“The gift of his counsel,” I answered. “And the tribute of his blessing.”
. . . . .
For half an hour, while his wife prepared us breakfast, I squatted with Maelius in the doorway of his hut, and he told me much of this man Collatinus, who some five years before had sprung up as if from the earth, attracting to himself every cutthroat and malcontent in the region until he seemed to transcend his position as a leader of thieves and murderers to rule on the Salito Plain like a king in his own right. He was by reputation clever, brave, and utterly without scruple or feeling—one might say that he had all the virtues of a great prince and thus was necessarily among the worst of men.
Maelius had never heard of the Lord Ducerius, but he did know that Collatinus occasionally sent payments of treasure “to some great king in the east,” who could have been no one else. I had no trouble understanding how such an arrangement would be convenient for both men, since Ducerius commanded a vastly superior force but could not have moved against the brigands without leaving himself dangerously exposed at home. Thus he was content to collect tribute and claim nominal sovereignty while suffering Collatinus to enjoy unmolested the fruits of his thievery.
That the brigands were regularly sending parties of raiders over the mountains was, apparently, a recent development. Maelius had assumed that the “great king in the east” made war against some neighboring peoples and that Collatinus was acting as his ally, and in this he had not been far wrong.
He was very precise about the brigands’ strength and disposition, telling me that Collatinus had a force of about two hundred horsemen and that they occupied a stronghold less than two hours’ walk to the north. And, as soon as I had discharged my duty as a guest by eating a bowl of barley and milk curds Maelius’ wife had prepared for me, it was in that direction that I rode.
Collatinus’ “stronghold” consisted of a log stockade with some earthworks thrown up outside the walls—in its very air of casualness it demonstrated how safe the brigands felt themselves, how little they looked for any armed resistance within their own territories. I was able to ride all the way around it, at a distance of no more than five hundred paces, without ever being challenged or even encountering a patrol. I doubt if they even saw me.
I had led a hundred men on a five days’ campaign to besiege a fortification in which the soldiers of Ashur would not have descended to corralling their pack animals. How my brother Esarhaddon would laugh now, I thought, to see the paltry scale on which I fight my wars.
At about an hour past midday, the two horses, with their slain riders still tied to their backs, at last stalked up to the stockade gates. I watched from a clump of trees, invisible in the shade, and I could hear the cries as the sentries sent up their alarm. Since this was a provocation not even villains careless as these could overlook, I started back toward our own encampment.
“By the gods, Tiglath, where were you hiding yourself? We began despairing of your life these three hours ago. . .”
They crowded around me, my hundred citizen-warrior Greeks, like children who had thought themselves abandoned by their mother. I climbed off Epeios’ horse, and someone handed me a cup of wine.
“Their riders have been everywhere—we thought sure they would attack. What would we have done then, Tiglath, with you face down in the mud somewhere?”
“These brigand horsemen are easily evaded,” I told them. “A few gave chase along the way, but those who came close enough to offer battle have not lived to regret it. Believe me when I tell you, my friends, that we have nothing to fear. Our enemies are perhaps just good enough to raid farmhouses, but they are no army.”
“Neither are we, really. What if they had attacked during your absence?”
“They will not attack as long as we stay within our earthworks—horsemen are useless against a fortified position. That is why we will leave here tomorrow and force a battle upon them on their own ground.”
“Tiglath, the sun must have baked your brains!”
The soldiers of Ashur would never have spoken thus to me when I was rab shaqe of my father’s northern army, but the Greeks were the Greeks and no respecters of rank. That night, after the evening meal, for all that the assembly in Naxos had elected me Tyrant, I had to explain my plans to these farmers-turned-soldiers and to listen with patience to all their objections and complaints, all their nagging fears that the style of warfare I had taught them could not possibly prevail against even such a force as Collatinus and his rogues. I listened, and tried as best I could to explain away their fears, for had they not been satisfied with my leadership they doubtless would have elected themselves another commander and I would have found myself fighting in the ranks.
“They have horses, Tiglath—all of them! How are men on foot to stand against horsemen?”
“A horseman is still nothing but a man on a horse, and cavalry are no better than a mob that can run fast. The only advantage their horses will confer upon Collatinus’ band of thieves is that, once we have defeated them in the field, the survivors will find it easier to escape. Believe me, for I have never seen horsemen prevail against foot soldiers, not even when I fought against the Scythians, who are the best riders and the bravest warriors the gods ever made.”
“Yet if we lose, we perish; while if they lose, they can leave us with nothing gained except the field of battle. What is the point of fighting them at all if, even when we defeat them, they have only to run away?”
“My friends, where will they run except to their stronghold? We will know where to look when we want them.”
“They will be safe there.”
“No, they will be trapped.”
“That is foolish, since you claim we are safe from attack behind these earthworks—how is it different for them?”
“Cavalry cannot attack a fortified position, but foot soldiers can. Once we have defeated them in the field, their stronghold will serve for nothing except their tomb.”
“Yet we must defeat them first, and they outnumber us two to one.”
“Smaller forces than ours have prevailed against greater. We will defeat them.”
Thus it went, through half the night. I think that the only reason they at last decided to accept my plan was that no one had another. For this I did not fault them—I was much less sure of victory than I sounded.
The gray light of dawn found me sitting atop the crest of our earthworks, watching the brigand scouts as they cantered back and forth, back and forth, across the plain, some six or seven hundred paces distant. I saw four riders, but there were probably more—they could not know if we would be prepared to offer battle today or if we would wait, but Collatinus would want to hear as soon as we broke out of our encampment.
Epeios came and joined me, bringing with him a bowl of dried meat for my breakfast.
“The men have all eaten,” he said. “So should you.”
“The river is an hour’s march from here,” I answered, setting the bowl aside—somehow I could never seem to keep anything on my stomach at such times. “We must be on the other shore before word reaches Collatinus that we have started to move. If they gain control of the north bank ahead of us, and we are caught on this side, then there will be no battle and he will have won by default. If they surprise us while we are still fording the river, it will be a disaster. He does not know where we intend to cross, so he must wait for his scouts to bring him notice—that is something. And his stronghold on the other side is twice as far from the river as is our encampment. We are entitled to hope that time is with us. In his place, I would bring my forces closer in, within sight of the bank, and wait with them there even if it took a month, but I do not think Collatinus has done that.”
“Why do you think he has not?”
“Because I do not think he can keep his men under that kind of discipline—no one likes to sit in his armor on the cold ground. We do not fight an army, remember, but a band of thieves.”
“I hope you are right.”
We watched the brigand scouts a while longer, consoled by our own silence.
“Assemble the men,” I told him at last. “Give me five minutes after I have taken them over the earthworks, then come out with your horsemen. Some of you will provide Collatinus’ riders with someone to chase, and the rest will fan out toward the river to see if anything is moving there. Keep me informed.”
“Where will you be?”
“In the second rank of the left-hand battle square, with the javelin throwers.”
“Should you not stay in the center? It is not wise to expose yourself like that—what if you are killed?”
“I must be where I can keep our lines in order. Besides, who will follow a leader who will not share the common danger? Our neighbors would think me a coward, and they would be right.”
“It shall be as you order, Tiglath.”
. . . . .
The men stamped their sandaled feet against the earth and looked about them nervously as they adjusted spears and leather shields, the unaccustomed implements of battle. Hardly anyone spoke, and each did what he could to hide his growing fear. I knew how they felt, for I remembered what it was to face an enemy for the first time. It was not so very different with me now.
“We will go over the earthworks at quick march,” I told them. “We will all call the pace together—right, left, right, left. Do not be tempted to break into a run, or your lines will go to pieces. Remember, survival in battle depends on keeping together and maintaining a decent order. Do not be afraid of the brigand horsemen, but depend upon the archers and the javelin throwers to deal with them. As long as we keep our squares tight and our spears level, they can do nothing against us—after all, not even a horse is stupid enough to try eating a hedgehog.”
This made them laugh, which was good. Men who can still laugh are proof against any sudden panic.
I took my place in the left-hand battle square. Enkidu was in the right-hand square, in the center of the first rank. He was like a wall, and he feared nothing—as I had known they would, men drew confidence from the mere sight of him.
“Over the top, then!”
We breasted our earthworks one rank at a time, slowing when we reached level ground that the rank behind could pull up. It took us five or six minutes for everyone to reach the plain, but by the time Collatinus’ scouts had begun to react we had reformed our squares and were back in good order.
I shouted a command and both squares wheeled to the right and began moving north at a quick trot.
For several minutes, while their horses snorted with impatience and pawed at the ground, the brigand scouts simply watched us, as if they did not quite know what to do. Then two of them broke toward the river at a dead gallop. The remaining three, more foolish than the others, started toward us.
I cannot guess what sport they expected, but they thundered down on us waving their swords over their heads. I called a halt, told the first two rows of archers in both squares to make ready, and waited the quarter of a minute it required to be sure the riders were within range before I gave the order to shoot.
There was the harsh twang of thirty bowstrings singing together and a cloud of arrows took off, sailed through the empty air, and then dropped on their targets. Two of the brigands fell limply from their seats, dead before they touched the ground, and the third, alive and apparently unhurt, was pitched off by his wounded horse. He scrambled to his feet and ran like a rabbit.
The Greeks cheered, but there was no time to celebrate a victory. We took up our trotting pace again, and a quarter of an hour later the first of our riders returned.
“Clear to the river, Tiglath!” he shouted. “Callias went across to climb the bank for a look—he shouted back that he could see nothing.”
Half an hour later we were there to judge for ourselves.
There are few undertakings so frightful to a commander as leading an army across a river and into hostile territory. To be surprised at such a time is to be annihilated, for soldiers can do little to defend themselves while they are still waist-deep in swirling water. We were forty minutes getting the last man over, and I died inside every time a scout rode up to report if Collatinus’ horsemen had been sighted.
And indeed we had hardly dried our sandals when Epeios rode up to announce that the enemy would be on us in a quarter of an hour.
“It is all right,” I said to him, loud enough that everyone might hear. “We have made the bank, so we have level ground to fight upon. And we will have no need of a retreat.”
I did not give them time to think—no man is better for thinking when he is face to face with his first battle. Our riders, as they came in, one after the other, with the same news, abandoned their horses and joined the ranks of the two battle squares.
“Remember—stay tight! Let their charge break over us like the sea over a rock. Let them die before our arrows and impale their lives upon the iron points of our spears!”
They shouted their answer, for they were defying their own fear as much as any enemy. We trotted forward at the same steady rate until the river was some hundred paces behind us. We could already see the clouds of dust raised by the brigand horsemen.
How many were there? A hundred and fifty? Two hundred? Such things freeze a soldier’s bowels with terror. Soon the pounding of their hooves against the earth was like summer thunder, and here and there the pale morning light flashed from their bronze swords. War cries like the shrieking of hawks trembled in our ears—these were not men but demons, pouring toward us to deal out cruel death, to leave our corpses to rot unmourned in the pitiless sun. Thus our fears would have it. There seemed nothing to do except to wait.
Yet a soldier lives not to die but to fight, and these were not demons but men. I delayed only until they came within range.
“Draw your bows!—let fly!”
Massed arrows are as indiscriminate as rain, but they kill at a great distance. I know not how many of Collatinus’ robber warriors fell dead in that one instant, but we could see their horses tumbling over into the dust like wine jugs toppled from a shelf. Suddenly there was a new sound, the screams of the maimed and dying rending the air.
A second flight dropped hissing down upon them to bury their points in the flesh of men and animals. Collatinus lost fully one in six of his horsemen before they ever came within seventy paces of our lines. And then it was time for the javelins to do their work.
There were twenty of us, ten each in the second and third ranks of both squares, and the men behind fell back to give us space for throwing. The brigands were almost upon us now, and they were still many, so each of us had to measure our aim and only the quick had any chance for a second dart.
War has its own ecstasy, and the frenzy of battle possesses one like the lover’s passion. I forgot in that moment that I was anything except a Greek with a javelin in my hand. I might have been alone there before the horsemen of Collatinus—I had eyes now only for the mark in front of me, the men whom I would carry down to death with the strength of my hand.
One took my stroke in the root of his neck, so that he spattered the air with bright blood even as his soul fled screeching off into the dark realms. The other fell with his belly torn open; I watched him go down, knowing before he did, I think, that his life was ended.
Then there was no more time. The men in the front ranks locked their knees and dropped their spear points to the level, waiting for the shock of impact.
Perhaps they imagined we were bluffing—perhaps they simply did not know what else to do—but several of the brigands rode straight into us. For a few moments it was a scene of carnage and chaos such as I hope never to witness again as horses impaled themselves, breaking off the points of our spears as they screamed as only a horse can scream and then folded at the knees and rolled into our lines, sending their riders flying. More than one Greek was kicked in the head or had a horse roll over him. The man in front of me was pulled under and had his ribs crushed.
His face was black; he could not even cry out in his pain. Someone handed me a spear and I jumped forward to take his place in the front line.
Yet the line held. We advanced over the bodies of the fallen, men and beasts, our own dead and the enemy’s, and when we came to a halt we were as impenetrable as ever. The brigand horsemen could do nothing against us.
They were not all so mad as to throw themselves against our bristling squares. Many pulled up short when they saw what was happening, and after the first charge they simply milled aimlessly around, as if they did not know quite what to do next.
What will happen now? they seemed to be asking themselves.
We answered with another volley of arrows, and another. More men dropped lifeless from their mounts, and finally the brigands saw that it was hopeless and rode back the way they had come, leaving us in undisputed possession of the field.
When they saw the brigands fleeing, the Greeks raised a cheer that seemed to shatter the heavens. Relief and mad joy swept over us as we realized that we had won. We broke our voices calling upon the gods to witness our victory.
I could hardly believe it myself. As easily as that, we had won.
I knelt down for a moment to catch my breath, and in my heart I gave thanks yet again to the Lord Ashur for preserving me in the jaws of battle.
“Count the dead,” I ordered, as soon as I could find my words again. “Theirs and ours.”
The tally was quickly made: we had lost eight men, but the brigands had left seventy-two behind, dead or crippled. A few of us who had sustained wounds were tended by their neighbors, but if the Greeks found any of Collatinus’ men alive but too injured to have managed an escape, they cut their throats.
“It is a great victory,” Epeios stated in his matter-of-fact way. “Yet it was not so complete that the enemy does not still outnumber us by better than five to four, and they have retreated to their stronghold.”
The Blood Star Page 47
