Conflict of Empires es-3

by Sam Barone

  Another cheer went up. In a single swift motion, Eskkar drew his sword and raised it over his head. A roar from over four thousand throats rose up at the gesture. He kept the blade pointed to the sky and filled his lungs with air. “March for Akkad! March for revenge! March for gold! Are you with me, Akkadians?”

  An even louder clamor echoed out over the river, startling birds and even the Sumerian horsemen observing them from across the stream. The pandemonium went on and on, as every man raised his sword, spear, bow or fist in the air. “Akkad! Akkad! Akkad!”

  The outcry continued, until the men’s voices grew hoarse.

  Eskkar lowered his sword, then pointed it toward the south-west, the direction that would lead them to Larsa. “Then march! Show these Sumerian scum that you’re not a bunch of old women. Commanders, get this pitiful excuse for an army moving!”

  More laughter swept through the men. They surged away from Eskkar, returning to their places, gathering up their supplies and weapons, jostling their way back into formation. Even before everyone was ready, Gatus gave the command to move out, and the invasion of Sumeria began in earnest.

  G atus organized the column into three groups. The spearmen formed the core of the marching formation, with the supply men, builders, even Eskkar’s two clerks, directly behind them. Bowmen and slingers surrounded them on all sides. The archers would keep any enemy horsemen at a distance. Eskkar had only twenty horsemen with him, in addition to the dozen or so Ur Nammu warriors. These, supported by groups of slingers who acted as skirmishers, would scout the land and act as messengers if needed.

  The Sumerian cavalry — from what Eskkar had seen of them — didn’t possess many bows, and those who did carried the smaller kind meant for use on horseback. The Akkadian longbows had almost twice the reach. If the Sumerians charged his archers and tried to overrun them, the spearmen and slingers would be ready and waiting to deal with them. Those who survived the hail of arrows would find themselves impaled on a wall of spears.

  Gatus led the formation, riding his mare and wearing his battered reed hat. Grond and the other commanders had insisted Eskkar march with the spearmen, out of range of any arrow launched high into the air. He didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to talk to the men, and he moved up and down the ranks they traveled speaking to many, answering questions, or even listening to stories the soldiers told about other battles.

  They kept a fast pace, but the Akkadians halted often, taking short breaks that never seemed to last long enough to rest. The sacks each man carried gradually grew lighter, as the bread, cheese, and dates were consumed. Better to carry the food in your belly than on your shoulder.

  By mid-afternoon, the scouts galloped back to report. A large force of cavalry was coming up behind them, driving hard.

  “How many?”

  “Seven hundred, eight hundred, perhaps a thousand,” the scout replied, his eyes still wide with excitement.

  “Not enough to attack us,” Gatus said. He had one leg swung over the mare’s neck. “Probably reinforcements for Larsa.”

  Eskkar knew how hard it was to count moving horsemen, but the number seemed about right. “The rest will be at our heels soon enough. They’ll try to slow us down.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Alexar said. “Our bowmen have been waiting for a chance to test their weapons.”

  “Keep the men ready for anything, an attack, an ambush, anything.”

  Eskkar didn’t fear the horsemen. No horse that ever lived would charge a bristling line of spears, no matter how hard its rider urged it forward. Archers could be ridden down, if the enemy were willing to take the losses, but men armed with shields and spears were a different matter. If the Sumerian horse attacked the archers, they’d find themselves crushed by the spearmen. And even the Sumerians didn’t have enough cavalry to dare a true frontal attack. As long as Eskkar stayed away from Shulgi’s infantry, his force of Akkadians would be safe. At least, that was what he told himself several times each day.

  The Akkadian army kept moving. The tactics and marching orders used in months and years of training now proved their worth. The odd commands and alignments, which once had made the men shake their heads at their leaders’ apparent stupidity, now provided a safe zone for all his men. Almost none of the soldiers were aware that today’s formation had been planned months and years ago. Only Eskkar’s most trusted commanders knew the whole story.

  Darkness had fallen before Gatus gave the order to halt near a small stream that provided fresh water. Weary men dropped their sacks and shields, but there was no time yet for rest. The commanders marked out a square camp, with the slingers, archers, horses and supplies in the center, the spearmen surrounding them.

  After objections from Eskkar, Gatus had come up with the idea of the night camp. “The men need a place to sleep while on the march,” he declared. “If we provide a secure place each night, they’ll sleep better and march farther the next day. Or would you rather be attacked while you sleep and wake up with your throat slit?”

  Eskkar had thrown up his hands and given in. The idea of spearmen infantry belonged to Gatus. If having the men fortify a camp each night appeased the old soldier, Eskkar would go along. That night, Gatus and Eskkar walked the camp, inspecting the preparations. Only when Gatus declared himself satisfied with their preparations to repel any attack during the night did the men receive the command to rest.

  Fires were soon burning, but most of the soldiers ate a simple dry meal of bread and dates and whatever else they had to hand. Within moments, those not on guard duty were snoring away, loud enough to be heard back in Akkad. At least it seemed that way to Eskkar.

  He and his commanders sat huddled in the center of the camp, hunched over a cloth map spread out in the dirt. Trella’s agents had started mapping this entire area years ago. Now Eskkar could see the location of every stream, well and landmark between Kanesh and Larsa, with the route they were to take stitched out in red threads.

  “It took longer than we expected to reach this place, and we had no opposition. Tomorrow’s march will be even longer, and if Razrek’s horsemen attack…”

  “The men will be carrying less weight tomorrow,” Gatus said. “And we’ll start moving at first light. We’ll make up the time.”

  Eskkar decided there was no sense in arguing about it. Tomorrow’s march would tell the tale.

  Gatus leaned over and studied the map. “How far did we come today?”

  “About twenty-two miles,” Eskkar said, checking the map, though by now he had little need of it. He’d memorized it months ago. “Tomorrow we need to do twenty-four, almost twenty-five miles if we want to reach fresh water.”

  Even as Trella’s spies had mapped the land, they had also measured the distances. For two years a dozen men had mapped and paced off much of the land of Sumeria. Hopefully, no one in the southern lands had noticed any of this activity.

  Eskkar thought it quite remarkable to know in advance the exact distance one had to walk or ride to reach a destination, and even more remarkable to know approximately how long such a journey would take.

  “These spearmen are tough,” Gatus said. “They’ll make the march. They’ve done it often enough in training.”

  Once again, Eskkar kept silent. The men were carrying more weight now than they usually did in training. No one else answered Gatus’s comment, but every commander knew that training had ended, and that this was real war. And the spearmen had the most equipment to carry. An archer could travel fairly well carrying a bow, two quivers full of arrows, and a short sword. The slingers carried even less. But a spear and shield were both heavy and cumbersome to carry, and spearmen wore helmets of bronze as well, which were usually tied to a man’s waist as they walked. With all those items of warfare attached to his body, a spearman needed to press hard to keep up with the archers.

  “I’m going to get some sleep.” Gatus stood and stretched, ignoring the silence regarding tomorrow’s march. “I suggest you do the same.” He s
trode off to throw his body down on the ground beside his sub-commanders.

  “Well, we’ll know where we are tomorrow night,” Eskkar said. “Let’s hope Gatus is right. Meanwhile, make sure everyone gets some rest. We’re going to need all the sleep we can get.”

  44

  Uvela sat cross-legged on the ground, with only a thin blanket to soften the hard earth beneath her. To make herself more comfortable and catch a bit of shade from the midday sun, she leaned back against Akkad’s outer river wall. Before her lay a sun-bleached linen cloth, upon which rested an assortment of leather straps, necklaces, carved figures of Ishtar, as well as the other various spirits that brought luck or long life or fertility or strength to a man’s rod. Every so often an idle laborer or visitor from the surrounding farms would wander by, let his eyes glance over her wares, and move on.

  Few of Uvela’s wares would attract a second look. By custom, such a prime location close to the docks and the river gate should have been occupied by a reputable seller of more valuable goods. But though she managed to sell one or two items every few days, no one asked Uvela to give up her station. Not even the more aggressive merchants, eager for additional selling space bothered to complain about her presence.

  Uvela’s station included the younger woman who sat beside her, tending the small cooking fire burning in a thick clay pot. A battered bronze kettle full of stew hung suspended over the low flames. Occasionally, a boatman or even one of Akkad’s dockside guards would offer a copper coin for the kettle’s contents, a more than fair price for such basic fare. Both mother and daughter were known to the city’s guards, who made sure that no ignorant farmer or foolish vendor disturbed their places, trinkets or even themselves.

  From where Uvela sat she could see everyone entering Akkad through the river gate. For more than two years she’d watched an assortment of people step on or off the docks, coming and going, and by now she could read their faces almost as well as Lady Trella.

  Most strangers entering the city for the first time looked about them in awe, impressed by the high walls, surprised by the size of the docks, overwhelmed by the dozens of craftsmen selling everything conceivable. Gangs of laborers from the market loaded or unloaded the steady stream of boats, adding to the confusion. Gawking newcomers — their mouths open and clutching most of their few worldly goods — would walk slowly into the city, jostled about by those whose regular business brought them in and out of the gate, usually at a hurried pace.

  Some people, their eyes downcast, arrived wearied or troubled by some anguish or misfortune that brought them to Akkad. These usually wore ragged clothes and carried all their possessions in a simple sack slung around their necks. Uvela could guess their stories, how bandits or Sumerians had ventured across the border to harass and plunder those weaker than themselves. With their homes destroyed and their crops burned, these desperate folk hungered for a new life in Akkad. Since the outbreak of war with Sumer, their numbers had swelled, as everyone sought the safety of the city’s high walls.

  After years of such observation, Uvela knew families could usually be ignored, as could the very young and very old. That left only a few who caught her eye, but when someone did, she stared at them carefully. None of them ever noticed her gaze. With her lank gray hair practically covering her face, her eyes could scarcely be seen. If they did happen to gaze at her, they saw only an insignificant old woman, whose patched and faded shift hung loosely over her thin shoulders, and marked her status as one of those who often needed to beg for food to supplement their meager earnings.

  Now two men walking off the docks and toward the gate attracted Uvela’s attention. Their poor clothing couldn’t conceal the strong muscles that lay beneath the worn garments. They strode up the slight incline with ease, despite each carrying a heavy sack almost as large as the ones used by a merchant’s porters as they transported goods from city to city.

  The new arrivals gave the city’s walls the briefest of glances, then moved forward, letting the crowd carry them through the wide open double gate only a few paces away from where Uvela sat.

  “Have you see those two before?” Uvela rose to her feet as she spoke, determined to have a second look.

  Her daughter, sitting beside her, didn’t raise her head or her voice. She, too, knew how to use her eyes. “Never.”

  “I’ll follow them.” Uvela pulled a scarf from a pocket in her dress, and swept it over her head and across her neck. The gray hair vanished in an instant. Meanwhile, her daughter removed her own hat, a large reed affair that would cover both head and scarf if need be, and handed it to her mother.

  Uvela moved quickly through the gate. The guard there gave her a glance, but said nothing. No one questioned or even spoke to one of Annok-sur or Lady Trella’s women when they went about their business. In fact, the guards made sure that no one else disturbed them, either by accident or on purpose.

  In moments, Uvela caught sight of the two men moving deeper into the city. She slowed her step, staying about twenty paces behind them, the usual crowd of men and women filling the lane between them. The men glanced around from time to time, but a ragged older woman blended into the throng, almost unseen and beneath notice in any event. Nevertheless, Uvela kept well behind the two as they moved closer to the center of the city. They stopped only once, to ask directions from a vendor, before they continued on until they reached the Spotted Owl, a tavern often used by travelers.

  This time both men glanced around before they entered the dwelling, but if they saw a woman wearing a large reed hat, they never noticed.

  Uvela found a place to stand and waited. The Spotted Owl, while not one of Akkad’s finest, provided good food and decent ale at reasonable prices. After a river journey it was only natural for travelers who could afford the price to want to partake of some ale and food. She settled in, the scarf and hat held out of sight behind her back, expecting to wait some time while the two men quenched their thirst. But before long, one of the men came out and turned up the lane, away from where Uvela sat. She moved to her feet, prepared to follow the stranger, but before she’d taken more than a few steps, he ducked under a low doorway and disappeared into one of the endless huts whose uneven walls formed the lane.

  Retracing her steps, Uvela returned to her vantage point. With a little stretching she could see both tavern and hut from where she stood, and her slight stature made her almost invisible as she leaned against the wall. Before long, the second man stepped out of the tavern, glanced up and down the lane, and followed his companion’s steps to the same house.

  By now her interest was more than idle curiosity. Even before the outbreak of hostilities with Sumer, Annok-sur’s network of spies and informers had kept their eyes open for any suspicious strangers. With the armies of Akkad and Sumer marching toward each other, Uvela and others like herself had heightened their activities. Any stranger, boatman, merchant or uncouth farmer could be a spy for Sumer, even a possible assassin. Before Lady Trella became queen of Akkad, or even Eskkar’s wife, she had nearly succumbed to an assassin’s knife.

  Now Trella rarely left the Compound, and when she did venture forth, a compliment of Hawk Clan soldiers guarded her person as zealously as they protected the king’s. And although Eskkar had marched south with Gatus and the army, there were still other possible targets for hired killers within Akkad.

  An attractive young girl, her hips moving suggestively, strolled down the lane, smiling at potential customers and trying to talk to the any of the passersby who showed the slightest interest. Her shift, cut low, revealed much of her breasts. As she drew close to the spot where Uvela waited, she gestured casually, and the girl approached.

  “Good day, Uvela.”

  “And good day to you, Martana. Are you busy right now?”

  “No, only one customer so far today, and that took but a few moments.” She laughed at the memory. “He had to rush back to his wife and four children.”

  Uvela smiled at the story. “Then perhaps you
can do some work for me.” She told Martana about the two men, and described them in detail, including where they seemed to be staying.

  “See what you can find out about them from the people in the tavern.” She reached inside her dress and handed the girl a copper coin. “You’ll earn a silver coin if you discover anything useful. But be careful. Don’t arouse any suspicions. They could be dangerous.”

  Martana tossed her head. “Everyone knows I’m curious about men. Will you be here long?”

  “No, I’ll be up the lane, where I can watch the house better.” And where she could send a message to Annok-sur to ask for help, but there was no need to tell Martana that.

  Uvela waited until the girl disappeared inside the tavern, then moved up the lane, just another old woman beneath the notice of most men in the city.

  A street vendor Uvela knew was happy to dispatch one of her daughters to carry word to Annok-sur, and just as eager to provide a doorway from which Uvela could keep a close eye on the stranger’s hut. She settled in for a long wait, but at least she knew she would soon have plenty of help.

  T he next day, just after dusk, Trella, Annok-sur and Uvela sat at the table in the workroom, their heads almost touching. Though the room provided plenty of privacy, Bantor and a few of his commanders lingered in the Map Room, so the three women kept their voices low, out of habit as much as for any other reason. Successful women learned almost from childhood to keep their thoughts and conversations to themselves, lest what they think or say upset or anger the men in their lives.

  “They’ve settled in for the night,” Uvela said. She had just arrived from her post in the lane, where three other women now kept watch on the strange men staying at the Spotted Owl. “It seems they’ve joined up with seven or eight others who’ve been hanging around the inn. Some are staying at a house just up the lane. This morning the two newcomers split up, and spent most of the day wandering around the city, each accompanied by one of those who’d been living here. None of them appeared interested in seeking work, or buying anything but food and ale. They don’t look or act like laborers. They might be just thieves.”