by Sam Barone
“Get down!” Daro shouted the order, but those who survived the first flight were already ducking as low as possible. An archer lay sprawled beside the mast, and one of Scria’s three crewmen had taken two shafts and fallen overboard.
The boatmaster – his voice rising to a hysterical shout – had an arrow protruding from his arm, as he crawled along the bottom of the vessel. Daro loosed a shaft at the shore, now filled with men emerging from the bushes and splashing into the shallow water, some still launching shafts. Fortunately, the crewman steering the boat had survived, and he kept the vessel moving toward the center of the river.
A quick glance at their numbers told Daro all he needed to know. At least twenty archers had attacked them, maybe more. He dropped his bow and picked up an oar. “Everyone row!” A few arrows launched toward the riverbank weren’t going to accomplish anything.
Moving to the right side of the vessel, he took shelter behind some sacks of grain and began pulling as hard as he could, thrusting the paddle deep into the river and dragging it through the water. His surviving bowman, Iseo, did the same, crouching down as low as he could and working the dead crewman’s oar. The boat moved farther from the left bank, slowly passed through the center of the river, and glided closer to the opposite shore. Arrows continued to fall on the ship and splash into the water, but by now Scria’s boat had moved well past the point of the attack.
“We should get to the opposite shore!” Scria’s right hand clutched his bloody left arm. His voice had lost none of its panic.
Daro lifted his head and let his eyes scan the right bank. He saw a party of horsemen – at least twenty – following the course of the river and matching the pace of the boat. Many of them had bows in their hands. They rode easily, as if they didn’t care if the boat slipped away from them. A third party of perhaps a dozen riders trotted into view on the left bank, going down river as well. The boat was trapped between the two forces.
“Turn the boat around,” Daro shouted. He pointed to the horsemen on the right bank. “We have to go back up river.”
Scria’s eyes widened. “We can’t go back!” he screamed. “We’re too heavy to pull upstream!”
The boat captain had started with three crewmen. One had died, another lay on his back, an arrow in his shoulder. Only luck had saved the most important crewman, the one steering the boat. If he’d taken an arrow, the ship might have swung broadside and swamped. But Daro knew they couldn’t continue south, and both sides of the river appeared to be crawling with who knew how many mounted men.
“Keep the boat in the center of the river! Scria, start dumping the cargo. Iseo, help him. Get the body over the side, too. Hurry!”
Scria, crouched on his knees, remained motionless. “We can’t dump the cargo. It’s worth at least thirty –”
“It’s worth nothing to you if you’re dead! Iseo! If he doesn’t start helping, throw him overboard.”
Daro reached down and lifted the first sack, lifted it onto the gunwale, then pushed it over the side. Soon the boat was rocking back and forth, threatening to capsize at any moment, as the three of them tossed sacks, bales, and clay pitchers overboard.
He paused to look at the shore. The horsemen still kept pace with the boat’s progress. The enemy didn’t bother wasting arrows. They seemed satisfied as long as the boat went south. That meant more enemy would be waiting ahead, and likely with some way to force the boat to shore, perhaps a vessel of their own filled with armed men.
Daro scrambled back to the rear of the boat. The steersman, his face white with fear, clenched the steering oar with a grip that made the bones in his hand stand out.
“I’ll take the oar!” Daro snapped. “You help Scria dump the cargo. Make sure we don’t dump what we need for ballast.” An empty boat would capsize at the least movement.
In a few more moments, the craft rode higher in the water, with almost all of the cargo over the side.
“Iseo, we’re turning upstream. Start rowing, all of you. Steersman, as soon as we come about, get that sail up. Then stay low, and row for all you’re worth.”
He pushed hard on the steering oar, turning the boat first toward the right bank, then swinging it back across the center of the river and turning it upstream. As soon as he got the boat headed north, the men on shore took notice. Once again arrows flew through the air, splashing into the water, thudding into the sides of the boat, and a few striking inside the vessel.
The frightened steersman raised the sail faster than he’d ever done in his life. The soft breeze didn’t help much, but it enabled the boat to keep headway against the river’s current. As soon as Daro had the boat centered in the river and moving north, he ordered Scria to take the steering oar. With his wounded arm, the boatmaster would be of more use guiding his boat than trying to row.
Daro scooped up Scria’s oar and began stroking. His powerful arms, strengthened from years of archery, helped push the boat up the river. Soon they retraced their way and reached the point of the first attack. As he watched, a dozen horsemen moved into sight, and guided their horses down the slope toward the river’s edge. All of them carried bows.
Daro swore, dropped his oar and collected his bow. The enemy would ride into the stream as far as they could, which would bring them into killing range. They’d rake the little boat, and riddle everyone with arrows. “Iseo! Keep rowing!”
But the horsemen weren’t close enough for that yet. Daro stood, aimed, and launched his first arrow. He’d aimed for the nearest rider, but the shaft struck the lead horse in the shoulder. The animal went mad with pain, rearing up and twisting its head to tear at the arrow with its teeth. The rider slipped from the animal’s back and went into the water with a mighty splash. The wounded animal kicked out with its hind legs, and the next horse panicked as well.
Aim for the horses, you fool. Remember Eskkar’s advice. Daro shot arrow after arrow, as fast as he could nock them to the string. The slippery slope leading to the water didn’t provide the riders much room, forcing the horsemen to bunch together. With the animals all taking fright, either from their own wounds or hearing the cries of the other horses, they dug in their hooves and refused to enter the water.
A few of the enemy gave up the effort and dismounted, trying to find their footing in the slippery mud and continue shooting arrows at the boat, but by then the craft had swung by the curve and moved out toward the deeper center channel. The moment the curve blocked the enemy from sight, Daro dropped the bow and picked up his oar. “Stay in the center! And row, damn you, row!”
He kept Iseo and the steersman rowing until well after dark, matching them stroke for stroke, an agonizing effort that sapped every bit of strength he possessed. By then everyone was exhausted, but the evening breeze had strengthened, and allowed the craft to keep moving slowly upstream, despite the tiring rowers. Daro let each man take a turn resting, always keeping two men pulling the oars. At least they could quench their thirst easily enough, scooping water from the river with their burning hands to refresh themselves.
The moon sent a pale glimmer of light down the water, providing just enough light for the steersman to keep the boat in the center of the river. They dragged the oars through the water in silence, everyone struggling against the pain, until even Daro thought his heart might burst. As midnight approached, the boat slid around yet another curve in the river.
“Daro! The way station’s up ahead!” Scria’s shout echoed his relief.
“Keep your voice down, you fool.”
Daro lifted his eyes and saw the single rickety jetty protruding from the east bank. It looked peaceful enough, with one boat tied up at the little dock and another drawn up on the shore. No fires burned, but any crews pausing here on their way south would be asleep by now. He made up his mind. Daro knew he’d never get to Akkad with just the men onboard the boat. If the breeze died, which likely would happen at any moment, certainly well before dawn, they didn’t have the strength to keep the craft moving northward.
He looked down and saw the gleam of his sword at his feet, then took a deep breath. “Akkad! Akkad!”
The shout floated out over the water and brought a challenge from the soldier on night watch, a shadowy figure who sprang to his feet, surprised to hear a boat approaching at this time of night.
“There’s a boat on the river! Everyone get up! Get up!” At the sentry’s loud command, other shapes appeared. Men sat up, fumbling for their weapons and trying to shake the sleep from their eyes. Another voice called out. “Who’s there?”
“Daro, leader of one hundred from Akkad.” He let himself relax. The guard’s voice held the accent of someone who’d lived in Akkad all his life. “Bring us in to shore, Scria.”
When the boat ground against the sandy bank, Daro had to concentrate to keep his footing. He felt lightheaded and weak as a newborn lamb. Hands reached out from the darkness and dragged the boat up the sandy bank and out of the river’s grasp.
“Commander, what are you doing going upriver at night?”
“Enemy horsemen between here and Kanesh. The outpost may have been taken.” By the time Daro finished explaining, everyone was on their feet, the soldiers belting weapons around their waists and the rivermen getting their belongings back into their boats.
“I’ll take all the soldiers with me in Scria’s boat. Six men on each side, we should be able to make good time going upriver.”
“There won’t be anyone to guard the ships,” a boatmaster Daro didn’t recognize protested from the darkness.
“Doesn’t matter. The enemy will be here by morning, maybe sooner. Sink one of the ships, dump the cargo of the other, and double up your crews. Take the one ship and row for all your worth back to Akkad.”
Daro climbed back into the boat, shouting his words over his shoulder. He settled in at the steersman’s station. With twelve men pulling oars, he’d be back in Akkad by noon, if the wind stayed favorable. He didn’t care what happened to the traders. As soon as the last of his men settled in, Daro gave the order. “Push off and start pulling on those oars. I want to be halfway to Akkad by dawn.”
38
Adarnar outpost on the Sippar river, at sunset . . .
Enkidu made his rounds of the outpost three times each day – just after dawn, at midday, and when the sun touched the western horizon. He took his time, talking to the guards, making sure none had gotten drunk, forgot their weapons or failed to take their posts. After four months under his command, such occurrences seldom happened. The nearly thirty soldiers and equal number of craftsmen and their families knew Enkidu and his ways by now.
Like every fort on the edge of Akkad’s lands, the group of soldiers assigned to the Adarnar outpost contained the usual number of fools and dullards, slackers and the sharp witted. These provided a daily trial to the more professional soldiers. Enkidu had worked hard training all of them with equal parts firm discipline and helpful encouragement, and while some of his men might not be good enough to strut up and down on top of Akkad’s walls, they had all become proficient enough for patrolling the border. They now took as much pride in their duties as their commander, and he in turn felt satisfied with every man under his authority.
As always, pride in their skills proved helpful, as Adarnar possessed few amenities either for its men or its horses. Compared to Kanesh, which lay a good two days’ march to the west, Adarnar was scarcely large enough to hold the barracks and corrals for the twenty-two horses. The small fortified settlement sat on the northern edge of the Sippar river, its single dock running along the water’s edge just wide enough to berth three ships.
The boats that sailed along the Sippar, as well as the occasional caravan following its banks, were Adarnar’s main reason for existence. All trade and commerce throughout the land had to be protected from bandits, if Akkad were to continue to grow stronger. Since taking command of the post, Enkidu had not lost a single sack of trade goods, which was more than most of the other outposts could say.
The wealthy merchants in Akkad often acted as though only the trade on the Tigris and Euphrates mattered, but plenty of goods flowed along the Sippar and the other streams that branched off or merged into the two giant rivers. With the threat of war making everyone uneasy, most boats carried their cargoes only as far as the market at Kanesh, but that settlement enabled the local farmers and herders to obtain all the goods anyone could buy in Akkad or Sumer for that matter, and usually at cheaper cost. For humble farmers struggling to survive, places like Kanesh and even Adarnar provided both security and a convenient place to exchange goods. As soon as King Eskkar established the protective string of forts along the Sippar, the adjacent land with its bountiful farms had flourished.
Not that Enkidu cared about trade. Four years ago he’d fought at Drakis’s side in the desperate battle against Korthac. Both of them had nearly died that night. In fact, most of the men they led in the bloody fight for the city’s gates had succumbed to death or taken serious wounds. Enkidu not only survived, but earned his entry into the Hawk Clan. He soon progressed to a leader of twenty, then fifty, and four months ago Alexar and Drakis had given Enkidu command of the post at Adarnar.
Already into his twenty-sixth season, Enkidu knew he would command even more soldiers in the coming war. In two more months he’d return to Akkad with half of his best-trained men, leaving behind a well-run garrison for the next commander and the latest batch of raw recruits, who would start the process all over again.
Enkidu inspected the last guard on the northern wall, found nothing to require his attention, and headed back toward his quarters. He enjoyed the private room that – as commander of the post – he shared only with one local farmer’s daughter, who was quite pleased to have caught his eye and grateful for the chance to escape life on the farm. Enkidu’s wife and two sons remained in Akkad with her family, waiting for his return. He still hadn’t decided if he would bring his concubine with him when he returned to the city. The girl pleasured him well each evening, but Enkidu’s wife had a sharp temper, and he didn’t know how she would react to a second wife. He shook such thoughts from his mind and thought instead about the evening’s pleasure.
“Commander! South Post! Hurry!”
The voice held urgency mixed with fear, and Enkidu’s pleasant thoughts of the future vanished. He burst into a run across the outpost, reached the wobbly wooden steps, and climbed them two at a time.
The guard had his hand extended toward the river, and one glance told Enkidu all he needed to know. “Get everyone in the fort. Close the gates!” He bellowed the last words, but already the other guards were raising their own alarms. “Everyone to their posts! Prepare for an attack.”
He’d given that order many times before, but only to train his men, never in a real attack. Enkidu turned back to stare across the river. One hundred, two hundred, perhaps more riders had emerged from the low hills and scattered trees that hugged the far side of the river. The lead elements already splashed their way into the Sippar, churning the calm waters to froth beneath their hooves. The river here was wide but shallow, and they’d be across in moments. With a chill, he realized he could do nothing to stop them.
“Get men on horseback. Ride for Akkad. Tell them . . . we’re under attack!”
He’d almost said what he already knew, that they were all already dead. The marauders, now that he could see them better, looked like Tanukhs, but those desert-dwellers hadn’t raided this far east in many years, not since Eskkar took command at Akkad. Enkidu’s second in command, a veteran named Sargat, arrived, took one look across the river, and swore.
“We’ll never be able to hold them off. Ready the horses,” Enkidu said. “I’ll try to slow them down. We’ll have to break out of here.”
That meant abandoning the villagers living in the fort, but he couldn’t help that. Enkidu shouted another order, and the handful of men on the palisade began shooting arrows at the advancing horde, in a futile effort to slow them down.
Enkidu dashe
d down the steps toward the rear of the fort. “Get everyone into the boats. Pull for Kanesh.” That place might have already fallen, but this could be an isolated raid, and if the boats escaped, they might find safety at the larger fort or ashore somewhere in between. At the corral he saw men moving about, throwing halters on the skittish animals. They’d reacted to the unfamiliar scent of fear in the men handling them. A leader of ten reached the corral at the same moment. Enkidu grabbed him by the shoulder and shouted in his ear.
“Take five men and try to get through before they encircle us. Fight your way past them if you can and warn Akkad.”
The man nodded, and began shouting his own orders. Frightened villagers pushed past him and through the open rear gate, heading for the jetty. The two boats rocked wildly as panicky men, women and children tried to pile into them. One ship pushed off, already heavily loaded. A few villagers jumped into the river, to try to swim to safety downstream. They knew that drowning would be a better fate than to be taken by the Tanukhs. Anyone captured on shore would die within moments, if a worse fate didn’t befall them.
Five horses burst out of the gate, heading north. For a brief moment, Enkidu felt tempted to take a horse and go after them. But he couldn’t leave his men. With an oath, he turned his back on the coral and snatched a bow that one of the departing riders had abandoned.
“Fall in with me! Form a line! We’ve got to hold them off for a few moments!”
Enkidu bellowed the words to make himself heard. The undulating Tanukh war cries floated over the confusion in the fort. Then the drumming of hooves on hard ground told him the enemy was only moments away.
Six men moved to his side, bows in hand. Another handful of soldiers struggled to catch their horses. “Go! Ride for Akkad!”
They burst out through the gate, kicking their horses to a gallop. Enkidu saw the fear mixed with relief on their faces. Then the din of screaming Tanukhs drowned out everything. The enemy horsemen had reached the main gate. The first one swung over the top of the now undefended palisade. Enkidu put an arrow right through his chest. But a dozen more pulled themselves up and over. The archers beside him loosed their shafts, but it only slowed the wave of attackers for a moment.
