Quest for Honour (58 page)

Already into his twenty-sixth season, Enkidu knew he would command even more soldiers in the coming war. In two more months he’d return to Akkad with half of his best-trained men, leaving behind a well-run garrison for the next commander and the latest batch of raw recruits, who would start the process all over again.

Enkidu inspected the last guard on the northern wall, found nothing to require his attention, and headed back toward his quarters. He enjoyed the private room that – as commander of the post – he shared only with one local farmer’s daughter, who was quite pleased to have caught his eye and grateful for the chance to escape life on the farm. Enkidu’s wife and two sons remained in Akkad with her family, waiting for his return. He still hadn’t decided if he would bring his concubine with him when he returned to the city. The girl pleasured him well each evening, but
Enkidu’s wife had a sharp temper, and he didn’t know how she would react to a second wife. He shook such thoughts from his mind and thought instead about the evening’s pleasure.

“Commander! South Post! Hurry!”

The voice held urgency mixed with fear, and Enkidu’s pleasant thoughts of the future vanished. He burst into a run across the outpost, reached the wobbly wooden steps, and climbed them two at a time.

The guard had his hand extended toward the river, and one glance told Enkidu all he needed to know. “Get everyone in the fort. Close the gates!” He bellowed the last words, but already the other guards were raising their own alarms. “Everyone to their posts! Prepare for an attack.”

He’d given that order many times before, but only to train his men, never in a real attack. Enkidu turned back to stare across the river. One hundred, two hundred, perhaps more riders had emerged from the low hills and scattered trees that hugged the far side of the river. The lead elements already splashed their way into the Sippar, churning the calm waters to froth beneath their hooves. The river here was wide but shallow, and they’d be across in moments. With a chill, he realized he could do nothing to stop them.

“Get men on horseback. Ride for Akkad. Tell them . . . we’re under attack!”

He’d almost said what he already knew, that they were all already dead. The marauders, now that he could see them better, looked like Tanukhs, but those desert-dwellers hadn’t raided this far east in many years, not since Eskkar took command at Akkad. Enkidu’s second in command, a veteran named Sargat, arrived, took one look across the river, and swore.

“We’ll never be able to hold them off. Ready the horses,” Enkidu said. “I’ll try to slow them down. We’ll have to break out of here.”

That meant abandoning the villagers living in the fort, but he couldn’t help that. Enkidu shouted another order, and the handful of men on the palisade began shooting arrows at the advancing horde, in a futile effort to slow them down.

Enkidu dashed down the steps toward the rear of the fort. “Get everyone into the boats. Pull for Kanesh.” That place might have already fallen, but this could be an isolated raid, and if the boats escaped, they might find safety at the larger fort or ashore somewhere in between. At the corral he saw men moving about, throwing halters on the skittish animals.
They’d reacted to the unfamiliar scent of fear in the men handling them. A leader of ten reached the corral at the same moment. Enkidu grabbed him by the shoulder and shouted in his ear.

“Take five men and try to get through before they encircle us. Fight your way past them if you can and warn Akkad.”

The man nodded, and began shouting his own orders. Frightened villagers pushed past him and through the open rear gate, heading for the jetty. The two boats rocked wildly as panicky men, women and children tried to pile into them. One ship pushed off, already heavily loaded. A few villagers jumped into the river, to try to swim to safety downstream. They knew that drowning would be a better fate than to be taken by the Tanukhs. Anyone captured on shore would die within moments, if a worse fate didn’t befall them.

Five horses burst out of the gate, heading north. For a brief moment, Enkidu felt tempted to take a horse and go after them. But he couldn’t leave his men. With an oath, he turned his back on the coral and snatched a bow that one of the departing riders had abandoned.

“Fall in with me! Form a line! We’ve got to hold them off for a few moments!”

Enkidu bellowed the words to make himself heard. The undulating Tanukh war cries floated over the confusion in the fort. Then the drumming of hooves on hard ground told him the enemy was only moments away.

Six men moved to his side, bows in hand. Another handful of soldiers struggled to catch their horses. “Go! Ride for Akkad!”

They burst out through the gate, kicking their horses to a gallop. Enkidu saw the fear mixed with relief on their faces. Then the din of screaming Tanukhs drowned out everything. The enemy horsemen had reached the main gate. The first one swung over the top of the now undefended palisade. Enkidu put an arrow right through his chest. But a dozen more pulled themselves up and over. The archers beside him loosed their shafts, but it only slowed the wave of attackers for a moment.

“Get to the horses! Ride for Akkad!”

The rest of his men dropped their bows and dashed for the remaining horses. Enkidu followed them, moving backward, and still shooting arrows as fast as he could. A handful of the attackers flung open the main gate, while dozens more continued to scale the fence and drop from the parapets into the fort, screaming their war cries and waving swords.

Another group of soldiers galloped out, but the din of exultant war cries and approaching hooves told Enkidu that the Tanukhs had already reached the rear of the fort. Women screamed in fear, pushing their way toward the water. Enkidu reached the rear gate, still shooting shafts as fast as he could nock them to the bowstring. Already he’d emptied one quiver. He snatched up another from the ground.

The Tanukhs, shouting in triumph, rushed toward him. “Mount up!” Enkidu shouted. He continued launching arrows, dropping a man with every shot, the powerful long bow of Akkad deadly at such close range. Bodies, arrows protruding, lay scattered over the inside of the fort, mixing in death with those villagers too slow to get to the boats.

Enkidu glanced over his shoulder. Sargat swung up onto his horse, and held the halter of the last horse for Enkidu. An arrow already nocked on his string, Enkidu drew back his arm, loosed the shaft, and turned to run. Instead a burning pain shot through his chest, and he saw the point of an arrow protruding from his side. He took two steps, stumbled and fell to the ground. Each breath felt like fire, too hot to take into his body, and the strength drained from his legs. He lifted his eyes. He knew he wouldn’t be able to mount a horse. He met Sargat’s eyes.

“Go! Get to Akkad.” He managed to get the words out.

Sargat shook his head in frustration, dropped the halter, and put his heels to his horse, drawing his sword as he galloped out of the fort. Enkidu heard the clash of bronze as Sargat and the last of the Akkadians charged into the Tanukhs attempting to force their way toward the rear gate. Enkidu tried to get to his feet, his hand fumbling for his sword. Something knocked him over, and he fell against the side of the gate. Somehow he managed to drag the suddenly heavy sword from its scabbard.

A Tanukh, his teeth bared, appeared before him. The man raised his sword with a grin and swung down. Enkidu saw the blow descending and managed to raise his weapon. But the Tanukh’s powerful stroke brushed aside his feeble resistance, and he felt the blade bite deep into his neck. A rush of pain exploded through his body, blinding him for a moment before the blackness fell over him. The pain vanished, and he had time for only one thought before death took him. At least he’d died a warrior’s death, with a weapon in his hand and facing his enemies. There would be no evil voices calling him a coward to haunt his way through the underworld.

E
skkar stood at the entrance to the Map Room, watching Trella and Ismenne make yet more of the never-ending adjustments to the pictorial that depicted all the major landmarks and marking stones between Akkad and Sumer. In the two years since Trella had unveiled it, the map had changed again and again, rebuilt and redrawn countless times to include ever more detail, and to take into consideration the steady stream of new information that, month by month, flowed to the map maker’s hand.

Trella’s walkers had paced off the distances between nearly every village and city from north of Bisitun to as far south as Sumer. Discreet landmarks, recognizable only to those who knew what to look for, marked the most direct paths a man might travel. Marking stones indicated the length of the journey between various points. Both horsemen and walkers had trod many of the same routes, recorded their travels, and confirmed their findings. Piece by piece, Ismenne’s deft fingers added each new bit of information to the map.

After so many years of effort, the layout held a prodigious quantity of information. Since neither Eskkar nor his commanders knew for certain what might end up being useful, they tended to add everything they could. Eskkar’s doubts about the Map Room’s benefits had vanished long ago. It had already demonstrated its worth, and as long as it remained a secret known only to a few, it would prove even more useful in the coming war.

With so many details to represent, Trella and Ismenne had created new symbols to explain the map. Eskkar and his commanders had
memorized these new symbols out of necessity, but Ismenne still received an occasional question over how to comprehend some of the less familiar markings.

Today Ismenne took the lead in the latest adjustments, and Trella, standing at her side, deferred to her decisions. While his wife could complete almost any task she undertook, Eskkar knew Ismenne understood the map better than anyone in Akkad, and could interpret its patterns of lines and images without effort. When one of the commanders had a question, Ismenne could convert the scale on the map at a glance, and she seldom made even minor mistakes.

Eskkar remembered that, not many years ago, he had needed Trella to explain to him the meaning of the word
scale.
Now he could grasp the distances, landmarks, rivers, and paths with ease. It helped that he had ridden to and from many of these places on his training visits, and had verified much of the information with his own eyes. With his experience and that of his commanders, routes could be planned, difficulties accounted for, and the necessary supplies and equipment calculated. No one man – no leader of any group of fighting men – could keep so much information in his head. The map, however, held it all.

The map maker, as everyone called Ismenne, worked as hard as any soldier sweating in the training camps. Not that many in the city knew either of her existence or her skills. The Map Room’s master crafts-woman seldom left the Compound. When she did, Hawk Clan soldiers provided an unobtrusive protective guard. Not only did Ismenne know more about the Map Room than anyone, but she had heard every plan, every strategy, every resource that would be used in the eventual conflict with Sumer.

Every fifth day, Eskkar and any of his commanders whose duties kept them in Akkad met in the Map Room to review the latest information from Trella and Annok-sur’s agents in the south, and to work on the various plans they would set into motion when the war began. This morning’s meeting had included some new information from the city of Isin. King Naxos of Isin had strengthened his walls yet again, and increased the number of men under arms in the nearby camp. This report required a slight reworking of the map at Isin. Eskkar and the commanders had discussed the new possibilities until midday, when his leaders took a break from the morning’s work to return to their homes for the midday meal.

Eskkar had stayed behind, waiting for Trella to finish her discussion with Ismenne. He and Trella would dine together in the workroom. The midday meal often provided the day’s only opportunity for them to relax in each other’s company. He could have taken his place at the table and started without her, but it pleased him to watch his wife work.

She had come to him as a slave more than four years ago. From that humble beginning, Trella had worked day and night, often at his side, until the city’s inhabitants had raised their voices and demanded that Eskkar take power in Akkad. Now Trella helped rule the city which she helped create. Thanks to her guidance, the people prospered. No one starved to death, while others had too much food on their tables. The King’s Judge made sure that the laws of Akkad applied to all, rich and poor.

Eskkar and his wife set the example for the more wealthy of the city dwellers. No one wanted to flaunt their riches while the king lived in more humble surroundings, with no public display of his power. As a result, the prosperous merchants and craftsmen held the respect of those beneath them. Everyone knew the king and queen of Akkad ruled for
all
their subjects, not just those who possessed wealth.

Since the barbarian invasion, Eskkar and his soldiers had worked hard to keep at bay all of Akkad’s enemies. Nevertheless, many gave as much credit to Trella’s plans and guidance. Between husband and wife, Akkad’s inhabitants slept peacefully at night. The approaching war would change all that. From all the stories and tales trickling into Akkad, Eskkar expected the outbreak of hostilities soon. The coming conflict made these peaceful moments even more precious.