“The clan leaders of the Alur Meriki understand power.” Sargon shrugged. “It’s the only thing they respect. My father knew it, too. It was important to act like a leader.”
Fashod nodded. “I wonder what Eskkar will say when he hears of this.”
“That’s the least of our worries now,” Sargon answered. “Let’s just hope they give us some fresh horses and let us go.”
“Do you think they will help us?” Garal couldn’t keep the worry from his voice.
“I don’t know. Nothing showed on their faces. Now that we’re here, it seems doubtful.”
“I will be glad to get back to my family,” Jennat said, “no matter what happens. I wonder what they’re doing.”
A stirring among the men guarding them made Sargon glance up. A warrior had approached the guards, and now spoke with two of them. The ground the Ur Nammu occupied had no campfire, so Sargon couldn’t make out who the stranger was.
“Sargon. Come join me.” Bekka’s voice came from the darkness.
Sargon climbed to his feet and walked toward the shadowy figure. “Chief Bekka.”
“Walk with me,” Bekka said. “I want to talk to you.”
Without waiting for a reply, Bekka turned and strode off in the darkness. Sargon moved quickly in order to not lose sight of the Sarum. They passed through the outer edges of the camp and through some trees before Bekka finally halted near the stream. A string of small boulders and rocks lined the channel, and Bekka took a seat on one of them, his back to the flowing water.
“Sit here, beside me,” he ordered.
Sargon obeyed, unsure of why the Sarum had brought him to this place. With the stream at their backs, the light from the many campfires cast a faint glow over the empty ground that led to the stream. The silver colored moon glowed overhead, and the shadowy trees gave off a pleasant scent. A private place to talk.
“How many seasons do you have, Sargon?”
He decided to tell Bekka the truth. “In two moons, I will have fifteen seasons.”
“If you expect to live long enough to reach that happy day, you would do well to cease challenging everyone you meet.”
“I wanted to show you and your clan that I am to be taken seriously, despite my years.”
“You survived three challenges,” Bekka said. “Do not tempt the gods by issuing a fourth.”
“Then you are going to let us return to the south?”
“Yes. I’ll give you fresh horses and you can depart in the morning. I’ll also provide an escort to make sure you reach the border alive. Trayack is still angry, and he is not the only one. Many hate your father for the fight at the stream, and for making them swear the oath.”
Sargon thought about that for a moment. The Sarum’s words meant that he did not have full control of his chiefs or his fighters, if one or more of them could dare to disobey his orders.
“So you will not ride to help the Ur Nammu.”
“No, that is why I will ride south to fight these Carchemishi. I need a victory for my warriors, or I will not lead the Clan for long. We have lost too many battles in the last few years. The Alur Meriki need to defeat a worthy enemy to regain their honor and enjoy once again the taste of victory.”
Sargon’s heart jumped at the news. The Alur Meriki would help. Which meant hope still lived for Tashanella and her family.
“Then we are in your debt, Chief Bekka.”
“Remind your father of that when you see him. I will hold you both to your word. Now, I have a question for you.”
Sargon glimpsed a flash of teeth in the moonlight.
“When you told Trayack that Hathor and his fighters could not be resisted once they had reached the stream, was that merely more of your bold words?”
Sargon wondered about the odd question, but he didn’t hesitate. “No. Hathor has fought in even more battles than my father, from Egypt to the Land Between the Rivers. He does not speak much of those days, but Hathor was a leader of a thousand for many years. His horsemen, the ones chosen for the ride to the stream, were the strongest and bravest in Akkad’s cavalry. They’ve trained together for many years, and have mastered the use of the horseman’s bow.”
Bekka laughed aloud. “Then I made the right decision, not to fight him at the stream.”
Suddenly Sargon understood. “You led the men who first opposed him?”
“Yes. We had only a few men, and Hathor’s horsemen looked too strong. Your words at the Council tonight removed some of the doubt that lingers over me.”
“You made the right decision.”
Bekka ignored that. “Now, tell me why you ride with the Ur Nammu, and why no Akkadian warriors accompany you. No king would leave his first born son alone to complete his training, with strangers and so far from home.”
Caught by surprise at the unexpected question, Sargon couldn’t find the words for a moment. Once again, he decided to speak the truth. “My father. . my parents, were. . disappointed with me. They felt I had failed them. In his anger, my father sent me to the Ur Nammu. I was not to return until I regained my honor.”
“Or died.” Bekka sighed. “I suspected something like that. Well, the wildness of young warriors must be tamed one way or another, if they are to grow to manhood and be of use to their Clan.”
He laughed again. “Let us hope that we both live long enough to learn whether or not we have proved our worth. If I return without a victory, I might as well fall on my sword. Better that than watch Trayack become Sarum.”
With a few words, Bekka had shown he understood Sargon’s position. “Trayack would lead your people to disaster.”
Bekka ignored that, too. He stood. “Time to go back. There is much to do. But remind your father that I will hold him to your words. We will need the protection and livestock you promised to feed our people, before this is over.”
29
Climbing onto his horse a little after dawn, Sargon experienced a feeling of relief. The uncertainty of the last few days, the worry about first finding and then convincing the Alur Meriki had ended. The time for talking had passed as well. Now only the ride back to the Ur Nammu remained, and whatever fate awaited him.
Once again Den’rack rode with them, this time as a guide. Twenty men, under the command of a young warrior named Unegen, a member of Bekka’s Wolf Clan, accompanied them to guarantee a safe passage. Not even Trayack or his followers would presume to attack so many of their own.
Every rider led a second horse. As they started off, Sargon glanced to the rear, but he saw no horse boys. That meant the warriors expected to ride into battle.
Den’rack led the way, though Unegen had already sent two scouts ahead.
No one had much to say during the long day’s ride. Sargon worried about Tashanella, while his companions no doubt worried about their kin. For all he knew, the Carchemishi had already caught up with the Ur Nammu. Everyone Sargon knew or cared about might already be dead.
The thought of Tashanella enduring an even worse fate than dying gnawed at his chest. A beautiful young girl, beaten into submission and suitably trained, would fetch a good price at any slave market. Sargon had seen many such girls many times, in Akkad’s own slave market.
That reminded him of his mother. Trella, too, had once been a slave, a fact that had embarrassed Sargon often enough as he grew up. Of course, no one had ever spoken of it to his face, but the unspoken words no doubt influenced his friends’ attitude toward his family. For the first time, he wondered if his mother had ever stood naked in a slave market.
As the sun touched the horizon, Den’rack finally gave the signal to halt. They had reached a small pond fed from beneath the ground. Sargon knew they could have covered a few more miles before darkness, but the presence of fresh water made for a good camp site.
They had not passed this place on the way in. Before Sargon could ask, Den’rack walked over and explained to Sargon and his companions that this route would take them over easier ground. Then he returned to his own warriors.