Conflict of Empires

by Sam Barone

  Meskalum moved his horse forward to join the leaders. “Not far now, captain. We should be there by sundown.”

  Eskkar made the calculation. About ten or twelve more miles, if the guide didn’t miss a landmark and get lost. Even after all these years, he still disliked following someone else’s lead. But he had no choice. No man could master every trail and landmark in such a vast land. “Then it’s not likely there would be any other bands of warriors nearby. Break out the standard.”

  Grond pulled the yellow streamer, as long as a man was tall, from his sack. Meskalum fastened it to the tip of his bow. The wind lifted the cloth and sent it billowing.

  “Everyone keep your eyes open,” Eskkar said. “It’s an old barbarian trick to keep your attention on one band while another slips up on you from behind. Meskalum, take the point.”

  With the guide out front, Eskkar set the pace at an easy canter. He didn’t want to tire the horses, since one never knew if they would be needed to run or fight. And whether they reached the agreed upon place by sundown or not didn’t matter. Meetings like this, arranged so long in advance and through so many intermediaries over great distances, could never be exact as to time. Five, even ten days early or late would be considered normal.

  The riders continued the journey and, after a time, the horsemen on the hillside matched their pace and direction. As the sun descended, the two groups of riders began to converge.

  “Looks like they know where we’re headed,” Grond observed. He’d fought against men such as these twice before, and had a healthy respect for their fighting skills.

  “Let’s hope they’re not getting ready to ambush us,” Hathor said. “All this empty land – no villages or farms – makes me nervous.”

  Everyone remained alert, and Eskkar stopped twice more, to study the land and the obvious ambush sites. A little before sundown they topped a hill and saw a meandering stream, bordered with willow trees. Beneath their shade, a thick belt of grass grew down to the water’s edge. Two tents marked a campsite, and the blackened remains of a fire pit showed even from the top of the hill. A small herd of horses, penned in by a rope corral and guarded by a mounted rider, gave Eskkar a quick count of the warriors. He halted the troop once again while he examined the terrain ahead.

  “Twenty, maybe,” Grond said, coming to the same conclusion. “Maybe twenty-five, counting the three behind us.”

  By then the Akkadians had been spotted by the warriors in the camp. Within moments, a yellow standard fastened to a lance waved at them.

  Eskkar grunted in relief. “That’s the Ur Nammu. My thanks to you, Meskalum.” Whether the guide knew the land as well as he claimed, or had just gotten lucky, he deserved a word of praise in front of his companions.

  They cantered down the hill. The three warriors behind them swung wide around the Akkadians, and raced recklessly toward the camp, their horses flinging clods of dirt high into the air, shouts floating across the land as they urged on their mounts.

  Eskkar smiled at the display of horsemanship. In his youth he might have attempted such a ride, but no longer. A rider needed to be astride his mount ten hours a day for years to master that kind of riding. As the Akkadians drew near, a warrior separated from the group and walked toward them. When they approached within fifty paces, Eskkar swung down from his horse.

  “Wait here a moment,” he said, then moved toward the approaching warrior.

  “Greetings, Subutai, chief of the Ur Nammu.”

  “Welcome to our camp, Eskkar of Akkad.”

  The two men clasped arms in the way of the warrior, then paced side by side back to the camp. Eskkar waved his men forward. Subutai had marked a place for them about two hundred paces from the tents. The Akkadians would have easy access to the river without getting too close to his own camp.

  Eskkar and his men tended to their horses first, making sure the animals were watered in the stream, and the Akkadians used the one rope they had brought with them to make a rough corral of their own, winding the cord around two willow trees and a bush. Not much more was needed to keep the mounts penned in. With plenty of water and grass to eat, they weren’t likely to stray.

  With the horses taken care of, Eskkar washed his hands and face in the stream, another gesture of politeness. To meet with a clan chief was a serious matter, and it would not do to appear covered with sweat and dirt. Eskkar drank his fill from the stream, but shook his head at Hathor’s offer of a drink from one of the two wineskins they’d brought with them.

  “You’ll come with me, Hathor. By custom, each clan leader brings one subcommander with him, so that there may be no misunderstanding or forgetting of what is said.”

  They strode across the grass to the Ur Nammu campsite, where Subutai and another warrior waited for them. Subutai led the way upstream to a small patch of grass a hundred paces from the river. The two leaders sat facing each other. Unlike villagers, who might talk half a day before getting down to business, barbarians preferred to take care of serious matters first.

  Meanwhile, warriors from both sides watched the proceedings with interest. The two Ur Nammu warriors eyed Hathor with curiosity. Probably neither had ever seen someone from the land of Egypt.

  Eskkar introduced the Egyptian as his subcommander, then faced Subutai’s commander.

  “It’s good to see you again, Fashod,” Eskkar said, nodding at Subutai’s second in command. “Have your men been in camp here long?”

  Fashod, caught by surprise, couldn’t prevent a smile from crossing his face. “Only three days, Lord Eskkar. And I am honored that you remember me at all.”

  “I always try to remember brave men who have fought at my side,” Eskkar said. In truth, he had to strain his wits to recall the man’s name when he first saw him. Two years was a long time, despite Trella’s constant admonition to try and memorize every man’s face and name.

  Eskkar explained that Hathor didn’t speak the language of the steppes. That proved to be no problem, as Subutai and Fashod both spoke the language of the dirt-eaters well enough.

  “Your wits remain quick, Eskkar,” Subutai said, nodding in satisfaction. A compliment to one of his men reflected on him as well. “Your mighty city grows stronger each day, and even in the far north we hear of Akkad’s power.”

  “You have grown in strength, Subutai.” The last time Eskkar had seen the warrior he’d been thin and undernourished. Now firm muscle covered his frame, the result of long hours on the back of a horse and plenty of meat in his diet. “And I hear your people have increased as well.”

  “We are much stronger, Eskkar. Now there are almost two hundred warriors under my standard. In another ten years, we’ll be almost as strong as we were in the past.” He smiled at the prospect. “The Ur Nammu clan has grown as well. After the fighting ended, there were many women without husbands or fathers abandoned in these lands, and these have sought our protection. Now there are many children playing around the campfires.”

  “Then I am glad for my friend,” Eskkar said. “Perhaps I can offer a way to help you increase your strength even faster.”

  “I wondered what brought you so far north, even before the next trade gathering.”

  That meeting would have meant waiting another three months – far too long in Eskkar’s mind.

  “A new enemy of Akkad has arisen in the land of Sumeria,” Eskkar began. “I wanted to speak with you about them.”

  “The land by the great sea,” Subutai said. “I saw it once, when I was but a young boy barely able to sit on a horse.”

  Eskkar explained the growing conflict between the two cities, and described the recent battle. Subutai listened impassively until Eskkar finished.

  “So a new war is coming to Akkad,” Eskkar said. “And this time we will be facing not only a new enemy, but a different kind of warfare. The next conflict will be fought over claims to land, not the grasslands your warriors need for their horses, but the land needed by our farmers and herdsmen. And when this war comes, it will re
quire a new way of fighting. This time I may have to take the fight to my enemy. Our warriors will meet face to face, both on foot and on horseback. In that kind of fighting, numbers are important, and Sumer will have a great advantage in men. So I must find a way to offset the greater numbers of my enemy.”

  “And that brings you here, to the Ur Nammu?”

  “Yes. I need horses, a great many horses. Good horses, and good breeding stock, too. In a few seasons, I want to have at least five hundred well-trained and mounted warriors to protect my foot soldiers.”

  “There are not that many horses in these lands,” Subutai said, avoiding a direct response.

  Good mounts were scarce. And even when they were plentiful, not all proved large and strong enough to carry a man and his weapons. To be considered as a war horse, the animal needed to be at least fourteen hands high. Every warrior – and even the villagers – tried to breed the animals so as to increase each offspring’s size and strength. Still, some smaller animals made excellent mounts, while other, larger horses lacked the stamina and speed needed for a war horse. The breeder’s skill, Eskkar knew, lay in quickly determining each horse’s capabilities.

  “Good horseflesh is scarce,” Eskkar agreed. “I will gather horses from every direction. But here, in your lands, are bred the finest mounts. And you could breed more, if you had a reason to do so. Wherever and however you obtain them, I will trade tools, goods, whatever you need, with your people.”

  Subutai rocked back and forth for a moment, always taking his time before replying. “We have a few surplus horses, but numbers such as you need …”

  “This war will take time, perhaps years before it begins. I know that no one has as many mounts as I will need, but I must start gathering them now, as I must begin training the men to care for them, and to learn to ride and fight.”

  Eskkar had his eyes on Subutai, but he caught a glimpse of Fashod, who let a flash of excitement cross his face.

  “And if I can supply you with a good number of horses … you can provide tools, weapons, cooking pots, all the bronze we need?”

  “Yes, as well as grain, cloth, food, wine, even cattle or sheep.” Eskkar kept his features impassive, but he thought he read something in Subutai’s body language. Trella had helped Eskkar understand the subtle signs given off by a man’s face and body. He guessed the Ur Nammu leader had extra horses, or at least knew where he could get them.

  “Then we may be able to help you, Eskkar. That is, if you can break wild stock.”

  Now it was Eskkar’s turn to rock back and forth while he considered his answer. The Ur Nammu had found a wild horse herd somewhere. Such animals would be beyond the villagers’ skill to train. Villagers could breed and raise horses, and teach them to accept a rider, but a wild animal, that was different. Only the most skilled riders could break a horse that had lived most of its life running free.

  “I have only a few men who could handle such animals. Could you not break the new mounts, and exchange your trained horses with us?”

  “Where are you intending to hold these horses? In Akkad?”

  Subutai clearly wasn’t willing to talk about any exchanges, at least not yet.

  “No, I will establish camps north of Bisitun,” said Eskkar, “most likely on the west bank of the river. Even a place such as this would be suitable. There are many small valleys in these lands with good grass where horses could be held. Perhaps your warriors could break the animals for us, until my men learn how to master the skill.”

  “Yes, that’s what I was thinking,” Subutai said. “I have warriors who could break horses for you. In fact, I have too many young warriors, all eager for battle. With the Alur Meriki far to the east, there are few opportunities for them to prove themselves. I’m sure ten or fifteen would be glad for the chance to demonstrate their horse skills.”

  “Then for that help, I would be grateful,” Eskkar said. “How big a horse herd did you find?”

  Subutai smiled. “I see I must learn not to betray my thoughts so easily. At least a hundred horses. It was far to the north, at the base of the mountains. We took a few last year, and drove the rest into the foothills, then blocked their way out. They should still be there, or most of them. There may even be more. The grass was good, with plenty of water. We saw some fine stallions.”

  If the Ur Nammu could deliver a few hundred horses and help break them, Eskkar could assemble a basic cavalry force in months, instead of years. With the additional animals he would obtain through trading, he might have more horses in the next six months than men to ride them.

  “My men at Bisitun are almost ready to establish the first camp. As you bring in mounts, we will trade for them. If you agree.”

  Subutai turned toward Fashod, who nodded his agreement. They had worked with Eskkar before, and accepted him as an equal. Now he was glad he’d come himself. The Ur Nammu would not have dealt with anyone else from Akkad or any other place for that matter.

  Eskkar leaned back. There was still much to talk about, of course, but the basic arrangement had been made. In true warrior fashion, the details would be decided between Hathor and Fashod. That way, if there were disagreements, the leaders could correct the problems without anyone losing honor.

  “You have something else to say?”

  The question caught Eskkar by surprise, unaware that his own thoughts could be read on his face. The idea of so many horses arriving so soon had not been part of his plan. But now that the possibility existed, he might be able to improve on his original idea.

  “I was thinking about bows for the riders. Your people can make them as well as mine. They would be a powerful weapon for my men.”

  “You think you can train men to shoot arrows from the back of a horse?” Even Subutai couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice.

  Eskkar grinned. “Not at first. But perhaps a few of your young men, with someone like Fashod to control them, could help train my young men in the ways of fighting from horseback.”

  Subutai laughed, the sound carrying across the grassland. “Dirt-eaters fighting on horseback! Enough talk for today,” he said, rising to his feet. He extended his hand and pulled Eskkar upright. “Tonight we will feast, then tomorrow we will talk again. I wish to hear all about your new enemy, these Sumerians.”

  Eskkar felt the strength in Subutai’s grip. The warrior had indeed regained his full strength. “Then we’ll feast,” he said. “I brought two wineskins from Bisitun for you and your men. That should be enough to get most of them decently drunk.”

  Later that night, after the feasting and singing and drinking, Eskkar checked the guards and the horses before readying himself for sleep. His head hurt from the third cup of wine – more than he’d drunk in some time. A footfall crunched in the dirt, and he looked up to see Subutai walking toward him.

  The Ur Nammu leader squatted down beside him. “Eskkar, I think I may be able to offer you more help, if you can find a way.”

  “I’ll take any help I can.” He wondered why Subutai was bringing this up now, and without Fashod or his men present.

  “As I said, I have plenty of young warriors, and not enough fighting or riding to keep them occupied. With nothing to accomplish, they grow restive. They fight with each other, and make trouble over women and horses.”

  And question their leaders, Eskkar knew. That’s why the warrior clans needed to keep their young men fighting. “Warriors need to ride,” Eskkar agreed, still not sure where this talk was heading.

  “If you were interested in taking some of them into your army for a time, they would make fine fighters for you. They could learn much about the ways of war, and practice their skills on your enemy.”

  A force of steppe warriors, even a small one, would be a blessing from the gods, Eskkar knew. They could act as scouts and messengers, and could harass the enemy as well. “If any of your warriors wished to join my men, they would be welcome.”

  “Just for a year or two,” Subutai cautioned. “I don’t w
ant them deciding to stay with your army when they’re needed here. But what they would learn would be very useful.”

  It certainly would, Eskkar decided. They would learn more about Eskkar’s army and his forces, their strengths and weaknesses, than he would have cared to share with the Ur Nammu, but that couldn’t be avoided. Like Subutai, Eskkar understood that the day might come when they faced each other across a battlefield. But such a day would not come soon, he knew.

  “I think we can make a fair arrangement, Subutai, that satisfies you and your needs.”

  “Good. We’ll speak of this again in a few days. Better to let my men get used to the idea of delivering and breaking horses for you first.”

  When the leader of the Ur Nammu had gone, Eskkar stretched out on his blanket. A force of warriors under his command. Something he’d dreamed about as a young boy. He found the idea strangely satisfying, and knew his father’s spirit would approve of his son leading horsemen into battle. The Ur Nammu might not be the Alur Meriki, but they shared a common ancestry, both clans riding down from the distant northern steppes many generations ago.

  With their skills, Subutai’s warriors would make a powerful addition to his future army. There would be risks, of course, and plenty of problems, but he felt sure he could manage it, with a little luck. Hathor would help, and he would make a fine leader of Akkad’s horse fighters.

  Eskkar wrapped his blanket around him and closed his eyes. Horses and fighting men from the Ur Nammu. Trella would be pleased.

  21

  Little more than a month after King Shulgi took control of Sumer, En-hedu stood with her hands on her hips, looking about the crowded tavern full of happy patrons. Since their arrival in Sumer, both she and Tammuz had worked hard, but at last the Kestrel Tavern had settled into a satisfying routine. Irkalla and Anu handed out the food and ale, and serviced the customers, those able and willing to pay for their special services. The cook, helped by En-hedu and the girls, made the evening stew, while Rimaud carried ale and anything else of bulk to the Kestrel by day, and kept the crowd under control at night.