by Sam Barone
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.”
“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 broke 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.
“Get the men moving, Gatus.” Eskkar raised his voice. “At least we’ve taught the Sumerians not to try and sneak up on us during the night. Now it’s time to march.”
They broke camp quickly. The men were used to eating as they walked, and it took little time to gather weapons and begin moving.
“Your skirmishers did well,” Gatus said, when Eskkar guided his horse alongside the old soldier.
“And not a man lost,” Eskkar agreed. “Now we’ll see what they can do at Larsa.”
Gatus drove the men hard the rest of the morning. They complained and groaned at the pace, but their legs kept moving, drawing closer to Larsa with each step, and no one dropped out. The archers, slingers and the rest of the company dared not complain, since they all carried less weight than Gatus’s men. Instead they matched the spearmen’s pace, and covered the ground with long strides that ate up the miles.
The Akkadians soon had their usual escort of enemy horsemen at their flanks and rear. By now, seeing so many of the enemy close no longer worried the infantry. It didn’t matter how many Sumerian horsemen surrounded them, as long as the archers protected the spearmen, both were safe from Razrek’s cavalry.
The enemy hadn’t tried to stop them yet, but Eskkar expected that to happen soon enough. Once the Sumerian horsemen on Eskkar’s left drew a little too close. Eskkar called out to Mitrac, who noticed the same encroachment and with a few swift orders, prepared his men.
When the enemy drifted a little closer, Mitrac barked out an order. One hundred archers stopped, strung their bows, and launched five arrows each. Many of the shafts fell short, and the riders turned and ran as soon as they saw the first flight of arrows, but at least half a dozen horses and men went down, caught by surprise by the rain of arrows. It wasn’t much of an exchange for the five hundred arrows launched, but it would teach the Sumerians not to come too close.
In moments the archers jogged back to their place in their ranks, and the moving column hadn’t even slowed its pace.
But just before noon, the scouts riding a few hundred paces in advance halted as they crested a low hill. Eskkar put his heels to his horse and rode out to join them.
Hundreds of Sumerians waited about eight hundred paces ahead. They’d built up a low breastwork of dirt and a few trees, and now stood behind the makeshift barrier. All the ones in the front had bows, and more men, some on foot, others on horseback, took position behind them. Eskkar glanced at the Sumerian horsemen who’d been shadowing them, and saw they had formed lines and moved in closer. They would attack if the Akkadians ranks stretched too thin. And if he decided to avoid this encounter, his men would waste valuable time.
It didn’t matter. Before Eskkar had finished studying the enemy formation, Gatus took charge.
“Spearmen!” Gatus’s voice rose up over the excited soldiers. “Take battle positions.” His subcommanders shifted the men quickly from the column into a wider front, the spearmen three deep. They shrugged off their sacks, pulled bronze helmets onto their heads, and readied their shields and spears.
“Slingers!” Gatus’s bellow could be heard by every Akkadian. “Form up behind the spearmen!”
The slingers, even more excited than the spearmen, took their position. This was their first test. They would have to provide support for the spearmen when they charged.
“Alexar, position the archers at the rear and flanks. Keep the horsemen at bay.” Eskkar gave the command but Alexar knew what had to be done and had already dispatched his subcommanders. Every bow was strung, and arrows nocked to the string.
Gatus wheeled his horse from in front of the spearmen. “Prepare to advance at a walk!” He waited while the command was echoed down the line by the subcommanders. “Advance!”
Every left foot took the first step, and the line of spearmen strode confidently toward the Sumerians. They carried their heavy wooden spears low in the ri
ght hand, to conserve strength, while holding their shields high to protect the face and upper body. The second, third and fourth ranks, when they were in range of the enemy arrows, would raise their shields up to cover their heads.
The whole shift from a marching column to battle formation took only moments, and to the Sumerians it must have looked as if the Akkadians had hardly slowed their march.
Eskkar took position with his horsemen, pacing along behind the slingers. When the Sumerians broke, his small group of Akkadian and Ur Nammu riders would charge into the enemy rear.
Gatus had dismounted and handed his mare over to one of the camp boys. He walked just ahead of the slingers, guarded by two spearmen on either side.
Mitrac, bow in hand, led the archers only a few paces behind the slingers. A few more steps, and the enemy position was within their range. “Archers! Prepare to shoot!” He, too, waited a moment for the command to travel up and down the line. “Shoot! Keep shooting!”
Seven hundred archers stretched in a line three deep behind him. Without breaking stride, they raised their bows and launched the first volley at the entrenched Sumerians. Another was on its way before the first landed, and a third a moment later.
Almost two thousand arrows struck the Sumerians with devastating effect, and before their own bows could even reach the approaching spearmen. But the enemy’s first flight of arrows flew toward the advancing line. Most fell short, but a few struck the shields. One man went down, an arrow in his leg. More enemy arrows flew toward steadily advancing infantry, who now presented a shield wall to the front and overhead. The Sumerians could manage only a jagged volley that showed the nervousness of their archers, daunted by the sheer volume of shafts raining down on them. Eskkar saw their faces turning to the left and right, looking for the first man to turn and run, all of them hesitant now to stand in place against their Akkadian counterparts while the frightening line of spears moved steadily toward them.
