Hearing about Rebba’s plight prompted another thought. “What about Nicar, Rebba? And Corio? What have they agreed to?”
“Much the same, Bantor, and with as much choice as I did. Nicar did not like it, and Ariamus struck him across the mouth when he protested.
Ariamus quartered some of his bandits in Nicar’s house, to keep an eye on him.”
“We need to know more, Rebba, and you’re the only one who can get it in safety. You must learn all you can about this Korthac and his men.”
Bantor leaned across the table toward the old noble. “We’ll wait here for Eskkar to arrive. He’ll know what to do.”
Rebba sat back, digesting Bantor’s suggestion for a few moments.
“Bantor, your presence here puts me and my family in great danger. For the next two or three days, you’ll be safe enough, but after that, the risk will grow each day as Korthac takes greater control. If Eskkar does not arrive in seven or eight days, or if we hear that he is truly dead, then you must take your men and depart.”
Bantor heard the force in the old farmer’s words. Rebba spoke the truth. They couldn’t stay here forever. “If Eskkar doesn’t come, or we haven’t heard from him by then, we will leave.” In that case, Bantor decided, he’d find some way to rescue his wife, with as many men as would follow him. “Meanwhile, perhaps you can find out about Gatus.”
“I am to return to Akkad the day after tomorrow. Things should be settling down by then, and I’ll have two wagonloads of fruits and vegetables for my grandson to sell in the market. Do you have any idea of where Gatus might be hiding?”
Bantor closed his eyes and let himself think about the old soldier.
Where would the man go to hide? Ariamus knew the city well enough, so all the usual places would be well searched. A new place seemed more likely, one Ariamus wouldn’t know. Then Bantor recalled some words that Annok-sur had spoken once. Something about a friend of Gatus setting up a small alehouse with that thief of a boy, Tammuz. He remembered the look Annok-sur had given him when he asked about it. She’d looked away, and told him it meant nothing, her tone of voice telling him not to probe further. He knew his wife kept many secrets.
Perhaps it did mean nothing, but he knew all about Annok-sur’s network of spies. At least it might be a place to start looking. He made an effort to push thoughts of Annok-sur and her plight from his mind.
“An old friend of Gatus was injured during the siege,” Bantor said, picking his words with care. “He couldn’t fight any more, so after the battle, Gatus set him up in a small alehouse, along with a crippled boy who once rode with Eskkar. Maybe that is where Gatus has gone.”
“There are many houses that sell ale, Bantor. I’ll ask around, but not until the day after tomorrow. And only if Gatus isn’t discovered before then, or found dead.”
“I thank you for your efforts, Rebba. Gatus is a friend.” He hesitated, then added, “You know that Eskkar will reward you for this, when he returns.”
“I need no gold from Eskkar, Bantor.” The old noble stood up, stretching to ease the stiffness in his bones. “But I did not like the way Ariamus struck Nicar, nor did I like groveling on my knees before Korthac. I will see what I can do.”
Bantor realized his mistake. “I didn’t mean to offend you, noble. But no matter what happens, you have already earned my thanks, and that of my men.”
“Just keep them quiet and out of sight for the next seven days, Bantor.
I would like to live long enough to earn your thanks.”
19
Eskkar had scarcely noticed the passing of time, as days turned into weeks. At first the village occupied most of his time, however much responsibility he delegated to Sisuthros. The people of Bisitun, recovering from Ninazu’s terror, soon protested their rule by Akkad, no matter how reasonable or peaceful the intent. It took Eskkar more than a week to figure out why.
When the Alur Meriki threatened Akkad, the nobles ruling the city had selected Eskkar to save them. During the crisis, the inhabitants came to know both him and Trella as people they could trust with their lives.
More than that, they understood that neither he nor Trella valued gold, slaves, or the other trappings of noble life. In short, the villagers accepted them as people long before they accepted their rule.
In Bisitun, such trust did not come easily. Even though Eskkar and his men rescued the village from bandits, no one in Bisitun had invited them to do so, and more than a few of the villagers longed for the days when they ruled themselves. Instead, they found themselves ruled by distant Akkad, their daily lives governed by Sisuthros and his soldiers even more effectively than Ninazu and his bandits.
The villagers also knew they’d be tithing a portion of their earnings to support Akkad, and that Akkad, as the more important of the two villages, would always come first. That made for plenty of tension between villagers and soldiers. Incidents soon arose on both sides of the fine line that Eskkar trod each day.
He needed to rule them fairly and justly. There could be no accusations that Ninazu and his bandits had simply been replaced by another tyrant. So the soldiers had to be kept under control. Eskkar and Sisuthros warned each of them, time and again, not to take advantage of the inhabitants, especially their women. Eskkar reminded them that they had plenty of silver in their pouches. They could buy whatever they wished, but take only what the villagers offered freely.
But soldiers, he knew, acted much like children. They nodded in understanding at Eskkar’s words and swore to behave, then filled themselves with wine, started fights, and chased after the women.
Eskkar kept his word. He punished offending soldiers in the village square, with the elders present. He softened the punishments as much as he could. He didn’t want to alienate his men, but he could not afford to offend the villagers. So he made the punishment fit the crime as much as possible, and Eskkar soon found laughter to be as effective as manual labor or the lash.
One soldier who fondled a girl in the square had to carry water for the village’s women for a day. Another knocked down a farmer, and received a day’s work in the irrigation ditches. Only one soldier had to be lashed, and that for a fight that led to a villager’s death, although the villager had provoked the conflict and attacked the soldier first.
Eskkar’s biggest source of friction came from the innkeepers and other sellers of wine. They had a penchant for overcharging his soldiers, especially those who’d drunk too much. Both innkeepers and shopkeepers often substituted inferior quality goods on the unsuspecting soldiers.
Those merchants found guilty received fines, and Eskkar turned the gold and silver over to the council of elders, to help pay for the rebuilding.
The elders banished one trader found to be a little too sharp in his dealings. Watching the unhappy man pack his family and goods, then take to the road, sent a clear message to all the other merchants to be more honest in their bargaining with both soldiers and villagers.
By the end of the second week, a grudging appreciation of each others’ roles developed between the two factions. During that time, Eskkar and Sisuthros spoke at length to all the merchants in the village, listened to their complaints, and did what they could to resolve them. Progress remained slow, but steady. As the villagers came to accept the fact that Sisuthros and his men would remain, they settled down and got back to the business of farming, trading, and shopkeeping.
Every sundown, Eskkar ceased his role as ruler, refusing all requests for his time. He spent his evenings with Lani. During the day she took care of the household, smoothing the process for Eskkar and Sisuthros. She arranged food for the men, supervised the women hired to cook, looked after the cleaning, and worked with the two clerks keeping track of all the expenditures.