“Perhaps.” Not long ago Eskkar’s temper would have flared at such a display from his son. Now he merely shrugged, and kept his gaze on Tashanella. “But Sargon wants to keep his status with the clans as my son, and speak for Akkad in my absence. Bekka and Subutai must be made aware that Sargon, by his own choice, does not have that authority.”
Tashanella, her eyes wide, stared at Eskkar.
He softened his voice. “You need not be concerned with such things, Tashanella. Your husband will still see to your needs.”
“My Lord, why do you quarrel with your son?” Tashanella could scarcely keep the panic from her voice. “He has done nothing but good since he came here.”
“That pleases me to hear. But I no longer have any quarrel with him, Tashanella. I brought to your father a boy who needed training. Subutai and your people taught Sargon to be a man and a warrior, and my son has completed his training honorably. I wish him only the best of fortune.”
Eskkar leaned forward and looked into her eyes. “He did tell you why I brought him here, didn’t he?”
The girl couldn’t help but dart a glance at her husband. “Yes, he told me.”
The seed of doubt had been planted. She had probably accepted Sargon’s version of events. Now she would insist on hearing the whole story.
And if she didn’t get a satisfactory reply, there were other ways she could learn the details. Eskkar decided to tell Petra and Roxsanni the entire story, that the boy had defied his mother, physically threatened his father, and renounced them both. Yes, when Tashanella learned the truth, she would indeed guide her husband.
“Then I am satisfied.” Eskkar bowed to her, then turned to his son. “I thank you for letting me meet your wife, and for the hospitality of your tent. My men and I will leave for Akkad tomorrow, after I finish meeting with Chief Bekka. The sooner we return home, the better. Too many fighting men too close to each other always leads to trouble.” He lifted his gaze to the tent, and shook his head. “That is the grandest tent I have ever seen.”
Eskkar turned and strode off into the gathering darkness, wondering how long the silence would endure after he was out of earshot. He resisted the temptation to double back and try to catch a few words. If anyone saw him, it would be too embarrassing.
By the time Eskkar found his way back to Subutai’s tent, the feast had begun. Eskkar knew there would be no more serious talk for the rest of the night. The captured Carchemishi baggage train contained more than a few wineskins, and Subutai had managed to save six of them for just such a celebration.
Eskkar had always frowned on his men getting drunk, and had established a rule for his soldiers. No man was permitted to get drunk more than once a month. Even less often would be better, but men were men, and to try and stop something as natural as drinking would have made him look foolish. But no matter how much they drank at night in the ale houses, every man still had to attend to his duties the next day.
As soon as the evening meal was put away, the wine appeared, and Eskkar knew that everyone would soon be decently drunk. Unlike villagers, who had more access to heady date wine or strong ale, warriors seldom enjoyed that luxury, and so it took little more than a cup or two to raise both their spirits and voices.
Bekka and his commanders appeared, as did Fashod and Chinua and their men. Soon more than fifty warriors reveled in the fire’s light. Surrounding them were other Ur Nammu warriors, as well as their women and children, who came to stare at the circle of leaders.
Though Eskkar rarely drank more than a cup of well-watered wine, he let himself drink almost as much as the others. Fortunately for Eskkar’s head, the wineskins soon ran empty. The talking and shouting continued, broken by the occasional song giving praise to some battle or another.
Eventually the powerful wine had its effect. Eskkar had ridden hard for many days, and the rapid journey had taken its toll. He felt his eyes growing heavy. Warriors began to nod off, some falling flat on their backs. Others were led away by their wives or comrades. Subutai’s fire burned down to a dull glow.
Finally Bekka and his companions left, and Eskkar accepted Subutai’s invitation to sleep in his tent. Eskkar told Hathor to return to the Akkadian camp. Then Eskkar and Subutai fumbled their way inside the Ur Nammu chief’s dwelling.
By then Eskkar couldn’t stop yawning. Fortunately, Subutai was too tired or drunk to take either or both of his wives, not that the noise or activity would have kept Eskkar awake. He dropped onto the blanket they’d given him, flung his arm over his eyes, and fell asleep. Or passed out, he couldn’t be sure which.
When Eskkar awoke it was still dark. The leader of the Ur Nammu snored peacefully on the other side of the tent, flanked by his wives. But dawn approached, so Eskkar pushed himself up, eased the tent flap aside, and stepped outside. The sun had yet to clear the horizon, but already shafts of light struggled against the remnants of the night sky.
Most of the camp remained asleep as Eskkar headed down toward the stream to wash the grime from his face. At the water’s edge, he found a few other early risers. Most had drunk too much wine last night, and now some paid the penalty.
He ignored the sound of retching that floated over the stream. Despite the chill, Eskkar ducked his head into the water for as long as he could stand it. Then he washed his hands, and scrubbed the remains of last night’s meal from his tunic.
When he finished, a long piss against a nearby bush completed the morning ritual, and he sighed in satisfaction. A final dip of his hands in the stream, and Eskkar felt ready to face the dawn. The sun had almost cleared the horizon. A new day had arrived, and his instinct told him that important decisions would be made.
When he arrived back at Subutai’s tent, Eskkar found the Ur Nammu leader standing beside Petra. Two young boys were adding kindling to the struggling morning fire, but already the copper pot hung from its tripod. Soon the smell of fresh stew would compete with the smoky odor of the twigs and dried animal dung used to start the fire.
Before Eskkar could reach Subutai’s side, two more figures emerged. Sargon and Tashanella. Neither one appeared to have enjoyed a good night’s rest, though he had not noticed them last night at the feast. Nor did either one show the pleasant after effects of a bout of morning lovemaking.
“A good day begins.” Eskkar gave the usual greeting to Subutai, then nodded toward his son. “Sargon.” Eskkar even gave Tashanella a smile as he pronounced her name.
“A good day,” Subutai replied, “after a bad night. My tongue feels like it’s made of horsehide.”
Sargon spoke. “Father, I would like to speak to you.”
Despite the effects of last night’s drinking, Subutai frowned at Sargon. Sons did not interrupt their fathers, let alone the Sarum, when they were speaking.
Eskkar gave Sargon the briefest of glances. “Later.” He caught a glimpse of Petra watching. By now she probably knew all about last night’s conversation between father and son.
“It’s important, Father.”
Another breech of custom.
“I’ve got to take a piss.” Subutai turned away and headed in the direction of the stream.
Eskkar turned to face his son, but before he could say anything, Petra interrupted.
“If you wish to speak to your son in private, Lord Eskkar, you may use the tent.”
The rest of the camp had stirred itself awake, and of course, the children and family of Subutai would soon be hanging around the cooking pot, hoping for a few mouthfuls of stew.
“My thanks to you, Petra, but there is no need. My son assured me last night that he had nothing to say to me.”
Petra opened her mouth, but closed it without speaking. Instead she dropped to her knees beside the cooking fire. “I’ll take care of that,” she said. “You children go find more firewood.”