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.
From what he heard spoken by the riders around him, this Eskkar had taken Korthac just as easily. The barbarian had stormed Korthac in his house, surrounded by his Egyptians, and made him a prisoner. Hathor still found it hard to believe his cunning leader had been defeated, not only defeated but captured alive. Nevertheless, as Hathor clung to his horse, he slowly realized that what his captors said must certainly be true. These men rode too relaxed, unconcerned about any danger; they must have retaken Akkad and killed all those who’d opposed them.
Thoughts of how swiftly they’d killed his men still rankled Hathor.
The Akkadians hadn’t lost a man, not even taken a wound, and they’d fi nished off his Egyptians and taken him prisoner. Bantor had personally killed Ariamus with scarcely a fight, then stood over his victim to watch his death throes. Hathor knew Ariamus could handle a sword better than most, and yet the leader of these men, by himself, had challenged Ariamus without hesitation. And this Bantor, according to Ariamus, was reckoned to be the slowest of Eskkar’s subcommanders. Hathor nearly wept in shame, but the thought of humiliating himself further in front of these warriors halted his tears.
They stopped twice on the return journey. A burly soldier named Klexor checked Hathor’s bandage each time, and gave him water, a gesture that worried Hathor even as he gulped it down, unable to resist the need to quench his thirst.
By the time they reached Akkad, the sun had started to touch the horizon, marking the end of a long day of fighting and running. Hathor, growing weaker with each step of his horse, remembered moving through streets and lanes already lit by torches and filled with revelers. People shouted and cheered at the sight of Bantor and his riders. That turned into a roar of approval as one of the soldiers reached down and lifted Ariamus’s head into view, its mouth hanging slack in the torchlight.
Some Akkadians even recognized Hathor, and yelled curses in his direction. Bantor’s men kept them away, and the soldiers led him back to Korthac’s house. When the soldiers pulled him down from the horse, Hathor was unable to stand, and he fell to the ground, helpless. Laughing, the soldiers lifted him and carried him to one of the soldiers’ rooms across from the main house. Hathor, filled with shame and weakened from loss of blood, had collapsed, grateful only for the end of the punishing ride. His hands still tied in front of him, the celebrating soldiers dropped him to the floor and went off to join the festivities. The celebrations went on and on, long into the night, while Hathor lay in the dirt, fi ghting the throbbing in his leg and contemplating the torture that awaited him.
When he woke, not sure if he’d fallen asleep or passed out from the pain, Hathor found a yawning guard watching him, outlined against a low fire in its dying throes burning in the courtyard. Twisting his head, Hathor caught a glimpse of the night sky, and realized dawn approached. At first he couldn’t believe that he’d slept through most of the night, but his wound must have exhausted him more than he realized. The coming dawn explained the silence surrounding the house, and the city; the inhabitants must have celebrated their liberation long into the night, before finally returning to their beds; aside from the occasional crackling of the fire, Hathor heard nothing.
The sky began to lighten, and thoughts of what the day would bring shook the last remnant of sleep from Hathor’s mind. Today would be the last day of his life. In a few hours the torture would begin. Today he would die. The laughter, the jeers of the onlookers, would fill his ears as they enjoyed the spectacle of his torment. Hathor would make every effort to be strong, but he knew a wounded man rarely kept his courage and his strength. The pain they would inflict would join with that already flaring in his leg, and he would soon beg for mercy. The torture would increase, until he begged them to kill him. They wouldn’t, of course, and that would make the pain and humiliation truly unbearable.
The courtyard fire died out, but moments later the first rays of the sun brushed aside the last of the darkness. Hathor swallowed, his throat dry again, as he attempted to prepare himself for the ordeal to come. The household stirred, with people getting up and about. He heard someone moaning, a low sound he could barely detect. He struggled to sit up, finally leaning his back against the wall, facing the doorway and the soldier watching him. The low, murmuring sound continued, and Hathor realized it had been going on for some time.
“Who’s that?” he muttered at the guard, a dry rasp in his throat.
The guard, who’d sat there watching him without expression, broke into a smirk. “That’s Korthac, your leader. He’s in the room next to yours.
You two are the last Egyptians alive in Akkad.”
The words sent another tremor through him. If Korthac was already unable to control his pain, Hathor, too, would soon be screaming for death.
Which of us, he wondered, would scream louder?
When Eskkar woke, the morning sun had already climbed well over the horizon. He’d slept in fits and snatches during the night, despite the tiredness in his body. The tension of the last few days couldn’t be erased in a single night. Celebrating citizens and soldiers had filled the streets, shouting, drinking, and singing for much of the nighttime hours. The unusual noises had troubled him. The middle of the night had long passed before Eskkar finally fell into a deep sleep. Then he slept right through sunup, waking to the sound of a baby crying for its mother.
He hadn’t wanted to disturb Trella and the child; he’d slept in the outer room, on a blanket. Trella and the baby slept together, both under the watchful eye of Drusala, who apparently stayed awake throughout the night. As she’d explained to Eskkar earlier, because Sargon came before his time, he needed to be watched constantly.
Entering the bedroom with a yawn, he found Trella nursing the babe.
He put his arm around her shoulders, and felt a thrill when she leaned against him, then reached up and touched his cheek.
“You look terrible, husband,” she said, her voice still weak. “Your face…”
Korthac’s fists had bruised and bloodied Eskkar’s face, leaving it swollen and covered with scratches. He could only imagine what he looked like.
“You look beautiful, wife,” he answered. She smiled at him, the way she always did when he told her how beautiful she was. “How is the pain?”
“Better. But I feel so weak, like I could sleep the whole day.” She touched the infant at her breast. “But Sargon has other ideas.”
“So I see.”
Annok-sur arrived, a bandage wrapped around her head, carrying breakfast for them both.
“Gatus is looking for you, Eskkar,” she informed him, setting the tray down on the bed. “He wants to know if you plan to sleep the whole day away. You should eat something now, before he takes up all your time.”
“I’d better go see what he wants,” Eskkar said. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.” He tore off a hunk of bread and filled a cup with watered ale from the tray, and went downstairs. By the time he reached the courtyard, the cup was empty.
Eskkar found Gatus sitting at the head of the table, hard at work. Apparently the captain of the guard had taken his post well before sunrise.
“About time you woke up and got to work,” Gatus said. “You look terrible. How are you feeling?”
Eskkar sat down and helped himself to the water jug resting on the table. “Not too bad. I could use some more sleep, but there’s time for that.
What’s happened during the night?”
“I’ve put Klexor in command of the walls, gates, and docks,” Gatus said. “He’s to make sure no one leaves the city without our approval. Alexar took twenty men and as many horses and is already patrolling the walls, looking for any of the rabble that escaped. Mitrac is going houseto-house, searching the city and making sure none are still hiding under some old woman’s bed.”
“We’ll have to promote them to commanders, then,” Eskkar said.
“Already did that. Told them you’d confirm it when you finally woke up.”
At least that was one less task to do today, Eskkar thought to himself with a smile.
“I just sent Bantor down to the barracks,” Gatus went on. “He’s taken charge of the prisoners, those guarding them, and the horses. He’s working with Rebba and the other nobles to make sure the dead get buried.
Too bad he had to burn the Egyptians out of the barracks. We could use the space.”
“How’d he look?” Bantor had returned last night, with Ariamus’s body.
Bantor hadn’t said much, just a quick report of the number of Egyptian dead, before he went to Annok-sur. They closed the door to their room, and hadn’t ventured out all night.
“Better than he did when he got back,” Gatus said. “The look on his face could’ve shattered stones. You’d think killing Ariamus would have cheered him up.”
Eskkar knew the story about Annok-sur, and the gods only knew what other deviltry Ariamus had done under Korthac’s protection.
“And the wounded?” Eskkar glanced around the courtyard. The soldiers’ quarters held most of the wounded, with others put up in nearby houses. Even now, more than a half-dozen bandaged men rested in the courtyard, most of them watching Eskkar.
“Ventor’s with them now,” Gatus said. “Got here a few moments ago.
He’ll do what he can. Some are going to die. Those Egyptians were tough fi ghters.”
“Korthac trained his killers well,” Eskkar said, thinking that if the Egyptians were half as skillful as their master, they would indeed have made formidable fighters.
“Only one thing left to do,” Gatus said, as he fi nished reporting. “And here they come,” he added, the distaste sounding in his voice.
Eskkar looked up to see Corio and Rebba enter the courtyard. Corio’s right arm hung in a sling, and a large bruise covered the left side of his face. Rebba looked old and tired, but had a warm smile for everyone.
“Good morning, Lord Eskkar,” Corio said, speaking first and in a loud voice. “Once again, let me offer praise to the gods for your return. You were sorely missed.”
“The gods favored us, Noble Corio,” he answered, smiling at the architect’s obviously insincere words. Corio believed in the gods about as much as Eskkar did.
“We’ve come for the usurper Korthac,” Rebba said. “We’ve been meeting at Nicar’s house with the other nobles. Nicar is still unable to get about, but he sends his thanks and his greetings, as do the others.”
“And Korthac?…” Eskkar looked at Rebba.
“Unless you want the pleasure of killing him yourself,” Corio said,
“he’s to die under the torture in the marketplace, to pay for his crimes against all of us.”
The nobles and rich merchants had suffered greatly in the last few days, Eskkar knew, and they’d lost most of whatever gold they had hoarded.
Fortunately, Korthac had stored most of the loot right here in the house.
Still, it would take weeks to sort it all out, and this time Eskkar would have to arbitrate the distribution. “Take Korthac whenever you want,” he said, nodding toward the guards watching the Egyptian.
“Also, we need your soldiers to arrest the others,” Corio interrupted, “the men who joined up with Korthac, who willingly took part in his schemes.”
“And what’s to become of them?”
“They’re to die with their leader, curse them all,” Corio answered.
“They deserve to take the torture, but I’ll be satisfied just to see them all dead.”
Eskkar had never seen the master builder in such a bloodthirsty mood.
“And Nicar, and you, Rebba, you all agree to this?”
Rebba nodded. “We spent most of yesterday arguing over their fates.
Five are to die, their property confiscated. Another seven will have their property taken, and then be exiled from Akkad.”
More blood to be shed, Eskkar thought. For this decision, however, there was no urgency. “Gatus, have your men take these… twelve men prisoner.
Send them down to the barracks and tell Bantor to guard them well.”
He turned to Corio. “In a few days, when Trella is well enough, we’ll review the charges against these men.”
Both men started to protest, but Eskkar cut them off. “There’s no need to rush their punishment. Better to let them worry about their fate, while we make sure each one gets exactly what he deserves. Remember, Trella was here, and she heard every word Korthac said. She’ll know who merits what punishment.”
Eskkar stood and faced Gatus, who’d remained expressionless during the discussion. “Round up those twelve. Then take charge of Korthac and make sure he gets to the marketplace. The sooner he begins his journey to the underworld, the better.”
“What about the other one, that Hathor?”
“Him, too,” Eskkar said. “All the Egyptians deserve the torture.”
Gatus stood as well. “Let’s go, Corio. The sooner we catch up with the men on your list, the happier we’ll both be.”
Eskkar left the table and walked over to check on Korthac. The man looked even worse today than he had yesterday. Korthac glared at him, but said nothing. Eskkar glanced in on Hathor, but had nothing to say to the Egyptian subcommander. He didn’t know the man, and hadn’t encountered him during the fight. But he’d fled with Ariamus, and that alone was enough to condemn him.
As he turned away from Hathor, Mitrac and a few others from the Hawk Clan entered the courtyard. They surrounded Eskkar, eager for news and equally eager to tell him what they’d accomplished. Eskkar spoke with them for some time, answering questions, laughing, and listening to the latest rumors from the streets.
They left him, still laughing, proud men who knew they’d won a great victory. Ignoring the other activity around him, Eskkar washed himself at the well, then visited the kitchen to find something more to eat. His appetite had returned, a good sign, he knew. He leaned against the wall, out of the way of the cook, and munched on some bread and sausage, enjoying the idle moment.
“Lord, Lady Trella asks for you.”
He turned to see Drusala bowing to him. “Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes, lord, but she asked if you could attend her.”
Wiping his fingers on his tunic, he climbed the stairs, Drusala following behind. But she stopped at the landing, and shut the door as soon as he passed through. Surprised, Eskkar crossed the empty workroom and entered the bedroom.
Annok-sur waited there, along with another woman, a young girl, really, her plain face marred by a broken nose. Eskkar had to stare at her for a moment before he recognized her, the girl Trella had rescued and brought to the house a few days before he’d left for Bisitun.
Trella sat up in the bed, the baby asleep beside her. “Eskkar, we have a favor to ask of you, a very great favor.” She kept her voice soft, so as not to waken the child.
Trella’s use of “we” warned him something unusual was coming. He looked closer at the girl, struggling to remember her name.
“This is En-hedu,” Trella went on, “soon to be wife to Tammuz. At least, as soon as we set her free from her servitude.”
En-hedu bowed deeply to him, but said nothing. When she lifted her head, he saw the worry in her face.
“Tammuz… Gatus told me he’d taken a woman.”
“I gave En-hedu to Tammuz more than a month ago. She’s been helping him all that time. They both risked their lives, trying to learn more about Korthac. They helped hide Gatus, and she and Tammuz both fought in the battle against Korthac.”
“Then you have my thanks, En-hedu,” Eskkar said, bowing his head to her.
“I will tell you all about it later, husband,” Trella said, “but for now, En-hedu wishes to ask a favor.”
En-hedu bowed again, her hands clenched together nervously. “Lord, please, can you spare the life of the Egyptian Hathor? He saved my life and the life of Tammuz as well. We would both be dead if he hadn’t spared us.”
“Hathor is to die with Korthac,” Eskkar said, shock and surprise in his voice. “He was one of Korthac’s subcommanders… he escaped with Ariamus.”
“Hathor came from the desert with Korthac, it’s true,” Annok-sur said.
“But I didn’t see him kill or do injury to anyone here in Akkad.”
“Please, lord,” En-hedu rushed the words, “his men would have killed Tammuz and myself. Hathor stayed his hand against us. Can you not spare his life for that?”
“What does Tammuz say?” Eskkar asked. “Does he want this man to live?”
“Yes, Lord Eskkar,” En-hedu said, “but he will not ask for Hathor’s life.
He is too loyal to you and Lady Trella.”
“In serving Korthac, who knows how many evil deeds Hathor may have accomplished in the past. He may have…”
Trella dropped her eyes, and Eskkar’s voice trailed off. Without saying anything, she reminded him of another who had done things in the past, things better forgotten.
“No one has accused Hathor of evil deeds,” Annok-sur said, filling in the silence.
“Not yet,” Eskkar countered. “Today, in the marketplace, I’m sure many will come forth to confront him.” He shook his head. “Still, I have no quarrel with him. He can spend the rest of his days as a slave, working on the wall.”
“When Korthac amused himself at my expense,” Trella said, “Hathor was the only one who looked away. He did not take pleasure in my suffering.”
Her words told him she wanted Hathor to live, and not as a slave.
“Perhaps there is another way,” Trella continued. “Perhaps you can make use of him.”
“Use him?”
“You always say how you look for men who can command. Hathor is one such. Even Korthac thought so. With Korthac gone and the rest of the Egyptians dead, Hathor has no one else to turn to. In Akkad, every man’s hand will be against him. Such a man might prove useful to you, Eskkar, if you held his loyalty.”
Eskkar looked from one woman to the other. Annok-sur nodded slightly, to show her approval; En-hedu’s lip trembled as she watched him, as if fearful of an outburst of anger.
Trella stroked little Sargon, tracing his cheek with her finger for a moment, then lifting her eyes to Eskkar’s. “It is something to think about, husband. There is no rush to put him to death.”
As always, she gave him time to make up his mind, to think things through in his own way.
“I’ll consider it,” he answered. “Is there anything else?”
“No, nothing. You’ll do what’s best.”
The words sounded humble, but he caught the gleam in her eye.
“But perhaps it would be good to speak to him yourself,” Trella added.
“Can you have him brought here?”
“Up here? Now?” He regretted the words the moment he uttered them. He knew Trella too well. Once she made up her mind, she always acted quickly.
“I can have him brought up, Lord Eskkar,” Annok-sur offered.
Now Bantor’s wife was calling him “lord.”
“No, I’ll bring him.” Eskkar needed the time to think, and he certainly wasn’t going to win any arguments here, not with the three of them united against him. Shaking his head, he turned and left the room, wondering what they would say with him gone.
In the courtyard, the command table stood empty. He knew Gatus had gone with the council members to gather up the traitors.
Eskkar walked over to the guards. He nodded to the one watching Hathor, and ducked his head as he entered inside.
Hathor looked up when he entered, but said nothing.
“Do you know who I am?”
“You are Lord Eskkar. I saw you yesterday when I was brought here.”
The man spoke with a strong accent, but Eskkar had no difficulty understanding his words.
“Are you ready to die, Hathor?”
“As ready as any man, lord.” He pushed himself up a little straighter against the wall. “I would have killed myself rather than been captured, but your men took me before I could fall on my sword.”
Eskkar grunted at that news. So this all could have been avoided if Bantor’s men hadn’t been so efficient. He stared at Hathor. Despite the Egyptian’s strong words, Eskkar saw the trembling in his hands that betrayed his fear. No man wants to die alone, surrounded by enemies and strangers. A warrior expected to die in battle, often looked forward to it; better to end that way than a lingering death from illness or old age, alone, perhaps begging in the streets.
Another long-forgotten memory returned, of a time many years ago when Eskkar had sat bound and bloody against a cave wall, death pricking the skin at his throat, afraid, yet too proud to beg for his life, while a group of women decided his fate. Women had spared him then, and now women wanted him to spare this man. Perhaps Eskkar owed the gods a debt, one that must be repaid. Ishtar, the earth goddess, was a woman, after all.
“Guard, get some water for the prisoner.” Eskkar used the time to think.
The guard returned with a skin filled with water. Eskkar took it from his hands, cursing at the old memories; he should feel hate for the Egyptian, not pity. He handed the skin to the surprised Hathor and let him drink his fill, much of the water dribbling down his chest as the man held the skin clumsily with his bound hands.
Eskkar turned to the guard, still standing in the doorway. “Bring him to the workroom. And wash the blood from his hands and face first.”
Ignoring the soldier’s surprised look, Eskkar returned to the upper rooms. He sat down at the big table and waited. Annok-sur summoned Drusala to watch the baby; the midwife closed the door to the inner room after Trella and En-hedu joined Eskkar in the workroom. The two women guided Trella to the seat beside her husband, then stood behind her.
It took two men to bring Hathor up the stairs, and by the time he stood in front of Eskkar, a sheen of perspiration covered his face. At least they’d cleaned most of the blood off.
“Put him on the stool,” Eskkar ordered, “then leave us.”
“Lord, one of us should stay, in case…”
“I’ll watch him myself,” Eskkar cut the man off. He stood up and moved to the other side of the table, then sat on the corner, between Hathor and the women, fingering the knife on his belt.
Trella waited until the guards had left, closing the door behind them.
“Do you remember me?” Her voice once again held the power of command, no matter how weak she might feel.
Hathor nodded, his eyes darting from husband to wife.
“Tell me of Korthac,” Trella said. “Tell me what he did in Egypt.”
The question caught Hathor by surprise. “Why do you wish… to know about Korthac?”
“It cannot matter now to answer my questions.” Trella kept her voice even, a polite request to a guest.
Eskkar said nothing, just stared at the man. If Hathor refused to speak, he would go to the marketplace and suffer with his leader.
Hathor dropped his eyes. “It matters not, I suppose… Lady Trella.”
So the Egyptian wasn’t a complete fool, Eskkar thought.
Hathor’s story came out haltingly. The years spent pillaging the land, gathering forces, two mighty armies battling to control the land of Egypt.
The conquests, the battles, the villages taken and burned, the lands devastated, the final conflict that saw Korthac defeated and driven into the desert with the last of his men, all of them lucky to escape with their lives.
To his surprise, Eskkar found himself listening with interest. When the man ended his tale, Eskkar had a question of his own. “Tell me about the battle here in Akkad.”
Hathor made a noise that might have been a laugh. “You were too clever for Korthac. He knew you didn’t have enough men. He never thought you would divide what little you had to slip inside and raise the city. Or that Akkad would rise up, even for you.”
“My men didn’t think much of the idea at the time,” Eskkar said, remembering the arguments at Rebba’s farmhouse.
“Your men follow where you lead, Lord Eskkar. I see that they don’t fear you, the way we all feared Korthac. You speak to them as an equal. You must be a great warrior to hold so much loyalty.”
Eskkar stared at the man, not sure what to make of the words of praise. “Go on, Hathor. Tell me of the battle.”
The Egyptian began again, relating how they’d been surprised at the strike here at the house, how they hadn’t expected Eskkar to arrive so soon, and the confusion that broke out among them, even the hatred Takany felt for Ariamus. Hathor spoke for some time, but then his voice gave out. He tried to continue, but Eskkar held up his hand.
“Enough for now.” Then he leaned closer to the helpless man. “Would you like to live, Hathor?”
“As a slave? No, better to die and get it over with.”
“You might change your mind when the torture begins. But I meant something else. My wife has asked me to spare your life.”
A look of shock came over the Egyptian’s face.
“And this girl, En-hedu, pleaded with Trella. Do you know En-hedu?”
“Yes, I know her. The seller of trinkets outside Korthac’s house.” His eyes widened in comprehension. “Was she one of Trella’s… Lady Trella’s spies?”
“Why did you spare her life? And the boy’s?”
“She was ready to die to protect her man. I thought… She’d spoken kindly to me often enough.” He shrugged, lifting his bound hands. “I thought there’d been enough killing of women and helpless men. Whether we won or lost, their deaths wouldn’t have mattered.”
“Yes, there’s been enough of killing,” Eskkar agreed. “Now there must be a time of building. The land must be freed of bandits, and the people protected from the clans of the steppes people. I need men who can help me build, Hathor, as well as fight my enemies. Loyal men.”
Hathor stared not at Eskkar, but at En-hedu, unable to speak.
“Or, when you’ve recovered from your wound,” Trella said, “we can give you a horse and let you depart. You can even return to Egypt. The choice is yours.”
“You would give me my life?”
Eskkar nodded. “A life for a life. Yours for En-hedu and Tammuz’s.
You did no hurt to Trella, and no one has come forth to accuse you of murder or rape. If you had… it might be different.”
“I have nothing to return to in Egypt.” He lifted his eyes to Eskkar, then to Trella. “The vow I swore to Korthac ends with his death. If you will accept my oath, I will serve you faithfully, lord. I swear it.”
The Egyptian meant his words, Eskkar decided. He looked at Trella, who nodded. Taking his knife from his belt, Eskkar cut the knot from Hathor’s bonds.
“I’ll take him downstairs, Lord Eskkar,” Annok-sur said, putting her arm around his shoulders. “And summon the healer for his wounds.”
A knock on the door sounded, and Gatus pushed his way into the room. “I’ve got three of the men denounced by Corio,” Gatus said. “The others…” His eyes widened in surprise at the prisoner.
“Ah, Gatus, it’s good that you’ve returned,” Eskkar interrupted, enjoying the look of confusion on the old soldier’s face as he stared at Hathor, his hands untied, leaning on Annok-sur for support. “I’ve something to tell you.”