by Sam Barone
These attackers wielded lances as well as swords. They quickly widened the half — circle of warriors who had pushed through the opening. Eskkar struck again and again, using his shield to turn their swords and spears and striking at anything within reach of his great sword.
Suddenly a loud voice behind them commanded, “Down!”
Esk kar and his men responded by habit, so well trained were they, dropping to one knee and ducking their heads under their shields. A wave of arrows flashed over their heads. Instantly Esk kar and the others arose.
They’d practiced this tactic so often that now they did it without thinking.
The volley had stopped the invaders for a moment. Esk kar and his men, behind their shields and thrusting with their swords, attacked the wavering men before they could recover, forcing the warriors back. The besiegers gave ground for a moment, but once again fresh warriors pushed their way through the ever — widening breach into Orak.
Esk kar and his swordsmen anticipated the next command, and when the shout of “Down” came again, they dropped, letting another flight of arrows cross over them before they rose and again rushed the barbarians.
The Alur Meriki hesitated, taken aback by this strange tactic, not used to fighting swordsmen and archers at the same time. Before they could recover, Grond pushed his way nearly back to the breach, carrying a dead man pinned to his shield and hurling the body into the opening.
Swinging his sword over his head, Esk kar brought it crashing down with all his strength on a warrior’s shield, slicing through it and into the man’s arm.
More defenders surrounded him. A spearman pushed in front of Eskkar, even as fresh swordsmen arrived. Twenty swords now blocked the opening. But surprisingly, no new attackers tried to force the breach, so Esk kar stepped back and looked up at the gate. The upper parapet hung crookedly from its supports, but men continued to hurl stones down on their attackers. Only now they shouted with glee and worked with renewed energy. Something strange was happening, but he had no idea what.
Esk kar turned to Grond. “Hold them here.” He needed to see what had happened in the ditch. Racing to the right side of the gate, he dashed up the steps, nearly knocking over two men carrying baskets of rocks up to the defenders, and continued all the way to the parapet. He felt it sway precariously under his weight and hoped it would hold a while longer.
This time Esk kar didn’t bother with a shield, just looked over the top of the gate, standing back to be out of sight of any archers beneath him.
What he saw stunned him. Warriors were turning back, moving away from the ditch and running to the rear. Others backed away more slowly, firing their bows as they retreated. From the sides of the village, horsemen galloped back toward the plain, urging their horses hard and ignoring the fi ght at the gate. To his surprise they didn’t slow their mounts, even when they passed out of range of Orak’s arrows. They were racing back to their camp, but he didn’t understand why.
He squinted into the sun as he looked toward the highest hilltop, ignoring the sweat that ran into his eyes. That looked different, too. More than a dozen smoke trails rose into the cloudless sky from the Alur Meriki camp.
The fires themselves couldn’t be seen, but they burned near the northern portion of the Alur Meriki main camp.
He saw movement all over the hilltop. More men came running down the hills toward Orak to join the battle. No, by the gods, they were women!
Women running away from the camp. And dozens of riderless horses galloped toward Orak as well. Something had stampeded the animals. Another movement, something different, caught his eye and he strained to make out what it was.
On the crest of one of the highest hills a lone horseman stood, wheeling his horse and waving his lance high. Attached to the lance hung a long streamer. Even at this distance, Esk kar could make out its yellow color as it rippled in the breeze. The rider waved it for a few more moments, ignoring the rapidly approaching horsemen, before he leisurely turned away and galloped over the hilltop and out of sight.
“What is it?” Sisuthros stood at his side, breathing hard, his left arm covered in blood. “What’s happening?”
Esk kar tried to laugh, but his dry throat wouldn’t permit more than a cackle. A wheezing villager came behind him with a bucket of water destined for the fire below. Esk kar grabbed it and poured it over his face, filling his mouth at the same time.
“Can’t you see, Sisuthros,” he answered when he’d slacked his thirst.
“That was Subutai, and by the gods, he’s ridden clean through their camp!”
“They’ll catch him for sure, won’t they?” Sisuthros’s voice showed concern.
Esk kar turned his gaze back to the vacant hilltop. He laughed now, his throat refreshed. “Subutai’s not that foolish. I’m sure he put his horse to a full gallop the instant he left the hilltop. He’ll have a hard run to escape them, but he’ll make it. He must have raided the camp, burned some tents, stampeded the horses, and made sure the Alur Meriki knew he was there.
That’s what made them abandon the attack, knowing that their women and children were at risk. They don’t know how few men attacked their camp.”
They stood there in silence. Esk kar watched as the last of the Alur Meriki scrambled out of the ditch and began to run as fast as they could to the rear. Many dropped swords and weapons in their haste, trying to outrace the angry arrows chasing them. Shafts struck down a few of them, as the defenders showed no mercy and lost no opportunity to take their targets.
A broad trail of bodies, arrows protruding from their backs, marked the fl ight of the barbarians. The sight saddened him and he felt strangely glad when the last escaped out of range. Many paused to shake their fists at Orak and its defenders, their anger and frustration all too evident. Others just knelt in the dust to catch their breath, too tired from fighting and running even to call curses upon their enemies.
Cheers echoed along the wall, ragged and hoarse, growing louder as those away from the gate grasped what happened. Esk kar watched the retreat and counted the lines of smoke climbing into the hot sky. The smoke streams merged, making it difficult, but he guessed at least thirty fires had been set. Not a great number, but enough to send a lot of smoke into the sky. Subutai wouldn’t have many men, but one horseman carrying a torch could do much in little time. Subutai must have prepared his men carefully. He’d learned well that lesson.
Esk kar wondered how many more men Subutai had lost and hoped the number was small. Even if the Alur Meriki had no force of warriors guarding the camp, there would have been a few boys and old men who could draw a bow. Subutai’s men faced a long and hard ride to the north, with at least a hundred warriors pursuing them.
“Could we have held them off? Without Subutai’s attack?” Blood dripped from Sisuthros’s cheek. The old wound had reopened, probably from all the shouting.
“Well, we’ll never know for sure, but I think we might have held them.
Their bowmen’s fire was weakening. Still…” He realized the cheering had taken a different note. The shouts of joy remained, but now a new, simple cry began to rise up. “Esk kar!.. Esk kar!.. Esk kar!..” the crowd roared, and in a moment it sounded as if the whole village had but one voice.
He turned and looked down into the village. It seemed like every man, woman, and child had come there, jammed into the open spaces and the lanes, with more coming and others appearing on the housetops or the wall. The shouts went on and on. He noticed movement in the mass of people crowded below. A half — dozen soldiers pushed their way through the throng, Trella in their midst. They had to force their way through the solid mass until the villagers saw who they escorted and let them pass. The chant changed and Trella’s name, too, echoed from the walls.
Esk kar looked at Sisuthros and saw his subcommander had joined in the cheering. “I’ve never seen such a thing before.” Esk kar’s words went unheard, vanishing in the swell of sound. Then Trella reached the steps.
Eager hands
guided her up the parapet until she reached Esk kar. He took her in his arms and held her tightly, to another outburst of cheers. When he let her go, she clung to his side and shouted into his ear.
“Speak to them. Tell them what they want to hear.”
He looked at her face, calm and serene, her head held high. She’d planned even for this. Esk kar raised both his arms and called for silence.
At fi rst they ignored him and shouts of “Esk kar” and “Trella” kept rising.
Eventually they quieted down, helped by those who wanted to hear what Esk kar would say. He shouted before they could begin again. “Villagers… soldiers. We have driven off the barbarians!”
Another roar went up into the sky, everyone shouting with all their strength. Esk kar had to wait a long time before he could continue. “We’ve done what no village has ever done. Now they will have to move on. You fought bravely today. Now we must tend to our wounded and bury our dead, because many good men have fought and died today. We must rebuild Orak bigger and stronger than ever before.”
Dozens of villagers cried out, “Lead us!.. Protect us!.. You must rule Orak!” In moments, every person in the village demanded the same thing. Soldiers waved their swords or bows as they shouted, while villagers uplifted their arms. Even Trella stepped aside and turned toward him, lifting up her arms and joining in the exhortation of the mob.
Esk kar raised his hand again, and after another long burst of cheering, the noise finally abated. When he spoke he used all the voice he could muster, his words carrying to all those below. “If you wish me to guide and protect you, I will do so. Do you choose me to rule in Orak?”
This time the noise sounded like thunder, Orak’s inhabitants yelling themselves hoarse with excitement and joy, as well as relief at being delivered from the barbarians. Esk kar let it go on for a moment, then raised his hands and called for silence. “Then I will lead you. There’s much work to do, but now we can begin.”
The crowd cheered again. Esk kar stood there, keeping his right arm raised in acknowledgment. It took a long time before the voices began to die down. “Now, back to your tasks!” he shouted, and turned away from the crowd.
He led Trella down the parapet. At the base of the gate, Corio, Bantor, and Gatus waited. Esk kar gave instructions to secure the gate, tend to the wounded, and bury the dead. There would be no rest yet for the villagers.
They had to rebuild the gate and secure it before nightfall. Esk kar told Gatus to send archers back to the walls, post sentries, and keep the soldiers alert.
When Esk kar finally finished giving these and a dozen other orders, Trella faced him.
“Now that everything is being done as you command, we must walk through the village and speak to as many of the people as you can.”
He took her hand, smiling for the first time in days. “And what am I to say to the people?”
“Thank each of them for their work today and in the past months. Tell them how much our success today depended on their efforts. Say that in as many different ways as you can.”
A group of women approached, carrying cloths soaked in water. They washed the blood and dirt from Esk kar’s body, one of them kneeling to clean his feet and sandals. Then, surrounded by the Hawk Clan, he and Trella walked through Orak. They went down every lane and stopped at nearly every house. Esk kar accepted thanks and praise while he repeated the same message-that Orak owed it all to them, that they were the real victors, and that he thanked the gods for their help. While they walked, messengers still came to him, with questions or requests for orders.
He answered these, but Trella refused to let him abandon the walk.
“This is more important,” she told him when he grew impatient. “Now, when the victory is fresh in their minds, you must win them to your side once again. They’ll be your power in the coming months, until we’re truly secure as Orak’s rulers. They’ll remember your words of praise and grati-tude forever.”
He sighed but kept smiling. Trella, who planned for everything, had foreseen and planned this moment as well, so he felt prepared for his task.
As they moved through the lanes, several of the women, Bantor’s wife among them, preceded their way, encouraging the people, suggesting to them what to say, and shouting blessings to them. Even at the moment of victory, Trella guided and directed the villagers, moving the common people to her will. He shook his head in wonderment, but kept the smile on his face as he gave thanks to the people, holding tight to Trella’s hand.
28
By sunset Esk kar swore he’d spoken with every man and woman inside Orak’s walls, a task that exhausted him almost as much as the morning’s fighting. While he thanked the villagers, his men worked or cared for the wounded. Later Trella served a simple dinner with no thought of a celebration feast. Too many had died, and angry warriors remained camped beyond the hills.
Esk kar wanted to rest but despite the long and strenuous day, he felt restless. He decided to take one last look at the Alur Meriki camp. Taking Trella’s hand and accompanied by four guards, they walked through the lanes, ignoring the revelry.
By the time they reached the tower the crowd had disappeared. They climbed the steps that still stank from all the blood shed. From the top they looked out over the empty fields that reeked of death.
Beneath them Corio’s men worked on the gate in the fading light, though fires made from Alur Meriki shields had already been lit. Craftsmen hammered steadily, adding so much wood to the gate that it appeared twice as thick as before. They used lumber left behind by the barbarians. The thrifty master artisan had brought everything usable inside the village.
Sisuthros had cleared the ditch of the enemy dead, though on the far side bodies still lay where they had fallen. That task had taken most of the afternoon. They stripped the bodies of their valuables, weapons, and clothes before dumping them in the river. The ditch had been swept smooth, the ruts and holes filled, and debris removed. They’d recovered the arrows and stones as well. The weapons had been inspected, cleaned, and readied for the next attack, and the stones again stacked in readiness.
Orak’s dead lay in orderly rows near the river gate. Tomorrow the ferry would be dragged out of the village and its ropes reconnected. The initial cargo would be Orak’s dead, to be buried in mass graves on the west bank.
Earlier Esk kar had received the count of enemy dead-they’d killed more than three hundred and seventy warriors today. Many more Alur Meriki would be suffering from wounds.
The long summer sun dipped below the western horizon behind them but enough light remained to let them see across to the hills. Campfires outlined the hills against the coming darkness. Across those hilltops a line of mounted barbarians stood guard, watching the village.
“It seems strange, Trella,” Esk kar said, after pointing them out, “now it’s they who fear we may attack them.”
“Not so strange, husband. In the last few months you killed nearly eight hundred of them and wounded many more.”
“They’ve learned a bitter lesson. Half of their fighting men are dead.
Even the Alur Meriki cannot ignore such losses.”
“You’re sure they won’t attack again? Everyone just assumes the battle is over.”
He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “No, the siege is broken. They’ve lost too many men and too much equipment.
Even their horses have been scattered again. It would take them weeks to get ready for another attack and they’re already late in their journey south.
Besides, the warriors have no stomach for another assault. Without a new plan, Thutmose — sin, or whoever leads them, dares not propose another assault unless he can guarantee victory.”
“They almost captured the gate, didn’t they? Might they just try that again?” She leaned her head back against his chest.
He felt her relax against him, soft and warm in his arms, and enjoyed the sensation. “No. Because we held them, and they know in their hearts we co
uld do it again. They fear us now. They won’t underestimate us next time. When they return in ten or fifteen years, it will be different. By then they’ll have new plans and new warriors ready for a fresh challenge.”
He thought about that for a moment. “In a way we’ve changed them as much as they have changed us. They’ll have to learn new ways of fighting.
Knowledge of what we’ve done here will spread. Other villages will resist them.”
Her hands clasped his and again her strength surprised him.
“Yes, other villages will try, but they will fail. They’ll have no one with your strength and courage, Esk kar. You’re a great leader of soldiers and you understand how and why men fight. The Alur Meriki came here not expecting any strong resistance. They made no real preparations to capture the village, even though they knew we were building a wall. You were always a step ahead of them. You anticipated their plans and they never caught up with yours. No other man in Orak could have accomplished what you did in the last few months. You have truly won a great victory.”
Her hands caressed his. “But more important than that, is what you have become. More than anyone, you’ve changed into someone better, someone wiser.”
“And without you, I’d have failed,” Esk kar replied. “You made the villagers work, organized the craftsmen, got the people to support me, and kept the nobles at bay. Without you, there would be no victory. Every soldier that fought today knows that.”
She stayed silent for a moment. “Today many may know that. But in a few months, only your name will be spoken as conqueror of the barbarians. Only the victors in battle are remembered, it seems. I suppose that is a good thing.”
She turned in his arms and faced him. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she looked into his eyes. “Do you truly wish to rule here in Orak, husband? Ruling the village will be different from planning for a siege. It will be even more difficult. A new wall, much higher and stronger, must be built, and it must encompass twice as much land as does this one. You will be building walls for many years, as well as training men to defend them.
