“Have you seen your son, Eskkar?” Her voice sounded stronger, and she reached out toward him with her hand.
He sat on the edge of the bed, taking care not to disturb the child.
“Yes. The midwife told me of his delivery, and what you suffered. Are you in pain?” He took her hand in his.
“Ventor and Drusala say I will recover. The pain is passing now that you and Sargon are both here.”
“Trella, I’m sorry. I should have come sooner.” The words came out in a rush.
“We’ll speak of it later, husband. All that matters is that you returned to save Akkad.”
“I didn’t come back for Akkad. I came for you. The moment I heard … I came as fast as I could.”
She squeezed his hand, and tears formed in her eyes. “You saved our son’s life. That’s all that matters. Korthac would have killed us both soon enough, after he’d taken his pleasures.”
The thought of the humiliation she’d endured wrenched at him, and he held her hand tighter. “As Korthac reminded me, you saved my life last night. Without your little knife thrust… Where did you get such a thing?”
“The birthing knife. A gift from Drusala. We’ll have to repay that debt.”
The baby squirmed at her breast for a moment before settling down again, and she stroked his head. “We knew Korthac was concealing something, but I never thought… none of us suspected anything like this.” She shook her head at her failure. “He laughed at me, said I was just an ignorant girl trying to play at ruling men. He made me.. I had to…”
Eskkar reached out to touch her lips with his finger, stopping the flow of words. “I’ve fought many men, Trella, but no one with Korthac’s skills.
Never. But for the luck of the gods, and your help, he might have won. It’s no disgrace to battle a worthy opponent.”
She blinked back the tears. “Your luck still runs true, then. The gods continue to favor you.”
“The gods favor me because of you.” He gazed down at the child in wonder, and his voice softened. “Now they’ll have to watch over Sargon as well. He seems… so small and helpless.” Eskkar touched the child’s cheek with his finger, fascinated by the boy’s soft skin.
“Sargon will need your protection and strength for many years, husband. He will rule over our city someday. Who knows what he will accomplish?”
“He and Akkad will need your wisdom. Just as it needs Corio’s new walls to defend it.”
“Long after we are gone, our voices will linger in these walls, for as long as this place remains. Let us hope our son honors us both.”
The child had stopped nursing and fallen asleep. Eskkar stroked its fi ne black hair, feeling a pride grow inside him that he’d never known before. His son. The son who would carry on his line, who would make Eskkar live on through the ages to come, lay before him, nestled safely in his mother’s arms.
“You seem pleased with our son. I hope you will teach him many things. How to rule, how to fight, how to lead.”
“He will learn more from you than I can ever teach him. You speak of fighting, but fighting a war is easy. Destroying is easy. Building a new way of life out of what is left is hard. That’s what he will learn from his mother.”
“Then we will teach him together, husband.”
“Yes, together.” He leaned down and kissed her, taking care not to awaken the child. But her lips were warm, and still held the promise he’d always found there, the gift of love and tenderness that had won him over months ago. Eskkar put his arms around both of them, holding them close.
Trella had more tears on her face, but this time he knew they were tears of happiness, and he kissed them away.
31
Hathor woke to pain, pain that possessed every part of his body. It had started yesterday with the arrow in his leg, the heavy shaft tearing into hard muscle above the knee before lodging in bone, but thankfully missing the big blood carrier. He’d fainted for a few moments when they held him down and tore the shaft from his body. When Hathor regained consciousness, he found his wound bound with a piece of tunic taken from one of the dead. Rough hands lifted him onto a horse.
Dazed from the wound, he clutched at the horse’s mane with both hands, struggling to stay on. If they thought he couldn’t ride, they’d tie him across the animal’s back, and the pain would be even worse.
One man held the halter while another rode alongside, in case Hathor started to fall off. They rode at an easy pace, laughing and talking among themselves, all except for their leader, named Bantor, who rode at their head in silence. Another horse carried the corpse of Ariamus, the only body the Akkadians bothered to bring back with them.
This Bantor apparently had some personal grudge against the traitor Ariamus. No doubt Ariamus’s body would be displayed next to that of Korthac. The bodies of Hathor’s men remained where they had fallen, left to animals and carrion eaters.
Thinking of Korthac made the anger bubble up inside Hathor. He’d seen the wave of Akkadian soldiers jogging down the lane to attack the main gate, followed by hundreds of the city’s inhabitants. One look at their sheer number had stopped him in his tracks. Hathor had nearly recaptured the gate, but the sight of hundreds of angry citizens carrying makeshift weapons and rushing to support their liberators told him the effort had failed. Sounds of battle from the other tower made Hathor look up, and he saw that more Akkadians had captured that one as well.
Ariamus had seen the same thing, and reached the same conclusion even faster. All was lost. The wily bandit deserted first, slipping away, running toward the southern wall, escape the only thought in his head. At that moment a chill of fear had come over Hathor, the first time he’d felt fear in years of fighting, as he thought about his fate.
Ariamus could possibly escape. He could blend in with his country-men. But the Egyptians, wearing the mark of the west on their features and in their speech, had no place to hide. Hathor knew his only hope was to run.
With that realization, Hathor turned and sprinted after Ariamus, cursing himself as a coward for abandoning his men and refusing to fight to the end. Without a word of protest, the handful of men standing alongside Hathor followed. Korthac, even if he still lived, had lost the city and everyone knew it. Now they had to save themselves.
Ariamus had dodged through the back lanes, leading them away from the fighting. Their swords clearing the path, they reached an unguarded portion of the south wall. They climbed the parapet and hung from the wall before dropping to the ground. Then they ran, as hard and fast as they could.
In an hour they’d managed to cover more than three miles, and reached countryside untouched by the chaos behind them. They kept moving, and with every step, Hathor felt more confident. When Ariamus led them to the farmhouse, he shouted that everyone must die, lest anyone give the alarm. Hathor’s men, without even a glance to their former leader, obeyed the Akkadian, slaughtering the family in moments. Nevertheless, after they secured the two broken-down plough horses, Ariamus handed the halter of one of them to Hathor.
Once mounted, Hathor felt certain they would be safe. Ariamus knew where to flee and how to hide. It would be days before the troubles in Akkad settled down, if anyone even bothered to chase after them.
Hathor remembered the shock that went through him when he turned and saw the horsemen, riding purposefully after them. Somehow, in spite of all the confusion and fighting in Akkad, the cursed soldiers had managed to find men and horses, organize pursuit, and pick up their trail.
Less than an hour after catching sight of his pursuers, the Akkadians had run him down. Contemptuously, they’d refused his attempt to die fighting. The arrow had taken the strength from his body, and, before Hathor could even kill himself, they’d captured him.