Conflict of Empires (2010) (36 page)

Like any trade or craft, the owners also had to exercise constant care to maintain a profitable business. En-hedu kept track of all the expenses, and informed Tammuz that, in another month or two, the Kestrel would be turning a profit. That was important, not only because they had to earn their own bread, but because an unprofitable inn that remained in business would attract suspicion. And there were plenty of informers, who dropped in to hear the latest talk on the river, ready to take notice of anything out of the ordinary. En-hedu and her husband soon knew who they were. Their clumsy attempts to gather loose talk and draw information from the northern boatmen made many of the regular customers laugh.

En-hedu was working alone one afternoon when a man entered the Kestrel, his eyes squinting into the shadowy interior. Not much light entered from the door or the roof hole, and it was still too early in the day to start a fire. He glanced around, then went to a table and sat down. The tavern was almost empty, except for two drunks snoring their heads off in the corner. Tammuz and Rimaud were out buying ale, while the girls were trying to snatch some sleep in the tiny room that they shared with Rimaud and those clients who were willing to pay extra.

En-hedu reached the table, sizing up the potential customer. He looked like a man with a coin or two in his purse. “Welcome to the Kestrel. Ale costs one copper coin for two mugs, or one cup and a loaf of bread.” It was always best to get the prices clear in the customer’s mind right away.
Otherwise, they would claim they’d been distracted and hadn’t realized what things cost. Or they claimed to have forgotten, which she could almost believe from some of the more ignorant farm workers, especially after they’d drunk a few cups of ale. By now En-hedu had heard every trick and sad story a customer could come up with.

The man smiled, reached into his tunic, and pulled out a leather pouch that remained looped around his neck. “And to stay the night, how much is that?”

A customer with ready coins always received a smile and a softer tone. “For two copper coins, you can have as much ale as you like, with stew for supper and a place to sleep tonight.” That wasn’t as generous as it sounded. Almost no one could drink more than three or four cups of the powerful brew. One customer had downed six cups before passing out and cracking his head on a table. He didn’t wake up until nearly noon the next day.

A man with plenty of coin might also be interested in Irkalla or Anu, especially after a few cups of ale. En-hedu would point this one out to Irkalla. The woman knew how to take advantage of such situations, and sometimes ended up doing little more than bring the man into her chamber and put him to bed. In the morning she would tell the confused customer how strong and virile he was.

“Two copper coins, then,” the man said. “My name is Malok. I just arrived today from Akkad.”

En-hedu showed no sign of recognition at the man’s name. Lady Trella had said they would be contacted by a man named Malok. The name was half the password.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t be quick to tell people I’m from Akkad. Travelers from that evil city are still not very welcome in Sumer.”

Despite Shulgi’s announcement of peace with his northern neighbor, people’s feelings took a long time to change. And offering that bit of advice meant nothing. Sumer’s spies kept watch on the docks, and would take note of anyone from Akkad, even a lowly riverboat crewman.

“I grew up here in Sumeria,” Malok said. “I only attend my master, who travels up and down the river, wherever the trading takes him.”

“Well, I hope you’ll return to the Kestrel many times,” En-hedu said.

She scooped up the two coins and went to the ale table. Pouring a generous amount into the wooden cup, she carried it back to the table. “Supper won’t be ready until just before dark. The cook hasn’t even started.”

“The ale will do until then.” Malok took a mouthful of ale, and sighed with pleasure. “And you are …?”

“My name is En-hedu. My husband Tammuz and I own this place.”

“I knew an En-hedu in my village where I grew up. A place called Ubaid. You remind me of her.”

En-hedu laughed. “I am her, Malok. I remember now. There was a boy named Malok, son of Grimald.”

“No, Grimald was my uncle. Tibor was my father.”

They laughed at the seemingly chance encounter. En-hedu felt satisfied. Their little string of falsehoods agreed. Malok was the first messenger from Annok-sur, the man who would deliver and carry messages back to Akkad.

Like any old friends reunited, they spoke of Ubaid, and En-hedu realized that Malok was indeed familiar with the village. He’d probably gone there just as she and Tammuz had done, spending just enough time to blend in. Malok had chosen a good time to visit the Kestrel. That timing might not be by chance, she decided. A quick glance toward the snoring drunks reassured her. They would sleep the remainder of the afternoon.

“So, what’s happening now in Sumer? I hear you have a new king.”

“Yes, King Shulgi, son of Eridu, now rules here. King Shulgi is young, but wise for his seasons. Unlike his father, our new king wants only peace. Some evil people think he murdered his father, that he wanted to seize control and to take his half-sister to his bed.” She laughed as she delivered the local gossip. “People always have to have something wicked to talk about. But I heard him speak in the marketplace months ago when he took his father’s place, and I say King Shulgi’s wits are keen, as are those of his new wife, Kushanna.”

As if they were merely having a casual conversation, En-hedu told Malok everything she and Tammuz had learned. By the time she stopped talking, the ale in Malok’s cup was gone.

“Well, at least there will be peace between Sumer and Akkad now.”

“Yes, there is much talk of peace.” En-hedu put the slightest emphasis on the word
talk
. One of the sleeping drunks might be awake and listening. “But the recruiters are still talking to every farmboy and goatherd that enters the city, though most of the training camps around Sumer have emptied. One customer claimed they have been moved to the west, near the edge of the great desert.”

“That seems strange,” Malok said. “Why so far from Sumer?”

“The desert tribesmen are raiding the border again. Farms and small villages have been burned. Sumer has to protect its borders.” En-hedu shrugged. “Whatever the reason, it’s bad for business to have so many men so far away.”

“As long as Sumer wants peace, who cares how many soldiers your king recruits, or where he sends them.”

“Perhaps. Meanwhile King Shulgi is most active in consolidating his rule. The other cities have not yet agreed to accept his leadership. But I think they will in time. King Shulgi is governing wisely, though the taxes remain high, because the greedy barbarian king in Akkad demanded so much in ransom for Shulgi’s father.”

Malok took another sip of ale. “I know little of such things. When warriors struggle against each other, a poor boatman like myself must just grovel in the dirt on his stomach and hope neither side steps on him.”

En-hedu laughed at that. “Well, despite all that Akkad can do to stop us, Sumer is too powerful and too strong to not take the lead of the southern cities. People who travel up and down the rivers say that Sumer is now the largest city in the world.”

“That’s what they say in Akkad, but with Akkad’s name instead of Sumer’s,” Malok said with a smile. “Still, peace is good for trade, which means my master and his grasping boat captains will be pleased.”

“And good for the Kestrel. If all the men are at war, then there is no one to drink and entertain my girls. And our patron, Merchant Gemama would still demand his profit every month, no matter how many customers we had.”

She wanted Yavtar to know that Gemama had decided to help them.

“Then I’ll have another cup of ale, to drink to peace between our cities.”

En-hedu fetched it. As she set it down, she passed the final piece of information. “Our new queen, Kushanna, is very wise and very powerful. She attends all the councils, and the king seeks her advice on everything.”

“I’ll remember that, En-hedu of Ubaid. Is she as beautiful as they say?”

“Oh yes, and a few seasons older than her new husband.” En-hedu described Kushanna in detail, knowing that Lady Trella would want to know such things.

Two men stepped into the room, and one shouted for ale.

“No need to shout,” En-hedu said, raising her own voice as loud as the
newcomers. “I can see and hear you well enough.” She rose and smiled at Malok. “Enjoy your stay at the Kestrel.”

En-hedu said nothing to Malok for the rest of the evening, and didn’t even tell Tammuz until they were in bed and she could whisper the words into his ear. “Make sure you see him before he leaves in the morning, so you can recognize him next time.”

“You think he’ll be back? Maybe they’ll send someone else.”

“He’s working on a riverboat. Now that trade has resumed, boats will be moving up and down the Tigris. He’ll probably be here every fifteen or twenty days. No one will be suspicious of a sailor spending an evening or two in a tavern.”

“I wish we could tell Trella ourselves.”

“The messenger will be both loyal and discreet. She will have seen to that. Now go to sleep husband.”

He held her tight for a moment, then let himself relax. Soon he fell asleep, and En-hedu could worry without disturbing him. Tammuz was right, the most dangerous part of this enterprise was delivering the reports to the messenger. If anyone suspected him or them, a long and painful session in Shulgi’s torture room would drag the truth out of even the strongest man. Or woman. En-hedu wondered what she would do if the hot irons were pressed against the most tender parts of her body. She shivered. Best not to be taken alive, she knew.

En-hedu cleared her mind of problems. Instead, she let herself enjoy the warmth and touch of Tammuz’s body against hers, so different from that of her previous master.

Her first owner had been brutal and cruel, turning her into a helpless animal pleading to avoid his fists. He had broken her nose at least once, and shared her with his friends or anyone willing to pay for more ale. En-hedu cried every night, and begged the gods for a quick death to release her. Word of her mistreatment had reached Lady Trella’s ears, and she and her guards arrived at the tannery owned by En-hedu’s master, to stop the beatings that had offended and embarrassed everyone living nearby.

With Lady Trella threatening to drive En-hedu’s owner from the city, he grudgingly accepted a decent price for his slave. Lady Trella took the frightened and still crying girl by the hand, and led her to a new life.

It took weeks for the pain and bruises to fade, and for her wits to return. As she regained her health and strength, En-hedu impressed Lady Trella. In time, she gave En-hedu to Tammuz, as young and
inexperienced as herself. Like two wounded chicks in a nest, they found strength and comfort in each other.

Together they blossomed into something stronger than either of them could have ever hoped for. The crippled boy and the plain and ungainly girl fell in love with each other, even as they spied for Lady Trella. And they also managed to strike a blow against the usurper Korthac, killing several of his soldiers during the fighting. With Tammuz’s quick reactions, he had saved Gatus’s life as well.

Now she and Tammuz were two of Trella’s most important spies, working in the heart of Sumer. If they were successful, En-hedu and Tammuz would be greatly rewarded, and they could live a life of ease in Akkad. To achieve that goal, however, would involve much danger. Lady Trella had warned them of what would happen if they were discovered or betrayed. Death would be a mercy if they were unmasked.

That, En-hedu decided, was not going to happen. Not if she had anything to say about it. If not for herself, then at least nothing must happen to Tammuz.

F
orty days later, Shulgi and two hundred horsemen arrived at Razrek’s camp, located just before the river that marked the edge of the desert. Every man rode a sturdy horse, wore a leather helmet, and carried a good bronze sword. The men in the camp ceased their tasks and watched the king and his Sumerians’ arrival, looking for lame or weary horses, tired riders or signs of poor horsemanship skills.

No hint of any such weakness could be seen. The competent riders sat comfortably on their horses, appearing relaxed after a five-day ride across Sumeria’s southern lands under the fierce desert heat.

Shulgi, riding at the head of his cavalry, ignored everyone’s gaze. Since taking over from Razrek, he’d put these men through vigorous training, working them and their horses from dawn to dusk. Shulgi started by placing Vanar in charge. Between the two of them, they soon identified the troublemakers and slackers. Two executions for disobedience, one for desertion, and the transfer of another ten or so men to Razrek’s western desert force left Shulgi with a solid core of horse fighters. By that time, they were loyal only to the king of Sumer.

As it turned out, Shulgi didn’t even have to increase their pay. Instead, he just made sure their promised wages actually reached them. As expected, Razrek had skimmed a portion each month. Since Shulgi had no urge to possess gold himself, he could give the men their due. To the horsemen, it made the long days easier to bear, and the extra coins in their purses increased their respect and loyalty for their new king and his commanders.