King Shirudukh rose to his feet, indicating the end of the audience. Everyone bowed low, but the King hadn’t quite finished. “Each of you will be expected to crush your enemies quickly and ruthlessly. This campaign must be a short one, and any general or advisor who does not do his utmost to ensure our victory will be punished.”
With those chilling words hanging in the air, Shirudukh, accompanied by six of his guards, swept out of the room, while everyone bowed low. Jedidia understood the warning. Even victory might not be enough to assuage the King’s judgment. All of them, including Modran and Chaiyanar, would be appraised not only on what they accomplished, but how efficiently they managed their armies in the process. And as Jedidia had just learned, the King’s favorite today might be at the greatest risk tomorrow.
Chapter 6
25 five days later, the City of Sumer. .
Steratakis strolled through Sumer’s lanes, enjoying the cool of evening after a warm day completed by an excellent repast. As he wandered through the marketplace, he nodded to several acquaintances, and even paused to exchange greetings and pleasantries with many he encountered, especially those with whom he did business.
A very popular man, Steratakis enjoyed the good will of almost everyone he saw. From midmorning to dusk, Steratakis had his own stall, where he offered the famous Akkadian sweet cakes, prepared, baked, and covered with honey only two days earlier. They were a luxury good that only the well-off could afford, and to offer them to friends and visitors increased the prestige of any host.
Even the ruler of Sumer, King Gemama, favored the sweets. Each day, a buyer from the Palace purchased ten of the cakes, supposedly for the city’s Council of Advisors. However a single glance at King Gemama’s portly figure had convinced Steratakis that most of those cakes went directly into the royal stomach.
A fast trading boat carried the precious cakes down river, delivering the sought-after delight that so far none in Sumer had managed to duplicate. The bakers in Akkad claimed it was something in the well water, something unique to the city. Their frustrated counterparts in Sumer and elsewhere grumbled that the secret ingredient was dog piss. People ate them anyway.
Steratakis met the trading boat around midday, and escorted three or four baskets of the delicacy to the marketplace. Since his first day in Sumer, Steratakis had never carried the cakes himself. For the promise of a free cake, any of those laboring at the docks eagerly offered their services for the chance to transport his goods.
Sumer’s marketplace, however, changed dramatically after the sun went down. During the day merchants, traders, craftsmen, laborers, and farmers thronged the large area near the docks. At night, a different class of people frequented the stalls and tables. More women offered themselves, either on their own or at the urgings of their always frowning masters.
Wine and ale sellers, loudly praising the quality of their inferior goods, took over the tables reserved for craftsmen. As it grew later in the evening, the prices went down. When the full darkness of night arrived, shadowy figures appeared, blanket-wrapped bundles under their arms, to deal goods likely stolen during the day.
Steratakis seldom kept his stall open past sundown. By then, the eighty or so sweet cakes had vanished, and he’d collected a respectable amount of copper coins. When he first started selling the cakes, he tended to eat the last two or three cakes himself. But after nearly two years, he’d weaned himself of the habit, and now limited himself to only one per day. A necessity, he declared, to maintain the high quality of his goods for his customers.
The trading venture provided a comfortable profit, but the small house Steratakis had purchased cost far more than any trade in sweet cakes could provide. Fortunately, Annok-sur had supplied those coins. In exchange, she had made only a few demands. The dwelling must be in a good neighborhood frequented by other merchants and traders, have a private entrance, and a back door. Other than that, she’d left the choice up to him.
“You may never be contacted,” Annok-sur had said. “In any case, you’ll stay no longer than two and a half years. Then you will be free to remain in Sumer if that is your choice, or to come home.”
Home to a substantial amount of gold, Steratakis reminded himself. Once he returned, his family would be well established, and under the protection of Annok-sur. Meanwhile, his mother and sister prospered as bakers of bread and sweet cakes. The future looked bright indeed. Not that long ago, Steratakis and his family had nearly starved to death.
His father had been killed by soldiers from Larsa in the last war, and only Steratakis, his younger brother and sister, and their mother had managed to escape to Akkad. In their flight, his mother had fallen ill, and her children could do nothing to help her. Hungry, destitute, and with a dying mother, Steratakis had faced the grim choice of selling his little sister to buy food for the rest of his family.
On the very morning that Steratakis planned to bring his sister to the slave market, Annok-sur had arrived with both a healer and a handful of silver coins. Under the ministrations of the healer, Steratakis’s mother had recovered, and they soon established a small bakery where she could make her mouth-watering desserts. In exchange, all Annok-sur asked was that Steratakis work for her. For years, that had involved little more than carrying messages from one place to another.
Almost two years ago, she had approached Steratakis with a new assignment. He would move to Sumer under the guise of selling his mother’s cakes. In reality, he would wait for a special courier who would bring an important message. But since Steratakis’s arrival, no courier had made an appearance, and by now Steratakis doubted if anyone ever would.
Tonight, he had enjoyed a good meal at one of Sumer’s better taverns, then took some pleasure with one of the establishment’s girls. She’d crouched between his knees, working his rod until he burst inside her mouth, a most relaxing ending to another pleasant day.
His housekeeper waited for his return, guarding the residence and its contents until her master came home. Then she rushed off to her own family.
Yawning, Steratakis barred the door behind her, and settled down for a good night’s rest. A most agreeable day, indeed.
Steratakis awoke with a weight crushing his chest, and a hand pressed firmly against his mouth. Terrified, he struggled to reach the knife he kept on the stool beside the bed, but when his frantically grasping hand brushed its surface, the blade was gone.
“Don’t struggle, and you won’t be harmed.”
The voice could scarcely be heard over the beating of Steratakis’s heart.
“What is your name?” The rough hand lessened its pressure on his mouth, allowing Steratakis to speak.
“Please don’t hurt me. You can have. .”
“I’ll not ask you again.” This time the chilling whisper was reinforced by the pressure of a sharp point against his throat.
For a moment, panic seized him, and he almost answered with his true name. But he remembered in time. “Steratakis! My name is Steratakis!”
“Then I have a message for you to take to Akkad. Can you remember what I tell you?”
A feeling of relief washed over Steratakis. He would survive the night. “Yes, yes, I’ve been trained to repeat any message word for word.”
“Good. Then memorize this. In less than four months time, Chaiyanar to Sumer, fifteen thousand by the sea. Modran to Akkad, thirty-thousand through the Dellen Pass. And Jedidia with six thousand, all horse, through the Jkarian Pass. Now you repeat it.”
Gulping air, Steratakis managed to stammer out the message, stumbling only once. The hooded figure, the knife still at Steratakis’s throat, made him say it four more times.