by Sam Barone
Bantor’s third wave of shafts included shafts from other archers on the rooftops, as bowmen climbed into position and added their own arrows to the carnage below them. The barbarians had only to cover about thirty paces to come to grips with their opponents, but the shafts flew again, and this time the charge broke.
The warriors had brought few bows of their own, certain that swords would be the most useful weapon once inside the walls. Instead they found themselves attacked by bowmen under the blaze of torches that lit the scene all too clearly.
Some tried to tear down the boards that blocked entry to the houses but the archers on the opposite roof turned their arrows on them. Others tried to move along the parapet, but the heavy wooden barricades, positioned to extend out over the parapet’s edge, blocked that path, too. Behind those barricades stood villagers and soldiers with spears, who thrust at every head or hand that tried to climb over or swing around them. A few Alur Meriki managed to leap up and grasp two of the torches and dash them out, but it made no difference. Even two or three torches would have provided enough light for the archers.
Suddenly, the Alur Meriki began moving back, jamming the steps or pulling themselves up to the parapet, with no other thought in their minds but to get back over the wall. The archers’ shafts continued to find them. Bantor shouted another order and the bowmen moved slowly forward, shooting together under command, shooting again and again until they reached the base of the parapet. By then nothing moved, not even the wounded at their feet, who died from a quick spear thrust. Shouting continued from the walls, as archers kept shooting at the surviving barbarians as they fled back across the ditch.
Bantor bellowed out a command to secure the wall, and soldiers began clearing the dead off the steps and parapet. Trella knew the fight here had finished. She turned to find Annok-sur at her side, a short sword gleaming in the torchlight.
A cheer went up from the men, the volume increasing until everyone had joined in, shouts of victory mixed with laughter at the barbarians, who had carefully planned their assault yet still stumbled into a deadly trap. Trella found herself surrounded by gleeful soldiers and villagers, as she turned away from the carnage and headed back to the Compound.
“That should send them running back to their clan,” Annok-sur said. “It looks like we’ve killed more than half of them, I’m sure.”
“The cavalry from Bisitun will hunt down any stragglers in the morning,” Trella agreed. “I think those who escape will have little inclination to raid our lands.”
“You planned this as well as Eskkar.”
“Let’s hope he has as much good fortune in the south. Send word in the morning. It will be one less worry for Eskkar.”
“And what should I do with Luroc?”
“Pay him and let him go,” Trella said. “He’s not likely to trouble us again. Besides, once word of this gets out, the Sumerians will think he betrayed them.”
Annok-sur put her arm around Trella’s shoulders. “Let’s hope the Sumerians fare as badly against your husband as these barbarians.”
Trella’s satisfaction at the victory lessened at the thought of her husband’s danger. “Tell Yavtar’s men to get word to Eskkar as soon as possible. The last thing he needs is to be worrying about Akkad.”
46
Day 2
The soldiers plodded through the heat. Every strap rubbed the skin raw, and many men had taken off their sandals, to insure that they didn’t wear out and to save them for combat. The sun grew hotter as they moved south, especially to men unaccustomed to it. The Sumerians had that advantage. Most of them were born and raised in the dry lands, and could withstand the sun and wind better than the men from the north. The soldiers wiped the sweat from their eyes and kept walking, though at every stop to rest men drank as much water as they could hold. Fortunately they splashed across several of the numerous streams that eventually found their way into the great sea.
The Sumerians kept horsemen at their rear and flanks, but only small bands, to keep track of where the Akkadians marched. So far, the enemy hadn’t tried to launch any attacks. Just before midday, while the men were resting, one of the guards called out.
“Riders to the rear!”
Eskkar swung up on his mount to get a better look. In moments, the land behind him began to fill with horses. The large band of Sumerian cavalry that had followed them yesterday was coming closer, but not, as Eskkar realized, coming straight at them. They would pass the Akkadians on their left. These men were not Tanukhs, but they rode easy in their mounts, and Eskkar had to admire their training. These horsemen might be the pick of Sumeria’s horse fighters.
“They’re passing us.” Grond shaded his eyes with his hand. “Probably headed to Larsa.”
As the enemy came abreast of the Akkadians, Gatus gave the order that got the men back on their feet and into marching position. “Stop gawking at that scum! You’d think you never saw a horse before!”
Enemy horsemen or not, Gatus got the men moving. He wanted to make camp tonight where they planned, and he was determined that his spearmen would lead the way, even if they collapsed when they reached the destination.
“They’re going to Larsa, all right,” Eskkar said. “They’ll be waiting for us when we get there.”
Gatus came over to join them. “Think they’ll try anything?”
“Not this bunch,” Eskkar said. “I’ll bet that Razrek is leading them. He’ll be glad to take some comfort in Larsa for a few days.”
“Then the people of Larsa may be happy to see us when we arrive,” Gatus said, not entirely in jest. “Razrek with that many men accompanying him will be a demanding guest.”
Eskkar grunted in agreement. A large force of men and horses might not be too welcome in Larsa. They would eat and drink and chase the city’s women, and if all the tales told about Razrek were true, his men would pay not a copper coin to the city’s inhabitants.
Before long, the riders disappeared in the distance. “Well, tomorrow we’ll see the rest of the cavalry,” Eskkar said. “We’ll have some fighting before tomorrow’s march ends.”
“Good.” Gatus didn’t sound concerned. “The men need to be blooded anyway, so the sooner the better. The more fighting they do, the better they’ll get at it.” He pulled himself up onto the mare and cantered to the front of the column, where he shouted orders for the men to pick up the pace.
“Bloodthirsty old bastard,” Grond commented.
“That he is,” Eskkar said, laughing. “But more than that, he wants to see his training in action. For that, he’s willing to ride an old mare, wear a foolish hat, and sleep on the ground. And that’s why he refused to stay in Akkad, where he belongs.”
“Well, let’s hope that it isn’t us who get bloodied.” As Grond made the wish, he spat on the ground for good luck.
The forced march continued, with the men stretching their legs in earnest. They had a long way to go, but Gatus and his men didn’t disappoint during the long day. They made their distance, reaching the tiny stream just a little before sunset. That gave the men time to gather some firewood, and start a few fires burning. The more ambitious men had collected some sheep and cattle during the day’s march, and soon the smell of burning flesh floated in the air.
The Akkadians had taken everything useful from the few farms they passed, stripping the land of anything edible. If they could have ranged out, they could have taken more, but the enemy horsemen shadowing their march were waiting for just that occurrence. Eskkar knew he had to keep his force close together. If they spread out, the Sumerian cavalry would cut them to shreds.
No doubt Razrek’s horsemen were doing an even more efficient looting of the countryside. They’d grown so used to terrorizing those living within Akkad’s borders that they had no qualms about looting Sumeria’s own people.
Most of the farmers in their path had fled at word of the Akkadians’ approach, but a few animals were still to be found, and they provided a bit of fresh food to stretch the
now stale bread that filled a man’s stomach but didn’t satisfy hunger. A handful of red-faced men had discovered a skin of wine hidden somewhere along the march and drained its contents in moments, before the rest of their companions even knew what they’d found.
The food sacks contained less weight by now, and would be even lighter after the men washed down their evening bread with water. Most would rip the loaf in half and soak the stale bread in the stream to make it easier to chew.
Everyone settled in for the night, groaning in relief at the opportunity to stretch out and give their tired legs a rest. Behind them, the Sumerian cavalry’s camp fires glowed in the distance, and Eskkar saw that the number of horsemen pursuing them had increased. Trella’s estimates of Sumer’s horse fighters had ranged between thirty-five hundred and four thousand, and except for those who had ridden on to Larsa, Eskkar guessed that the remainder were camping little more than a mile from his own campsite.
Gatus posted even more guards tonight than yesterday. Eskkar and the rest of the commanders were waiting for him when he returned.
“The sentries are out and alert,” Gatus said as he squatted down beside the fire, stretching his back with a sigh of satisfaction. “I warned them to be especially alert for any Sumerians sneaking up on them in the night, either to slit their throats or launch a few arrows at us from the darkness.”
“Two can play at that game,” Eskkar said. “I’ve asked Chinua and Shappa to join the commanders from now on. We’re going to need their skills for the next few days.”
Shappa, still short of his sixteenth birthday, seemed in awe of the men gathered around Eskkar. The slingers Shappa had helped train were attached in groups to sections of the archers and spearmen, so until now no single leader to speak for all of them had been needed.
Eskkar, however, had wanted some men to act as pickets and skirmishers, men or boys short in stature and quick on their feet. Shappa had picked out twenty such men during the long months of training, and he kept command of that group. They had trained to creep out into the darkness, gathering knowledge of the enemy’s position, killing any enemy sentries they could, and protecting the Akkadian camp.
During the training, many of the older soldiers had laughed at the need for such men, but Eskkar ignored them. He’d slipped up on enough sleeping enemy encampments to know what could happen, and he didn’t intend to take such a risk with his own camp.
“Shappa, I want your slingers out there beyond the sentries. It’s likely the enemy will be sending bowmen against us during the night, trying to pick off our guards or just trying to shoot a few arrows into the camp. We need to kill or drive them off. Otherwise, we’ll be dodging arrows all night while the men are trying to sleep.”
“Yes, Lord Eskkar.” Shappa’s voice cracked at the words, and the rest of the group smiled.
Most of Shappa’s slingers were short and slim, and their weapon made almost no noise when it launched a stone. A bow’s sharp outline could often be seen against the night sky, and its twang heard. For this sort of action, the skirmishers had practiced using another way to cast a stone, whirling the missile around their heads. It wasn’t as accurate a way to launch a missile, but it could be done while hugging the ground, and at close range was almost as effective.
“Collect your men,” Eskkar went on, “and get them ready. I want them out in the darkness tonight.” He turned to Chinua. “I know the Ur Nammu can move silently in the darkness. Do you think a few of your men could reach the enemy camp?”
Mindful of the warriors’ pride, Eskkar had taken pains not to give them a direct order. Better to tell them what was needed, and let them offer to help.
Chinua had said little to anyone during the last few days, and the rest of the Akkadians had left him and his warriors alone.
“I can take three or four men out into the night,” he said, speaking slowly, to make sure everyone understood him. “We can hunt those the enemy will send against you.”
“That would be good. Perhaps you and your men might even get close enough to loose a few shafts at their herds. A stampede would slow them down.”
The warrior took his time before answering, and Eskkar had almost decided to drop the matter when Chinua spoke.
“I will speak to my warriors. After we have killed anyone approaching us, the way should be clear to reach their camp.”
Eskkar drew his knife and scratched out an outline of the camp in the dirt. “Shappa, you will take your men out here and here. This path,” he indicated a line that led directly toward the nearest Sumerians, “will be for the Ur Nammu. The rest of your warriors, Chinua, should guard that path, so that your men are not attacked when they depart and return.”
Shappa darted off to find his slingers, while Eskkar and the commanders made sure everyone knew what was happening. He didn’t want fifty archers launching arrows into the darkness while some of his men were out there.
The Akkadians were settling down for the night. Snoring loud enough to wake the spirits soon drowned out all other sounds. Meanwhile, Chinua and five men slipped away in the darkness, and soon afterward, Shappa took two groups of five into the night.
“You think the Sumerians will come?” Grond sat at Eskkar’s side, alert as always for any danger to his commander and friend.
“They have to do something,” Eskkar said. “Otherwise Shulgi is wasting his time having them follow us when he knows where we’re going.”
“They may wait until we reach Larsa. Then they can attack us from behind.”
“Perhaps. Still, I think they’ll try and worry us tonight. They’ll do something more direct tomorrow,” Eskkar said. “Remember, they’re just trying to slow us down so that Shulgi can get to us.”
Gatus laughed. “If that boy can march his army fifty miles in two days, I’ll give him my hat when I see him. By the time we reach Larsa, he’ll be at least three or four days behind us.”
If there were no delays in the march, and if the men could keep up the pace in spite of any Sumerian attacks, Eskkar expected to reach Larsa in less than two more days. But something always went wrong, he reminded himself. Battles were often little more than a collection of mistakes, with victory going to the side that made the least. Which was why he and Trella had worked so long preparing the men and equipment needed to fight this war.
“Let’s hope we can take the city before Shulgi arrives,” Eskkar said. “And that will depend on Trella’s people.”
“She knows what’s needed. As long as your luck holds out, barbarian, we’ll take the city.”
Eskkar grunted. The gods who controlled men’s fates could change a man’s fortune in a heartbeat. “Then you’d better offer some extra prayers, Gatus. I think we’re going to need more than luck for the next few days.”
47
Day 3
In the pre-dawn darkness, Eskkar rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Not that he’d gotten much rest during the night. He woke at every odd noise, and walked the camp, talking to the sentries and worrying about the skirmishers and Ur Nammu. If the slingers were killed or captured, it would be a small loss. Nothing they knew could change the battle plan. But if too many of the Ur Nammu were lost, then the rest of Chinua’s fighters might just decide they’d had enough of Eskkar’s war, pull out, and head back home.
None of the men he’d sent out last night had returned yet, but he really wasn’t expecting them before dawn. The sentries Gatus posted had kept a sharp lookout for anyone trying to creep up to the Akkadians. During the night, odd noises out in the land between the rival camps kept every sentry on edge. Just before midnight, a few arrows had come flying into the camp, and one sleeping soldier in the middle of the camp had taken an arrow in the leg. But the arrows stopped almost as soon as they had started, and never restarted.
Nevertheless, Eskkar greeted the dawn at the camp perimeter, watching anxiously for his men. As the sun rose he saw them, crouched over and moving quickly toward the camp. As they drew closer, the returning skirmishers b
roke into a run, waving their hands and they raced back as swift as a young horse to the camp’s safety. Eskkar saw that two of them had blood on their tunics.
Shappa, out of breath but grinning like he’d just taken his first woman, jogged over to where Eskkar stood.
“Captain, we killed three of them, and drove the rest off. Did any get through?”
Eskkar had taken a quick count and saw that all of Shappa’s men had returned. “No, only a few arrows launched from a distance. One man was wounded.”
The slinger glanced around. “And the warriors? Did they make it back? We glimpsed them moving toward the enemy camp.”
One of the sentries gave a shout, and Eskkar looked out to see a small herd of horses galloping toward the camp, urged on by the war cries of the Ur Nammu warriors.
“I’ll be damned,” Gatus said, yawning as he walked over to join them. “I thought you told them to stampede the horses, not steal them.”
Eskkar shook his head. “You can’t send warriors near horses. It’s a sign of weakness not to try and steal a few. I should have known they would try something like this.”
“Well, no thanks to you, but now we’ve got another ten spare horses to use as pack animals. I can put the wounded man on one. Another fool sprained his ankle, so he can ride, too, instead of tiring out his friends.”
Eskkar had seen the man during the march, fighting the pain and supported on either side by his comrades, while others struggled under the extra weight of the man’s gear.
Chinua rode up, his body drawn up to its full height, head held high and proud of his men’s accomplishments. “Hail, Lord Eskkar. We killed six men, and captured ten horses.”
Eskkar bowed in recognition of the Ur Nammu’s success. He saw that one of the returning warriors had a bloody arm. “The horses are yours, of course, Chinua, but if my men may have the use of them . . . we will be in your debt for the animals.”
Chinua turned to his men, speaking rapidly in their own tongue, explaining the arrangement.
