by Sam Barone
This arrangement satisfied the honor of both clans, and the Alur Meriki warriors understood they would not have to follow the orders of an Ur Nammu leader unless both Bekka and Suijan were dead. And by then, Sargon knew, whoever led the remaining fighters would matter little.
Sargon followed Bekka’s example. None of the clan leaders ever gave him direct orders. In battle, however, he would be expected to follow Subutai’s commands. .
Standing in the shadow of a large boulder, the clan leaders studied the landscape. Den’rack identified the various landmarks, and pointed out the trails that led to the village from both the south and the east.
Sargon resisted the urge to offer suggestions. He knew that Bekka would give him an opportunity to speak, and if Sargon disapproved of the plan, he would make his thoughts known.
Chief Bekka didn’t take long to grasp the situation. “We need to cut the village off, so that no word of our attack escapes. Den’rack, you know the countryside best. You and Prandar will ride with Suijan, and guide him. Encircle the village to the east and south. Subutai and Virani will take their men straight toward Zanbil. Unegen and I will follow the foothills, and get between the Pass and Zanbil. We will make sure that no riders can slip past us to warn Modran.”
“Yes, Chief Bekka.” Den’rack couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. “We will need time to get into position.”
“Hurry, then,” Bekka answered. “Remember, not one man can escape.”
Out of sight of Zanbil, the warriors made their preparations. Soon nearly six hundred men departed. They would backtrack for nearly a mile. From there, Sargon knew they would turn east, keeping out of sight of the village, until they were in position.
Bekka leaned back against the boulder. “At least our men will get a chance to rest their horses. Once Suijan launches his attack, we will have to ride like the wind.”
Sargon stared at the village. It seemed peaceful enough, the soldiers there unaware of the terror that would soon be upon them. Still, this was war, and these men planned to destroy Akkad and the other cities in the Land Between the Rivers.
“Are you worried about something?” With the chiefs making their preparations, Garal had rejoined his companion.
Sargon smiled at his friend’s concern. “No, not any longer. During the ride, I had my doubts that we would arrive here unopposed. But it seems we will surprise the Elamites after all.”
“Perhaps some of your father’s luck now guides your footsteps.”
References to his father no longer troubled Sargon. “I hope it does. This campaign, there is much that can go wrong. Even if we drive the Elamites back, they may return again in a year or two, this time better prepared.”
“Did we not smash the Carchemishi, beat them so badly that few escaped our riders? They have withdrawn all the way to Carchemish, and who knows if they will ever have the stomach to ride into our lands again.”
“The Elamites are stronger than the foolish Carchemishi, and more cunning. But you may be right. My father thinks so, too. Beat them hard enough, show them they can’t win, he says, and their will to fight again will vanish.”
“The Alur Meriki, and the Ur Nammu, too, have fought many battles. But your father knows how to win. He has fought alone many times, like the day he slew Thutmose-sin. Out here, in these lands, if something goes wrong, we can just ride away. It takes much courage to stand in one place and face an enemy five or six times your number. And Subutai says Eskkar will have little chance to fall back if he is defeated. Yet he rode into the Dellen Pass to confront his enemy.”
“My father once told me that courage follows once you’ve picked your course of action. If the Pass can be held, he will hold it. His soldiers are both tough and skilled.”
The waiting continued. Bekka and the other leaders paced among the warriors, confirming that each man knew what he had to do. The horses were examined yet again, to make sure each mount had the stamina for one final charge. Men strung their bows and tested their draw. Arrows were loosened in quivers, and everyone sharpened their swords and knives. The tasks helped fill the time until Suijan and Den’rack completed their encircling movement.
Sargon heard a murmur pass through the warriors, as they caught sight of Suijan and his riders. Even before Bekka gave the order, men swung themselves up on their horses, everyone impatient to launch the attack.
Subutai, too, appeared more than ready to ride. Sargon and Garal mounted their horses, and took their place behind Chinua and Fashod.
Chief Bekka called out to Subutai and Virani, who acknowledged the command.
“We ride.” With those two words, Subutai led the way. The horses descended the final slope to reach the level ground. In moments, the Ur Nammu warriors spread out, dividing into three main groups. Now Chinua took the lead, with Sargon and Garal riding just behind the clan leader.
Glancing to his right, Sargon saw the long column of Bekka’s warriors also on the move. The terrain that led to their destination, the mouth of the Dellen Pass, was more rugged, and it would take them longer to reach their position.
Virani and Subutai’s men, now spread out in a wide line, kept the already excited horses to an easy canter. They held that pace for the first mile. Looking ahead, Sargon saw no signs of alarm, no Elamite soldiers scurrying about. Clutching his lance, Sargon watched the distance between the riders and the village close, until only a half mile remained.
By now, even the most careless of sentries would have heard the horses approaching. Subutai flashed his sword over his head, and the warriors burst into a gallop. At the same time, they voiced their war cries, the dreaded sound of the steppes warriors riding into battle.
Looking ahead, Sargon now observed the panic sweeping over the villagers. Some of the soldiers reached for their weapons, but most, after one look at the nearly five hundred warriors descending upon them, turned and ran, desperate to get to their horses.
But the Elamites had no chance. Even those who leapt onto their horses could already see the column of warriors approaching from the east, a long line of men that would stretch across the trail that led south. Suijan’s riders would extend that line until it reached the base of the foothills, blocking any chance of escape.
Subutai’s warriors thundered into the village. Sargon had expected the Elamites to resist, but there were far fewer soldiers than he anticipated, and only a handful tried to put up a fight. The horsemen, still screaming their war cries, launched arrows at anything that moved.
Standing or fleeing, the Elamites were cut down. Those who could not reach a horse ducked into the houses to hide, but the warriors were already swinging down from their mounts, to search each hut. When they emerged, blood streaked every sword blade.
Sargon ignored the chaos and the screams. He rode straight through the village, halting only when he reached the other side. No more than ten or fifteen Elamites had galloped away, but even as he watched, he saw Suijan’s men angling toward them. The desperate Elamites tried to dodge this new threat, but they were far too late. Within moments, Sargon witnessed the last of the fleeing riders riddled with arrows.
Satisfied that no enemy had slipped away, Sargon turned his horse back to the village. Screams now filled the air, not the sounds of men dying in pain, but those of the women. Captured, they would be raped before they found their own release in death. Sargon slipped down from his horse in front of the largest hut in the village. Subutai was there, and three Elamites, their hands tied behind their backs, knelt in the dirt before him.
Glancing at the prisoners, Sargon saw that they were all soldiers. One had taken a shaft in his left arm, another had a large bruise on his forehead.
Fashod and Chinua strode over, both smiling grimly. “Our men are searching the village,” Chinua said. “Every body will have a lance thrust into its throat, to make sure they are truly dead.”
“Are there any more prisoners?” Subutai glanced around what had once been the center of the village.
�
�No, Chief Subutai.” Fashod gestured toward the kneeling men. “Only these three, and the women.”
“Sargon will want to question them,” Subutai said. “Chinua, have some of your men help him. Tell our warriors to leave the women alive. They may be of use.”
The captured men did not speak the language of the steppes, but they realized that they were being discussed. Sargon saw the fear in their eyes. If they’d been standing, they would have collapsed to their knees. He moved to face them.
“I am Sargon, son of King Eskkar of Akkad. You are my prisoners, and you will answer my questions.”
He saw the surprise in their eyes that anyone riding with steppes warriors would speak their language. But for the last few months, Sargon had studied the Elamite tongue from a captured Elamite trader, snatched up from an ale house late at night, and taken to Annok-sur’s farm for interrogation. In exchange for his life, the prisoner promised to teach the Elamite speech to the Akkadians. When he’d finished that task, Annok-sur had sent the man north to the Ur Nammu, to teach Sargon.
Sargon had a good grasp of several languages, and he knew these men understood his words. “You will be separated, and I will question each of you. At least one of you will have a chance to live, as I intend to send a message to King Shirudukh. But anyone that hesitates, or if one of your answers does not match what the other two say, that man will go to the torture.”
Sargon gestured toward Garal, standing a few paces away. “The Ur Nammu prefer to let their women torture prisoners, but these warriors know the ways of pain. A pole sharpened at one end will be buried in the earth, and anyone who displeases me will sit on it. The pain will be intense, and it will take you at least a day before you die. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Lord.” The oldest of the three, and only one not injured, bowed his head. “I will answer your questions.”
“Then I will see.” Sargon turned to Garal, and explained what he wanted.
The Elamites were dragged across the open space, until each was at least fifty paces away from one another. A warrior stood behind each of them, a club or stick in his hand, to ensure that answers would be both forthcoming and rapid.
Sargon started with the oldest. The man’s name, where he came from, why he went to war, how many men were with him, those easy questions established the pace. When he asked about Modran, the prisoner hesitated the slightest moment. Sargon nodded to the guard standing behind the man. The warrior, using both hands, swung his thick stick, likely part of a tent pole, across the Elamite’s back.
The blow knocked the man forward, wrenching a cry of pain from his lips. At first Sargon thought the guard had broken the captive’s back. With a grunt, the guard pulled the stunned soldier by his hair back onto his knees.
“There won’t be a next time,” Sargon remarked. “If I think you’re lying, or trying to hide information, you go on the stake. Once your companions hear your screams, they’ll be only too glad to tell me what I want to know.”
The interrogation took the rest of the afternoon. But before the sun began its descent, Sargon had all the information the prisoners possessed.
Bekka returned, and the clan chiefs gathered around. “The entrance to the Pass is secured,” Bekka said. “I ordered twenty riders into the Pass, to go in about three miles, and watch for anyone coming in either direction. If they see only a few riders heading for Zanbil, they’ll let them pass. If it’s a large force, they’ll return as fast as they can ride, to warn us. I’ve also stationed another twenty right at the entrance. They’ll stop anyone who tries to enter.”
Suijan spoke next. “I’ve ringed the village with riders. They’ll remain concealed, at least half a mile away, so that anyone trying to come to this place from the south won’t see them. No one will get in or out without our knowing it.”
Bekka turned to Subutai.
“There were sixty-four men and sixteen women in the village,” Subutai said. “We killed them all, except for the three Sargon wanted to question and nine women. None of our men were killed or wounded. The village is full of supplies, including grain and bread. There are ninety head of cattle in the pen, so we have more than enough to feed our men for five or six days. We captured thirty horses. I’ve everything under guard, until you decide how to dispose of them.”
Loot taken in battle belong to the clan leader. He determined how to distribute or destroy the material.
Bekka grunted. “We’ll eat our fill. Sargon can choose what to do with the rest.”
Eyes went to Sargon. “The three prisoners have told me what they know. Lord Modran’s army entered the Pass three days ago, around midday, with somewhere between twenty-eight thousand and thirty-thousand men. At least nine thousand were mounted, but the army travels slowly. Once in the Pass, with its steep hills, they’ll be unlikely to make more than fifteen or twenty miles a day.”
“Even so, by now they have probably encountered Eskkar’s forces. If they sent their cavalry on ahead, they would have found the Akkadians even sooner,” Bekka said. “That might cause Modran to pick up the pace.”
“Perhaps, but the prisoners said most of the horsemen were at the back of the column,” Sargon answered. “Still, even a few scouts might have encountered my father’s men by now.”
Armies comprised of foot soldiers and cavalry usually marched in two separate columns. In the narrow confines of the Dellen Pass, the soldiers would have led the way, so as to not be constantly stepping and slipping on horse dung.
“Well, that doesn’t concern us for now,” Bekka said. “Our task is to close the Pass and keep any supplies or men from entering. And that’s what we’re going to do, for as long as we can.”
Chapter 30
The morning after the battle in the Dellen Pass, Eskkar woke well before the dawn, as did his men. When the sun appeared in the sky, every Akkadian stood ready to repel a new assault. But dawn came and went, and even by midmorning, Eskkar observed no signs of another attack in the making. The Elamites, he decided, must be licking their wounds while they prepared for their next attempt.
Also, with so many men crammed into the narrow confines of the Dellen Pass, even moving a single troop from one position to another obviously required both coordination and time. No doubt Lord Modran wanted to be sure of his men and his plan before the next attack.
Whatever the reason, by midday Eskkar decided that the Elamites would not come against him today. The gods could have sent him no greater gift. Eskkar fed and rested his men, inspected their weapons, and made sure every man remembered his position. Only Shappa’s fighters kept busy, using the extra time to chisel and carve more steps and handholds into the cliffs. They widened some ledges as well, to take even more advantage of the cliff walls.
Supplies continued to arrive from Akkad, the exhausted porters dumping their loads as fast as they could. Most appeared too afraid for more than a single glance down the slope at the invaders. After receiving their payment token from the scribes, they turned around and headed for home.
Trella’s supply men had prepared enough food and weapons for fifteen days, though no one expected that Modran could stay and fight for so long, even if he were resupplied from Zanbil. But as Trella reminded Eskkar and his commanders, better to have too much on hand than too little.
During the war with Sumer, Eskkar had learned one lesson well. Victories could be won by the side that best maintained its supply lines, and ensured regular deliveries of food, water, and weapons. Trella’s efforts, even though she remained behind in Akkad, might do as much to win this battle against Modran as the sword arms of Eskkar’s men.
Alexar and Drakis kept a careful watch on the Elamites throughout the day, lest they suddenly launch a surprise attack. The long day faded into dusk, and a new worry emerged. While none of the Akkadians expected a night attack, the possibility existed. Which meant the men would sleep in their formations, weapons at the ready.
After dark, slingers would slip out into the empty space between the two armies,
to keep watch on the Elamites. During the day, Eskkar had found time to grab some sleep, knowing that the night would be a long one, and that a major attack might come with the dawn.
The night passed slowly, with many alerts and challenges issued. Men imagined they heard the enemy on the move, or claimed they saw movement in the Pass. But Eskkar trusted Shappa’s sentries, skilled in moving through the darkness, to provide plenty of warning.
The first glow from the morning sun again found Eskkar fully accoutered and staring down the slope toward the Elamite position.
“They’ll come this morning,” Eskkar told Alexar and the other commanders.
“A whole day and a half to prepare, and they still aren’t ready to attack.” Drakis spat to show his contempt. “The longer they mill around, the weaker their will to fight. They’ve had plenty of time to think about dying.”
Eskkar grunted. The Elamites were brave soldiers accustomed to victory. They would find the strength to hurl themselves against Akkad’s soldiers.
“Perhaps you should talk to the men, Captain,” Mitrac suggested. “It might help them with their own preparations.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Eskkar said. He’d meant to do this yesterday, but hadn’t had time to prepare.
Nonetheless, he wanted to speak to the Akkadians, to rally them for the next encounter. However, before he did that, he needed some quiet place to think. Although with men coming and going, always asking questions or bringing reports, Eskkar knew he would have little time or private space to compose his mind. Then he thought of the one place where he could arrange his thoughts without distraction.
He summoned his guards, always standing nearby. “Petra, Chandra, come with me.”
With Petra and Chandra following a few steps behind, Eskkar strode through the ranks of spearmen and out into the Pass. He continued down the slope until he reached the first of the enemy dead, their bodies already stinking and starting to bloat. Flies crawled over the bodies, into the open mouths and blood-crusted wounds.
