strong enough to slice through flesh.”
He hadn’t thought of that. A sword needed to be thick enough to block or deflect an enemy’s stroke. A man on foot scrambling around and dodging a horse’s hooves didn’t have that to worry about. No knife, no matter how thick, would stop or even deflect a sword swung with full force from a moving horse.
“That’s true. We don’t want to weigh the slinger down with anything heavy. He’ll be carrying a load of stones with him as it is, so there’s no need to give him something else heavy to lug around.”
“They might have special tunics, ones with many strong pockets sewn into them. That would spread the weight over their bodies and make it easier to move about.”
“A thick belt would be useful, too,” he added. “They could fasten a pouch of stones to it, then cut it free if they needed to move quickly.”
She laughed and kissed his neck, then arched her body and let her breast fall across his chest. “You’ve gotten yourself a new force of fighters. But now it’s time to sleep. We’ll talk more about this in the morning. And in the next few weeks, I’m sure we can find ways to improve their effectiveness. After all, you turned villagers into bowmen. Why not boys into slingers?”
He pulled her close. “Why not? I’m sure you’ll think of something special for them.”
Eskkar knew his wife too well to ask her what she might possibly do. If she put her mind to a task, then something was sure to happen. He kissed the top of her head. “Then they’re in good hands, with you worrying about their lives.”
They drifted off to sleep, secure in each other’s arms, thoughts of war and battle set aside for the rest of the night.
24
Ten days after the messenger from Akkad departed, two men stopped before the entrance to the Kestrel. Late in the afternoon, Tammuz and En-hedu had just finished enjoying the shade outside the tavern’s door. The Kestrel had been open for business for more than a month, and a steady routine had established itself. The mornings kept them busy, serving bread and ale to anyone who stopped by or who had slept over. That meant rising with the dawn, to keep an eye on the customers still sleeping on the floor, or those who might have availed themselves of Irkalla and Anu. The ale had to be watched, of course, at all times, and it wasn’t unheard of for customers to rob those still sleeping, then depart.
When the last of the patrons left the inn, preparations began for another day’s activity. The common room had to be cleaned each morning. A man who’d drunk too much ale seldom bothered to step out into the lane to relieve himself in the middle of the night, even assuming he could get Rimaud to open the door.
While the clean-up went on, ale and provisions needed to be purchased. But most of the day’s preparation ended well before midday. At noon Tammuz and En-hedu often carried a bench outside the Kestrel. They took time to relax and watch the people passing by in the lane, while they shared a loaf of bread and a cup of weak ale. Afterwards, they would take turns getting some sleep.
Late in the afternoon found Tammuz seated on his stool behind the ale table. He took one look at the two men standing before the entrance and frowned. One was a bodyguard, complete with sword and a sack he carried over one shoulder. The other wore the sash that proclaimed him a member of King Shulgi’s officials.
“This is the new tavern, the… Kestrel?”
A stupid question, since an image of the bird was directly behind Tammuz’s head, not to mention the one outside, next to the door. He rose from the bench. “Yes, master. Do you need a place to stay?”
The man snorted in annoyance. “I wouldn’t waste my time in a filthy place such as this. I am King Shulgi’s collector of taxes. Fetch the owner.”
That was unfair, Tammuz thought. They kept the Kestrel cleaner than most taverns in Sumer.
“I am the owner… my wife and I.”
En-hedu stepped from their bedroom, but the tax man didn’t bother to acknowledge her presence. “Your tax is due. Three silver coins. If you can’t pay, your tavern will be closed and your goods confiscated.”
“Merchant Gemama told us that the tax would be two silver coins,” En-hedu said, moving beside her husband.
“The tax for a tavern used to be two silvers… now it’s three.”
“We’ll pay two,” Tammuz said. The tax collector could easily be trying to take advantage of them, collecting three coins and turning in only two. “That’s what Merchant Gemama told us we had to pay.”
The tax collector tightened his lips. “King Shulgi announced the new tax ten days ago, when he spoke in the marketplace.”
A small crowd of the always curious had gathered just outside the door, to watch the little drama. One of the bystanders called out. “It’s true! The tax was raised to three silvers.”
Tammuz turned to En-hedu, dismay on his face. “That will take more than we’ve earned.”
She shrugged. “What can we do? We’ll have to pay it.”
“The king doesn’t care about your profits, innkeeper. Now pay up, or the tavern is closed.”
“I’ll fetch it.” En-hedu went inside, and a few moments later, returned.
The taxman held out his hand.
En-hedu held her fist to her chest. “I want a stone first, to show that we’ve paid.”
A small clay shard, marked with the king’s sign, a different one starting with each new moon, provided proof that the tax had been paid.
“Not very trusting, are you?” The man’s sarcasm was wasted on her. “All right.” He dug into the bodyguard’s pouch and handed over the red-baked clay marker. En-hedu examined it, then handed him the tax.
Without a word, the man turned and left the tavern. Tammuz and En-hedu followed him to the door, and watched him walk down the lane, heading to the next place of business. With nothing to see, the crowd dissolved, and Tammuz and En-hedu stepped back inside the Kestrel.
“Wait!”
Another man followed them in. Tammuz recognized Melchior, Gemama’s clerk. He muttered another oath under his breath.
“Merchant Gemama’s fee is due today. One silver coin. Do you have it?” Melchior’s voice grated in Tammuz’s ears. Gemama’s clerk spoke as if he expected them to plead some excuse or ask for a delay.
“Yes, I have it.” He nodded to En-hedu once again. She handed over the coin. “Make sure your master gets it,” Tammuz warned. “We won’t be paying twice.”
After a quick inspection to make sure the coin was sound, Melchior placed the coin in his pouch and let it slip inside his tunic. He, too, left without another word.
“There go our profits for the month,” En-hedu said. She lowered her voice. “If we had to earn that from the Kestrel, we’d starve.”
“No, we’d dilute the wine and ale, serve bad food, and steal from our customers, like every other innkeeper in Sumer.”
“Still, we’re going to need more copper coming into the inn,” she said. “Who knows, perhaps the tax will be raised again in a month or two. Maybe it is time to start using Zenobia’s teachings.”
The owner of Akkad’s finest pleasure house had taught En-hedu the secret skill of massage, the hidden pressure points on a body that would respond favorably to a knowing touch. En-hedu had mastered the teaching, learning quickly, and with her strong hands and powerful arms, she could push and prod and knead as well as any man.
Tammuz didn’t care for this part of the plan at all. He didn’t like the idea of En-hedu touching other women, not to mention men. There would always be requests for more intimate services from both sexes.
She saw his frown. “Don’t worry, husband. I’ll take care, I promise.”
He took a deep breath and put his arm around her. “I know. But I still…”
Another man entered the tavern. This one glanced around, and seemed happy to find the inn still empty.
“What do you want?” Bad tidings always arrived in threes. Tammuz knew the man was no customer. He looked too well fed, and the long knife in his belt didn’t go well with the run-down clothing.
