by Sam Barone
He moved to the end of the line. “ WALK!” At the same time, he raised his sword in the air, held it for a moment, then lowered it. Fashod repeated the same signal, and his men advanced as well.
The ten men started moving. Immediately the line grew ragged. Some animals were impatient, others too slow. The riders all had different ideas about what a walk meant.
“Damn you, look at Fashod’s line.”
The men lifted their eyes to stare at the approaching line of warriors, all moving evenly across the grass toward them.
“Straighten out the line!” Eskkar knew the warriors would be grinning at the clumsy dirt-eaters.
By now the two lines were drawing close to each other, and the nervous horses added to the confusion. They passed between Fashod’s men in twos and threes, a sorry example of horsemanship.
“Keep the line even!” Eskkar made them continue pacing forward until they reached Fashod’s starting point. “Wheel left! Reform the line.”
Two riders turned to the right, which brought guffaws or curses from the mount they bumped into. Eskkar swore again. The idea of right and left wasn’t clear to some of them. That, too, would have to be explained.
Nevertheless, the line eventually reformed. Of course, Fashod’s line had turned smoothly, without a lost step and they now waited patiently.
“Walk!” the ten horsemen plus Eskkar moved forward, the line ragged within a few steps. “Keep the line even, damn you!” His voice would be hoarse by the end of the day if he kept shouting at this rate.
They did a little better the second time. When they’d finished the tenth pass, the line remained nearly straight. Still, Eskkar wasn’t sure if it wasn’t the horses who grasped the concept quicker than their riders.
“Now we’ll try the same movement at a trot.”
One rider started forward.
“Damn you, wait for the command!” Eskkar bellowed. At this rate his voice wouldn’t last the morning, let alone the day.
The sheepish rider had to ride around his grinning companions to regain his place.
“Trot!”
This went a little better. A lot of the work depended on the horse, but gradually each animal got used to keeping pace with the horse beside it. After ten times, Eskkar gave the order for a canter. Once again, the horse and rider had to learn what that command meant, what gait to set, the faster horses being held back, the slower ones urged to move a bit faster.
Again and again Eskkar shouted to keep the line even. As mid-morning approached, both horse and rider were getting weary. The drill seemed senseless, and only the fact that the warriors executed each pass with precision proved that they, too, had practiced such things.
The men were getting tired, which was what Eskkar wanted. Weary horses and men would be less likely to do something foolish or injure themselves. “Now we try a gallop. The sooner you get it right, the quicker you can rest.”
This time the line held together better than expected, either by luck or skill, and the two lines rushed toward each other. Eskkar repeated the drill three more times, then waved Fashod’s men in.
“Enough for now. Take care of your horses, wash them down, and return here. Move!”
Fashod discharged his men as well, but he rode over to join Eskkar. Both men dismounted and sat down on the grass.
“Your men did better than I expected.”
“These men are experienced fighters, good archers, and decent riders, but they’ve never learned how to use a horse in battle. The next group will be far worse.”
Fashod grunted at hearing that.
In ones and twos, Eskkar’s men returned. He waited until he had all ten sitting on the ground before him. “Any questions?”
The men glanced at each other, but one man finally spoke. “Why are we doing this? We’ll never walk our horses toward the enemy.”
Eskkar kept the frown from his face. Better to let the men ask questions, even stupid ones. If he started cursing at them, they’d never learn to speak out.
“Do you know why the steppe warriors are so ferocious?” No one answered. “It’s because they’re better horsemen. They’ve learned that a well-trained horse is worth two or three men in a battle. And this — what we’ve done this morning — is how they train their horses. Their animals will charge toward an approaching group of horses, because they know there will be a gap for them to pass through. And they trust their rider to find that gap. In battle, they strike together, crashing into their enemy. When villagers fight on horseback, they ride up to an enemy, stop the horse, and start hacking at each other with their swords. The warriors let the horse do the fighting. They never stop. They know a wound is just as good as a kill, so they strike at the horse, the rider, anywhere they can, and they keep moving forward. They push through their enemy until they break through to his rear. Then they wheel around and attack again. They never worry about their back, because they’re always moving forward.
Eskkar glanced at Fashod. “Tell them.”
“What Eskkar speaks is true. We train the horse to use its shoulder to crash into an opposing horse, to step on anything in its path, and to always continue forward. When we attack dirt… villagers, they break quickly, because they suddenly find warriors behind as well as in front. The moment a horse fighter starts worrying what is happening behind him, what danger may be approaching, he’s easy to kill. Either that, or he turns and runs.”
Horses have a natural tendency to jump over obstacles in their path. They had to be trained to step on anything on the ground, man or beast.
“A good horse takes months to train,” Eskkar said. “A warrior guards a prime animal as much as his wife, maybe even more, because he knows a good horse can save his life in battle. It’s not likely we can ever do as well as Fashod and his men, but the Sumerian horsemen are not warriors. Mitrac proved that a few months ago. With a handful of men, he struck a heavy blow. So Akkad’s horsemen just need to be better trained and better mounted than our southern enemy. And that,” he waved his hand toward the valley, “is why we’re here.”
He stood. “Enough talk for now. While the horses rest, we will practice our sword fighting.”
They worked with their swords the rest of the morning and early afternoon. Then they gathered their horses and repeated the morning’s drill, moving quicker this time through the walk, trot and canter, and into the gallop.
When they finished, Eskkar collected his weary men. “Tomorrow, we’ll start again. This time we’ll narrow the gap a little each time, until there is just enough room for horse and rider to pass through Fashod’s line. And then we’ll start all over again, yelling our war cry and waving our swords. The horses need to hear and see all that, as well. In ten days or so, we’ll slaughter a cow and cover everyone with blood. Your horses will need to get used to that scent, too. Now get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”
By noon the next day, both the men and their mounts stood exhausted before Eskkar. He ordered them to take care of the horses first, then find something to eat and get some rest. As they moved to obey, a shout turned Eskkar’s eyes back to the mouth of the valley.
A small caravan had arrived. Eskkar dismounted and led his horse toward the newcomers. As he approached them, he took a count. Thirty men on horseback, another twenty on foot, and three small carts laden with supplies. Klexor swung down from his horse as his captain arrived.
“By the gods, Captain, if you were any farther north, we’d never have found you!”
The two men hugged each other for a moment. “Two days ride from Bisitun, and you’re complaining.”
“If you had to listen for two days to those carts squealing with every turn of the wheel, you’d be glad to arrive anywhere. Even the demon pits below can’t be that noisy.”
“Have you brought everything?”
“Not everything had arrived in Bisitun,” Klexor replied, “and I knew you wanted to start the men training as soon as possible. Another caravan should arrive tomorrow or the day
after. After that, Sisuthros will have you on a regular schedule, with a caravan arriving every three days.”
“What have you brought?”
“Twenty men who claim they can tell a horse from a donkey. Half of them are liars, I’m sure. Three of my best riders, to help with the training. Five men to escort the carts and drivers back to Bisitun. They can leave in the morning. Half a dozen laborers to build your walls, three rope makers, two weavers, two cooks, and five farmers. The carts are full of grain, food, wine and ropes, as well as tools and weapons for the Ur Nammu.” He lowered his voice. “Any trouble with them?”
“No. Fashod and Chinua, one of his leaders of ten, have spoken to them about us, enough for them to give us a chance to prove ourselves. You just make sure of your men.”
“I’ve done nothing but pound that fact into their thick skulls for the last two days. The first one that gets out of line will wish he’d died in his mother’s womb.”
Eskkar grunted in satisfaction. It wasn’t everything he needed, but it would do for a start. “We need to get an enclosing wall built across the valley’s mouth as soon as possible, but we can manage with ropes for now.”
He didn’t want anything fancy or solid, just something tall enough to make the bravest horse turn away. Wild horses tended to be powerful jumpers, and ropes alone might not stop them long.
“Well, you won’t see any walls for a few weeks. They’ll have to make the bricks and let them dry before they can use them.”
Eskkar nodded. He knew all about the construction of bricks and walls. Trella and Corio had seen to that. Probably he would need more masons and laborers as well.
“This valley is the perfect place to train horses, Klexor. We can seal off some of the small openings, and use them to keep the half-trained beasts from the wild ones. And more horses will be arriving in a few days. The Ur Nammu warriors who helped drive this herd here have already left to capture more animals.”
“By the time you’re finished here, you’ll have built another village.”
“No doubt. As soon as the walls are up, we’ll start building some huts for the men. Until then, everyone sleeps on the ground. Now come with me. You and Fashod need to meet and decide how you’re going to train the men.”
The three leaders spent the rest of the day and most of the evening talking. Only when Klexor understood every part of the process did Eskkar relax. The new camp would slowly take shape, but over the next few months everything needed to train both men and horses to ride and fight would be in place. Supplies and fresh men would arrive on a regular basis, and as the men became proficient in their horsemanship, they would help train the newcomers.
As far as Eskkar knew, no one had ever done anything like this before. Usually a village anchored a training camp, or a place to assemble and work the horses. This valley would be dedicated to nothing but horsemanship. Raw recruits would arrive, and when they left, Eskkar was determined they would be efficient horse fighters. The longer he could keep this place secret, the better for Akkad.
29
Trella stood in the entrance to the Map Room. It had taken more than four months to construct, and she had watched the builders create it, plank by plank, brace by brace. When they finished, the last crew of carpenters cut the door into Eskkar’s workroom, connecting the two chambers for the first time. During construction, the laborers entered by ladders from the courtyard, so as not to disturb Eskkar and Trella’s private quarters any more than necessary.
This morning the last of the tables, benches and other furnishings had arrived and settled into place. The gleaming white walls added to the sunlight slanting down through the slit windows spaced around three sides of the room. Fifteen paces long and twelve paces in width, the chamber would provide a secure place for the commanders to plan Akkad’s defense. Now Trella had only to add the final touches that would turn it into something truly unique.
“Well, Ismenne, are you ready to begin?”
“Yes, Lady Trella.”
Corio’s daughter clutched a bulky sack in both hands. Trella had offered to help her with it, but Ismenne, shocked at the idea that Lady Trella should actually lift anything herself, insisted she could manage alone.
Trella moved inside, running her fingers down the long rectangular table that sat in the center of the room. Almost as long and half as wide as the Map Room, the table’s plank surface and its ten stools dominated the chamber.
“This end will point to the north,” Trella said. She helped Ismenne lift the sack onto the bare table. “From Bisitun to Sumer. Are you sure you have everything you need to get started?”
“Yes, Lady Trella. The rest is downstairs in my room.”
Bantor and Annok-sur had once used that chamber as their home. But over a year ago Bantor had purchased a house for his wife and daughter down the lane. Still, Annok-sur used her former home often enough, especially when Eskkar traveled to the north, to stay close by Trella’s side. The idea of having a room practically to herself had excited Ismenne as much as working with Trella.
“I’ll have one of the servants carry your models and sketches up to the workroom,” Trella said. “You can move them into here yourself.”
Ismenne nodded and started pulling thin strips of wood from the sack and spreading them out on the surface. For the last three months, she had prepared drawings of the major cities and villages whose shapes would soon be sketched, painted or modeled onto the table. The girl had attended every meeting where Annok-sur’s agents reported to Trella about the lands to the south. Ismenne also sat in on those meetings where soldiers, river men and travelers discussed distances and landmarks.
It had all started with Gatus. Trella had him march his fully armed and burdened men one hundred paces across the training ground several times, marking the area with pegs each time. When Trella decided she had the proper length, Gatus trimmed a long spear the exact length of five paces. When the measuring spear fitted within the hundred paces exactly twenty times, Trella had her basic unit of measurement. Another strip of wood one pace long was matched to the measuring spear.
Now that she had a standard length for a soldier’s pace, Trella provided that distance to her walkers and dispatched them to their destinations. Bags of pebbles would be used to measure the distances. After a hundred paces, a pebble would be shifted from the full sack to the empty one, a process that would be repeated as long as necessary.
Already Trella had calculated the distance between Akkad and the nearest villages, and her walkers had gone as far north as Bisitun. As soon as she trusted their skill, Trella sent the first one south, to measure the distance to Larsa, the nearest of the Sumerian cities. In the next few months, every distance in Sumeria would be paced on at least two separate occasions and the tally recorded in the soft clay shards used to keep records. Eventually the information reached Trella and Ismenne, who would then sketch the distances directly onto the table.
Gatus had provided more information in the last few months. He would march his men hard for five days, carrying extra provisions, and record how far they traveled each day, the pace naturally speeding up as the weight of supplies decreased. Now Trella had a figure for the average distance an army of spearmen could travel in any given day. It wouldn’t be perfect, of course. Differences in the landscape, whether hard earth, tall grass or soft sand would alter the calculation, as would the heat of the day, wind or rain, or even the scarcity of water. But at least they had a beginning, and soon Akkad’s leaders not only became more aware of the land around them, but knew the marching distance from one place to another.
Trella hadn’t stopped with Gatus. Hathor had put his horsemen through the same process. Now he knew how far his men could ride in a given day. Even Yavtar had contributed, matching the travel times for various ships and measuring the distance along the Tigris and the other main streams that flowed to the south on their way to the great sea.
A ll these numbers and measurements found their way into the Map Room, where I
smenne worked from dawn until dusk. She attended countless meetings with Trella’s walkers, as well as the city’s traders and merchants. To them, the girl seemed nothing more than a minor servant or a clerk, helping Trella record their information. But the girl listened to every report, every story about the landscape, the hills and valleys, what the walkers saw and felt, everything Trella could extract from their memories.
When they were gone, Ismenne would begin a new sketch, matching what she’d learned against her previous attempts. Slowly the long table underwent a change, turning into a map that illustrated every major feature of the countryside between Akkad and the cities of the south. Every bend in the river, every stream that fed into the Tigris, every hill and valley, took its place on the map. Eventually the table ceased to exist, giving birth to the map that would guide Eskkar and his senior men through the coming war.
By the end of the first year, the map stretched from Bisitun to the great sea beyond Sumer. But the work never ended. Trella continued to gather new information from her spies, and she relayed it to Ismenne. Traders, travelers, even explorers, Trella spoke with them all, gathering information as innocently as possible.
In that same year, Ismenne passed from child to woman, her body filling out. She stood a hand taller than Trella now, with hair as dark as her mistress. Strangers often assumed Ismenne to be Trella’s younger sister.
Fortunately, for Trella at least, Ismenne’s change into womanhood bonded her even closer to her queen. Ismenne felt no urge to marry, no awkward feelings toward the boys and young men around her, no rush to experience the pleasure of the gods. She understood the importance of her work, and was determined to see it to completion.
I n their workroom, Trella faced Eskkar across the table. After being gone for almost forty days visiting the horse camps in the north, Eskkar had worked up quite an appetite, and he consumed almost all the sausage, cheese, and bread the servants carried up to their chamber. Trella ate her fill, too. Like most people in Akkad, she preferred to eat only twice each day, in the mid-morning and at the day’s end. At last Eskkar pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair with a smile of satisfaction on his face.
