Click to order from Amazon.com

“What do we look for in a lord?  Strength, generosity, hardness, and success, and why should a man not be proud of those things?  Show me a humble warrior and I will see a corpse.  [Eskkar] never possessed true humility.  He was proud, and men feared him because of it, and men should fear a lord.   Reputation makes fear, and pride protects reputation, and those who marched behind him in battle shared in that pride.”

Bernard Cornwell’s “The Last Kingdom.”  P 296

Eskkar & Trella -The Beginning

   Prologue

Somewhere west of the Zagros Mountains, 3173 BC . . .

Each day, the Great Clan of the Alur Meriki resumed its endless journey across the face of the world. Behind the relentless caravan, the ravaged countryside lay bare, crops burned, the ground picked clean, its inhabitants either dead or scattered to the winds. Ahead, the fruitful land awaited the same fate. Indifferent to the suffering and death their passage inflicted, the Alur Meriki people, horses, and wagons traversed the earth. Serene within themselves and confident in their strength, little disturbed their progress.

Descended from ancestors who rode down from the northern steppes generations ago, the Alur Meriki warriors formed one of the fiercest and most powerful clans in the land. Each day, it sent forth bands of mounted and well-armed fighting men to scour the countryside, searching for loot, horses, slaves, anything of value. They lived and grew strong by taking from others. The Alur Meriki way of life demanded a constant supply of grain, livestock, tools, and new slaves.

The harsh existence of the Great Clan inured them to the misery of others whom fate placed at their mercy. According to their  customs, only those in the Clan were worthy of survival. Outsiders and dirt-eaters, those who farmed the land for their food, deserved the death and destruction that accompanied the warriors’ passage. 

For the terrified villagers, herders, or farmers in their path, the  approach of the Alur Meriki appeared as a punishment sent by angry gods. Prayers and pleas for deliverance rose up to the spirits, accompanied by promises of sacrifices in abundance should the supplicants  be spared from the barbarian wrath.

If the dirt-eaters had sufficient warning, they buried their stores of grain, seeds, and tools, before scattering their herds and fleeing  for their lives, desperate to escape the merciless horsemen. To resist the implacable warriors meant certain death; piteous acceptance might mean the dirt-eaters’ lives would be spared, at least for the present.

With their fields burned and animals taken or butchered, even those who survived the Alur Meriki’s passing often failed to live through the aftermath. Long after the barbarians departed, the ruined crops and slaughtered herds brought famine and disease to those who remained alive.

Despite the chaos and catastrophe the Alur Meriki inflicted on others, order ruled within the Great Clan. Everyone, starting with  the lowest slave, knew his place and understood his duties. Life seldom varied from day to day, and years passed in much the same manner.

Men, women, even children labored from dawn to well into  the darkness. With their clumsy wagons and straggling herds and  flocks, the elongated column could only travel five to ten miles a day. Yet each morning, the Alur Meriki caravan rolled ever onward, as unstoppable as the north wind gusting down from the mountains.

The Alur Meriki had to keep moving to survive, as the countryside they passed over soon became empty of grazing, vegetation, and game animals. As a result, the Clan seldom remained in one place for more than a few days. The constant migration imposed a hardship on its people, but the warriors had existed this way for longer than anyone could remember. Over time, the Clan grew steadily in number, and the grim horsemen extended their reach and power over the ever-widening swath of land they traversed.

At the end of the day’s journey, with the sun still a hand’s length above the horizon, the halting horn sounded and the great caravan creaked to a stop. Thousands of weary men, women, children, slaves, and animals looked forward to a night of rest and thanked their gods that another arduous day had ended. Up and down the straggling line of wagons and horses, preparation for the evening’s work began.

The women, girls, younger boys, and slaves, who’d walked beside their family’s wagons all day, now busied themselves setting up the night camp for their kith and kin, pitching tents and gathering wood  or dung chips for the campfires. With long switches in their hands, young maidens not yet women shepherded the numerous flocks of sheep, cattle, goats, and pigs that accompanied them. The weary animals nosed about for their final foraging, before settling down to their own respite.

For the Alur Meriki warriors accompanying the cavalcade, most  of their duties ended when the last wagon ceased its movement, and they worked swiftly to help their women unload their possessions  and settle in for the night. But as soon as they could get away, the men and older boys turned their attention to their precious horses.

Horses, unlike women or lesser animals, announced to everyone a warrior’s success. The number and quality of steeds a man  possessed measured his status within the Clan, and strong mounts marked the most powerful warriors. Every family safeguarded its horses with care, checking them for injuries before darkness set in, and making certain the animals had enough grazing to keep them strong. Slaves and the youngest  warriors guarded the herds at night to ensure none wandered off, or, the gods forbid, were stolen by outsiders foolhardy enough to attempt such thievery.

Afterward, the men took their ease, or practiced with sword or bow until it grew too dark, or their women summoned them to their meal. A few warriors, those lucky enough to have wine, would gather together; some imbibed too much. Quarrels might erupt, and sometimes men would fight. Such drunken altercations often turned deadly when proud warriors reached for weapons to avenge even minor insults.

The most serious conflicts took place over honor. An imagined or real slight to a warrior’s pride often resulted in drawn blades and flowing blood that could quickly escalate to entire families feuding, with more bloodshed. Another source of fighting centered around women. Jealous husbands  and fathers guarded their women as best they could, but an unwed girl bursting into womanhood might smile at a warrior as he  passed by or touch his arm, and trouble would result.

Even so, the most frequent and discordant note in the regimented  nomadic life of the Alur Meriki came not from men competing over women or honor, but from the older boys, those still not mature enough for the rite of passage into the warriors’ ranks. Trained by their fathers to ride as soon as they could cling astride a horse, and  to fight from the first day they could lift a wooden sword, these boys formed secret groups and gatherings, created their own honor code, and abided by their own customs.

The Alur Meriki produced strong, aggressive boys eager to be inducted into the warriors’ ranks. The powerful urges of youth, encouraged by their older brothers and approving fathers, led to  fights among themselves that marked the metamorphosis of boys into men. The stronger and harder a boy fought, the more battle skills he exhibited, the sooner he would reach the rank of warrior.

Once a young man attained that status, he could partake in the raids and warfare against outsiders that would enhance his reputation.  Only in this way could the new warrior enjoy women and slaves, gather loot, and in time, take a wife and start his own family.

Just as brothers within a family often wrestle amongst themselves, so too did the twelve sub-clans that made up the Alur Meriki contend among themselves. Each of these smaller clans had its own leader and obeyed its own customs.

The largest of these clans fought under the standard displaying the ruler of the animal world – the black-maned lion. The Lion Clan dominated the others, and its leader, Maskim-Xul, ruled all of the Alur Meriki as the Great Chief. Quick to anger and cunning in his  dictates, he demanded the total allegiance of each and every clan  leader.

The smallest of the twelve clans comprising the Alur Meriki was the Hawk Clan; its standard displayed an image of the desert hawk, a powerful hunter despite its diminutive size. Jamal, an experienced  and wise leader past his fortieth season, led the sixty warriors and  their families who constituted the Hawk Clan. One of Jamal’s subcommanders was Hogarthak, a strong fighter who’d earned the respect of those he commanded.

The long struggle described in the Alur Meriki chronicle songs begins with these three men – Jamal, Hogarthak, and Maskim-Xul. Their actions in a single night set the wheel of fate spinning in an  unexpected direction, turning mankind onto a new journey whose end is still unwritten.