Book Two:first draft of "Merlin the Archer", by Alex Call

11 Sargon of Akkad

There was no more talk of hiring on with the Akkadians as a mercenary. I was now, along with my foolish and deeply chagrined friend the great King of Tirana, Herakul, he who was blessed by the goddess and gods, chained to the galleys as an oar-slave. And we were no longer going back to Achaea. We were sailing due east, with the strong west winds driving the black -prowed ships before the white-capped waves.
My heart sank as I thought of Vila and my son. How long would they be able to hold out against the combined strong families? Andros and Brukos and the others would supplant them, claiming I was no doubt dead. Vila would be fortunate to live, and our son’s life would be in the gravest danger from the families. It truly always had been; only my presence had held it all together. I hoped Vila would flee. Where? North, east, somewhere. Seek protection of a temple of the goddess, become a priestess, take a vow of chastity, raise our boy within the precinct walls, in a fragile safety from the flint daggers and copper axes of assassins.
The twelve lashes I had taken from the whip of Lipit-Sin had not hurt any worse than my anger at my own judgment, but I couldn’t stay angry at Herakul for long. The big man was just not that bright, but he had a good heart. Still, if he hadn’t come to try to rescue me, I would have gotten away, most likely. Eventually I would have found a way back across the seas to the free lands. Now there was nothing but uncertainty. The slaves, who came from all corners of the world and spoke a confusing babble of tongues, said we were heading back to Kanaa, and then would join with Sargon’s army and fleet at the great fortress of Ugarit, on the coast. There, the Emperor was assembling the greatest army in the history of the world to march against Pharaoh in Egypt. War had never been made been made between Akkad and Egypt since the dawn of time. But Sargon was the greatest king in Sumer and Akkad’s history, which they reckoned as going back countless generations to the time of the great flood of the north, which made the inland ocean called the Black Sea. The slaves told fabulous and unbelievable tales of the lands to the east. They said there were towers and even mountains made by people, or some said by gods, which reached to the clouds. In Egypt, these mountains, called the pyramids in our tongue, were the biggest buildings in the world. In the land between the Rivers, the land of Uruk, Lagash, Ur, and Sargon’s new city, Akkade, there were pyramids called ziggurats that rose above the flat desert plains, where vast systems of canals carried water from the distant mountains to dry fields and made them flower all year long. There were vessels made of glass and gold, and the kings had their drinks cooled with mountain ice, brought by slaves who ran all the way from the high snow peaks. Kings and Queens didn’t touch the earth, but were carried about in special chairs made of inlaid wood. It was said that the gods themselves came down to the tops of the ziggurats in winged chariots and slept with the temple priestesses.
This last thing made me laugh, for now. I was used to so many tall tales told by ignorant people. It seemed that almost everyone wanted desperately to believe in this nonsense. Perhaps that was the key to the success of the priesthood and the gods and goddesses. People believed because they couldn’t understand the world, and didn’t want to try. I felt a little sorry for them, but on the other hand, I couldn’t fall for all this dung. It was just more of the same. But I felt I was the only one who saw things this way, so I shut my mouth. My foremost thought was still how to escape. I counted the days of sailing, noted islands we passed, watched the currents and winds and all else. I would know the way back home when the time came. I would find a way to get free and I would come back to Vila and Aon and save them, if it took me the rest of my life.
It took nine days to reach Copper Island, called in Achaean Cypros. This island was large, though not the length of Karpatha. It was in the control of both Sargon and the long-established mining families. There were ships from everywhere there. Heavy ingots of smelted copper, shaped like small oxhides that could easily be carried by two men, were loaded on the ships. Woe be to the boat that ran into bad winds while carrying that load. A wrecked copper ship would soon sink forever into the dark seas among the rocky islands of the coasts. We pressed on and soon crossed to Ugarit.
Herakul, as always, made a name for himself for his size and strength, as well as for his gregariousness. Even though we were now slaves, he carried himself well. He rowed with the power of three men and he kept our spirits up with his banter about our captors.
“I’ve seen roosters with bigger balls,” he joked in Achaean, talking about the captain of the ship’s guards, a small, wiry man dressed in flashy red robes and shiny show-armor with earrings and ribbons tied in his long hair. The remark was passed along, being translated in the rowing benches into twelve different languages. It finally made its way somehow to the soldiers, some of whom laughed themselves. But the captain glowered at Herakul. Still, no action was taken against Herakul, for the captain didn’t want to lose a prize bull like him.
There was another huge man, a Hattusan, who was as slow-witted as an ox. Anarkos, rowing six benches away said loudly he didn’t think Herakul could take him. This was a prod, guaranteed to goad Herakul into making a challenge in return. There was quite an uproar over the prospect and the captain shouted for order. His soldiers lashed out at three men to quiet them. When the cause was reported to the captain, he called out, “Very well. Tonight we’ll settle it.”
At dusk, when the winds were light and steady, Herakul and the Hattusan were unbound and taken to the back deck. The soldiers oiled them, barrels and bales were rolled out of the way, and the two glared at each other across the planks. The captain and his guard, their bets made, stood back, but with spears at the ready. Herakul and the Hattusan, called Niku, circled each other. Niku dove at Herakul’s knees, but he sidestepped that move and boxed Niku’s ears with a powerful fist. Then Herakul kicked, but Niki warded it off and caught Herakul by the leg and they went down in a writhing, punching, biting, and flailing heap. The oarsmen, me included, stood at our benches and cheered them on, shouting encouragement, laughing, and groaning as the match swung first in one’s favor, then in the other’s. There seemed to be no winner forthcoming from the titanic struggle, until at last they broke free and stood, crouched over, a few feet from each other, sweating and panting. Blood oozed from a dozen small cuts and scrapes. The Hattusan’s eye was swollen and Herakul’s nose bled. But then he laughed loud and charged in again. This time knocked Niku backwards against the thwarts and the Hattusan’s breath wheezed out of him. Herakul caught Niku’s face in his huge hand and raised his fist to administer the last blow. But then he laughed again and let his fist drop. At that moment, Niku kneed Herakul in the balls. Herakul’s face went red for a second. Then he grabbed the giant Hattusan in his hands, lifted him right over his head, and threw him into the sea.
The men cheered, fists raised. The soldiers used long hook poles to grab Niku before he could float away and dragged him back on board, though it took four of them to heft what Herakul had done by himself.
This was one of the events that led to Herakul’s enhanced reputation. As the years went by, that story would spread, along with the others, until Herakul was as famous as Sargon himself.

The shore of Kanaa came into view. It was a wide plain with gradual mountains inland, rising above a hazy sky. On the plain was a low hill topped with a giant fortress. Its summit was topped by a stepped building taller than any I’d ever seen. Plainly, this was a city beyond the scale of any of Achaea or Karpatha. Little did I know then what lay ahead.
“Ugarit,” said Anarkos.
On the plain there were countless tents and pavilions, as far as the eye could see. I thought at first it was a huge city, but Anarkos and the others told me.
“The army of Sargon, from the four corners of the earth.”
And truly it was beyond my thinking. There must have been twenty-five thousand men or even twice that number. I had no way of counting that high. Hundreds of cook fires sent spiraling twists of smoke into the sky. Just north of the cove where we were headed, I could see soldiers riding the ass-like beasts they call onagers in formation. There seemed to be hundreds of onager drawn wheeled carts.
“War wagons. Each carries four men, “said Anarkos.
My head was dizzy. My thoughts of escape seemed as puny as those of a flea, of an ant. This was bigger than I could imagine. On the slope below the citadel stood bright pavilions of red and gold cloth. The glitter of polished metal flashed in the sunlight. I could hear the neighing of war-steeds and the shouts of warriors as they wheeled about, raising dust at their war games on the field below. Once again my heart died as I thought of Vila and Aon. But there was no time for that now. We were hustled into the shallow water, still bound, and led to the slave camp. Without rest we were put to work chopping wood and cleaning the armies’ shit-trenches. As I worked, I kept glancing up at the pavilions and wondering what kind of man commanded such a force. Compared to this, all I had ever known was the world of rough hill-warlords and petty bandits. Perhaps at last this was finally evidence of the Gods at work.
As the sun set into the western sea, we were brought to the slave camp for food and rest. The day had been hot, but now cooled nicely. I was just settling down, when suddenly there came a commotion. All the captives were stirring. There was the sound of thundering hoof beats on the hard ground coming down from the citadel. I pushed through the throng of men in time to see a detachment of warriors, spears held out on front as in a charge, coming through the camp towards the sea at a full gallop. There were at least fifty mounted chargers. In the center rode a fine-looking warrior on a white animal, bigger than the onagers the others rode. It was a horse, a great, white horse. The warrior’s armor was brighter than the others. His long, auburn hair flowed out from beneath a bright copper helmet. His long beard was braided in many twists. His dark eyes seemed to burn. His gaze met no one’s. The Warriors shouted as they thundered by.
“Sar-Gon! Sar-Gon!”
Just as they passed where I was standing with the others, Sargon turned and looked right at me. It seemed our eyes met, though I thought I must surely be imagining it. Then he raised his riding crop and switched his charger and galloped on with his companions to the sea.
The camp calmed down, like a quieting beehive after the swarm is over. I felt humbled. Herakul was pleased by the horses.
“Little Pelop, did you see that fine animal!” He said.
There was a martial sound of metal on metal. We looked up and there were six guards with a captain standing over our cook-fire. They pointed their spears at Herakul and motioned for him to come. I called to Anarkos to ask them what they were doing. One of the guards stepped over to me and knocked me into the fire with the butt of his heavy spear. Anarkos grabbed my arm when I tried to spring up.
“Don’t get killed, my little king, “he said tensely.
He was right. I stayed down and brushed the ashes from my filthy tunic. Herakul shrugged and got up. He looked at us, managed a smile, and said.” Keep my food warm.” Then they led him away.
We slept on the hard ground that night, but at least the food had been plentiful and good: barley cakes and onions and even a soup of mutton, with a weak bir to wash it down. The next morning we went back to work cleaning the camp and digging holes for refuse. At mid day we were ordered to clear a wide space below the King’s pavilions in a great circle and line it with a chest-high fence of thorny branches. It formed an enclosed field about two hundred paces across. The army began to come and gather behind the fence and we, for there were thousands of slaves, were permitted to stay in the quarter across from the pavilions. There was an opening about thirty feet across at the north end of the enclosure. The King came down with his retinue and sat on horseback looking down on the ring. A herald called out something I couldn’t understand.
“Watch this, ‘said Anarkos. “ The King likes a good show.”
A group of about twenty horsemen, wearing all different kinds of garb, from armor and robes to leggings and wound skull-caps, entered the ring at a fast run that at once turned into a full gallop. It was a tight circle to run on a big war-horse and there was plenty of jostling as they raced. Riders and horses fell and were run over by the ones next to them. They ran the circle until only five riders were left, whipping each other and trying to run each other’s horses into the fence. Finally, the King raised his mace. An olive-skinned young man with a wispy beard and strange, slit-like eyes was clearly the fastest and finished the course by standing on the back of his charger saluting the King, who applauded, along with his followers. There was sustained cheering. Next came what someone called a buzkashi – a game with two teams of ten riders, each of which tried to get a goat carcass and drag it through the opening in the north end. The carcass was dragged back and forth, one champion and then another wresting it from his enemy and sprinting away, only to have the same fate befall him. It was good fun, really. We all cheered and moaned in turn. At last a big Hattusan hefted the bloody goat above his head and rode past the others out the gate to great applause.
I felt a point stick me in the back and whirled around to find, to surprise, Lipit-Sin holding a spear and bow. He grinned at me and thrust the bow and a quiver at me. He spoke sharply to Anarkos, who turned to me.
“Get out there! You’re going to shoot! Hurry, Lipit-Sin orders you!” His voice was frantic. “He’s bet heavily on you, “Anarkos hissed, “don’t lose!” Perhaps Lipit-Sin had also made it worth Anarkos’ life, or mine. I followed Lipit-Sin’s guards around to the opening and walked cautiously out into the ring. There were two other archers there, from nations I had never seen before. One was heavy-set and dark, with his hair up in a top-knot. His bow was very long. The other had pale hair and was tall and thin; a northerner of some kind. I knew not from where. I looked up at the King, who waved his hand. A vulture was released and flew up on the far side of the ring, above the heads of the crowd. I shot without thinking and took it with my first arrow. Another bird rose. The heavy set man missed. Immediately, guards ran out and grabbed him and dragged him out of the ring. I stood there, my heart pounding. The cheering of the throng was loud in my ears, yet somehow distant. I watched the third bird fly up. The pale man raised his bow and cleanly hit it and it fell into the dust. A cheer went up. I heard a flutter of wings behind me and spun to see a smaller bird, of what type I couldn’t tell, right over my shoulder. I drew and let fly. My arrow pinned both wings and the poor creature fell heavily into the crowd. There was a roar of approval. I glanced at Sargon, who was smiling broadly and drinking from a horn. Another fat bird rose from its perch and was nipped by my competitor. Then I caught sight of a tiny swallow dipping above the ring, picking insects from the evening air. I didn’t have time to tell whether this was a target bird or just some unfortunate creature trying to feed itself. I made a brilliant shot and the little bird dropped, neatly skewered, near the foot of the King. A roar and much laughter went up. A flock of starlings flew over the ring. The pale archer swung his bow around and loosed. The arrow flew over the head of King into the growing dusk. A startled groan and hush came over the assembly. Sargon sat implacably on his charger, eyeing the pale man, who seemed to know his fate. The King raised his finger and pointed and five, six, seven, eight arrows flew from the edge of the ring and went into and through the man, dropping him to his knees. I could see blood pouring out of his nostrils, his eye sockets, his mouth, his neck. He toppled over and shook hard once and then was still.
Slaves ran out and dragged him from the ring. Lipit –Sin rode out and bade me follow him to before the King’s place across the ring. He bowed to Sargon while in his saddle and pushed me low with the butt of his lance and addressed the King with a lot of words I couldn’t understand, except that at the end I heard Pelop Lu-gal Hedra or something that sounded like it. There was a roar of laughter and applause. Sargon looked hard at me and signaled me to come closer. I did, but I kept my head down and avoided looking right at him. I was stopped by a guard, and then to my surprise my three birds were dropped at my feet, even the little swallow. The king reached out his hand in a gesture that indicated that I should take the birds. I bent and picked them up. I had a quick thought, bowed, and offered them to him, extending my arms and looking at the ground. He stood in his stirrups, clapping and smiling. Then he waved me off and guards came and led me carrying my birds back out of the ring. I brought the birds around through the slaves, where I got lots of claps on the back and broad grins. I took my place at the fence once again.
Now a handful of warriors rode out and a group of slave pulled out a cart with cage on it. Inside was an enormous lion. Not like the wiry mountain cats of Achaea, but a huge, tawny-colored beast with a great mane of dark hair and eyes the size of apples. It slunk from one end to the other in its cage, growling in its deep and noble voice. They pulled the cage out into the center of the ring. Guards pulled in closer to Sargon. The warriors stayed mounted and patrolled the edge of the ring, their spears pointing at the ground. At the north entrance a single large man, dressed in the skin of some animal and holding a short war club or mace, stepped in. the fence was pulled close behind him.
Herakul. This is why he was taken. Dyaus and Perunas! He was going to fight this lion. I knew by now that Sargon cared for sport, but had no care about who lived and died. A hush fell over the crowd. The slaves pulled a rope and opened the cage. At first the lion stayed inside. The great beast sniffed the opening, wondering what kind of trap this was. He had been caught before; he didn’t want to be caught again. Herakul came a little closer, maybe thirty feet and eyed the cat, shifting back and forth on his feet in the manner of a wrestler, ready for the first move. The lion saw Herakul and tensed. It dropped out of the cart and roared its defiance. It looked proud, and Herakul saluted it, bringing the crowd’s voice to life. They cheered and shouted. Someone threw a stone which hit the cat and it jerked and started forward toward Herakul. He stayed put, watching. It was like watching two great lion kings sizing each other up. The great cat seemed to figure out that he must make a move. Perhaps he sensed his fate. He suddenly charged at Herakul, who waited until the last second and rolled away from the lion’s claws. As he rolled to his feet, his swung hard and hit the Lion’s back leg with the club, plainly causing the cat pain. The cat spun and leaped on Herakul and we gasped all at once, but once again Herakul, moving faster than I’d ever seen him, dodged the claws and hit the cat on the side of the head as hard as he could with the heavy club. The hit was so direct that the cat seemed staggered. But it spun and closed with Herakul. Herakul dropped his club and charged right inside the claws of the cat, grasping the lion’s head with his mighty arms. Herakul’s face was buried in the thick mane of the great beast, his massive arms around the cat’s neck. The crowd roared loud. Surely the cat would maul Herakul to death. But no, Herakul’s grip was too much for the lion. Herakul made a quick move to stand up and you could hear, plain as a stick breaking in the forest, the sound of the lion’s neck snapping. The poor beast’s back legs faltered and it toppled over. Herakul stepped back, panting, trying to catch his breath. Blood came from a big scratch on his side and one on his leg. Then he raised his arms in triumph. The assembly of warriors and salves alike went berserk. The King sat, as wide-eyed as the next man for a moment, then waved to quiet the men and called Herakul over. A slave ran out and cut the lion’s heart from its deep chest and handed the bloody mass to Herakul, who in turn offered it to the king. The King raised his mace above his head and the throng cheered again. Then the warriors rode in on Herakul. He turned to look at us slaves across the bloody field and grinned. I don’t know if he saw me. Sargon turned his horse and rode up the slope to his pavilions, retinue in tow. The crowd dispersed, still buzzing over the spectacle. The name of Herakul was everyone’s lips. Darkness began to fall. The warriors had led Herakul away again and we were taken back to our camp, where Anarkos cooked up my three birds. Though I didn’t believe in it, I made an offering of the swallow to Perunas the striker. Someone brought skins of bir and we drank and ate. In the morning we’d clean the shit trenches again, but tonight was ours.



12

My fame from the archery contest didn’t help me in the shit-trenches. Just like all the other captives assigned to this wretched duty, I had to wade in up to my knees in the foul excrement of the army. Our wooden spades would hardly break the dry ground enough for us to turn the shit into the earth. It was still hot, though one could sense the change of season coming, and the flies were as merciless as Sargon’s soldiers. I watched the different types as they paraded by. There were Akkadians, big, hooked-nosed, with dark hair, though some were reddish and others auburn. They wore braided beards and conical hats of a material I hadn’t seen before. Many of the men and women of this race were quite handsome to look at. They were haughty and clearly regarded themselves as a better race than the others. What rulers don’t? There were also many Sumerians, shorter, black-haired, obsequious, always bowing and scraping to the Akkadians, who had conquered them. Yet they, too seemed to have a secret air of superiority. They had long ruled the Land between the Rivers we heard about. The Akkadians were desert nomads from the west who had subjugated them under Sargon. The Hattusans, from the north, were swarthy, hard-headed types who made up the backbone of the army. They were there by tribute and treaty, to fight for booty under the Akkadian Lu-Gal, which I found out meant Big Man, Sargon. They had better armor than the others and helmets with nose-pieces to ward off face strokes. They were infantry and marched in tight formations, shields locked together. I didn’t see how they might be beaten by any lesser force than their own. There were mounted warriors called Skthyans, who wore no armor and fought with short, recurve bows from horseback. My foe in the ring had been one of them. Desert tribesmen called Bedu’ who rode the huge, ungainly camels made a large part of the army as well. They wrapped themselves in long winding sheets. You couldn’t see their faces. They fought with sickle-swords, a wicked and efficient weapon. There were also Achaeans, Macedoi, Tarsans, Kannaanites, and too many other tribesmen and strange peoples to name. The slaves, who numbered in the thousands, seemed to be from the same nations as the army. Which was which was a matter of fortune and circumstance, I thought.
The camp had a large number of women camp followers, cooks, serving girls, and prostitutes. They seemed a desperate, miserable lot, most likely recruited from the vanquished, for the custom was to kill all the males who were of no use to the Empire of Sargon, and force the women into bondage and servitude. There was no Achaean regard for women shown anywhere that I could see. The Lu-Gal Sargon seemed to have a household with many wives and other women. I judged him to be a man of about forty-five, still very strong and young looking. His wives were kept within the pavilions, and could only be guessed at by the large number of female servants. Because of their religion, many priestesses were temple prostitutes, to be taken by any supplicant. I couldn’t understand this practice, but then again, the bewildering numbers of gods made my head ache. There the main gods, Enlil, Enki or Ea, Sin the Moon God, Ishtar, also called Inanna, like our Afroda, Ninnhursag, not unlike Hera, Anu, akin to Dyaus, and so on. It was said the Sargon’s daughter was the high priestess of Inanna, and thus a sacred prostitute. She was also reputed to be the finest poet in the empire. Her name was Enheduanna, and I was told she was a great beauty, not that a shit-shoveling slave like me would ever glimpse her.
There was no sign of Herakul. His feat of killing the Lion was already the stuff of legend in the slave camp. I heard tales of how he had killed she-boars with his bare hands, killed a nine-headed monster, and defeated whole armies by himself; how he had gone to the underworld and brought back the cup of the dark river for some king. Wild tales, but people seem to like these. Unfortunately, many also believe them. I hoped Herakul was keeping his head, both figuratively and literally.
My own plan of escape seemed hopeless for now. Though there was a certain amount of freedom within the vast camp, there was simply no place to run to. The coast was one boundary, and the boats were always under guard, and in any case, the winds always blew in from the west. The wide plains of Ugarit stretched north and south and held the huge army of Sargon. Away to the east was the mountain range. East was not the right direction anyway.
I tried to keep as noble a bearing as I could for a man with shit up to his knees. As the days went by my fellow captives seemed to respond to my disciplined calm and clear-headedness. My archery prowess and the story of how I was once a king became known. Men began to bring me disputes, which I settled as best I could. Anarkos taught me Akkadian and Sumerian words, and I eagerly learned them. The guards came to view me as someone they could pass orders along through. The slaves were miserable, but there were thousands of us, and order had to be kept. Even the women started coming to me for advice. In this way I came to know prostitutes and cooks and healers who were once queens and priestesses in the own lands; individuals with pride and intelligence. In a way, I once again became a king of sorts, shit-king of the slave camp, because there was a need for me to fill. As time went by I could see respect in many of the captives’ eyes. Of course, there were untrustworthy types as well, former thieves and brigands, usurers, drunks and gamblers, and treacherous, two-faced informants who would tell the goings on of the camp to the Akkadian and Hattusan guards for a favor of extra barley-cakes or bir. I had to watch my tongue, especially when people came me with wild ideas about rebellion and escape. I had to counsel calm and reason. I could not have my word taken against me. But I listened to all the plots and strategies. I would laugh them off, telling the speaker that he had had too much bir. I secretly wondered about making an actual army of the slaves. Anarkos told me the Sargon himself was the mere son of a temple prostitute who was raised by a Lu-gal’s gardener. By his given talents and skill, he came to be in charge of the vast system of irrigation ditches that was the backbone of Sumerian and Akkadian life. From his ditch laborers, he had recruited his army and thrown down the King of Sippar and then had rebuilt Akkade, which was to be his capital city. He then went on to conquer the other cities, Ur, Uruk, Lagash, Mari, Ebla, Ugarit itself, He did not seek to destroy the civilization, but rather became its greatest King. The city of Erech, home of the cult of temple prostitutes, backed him, as did the others.
I managed to organize the distribution of food so that all shared the same rations, and we made our own shit-trenches, so that we weren’t forced to sleep in each other’s excrement. I supervised the building of a stone-lined well that gave us clearer water. It was so good that the guards brought me over into the army’s camp to do the same. I garnered favors and was pestered by sycophants who sought the favor of me and the guards, but I turned away from every personal privilege and slept in a lean-to of dry branches and ate from a communal cook-fire like everyone else. The camp women let me know they would show me favor as well, but I kept to myself, thinking of Vila.
I knew if she still lived she would be in hiding somewhere by now. It had only been half a year. It made my heart hurt, and I sought solace in more work. I wondered when the Lu-Gal would move us south against the Pharaoh’s lands. Perhaps then I could make my escape. No one knew, not even the Hattusan guards, who knew everything else.
One night a prostitute named Magdala, a Hurrian who was a former high priestess of their goddess, came to my shelter. She was a dark-skinned beauty, with a long nose and fine features. She regularly joked that I should make her my camp-queen and we could rule the slaves. I enjoyed talking with her. She was smart and insightful, and wise to the ways of people. Tonight she whispered to me.
“Pelop. There is someone who would speak with you. Come with me.”
I couldn’t sleep anyway, so I followed her down into the area where the older women, who did the washing and cooking, lived. Despite my efforts, or because I chose to look the other way, these women were still living in the worst parts of the camp, near a tidal swamp that teemed with mosquitoes and sand flies. The stench was terrible, and I swore I would somehow help clean this up. We came to a little lean-to of sticks and rags. A tiny fire sputtered in front. The night was cold. There, sitting in the shadows was a very old woman, wrapped almost completely in filthy rags. She shivered and I wanted to give her my own worn tunic to warm her, but she turned it away.
“Sit down, my king, “she croaked. Her voice was raspy like old rocks grinding against each other. The fire barely lit her red eyes, which showed like tiny coals in her dark face. She smelled like the skin-rot disease and I instinctively sat a little further away than I might have.
“I know, I know, I smell,” she said softly. “Soon I will be no more and will only stink like a normal corpse,” she cackled. She spoke in a very old form of Achaean, mixed with words I couldn’t understand.
“It’s alright.” She rasped “Everything dies. Everything is born.”
I hoped this wouldn’t be more nonsense about the gods and goddesses and realms of afterlife and all that. I sat there, waiting, trying to show respect.
“Sari was our highest priestess, “said Magdala. “ She has the sight.”
Oh, no, seers and the soul and the dead journey to the river.
“No, not all that, “ the crone whispered. I must have looked surprised.” To spite the stupidity of others, you have turned away from things that are possible.” She coughed, and then had a coughing fit, which finally quieted.
“Whether there are gods or not is of no concern to you. That is your choice. But I will tell you what I have seen, “she said. She paused and then went on. She looked straight into my eyes. Hers glowed with a strange intensity. ” Your wife lives, as does your son, though you will know her no more. But he will be your last companion.”
My heart leapt in my chest. How could she know? Fortune tellers could say anything. But I stayed quiet.
“Before you see them, you will see the world, king archer. You will learn what it means to truly rule with wisdom. You will finally be a king for many peoples, for ages yet to come. They will call you by another name, just as Pelop is not yours.” She stopped and wheezed again for moment.
Again I was surprised, for I had never revealed that I had borrowed the name, not even to Herakul.
“You will see, little Stek. Yes, that was it, wasn’t it? Stek, a nice name for a little boy of the mountains.”
I felt the hair go up on the back of my neck and I pulled up the neck of my tunic and wrapped my arms around my drawn-up knees. She grinned, her black and green teeth stumps barely catching the firelight, her mouth looking like the dark space below a swamp tree, and whispered,” You will someday see that others must have what you despise in order that they may live in less fear. And you will provide it for them because you are a good man. You live to serve lesser beings and they will serve you in turn. You are their protector and provider. You will speak for the gods you don’t believe in. Your journey will be long, yet not long enough. The great stones will rise. People will know them long after how they came to be is forgotten. Your name will be known to generations without end. But it will be a name not of your choosing. This is what I have seen. Now go.”
I sat unmoving, unable to think what to say to the old crone. How could she know my childhood name? It was as if she could see into my mind and pull out my thoughts and desires. It wasn’t possible. It was a mystery and it shook me. The fire had died down. Sari’s eyes were closed and she sat as still as if she was just a pile of rags. Magdala touched my arm and I got up. I looked at the old woman for a moment and made a silent vow to make conditions better in the women’s quarter. Then I followed Magdala back to camp. She took my hand as we parted and looked into my eyes. I wasn’t ready for anything except my own dark and wondrous thoughts. I squeezed her long fingers gently and walked away.

The old woman’s words made me feel uneasy, though I told myself they were the babblings of a demented old priestess, the same kind of nonsense you could hear all over camp, or all over the world for that matter. But the fact she had known my name bothered me, as did the part about not knowing Vila again though she lived. My head reeled a bit and I couldn’t sleep, so I sought out the guards, who had their usual big pot of strong barley beer.
I was awakened early by the servant of Lipit-Sin. Lipit –Sin had become a patron of sorts. He brought me out to take part in archery contests, which I rarely lost. He also did not treat me like a dog, the way some Akkadians did. He was from a good family, half Akkadian, half Sumerian, of the city called Ur, and I think he judged me to be capable and not just a wild hill-tribesman. He had actually helped me to get certain tools and supplies that enabled me to bring some order to the slave camp. He sat on a cushion under the shade of his pavilion, eating dates and yogurt from a gold bowl. He invited me to sit and join his breakfast. But I felt ill from the barley wine and only nibbled at a couple of dates.
“I have need of your bow, little shit-king.” He laughed.
“I am your slave, master, “I replied.
“No, not mine, you belong to Sargon the Great, as we all do. But For the moment, I can speak as his voice in this matter.”
It sounded like it must be a big contest, with high wagering. Other archers had died when they failed to win. I showed no emotion.
“I will do my best to be a worthy servant of the King.” I said.
Lipit-Sin dipped his left hand into the bowl and ate. “This won’t be a contest. Or it is, but we call it by another name. War.”
“Does the King attack Pharaoh?”
“The king’s daughter, Enheduanna, is the high priestess of Inanna in my city of Ur. She also serves as the King’s regent while he is here. Some of the cities have risen in revolt against her. Sargon will return and crush the traitors at once.”
My heart sank. East! The wrong direction again. And I had gathered that the Land between the Rivers was a long way away. I would have to escape right away somehow.
My thoughts must have been clear to Lipit-Sin. He laughed and said, “You can’t possibly escape. You have made yourself too important, shit-king! The King recognizes people of talent. That is why he has become the leader of the great kingdom. But I have a deal for you.”
He paused to bite into a date and chewed it slowly.
“Sargon has a vision of trading with the western sea-lands. When the traitors have been killed and ground into dust, he will send a fleet again to your islands. We know that tin and copper abound in your lands, and may be even more plentiful in the far lands beyond the pillars of the world. Sargon believes that you are a good leader of men in war. He wants you to take such slaves as you see fit and train them quickly. Archers, men who can travel fast and attack quickly. In return, he will allow you to act as his agent in trade with the sea-lands, and in this way return to your home. In a year this will be accomplished. “
He finished the date and took a draught of weak morning bir.
“You have no choice, but it is a great honor for a slave. I would serve my king well, if I were you.”
My head fairly swam. I could see that my escape would indeed be impossible. If this did work as Lipit- Sin was saying, I would return to Hedra and even Tirana as a big man and reclaim my place.
“You might find it hard to believe sometimes, but the Gods favor you, King Pelop, “said Lipit-Sin.




3

“That’s the biggest one yet, “said Anarkos. He pulled his head-cloth down over his eyes to shield them from the blinding light of the desert sun. “I hope we can get under those trees.’
I looked at the immense ziggurat that rose over the date palms. Its base shimmered in the heat waves, and its top level seemed to float like part of a city of the sky-gods above the sandy, endless plain.
“When you have unlimited slaves, you can make big buildings, “I said. I brushed the sand-flies away from my face. “I’m for throwing myself in the river.”
The heat was truly repulsive. Spring had given way to summer. It had taken all winter to prepare for the campaign against the rebel cities of Sumer. The march over the mountains had to wait for the snows to melt, for they had been early and heavy, and Sargon had been content to keep the rebels in check with the use of home guards. But the cities, especially the Elamite city of Susa, had repelled the guards and declared independence from Sargon. Enheduanna, Sargon’s daughter, was in command of the home guards. It was unheard of for a woman to have this much power, but her reputation was such that men accorded her the leadership. Of course, everyone knew that to go against Sargon would eventually bring his retribution. Evidently, the Elamites thought they stand up to him again, though he had crushed them ten years earlier.
All this history I had learned, and more besides, while traveling slowly across the vast plains and deserts of Sargon’s empire. I had organized a company of slaves under my command, men who could shoot a bow and ride onagers and mountain horses and the like. I was given some onagers and carts, as well as supplies and arms for my three hundred chosen fighters. They came from the four corners of the world: Achaeans, Hattusans, Thaki, Nomi, Skythians, Kannaanites, Macedoi, and unnamed tribesmen from the far north with fair hair and blue eyes like mine. Some were captured in war, some were criminals. Some were displaced men with nowhere else to go. I formed them into squadrons of thirty fighters a salasa - thirty soldiers- in Akkadian, ten salasas in all. I made the members of each salasa dependent on each other; self contained. Each had a name: the Eagles, the Hornets, the Crows, the Jackals, the Lions, and so on. In a campaign, each could take on a separate task, or fight together. We were to be fast strikers. The men had chosen Perunas of the many names; the Northman called him Tor, the Hattusans Tarhunt, Achaeans Dyaus, and the Skythians, Mirtas, to be their token god. I didn’t care what god they prayed to, I demanded their obedience. They had something much greater than a god to fight for anyway. Lipit-Sin had promised all our freedom. I hoped that was the truth.
It was good after all these long months to smell the sea again, for Ur sits near the sea, the Tiamatu of Dilmun, the Abzu, or deep waters where the Sumerians came from in the days beyond time. The date palms were thick like a forest here along the lower reaches of the wide river Purattu. The other great river of the land of Sumer, the Idiklat, meets the Purattu here. Local people poled along the muddy waters of the many canals and byways in boats made of tied-up bundles of reeds, with upswept prows and sterns. In some places there are islands made of these reeds anchored in the river, whereon grow crops. At first I was dumbfounded to think that anyone could live is such a flat, dry place as most of Sumer was, for the land had grown more desolate with each day’s march beyond the coastal mountains of Kanaa. In some stretches of our march, not a blade of grass grew, but tall ranges of whistling sand-dunes marched across the horizon, driven by endless, dry winds, and fantastic red-rock or black-rock cliffs stood like islands on a vast, dun sea. The soldiers said the dunes were the habitation of wily desert spirits called the Jinnu, and truly, one could hear strange sounds like singing coming from the distant dunes when the winds blew. In any case, there were certainly few people there, for men and beasts can’t survive in such desolation. At length, we came to fortified cities on the upper Purattu, Ebla being the first, then the strong citadel of Mari, and finally the king’s city of Akkade, across the river from an even greater and more ancient city called Sippar. Mighty temples called ziggurats stood at the heart of the huge, walled cities. At first I couldn’t understand how that much stone could be moved, even with all the wheeled vehicles of the Sumerians. But then I learned that they weren’t made of stone at all, but rather of mud-bricks, for dirt and straw, mixed with ditch water and poured into wooden molds to form the bricks, were readily available. Long canals and ditches brought the water of the Purattu to the cities, so that crops could be grown year-round. On the upper reaches of the Purattu there were dams that diverted part of the river’s flow into the canals, which then in turn bled into smaller and smaller ditches. The dams helped to control the yearly spring floods, which used to wash away many crops. Sargon himself had been a canal master and had rebuilt and added to the already huge system, bringing fresh water even to the fields here around Ur, which had long been a little too salty from the nearby sea-water for year-round crops, or so I was told.
In Akkade, where we stopped for a month of feasting upon the king’s arrival, armies of slaves were employed making mud-bricks and carrying them on angled shoulder –boards up long ramps to the highest level of the new ziggurat, dedicated to the Lord of the Sky, Enlil. I visited the brick yards and watched the building. Gud—Utea, the Sumerian foreman, explained how the ramps then were faced with steps and became the stairways of the huge temple, for ramps climbed from each side of the square-based, mud-brick mountain. While Sargon and his kin were olive-skinned Akkadians from the northwest part of the land between the rivers, much of the real work of the empire was supervised by the Sumerians, an older, black-haired, lighter-skinned race that had settled this land long before the Great Flood. Gud-Utea and his kind were everywhere, in shops, fields, canals, and the temples, where they kept lists of commerce and taxes on clay tablets in a strange script. We had no writing in Achaea, but I understood at once how useful it was for an empire to keep records. They wrote down all transactions between individual people and between city-states, and oversaw the workings of the empire, while the Akkadians led the life of kings, racing onager-carts and staging feasts. Underneath Gud-Utea’s businesslike behavior, I could sense that he was biding his time, waiting for days yet to come. I could see contempt in the eyes of the Sumerians for their Akkadian Lords.
But the Akkadians believed that they had finally achieved what was their right place as rulers over the shorter, more soft-spoken Sumerians. Princes like Lipit-Sin rode about the cities in umbrella- covered sedan chairs, born on the shoulders of slaves. They would beat Sumerians and others they thought of as of the lower classes. It’s true; they did look superior in many ways, being generally taller and more striking in their features than their Sumerian subjects. Still, the Sumerians had ruled here from time out of mind, and for now, they were content to wait.
The Elamites, across the Idiklat River to the east, were another matter. They were inclined towards war, being of a race of hill men, descended from Enki-du, the wild-man companion of Uruk’s great king of the time of the Great Flood, Gil-Gamesh. They had cities with ziggurats as well, but the Elamites were fiercely independent and strained under the yoke of the Akkadians, who they viewed as upstarts. Their strongest city was Susa, not far from Ur, but up over a range of hills, on the banks of a river that came out of the highlands to the east. They had broken with the high priestess Enheduanna while Sargon was in the west. Several smaller Sumerian cities had sided with the Elamites. Sargon’s great army was now assembled beneath the walls of Ur, from where we would strike out across the rivers and smite the rebels.
Lipit-Sin had us camp along the river, under the merciful shade of the date palms. The insects were terrible, but at least a slight cooling breeze came off the water. I had by now figured out a way of organizing my troops in camp. Our fires and tents were laid out in lines. My tent was in the center opposite the central cook fire. It was there that I held assembly morning and night. I had found an open field with a grove of trees a short distance away. There we practiced our war games and held shooting practice. I had found mountain horses for my Skythians, who numbered almost fifty. I added ten men who could ride to their number. I told the men to take pride in their salasas, and in the whole troop. I called us the Free Men, which was good joke and made the soldiers feel a part of something.
We were drilling at taking a fortified position made of bales of reeds, using archers and horsemen in our field, when a dust cloud signaled the approach of a large mounted group. I called for cessation of practice when I saw the banners of the King. Sargon rode up at the head of fifty warriors in light armor and head-cloths. They seemed to be in high spirits. Two falconers rode behind the king: a hunting party. The king had a bow slung across his back and he carried a long spear. He trotted over to me, holding his spear down at the level of my head and chest. I bowed and saluted him, hand across my chest. I said nothing, for a common man may not speak first to the King.
He looked down at me and pointed his spear at my face. I didn’t move, but I slowly raised my eyes.
“I hear your slave army is well trained, little hill-king.” He said. There was a hint of laughter in his voice, and of condescension. I could see smirks on the faces of some of his party.
“We train to serve you in the coming war, my king, “I said.
“The Elamites will be hardier than your bales and straw walls.”
“Should we practice by taking the city instead?” I asked. A few of his warriors raised their eyebrows at this. Was the shit-king provoking the Great Sargon?
He looked at me and laughed. “That won’t be necessary. Just see to it that you’re ready when the time comes.”
“Practice makes a better soldier, “I answered.
“Prince Lipit-Sin told me of your bargain. I hope I won’t need to change the terms after I see you fight. ” He wheeled on his large and muscular onager, which flinched as it spun in the dust. The animal’s high spirit was evident.” Come to my palace tonight, little king.”
I saluted again. He rode off, throwing up dust. His troop raced off in chase of him.
“Impressive, “said Anarkos, who had come up after the king rode off.” I guess we had better be ready for the battle.”
“We must be beyond ready.” I said.

That evening, when the heat of the Sumerian sun had begun to lessen a tiny bit, I went to the city gates of Ur. I had not entered the walls yet. Ur was sacred to Nanna, or Sin as the Akkadians called the moon-god, and the goddess Inanna, who the Akkadians call Ishtar. I believe she is the same as Atena and Afroda of the Achaeans. “Awa by any other name,” I muttered under my breath as I saluted the guards and made my into the mud-brick city. There was a wide street for a bit, then a square with a large market. The houses were built together, as was the style with these grand cities, three stories high with windows and balconies built in a few places out of timbers. On the flat roofs were curious v- shaped crenellations. These were also present on the outer walls. An archer could shoot from behind the v’s. I knew that there must be other markets all over the city, as there were four main gates and at least three others. I had studied the walls and defenses of Ur as I studied all the cities of Sumer. I would soon have to be taking such cities in order to earn my freedom. The streets smelled, but there were small canals carrying water to wash away the excrement, and other canals and wells for clean water. As I went further into the city, I realized that the fact that the wide street ended in the market square instead of leading straight to the palaces and the ziggurat served a defensive purpose. An invading army would have to fight and wend its way into the heart of the city to take it, and could be cut down by archers and by common folk throwing stones from the rooftops. I quickly saw how to overcome that problem. I knew how we would enter and attack Susa when the time came.
Though I was dressed in my best tunic and sandals, which Lipit-Sin had gotten me before we left Kanaa, I was certainly an outlander in this most Sumerian city. But people largely ignored that fact. This was a port that saw ships from far Harappa to the east, and from the wide lands of the whole earth. Slaves and merchants of every color and type were here, and wares I couldn’t indentify were for barter on every corner. The Sumerians, being a circumspect people, didn’t make eye contact or smile. The women covered their faces, as Sumerian women will do until you get to know their families. The Sumerians are not the most jovial of peoples. But other races jostled by, talking and carrying on with the activities of the long, hot day’s end. One man even hailed me in rough Achaean, which I answered. He was from the north of Achaea. His speech reminded me of Herakul, and I wondered what had become of my companion. Lipit-Sin would say nothing of him, as if Herakul was a dead man about whom one shuts his mouth.
Sargon’s palace was alongside the great ziggurat, Eunir in Sumerian, of Nanna. This was truly the biggest and finest ziggurat I had seen yet. The ziggurats were temple mountains, made in three or more steps. The first step, two hundred feet wide, was as tall as the tallest date palms. The second step was nearly as tall, but it was set back thirty feet or so. The third step was the top. On the flat surface of the top step stood burning tripods and pavilions for the gods, who were said to come down from the sky in winged discs and visit the temple prostitutes. All this was beyond my caring. The ziggurat was dazzling, however. It was faced with fired mud bricks, which were glazed in many colors. Raised sections depicted lions and deities riding their fiery, winged discs. Long ramps with many steps led upwards from the square in front of the ziggurat. I could see how someone who had never been to the real hills might be impressed. I kept thinking that it must have cost the lives of many slaves to make and haul and set all those countless thousands of bricks.
Sargon was sequestered in the Palace of Inanna, where his daughter Enheduanna lived. It was a three story building with red and blue fired bricks around its main gate and the triangular crenellations on the roof. The gateway was guarded by Hattusan spearmen. Some of them recognized me from the archery contests and I was let in, led by an obsequious, bald-headed Sumerian, who held his hands to his chest in supplication, like someone with bound hands, as he walked hunched forward. The Sumerians dressed in loose robes, with one shoulder bare. They frequently, as did this man, have beards but shave their heads with sharp flints or bronze razors. I must have presented a fine contrast with my long brown hair twisted in a single braid down my back and my braided beard. They call themselves the sag-giga, or black-headed. He wore a white sea-pearl earring in his left ear. A line of dark paint under his eyelids gave him a somewhat effeminate air.
I was led into a wide chamber, two stories high, a great hall, truly, held up by thick, painted cedar columns made of whole tree trunks. Long, narrow, dark red curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor. Torches burned in slanted brackets along the side of the hall, which I noted had small windows near the ceiling out of which the smoke vented. There were three rows of long, low tables, around which perhaps two hundred loudly feasting people were seated on cushions. On the dais at the far end of the hall was the table of the king and his retinue. Hattusan guards in full battle armor stood at intervals along the walls. The noise of conversation was quite loud in the hall. It seemed that everyone was talking at the same time. The tables were loaded down with bowls of foodstuffs, fruits, barley cakes, vegetables, and boards with roasted meats. Tall bir and wine cups were set before each person. Stewards made their way along the rows, filling cups and bringing dishes to the feasters. The Sumerian clapped his hands once and announced me, though the sound barely carried above the din and no one seemed to take notice. Another Sumerian of a similar type to the first came, bowing and scraping in a most unseemly fashion and took me to a seat at the table on the right, or at the king’s left hand as he would look out from his dais. I was seated next to a heavy-set Akkadian with a long red beard and red eyes to match. He was stuffing himself on purple grapes, a fruit I hadn’t seen since Karpatha, and the dark juice trickled down onto his robes. He took a moment from his gorging to glance at me and said, “akalu,” meaning,” eat” in Akkadian. I looked up at the king, but he was deep in laughing conversation with some of the nobles at the dais and hadn’t seemingly noticed my entry. I picked at several delicacies, but mostly watched the room. My immediate dining companions looked like merchants, not nobles. They were dressed in robes of varying colors from white to dark brown. They were all gorging themselves in the manner of my neighbor. One caught my eye and nodded, a young, thin man with a long nose and piercing eyes. He was eating a leg of mutton, and didn’t slow on my account. The others ignored me completely. At the next row of tables sat military men, some of whom I recognized. Utu- Ninnhursag the Sumerian infantry general was sitting next to En-Neshaddon the Akkadian cart master. The latter had the bearing of a noble man and ate slowly, talking to his tablemates in a low voice. In the far row were young members of the royal family, princes and lords in fine white robes with a bare shoulder in the manner of the Sumerians, but festooned with flashy brooches and pins of gold, silver, and dark blue lapis. At the dais was the royal family itself, including Sargon’s favorite grandson, the fourteen-year-old Naram-Sin. There were few women in the hall, though some of the military men had their rather subdued wives with them. There was only one woman on the royal dais.
She looked to be about twenty years old. She wore the robes of an Ensi, a high priestess of Inanna. On her head was a sand-colored conical cap called an En, the cap of leadership. The king also wore a version of this, though his had two small, curving horns protruding from the front and the back, whereas the priestess wore a blue scarf wrapped around the base of her cap. Her hair hung down in two long braids that lay across her chest. Her hair was black but her eyes were brown or even green. Even from where I sat, all the way across the hall, I could see intensity there. Her lips were painted red and parted slightly. Her fine nose curved down from arched eyebrows. Her skin was a pale olive, not burnished by the sun like her father’s. Her robes did not disguise the curves of her body. I didn’t need to be told that this was Enheduanna, the high priestess of Inanna and the Ensi of Ur. The tales of her beauty and bearing had not been exaggerated. At her right hand sat Lipit-Sin, dressed in a deep blue robe with silver trim. He kept up with the conversation of the king and the other Lu-gals, but repeatedly glanced at Enheduanna.
She sat demurely, listening, but not often joining in to the animated conversations going on around her at the dais. Two female servants waited silently at attention behind her. From time to time to she would twist her head and one or the other of them would bend forward and listen to her whisperings, then stand erect once more. The king was drinking heavily, it seemed. His steward kept tipping the long jars of barley wine in his cup. Young Naram-Sin, a very handsome Akkadian boy who looked older than the fourteen years I had been told he had, sat impassively picking at his meats. The big man next to me belched loudly. His breath was terrible. I wondered why I had been summoned to this feast.
Then the thin young man across the table leaned over and said, “Aren’t you the archer, the Achaean?” he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn’t look particularly hostile.
The fat man next to me said, without looking up from his bowl or at me, “This is the celebrated Sar-Tabastanu!” And he laughed, as did the others within hearing. The thin man tilted his head as if to say, I wonder if he understood that?
I understood. I had been learning Akkadian and Sumerian for months now. Sar-Tabastanu. Shit-King. Indeed! It was one thing for Lipit-Sin, who acted as my patron, to call me that in jest, or another for the Great King to say it when he held the power of life and death and my freedom. But it was quite another for this fat man to call me the Sar-Tabastanu.
I took a deep breath and released it, and then I turned to the fat man and said calmly, “By your breath I know you, Sahu-kalbu-Nam!”
The diners looked stunned, and then started laughing loudly. The thin man stared at me in disbelief for moment, and then began to smile broadly, revealing poor teeth. The fat man turned slowly to look at me, his red face growing redder by the second. I slowly drew myself up and away from him as he came at me, a knife in his hand. The others rose almost in unison to grab him.
Sahu-kalbu-Nam! Lord Pig-Dog! They laughed in Akkadian, echoing my insult.
But Lord Pig-Dog had murder in his drunken eyes. I stood back, knocking away my cushion, preparing to take down the big man with a throw, but before I could make a move, the man was grabbed by someone who came running up from behind a curtain. There was no mistaking him.
“Herakul!” I shouted, suddenly grinning myself. Herakul quickly wrestled the fat man down and cuffed him once in the head. The fat drunk rolled away, groaning. Herakul looked up and laughed.
“Shit- king!” he roared, laughing.
This time it was no insult. I jumped forward and grabbed Herakul by the shoulders. There was a wave of laughter and applause from the hall. I looked at the dais. Sargon was sitting there, grinning and clapping his hands. Lipit-Sin laughed as well, as did most of the feasters, except for the generals, who looked disapprovingly at the scene, and Enheduanna and Naram-Sin, who still sat quietly showing no emotion. Naram-Sin looked decidedly bored.
I bowed and saluted to the Great King, who put his hand up to signal that no harm was done. He was still laughing hard. Too hard, I had the thought. Did he put this fat man up to this? My cheeks flushed as I realized I had been set up. Herakul grinned at me, his sweaty face glistening in the torchlight.
“It was a good joke!” He said. He leaned closer and whispered, “I think you passed the test, Little Pelop.”
Sargon went back to his food and drink and the commotion settled down. Herakul plopped himself into Lord-Pig-Dog’s place. Lord Pig-Dog had shuffled of to another table. The bowing Sumerian slave brought me my cushion and I sat back down. The thin man leaned over and said, “That was very good! You’ve learned our language well! I don’t think Ut-Saka will ever like you much, but it was worth it!”
I gave him a nod in acknowledgement and turned to Herakul.
“Well, “I said, “Where in the name of the gods have you been?”
He lifted a mutton leg to his bearded face and said, “It’s a long story.”



14

Herakul drank deeply from his cup. Our Sumerian steward refilled him again.
“After I killed the lion, I was called into Sargon’s presence. His pavilion was full of nobles and warriors, and you know, fancy boys and women. Pelop, I’ve been around, but this king has more than anyone in the world. They had good vanna and bir and lots of food. I was made to feel like an honored guest. Through an interpreter, Sargon told me that he had never seen a man kill a lion with his bare hands. He joked that he had a few enemies that I could deal with, as well. I took it to be a joke, but it turned out he wasn’t kidding. While I was treated well, personally, the king’s agent, Usul-Enki, took me aside and let me know that I was still a slave and that my life and yours as well – he called you the archer boy - were in the hands of the King. We rode away the next morning, me still hungover, and went over the passes to the east. It was a salasa – twenty-nine trained killers and me. We came after two days to a fortress town at the edge of the desert. We were received by the garrison commander, a nobleman who had some airs to be sure. His wife was a real looker. That night, Usul-Enki ordered me to kill the entire family. I refused, though I agreed to kill the nobleman; I wouldn’t touch his wife and children.”
Herakul tapped his cup loudly and the steward filled it again.
“I strangled the man. Usul-Enki and his men did the other part of the job. Made me sick, Little King, sick! But that’s the way it is with these people. We went on further east. I had to kill five more noblemen. I came to realize that they were all of mixed Sumerian and Akkadian race. Sargon doesn’t like Sumerians. It seems that the Akkadians were the slaves from old times here, and there’s a deep blood feud against the Sumerians. He wants to eliminate them all from the government. The trouble is, they run a lot of things.”
The steward stood at our elbows, not showing any kind of emotion on his face.
“I’m telling you, Pelop, the Sumerians hate this king. That’s why Susa and Lagash have rebelled. The Elamites have never really surrendered. And the Sumerians are waiting for Sargon to make a big mistake so they can rise up and take him out. They may look meek, but they’re shrewder than Tiranian vanna-merchants, and as cold as serpents!”
I didn’t doubt any of what Herakul was saying. I had seen that resentment in their eyes, behind the subservient smiles and clasped hands.
“There are other factors you may not know about.” He went on, “That pretty one up there, Enheduanna, was involved with the Lu-gal of Lagash. Then she spurned him. Maybe he wanted her to help destroy her father. That’s when this rebellion started. And one last thing,” he leaned over and whispered. “That boy up there, Naram-Sin? When did you kill your first man? He’s fourteen and has a taste for torture already. He’s the most dangerous of ‘em all.”
There was a rush of robes being rustled and Lipit-Sin stood at the dais and called for attention.
“In the name of our Lord and master, the slayer of enemies, humble servant of the great God Enlil, smiter of traitors, conqueror of the many lands, Son of the Moon and Sun, ruler of the four races and the four corners of the Earth, builder of many Eunir and creator of a vast empire, Sargon of Akkad, the Great King, I call you to listen, oh men of Akkad and Sumer.” He paused and then went on, “The wicked lands of Lagash and Susa, ungrateful for our Lord’s benevolence, have sunk into treacherous rebellion and must be crushed. Lagash has a short memory but will soon be reminded of the past when it is ground into dust. Susa is a land of dogs, who shall be slain, and their guts fed as offal to pigs and fowl. Tomorrow the army will march east across the river and take Lagash. Our Lord will reward bravery and take revenge on cowardice and treachery. The largesse of our Great Lu-gal is beyond the measure of heaven, but his justice is swift and merciless.”
I had heard diatribes before, but never anything as pompous, or as threatening. That was all right; I knew I was a slave. Lipit-Sin had said I would be free again. But I began to doubt that Sargon would set me free.
“So let us prepare our brigades,” continued Lipit-Sin, “let us sharpen our swords and spear-points, make heavy our maces and sharpen our arrows. Let none doubt the will of Sargon, our Lu-Gal! To Victory!”
“To victory!” We all shouted, some rather drunkenly, I thought. Herakul alone didn’t stop his eating and drinking. As the guests began to chatter away again, I heard him mutter, “Sargon can stick his victory up his ass.”
By the late hour when we finally left, many of the guests were so drunk they had to be carried out by Sumerian slaves. Several vomited as they were carried. Other slaves mopped up the vile-smelling puke. Fortunately, I had refrained from much drinking, and Herakul could drink three man-jugs without blinking. As we were being let out the massive front gate, the Sumerian who had led me in stood, hands clasped and bowing to the patrons as they walked out. Some had sedan chairs or chariots waiting. The Sumerian looked up and caught my eye for a moment but said nothing. Herakul and I walked back through the quiet city and back to the camp.
“I ride with the king, “he said as we parted at my camp.
“And I walk with my free men.” We laughed. It was good to have him back, not matter what circumstance we found ourselves in.

The night was stinking hot and wet and I couldn’t sleep, though we had an early summons for our troop. Tomorrow Sargon’s great army marched on Lagash and Susa. In my tent there was a raised bed of a wooden frame covered with a good rug and two skins of a spotted lion. But I lay there and sweated and tossed and turned. The camp was quiet; most men having fallen out to escape the heat soon after it grew dark. I could hear the sounds of a few men drinking somewhere, arguing over cards or lots or women, but mostly there just the incessant chirring and creaking of the day’s insects in the dark. I slipped out of my tent and strolled down to the river and sat in the shadows under a palm tree looking over the moon-drenched scene.
Presently I was aware that someone was sneaking up on me. I could hear the rustle of dead palm leaves and other dry plants. The steps would advance and then fall silent for long spells. I was sitting completely still on the sandy river bank. The moon gave enough light to make out shapes in the dark. When the sounds had come within a few sword strokes away, and I figured my life was in danger, I silently unsheathed my blade and waited. A man, it would seem, in a dark cloak crept into the small clearing by the river’s edge. I wasn’t aware if the cloaked intruder could see me, or whether he just guessed that this is where I would be. Perhaps he’d followed me from my tent. I slowed my breathing down and held motionless for some time, wrapped in the stark shadow created by the moonlight on the palm fronds. The cloaked figure stopped and squatted in the moonlight on the sand bank near the river’s edge. I could hear him breathing.
“I’ve been sent to pass along a message, “came a thin, quiet voice from beneath the hood. I couldn’t see any features, but at least I knew it was a man. He spoke in Akkadian, but he had a Sumerian accent. “Take care not to let yourself do too much at Lagash. There are those who seek glory who would be very angry if it were stolen from them.”
I stayed put in the darkness where I was. I answered, “I have no need for glory. I and my men seek something else.”
“That which you seek is a foolish wish. There are no free men here. We all are alive only to serve the King.”
I didn’t answer.
The man said after a bit, “You have certain talents that make you a good leader. There are people who have recognized this. Some wish you well and some wish you ill. Watch your back at all times. Not all your men are trustworthy. Be careful on the walls of Lagash and Susa.”
The man stood up and melted silently away into the night. I pondered his words. It was true that I had been taking the allegiance of my men for granted. Men are weak and greedy and will do much evil for a tiny reward or for jealousy. I wondered who the messenger was. The Sumerian from the palace? I couldn’t say.
I made my way back to my shelter and at last I slept for a while before blowing war-horns and the martial clatter of spears on shields in the sudden desert sunrise called me to arms.

The walls of Lagash were high and massive; built in the time of the early gods who came out of the Abzu, the deep waters that encircle the world. I couldn’t tell you about that, but I will say that they were substantial and I judged they had been rebuilt many times, in fact they were in need of repairs now, so the whole city sat on a low hill of worn mud- bricks. It stood near the junction of the Idiklat and Purattu, only a few leagues from Ur. Lagash was truly a bigger and maybe even older city than Ur the Storied. The people of Lagash were all Sumerians, with little Akkadian blood outside the viceroy’s palace. So it was a hotbed of feelings against Sargon and the Akkadians. Lagash had revolted early after its sack by the Great King ten years before. Sargon had sacked it again and burned much of the inner city down. It was quickly rebuilt but resentment still smoldered deep in its crowded city precincts. The walls had the v-shaped notches all around the tops, and even from a distance I could see hundreds of archers stationed up on the wall-tops. The weakest part of the city’s defenses was a section of wall that had never been fully rebuilt from the last sacking. The Lagashites had patched about fifty yards with rubble. It seemed an obvious place to attack, and Sargon drew many of his wheeled siege towers and great catapults there. Battalions of shield bearers protected the haulers, forming a turtle shell of interlocked shields above them as they strained to haul the war machines close. The Lagashites cursed them from the walls and showered them with arrows and hand stones, but there was little effect. Other detachments of Sargon’s huge army approached the three city gates. Hundreds of young soldiers carried pole ladders. Their job was the riskiest of the assault, for they would have to run up to the walls, lean their tall ladders, made of a single long tree-pole with tiny foot braces tied every two feet up the entire length, up onto the battlements. Then they would scale the rickety ladders, holding small, round shields above their heads. If they got to the top of the walls, they’d have to fight the defenders with hand swords, and daggers. The defenders were busy throwing down the ladders as soon as they were put up. Only sheer numbers of attackers allowed this tactic to work. I had seen this before in our small campaigns on the way from Ugarit against rebel towns near Mari and had adjusted my battle plans.
Lipit-Sin galloped along behind the fontal units, with a dozen warriors and the young prince Naram-Sin riding close carrying banners and spears. Sargon remained in the rear in his pavilion, watching the attack and sipping cool drinks against the heat of the Sumerian morning. I looked up and saw large numbers of circling vultures, already waiting for the fresh kills that would soon come. Lipit-Sin raced up and reined in. The dust rose about the horses. I let it fall on me without moving and I saluted him, helmet off, hand to chest, in the Akkadian way. He had on bright copper armor with overlapping scales and wore a helmet of copper plates sewn on ox-hide, with a single plume on top of tufted white horsehair. He carried the copper battle axe that was the favorite weapon of the Akkadians and Sumerians. I had my bronze sword and my bow and quiver. My helmet was one I had made of boars teeth, like the ones in Achaea. I had only a square breastplate of boar’s hide tied on with leather straps and my wrist-guard for shooting. It was made of a polished rectangle of a hard, black stone from the mountains of Elam. I had won it by winning a shooting contest. I wore a loin-cloth and sandals with leggings that tied below my knees.
Lipit-Sin grinned at me. “Hail, Shit-Ling! Fight well today!”
“We will die for the Great King and for your patronage, “I answered.
He laughed and said, “Draw the enemy’s attention to the second gate, that’s your job. We’ll take the city.”
I bowed my head. Lipit-Sin’s horse reared up and he sun and rode off, retinue close behind. As they turned, young Naram-Sin gave me a hard look. I thought, Herakul is right, that’s a mean one.
Herakul had brought his five hundred foot soldiers up into position to my right. We were assigned to attack one of the lesser gates. We had no siege towers. I concentrated my archers behind a row of shield bearers. On my signal, they began shooting flight after flight of arrows at the men on the walls, clearing a space at the top on either side of where the ladders were to be raised. The Lagashite archers fired back and others threw stones down, and we had to keep our shields up, knocking the shots out of the way. We were taking casualties, but they were being killed and toppling from the walls onto the slope below the mud-brick walls. We raised the battle cry and charged. We threw up dozens of ladders and our men began to clamber up and get to the top. They had their bows strapped to the backs. Though some fell, others gained the ramparts and they then shot along the walls, clearing out a bigger spot for many more ladders. Before too long, we had half our force on top of the walls. We secured the section of wall and the rest of us climbed up. Once on top, I led the men across the rooftops of the city, shooting down and across at the defenders, making for the near gate tower. Lagashites came out of doors on the roofs and we took them on with swords and battle axes. Anarkos pushed three men with one lucky shove over the edge into the streets below. Everywhere there was the sound of men shouting and cursing and groaning as they were wounded or killed. Women screamed and asses and horses whinnied and brayed as arrows thudded into them. Smoke began to rise from fires in the houses. I led the way, shooting and fighting off attackers with my sword when I had to. I stayed as calm as I could and directed my shots and those of my men into strategic positions as we progressed. Within an hour we had shot and fought our way to the neighborhood of the gate. There the resistance was fierce, but we had the high ground, and forced our way to the gate-tower and took control of the ropes that lifted the gate timbers and pulled them up. I jumped down off a low section of rooftop onto a cart on the street and ran to the gate. Anarkos and the others followed my lead. We pushed the enemy back and swung the gates open. Herakul was waiting a hundred yards away with a force of five hundred, mostly savage Skythians and Hurrians intent on plunder. They shouted a great war-cry and swarmed through the gate. The defenders fell back into the narrow, ancient streets, fighting corner to corner, house to house. But my salasas stayed up on the rooftops and by mid day we came to the city center, the square before the great ziggurat. By this time, Sargon’s main force, led by Lipit-Sin and the young Prince Naram-Sin, the latter riding on a white horse and wearing purple colored copper armor, had pulled own the rubble-patched wall and stormed the city, destroying the main Lagashite force in deadly fighting. Flames began to rise everywhere and the air became thick with smoke that smelled of human flesh and burning timber and straw. Women and children fled screaming into the square before the ziggurat. Herakul and I led our force across the square, pushing the women and children out of the way. The women fell at our feet, grabbed at our knees, and begged for mercy. We climbed onto the steps of the ziggurat. Only the presence of a line of priestesses above on the level of the sanctuary held back our charge. Out of respect for the Sumerian gods, for they are basically the same as the Akkadian gods, or rather for fear Sargon would punish our blasphemy, we backed down to a few steps above the square. Our men tried to calm the keening women, but there was no consoling them. They knew what was coming. Herakul and I shouted to keep our men under control. My quiver was empty and I went pulled a few arrows from the bodies of Lagashites who had fallen on the steps. One still groaned. I leaned down and said, “sorry, my friend”. He looked at me and gasped, “My son…” he had nothing more he could say. As I yanked the arrow out he exhaled and his life went with his breath. He was younger than me, maybe twenty years old, small, black-haired. I wondered if his wife and child were in the square. I climbed up the first flight of steps and stood there with Herakul.
“Well done, little king!” beamed Herakul.
“That’s one for the Free Men!” I yelled back.
The Akkadian soldiers converged on the square, and I thought we had carried the day and expected Sargon to show mercy, but it was once again not mercy’s day. As we stood there on the bloody steps, Lipit-Sin and the main force of Akkadians and Hattusans, urged on by Naram-Sin and the Akkadian nobles, plunged into the mass of civilians, striking down those who cried for pity. Herakul and I stood, utterly powerless, as we watched the soldiers snatch children from the arms of their sobbing mothers. Women were thrown to ground and raped right there next to their wailing babies. Sargon had ordered that all males of all ages were to be killed and their heads cut off and piled before the city gates. By dusk, the ghastly pyramid was over thirty feet tall. I called for my men to retreat. Across the square, Lipit –Sin glared at me from his horse, but didn’t stop me. Most of my Free Men fell back beyond the walls and headed for camp to tend to their wounds. But some got caught up in the frenzy of looting, murder, and rape and didn’t report back until the next morning. Herakul’s Hurrians took the opportunity to avenge some slight of the past and destroyed entire districts, burning the houses to the ground and killing all they found who were not of use to them as sport or slave.
I came back to my tent, at some distance from the city, and washed my light wounds. I had been bruised and had a few scrapes but had otherwise been lucky. Our losses were light, though I knew that at least one in ten of the Free Men had fallen. Men returning from the sacked city brought jars of bir and even some vanna of a kind I’d never tasted. There was nothing I could do about those who stayed to rape and pillage. Plunder was their recompense, though I had the thought that it could be used against us in our bid for freedom.
At dusk, Lipit-Sin and Naram-Sin rode before the main camp dragging the bodies of Utu of Lagash, a Sumerian who had killed the Akkadian viceroy, and the dead man’s wife and children, now headless, behind their gilded chariots. Lipit-Sin’s armor was blood splattered, but Naram-Sin, now wearing his grandfather’s two-horned crown of Akkad, as prince of the royal line, had blood up to his elbows and in his hair. His reddened eyes were wild, drunk looking. Three small bodies bounced in the dust behind his chariot and he waved a sickle sword above his ahead and yelled a battle cry as he rode. The soldiers, many of them drunk now, cheered him on, raising their spears and bir beakers to him as rattled past.
This gruesome spectacle, though common enough, sickened me. I thought of the dying Sumerian’s last words of his son. Both were now dead, a tribute to the Great King’s power. A warrior of Lipit-Sin’s command rode up and told me to attend the sacrifices. I knew this wasn’t a request. I drank some more vanna and put on my clean robe, though there was still blood on my feet and armor.
Herakul and I trudged with many of our men to the open field before Sargon’s pavilion. As I walked up through the throng of battle-scarred soldiers and camp followers, many of them drunk and reveling in their victory, a soldier grabbed me by the elbow.
“Watch your back” he whispered. Then he was gone off into the crowd of cheering soldiers approaching the sacrificial altar. Herakul, who was in my confidence, did guard my back, and I kept looking around nervously during the slaughter of the poor goats and dogs. The entrails were favorable and Lipit-Sin stood on a block of stone and told the multitude that after a day’s rest we would march of Susa and destroy the city forever. He shouted this out with much conviction, but to me it sounded like so much claptrap. There was a steady train of slaves and animals bearing the spoils of the city out to the king’s camp. Sargon sat on his red throne under his pavilion and gave gifts of largesse to the select noblemen, almost all Akkadians.
“That’ll be his downfall someday, “said Herakul quietly.
“Let’s us hope that we’re far from here long before his reign ends.” I answered.
Night was falling as we started back to the camp of the Free Men. I had gathered a handful of my salasa’s companions to guard me. Now another messenger came out of the shadows. As he reached me, his hand slipped inside his cloak. Herakul grabbed his hand and drew the man’s arm back behind his back in a lock. The man twisted forward in pain.
“I’m no assassin, “he said indignantly though gritted teeth.” I am a messenger. Search me if you like; I have no weapons. But I must have a word with master Pelop of Achaea.”
Herakul and Anarkos let the man go and he and I went a few paces to the side. Darkness had now fallen completely.
“There is someone who would meet you.” he said.
“And who would that be? “ I replied.
“Someone of great importance, but this person can’t be found out for… his… safety and yours.” This was a usual courtly way of talking: somebody’s wife, most likely.
“I can’t see anyone; we’re at war.”
“This will not take too long. it is not what you think. Be by the river in front of your camp in two hours.”
“I’ve been fighting all day; I’ll be sound asleep in two hours.”
But I knew I must be there. These palace intrigues could get one killed. I kept in my mind that I was still a slave. I needed to stay alive until I could gain my freedom. Then I would find a way back to Vila and my son.

15

My tiredness was so overwhelming that I fell asleep on my cot at once upon returning to my tent. When I awoke, it was dark. I started up, for I had had been having a bad dream, in which I was trying to climb out of a hole in the earth. I was sliding back down in the depths when I woke. I remembered my summons and slipped on my sandals. The camp was mostly quiet, but for the usual noise of drunken revelry somewhere in the night. The insects were loud. I padded down through the palm groves to the riverside. There a slight breeze helped to lift the oppressive heat a little. I found no one waiting, though I walked the shoreline along the front of the camp. I was about to turn back when I heard a hiss coming from the shadows.
I peered into the blackness, for the moon was not yet high enough to light up the dark spots under the trees. I approached with caution; I didn’t know what waited for me. It could be a trap. The hiss came again. I saw a cloaked figure under the trees. Whoever it was was small; a woman, maybe even a child, I thought. I kept my grip on my dagger and let my eyes play out on the other shadows around.
“Who’s there? “ I said quietly.
The person stood, still wrapped in a long robe that hid the head as well.” Come with me,” said a woman’s voice. She sounded old. Her voice was raspy and uneven. She walked away at a surprisingly brisk pace through the grove. I followed at some distance, keeping her shadowy form in sight, but watching around me as I went. She walked along the river and came to a barge that was tied up. It was a wide vessel, the kind the Sumerians use for freighting loads or transporting animals across the rivers. It was made of wound, buoyant reed bundles and had at least four thirty-foot long hulls tied together. On its deck was a large rectangular cabin made of wicker. There was a gangplank that sloped up from the bank to the deck. I drew near the old woman, who stood by the gangplank. She lifted her hand to point at the barge.
“Achaean, she awaits you.”
I figured this be another of the bored Akkadian noblewoman, seeking my company for a tryst. I had refused several of these spoiled beauties before in favor of keeping my distance from intrigue and for the sake of my love for Vila, and I thought to say something about how I was worn out from the fighting or something else of an excuse, but there was something solemn about the old woman that made me hold my words. I hesitated for a moment and then walked up the gangplank. There was a light from an oil lamp or candle within the wicker cabin; I could see the flame flicker through the tiny spaces of the woven wood. The reed hull was soft under my feet and the big, sodden boat rocked almost imperceptibly on the ponderous current of the great river. A door stood slightly open at the front end of the cabin.
A woman’s soft voice said, “Enter, King Pelop.”
The sound of her voice was gentle and sensuous, like dark honey, no roughness or brittleness to it. I thought of the bowed string instrument that the Sumerians played with low notes that poured rather than sounded.
I pushed the door open. She sat on a cushion, her legs folded under her. The oil lamp was at her right side and lit one side of her face and body, throwing off moving shadows as the flame sputtered. The cabin floor was covered with rugs and cushions. A small, low table held the lamp and a jar and cups and a bowl of the nuts from Elam, the kind that break open when roasted and are bright green and tasty. I tensed, for this was the high priestess of Inanna, the daughter of Sargon, the Ensi of Ur. Enheduanna.
I had seen her from the across the hall in her palace in Ur, but I realized that I had not really understood her beauty. Her skin was the faint golden olive color of her race. Her eyes were dark, large, and lively, with high arched eyebrows above a long, slightly curved nose. Her lips were full and wide and her neck was long and elegant. Her robes obscured her body, but there could be little doubt that she was full and trim in the right measures. She had a very slight smile at the corners of her mouth. The lamplight danced in her eyes.
“I have sent my guards away. You have nothing to fear by being here.” She looked me in my eyes, unflinching, confident.”Sit and we’ll talk, “she said.
“I am your slave, Your Highness, “I said in my broken formal Akkadian. I was unsure just how to address a high priestess. I sat across the small cabin from her. My legs were sore and I must have groaned as I settled down on the cushions.
She smiled fully, suddenly easy and real.” No wonder you hurt. You fought well today. Your exploits are the talk of the camp.”
“Oh?” I said, “I did what was asked of me.”
“You took the city. Lipit-Sin was not pleased with you, or rather, he was unhappy with his own lack of glory.”
“His was the glory, “I said, “I am a slave, fighting to stay alive.”
She paused, the smile lingering on her lips.
“Come, I have brought some of your wine, it’s from Karpatha. You have been there.”
“You seem to know my story. I have been to Karpatha, but by accident. I was trying to get home and was blown there by the gods.”
“The gods.” She said. There was something wistful about the word gods in her voice.” I hear many stories. I am Ensi of Ur, by favor of my father. But I have other interests. Your people, interest me.” She pored two cups of red vanna. The smell was familiar for sure. “There are singers of tales in your lands. Have you ever heard them?”
“Oh, yes, “I said, “they’re called bards. We don’t have writing, you know, so they tell the histories of the old days. Some are good, all are entertaining.”
“I write songs, “she said. “ Outwardly they are about the gods. But inwardly, they are about me.”
“Your fame is everywhere, “I said, “the songs of Enheduanna.”
“Enheduanna is a title. My name is Lahalit. My mother gave me that name. It means little bird. My father chose my path for me. Even as a young girl I was trained to be who I am. But I will tell you something King Pelop,” She pointed her finger at me in a menacing way. I could see anger on her face,” I always hated it.”
She fell silent for a moment, hanging her head. Her long dark hair fell across her face and her shoulders slumped. Then she straightened up, though her eyes were closed, and took a deep breath and blew it out. She lifted her cup and drank deeply.
“Do you know, “she said quietly, almost in a whisper. She leaned towards me a little, locking her eyes with mine, “what it means to be a priestess, a hierodule?” he stare was hard, but I didn’t feel uncomfortable. Far from it, I felt that she was talking to me with less artifice than anyone had a in a long time; since Vila, really.” A priestess of the gods has to give herself to them in the sacred pavilion on the top of the ziggurat.”
I kept her gaze, for I felt she was baring her innermost being to me. I felt a strange bond with this woman, as if I knew her very well.
“The old priestesses say that in the time before time, the gods themselves came down on fiery chariots from the sky and gave their seed to the hierodules, the temple prostitutes. And that’s how men came into being. Before then, the race of man was like monkeys. They neither talked nor wrote nor ate cooked food nor made war or had kings.” She turned away from me and dropped her eyes for a moment, then looked back. They were burning with intensity. “But let me tell you, my king of Achaea, the gods come no more to the sacred temple. The priestesses and the youngest are the ones that are most desirable, lie there and await the embraces of old, disgusting men; the powerful, the connected. “She dug her nails into her cushion and looked away, “even their fathers.”
She raised her hands and covered her face. I could see tears slowly moving down her cheeks. They left trails of eye makeup. I reached out to touch her arm, but she drew back violently, twisting away from me and hiding her face in her robe.
“I’m sorry, I wanted…” I had no words to say that would help her. My heart beat quickly in my chest. I took a drink of vanna and breathed slowly to calm it. There was nothing but the sound of the night insects in the groves and the slapping of the river against the side of the barge.
In a moment she collected herself and turned back to face me.
“No, I am sorry, “she said, “this not your burden. Lahalit is Enheduanna. It is her burden. ” She shook her head quickly and tried to put on a brave face, though it was plainly a false one. She sipped some more vanna.
“I have had my women watching you,” she said calmly, “since last fall at Ugarit. The court, you know, is a place of endless gossip. The tales went around that you were bringing order and some sort of rightness to your slave camp. Also, I knew that you had refused women, even a priestess. I had the thought that here was a different sort of man. So I wanted to meet you and see for myself. But I’m afraid I have shown myself to you, but haven’t seen you at all!” She laughed.
“It has been my ...how do you say it? My luck, no, that’s not right….privilege …to hear your story, Lahalit, if I may use your name. I will take it and treasure it and let no harm come from it. You have my word.”
There was a scratching sound at the door. Enheduanna looked slightly alarmed. “You must go now. But I hope you will come and see me again.”
“You need only send for me, Your Highness.”
“Call me Lahalit. “ She rummaged in a bag near her feet and drew out a tiny bird made of silver that was hung on a cord.” Wear this when you fight the armies of Susa. My wish is that it will protect you.”
I took it and put the cord around my neck. The bird was hidden by my tunic.” I thank you.”
“Go, quickly!” She waved with her hand as if to shoo off a fly. I got to my feet and left the cabin. A tall, muscular guard, a man with truly black skin, the likes of which I had never seen, stood on the deck. He said nothing and pointed the gangplank out with his spear.
I made my way back to our camp. The combination of the vanna with my battle weariness made my legs heavy and my arms weak. I lay down on my cot. I fell into sleep and dreamed that I was lost in a maze of tunnels. There were rooms opening up everywhere I looked but they were dark. I couldn’t find my way out. I woke late in the night and lay there listening to the uneasy sounds of the night, when, they say, the souls of the unmourned dead walk among the sleeping and whisper to them tales of darkness and sorrow.

Sargon rode along on a black charger. Two slaves rode alongside, carrying a shade pavilion held up by slim poles to screen the Great King from the sun. Lipit-Sin, Naram-Sin and other nobles trotted behind in a column, raising dust. The entire army of Akkad, over thirty thousand men, stood at attention in the blazing heat on the flat plain. Heat waves rippled across the blasted sands. Hattusans, Hurrians, Sumerians, Amorites, Kannaanites, Bedu, and our small band of Free Men, eight hundred in all, counting Herakul’s battalion, waited for the King’s inspection. Sargon wore the fore-and-aft to-horned royal helmet of Akkad. Naram-Sin wore a plumed helmet and his copper-and -boar’s -hide armor. Lipit-Sin wore a helmet of beaten copper that looked like bound hair. It shone in the sun, and I wondered how hot it must be to wear.
Out troop stood almost naked, the way Free Men like to fight. We had only the lightest of armor, and most men wore scarves tied around their heads instead of helmets. In front of our ranks were fifty men with attendant horn-bearers, blowing the twelve-foot-long great battle trumpets, which had enormous bell-shaped openings from which blared cacophonous sounds. The horns made every tone from high and whiny, like storm crows to gut-rattling low sounds, like the rutting calls of great bulls. Behind them a row of a hundred or more drummers pounded out a steady, martial thumping that rolled across the open plain.
The hills of Elam, birthplace of Enkidu the Wildman of the Tale of Gilgamesh, rose away to the east. Before the hills lay the mighty city of Susa, the Elamite stronghold. In that song, it was told how Enkidu came to challenge Gilgamesh, the King of Uruk to mortal combat. But in the course of their battle, they found neither could best the other. So they pledged friendship instead of enmity and thereafter were as brothers, until the gods took Enkidu to the underworld, leaving Gilgamesh to grieve so deeply that he searched the whole world for the meaning of life and mortality. He met Utu-Napishtim, the immortal who was the only man to survive the Great Flood and he found the pearl of immortality, only to lose it in the sea again. In the end, Gilgamesh was told by a god to go back to his Kingdom of Uruk, love his wife and family, rule well, and die like every other man. I thought it a good tale, though the nonsense about a flood that covered the whole world was, on the face of it, absurd. I could see how there might be a great flood in this flat pace, but not in the mountains of my homeland. People like to believe such stories, and it seemed that many Sumerians and Akkadians took the tale seriously. I thought it was more about the fact that each man has to face his death with courage and dignity, knowing that it was the fate of all who are born.
We could see the Elamites facing us across the sandy wastes, and their citadel rising up beyond. Their banners seemed to float above the heat waves. Their trumpets echoed ours and their drums beat. The two armies slowly advanced on each other. Behind us, across a shallow waterway, our camp waited for our return. I thought that should the day go against Akkad, there would be a great slaughter in our camp. Lahalit was there with her guard. They had swift onagers if the hour called for their flight. I fingered her silver bird-charm under my leather breastplate. I hoped it would bring me luck.
She had sent for me again the next night and the following. We had talked until dawn both nights, though we didn’t touch. We spoke of songs and legends, of Achaea, of childhood, of lovers, of freedom. She had never heard of the concept until recently. In Akkad and Sumer, all were slaves to the god-kings. She told me of the beliefs of Sumer and how the kings, who usually didn’t really believe in such things, used the fear and superstition of the people to rule as gods on earth. It was a dark vision of the society of men, but then much of what I had seen in my life was darkness.
It was on the third night, the one before the march on Susa, that things had changed. I was about to leave, as the hour was late and the march was to be early. When I put my hand down to help myself to my feet, she slid hers on mine and grasped me by the wrist. I should have resisted, but I didn’t want to. I felt a kinship with her. We had spoken of things beyond even those spoken by Vila and me. She pulled me to her and I went willingly, a lamb to slaughter at the hands of the goddess once again. She was the most accomplished of all the goddess’s priestesses, having been trained to it, and I had been alone for a long time. It was a dangerous thing we did, for each of us. Our union could never be, between goddess and slave, Princess and captive. In the darkness we clung to each other. In the end we both shed tears, tears that came from a dam being broken by a flood, tears that had been waiting for years to fall. When I left we said nothing, for there was nothing to be said. The days to come would bring death and glory, each in its measure as doled out by the gods. At least that’s what they say. We knew we wouldn’t see each other again for some time.
What I didn’t know was that we had been watched.
The Elamites before us had fielded a massive army, maybe even bigger than ours. In this setting on the vast, featureless flat plain, the war carts, drawn by onagers, could be used as the main offensive weapon. These were four-wheeled carts that could carry six men and a driver. Sargon had brought an astounding fifteen hundred of them out onto the field of battle. The Elamite carts lined up across from ours. The two armies advanced, with great cheers going up above the din of clanking metal and whinnying onagers and the tramp of heavy feet on the salt-sand earth. Clouds of dust rose about the battalions. Our front line was the carts, flanked by foot soldiers and lines of archers on the left side, and the mounted men on the right flank, two thousand strong. It was hard to tell in the dust, but it seemed the Elamites had a similar array. Sargon fell back to the rear, leaving Lipit-Sin in charge at the front. The two forces drew nigh, just out of bowshot. The commanders called out orders and encouragement to their squadrons. Both side yelled insults and jeers at the other, calling each other defilers of mothers and god destroyers and far worse. I led the Free Men in a wild Achaean battle song I had taught them, while Herakul bellowed like the man-bull he was, and his troops answered him in kind. The Hurrians and Skythians had come to revere their warrior leader.
With a great roar of thousands of voices and rhythmic clattering waves of thousands of spears, battle-axes, and swords being banged on shield, helmets, and breastplates, the carts suddenly swept forward.. We were right behind a double line of shield bearers, foot troops armed with battle axes. Their job was to protect us so we could fire thousands of arrows onto the enemy lines and chariots. We all ran as fast as we could, though our shield bearers were weighted down with their shields and axes. We could have easily outrun them. With a deafening thunder of crashing metal, wood, and horse, the two lines smashed into each other. We could see that it was about even. As we came up, Elamite horsemen rode down on the left flank of the carts. I called for the Free Men to draw swiftly to the left, Thus allowing the Elamites to converge on the carts, but that put us on their flank and we began bringing them down with deadly volleys of arrows from behind our lines of shield men. Some of the horsemen turned back into us and the battle became chaos. Onagers and horses, with or without riders, plunged into our ranks, knocking shield men and archers about like they were children’s play- soldiers. I kept rallying my salasas, pulling them back and then pushing them forward as the Elamites charged and fell back. At one point a group of Elamite horsemen broke through the ranks altogether, right past the position held by Lipit- Sin and his select horse-guard at the left flank, and started riding for the rear of our lines, where the Great King was. I jumped on the back of a riderless onager and chased after them. I thought if they got through, it would be my fault and my men would pay for it. I had just grabbed a fresh quiver from one the fallen men. The Elamite horsemen were riding down on the command position of the Great King, making for his gilded chariot from which he watched the battle. I kicked my steed into a flat-out gallop and charged down on the Elamites. I pressed my knees into the flanks of the onager and fired at the last man. My arrow caught him right between the shoulder blades and he fell, his foot catching in the saddle strap so that he was dragged across the sand. I shot another rider and a third. A few Akkadian nobles had sallied forth and were racing on horseback toward the Elamites, but one broke through their charge and headed for Sargon’s chariot. I could see Sargon’s archers firing, but they couldn’t hit the man, who was shielded by his horses’ neck from their arrows. He was closing with the chariot. He raised his battle-axe to swing it on the King, but I shot him through the back, so that the arrow stuck out through his chest. He tottered and fell heavily in the dust at the feet of Sargon. I rode up and saluted, and without slowing down, turned my onager and spurred him back to the battle.
Herakul’s Hurrians had pressed in on the Elamite riders and were routing them, pulling them from their mounts and slaughtering them with battle-axes. I stood in my stirrups and looked out across the plain. I could see that our mounted force had outflanked the Elamite chariots on the right flank. They were pinching in on the center, pressing the Elamite carts into a circle where they could be destroyed from all sides. It would be a rout for Akkad. Already the Susan carts were trying to flee. But these battle- carts are not fast or very maneuverable, and their warriors were cut down by the Hattusans at the center and right flank. The fighting was intense, but within a half an hour, the Elamites were falling back on Susa, across a wide, shallow river. Soon they were throwing down their weapons and running heedlessly through the knee-deep water. Carts foundered in the mud and sand- banks and were toppled by the river’s flow. Onagers cried out in panic as arrows struck their sturdy bodies. Lipit-Sin had now pressed forward, and led the rout, slaying fleeing foot soldiers as they ran for their lives.
Herakul and I found each other and drew apart from the fighting to confer.
“They’re going to be fleeing the city by the postern gate.” I said.
“I agree. “Said the blood- drenched giant, “We could slip around the city and enter without much trouble, I’d wager.”
“I’ll take your bet, my friend. Tell your men, no killing of innocents.”
“I swore them on a blood oath this very morning. The Hurrian’s quarrel was with the men of Lagash, not Susa.”
“Good. Let’s draw upstream and cross beyond that far bend, through the trees to give us cover.”
All across the field of battle the Akkadians and their levies were killing the routed Elamites and their hapless Sumerian allies. We were far from Sargon’s command, alone on the beyond the left wing of the battle. We drew our force back from the rout, though some wouldn’t come, intent on plundering the dead, and we led over six hundred men at a run along the near river bank. We waded across above a bend and went through palm groves and fields toward the far side of the city. Sure enough, the postern gate was open and citizens of Susa were running for their lives. Women dragged screaming children with them; the old tottered along leaning on sticks. Some carried a few meager possessions on their backs, sacks of grain and dates. There must have been five thousand refugees already strung out along the road through the fields that led up into hills to the east. A few Elamite guards tried to keep order, but plainly the flood of terror-stricken people was too much for them to handle.
We came along a canal, keeping below the embankment until we drew near the gate itself. Then we charged out and overwhelmed the guards, who mostly threw down their spears and ran. The refugees cried out in fear and fell at our knees, but we pushed past them and up into the city. One man, a priest by his robes, stood calmly as we ran up to the gate. He held his hand up for peace.
“These are simple people, “he said to me, “they are not warriors. Let them pass, please.”
I looked at him and said,” They are free to go.”
The streets were clogged with panicked Susans. I ordered a column of two abreast to move up the side of the main street, leaving the people to flee. We threaded the old alleys and streets and soon reached the base of the ziggurat, a fine one with four levels and steep steps leading up. Herakul and I climbed the steps. There was no opposition now, as the rout on the plains had been watched for some time from the walls of Susa, and all defenders and even the priests and priestesses had fled for their lives.
“Should we raise a banner from the top?” asked Herakul.
“I think not, “I said, “Slaves need to know their place. I was thinking about taking too much glory from Lipit-Sin and the other nobles. Let’s move on and open the main gates to let the army in.”
We surged with our troops through the emptying streets and came to front gates. We swung them open. I stepped out into a hail of arrows, and jumped back.
“Raise the Standard of Ur from the walls!” I yelled to my salasa.
I clambered up to the battlements and looked out to see Lipit-Sin leading the vanguard of Akkad up the slope of the tell to the gates. Beyond, the vast field was littered everywhere with corpses of men and onagers and wrecked, overturned carts. The army of Akkad had massed below the gates and the men were shouting to enter the city for plunder. We raised the battle flag of Ur to signal that we had taken the gates. It was met with great roar of approval from the army. I called to my troops to take to the walls and stay out of the streets. Most followed my order, though not all. You can hardly blame men for their weakness sometimes. I was pleased to see that more than half of my teams were mostly intact. I had them line up on the wide wall-top and report by salasa.
“ Eagles!” “Lions!” “Ravens!” And so on. Finally we shouted out, “Free Men!” and raised our weapons above our heads in triumph. I had the thought that we were being immodest, but my men deserved praise and reward after the battle.
The Akkadians were pouring into the city now, shouting and looting. The first fires sent pillars of black smoke above the mud-brick tenements. Soon, the city would lie in ruins, and the men and male children who could be caught would be beheaded, their bloody fear-wracked faces staring out for eternity from the gruesome pile before the city gates, a warning to all who might oppose the living god-on earth, Sargon the Great. Mothers, girls, and wives would rip their clothes and scratch their breasts and take their own lives with hidden knives. They would be raped, even in death by the animals who called themselves the gods who ruled the world. I wanted none of that. I hoped that many of the refugees had had a chance to escape beyond the fields and into the hills.
“What about plunder!” Someone shouted from the ranks, and was echoed by others.
I raised my hand for silence. “We who call ourselves the Free Men cannot plunder. Remember, we are still slaves of the Great King. We must await his largesse. I am sure he will recognize out contribution. Dion, I will see you get your fair share of bir and women!”
The men laughed. Indeed, Sargon hadn’t been tight with his share for my men. We lived well. Besides, as slaves, we couldn’t really own much. When we were freed, that would be a different story. For now, we needed to stay disciplined.
I looked toward the ziggurat of Susa, where smoke rose from the upper levels. Where had the gods of Susa gone? As with all gods, they had deserted the faithful of the city in their hour of need. I thought, if such gods exist, they are pitiful and weak, or cruel and uncaring. But I knew the truth, that the worship of these many-named deities was something that was used by the powerful to keep the common people in thrall of punishment in the next life. The next life! What about this one? I spat on the battlements, but not to ward off the evil eye, but rather in disgust at the greed and cruelty of men, men who created the gods, not the other way around.
Someone called to me and broke my thought.” King Pelop! “
Lipit-Sin, with Naram-Sin in his retinue, was entering the city on horseback through the ruined gate. I came to the edge of the battlement and saluted him from a balcony. “Hail, Lu-gal! You have taken the city!”
He looked up at me for a moment, but then turned away without a word of recognition.
When he had ridden on, Herakul came up to my side and said quietly, “We’re screwed.”
I nodded to him. “Withdraw the men; we make for camp.”
6

I didn’t realize I had the big cut on my leg until I tried to get down into the street from the balcony. The intensity of the battle had dulled the feeling of it. But now I looked at it, an ugly gash across the back of my calf. I reached down and tried to see if the torn meat of my leg would pinch together. It wouldn’t. I found a discarded head-scarf and wrapped it around the wound and limped out the gate, back towards the camp far across the plain of battle. Herakul left me and went and righted a wrecked cart and we rode back, in the company other wounded men trudging through the mid-afternoon heat.
I had never seen so many dead men. They were everywhere, thousands of them some lying in twisted poses, arms or necks laid out at impossible angles, vacant eyes staring into the merciless sun. Vultures circled and dropped down. Large flocks of the huge, black carrion-birds already tore flesh from the dead and even from the wounded, who lay begging pitifully for water or for the dispatch of the battle axe. One of our men, Niarkos, an Achaean from the town of Atena, lay dying slowly in the cart, his death rattle growing fainter as we creaked across the field of war. I was feeling a bit light-headed, but kept sitting up. I felt that if I lay down, death might mistake me for one its own and take me away. Herakul seemed lost in thought. Even he was overcome by the sight of so much carnage.
“Where do you think we go, little Pelop?” he said, not looking at me, but rather staring at the distant hills to the east.” To a dark netherworld?”
“I don’t know, my friend, that’s what they say, but then again, I don’t trust what priests say. Seems to me that when something dies, it rots away into the ground and disappears. End of the story”
Herakul was unusually pensive. He twisted around and I could see the lines on his furrowed brow.
” This morning, these fools thought they’d have glory and plunder. Now they’re vulture food. Hah!”
He spat, and I knew that for him, this was to ward off the evil curses of the shades of the untended dead warriors around him.
“Well, if there’s a bad place, it must be crowded!” I tried to laugh, and Herakul chuckled.
“Yes, I’ll give you that. And it’s going to get worse!”
We passed where Sargon’s command had been. He had returned to camp, or perhaps gone to the fallen city to supervise the looting.
“The god-king better uphold his promise. “I said aloud, then regretted it, for there was a Sumerian driver at the reins of the chariot that I didn’t know.
Herakul spat again, this time with more vehemence. “I won’t lay you odds on that one.”

It took us the better part of two days to return to the big camp along the river. By then the gash on my leg had festered and I feared it would get the black disease. I had seen men lose their lives from lesser cuts.
I sat on the edge of my cot in my little tent trying to bind the wound with the head-scarf. It was raw and I saw it would surely get worse if I left it alone, so I called for one of my men to being me a firebrand. Herakul came as well, bringing a jug of the Sumerian white vanna, the strong kind. I took a long drink and lay face down and Herakul held my legs still. Dion, the Kannaanite archer brought the firebrand in and blew off the ash to make it extra hot.
I said, “Let’s be done with it,” And gritted my teeth. I thought, this can’t hurt worse than when I got the damn wound, and I didn’t even feel it then.
Dion leaned over and brought the brand down. But just as he did, my tent-flap was pulled back. A huge black slave from Punt held it. A small man, wearing robes trimmed in gold threads in the royal fashion, came in, put his hand up, and with a voice used to command said, “Stop!”
Dion stood up and stepped back. The man was an unusual type; extremely short, wiry, bearded, older, maybe even fifty years or more, with white hair and brilliant grey-blue eyes. He looked somewhat effeminate. I couldn’t place his people.
“I have been sent to help you, “he said calmly. “ You, the big one, stay. You leave.” He spoke with quiet authority. Herakul stayed put and Dion left, taking the smoking brand with him. The man had a big goatskin bag sewn with sliver clasps and fancy stitching around the edges. He looked into it and reached in and pulled out a small pouch. He poured a small amount of a white powder into his palm. My eyes must have been wide.
“Don’t worry. This will hurt, but it won’t kill you, “he said gently. I put my head back down, Herakul tightened back down on my legs with his unbreakable grip. I guess the healer poured the powder into my wound. I almost cried out, for the pain was like fire itself.
“Ah, I see it’s working already.” He took out a small bone needle and sinew from his bag. “I’m going to sew this up. You’ll be good as new in no time.”
After the powder, the sewing was nothing. He pulled up a tripod stool and sat down. “You may go,” he said to Herakul, “and drop the flap if you please.” Herakul looked at the tiny man like he was going to laugh, but then made an exaggerated bow of courtesy and left.
The little man leaned over so that his face was near mine. He whispered, “She sent me, but you may tell others it was by order of General Shul-lat.”
My mouth was unexpectedly dry and I asked him for vanna. Then I said, “I thank her and the General. May I ask your name?”
“My name?” he laughed, a tittering sort of laugh that you’d expect at court, sort of a he-he he.
“That would depend on when. I have had many names, and you?
“Pelop is not my first.”
“I come from a land far beyond these barren wastes, from a place where the snows only end in summer and people ride on sleds pulled by tiny deer. My name when I was a boy was Ogarik. But here I am called Lu-Zu. That means wise man. I don’t know if that’s the name I would give myself. I think Lu-Mu-dutu, man of knowledge, would be closer. Or lucky man, for I have thus far avoided death at the hands of my patients!” his eyes sparkled.
“Do all your people have the blue eyes?”
“Yes, and you yourself have them as well, so you must have northern blood, though they call you the Achaean. I have found them to be mostly dark-eyed.”
“When I was boy I was taken from the land of high mountains far north of Achaea. It seems strange now, but that was only a few years ago. I have lived many other lives since those days. They seem like a dream to me, “I said.
He looked at me, a bit of sadness in his eyes.” My father took me on a trip to the great river when I was a boy. We had hides of the red snow-deer to trade for tools from the people of the river. My father made a raft and we floated south for many days. He was killed by an arrow from people on the banks of the river. I couldn’t save him from death. I drifted with the current for a long time until the raft ran aground at a bend. I ran off and hid in the woods. I was hungry and cold and thought I would die. I wanted to. But an old woman found me and took me to her little hut of branches and turf. She was a witch, that’s what she was. But she was very kind to me. I was little, so I became her grandson, that’s what she called me. She knew all the plants and animals of the forest lands better than anyone else. People came to her to be cured of their illnesses. She was smart, and could tell what was bothering people. She knew how to fool them into thinking they were well. And she knew how to make the powders and poultices that draw out the sickness from wounds and sores. I lived with her for ten years, until I was almost a man. Then she grew sick and died. I stayed there, for now the people came to me for cures, and I found I was able to help them, too. “He paused as if remembering something difficult. “ But then raiders came from the south. They took many of as slaves and sold us down the river until we came to the great Black-water sea that was made by the flood. There I became a healer for a king named Duma- El. He was a good man. The place was called Kolkis. I practiced the healing arts for a long lifetime there. Then his kingdom was conquered by the Hattusans, and I wound up coming here with the troops. That was ten years ago. I have lost count, but I believe I have more than fifty years to my life. I find the heat here helps my old bones. I wouldn’t want to return to the land of the snows again.”
He leaned close again and whispered.” But enough about my life. I must tell you something. You are in great danger now. The certain someone who sent me here has been watched by the Great King. He knows of your trysts with her. And there is another man who bears you a greater malice, your patron, Lipit-Sin. You have stolen his glory in this war by your cunning and bravery. Everyone is talking about you at court. The king realizes you saved his life today. But Lipit-Sin, who has just been named Ensi of Uruk, fourth in line for the throne of Akkad, is furious. He covets our lady. He’s going to have you killed.”
I sat up though the pain in my legs was like a snake bite.
“I would worry about my own men if I were you. Outwardly, you are in great favor right now. The king owes you a life. I would use that life carefully.”
“Is she in danger?” I asked.
“She must be very careful as well. Lipit-Sin could save her or destroy her.”
“I must see her.”
“Impossible, “he said as he closed his bag and stood to go.” Tomorrow is a great victory sacrifice and feast. You will have to be there. Watch your back.” He lifted the flap and was gone.

Night had now fallen. Though my leg was stiff, and the stitches made it tight, I stood up and stepped outside. To my alarm, I saw the shadow of a huge man looming a few feet away. I stepped back and felt for my sword inside the tent, but it was not leaning on the pole where I always left it. The shape came towards me. I tripped and fell backwards into the tent. I felt a vanna cup and grasped it. The tent flap lifted and I heard a familiar voice.
“I don’t think a cup will stop them, little king” It was Herakul. He uncovered an oil lamp. It lit his eyes and sent its flickers around the tent walls. I breathed out.
“You scared the shit out of me!”
“Sorry, “he laughed, “We’re standing guard over you. Lu-Zu gave me the order. Dion is over there,” he waved his hand in the direction of the river, “Urartu- one of my Hurrians- is in the grove, and Anarkos has men along the perimeter. I trust all that are here with your life. You need to sleep. Leave this to me.”
“Thank you, my friend, “I said.” I think I need to get out of here.”
“It doesn’t look good right now. There’s a big feast going on in Sargon’s camp right now, celebrating the victory. Lipit-Sin has been claiming the glory, but everyone knows the truth. You and I are both in danger from him.”
“Let’s go right now, “I said, while they’re feasting and drinking.”
“Jackals feed at night, little Pelop. The word is that there are troops all around our camp, watching for our escape. We’ll have to tough it out. As I said today, we’re dead men.”
My head swam. The cut had made me feverish and unclear.” I must lie down, “I said.
“Sleep, little king. Tomorrow is another day to fight.”

When I woke it was deep in the night. A sound had brought me from my dreams. I felt where I was, in my cot. My head hurt. There it was again, a scratching and faint hissing. In the deep darkness I could see the tent flap move. I heard Herakul whispering.
“Wake up, Pelop. We must flee!” I pulled myself up and slowly stood, careful not to make any noise. Herakul was holding the tent flap. I was dizzy and sore. My leg was on fire. I stepped gingerly forward and nearly fell. .
“I’ll have to lean on you for a moment,” I whispered back. I didn’t ask him where we were going. He helped me move away from the tent. Against the night sky full of stars, I could see him put his finger to his lips for silence.
We slowly made out way down to the river. It was so still, even the night insects were silent. I could hear the lapping of the water on the bank, the murmur of the slow, strong current rolling the great river along. Outlined against the faintest sheen of the water was a dark shape; a Sumerian barge.
“Hang on, “whispered Herakul. He lifted me up and waded out waist deep into the river. He put me up on the deck and then climbed up himself. Two other figures were there on the deck. One raised his arm and the barge began to slide noiselessly down the river. The stars shone in a million points on the mirror surface and in the clear night sky. We crouched on the deck and let the camp slide away behind us. Here and there there were torches burning low at guard posts, but all was still for now.
There was a movement behind me. The door of the cabin opened and a small figure emerged. She reached out and found my hand in the darkness. I put my arm around her shoulders and she drew up next to me. We huddled there silently as the quiet riverbank slipped by and stars wheeled in the heavens.

By the time the dawn began to shift the world from the fearsome, ever- changing shadows to the solid shapes of the day that we know, we were deep in the marshes of the river-mouths. Here, the mighty rivers Idiklat and Purattu came together in a vast maze of a hundred winding channels, ever merging and diverging and changing. The date palms were so thick on the islands that they made solid walls of impenetrable greenery. It was the home of the marsh people, who they say were there before the Sumerians came out of the Abzu. These were the people who first made the reed boats. It was said they sailed their boats to far Harappa and even around the great horn beyond Dilmun to Punt and Egypt. I didn’t know about that, but I was glad for the protection of the jungles around us. Lahalit’s giant, black-skinned slave, named Mtombe, wielded the steering oar and guided the barge, which was moving with a fair amount of momentum, into the jungle at the river’s edge. I thought we would be surely stuck on the bank. But Mtombe yelled at us to push away the trailing vines and fronds, and with his huge muscles pushed the barge with the sweep through the green barrier of overhanging branches and vines, and we passed with much cracking and rustling into a hidden backwater behind the screen of jungle. The palm fronds grew together above us like the roof of a great temple and we were completely out of sight of the channel in which we’d been floating. The sun had by now fully risen and the heat under the canopy was stifling. Herakul, Urartu the Hurrian, Dion, Lahalit, and I sat on the foredeck under the shade of the overhanging fronds. Mtombe signaled for silence and stood stock still at the oar, watching the river beyond the branches. It was quiet in here, with only the insects and the birds making their commonplace sounds.
“This is the place he told us of, “said Mtombe quietly in his deep voice, “we’ll await them here.”
We sat on the reed deck and waited. Some time went by and no one came down river. We talked in whispers of our escape.
“It was Anarkos, “said Herakul quietly. “I caught him coming back around midnight from the camp of Lipit-Sin with four armed Hattusans. When he saw me, he turned and tried to run. I’m afraid I didn’t spare any of them!” He shook his head, smiling.” By the luck of the gods, that’s when Dion came up and told me the barge had pulled up.’
Lahalit spoke.” Lipit-Sin took it badly. It was his night and his glory; he wanted me and I refused him. He gave me until today to accept his offer.”
“And the King?” I asked.
“He has set Lipit-Sin on the high seat of Uruk. That makes Lipit-Sin an Ensi of Akkad; a General and High Priest of Enlil and Nanna. You are a slave. What is Sargon’s choice? Believe me, he bears you no love, and though he has still a little fear of the gods in him, it’s not much. He only learned of us yesterday, after the battle, from Lipit-Sin, who had me watched. You saved Sargon’s life. That saved yours until last night. Lipit-Sin told me about your traitor, that you’d be dead within the hour. I don’t know how I held back my tears, but I left Lipit-Sin, saying that I would answer him tomorrow. He let me return to my pavilion. I thank the goddess for my loyal Mtombe, who helped me steal away to the barge.”
“They’ll be coming any time now, “I said, “searching for you.”
“We have to trust in Utu-Nanna. He swore an oath to Inanna, and he’s very religious, “said Lahalit. “I trust him.”
I remembered Utu-Nanna from the feast in the palace of Ur; he was the chamberlain who had led me to my seat and also seen us out. I saw him in my mind’s eye; hands clasped in the Sumerian way, watching us intently that night.
“Sargon has many enemies.” I said.
Urartu the Hurrian spoke softly. “Every ruler has enemies. When I was a boy, Sargon first conquered the lands. I thought of him as a uniter of people, a bringer of peace. But he has become obsessed with his power and calls himself a god. My people hate and fear him. We only serve because we want our families to live. We don’t want our towns and cities sacked. We’ll escape to Hurrian country and we’ll be safe there. Sargon could never find us in the mountain villages.”
“Hush”, whispered Mtombe. He crouched low and stayed perfectly still, a hunter’s stillness. Through the screen of jungle we could see the river channel flowing by, green and murky. There were the sounds of scraping and thumping; oars being pulled. A wooden galley. We saw it coming down the channel, slowly. On the bow stood five Akkadian warriors in full armor. They held bows and spears. I recognized two of them from Lipit-Sin’s retinue. Mtombe put his fingers to his lips, but it wasn’t necessary. The flies and crickets sang and buzzed. The slap of the galley’s oars on the water was low and rhythmic. The galley moved slowly along, just faster than the current. The Akkadians peered this way and that, scanning the banks for any sign. My heart was almost stopped in my chest. I squeezed Lahalit’s hand, and she clutched my forearm, digging her fingernails into my skin.
The galley slid past us. One of the Akkadians looked hard into the jungle and I felt sure he would spot us, but they moved on downriver and were out of sight in a moment. We breathed again, but kept silent. All was still for a minute. Then I heard the cracking sound of a branch snapping in the jungle behind the barge. Mtombe’s head swiveled to the back. There was movement in the jungle. Branches swayed and were still, and then moved again. A hand and then a head appeared in the tangle of growth. It was Utu-Nanna the Sumerian.
He signaled for silence, but waved us to come. We crept along the side of the barge. He moved back into the jungle, waving for us to follow him. One by one, we lowered ourselves into the water and waded, waist-deep into the dripping greenery. I carried Lahalit in my arms. Herakul helped her climb up the slippery bank. We slipped into the thicket, taking care with each step to not break branches underfoot. The vines and lianas, which scraped at our faces, feet, and arms made progress difficult. We slowly moved forward like a centipede crawling through the jungle
We made our way for over an hour until we came to place where the undergrowth had been cleared back a little, though the fronds above still did not let the sunlight in. In the clearing were small houses with peaked roofs, five in all, made entirely of woven reeds, tied together in the same manner as the reed boats, with cords made of reeds themselves. They were empty. I supposed the people had run off to hide, fearing the persecution of Sargon’s nearby army.
Utu-Nanna clasped his hands in the Sumerian fashion and spoke quietly.” My friends, you will be safe here until tonight. The channels are full of Sargon’s galleys right now, but our hosts, the marsh people, know the secret back ways that even we Sumerians don’t know. You will have guides who I trust who will take you up the Idiklat to a safe place tonight. Our people will help you from there.
“Utu-Nanna, my old friend, thank you, “said Lahalit, suddenly Enheduanna again. She bowed formally to the Sumerian “You have helped me in my hour of greatest need.”
“My Princess, as you have helped me and my people before. We serve the same mistress, our Lady Inanna. You know I have no love for the King.” He made a hand gesture, like a circling motion. “I ward off his evil.” He said.” The new Ensi in Uruk will soon be a cruel tyrant as well, I fear; I have watched him grow yearly more hard and greedy.” Utu-Nanna looked worried, careworn. But then he looked up and smiled.” I am happy to be of service to you, our lady.”
Lahalit bowed to him. It was a solemn moment. Even Herakul was silent and unmoving.
We rested uneasily in the huts until nightfall. No intruders came our way, and we heard no search parties. At the last of dusk, Utu-Nanna led us again through the jungle by some other trail, or lack of one, to a place on the river, still under the cover of the jungle. There were three slim reed boats drawn up there. Three small, dark-skinned men sat on the boats in the water. They clasped their hands and bowed to us, but said nothing. The language of the marsh-people is older than Sumerian. It is said that the first humans of mankind came from this place, called Ed-Enna by the Sumerians.
When it was fully dark, we got on the boats, two of us to each, with a boatman in the back with long pole and an oar. There was also an oar in the front, which our boatman signaled me to take up. Utu-Nanna bade us a silent, bowing farewell, and we thanked him by clasping his hands in ours, in the Sumerian way. Then we slid the reed boats into the water and nudged our way through the tangle of vines and fronds and into the open channel. The stars shone above. The boatmen used their poles and we were soon slipping upriver at a good pace, keeping to the side, out of the current and right near the jungle as we went. We passed from one channel to the next, and I was almost at once completely lost in the maze of small and great waterways. Once, in the middle of the night, there was a distant thudding sound of oars slipping oarlocks. Down a channel a few hundred yards away, a galley passed with torches blazing at its bows. We stayed hidden under the jungle’s eaves and then moved in when it was again quiet.
Before dawn, we laid up in another jungle spot. We stayed there all day under the fronds. The heat and insects were terrible. Our guides said not a word, but they had gourds over fresh water and a bag of dates, which sustained us. We thanked them with looks of gratitude. I don’t know what favor they owed Utu-Nanna, but it must have been great; for their task meant certain death to them should they be discovered. Of course, our death was even more certain.
At nightfall we once again headed upriver. We joined in paddling against the current and made good progress. The work was relentless. We only rested for a few minutes three times in the whole night idling along the bank out of the current. At first light, we could see that the jungle had given way to the more random stands of date palms and stretches of desert so common in Sumer. We made for the east bank of the river, for we were beyond the jungle and the braided channels now. Our guides pulled over at a spot under a grove of trees. The dawn was beginning to give substance to the land and details of the scene. I was alarmed that there were a dozen mounted men there. I wondered if we had been betrayed. But if it was so, it was too late; there was no chance of escape.
A man dressed in the robes of a priest of Enlil greeted us from the top of the sloping riverbank. I recognized him at once.
“Welcome to Elam, my friends.” He said warmly.