by Sam Barone
But Drakis and his men were moving too quickly to stop and too fast to hit. They made it to the foot of the gate before they encountered any opposition. Two guards died trying to stop them, and the others backed into the towers that led upwards.
Drakis didn’t care about them. “Get that gate open!”
The two men with the hammers went to work. As soon as the first stroke pounded on the brace, the gate shook, and everyone knew what was happening. The city’s guards started shooting arrows at anything that moved, including the city’s inhabitants, and a group of soldiers who had collected themselves to ready a counter-attack. But by then the twenty Akkadian archers had reached the roofs. Now Akkadian arrows, as well as stones from the slingers, began to fly from the darkness, first striking down anyone who seemed in command, then searching out anyone with a bow. That stopped the counter-attack against Drakis and his twenty swordsmen.
The first wedge broke free, then the second a moment later. “Get the beam out!” Drakis’s voice cut through the chaos.
Some of his men dropped their swords and moved to the gate. Four men lifted the top beam, grunting as they shoved it up over their heads. Then they had to move it aside. One man went down with an arrow in his chest, and the log sagged dangerously before the remaining trio could hurl it aside, letting it roll off into the darkness. They had to get it far enough away from the gate so as to not hinder it swinging open. The hammers kept pounding behind them, and Drakis glanced back to see the last wedge splinter into fragments.
He slid his sword into the scabbard and helped his men shoulder the second, and lower, beam. They had to stoop down to grasp it. An arrow slammed into the gate a hand’s width from Drakis’s head, but it didn’t matter now. With a grunt the beam rose up, scraping along the wood, and Drakis moved away from the gate, his feet stumbling in the dirt, trying to maintain his footing. The soldier with the hammer began pounding on the gate with all his might, the signal to those waiting outside.
“Throw it!” Drakis gave the command and the men heaved the beam to the side. Behind them, the gate burst open, and the first man through was Eskkar, at the head of a wave of two hundred and fifty spearmen, and fifty archers. He recognized Drakis.
“Drakis! Stay here. Make sure the gate stays open until the rest of the men arrive.”
That didn’t take long. Soon the entire force of spearmen jogged through the gate, breathing hard. The first part of Eskkar’s army was pouring into Larsa, and nothing could stop it now.
Eskkar, carrying a shield like any of his infantry, led the initial force straight down the widest lane. He remembered to count his strides, and when he reached eighty a lane appeared on his left and he led the men that way. Fires burned everywhere, and the people shrank out of their way, frightened by the river of fierce men all wearing bronze helmets that glowed blood-red in the flickering light, and carrying shields and long spears whose tips glinted as they reflected the flames.
Another two hundred paces and the house of King Naran appeared, an imposing structure surrounded by a wall taller than the height of a man. Four soldiers, swords in hand, guarded the gate, but they took one glance at the charging Akkadians and fled. Two ran up the lane, and the other two ducked inside the gate.
“Open that gate!”
Eskkar dashed up the lane, his personal guards and the spearmen trying to catch up with their leader. He heard a bar snap into place as he reached the entrance, but no gate this small would stop him now. He raised his shield and flung his weight against the gate. A moment later, four more bodies hit it, and more hands reached out to push against it.
Something snapped, and the gate burst open. Eskkar stumbled through the opening, falling to his knees from the press of men behind him. Grond caught him by the arm and jerked him upright. Akkadian soldiers shouting war cries rushed into the grounds, brandishing spears or swords. Any who resisted were slain. Those who tried to flee were caught and slammed to the ground. The spearmen fanned out, filling the spacious grounds and moving to the rear of the courtyard.
In moments the king’s house was taken. Eskkar strode through the open door, stepping over a body. Two torches burned in the long common room, but it was devoid of life. A broad flight of steps led upstairs, marked by a bloody trail. Eskkar pointed with his sword and his men rushed up the steps. Another barred door held the soldiers up for a few moments, before they ripped it from its hinges, and poured into the upper chamber.
Eskkar mounted the steps and entered the room. Two thick candles mounted on the walls illuminated the first of the three rooms he knew to comprise the house’s second story. Women were dragged from the other rooms, and soon a dozen stood crammed together in the corner. Eskkar looked at the terrified women shaking in their fear, clutching each other in their panic. One, older than the others, wore a rich gown. A pearl necklace hung from her neck. Two younger women, likely her daughters, clung to her arms, as Eskkar moved to face her. She tried to shrink back, but there was no place to go.
Eskkar studied her for a moment. King Naran had several wives, but his first wife had given him two daughters. “You are Naran’s wife?”
“No!” The woman lifted her chin and held her daughters tight against her body.
“Then you’re of no use to me.” He turned to Grond. “Kill her, and the two with her.”
Grond, his powerful frame as frightening as any man alive, drew his sword from its scabbard and stepped forward, raising the blade over his head.
“Wait! Stop!” The older of the two girls holding their mother upright shouted the words. “My mother is first wife to my father, King Naran.”
“Where is he?” Eskkar’s voice rasped into the older woman’s face.
She hesitated. “I don’t know.” Her voice quivered as she spoke.
Naran’s wife had courage, but the daughter would tell him what he wanted. Eskkar reached out, caught the mother’s hair, and twisted it back, making her gasp with pain. “That’s twice you’ve lied to me, woman. Next time I’ll cut out your tongue. Where is he?”
Grond grabbed her by the face, pushing his thick fingers into the sides of her jaw, forcing it open. He shoved the sharp blade into her mouth, and a trickle of blood formed in the corner.
“Inside! Inside the bed chamber!” The same girl, sobbing now, pointed to the way.
Eskkar released his hold on Naran’s wife. “Bring them.” He entered the second chamber, a comfortable room where Naran no doubt took his pleasure. A large chest rested against the wall, the only concealment possible.
Grond went to it, placed his foot against one side, and shoved. The chest slid aside, revealing an opening cut into the wall.
“Get him out.”
Grond would have to bend over double to squeeze inside the dark hiding hole, and he knew better than to do that. Instead he took a spear from one of the grinning soldiers, and thrust it into the darkness.
“Stop! I’m coming out.”
On his hands and knees, King Naran emerged from the hidden chamber, his bronze helmet still on his head. If he had a sword, he’d left it behind.
A soldier arrived with a torch, shoved it inside, and inspected the hiding hole. “It’s empty, Lord Eskkar.”
“Don’t take any chances. Tear the wall down. There might be another hole concealed within this one. Check all the rooms, break open every wall. There will be more hiding places for his gold.”
Grond jerked the helmet from Naran’s head, turned him around, and began tying his hands behind his back.
“Guard him and his women well, Grond. I’ll be back for them later.”
The moment Razrek heard the alarm about Akkadians entering the city, he knew it was time to go. Already the mass of soldiers outside the city had begun abandoning their position and started jogging toward the main gate. The threat against the south wall had been a ruse.
“Damn that demon Eskkar!” Razrek shook his head in frustration. “Summon our men to the river gate, and get them mounted. We’ve only moments before these
bastards seal us in.”
He raced down the steps and ran as fast as he could toward Larsa’s river gate. Fires burned everywhere, and the heat from the flames would have given him pause at any other time. With swords in their hands, Razrek, Mattaki and his men rushed down the lane, forcing their way through the terrified mob of people pushing and shoving in every direction.
“Use your swords on the rabble,” Razrek shouted. “Clear the way to the corrals!”
Mattaki shouted orders to every horseman they passed, and soon hundreds of men milled about in the stable area. Razrek reached the house where he’d stabled his horse, and those of his commanders. Some were already there, others arriving breathless, pausing only long enough to fit a halter over their horse’s head.
Frantic soldiers tore loose the gate’s fastenings and flung it open. Men kicked their horses hard and burst through the opening, riding south along the river toward safety. Razrek saw a few arrows reach out from the darkness and strike down several of his men. The shafts didn’t descend in force, but he knew that would soon change as more archers reached the rear of the city.
Razrek finally fitted the halter to his nervous mount’s tossing head. He swung onto his stallion and hunched over his horse’s shoulder as he urged the big animal forward. With a thunder of hooves, Razrek and the rest of his men fled into the darkness, away from the walls and burning debris. Behind him came hundreds of the city’s inhabitants, desperate to escape before the Akkadians sealed them in. Shouting and pushing, they forced their way through the gate, running for their lives.
The Akkadian bowmen, slowed down by the tangle of broken huts that littered the ground, finally pushed their way toward the river gate, trying to seal off the most likely escape route. But only a few arrived before Razrek and hundreds of his men galloped out. Arrows flew at them, but the leader of the first group of breathless archers didn’t have enough men to contest their escape. He shot arrows at anything that moved, and emptied his quiver with the last shaft launched into the darkness.
More archers kept arriving, and now Razrek’s stragglers were cut down, arrows killing horses and riders, driving them back into the city. When men and horses littered the space just outside the gate, the exodus stopped. A few defenders tried to close the portal, but Eskkar’s spearmen arrived and took control. The last escape route out of Larsa had been closed.
A mile downriver Razrek halted in an open field. He and Mattaki bellowed commands, stopping the panicky gallop. Men and horses were breathing hard from the desperate dash through the night, and it took a long time under the moon’s feeble light before Razrek finally collected all his men and took a count.
“Damn those Akkadians!” he shouted at Mattaki’s white face. Only two out of every three of Razrek’s horsemen got away before the Akkadians sealed the city. He’d lost valuable horses, men and weapons, not to mention the city of Larsa. Shulgi would not be pleased.
49
Day 5
Eskkar woke to find the morning sun in his eyes. Something felt odd, until he realized he hadn’t slept on hard ground for the first time in almost ten days. He remembered dragging the remains of Naran’s bed close to the window, so that dawn’s first light would wake him. By then Eskkar felt as tired as if he’d fought a dozen fights.
Midnight had come and gone before he managed to snatch some sleep, throwing himself down on the king’s fancy blankets, exhausted by the long day’s march and the night attack on Larsa. Now the sun shone brightly, well above the horizon, and Eskkar realized he’d slept right through sunrise. Throughout the city, his men were up and about, while he slept in comfort on a thick spread of rich cloth that until last night had no doubt pampered the soft flesh of King Naran, his wives and concubines.
For a moment, Eskkar lay there thinking about last night’s events, ignoring the sounds of activity in the courtyard below. His mouth felt dry, and his head ached as if he’d been drinking all night, instead of capturing his first city. He was, he decided, getting too old for this kind of warfare.
Grond entered the room, carrying an ornate carved tray in both hands. “Everything’s under control, Captain.”
Leave it to Grond to make sure his commander knew the situation first.
“There’s fresh water, bread, hot chicken, and some dates. And a cup of Naran’s finest ale.” Grond set the tray down on a low table beside the bed. “We;d better drink as much of that as we can. Probably won’t see anything as good as this again.”
Eskkar pushed himself up. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air, and every breeze brought more of the acrid smell inside. Most of the fires from the attack would have burned themselves out by now, but the charred embers would linger for some time.
Despite the small amount of sleep, he felt rested. He grasped the cup of ale, drank half of it, then filled it again with water. This time he emptied the cup. “Demons, that’s good ale. You’re sure everything’s under control?”
“Oh, yes. The city’s still burning here and there, but our men and supplies are all inside the walls. The Sumerian horsemen have moved in closer, to watch us, but they’re not going to attack a walled city.”
“Useless fools. Shulgi should have known better.”
“I’m sure he knows by now.” Grond sat down on the bed, which sagged under their combined weight. “No sign of Razrek. That wolf must have gotten away before they closed the river gate.”
“How many men did we lose?”
“The commanders are still counting, but not many. Less than fifty, I’d guess. Another forty or fifty wounded. Half the men are still busy chasing women or looting.”
“The wounded will thank the gods for Yavtar and his boats.”
“A quick river trip back to Akkad, if they can get through. By the time they recover, the war will be over.”
“Or we’ll all be dead.” Nevertheless, Eskkar had a smile on his face. “And Naran’s gold?”
“Piled up in the next room, under guard. We found the third hiding place after you went to bed. Very small, but stuffed with fine jewels and precious stones. The homes of the leading merchants are still being searched, torn down, actually. It’s faster than trying to torture the information out of them.”
Last night, under the threat of torture, Naran had revealed two hiding places where he kept his hoard of gold and other valuables. But despite his protestations, the king of Larsa had given them up too easily, and Eskkar had suspected there would be a third. He stood, tossing the remains of the bread on the floor. “Are the commanders here?”
“Waiting in the courtyard.”
“Then it’s time to begin.”
Before leaving the upper chambers, Eskkar stopped to see Naran and his three wives, four daughters, two young sons, and three concubines. All of them spent the night huddled together in the adjacent chamber. Eskkar hadn’t heard any sounds of weeping or wailing. The guards must have threatened to cut the tongue out of anyone who disturbed the king of Akkad’s rest.
Now the royal prisoners stared up in fear when they saw Eskkar standing in the doorway. The chamber was just large enough to hold all of them. Two Hawk Clan soldiers, both looking tired but still alert, guarded the former king of Larsa and his women. Both guards held bread in their hands. Eskkar nodded a greeting and let them return to their own breakfasts.
Naran’s house had a private well, of course, and Eskkar drank his fill of fresh water, then stripped and rinsed out his tunic, while he washed his face and hands. By the time he had finished, his commanders had gathered at a small table, awaiting the day’s orders.
One empty seat awaited him. Before he took his place, he looked at each of his men. Tired but grinning faces greeted him. Probably none of them had snatched more than a few moments of sleep since the night before.
“My thanks to all of you. Your bravery has let us take Larsa, and now its food and supplies will sustain us – not Shulgi.” He turned to Gatus, yawning at the opposite end of the table. “How long before Shulgi arrives?”
/> “At least a day and a half, probably two and half. Whenever he gets here, I doubt if his army will be in any condition to fight that day. So we’ve probably got three days before we have to worry.”
“Good. That gives us more than enough time. The first thing we need to do is move all the supplies across the river.”
“A few boats got away last night,” Yavtar said. “But we captured nine that had been pulled from the river and taken inside the walls. I’ll put them all to good use. When our own boats return today or tomorrow, we should be able to ferry everyone across the river in a single day. Meanwhile, I’ll send three or four ships north with the wounded and the spoils.”
“Move the supplies first,” Eskkar said, then regretted his words. He hated giving useless orders about trivial details. His leaders knew what needed to be done. Eskkar decided his head must still be stuffed with sleep. “Anything we can use goes across,” he corrected himself. “Everything else is to be burned or tossed in the river.”
“What about the people?” Alexar looked as weary as Gatus. “Are we going to let them go? Many of them slipped out through the gates before we could close them off. Others went over the walls.”
“Turn all the women and children out of the city first. That may get our men to stop chasing them. Any men too old or infirm for work can leave, too. Make sure they take nothing of value with them, including their clothes. Have our men collect all the loot and turn it over to Yavtar.”
“What about the men?”
“The able-bodied men and boys will help us move the supplies. Then use them to help burn down the rest of the city. What won’t burn is to be torn down. After that, we’ll let the prisoners go free. That will be more mouths to feed when Shulgi arrives. Since he’s got thousands of soldiers from Larsa in his army, he won’t be able to just ignore them. He’ll have to share some of his supplies with them. But when Shulgi gets here, I don’t want him finding anything he can use, or seeing one stone standing atop another. Larsa will teach the Sumerians a lesson they will remember for a long time.”
