Sargon related what he’d seen in the baggage train. “This man that Garal captured is someone of importance. He may be useful to my father.”
“He is Sargon’s prisoner as much as mine,” Garal said. “Sargon had already wounded him. All I did was tap him on the head.”
Bekka glanced at Subutai. “We may have questions for him as well.”
“We’ve taken a few other prisoners,” Subutai said. “We’ll start with them. When it’s this one’s turn, I’m sure he’ll be glad to tell us everything he knows.”
The Ur Nammu had as little use for prisoners as did the Alur Meriki. Those who would not make docile slaves were put to death, after spending time being tortured by the clan’s women, who were even more expert at dispensing pain than their men.
The prisoner stirred. He groaned, then opened his eyes. The pain on his faced vanished, replaced by a look of terror as realization of his fate set in.
“What is your name?” Sargon spoke in the same trader’s language he’d used when the Ur Nammu had first encountered the Carchemishi, little more than ten days ago.
The man turned to Sargon, surprised that someone so young would be questioning him. He stared sullenly at his captors for a moment, but said nothing.
Garal drew his knife, and squatted down beside the prisoner. He seized him by the hair and put the edge of his knife against the man’s nose. He glanced up at Sargon. “Should I cut it off?”
“Answer the question, or lose your nose.” Sargon kept his voice calm. “After that, we’ll turn you over to the women for the rest of the day. By then you’ll be begging to talk, just to stop the pain.”
Garal pressed harder, and the sharp blade cut a grove just above the nostrils. A thin line of blood leaked down and across the man’s mouth.
“Kamanis.” He rolled his eyes toward Garal, who kept up the pressure. “My name is Kamanis.”
“And you are. .?”
Kamanis hesitated, glancing around at the men staring down at him. “I’m just a soldier. I’m just a guard. I guard the baggage train.”
Sargon translated again.
“Hold your knife!” Bekka snapped out the command, but without waiting for Garal to move, the Alur Meriki Sarum took two steps and lashed out with his foot, the thick leather sandal smashing into Kamanis’s face.
The prisoner’s head snapped back so hard that Sargon thought Bekka had broken the man’s neck. The man slumped against the side of the tent. Fresh blood from his mouth joined the trickle from his nose.
Bekka drew his own knife. He grabbed at Kamanis’s head, gripping him by the hair and knocking Garal’s hand aside. The point of Bekka’s blade dug into the corner of the man’s eye.
“Tell him if he lies again, he’ll be looking at his own eye.” Bekka emphasized his words with another jab of the knife
A gasp of pain sounded.
Sargon translated Bekka’s threat. “I think you had better decide whether you want to keep the ruler of the clan that just defeated your soldiers waiting. Or you can tell us everything we want to know, and you might live long enough to reach my father, the King of Akkad. He’s more merciful than these steppes warriors, and he may find it useful to keep you alive.”
The moment Sargon finished, Bekka shoved the tip of the knife in deeper. Blood now pulsed from the eye socket.
“Wait! I’ll tell you! My name is Kamanis. I am. . I was a commander of this army.”
Bekka glanced over his shoulders at Sargon, who translated once again.
Grudgingly, as if annoyed that he could not gouge out the man’s eye, Bekka eased the knife away and stood. “If he changes his mind and keeps silent, or tries to lie, bring him to me. And tell him that a slave who won’t answer questions or fails to tell the truth will be seated on a stake.”
Sargon didn’t understand the threat, but Subutai explained it.
“We take a sapling and bury one end deep in the earth. The other end is sharpened, and the prisoner sits on it, until the point reaches just below his stomach. The man dies, but slowly. A strong man can last almost a day, and every moment is filled with the worst pain you can imagine.”
“I will tell him, Chief Bekka.” Sargon nodded to Subutai.
“Then we will leave him here with you,” Subutai said, “since you’re the only one who speaks his language anyway. Learn whatever you can from him. After that, we’ll decide what to do with him.”
Subutai glanced down at Kamanis. “Tell him he’s lucky to be in your hands, not mine.” He turned to Bekka. “Come. We still have many to hunt down.” He called out to Garal as he retrieved his mount’s halter. “Stay with Sargon and the prisoner. Make sure Sargon has whatever he needs.”
The two clan leaders mounted. A moment later, they and their men galloped off, leaving a cloud of dust that swirled across the ground, driven by the breeze.
“Let’s get Kamanis inside,” Sargon said. “We’ll start questioning the girls first.”
“There’s plenty of time,” Garal said, staring over Sargon’s shoulder. Suddenly a smile covered his face. “I think there’s something else you should attend to first.”
Sargon turned. Tashanella rode slowly toward them, picking her way through the debris of the wagon train. She held a lance in her right hand, the point streaked with blood.
Garal saw the expression on Sargon’s face and laughed. “Maybe she can help question the prisoner.”
But Sargon barely heard his words. He was running to meet his woman.
34
Fifteen days later, Sargon sat outside of his tent, enjoying the warmth of the setting sun, the effects of a full meal settling inside his stomach, and the pleasant company of his companions. Seated beside him were Garal, Jennat, and an unexpected guest, Den’rack, of the Alur Meriki. The tent had formerly belonged to Kamanis, but Subutai had given it to Sargon and Tashanella as a wedding gift, along with most of its contents.
Actually, the recently married couple possessed two tents. Eventually the second one would be for Sargon’s future servants and slaves, but now it served as a place to keep Kamanis under guard. The Carchemishi commander had soon grasped the reality of his situation, after he heard the screams of many of his former soldiers rising up into the sky.
Following the defeat of the Carchemishi forces, Sargon had not expected to find more than a handful of the invaders alive. But over the next few days, more than a hundred survivors were captured and returned to the camp of the Ur Nammu as prisoners. Subutai had ordered a count of the dead, and after that tally, he estimated that perhaps two hundred or so managed to escape the debacle. The rest of the Carchemishi invaders perished. As battles went, Subutai declared, this one was a great victory, and one with few losses.
Subutai had moved his clan back near their former location along the banks of the stream. On the other side, less than a quarter mile away, stood the tents of the Alur Meriki. After the last of the invaders were killed or captured, Bekka had set up a temporary camp for his forces, to hold the large number of horses taken from the enemy.
The day after the attack, Bekka and Subutai, in front of their men, had sworn the oath of friendship. The Alur Meriki forces would soon return to their caravan, but first the wounded needed time to heal. Not to mention that dividing up the spoils captured from the Carchemishi — food, gold, weapons, and horses — had taken longer than expected.
Subutai had insisted that most of the horses and loot be given to Bekka and his men, since they had saved the lives of the Ur Nammu clan. The goods that the Alur Meriki retained as their share far exceeded anything they’d captured in the last several years.
Both clan leaders had acknowledged their debt to Sargon. His audacious visit had, after all, led to an easy victory for Chief Bekka’s warriors. As a result, Sargon was as welcome in the Alur Meriki camp as in that of the Ur Nammu. Sargon understood the need to build good relations between the two former enemies, and visited the Alur Meriki warriors as often as he could.