Now Eskkar looked into the bedroom and saw an unknown woman with a large bruise on her cheek sitting beside the cradle, rocking it gently, her eyes on the infant. She rose and came toward him, motioning him to follow her through the doorway.
“Your wife needs her sleep, Lord Eskkar,” she whispered. “The babe needed to be fed, and his crying woke her. Now they both need their rest.”
For the first time Eskkar noticed how quiet the house was. Even the soldiers in the courtyard kept their voices low out of concern for his wife.
“You are…”
“My name is Drusala. I was midwife to Lady Trella.” She stepped back inside, picked up the cradle, and returned, holding the cradle in both arms and turning it so he could see the child’s face. “This is your son. He was born last night, a few hours past midnight.”
Eskkar stared in fascination at the tiny infant, his eyes shut and face still red from crying. Eskkar had scarcely had time to look at him since he’d carried the babe to Trella after the fight. This time he gazed not at a baby, but at his son, his heir that Trella had promised him months ago.
“Have you decided on a name, lord?”
Eskkar spoke without hesitation. “Sargon. His name is Sargon of Akkad.” Eskkar and Trella had chosen the name months ago, in fact the very day the Alur Meriki were driven off. Now he looked in wonderment at the heir who would bring the city together in a way that even Eskkar and Trella, both strangers to Akkad, never could. His son would become part of that future, would carry Eskkar’s line down through the ages.
“The child… he seems so small.” Eskkar reached out and touched the infant’s fingers, amazed at their softness.
“The babe… Sargon came earlier than we expected. That’s why he is so small. But he is healthy, and I expect he will grow as tall and strong as his father.”
“Was the birth… difficult, Drusala? I mean, did Trella suffer much?”
“The presence of Korthac made it… He complained about the noise.
He threatened… he said that…”
“He’ll make no more threats, Drusala,” Eskkar said. “Is there anything you need, anything at all?”
“No, lord. I’ll stay and watch over your son. Lady Trella will need to feed Sargon again soon enough. We will have to find someone to help nurse the child. The early birth caught us unaware, and we didn’t have time to arrange a wet nurse. Right now it’s best to let Lady Trella sleep as much as she can.”
The mention of Korthac’s name reminded Eskkar of his prisoner.
“Keep my son safe, Drusala.” He reached out and gently touched the child’s cheek again. A strange feeling passed over him, as if the gods chose that moment to forge a bond between the child and the father. Eskkar found himself smiling. “Send word when Trella wakens.”
He left the room, descending the stairs and crossing the courtyard to the smaller house. Three soldiers guarded the room that held Korthac.
They stepped aside as Eskkar entered. He looked down at the figure lying on the floor. The sun didn’t provide much light in the low-ceilinged chamber, but he saw blood still covered the Egyptian’s face. They’d bound his hands behind him.
Eskkar considered having the man dragged outside, but didn’t want another spectacle. “Bring a torch,” he commanded. He found a stool and moved it closer to Korthac, eying the man who’d nearly killed him. A soldier returned, carrying the torch, and handed it to Eskkar.
“Leave us. And draw the curtain.”
When they were alone, Eskkar lowered the torch and used its light to examine his prisoner’s face. Korthac glowered back at him, using his one good eye. Blood had crusted over the other, the one Eskkar had smashed during the fight. Korthac struggled to breathe, thanks to the broken nose.
His lower lip was swollen and split, and he squinted up at the torch held just above his face.
“You are Eskkar?”
“Yes, Korthac. I’m the man whose wife you tried to steal.”
“Eskkar has returned.” Korthac tried to laugh, but the sound turned into a painful fit of coughing, and it took a few moments before he could stop. “You fought well… for an ignorant barbarian. And you should have died on my blade. No man ever defeated me in battle. Only your slave saved your life.”
The words came out slowly, each one spoken with care. Even through the man’s pain, the voice sounded melodious, with just the trace of an accent.
“Perhaps,” Eskkar said, “but I remember you running into the bedroom, trying to put the door between us.”
Korthac grimaced at the reminder. “You handled your long sword well enough. Did you never lose a fight, barbarian?”
“Just once, that I recall,” Eskkar said, “but fortune favored me, and I survived.”
“You should have died in Bisitun.” This time Korthac’s voice held a trace of bitterness that he couldn’t conceal.
“Yes, your assassins missed their chance there.”
“So I see. You must tell me what happened. I was supposed to get word, even if they failed. Ariamus swore they would kill you, but.. you made it so easy for me. You divided your forces while you enjoyed your pleasures in the north. A child could have taken your city.”
Eskkar felt a pang of anger at the truth of the remark. Everyone seemed to know about his dalliance in Bisitun. “Rebba told me much about you, Egyptian. Trella’s asleep now, but when she awakens, I’ll hear the rest.”
The torch sputtered, and Eskkar moved it away from Korthac’s face.
“Most of your men are dead or prisoners. Only Ariamus got away, with a handful of others, but Bantor will run them down soon enough. In a few days, the city will be cleansed of your memory.”
“Akkad will be a great city someday. It was worth the gamble.”
“If that were the only thing between us, I’d give you a quick death. But you terrorized Trella and threatened even my son. You’ll take the torture for that. Tomorrow will be your last day of life, Korthac. You’ll be weak from your wounds, and you’ll suffer greatly.”
“You’ll get no satisfaction from torturing me.” Korthac struggled to keep his voice firm and his words even. “Your slave-wife and her whelp were mine. She knelt before me… begged for my mercy. I only regret that I didn’t kill her when I had the chance.”
Eskkar reached out with his foot and gave Korthac’s broken leg a shove. The injured man couldn’t control the gasp of pain that wrenched from his mouth.
“I think, Korthac, that you should have stayed in Egypt.”
“You won’t rule here long, barbarian. You’re not wise enough, even with your slave woman whispering in your ear.”
The words hung in the air, as if in prophecy, and Eskkar felt a chill pass over him. He took his time thinking about them. He knew that Korthac still fought, that he still searched for any way to inflict harm on his captor.
That made him a worthy opponent, fighting to the last breath, seeking to give some worry to his enemy.
“Perhaps what you say will happen. But Trella says I learn from my mistakes, and the people of Akkad have learned something, too. We’ll be more careful in the future.” Eskkar stood up and pushed the stool away. He paused in the doorway, and turned back toward his prisoner. “I know one thing, Korthac. My son will rule here after I am gone. That the gods have promised. Think of that when you take the torture.”
Outside, Alexar and a handful of soldiers stood there, curiosity on their faces, no doubt wondering about what had passed inside. Eskkar shoved the torch into the dirt to extinguish it, then handed the still-smoking stick to the nearest man.
“Watch him closely. No one is to visit him or hurt him. Keep two men with him at all times. He must not kill himself. We want him alive, to take the torture in the morning. Give him plenty of water and a few mouthfuls of wine. Food if he wants any. I don’t want him passing out too soon.”