Whatever the reasons, Korthac recognized it for what it was, a chance for Trella to entertain and impress her followers with her authority. All the powerful and influential people in the city had received their invitations, a black-painted piece of pottery bearing Eskkar’s mark on one side and an image of the goddess on the other. Only the lucky few bearing the invitation, and their retainers, would be admitted to Eskkar’s house. The rest of Akkad would celebrate in the streets, probably long into the night.
Korthac had already resigned himself to a night without sleep, with the city full of noise and revelry.
He’d received the invitation three days ago, and, befitting his new status in Akkad, no doubt one of the first to be delivered. This morning he’d coached Hathor in his role, making sure the dour soldier knew how to behave, and reminding him once again to make sure he gave no offense.
Korthac had even bought a new tunic for his subcommander, something that would reflect favorably on his employer’s status.
The late afternoon sun drifted toward the horizon when, wearing his finest garment and new leather sandals, Korthac strode through the streets to Eskkar’s gate, Hathor at his side. Naturally his subcommander carried a sword, but Korthac went unarmed. Weapons would not be permitted inside the courtyard, the usual policy to ensure guests who drank too much didn’t wind up killing each other over some perceived slight.
Of course the weapons’ ban also protected Trella, and Korthac had to admit that her guards knew their business, staying alert and watching the crowds wherever she walked about the city.
Reaching Eskkar’s gate, Korthac and Hathor had to wait in line, as the guards checked invitations and made sure none of the guests were armed.
“Greetings, Honorable Korthac.” The guard bowed slightly as he took the clay shard from Korthac’s hand. “Are there more in your party?”
“No, just the two of us.” Korthac gave the soldier a friendly smile.
Hathor had already removed his sword belt and handed it to another of Trella’s guards. Hathor even managed a tight smile as he did so.
“Please enter Lord Eskkar’s house, honored guests.” The guard bowed again, already turning to greet the next in line.
Inside the courtyard, a half-dozen tables held pitchers of wine, bread covered with honey, platters of fruit and sweets. A clay bowl in the center of each table held a large spray of flowers, each table offering a different blossom. Smoke rose from the rear of the courtyard, as well as from the kitchens, and the scent of crisping meat hung in the air. On the roof opposite Eskkar’s quarters, musicians played their flutes, and a juggler tossed his brightly painted wooden balls high in the air.
The courtyard, big as it was, couldn’t hold everyone, and the guests mingled inside the main house as well, talking and gesturing. Servants poured the wine, mixed equally with water, and several guests appeared to be under the wine-god’s spell already.
Korthac spotted several nobles from the ruling council, all of them distinguished by the dark blue trim on their tunics, a color reserved for the ruling families. He accepted a brimming cup from one of the table attendants, then moved as close to the rear wall as he could get without moving into the cooking area. Some of the guests appeared to be nothing more than common tradesmen, still wearing their ragged and dirt-stained tunics. At least a dozen soldiers were scattered about, the Hawk Clan emblem on their shoulders, mingling with the guests as if they were equals.
Unlike the rest of those invited, the Hawk Clan alone carried weapons, either short swords or knives. They, Korthac noted, did not have wine cups in their hands.
Women made up almost half the crowd, wearing their finest garments, standing beside their men or gossiping together. Most did not even cover their heads with scarves, a custom Korthac still hadn’t gotten used to.
“Honorable Korthac, may I offer you some of Lady Trella’s best wine?”
He turned to find Annok-sur standing at his side, a small pitcher in one hand, a wine cup in the other. Korthac smiled at her as he exchanged his half-empty cup for the new one. “I thank you for your gift, Annok-sur.” He took a sip. The sweet wine had a pleasing odor, a far better blend than what he had picked up at the table. “This is very good. My thanks to Lady Trella.”
He looked about, but didn’t see his hostess. “Is Lady Trella unwell?”
“No, she’s resting upstairs,” Annok-sur said with a smile of her own.
“She’d be pleased if you wish to visit her. She enjoys your stories about the land of Egypt.”
And always interrupted each story with a dozen questions that probed for any detail of his past life, Korthac recalled. “Of course. Who would resist such a generous hostess.” He turned to Hathor. “Wait here.” He didn’t like leaving the man alone, but it would look odd to bring him into the house.
Annok-sur weaved her way through the crowd, and Korthac trailed in her wake, annoyed that he had to follow in any woman’s footsteps. He’d never been inside Eskkar’s house before. Looking about, he saw the great room as crowded as the courtyard. Most of the guests stayed close to a long table loaded with wine and food, trying to get as much of the free fare as they could.
A guard kept the stairs to the upper rooms clear, but he stepped aside and nodded at Annok-sur as they passed. Another guard stood at the top of the landing. Looking about, Korthac studied Trella’s private quarters as he entered, quarters that would soon be his. Benches and stools lined the walls, and a small table held pitchers of wine and water, but no food.
Korthac recognized the captain of the guard, Gatus, sitting next to Trella near to the window. Corio stood nearby, with his wife and two sons, talking to one of the nobles who operated several boats that plied the river trade.
Nicar, his wife, their son, and daughter-in-law stood together, talking excitedly among themselves.
Trella rose from her seat as Korthac crossed the room. Surprised by her size, he realized her pregnancy had progressed since he’d last seen her. Even the loose-fitting dress she wore couldn’t conceal her condition.
He’d always found pregnant women distasteful, unclean somehow. Their bloated bodies should be hidden away, out of sight, until they produced their offspring, preferably without annoying their betters. Korthac had fathered more children than he could remember, but had never cared for any of them or their mothers, either. A woman’s children made her weak and easy to manage, and he looked forward to Trella’s delivery.
“Greetings, Lady Trella.” He bowed low to show his respect.
“Welcome to our home, Honorable Korthac.” She bowed politely to him, like any respectable wife greeting her husband’s guests.
“A blessing to the goddess Ishtar for your future family, and for your invitation to share in her blessings,” he intoned, fulfilling the courtesy the celebration required.
“You learn our customs well, Honorable Korthac.” She turned to Gatus. “Can our guest take your seat for a moment, Gatus?”
“Yes, he can have it,” Gatus replied, getting up and stretching. “I need something solid to eat, anyway. I’ll take your leave, Trella.” He bowed to her, then to Korthac.
“Sit beside me,” Trella said, resuming her seat again. “I find I tire easily, and preparing for the feast has kept me busy since early this morning.”
“The city is praising your name, Lady Trella, and thanking you for the gifts of food and wine.” For a city reputed to be pressed for gold, Trella had managed to buy enough food to give nearly everyone in Akkad a good meal and enough ale to wash it down.
“And you, Korthac, have you decided to remain in our city?”
He’d spread the word that he considered living in the countryside, or perhaps even downriver. The news had sent a dozen traders to his door, entreating him to stay and trade his gemstones in Akkad. The simple rumor had helped him make a dozen new friends.