Conflict of Empires
Conflict of Empires
Sam Barone
Centry • London
Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Also By Sam Barone
Map
Book I – The Gathering
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Book II – Preparation for War
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Book III - Battle for Empire
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
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Copyright © Sam Barone 2010
Sam Barone has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
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To all those warriors throughout the ages who fought honorably for their country. And to Bill O’Reilly, a different kind of fighter, but a culture warrior nonetheless.
ALSO BY SAM BARONE
Dawn of Empire
Empire Rising
Book I – The Gathering
1
3154 BCE – the city of Sumer on the great southern sea …
Yavtar guided the sturdy ship through the swirling water of the Tigris, toward the Sumerian dock, now less than two hundred paces away, that marked the end of the voyage. On shore a crowd of idlers followed his approach, ready to note the smallest mishap. A portly man attended by two guards pushed his way to the forefront. As Yavtar edged the Southern Star ever closer, he observed the yellow sash tied across the man’s bulging stomach that marked him as one of the king’s representatives, most likely the dockmaster. Arms folded, the man reached the head of the last empty dock and stood there, awaiting the ship’s arrival.
For this important mission Yavtar had traveled day and night, racing downriver from Akkad to Sumer in less than four days. Now he almost regretted the haste, as he had to bring the Star ashore at midday, the peak of dockside activity. Since he hadn’t made a single stop along the way, this would be his first landfall in almost four months. A sailing master who spent more time on land than water soon lost his skills, so Yavtar swallowed his pride and muttered a prayer to the river gods to help him achieve a safe landing.
The Southern Star’s extra length – she stretched almost twenty-five paces from stem to stern – made her unwieldy in cross-currents. If he misjudged the current when he turned the Star toward land, the swiftness of the water could drive him downstream, stern first, accompanied by laughter and catcalls from shore. Having to come about and pull upwards against the river’s flow would be a humiliating and slow arrival.
Yavtar gauged the moment, then leaned hard on the steering oar, forcing it against the current and almost broadside to the flowing water.
“Drop the sail!” he barked.
A crewman stretched out his arm and jerked hard against the restraining rope. The square linen sail slid down with a thud.
“Pull, you dogs, pull!”
The four crewmen grunted against the sweeps, their bare feet straining for purchase. As the Star edged closer to the shore, the force of the river churned against the length of the hull. The vessel canted over as the pressure increased, and through his feet Yavtar felt the ship pitch up and down against the conflicting forces of water and oars. He caught a glimpse of his five passengers, huddled around the ship’s single mast, and clutching at it for support, their eyes wide with excitement.
The Southern Star began to swing around, and now the bow was less than fifty paces from the dock. For a moment Yavtar thought he’d waited too long. His hand twitched with tension, gripping the steering oar with all his strength, as the Tigris’s powerful current sought to roll the ship over and send the crew and their valuable cargo tumbling beneath the water. He forced himself to wait one more moment, then planted his feet firmly and pulled the steering oar in the opposite direction.
“In oars!”
Spray splashed over the Star’s bow, and Yavtar feared she might roll over. An instant later, the river relented. As smooth as a leaf floating on the current, the ship glided alongside the dock, and slid gently into its berth with the slightest bump against the rope-wrapped stanchions. Yavtar allowed himself a brief smile. Despite more than two months sinc
e his last voyage, his eye still hadn’t lost the skill acquired in nearly thirty years on the river.
Two crewmen leapt onto the dock to secure the vessel fore and aft. The moment the Star stopped moving, the early summer heat struck down from the cloudless, blue sky like a hammer.
“Well done, shipmaster,” Daro said, joining Yavtar at the stern. “I thought we were going for a swim. At least you didn’t give those hooligans anything to hoot about.”
Daro and his four soldiers were the passengers the Star carried, though that term didn’t explain their presence. They were there to protect the ship’s very secret and valuable cargo.
“Not bad for a farmer,” Yavtar agreed with a laugh. Not that anyone thought of him as a farmer, especially now that he owned the largest number of ships in Akkad. His vessels carried cargoes on both the Tigris and Euphrates.
As Yavtar approached his fortieth season, he traveled less and less on the great Tigris, the river that, only a few years ago, had carried him into battle with Lord Eskkar and brought him so much wealth. Now he preferred to spend more of his days on the large farmstead south of Akkad, purchased with his victor’s profits and surrounded by his two wives and a growing brood of energetic children.
Nevertheless, Yavtar still felt the urge to experience water flowing beneath his feet, so he often accompanied more valuable cargoes, if for no other reason than to keep a watchful eye on his hired shipmasters. This trip, despite the worth of its goods, had other, more urgent reasons for bringing Yavtar downriver.
“Is this vessel from Akkad?”
The dockmaster’s abrupt words brought Yavtar back to the present, and he lifted his eyes to the wharf. The officious man with the yellow sash had advanced onto the dock, his bored guards still in attendance, and now stood frowning down into the boat. Looking up, Yavtar perceived the man’s stomach in all its glory, bulging against his tunic from too much food and too little labor. “I’m Yavtar, owner of this boat and –”
“Do you come from Akkad?” The way the dockmaster uttered the name of the city turned a simple question into an insult.
“Yes, by the order of King Eskkar. We carry –”
“The only king I know is King Eridu of Sumeria,” the man said, not bothering to hide the disrespect. “You will discharge your cargo as soon as possible. Only you and your sailing master will be permitted to leave the dock or enter the city. If any of your crew steps onto shore,” he jerked his head toward the riverbank, “they’ll end up as slaves.”
The border disputes between Akkad and Sumer had intensified over the last few months, and now affected routine trade. Yavtar glanced toward the city walls and saw a handful of soldiers standing just outside the gate. He counted ten men and their commander.
“And before any cargo is landed, King Eridu has decreed a fee of three silver coins to be paid.”
Yavtar frowned at the outrageous price. On his last trip to Sumer, little more than a year ago, the dockmaster had charged only a single silver, and that was more of a personal bribe than anything official. “And what do I receive in return for this large sum?”
“You are permitted to use the dock until dusk tomorrow. By then, you must be on your way, or you will be charged another three silvers,” the man said, smiling broadly at Yavtar’s discomfort. “If you can’t afford to pay, take your ship and your goods back to your barbarian king.”
Behind Yavtar, the crew and the Akkadian soldiers who guarded the cargo began to mutter at the slur. The last thing he wanted was trouble.
“Then it is my pleasure to make payment,” Yavtar said. He climbed onto the wharf, reached into his pouch, and withdrew four silver coins. “And perhaps you could dispatch a messenger to fetch Merchant Gemama. Meanwhile, I would be most grateful if you could order your work crew to carry the cargo off the dock. I’m certain Merchant Gemama is waiting most anxiously for his goods.” Yavtar dropped the silver coins in the dockmaster’s open palm. The extra one would find its way into the man’s private pouch. “And since I am my own sailing master, I will need one of my guards to accompany me in Sumer.”
After a quick scrutiny to verify their quality, the coins disappeared. “Very well, one servant may accompany you into Sumer. I’ll send a slave to Gemama.” The dockmaster turned away and negotiated his way through the crowd until he reached the awning and chair that awaited him on the riverbank. As the man settled into his seat, he gave orders to the overseer of the work gang. At the slavemaster’s command, they shuffled wearily toward the Akkadian craft.
Yavtar jumped back into the boat, where his four crewmen waited. “Hand up the cargo to the slaves, and make sure they don’t spill anything. Don’t let any of them into the boat, or the dockmaster will accuse us of trying to steal them.” He stepped closer to his crew. “You heard what he said about staying on the dock. You might as well stay on board, unless you want to spend the rest of your lives in Sumer.”
The transfer of goods began. The bulk of the cargo was specialty foods – peas, sesame seeds, exotic dates, spices, and sacks of the finest wheat for bread-making, all products in short supply in Sumer at this time of year. Once satisfied that his crew could manage the unloading, Yavtar turned to the leader of the soldiers. “My crewmen will keep the king’s goods under their eyes until Gemama arrives with his gold. You make sure nothing happens to that pouch.”
The vessel’s real cargo, a double-bound leather pouch with a thick strap, now hung from Daro’s shoulder. He nodded, and fingered the sword at his side. “We’ll keep it safe, Yavtar.”
“And tell your men not to stare at the guards on the shore. We’re not here to pick a quarrel with the Sumerians.”
The crew continued unloading, passing the bags, sacks, and bundles to the slaves on the dock. Yavtar watched the proceedings with care, counting each and every item from habit. The master crewman did the same. The work-gang slaves had to be watched carefully, of course. A dropped sack, a slit cut surreptitiously into the side of a sack, and goods would disappear in a blink. Besides, Merchant Gemama would recount and re-examine each item before he took possession, and the numbers would need to agree before payment would be arranged. The specialty goods would fetch a very good price, but then would come the real haggling over the ship’s true cargo.
The leather pouch guarded by Daro and the Akkadian soldiers contained lapis lazuli, the finest to be found anywhere in the land. The precious stones had traveled a long and dangerous journey from the distant and almost unknown eastern lands to Akkad. The profit from that sack alone would more than triple the gains made by the rest of the cargo.
The bulk of the Southern Star’s cargo soon rested on the dock. Master Gemama arrived only moments later, attended by his own porters and three armed guards. His bald head shone in the sun, and he carried almost as much weight around his stomach as the dockmaster.
“Ah, Yavtar, good to see you, old friend,” he shouted as he climbed down into the boat. “It’s been a long time since you’ve landed here. A safe journey, I hope?”
“Smooth and fast, just the way I like it.” Yavtar smiled at the Sumerian merchant, who also wore a yellow sash over his linen tunic, marking him as a king’s man. They had known each other for more than twenty years, trading, arguing, and bargaining the whole time. Yavtar trusted the man, as much as anyone could ever trust a Sumerian.
The haggling over, the regular cargo went quickly, and Yavtar negotiated a bit more than he expected, no doubt Gemama’s way of giving thanks for the speedy delivery.
After the gold exchanged hands, Gemama lowered his voice. “And you have something special for me?”
“Come and see.” Yavtar gestured toward the Akkadian soldiers standing beside Daro.
“No, not here,” Gemama said, glancing around. “We’ll take it to my house. Afterwards, you’ll join me for dinner.”
Yavtar hesitated. The gems should be examined here, at the dock, and the price established and agreed to. Once on shore, anything could happen. Gemama could even change his mind.
The Sumerian saw the hesitation. “No, nothing like that.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll meet your outrageous price, whatever it is. But I’d rather not have everyone in Sumer know what’s arrived.”
Yavtar rubbed his black beard for a few moments. The rare gemstones, no matter what their worth, really mattered little. His true goal was to obtain information. “Very well.” He moved closer to Gemama, lowered his voice, and named his price. “Half on account, and half in gold.”
“Done,” said Gemama, without a single protestation. “I’ll return with the gold as soon as I get the regular shipment secured.”
Before Yavtar could change his mind, Gemama dashed off, his guards and porters scurrying behind him, everyone keeping a watchful eye on the slaves shuffling under their burdens.
“Damn these devious Sumerians anyway,” Yavtar muttered.
“Is anything wrong?” Daro asked, moving to stand beside the trader.
“No, nothing. You just guard that pouch and don’t let anything distract you from it or the gold when it arrives. And you’ll have to stay awake all night. Thieves sometimes slip on-board from the water, snatch what they can, then dash away in the current. And don’t let anything that happens on shore distract you, either. That’s another old trick in the game.”
“The gold will be safe, noble Yavtar,” Daro said.
Yavtar believed him. The Hawk Clan could always be relied upon, and Daro had proven his worth many times. Yavtar glanced at the shore. The officious dockmaster continued observing every detail, so Yavtar smiled at him, then sat down in the stern to wait. He used the time to study the busy dock with its throngs of hurrying people. Sumer appeared fully as bustling as Akkad, only under a hotter sun. A splash of water from over the side cooled his face, and he dangled his hand in the river, enjoying the push of the current.
Here, only a few miles from the Great Sea, the Tigris still had power, though much of its strength had diminished as the river divided again and again into ever-narrower channels. Those channels spread into dozens of streams that all emptied themselves into the vast body of water that marked the southern boundary of these lands. Sumer’s inhabitants, in their pride, now called it the Sumerian Sea, as if they alone ruled its vast expanse.