Tammuz shrugged. “I’ve learned much about danger in the last few months.”
“Still, I want you to be extra careful in this. Do you know of Korthac, the Egyptian?”
“Everyone knows of him.”
“I want to learn more about him, especially more about his men. It’s possible you may be able to find things out, overhear something, notice something.” Trella told him what she’d learned about Korthac, and what she suspected.
“Don’t underestimate him, Tammuz. He has sharp wits and knows how to lead men. He may have been a soldier in Egypt, possibly a leader of soldiers. Our spies have learned nothing about him, his men, or his plans, so do not think this will be easy. You must not let him be aware of your interest. Anything you can discover, even some small bit of gossip, might be useful. This is a challenge worthy of the Hawk Clan.”
“When I see the Hawk Clan walking the streets, their heads held high
… sometimes, Lady Trella, I don’t feel like a Hawk Clan.”
“You are Hawk Clan, Tammuz. I know how you all swore an oath to help each other, to fight to the death if necessary.” Eskkar had described the horrific fighting, and the pact the survivors had espoused; he repeated the oath for her, depicted the ceremony, the wind blowing through the dunes and the fire casting its light on each man’s face as they swore binding vows to each other. No man could vouch such words and ever think of breaking his pledge while he drew breath.
“You, of course, were unconscious or delirious most of the time, but they swore for you just the same. And remember, Tammuz, someday there will be much more to the Hawk Clan than simple fighting. In the next few years, there will be more than just battles to be fought.”
At their last meeting, Eskkar had reminded Tammuz that the binding oath extended both ways. He would always be a Hawk Clan, a true brother warrior to Eskkar and his clan.
“Now it is time to speak of other things. Have you thought about taking a wife?”
Tammuz’s mouth fell open in surprise at the odd question. “A wife
… why… who would want to be with a cripple?”
“You are old enough, and you own an alehouse,” Trella said, ignoring his question. “That makes you a man of substance. Annok-sur thinks you can use some help, someone you can trust, and Gatus agrees. I’ve picked out a slave girl for you. She’s only a season or two older than you. If she proves agreeable and dutiful, we can free her for marriage. If you’re not pleased with her for any reason, you can return her to me.”
Gatus, watching and listening from a stool placed against the wall, couldn’t repress a chuckle. “You should see your face, Tammuz. A woman isn’t the worst thing in the world… at least not all the time.”
Tammuz looked at Gatus, then back to Trella. “I don’t know what to say…”
“Then please me in this, and give her a chance. En-hedu is well suited to you, Tammuz, and has her wits about her. She is strong enough to work hard and free you for your other duties. She needs to be treated well; her previous owner drank too much wine and beat her often. You must be gentle with her, and patient, until she forgets her former master. She is not beautiful, but I think she will be loyal, especially if you treat her with respect. I’ve spoken to her several times, and told her about you.”
Trella leaned back in her chair, feeling the child move within her.
“Would you consider taking her?”
“Lady Trella, if you think it best, but… I’ve never been with a woman, and she might think my arm…”
“Bring her in, Annok-sur,” Trella said. “Tell her nothing about the Hawk Clan, Tammuz. That’s to remain our secret, for now at least. Other than that, you can tell her anything. And don’t worry about what you know or don’t know. She will guide you through Ishtar’s mystery.”
A few moments later the door creaked open and Annok-sur led a tall, sturdy young woman wearing a modest and patched shift into the workroom. Brown hair framed a plain but pleasant enough face, except for her nose, broken and never straightened properly afterward. Once again Trella stood, a sign of respect especially important to a slave, and Tammuz followed her example.
“En-hedu, this is Tammuz, your new master. You will obey him as if he were your husband. He needs your help, so I ask that you do all you can to assist him.”
The girl looked at Tammuz shyly, showing a hint of apprehension at meeting a new master. She bowed awkwardly, then dropped her eyes to the floor. Tammuz seemed at a loss for words.
The sight touched one of Trella’s vivid memories. She remembered a night not that long ago when she had been handed over, still crying, to her new master. Fear had rushed over her, fear of the unknown. That was the emotion a slave felt the most, fear of the stranger who had the power of life and death over you. Trella walked over to En-hedu, took her hand, and placed it in Tammuz’s good hand.
“Be good to En-hedu, Tammuz.” Trella looked at Gatus, who nodded and put his arm around Tammuz’s shoulders.
“Time to let Trella get her rest,” Gatus said with a yawn. “I’ll take you back to the alehouse.”
By the time Trella finished with the chamber pot, midnight approached, and she had only a few moments to wait before Annok-sur pushed open the door and guided Zenobia into the room. Trella rose as Zenobia approached the table. Once again, the simple gesture had its effect.
Throwing back her hood, Zenobia bowed very low, as Annok-sur closed the door behind them. Now they could talk privately, three women discussing things men should never hear.
“I thank you for coming, Zenobia,” Trella said. “You are well?”
A woman of perhaps twenty-five seasons, Zenobia had deep black hair, large brown eyes, and a round face offering fine, delicate features.
Trella remembered how Zenobia had looked months ago, wearing a rough shift and with smudges of dirt covering her face. Frightened and bearing marks of ill treatment, Zenobia had done everything she could to make herself look unattractive. An unprotected, beautiful woman would have been quickly taken into some man’s house, never to emerge. Zenobia needed a benefactor, somebody to protect her and make sure she was not enslaved again. Trella had provided that protection.
Zenobia came from a land far to the east and had traveled many weeks before arriving at the village. She hadn’t been in Akkad long, arriving only a few days before the siege of Akkad began. Shortly after her arrival, she had met Trella by chance during one of her walks. Zenobia’s story had been both sad and unfortunate, but it created yet one more opportunity for Trella.
Raised as a pleasure slave since childhood, Zenobia had grown skillful at satisfying men. She’d pleased one of her patrons so much that he bought her and set her free. Despite his feelings for Zenobia, the patron saw a chance for gain and decided to establish his own pleasure house in the bountiful lands to the west. With Zenobia’s help, he had purchased three slave girls to help launch the business, hired a small caravan of guards and animals, and set forth, determined to reach Akkad.
They journeyed for over a month, crossing the eastern mountains, and would have reached Akkad in a few more days. However, the patron had become thick with wine once too often and abused his guards. Tired of his ill treatment, they plotted with one of the local bandits. Together they attacked the caravan and killed the patron and his servants before turning their attentions to looting the pack animals and enjoying the women.
By then Zenobia had escaped in the darkness, running for her life, leaving the other girls to their fate. Morning found her miles away, having lost all her possessions except for a few silver coins sewn into her dress. It had taken her three days to walk to Akkad, avoiding the roads for the fi rst two of those days for fear she would encounter the murderers or new robbers. A woman alone, especially an attractive one, would be at the mercy of anyone she met.