the marketplace months ago when he took his father’s place, and I say King Shulgi’s wits are keen, as are those of his new wife, Kushanna.”
As if they were merely having a casual conversation, En-hedu told Malok everything she and Tammuz had learned. By the time she stopped talking, the ale in Malok’s cup was gone.
“Well, at least there will be peace between Sumer and Akkad now.”
“Yes, there is much talk of peace.” En-hedu put the slightest emphasis on the word talk. One of the sleeping drunks might be awake and listening. “But the recruiters are still talking to every farmboy and goatherd that enters the city, though most of the training camps around Sumer have emptied. One customer claimed they have been moved to the west, near the edge of the great desert.”
“That seems strange,” Malok said. “Why so far from Sumer?”
“The desert tribesmen are raiding the border again. Farms and small villages have been burned. Sumer has to protect its borders.” En-hedu shrugged. “Whatever the reason, it’s bad for business to have so many men so far away.”
“As long as Sumer wants peace, who cares how many soldiers your king recruits, or where he sends them.”
“Perhaps. Meanwhile King Shulgi is most active in consolidating his rule. The other cities have not yet agreed to accept his leadership. But I think they will in time. King Shulgi is governing wisely, though the taxes remain high, because the greedy barbarian king in Akkad demanded so much in ransom for Shulgi’s father.”
Malok took another sip of ale. “I know little of such things. When warriors struggle against each other, a poor boatman like myself must just grovel in the dirt on his stomach and hope neither side steps on him.”
En-hedu laughed at that. “Well, despite all that Akkad can do to stop us, Sumer is too powerful and too strong to not take the lead of the southern cities. People who travel up and down the rivers say that Sumer is now the largest city in the world.”
“That’s what they say in Akkad, but with Akkad’s name instead of Sumer’s,” Malok said with a smile. “Still, peace is good for trade, which means my master and his grasping boat captains will be pleased.”
“And good for the Kestrel. If all the men are at war, then there is no one to drink and entertain my girls. And our patron, Merchant Gemama would still demand his profit every month, no matter how many customers we had.”
She wanted Yavtar to know that Gemama had decided to help them.
“Then I’ll have another cup of ale, to drink to peace between our cities.”
En-hedu fetched it. As she set it down, she passed the final piece of information. “Our new queen, Kushanna, is very wise and very powerful. She attends all the councils, and the king seeks her advice on everything.”
“I’ll remember that, En-hedu of Ubaid. Is she as beautiful as they say?”
“Oh yes, and a few seasons older than her new husband.” En-hedu described Kushanna in detail, knowing that Lady Trella would want to know such things.
Two men stepped into the room, and one shouted for ale.
“No need to shout,” En-hedu said, raising her own voice as loud as the newcomers. “I can see and hear you well enough.” She rose and smiled at Malok. “Enjoy your stay at the Kestrel.”
En-hedu said nothing to Malok for the rest of the evening, and didn’t even tell Tammuz until they were in bed and she could whisper the words into his ear. “Make sure you see him before he leaves in the morning, so you can recognize him next time.”
“You think he’ll be back? Maybe they’ll send someone else.”
“He’s working on a riverboat. Now that trade has resumed, boats will be moving up and down the Tigris. He’ll probably be here every fifteen or twenty days. No one will be suspicious of a sailor spending an evening or two in a tavern.”
“I wish we could tell Trella ourselves.”
“The messenger will be both loyal and discreet. She will have seen to that. Now go to sleep husband.”
He held her tight for a moment, then let himself relax. Soon he fell asleep, and En-hedu could worry without disturbing him. Tammuz was right, the most dangerous part of this enterprise was delivering the reports to the messenger. If anyone suspected him or them, a long and painful session in Shulgi’s torture room would drag the truth out of even the strongest man. Or woman. En-hedu wondered what she would do if the hot irons were pressed against the most tender parts of her body. She shivered. Best not to be taken alive, she knew.
En-hedu cleared her mind of problems. Instead, she let herself enjoy the warmth and touch of Tammuz’s body against hers, so different from that of her previous master.
Her first owner had been brutal and cruel, turning her into a helpless animal pleading to avoid his fists. He had broken her nose at least once, and shared her with his friends or anyone willing to pay for more ale. En-hedu cried every night, and begged the gods for a quick death to release her. Word of her mistreatment had reached Lady Trella’s ears, and she and her guards arrived at the tannery owned by En-hedu’s master, to stop the beatings that had offended and embarrassed everyone living nearby.
With Lady Trella threatening to drive En-hedu’s owner from the city, he grudgingly accepted a decent price for his slave. Lady Trella took the frightened and still crying girl by the hand, and led her to a new life.
It took weeks for the pain and bruises to fade, and for her wits to return. As she regained her health and strength, En-hedu impressed Lady Trella. In time, she gave En-hedu to Tammuz, as young and inexperienced as herself. Like two wounded chicks in a nest, they found strength and comfort in each other.
Together they blossomed into something stronger than either of them could have ever hoped for. The crippled boy and the plain and ungainly girl fell in love with each other, even as they spied for Lady Trella. And they also managed to strike a blow against the usurper Korthac, killing several of his soldiers during the fighting. With Tammuz’s quick reactions, he had saved Gatus’s life as well.
Now she and Tammuz were two of Trella’s most important spies, working in the heart of Sumer. If they were successful, En-hedu and Tammuz would be greatly rewarded, and they could live a life of ease in Akkad. To achieve that goal, however, would involve much danger. Lady Trella had warned them of what would happen if they were discovered or betrayed. Death would be a mercy if they were unmasked.
That, En-hedu decided, was not going to happen. Not if she had anything to say about it. If not for herself, then at least nothing must happen to Tammuz.
22
Forty days later, Shulgi and two hundred horsemen arrived at Razrek’s camp, located just before the river that marked the edge of the desert. Every man rode a sturdy horse, wore a leather helmet, and carried a good bronze sword. The men in the camp ceased their tasks and watched the king and his Sumerians’ arrival, looking for lame or weary horses, tired riders or signs of poor horsemanship skills.
No hint of any such weakness could be seen. The competent riders sat comfortably on their horses, appearing relaxed after a five-day ride across Sumeria’s southern lands under the fierce desert heat.
Shulgi, riding at the head of his cavalry, ignored everyone’s gaze. Since taking over from Razrek, he’d put
