45

Sargat’s fingers dug into the wall, and he swung himself onto the ledge, taking care to keep his silhouette as inconspicuous as possible. Once on the inner side of the ledge, he settled in and remained motionless. Over the years, he’d learned many things about climbing about on other people’s rooftops, but the most important lesson was to fade into the shadows and avoid the slightest movement. Many times the creaking of a ceiling beam or rustling of cut branches had caused a head to pop up from the smoke hole and look around. Thick shadows, dark clothing, and the absence of the slightest motion tended to render him unseen.

Another lesson well learned was patience. He’d reached the roof adjoining the hut that held Jovarik and his companions. Now he needed to assure himself that anyone below who might have heard something became reassured, until whatever sound from the sagging roof faded from memory.

While Sargat waited, he thought about what had happened earlier. The guards had caught him easily enough. Sargat hadn’t thought anyone even knew he’d returned to Akkad. He’d only slipped into the city twenty days ago. In that time, he’d robbed only three houses, descending through the smoke holes, taking what he could, and disappearing into the night as silently as he’d come. He would have sworn that no one had seen him. Despite all his care, the guards had come straight to the tavern. Someone had planned his capture with care, to ensure that he didn’t escape and vanish once again into Akkad’s criminal underworld.

He soon learned who that was. When his captors removed the sack covering his head, he found himself sitting across the table from Annoksur. Lady Trella sat just outside of the candlelight, a half-step behind the older woman. When he glanced around, Sargat realized he was in the king’s Compound, the so-called workroom where Lady Trella dispatched her agents to spy on Akkad’s troublemakers. Which included him, Sargat decided. As his eyes grew accustomed to the light from the single candle, he realized that no guards or servants stood nearby. They would be within call, of course. Still, their absence meant that something private needed to be discussed.

Annok-sur’s hands remained below the table, and he guessed a weapon would be in her hand, ready should he make any sudden movement toward either of them. His own hands remained bound, but the rope looped about his ankles had been removed before they had escorted him up the stairs, and not replaced.

“Welcome to the Lady Trella’s house,” Annok-sur said. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes.” Still trying to collect his wits, he didn’t trust himself to say more. The less he spoke, the harder it would be for the witch-queen of Akkad to read his thoughts. Or so he hoped.

“Good. We only learned of your return to the city a few days ago. You should know that guards are waiting in the courtyard to bring you before the King’s Justice. I expect that you’ll be found guilty of enough crimes to warrant you being sentenced to the slave gang for the rest of your life.”

Sargat heard the threat, but they hadn’t brought him here in the night to remind him of his fate. Sentenced to the labor gang meant that they would break his legs first, so that he couldn’t run, then, when he had recovered, he’d work for the rest of his life. He put that thought out of his mind. They wanted something from him, but what?

“Of course, you may be able to avoid the work gang, and earn a few silver coins in the bargain. If you’re interested, that is.”

His eyes flickered to Lady Trella, but the shadows hid her eyes, and he couldn’t read anything from her expression. Whatever she wanted, and it must be something important to warrant her presence, he’d find out soon enough.

“What can I do for you, and . . . Lady Trella?”

“There are some men in Akkad who may be plotting with our enemies,” Annok-sur continued. “We want you to discover what it is that they plan. You would need to get close enough to hear what they’re saying.”

“And if I do that . . . ?”

“If you learn what they’re plotting, you can go free. And you’ll have ten silver coins as a reward.”

Another glance toward the still silent Lady Trella. Obviously, they wanted to use his skills as a thief to gather the information they wanted. Sargat knew how to play that game. He’d dealt with men who’d hired his services for such tasks before. But never a woman, let alone the one in charge of the city’s spies and informers. “And if I can’t learn anything?”

“Then I fear you will have to face the King’s Justice. Of course, if the men discover you, you’ll probably be killed outright.”

Death, or mutilation and slavery for the rest of his life. “For ten silver coins, I would be happy to help you.” Promise them anything, he decided. The minute he was on his own, Sargat would be over the roofs and gone. They wouldn’t catch him again, and he knew of several ways to slip out of the city undetected. “What do you want me to do?”

Annok-sur told him about Jovarik and his companions, and the place where they were staying. He knew the lane, but didn’t remember that particular rat-hole. Still, it was familiar enough ground for him.

“And you need this information . . .”

“Tonight, if possible. They are still eating their supper and sipping ale, and there is plenty of night remaining before they sleep. If you don’t succeed tonight, you may not have the chance to try again.”

The haggling began. He asked for more coins, more assurances of protection, more promises of safe passage while in Akkad. Annok-sur had agreed to them all. Sargat let himself relax the tiniest bit. All those tales he had heard of Annok-sur and her power now sounded foolish. She was just another woman, one willing to believe whatever she was told.

“Then I should go and see what I can learn.”

Annok-sur smiled, but turned to Lady Trella. By now he had nearly forgotten her presence.

“How many seasons do you have, Sargat?”

Lady Trella’s odd question surprised him, and despite the soft tone of her voice he felt a hint of his prior nervousness return.

“I have eighteen seasons, Lady Trella.”

“You shouldn’t lie to us, Sargat. You have only sixteen seasons.”

He started to protest, but she held up a slim hand.

“That doesn’t matter, of course. But lying about helping us, when instead you plan to just disappear again, that is something we cannot tolerate. You may be a very agile thief, but your eyes, your face, all show your lies.”

“Lady Trella, I . . .”

“Be silent!” She raised her voice. “Wakannh!”

The door opened at once, and Wakannh stepped inside the room. In one hand he carried a large block of wood. In the other, a small bronze axe. The block, Sargat noticed, appeared stained a darker color.

“The penalty for lying to us is to have your tongue removed.” Trella leaned closer for a moment, and Sargat caught a glimpse of her brown eyes fixed on his own, as if staring into his heart. “The penalty for being a thief is to have your right hand cut off. Which of these would you prefer to have done to you first?”

She uttered the words in the same soft voice a woman would use with her lover, but Sargat felt a chill pass through him.

He glanced back at Wakannh, standing there, patiently waiting for the order to begin. Suddenly he realized that she would as easily give that order as not. “I . . . Lady Trella . . .”

“You had a friend named Tammuz once. Do you remember him? He befriended you many times, even saved your life once by hiding you from the guard. You undertook a similar mission for him once, just before Korthac seized control of the city.”

Sargat felt his heart racing. How did she know about these things, events that happened years ago? He’d told no one, and only Tammuz knew. “Yes, I remember him, Lady Trella. But Tammuz left the city years ago.”

“And I know where he went. Before he left, Tammuz told me you could be trusted. Was he wrong? Or would you let Akkad’s enemies capture the city and put everyone to the sword, yourself included?”

Sargat remembered that Tammuz had fought against Korthac when the king recaptured the city. Sargat had thought that a foolish risk at the time, but now he realized that even then Tammuz must have been working for Lady Trella. That meant . . . what did any of this mean?

“I . . . I will do as you ask, Lady Trella. I swear it on Marduk’s –”

“No need for that, Sargat. Just your word as a thief. And you will be rewarded, and I will be able to tell Tammuz how well you served both him and his city. If you try to escape, you will find no one will help you, no hiding hole so deep that I cannot find you. And if you give away your presence to our enemies, then you will spend many days with the pain-givers before you repay your crimes. So think carefully before you speak again. Will you learn what these strangers want in Akkad, and will you bring that information back to me – if for no other reason than it would give honor to your friendship with Tammuz?”

Sargat found his throat dry, and had to swallow before he could answer. “I will not fail you, Lady Trella. If you speak for Tammuz, then I will do what you ask.”

She kept her gaze on him for a moment, as if searching for the truth in his words. “Wakannh, take Sargat to where the strangers are staying. Give him whatever help he needs, and when he is finished, bring him back to me.”

“Yes, Lady Trella.”

Sargat saw the guard bow, but caught a glimpse of disappointment on his face. No doubt the man would have preferred to use his axe.

All that had transpired not long ago. Now Sargat lay stretched along the roof of the adjoining hut, his weight spread out over as many roof poles as possible. The poles had creaked a little when he settled in. Unless one kept to the edges of the mud-brick walls, a little noise was unavoidable. Sargat had squirmed and wriggled his way over the tops of people’s heads for more than ten of his sixteen years. Victims, he’d learned, might wake at any little sound, but if they then heard nothing, they were likely to fall back asleep, or attribute what they’d heard to some bird, cat or rodent moving about.

This roof was scarcely two body lengths from end to end. He picked his way across, taking his time and always letting part of his weight settle before he moved the rest. When he reached the small ledge that separated the two huts, he heard movement on the other side. Either someone was sleeping on the roof, or a guard was keeping station.

Gradually he lifted his head, moving so slowly that, even if the guard happened to be looking in that direction, he might not notice the tiny change in the ledge’s silhouette. When Sargat’s right eye cleared the top, he saw a man laying on his back, staring upwards, his hands behind his head. The relaxed position told Sargat that the sentry didn’t expect anyone to disturb his rest.

Sargat settled back down and considered his choices. Despite all of Annok-sur and Wakannh’s warnings, Sargat hadn’t expected to find anyone up on the roof. At worst he’d expected the thieves or whatever they were to stick their heads up occasionally through the smoke hole and look around. That was usually enough to ensure privacy for those below. But the guard’s presence ended most of Sargat’s easy plans. It also confirmed that these strangers were up to no good, and were probably dangerous.

He took another glance over the wall, studying the prone form of the man less than four good paces away. Before Sargat ascended to the nearby roof, Wakannh had sketched the layout of the two chambers that formed the structure below. Twice as long as wide, the men were likely gathered near the back end of the house. That meant that Sargat could hear whatever conversations were being held below without coming too close to the smoke hole. If he could get across the ledge, and take up a position directly behind the guard, he might lie there unnoticed, even if the sentry should glance around. With nothing breaking the line of the roof, Sargat knew the guard’s eye would skip over the darkness, and search only for the contrast lines where dark and light met.

Ordinarily, this would be foolhardy, and Sargat had never been a fool. But the chance for plenty of silver – not to mention placing Lady Trella in his debt – made the risk worthwhile. Besides, if the guard did notice Sargat’s presence, he would be up and running over the rooftops to where Wakannh and his men waited. Despite what Lady Trella had said, he didn’t think they’d kill him if the strangers detected his presence.

The decision made, Sargat rose up and began climbing over the dividing ledge. Moving each of his limbs one at a time, he resembled a spider more than a man. The sentry never moved. The man remained relaxed and at rest, lost in his thoughts. The idea that someone might try to creep up beside him on the roof never entered his head.

Sargat kept his eyes focused on the guard. The slight creaks that his slow movements created were not what was important. Those down below would attribute any noises to the guard shifting about. As long as the sentry didn’t decide to turn his head and study carefully the rooftop behind him, Sargat kept moving forward.

At last he reached his position, about an arm’s length from the back of the guard’s head. Turning his eyes downward, he eased his face against the roof poles, his weight spread out over as wide an area as possible. He didn’t worry about the poles giving way under his slight weight, since those who dwelt inside would be used to sleeping on the roof during the hot weather, and most families added more trimmed branches than they really needed.

Beneath him, he could see almost nothing. Vague shadows outlined heads, and he guessed about five or six men were in the main chamber. Wakannh had made the same estimate, so at least none of the strangers had slipped away. No candles burned, and only a little moonlight filtered down through the smoke hole.

At least now he could hear them talking, actually make out what they were saying. But the men spoke about women, ale, even the warm weather. One complained that he preferred the ocean breezes of Sumeria. The desultory conversation went on and on, without Sargat hearing anything of use to anyone. It looked as if he would have to remain where he was until they decided to fall asleep. Even Sargat started relaxing, despite the presence of the guard less than an arm’s length away.

Then another voice broke into the conversation, one that Sargat hadn’t heard before. He realized that another man had entered the hut and joined the group. All the idle talk ceased, and the men shifted about, as if preparing themselves.

“Rattaki! You awake up there?”

The newcomer’s low voice sounded harsh, the voice of someone used to giving orders.

The sentry jumped at the words, and shifted his body to lean over the smoke hole. “Yes, I’m awake. Think I can sleep up here without a blanket?”

“Stay alert, then. You can listen from up there.”

The sentry shifted his position, twisting his body and swiveling his head, and Sargat knew the man’s gaze had swept over Sargat’s prone figure. But the man saw what he expected to see, which was nothing. Sargat lowered his gaze, so that the whites of his eyes didn’t show.

“The rest of you, pay attention. I’ve gotten word back from the horsemen. They’ll rush the wall tomorrow night when the moon reaches its highest point. It should give us enough light, and most of the guards will be half asleep by then. All we have to do is kill a few sentries, and get the ropes over the wall. Then the eight of us will hold the Akkadians off until the barbarians mount the wall. Each of us will wear a strip of cloth tied around the right elbow. Otherwise these bastards are as likely to kill us as anyone else inside the city.”

Tomorrow night! If barbarians captured the city, Sargat’s own plans would be disrupted. The barbarian horsemen would put everyone to the sword, men and women, honest men and thieves alike. And they’d be trapping everyone inside the city, to make sure no one escaped with anything of value.

“How many will be coming, Luroc?”

A new name, one that Annok-sur and her agents hadn’t learned. Sargat decided that this Luroc was staying somewhere else, away from his men. He peered down through the branches. He couldn’t see much of Luroc’s features, but the man possessed a barrel-like body and a thick beard that concealed much of his face.

“How should I know? Five hundred, a thousand. They’ve got a dozen ladders prepared, and they’ll head for the gate as soon as enough of them are over the wall. More than enough to brush aside these old men and new recruits.”

Sargat concentrated on Luroc’s voice. He possessed a strong accent, marking him as a man from the southern-most lands of Sumeria.

“You’re sure they know where to attack? Can they find –”

“They’ve already marked the Tanner’s Lane,” Luroc said. “They’ll be able to find it even if clouds hide the moon.”

“And our gold? When do we get paid?”

“As soon as we get back to Sumer. A boat will be waiting to take us south and we’ll be there in four or five days. Queen Kushanna will be eager to hear of our victory. And you’ll take onboard whatever loot we can pick up when the barbarians overrun the city. So just keep your mouths shut for another day. That means no drinking, no women, and no talking. Stay in the house as much as possible. And no one goes anywhere alone. I’ll cut the heart out of anyone who even thinks about doing or saying anything stupid.”

Luroc answered a few more questions, until he grew annoyed with the process. Sargat decided that all these things had been discussed before, probably more than once. Luroc had come only to inform his men about the date and time of the attack, and go over the plan one final time. He would slip back into whatever hideout he had prepared for himself, one where his name would not be Luroc.

At last the men grew silent. “Enough then. I’ll meet you at the wall just before the moon reaches its peak.” With one last word of warning to keep quiet and out of trouble, Luroc left the room. The sentry on the roof swung his legs over the smoke hole and skimmed down the ladder, his eyes focused only on his descent.

Sargat waited until the first snore wafted up through the hole. Then one by one he stretched his muscles for the first time, making sure he could move without any problem. Taking his time, he retraced his movements back to the ledge. This time he used the ledge to travel across the back of the huts, until he reached a place where he could drop lightly down to the ground. A dozen paces away, Wakannh and one of his men waited, but neither of them heard or saw Sargat’s approach until he stepped out of the shadows.

“Demons below!” Wakannh swore. “Where did you come from?”

“Did you see someone enter and leave?” Sargat couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice.

“We saw a man enter, but didn’t see anyone come out. Thought it was just one of the men returning from taking a piss. Why?”

“Never mind. Take me back to the Compound. I need to talk to Annok-sur and Lady Trella.”

“It’s the middle of the night. Are you sure . . . ?”

“I’m sure. Now let’s get moving, before any more time slips by!”

Lady Trella sat across the table from Bantor, his face framed by the two thick candles burning at either side, despite the lateness of the night. He’d just arrived from the barracks, at Trella’s summons. Annok-sur sat next to Trella, as she usually did. An excited Sargat, accompanied by Wakannh, had just completed the second recitation of what he’d heard for Bantor’s benefit, before leaving Akkad’s leaders alone.

“And Sargat is convinced the attack will come tomorrow?” Bantor’s face showed his concern. “There’s been no word of any horsemen loose in the countryside, at least not anywhere near here. Our scouts have reported nothing so close. According to them, the barbarians are still many miles away.”

“That’s what he heard them say,” Lady Trella said, “and I believe him. If we had any word of barbarians drawing near, you would have doubled the sentries on our gates and walls. Shulgi must have prepared this attack the same way he plotted the assault on Kanesh, a sudden strike by horsemen without any hint of their movements. Food for the riders and grain for the horses could have been hidden along their way, awaiting their arrival.”

“It is possible, isn’t it?” Annok-sur leaned forward. “If they wanted only to attack Akkad, and not raid the countryside, could they reach here without any word?”

Trella saw Bantor clench his fist on the table. He’d brought the news of the Alur Meriki raiding to the east and coming this way, and he didn’t like the idea that his outriders might have failed to detect their close approach. But despite what he lacked in imagination, he was no fool when the possibility of danger to Akkad arose. He knew the Alur Meriki could travel vast distances when necessary.

“If they swung to the north-east, then rode straight in. They’d have to cover a lot of ground at night, at least fifty miles from daybreak to midnight. That’s a lot of riding in the dark.”

“Skilled riders, with extra horses, carrying torches, and a well-marked trail prepared in advance.” Trella kept her voice persuasive. Bad enough Bantor had to deal with his wife’s authority from time to time. “We’ve done such things ourselves. We’ve no reason to believe Alur Meriki can’t do such things even more efficiently.”

He gave in to their pressure. “I guess they could manage it. But there’s only one direction they could take to make this work. I can have riders out in the morning. As soon as we see them coming, we’ll have plenty of time to prepare.” He glanced up at the window, to gauge the progress of the moon. “Plenty of time left tonight to round up the Sumerians. It won’t take much to make them tell us who their leader is and where he’s hiding.”

Trella took her time replying. In the interval since Sargat had completed his story, and Bantor’s arrival, she’d thought long and hard about the choices facing her. The easiest and safest solution was to do as Bantor said. Capture the Sumerians, put them to the torture. Even if they didn’t know where their leader was, they knew enough of the plan to confirm Sargat’s story. And once confirmed, the city could prepare itself. No force of horsemen, no matter how fierce or numerous, could scale Akkad’s high walls once they were properly defended.

Nevertheless, that solution left her unsatisfied. Like everyone else, she wondered what Eskkar would do faced with the same facts. Unlike Bantor and the other commanders, Eskkar would seek to gain some opportunity from this information, to turn the enemy attack into a defeat. She knew he would not enjoy sitting idly behind Akkad’s walls while raiders – foiled in their attempt to slip into the city – terrorized the countryside.

“Is there something else you would consider, Trella?” Annok-sur realized the time for a quick reply had long passed.

“I don’t want these horsemen destroying the farms and crops,” Trella began, still working out the idea in her head. Eskkar always had his battle experience to guide him, but she had lived and fought beside him for over four years, and in that time, she’d insisted he relate every tale, every adventure, every fight that he’d even been in. And not just once, but time and again, asking him to explain each choice and the reasons behind it, and the likely consequences.

“We’re another thirty or so horsemen coming down from Bisitun,” Bantor said. “They can patrol the countryside around the city.”

She made up her mind. “No. I don’t want these men driven away. I want these barbarians destroyed, or at least defeated. Otherwise they’ll do as much damage to the crops as Shulgi and his whole army. Between them they’ll destroy almost every farm supplying Akkad.”

Bantor shook his head. “They won’t attack in force once they see we’re ready for them.”

“I know.” Trella let the smallest hint of authority strengthen her words. “So perhaps we should let them into the city.”

Even Annok-sur looked askance. “What are you saying? Let them in?”

“Remember during the Alur Meriki siege, when Eskkar proposed the same thing? He had a plan to let them over the walls, then attack them.”

Bantor snorted. “I remember that . . . idea. Gatus and the rest of us didn’t care for it then. Eskkar likes to gamble, but we all thought the plan too risky. And we had a larger force of bowmen at our command than we do now.”

“Ah, but then we didn’t have the leader of the Sumerians to help us invite them in.” As she spoke, Trella felt her own conviction increasing. Not only was this the right choice, it was what Eskkar would do if he were here. And the risk to Akkad could be managed. “With Luroc helping us, I think we can make it work.”

She went over the ideas sketched out in her mind during the night. Annok-sur sought to find weakness in the plan, improving on some of Trella’s suggestions. By then Bantor, either half convinced or unwilling to argue with both his wife and Trella, decided that it might, just might, be done without too much risk .

“Good.” Trella stood and placed her hand on Annok-sur’s shoulder. “Now all you have to do is find where this Luroc is hiding and bring him here. Bantor, you’ll have to prepare what we need, and all without telling anyone except your most trusted subcommanders what we’re planning.”

Bantor got no sleep for the rest of the night, nor did his wife. While Bantor summoned those men he felt certain he could trust for the coming day’s work, Annok-sur started the search for Luroc. By dawn, more than twenty women walked Akkad’s lanes, whispering Luroc’s vague description to dozens of other women, who in their turn spoke to others. In this way, every hut, tavern, shop and residence in the city came under their scrutiny, but without arousing suspicion.

Nevertheless, midday came and went without any sign of the elusive Sumerian. For a man who’d been in Akkad for several days, he’d managed to stay out of sight. As the day grew short and they ran out of places to search, Trella suggested another possibility, namely that Luroc might be staying at the home of some Akkadian merchant.

With that in mind, Annok-sur turned her attention to the upper-class traders and merchants. She soon discovered that only one merchant, Ramal-sul, had departed the city that morning by boat, heading north to Bisitun. And he had taken his family with him, leaving his servants in charge of the household.

With that fact, Bantor gathered some men. Then he went to Ramalsul’s house and knocked on the door. When the servant opened it, Bantor asked to speak with the master’s guest, and the servant had duly let Bantor into the inner courtyard.

Luroc, sitting comfortably on a shady bench, took one look at Akkad’s Captain of the Guard, and reached for his sword.

“Don’t do anything foolish, Luroc,” Bantor said, holding up his hands. “The house is surrounded, and there are men on the rooftops. We know all about your plan for tonight, so it’s not like you have to betray any secrets.”

Bantor spoke quickly. He wanted Luroc to know the situation before he attempted anything foolish.

“My men could have taken you prisoner any time in the last few days, even last night after you gave your men their final instructions and left their hideout. Or I could have entered the house with a dozen men and rushed you before you knew we were there. Instead, I’ve come to offer you an arrangement. Lady Trella wishes to speak with you. I’m to bring you to her.”

“Who betrayed me?” The gruff voice held more disgust than anger.

Bantor leaned carefully against the courtyard’s entrance. He didn’t intend to get any closer to a desperate man with a sword in his hand. “I really don’t know. Does it matter?”

Luroc, the sword in his hand, shook his head.

Bantor saw the man preparing himself for a death fight. “If you want to live, I suggest you come quietly and listen to what Lady Trella has to say. You’ll find she can be quite generous. Otherwise . . . best fall on your own sword.”

Before Luroc could decide what to do, the Captain of the Guard turned and left the room, leaving Luroc standing there still holding his naked blade.

Luroc took only moments to make up his mind, perhaps assisted by the sight of two armed men who appeared on the roof of the house, peering down into the inner courtyard. One man carried a bow with a shaft already nocked to the string.

Stepping out of Ramal-sul’s front doorway a few moments later, Luroc found Bantor and two guards waiting there. The Sumerian’s sword rested in its scabbard. The soldiers looked competent, and Bantor was known to be a powerful fighter.

“No need to worry, Luroc,” Bantor said. “Walk beside me, as two old friends would do.”

Together they walked the lanes of Akkad, crossing half the city before they reached Eskkar’s house. At Bantor’s approach, the guards opened the gate and the little group passed inside.

Annok-sur waited just outside the entrance to the house. “Please give Bantor your sword, Luroc. Only the Hawk Clan is permitted to carry weapons in Lady Trella’s presence.

For a moment, Bantor thought the man would try something stupid. But Luroc kept control of his emotions. He reached for his blade, and Bantor’s two men moved in closer, just in case Luroc decide to start hacking at everyone. Using his fingers, he drew the sword from its scabbard and handed it to Bantor.

Annok-sur led Luroc into the house and up the stairs, to where Trella waited for them at the big table in the workroom. Another guard stood beside her, in case the Sumerian decided to leap across the table. Bantor remained just behind their guest.

“Please sit down, Luroc,” Lady Trella began. “I imagine you could use some wine. Or ale if you prefer.”

Annok-sur moved around the table to stand beside Trella. Annok-sur reached down and filled a cup with watered wine, which she handed to Luroc.

The man took it with both hands, as he slid into the seat across the wide table. By now the shock of his capture had started to sink in, and he looked like a man who knew he would soon be dead.

“As Bantor may have told you,” Trella said, “we know of your plot to help the barbarians slip into the city. Since that will not succeed, you may want to consider another option. How much gold did King Shulgi promise you?”

Lady Trella’s pleasant voice contrasted sharply with the harder tones of Queen Kushanna. Nevertheless, both women expected to be obeyed when they spoke.

“Twenty gold coins to prepare the men.” He took another gulp from the wine cup. “Fifty more if the attack succeeded.”

“The king of Sumeria is generous, but I am willing to exceed that price. I will give you safe passage to one of the northern cities and seventy-five Akkadian gold coins if you are willing to help us. With that much gold, you should be able to find a place of safety far from this war.”

Luroc’s eyes widened at the sum, and he decided the wild stories of Akkad’s gold mine at Nuzi were true. With that much gold, he would never need to work again. “How can I help you?”

“By making sure the barbarians enter the city, of course. The city’s guard is even now collecting your men. They’ll be sentenced to the labor gangs for the rest of their lives. Bantor’s men will replace them and you will be on the wall at Tanner’s Lane tonight to bring the barbarians into the city.”

“You want the barbarians to cross over your walls?”

“Yes. Our men will be waiting for them, of course.”

“They’ll capture your city. Even if they don’t, they’ll kill so many of your soldiers you won’t be able to resist Shulgi’s army when it gets here.”

“Perhaps. But that will not concern you. You will have your gold and be on a boat going north. Unless you prefer the alternative.”

Luroc glanced behind him. Bantor still stood there, but now his right hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The guard standing just beside Lady Trella had not taken his eyes off Luroc for a moment.

Luroc wet his lips, then realized he still held the wine cup. Another mouthful seemed to ease his choice.

“How do I know you will keep your part of the bargain?”

“The word of Lady Trella has never been broken,” Annok-sur said. “If you do as we ask, you will not be harmed. You and the gold will be free to leave at sunup. Several boats will be departing to the north. Or you can even return to Sumeria, if you wish.”

Returning to Queen Kushanna’s presence without the destruction of Akkad to report didn’t appeal to Luroc.

Trella gave him a moment to work things through. Then she nodded. “I give you my word you will not be harmed.”

Luroc drained the wine cup, and pushed it toward the center of the table. Like any good gambler, he knew when he was beaten. “I don’t think I’ll be going back to Sumer. What do you want me to do?”

The long day had finally given way to dusk, then darkness. Since Luroc decided to change his allegiance, if indeed the mercenary ever had any, Trella had remained with Bantor most of the day. She and Annok-sur questioned the spy at length, obtaining the names of all his men, and ascertaining that no other Sumerian agents remained in Akkad. Bantor had dispatched Wakannh, who had been present at last night’s meeting, to gather up all eight Sumerians, and they now languished in a single room at the barracks, guarded by a dozen men.

Trella insisted that Bantor go over every part of the plan. She knew the way her husband’s mind worked, and she’d watched him in enough planning sessions over the last five years to know how he would proceed. Every step, every part, had to be discussed, responsibility assigned, every commander and his second in command had to fully grasp and understand the role he would play.

The carpenters had to be summoned and given their instructions. The rest of the city had to remain guarded as well throughout the night, as the barbarians might have more than one plot. No soldiers would be sleeping tonight. Those not involved at Tanner’s Lane would be manning Akkad’s walls, alert for any attack.

At the barracks, behind its closed gates, the soldiers prepared torches and poles, readied shields and spears, while archers tested their bows and changed to new bowstrings. The handful of spearmen remaining in the city prepared themselves for this new way of fighting. Even food and water had to be readied, to make sure that no one lacked for anything.

All this needed to be accomplished before sundown. Tonight, Trella wanted everything in Akkad to appear as normal as the night before. Only when the city lay cloaked in darkness were the men and equipment quietly assembled, brought together in small groups, and taken to their stations.

The waiting began. Trella leaned against a wall a hundred paces from Tanner’s Lane. Annok-sur had wanted her to remain in the Compound, but Trella insisted on being there. Bantor protested as well, but gave way when he saw her determination.

“I must be there,” she said. “I know how Eskkar would think and act. Tonight you will think of me as you would of him.”

“But if it fails, you may be in danger.”

“If I am sending men to fight and die, then they need to see me there, standing beside them. Would Eskkar do any less?”

No amount of words changed her mind. Before midnight, she arrived at Tanner’s Lane, accompanied by her four Hawk Clan guards. She wore the short sword Eskkar had given her belted around her waist. He had taught her how to use it after Korthac’s defeat.

Near one of the watch fires, Bantor and Luroc waited together for her arrival. Even in the flickering light, she saw the worry on Bantor’s face.

“The men are ready, Lady Trella.” At least Bantor knew better than to argue with her in front of the Sumerian.

“Nothing was said about me being tied to a rope.” Luroc’s words, though spoken just above a whisper, sounded bitter.

Luroc had been forced to remove his tunic, and a slim but stout rope was fastened around his waist, then fed out through a hole cut in the back of the garment. Wakannh had the other end of the rope fastened around his body.

“That’s just in case you decide to slip over the wall and rejoin your companions,” Trella said. “Though they’d probably kill you anyway at the first alarm.” She had been the one who suggested the rope to Bantor. “Wakannh will stand next to you at all times, as if one of your trusted men. If you try to escape, or give us away, you’ll find yourself hanging over the fire pit in the morning.”

“I’ll keep my end of the bargain.”

“Then all will be well for both of us,” she answered.

The waiting began. The moon still climbed upward in the heavens, slower than it usually did, it seemed to those watching. But at last the moon reached its zenith.

“Clear the wall,” Bantor ordered in a low voice. One by one, the sentries on the wall ducked below the wall, then dropped to the ground below or moved rapidly but silently down the parapet’s steps. The barbarians, if indeed they were out there, would have been waiting for the guards to be taken out.

Luroc, with Wakannh at his side, moved to the top of the wall, now empty of sentries. Luroc leaned over and waved a bit of white cloth.

Neither man could see much, but then Luroc stiffened. Wakannh saw them, too, and his hand tightened on the rope.

The ground beyond the ditch seemed to be alive, like a field covered with locusts, as crouched men moved quickly and silently over the empty ground. In moments, a wave of men dropped down into the ditch. Bent low, they raced to the base of the wall. It took only moments to locate the two ropes Bantor’s men had thrown over the edge.

The ropes tightened as men started the climb. Ladders bumped softly against the wall as well. Then a figure swung up over the top, glanced around, and saw the two men standing there. The whites of the barbarian’s eyes shone in the moonlight. He swung over the wall, his hand on his sword.

“Wait!” Luroc whispered just loud enough to be heard. “I’m Luroc. The way is clear.”

Without waiting for a reply, Luroc turned away, and he and Wakannh moved to the steps and raced down the steps. They disappeared into the shadows at the entrance to the lane.

Bantor waited for them there. He could hear the small sounds of bodies scraping and slipping over the wall. Soon he saw the barbarians, their number swelling, readying weapons.

From the shadows a few steps away, Trella watched the parapet fill with the enemy. More and more kept coming, helped up and over by their companions. She heard the faint rasp of swords being drawn from scabbards, and noted the silhouette of one or two bows.

Behind her the soldiers shifted, their breathing coming faster as they tensed up for the coming struggle. But their small sounds were masked by those on the wall. In the faint moonlight, Trella saw that everyone had moved to their assigned places. At last she heard the sound of wood scraping against wood as the barricades moved into position, blocking off the parapet. If the barbarians detected them, they made no outcry.

“It’s time.” Bantor’s whisper sounded harsh.

Trella moved silently across the open space at the end of the lane. Behind her the soldiers formed up in silence. Looking up, she saw the wall now swarmed with men. Some began to drop down off the parapet, others found the steps and ran down, and still more heads and shoulders crawled over the wall into the city.

Wakannh’s voice boomed out over the lane. “Hoist the torches!”

The Alur Meriki froze in place as the first torch flared into being and was pushed out over the lane from the rooftop. Every eye watched as the long pole extended its flaming contents over the intruders, joined quickly by another and another, until five torches sputtered and blazed on each side of the open space and the barbarians could see the line of bowmen facing them, with another line of spearmen kneeling just in front of them, lances extended upwards. The Alur Meriki had time for that one glance.

“Loose!” Bantor’s voiced echoed off the walls. For a brief moment the barbarians didn’t move, not until the first wave of forty arrows crashed into their midst.

Warriors dropped like stones, screaming in pain as the arrows struck them. But the arrow storm unleashed the fury of men who suddenly realized they’d been lured into a trap. In the torchlight they could clearly see that every house and stall in the lane was boarded up, giving them no place to go but into the arrows ahead of them.

Bantor drew his sword. The leader of the bowmen continued to call the cadence and another flight of arrows, aimed low, struck at the invaders. Those barbarians still standing rushed forward, screaming their war cries as they charged at the forty men in front of them. Other Alur Meriki reinforcements continued to climb over the wall, eager to join the fighting and as yet unaware of what was happening.

Bantor’s third wave of shafts included shafts from other archers on the rooftops, as bowmen climbed into position and added their own arrows to the carnage below them. The barbarians had only to cover about thirty paces to come to grips with their opponents, but the shafts flew again, and this time the charge broke.

The warriors had brought few bows of their own, certain that swords would be the most useful weapon once inside the walls. Instead they found themselves attacked by bowmen under the blaze of torches that lit the scene all too clearly.

Some tried to tear down the boards that blocked entry to the houses but the archers on the opposite roof turned their arrows on them. Others tried to move along the parapet, but the heavy wooden barricades, positioned to extend out over the parapet’s edge, blocked that path, too. Behind those barricades stood villagers and soldiers with spears, who thrust at every head or hand that tried to climb over or swing around them. A few Alur Meriki managed to leap up and grasp two of the torches and dash them out, but it made no difference. Even two or three torches would have provided enough light for the archers.

Suddenly, the Alur Meriki began moving back, jamming the steps or pulling themselves up to the parapet, with no other thought in their minds but to get back over the wall. The archers’ shafts continued to find them. Bantor shouted another order and the bowmen moved slowly forward, shooting together under command, shooting again and again until they reached the base of the parapet. By then nothing moved, not even the wounded at their feet, who died from a quick spear thrust. Shouting continued from the walls, as archers kept shooting at the surviving barbarians as they fled back across the ditch.

Bantor bellowed out a command to secure the wall, and soldiers began clearing the dead off the steps and parapet. Trella knew the fight here had finished. She turned to find Annok-sur at her side, a short sword gleaming in the torchlight.

A cheer went up from the men, the volume increasing until everyone had joined in, shouts of victory mixed with laughter at the barbarians, who had carefully planned their assault yet still stumbled into a deadly trap. Trella found herself surrounded by gleeful soldiers and villagers, as she turned away from the carnage and headed back to the Compound.

“That should send them running back to their clan,” Annok-sur said. “It looks like we’ve killed more than half of them, I’m sure.”

“The cavalry from Bisitun will hunt down any stragglers in the morning,” Trella agreed. “I think those who escape will have little inclination to raid our lands.”

“You planned this as well as Eskkar.”

“Let’s hope he has as much good fortune in the south. Send word in the morning. It will be one less worry for Eskkar.”

“And what should I do with Luroc?”

“Pay him and let him go,” Trella said. “He’s not likely to trouble us again. Besides, once word of this gets out, the Sumerians will think he betrayed them.”

Annok-sur put her arm around Trella’s shoulders. “Let’s hope the Sumerians fare as badly against your husband as these barbarians.”

Trella’s satisfaction at the victory lessened at the thought of her husband’s danger. “Tell Yavtar’s men to get word to Eskkar as soon as possible. The last thing he needs is to be worrying about Akkad.”