Dawn of Empire (2 page)

Half - mended farm implements lay on the ground or on the empty benches.

But nearly half the workspace held tools for making weapons. Clay molds for swords and daggers leaned against the garden wall. Sharpening and finishing stones fi lled a shelf, and a large block of wood, nicked and hacked, showed where the swordsmith tested his new blades. The craftsman had taken his tools with him, of course, or hidden them someplace. Weapons and tools could be as valuable as horses. The blacksmith would have made a useful slave, but so important a laborer would have crossed the river at the first warning.

The smith must be a master craftsman to have such a large house. The thought gave him no pleasure. The best bronze weapons the Alur Meriki carried came from large villages like this one. He hated the fact that village smiths could create such fine weapons with apparent ease. Swords, daggers, lance and arrow points, all could be made here, and better than his own people could make.

Not that his clansmen didn’t know the mysteries of bronze and copper.

But their smaller, portable forges couldn’t match the quality or resources of a large village. Forging a strong bronze sword required care and time, two luxuries his people didn’t have, living in permanent migration.

Few warriors among his people cared about the dirt - eaters’ ways, but Thutmose - sin had a wise father, who taught him the mysteries of life. Of all the many sons of Maskim - Xul, only Thutmose - sin had been born at the fullness of the moon, the birthing time for those to whom the gods gave extraordinary perception and cunning. By the time Thutmose - sin came of age, his father had appended the rare
sin
to his name, to signify his wisdom and judgment.

Thutmose - sin understood the importance of learning about his enemies. The dirt - eaters harbored a threat even to the Alur Meriki, something his father understood well. Everyone else in the clan would have scoffed at the thought of the soft villagers competing with them. To the warriors, an enemy was some other rival steppes tribe they might encounter in their wanderings. The pathetic dirt - eaters possessed few fighters and even fewer skilled horsemen. Any of his fighters, stronger, taller, and trained in fighting and horsemanship at an early age, could kill three or more dirt - eaters in battle without difficulty.

No, the dirt - eaters didn’t know the arts of war, nor could they ever become strong fighters. But they possessed another weapon deadlier than any bow or lance: the food they coaxed out of the ground. The food that allowed them to multiply like ants, without having to hunt or fight for their nourishment. The more food they took from the earth, the more they multiplied. And some day, there might be so many of them that even the Alur Meriki could not kill them all.

That day must never come, Thutmose - sin vowed. His father grew old and soon would have to pass on the authority he had wielded for so long.

On that day, Thutmose - sin, already the favorite of the clan’s elder council, would rule the Alur Meriki. It would be his responsibility to make sure the clan grew and prospered as it always had, by conquest and pillage. He would not fail in his duty.

Hours passed before he returned to the marketplace. Warriors and their captives filled the area. Most of the crying had ceased. The new slaves knelt in the dirt, crowded together, shoulder to shoulder. The stink of their fear overpowered even the five- day - old horse smell of the warriors. He found Rethnar sitting on the ground, his back against the well, awaiting his leader’s return.

“Greetings, Rethnar. How many are there?”

“Two hundred and eighty - six taken alive, after we dug the last of them out of their burrows. Another seventy or eighty dead. More than enough for our needs. All the huts and fields have been searched. Not one tried to resist.”

“How many lived here?”

“Nearly a thousand dirt - eaters, living in this filth,” Rethnar answered, a look of disgust on his face. “A few hours earlier and we could have captured another four or five hundred.”

“We’ll need horses with wings, then.” They’d ridden as hard as they could. “Did you get any horses?”

“No, not one. No doubt anyone with a horse rode south. There are some oxen still in the fields.”

Oxen had no value, not this far from the Alur Meriki’s encampment.

Thutmose - sin had hoped for at least a few horses. Extra horses could carry more booty back. He put the thought away. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, Thutmose - sin. After we select our slaves, do we let the rest live?”

Rethnar fingered his sword.

Thutmose - sin smiled at the man’s anticipation. His second in command enjoyed killing. “No, not this time. Too many escaped us. Begin.”

Rethnar stood as he gave the orders. The warriors moved among the prisoners, selecting those unfit for work. At swordpoint, they separated the old, the young, the sick, and the infirm, driving them away from the original group. They pulled babies from their mothers’ hands, knocking the women down with their fists if they tried to resist. Two men struggled against the warriors and were cut down swiftly. Rethnar’s men wanted only those strong enough to endure what awaited them. The others, of no use, would die. Thutmose - sin had decreed it.

The culling went rapidly. Thutmose - sin watched as the warriors divided the dirt - eaters into two groups, his lips moving as he did his own count. Scarcely more than a hundred and forty would live.

When his men completed the division, Rethnar shouted the order and the killing began. Warriors moved methodically through those selected to die. Swords rose and fell. The smell of blood quickly saturated the air. Shouts and screams again echoed from the walls, as loved ones cried out to each other. The killing, efficient and swift, took little time.

Warriors found no glory in such slaughter. Few resisted. Three children tried to run, urged on by their helpless mothers, but the line of warriors held the victims in. Some called out to their gods, imploring Marduk or Ishtar to help them, but the false gods of the dirt - eaters had no power over the Alur Meriki.

When the carnage ended, Thutmose - sin mounted his horse and moved in front of those left alive, his guards standing before him, weapons in hand, as much to intimidate as to protect. Fresh tears streaked the terrified faces of both men and women. Silence quickly fell over the survivors as they looked up at this new warrior.

“I am Thutmose - sin of the Alur Meriki. My father, Maskim - Xul, rules all the clans of the Alur Meriki.” He spoke in his own language, even though he could speak the villagers’ dialect well enough. If the village had resisted, if some of them had fought bravely, he might have spoken to them directly. But to do so now would dishonor him. One of his men in-terpreted, speaking in a loud voice, so that everyone could hear their fate.

“In Maskim - Xul’s name, you are to be slaves of the Alur Meriki clan for the rest of your lives. You’ll work hard and you’ll obey every order. You will now learn what awaits those who disobey or try to run.”

He turned back to Rethnar. “Teach them.”

Rethnar called out to his men, and they began the next phase of the slaves’ training. One of his subcommanders quickly selected two men and two women. The warriors stripped the men naked, then staked them, legs spread wide apart, on the ground. The ropes stretched their limbs as much as possible to prevent the slightest movement. At the same time, other warriors herded the remaining slaves even closer together, still on their knees, so they could see the torture. All must watch and none could turn away or close their eyes.

Warriors knelt next to each bound victim. Rethnar nodded and his men began, using their knives to slice into their captives, or fist - sized stones to break or crush their flesh. The helpless men cried out in terror even before the first cut or blow. When the actual torture began, shrieks of pain rebounded off the mud walls. The torture must be drawn out, so that the victims suffered as much as possible for as long as they could endure.

Their fate would serve as an example to those forced to watch. A few spectators trembled uncontrollably in their fear, others cried in grief, but most just stared in shock. Anyone who turned away or closed his eyes received a blow from the flat of a sword.

At the same time other warriors attended to the women. A cart, one used by the villagers to display fruits or vegetables, now served another purpose. Their simple shifts ripped from their bodies, they found themselves side by side, bent backward across the cart and held down by laughing warriors, while the first group of grinning Alur Meriki lined up to take their pleasure. Both women would be raped into near insensibility, then cut to pieces, a practice that always instilled the proper amount of terror in newly captured women.

The process wouldn’t take long. Afterward there would be no resistance. The new slaves would learn the lesson their new masters intended: obey every command instantly, suffer any abuse, or face even worse punishment. The Alur Meriki had few problems with their slaves, male or female. Death by slow torture for the slightest offense, real or imagined, made for an effective deterrent that kept slaves docile while their masters worked them to death.

Thutmose - sin turned back to Rethnar and saw his subcommander pushing aside his undergarment. He’d be the first to take one, or both of the women. “Don’t let them die too soon, Rethnar.”

The rising screams of the victims drowned out Rethnar’s reply.

Thutmose - sin turned his horse and rode out of the village, three guards still accompanying him. This time he inspected the neighboring farms, studying the farmhouses, fields, and even the endless irrigation that carried water to the crops. No warrior would ever stoop to farming, but Thutmose -

sin wanted to know how this village had grown so large, how so many could be fed from these fields. The answer eluded him, however, and by the time he returned, Rethnar’s lesson had ended. The four bodies, now covered with flies, lay sprawled where they had died. Silence filled the marketplace. Obey-ing their new masters, the slaves kept silent. They’d learned the first lesson.

He dismounted, then stepped past the bodies to where the villagers knelt, their gaze fixed on the victims as they’d been ordered. A few had glanced at the Alur Meriki leader as he approached, but one brief look at his unsmiling face, and they turned their eyes back to the grisly tableau in front of them. Ignoring the men and children, he examined the women’s faces. Three or four looked comely enough.

“Bring them out for me,” he ordered his bodyguards. They grabbed those he indicated, pulling them to their feet, out of the crowd of kneeling bodies. It took only moments to rip off their garments and force them to their knees in the dirt.

These looked to be the prettiest of the lot, though Thutmose - sin knew that tears and terror could change a woman’s face. Two women, their bodies shaking, cried softly, bitter tears that would soon pass. Eyes could only hold so much water, after all. The other two just looked at him, fear and shock already fading into hopelessness.

Thutmose - sin examined each in turn, grasping their hair and pulling their faces upward. The two he chose looked older, about sixteen or seventeen seasons. He liked them at that age, when they’d learned enough about how to satisfy a man. They would please him, he knew. After what they’d seen today, they’d be frantic in their efforts to give him pleasure.

Rethnar walked over. “The lesson is ended, Thutmose - sin. Should we begin dividing the spoils? The men are eager to take the rest of the women.”

Thutmose - sin glanced at the sun, still high in the afternoon sky. “No, not until darkness. Put the slaves to work. Anything we don’t want is to be destroyed. If it can burn, I want it carried here and set afire. Everything, including the fence, the wagons, tools, clothing, everything. Smash whatever can’t be burned. Then tomorrow, have the slaves knock down every house. When the dirt - eaters return, they must fi nd nothing of value. And before you begin the march back to camp, burn all the fields as well. Everything, every animal, is to be destroyed.”

Thutmose - sin looked around at the houses surrounding him. “This village grew too large and prosperous. These dirt - eaters must be taught not to build such places again. And when you begin the journey home, load the slaves with as much as they can carry. Let only the strongest survive to reach our camp.”

Rethnar smiled. “I’ll teach them. Then you go back to the council?”

“Yes. Tomorrow I’ll take fifty men and return to my father. I’ll bring the choicest wine and women for him. If you like, send ten of your own men with gifts for your grandfather.” Rethnar’s grandfather sat on the council as well.

“Grandfather will be pleased.”

“You’ve done well, Rethnar. I’ll speak of you to my father and the council.”

It would take Rethnar close to three weeks to rejoin the clan, burdened with so many slaves and goods. And the number of slaves would increase, as Rethnar’s men visited the farmhouses they’d bypassed in their rush to the village.

Thutmose - sin mounted his horse, then turned to his guards. “Bring my women to the river.” He guided the animal through the lane, until he again reached the water’s edge. First he would see to his horse, then wash himself in the Tigris. The two women would also bathe, so that they wouldn’t bring the village stink to his bed tonight.

As he dove into the cool and cleansing water, he thought about what he’d accomplished. They’d taken much booty and slaves, and a large village would be destroyed as a lesson to the dirt - eaters. The health and power of the Alur Meriki would be greatly increased. The capture of a few hundred more slaves would have made the raid more successful, but nothing could be done about that. All in all, everything had gone well. His father and the council would be pleased.

Eleven years later, near the headwaters of the Tigris …

Thutmose - sin rode slowly through the scattered huts until he reached the edge of the bluff. From this height he observed the chilled waters of the Tigris, sparkling in the sunlight and fresh from their birth - mountains, stretching all the way to the distant northern horizon. Directly beneath the hilltop, a caravan of men and animals had begun the difficult crossing to the eastern bank.