Conflict of Empires es-3

by Sam Barone

  Most of those years he lived on the border of what the Egyptians called the eastern desert, cursing the fate that brought him there. The Akkadians called it the great western desert, but it remained the same sand, dust and searing rocks that spread from the land between the rivers almost to Egypt’s border.

  But Korthac, despite his cunning, had lost his great battle to seize control of all Egypt. His army almost completely destroyed and his enemies — burning with a desire for revenge — closing in on him, Korthac and a few surviving followers fled into the great desert. For months Korthac led the remnants of his men through this dry and useless land, watching them die one by one, the living feeding on the bodies of those too weak to defend themselves. The survivors had crawled out of the desert just in time to avoid dying of thirst. Hathor still remembered lying on his stomach, his face buried in a muddy irrigation ditch, drinking the sweetest water he’d ever tasted in his life.

  Now once again Hathor found himself challenging the hot sands. He might well end up dead on this journey, but at least this time it wouldn’t be the desert that killed him. Death would more likely come from a Tanukh arrow or Sumerian spear. But despite his distaste for these barren and arid lands, no man in Akkad knew more about fighting in this environment than he did. So Hathor had volunteered to lead the cavalry.

  With Klexor and seven hundred and fifty horsemen, Hathor had ridden north after separating from Eskkar and bypassing Kanesh, taking a little-used trail that bypassed most villages. That day they covered almost forty miles and reached the first of their supply points. Yavtar’s bobbing boats waited for Hathor’s arrival, riding low in the water with extra food for the men and grain for the horses. Another thirty horses waited there as well, guarded by a dozen Akkadians who had herded them across the river and down to meet the cavalry. The spare mounts, all of them battle trained, would carry food and weapons, but their main function would be as reserves for any animals lost on the long journey before them.

  Akkad’s defenders would sorely miss the mounts. The decision to send them to Hathor would weaken the city, and only Trella’s resolve and support had overridden Bantor’s objections.

  “A few more mounted riders won’t save the city,” Trella said, “but they may make the difference between Hathor’s success or failure.”

  He wished the men who delivered the mounts could accompany him, but they needed to return to Akkad as quickly as possible. The city would be in danger, and craved every man who could swing a sword in its defense. Eskkar’s war plan had much that could go wrong, and not least was the possibility that Akkad might fall while her army struggled in the south. Hathor had observed Korthac take many a desperate gamble, but never one such as this, that required so much from so many. The blessings of the gods — or Eskkar’s famous luck — would be stretched to the limit.

  With Hathor’s horses and men resupplied, his cavalry started their journey at dawn the next morning. This time he led the way north-west. They had to get far enough away from anyone who might report a large body of horsemen moving toward the desert or the vicinity of Lagash. If King Shulgi learned of their position or even their general direction, it wouldn’t be difficult to guess their destination. Once that happened, the warning would flash down the rivers, and Akkad’s enemies would be alerted to a new danger.

  All those worries mattered little now. Hathor and his force were as committed as Eskkar’s own. If the Akkadian cavalry reached their destination and found a well-armed and well-prepared foe waiting for them, they would just have to deal with the situation as best they could. Attack if possible, or extricate themselves from whatever trap the enemy might have set.

  That day passed without incident. The following day, just before sunset, the Akkadian cavalry splashed across the Euphrates river two hundred miles north of Lagash. Their course, however, continued westward, as they needed to swing wide of the city, so as to avoid detection.

  Every horse and pack animal now labored under the need to carry extra water. Wells and streams would grow fewer and smaller as they rode west, and those sources of water would likely be in camps or villages settled by Tanukh or the few Salib survivors that had escaped King Shulgi’s wrath.

  As the sun rose and set, Hathor grunted with satisfaction at his men’s progress. The rare travelers they did encounter fled at first sight, and never came close enough to identify Hathor’s men as Akkadians. In this part of the countryside, any larger band of horsemen would more likely be either barbarians from the north, or desert-dwellers. At least, Eskkar had assured him, that was the likely assumption. Now it became Hathor’s fervent hope, and he muttered a prayer for protection to the Egyptian gods he no longer believed in, and who, if they even existed, likely had no power this far from the Nile.

  Each morning they rose before dawn, gulped down a mouthful or two of stale bread, watered the horses, and continued their journey. They rode hard, but always with an eye to caring for their mounts. Hathor couldn’t afford to exhaust his valuable and well-trained animals. Whenever and wherever this journey ended, the horses would need all their strength for whatever fighting awaited them.

  Another day passed without incident, and he decided that his cavalry had slipped past Lagash without encountering any of its patrols, a good omen. Late in the afternoon on the third day, Hathor lay on his belly and looked down into a vast desert basin, where he saw the first Tanukh village, a dreary-looking place named Margan. At this distance, he couldn’t make out individual tents, but saw many had fires already lit in preparation for the evening meal.

  Hathor took his time counting and guessed that a hundred or so tents comprised Margan, more than he’d expected this far north. Three rope corrals held about the same number of horses. He saw few warriors, though an encampment that size should have at least three hundred men of fighting age, maybe more. No doubt many of these Tanukhs had flocked to Shulgi’s army, drawn by the promise of gold and the chance to loot the lands of Akkad.

  Klexor and Fashod lay on Hathor’s left, and Muta, once a farmer whose family lived just west of the Euphrates, crouched on his right. “How many warriors able to fight remain?”

  “Not much more than a hundred,” Muta said, “probably less than a hundred and fifty. And many will be boys and old men.”

  Hathor took one last look at the camp. “I’ve seen enough.” He glanced up at the sun. “We’ve just enough time before sunset. Let’s go.”

  He pushed himself backwards from the crest of the hill, then led the way down to where the rest of the men waited, tending to their horses and weapons.

  Squatting down, Hathor used his knife to draw a crude map in the dirt, while his subcommanders crowded around to learn what they would face. It didn’t take long to give the few orders needed. They had trained for such an attack before, and Muta’s knowledge of the land had prepared them for this moment even before they started out from Akkad.

  “Remember, we must make sure none escape.” Hathor looked at each of his subcommanders in turn. “If any do get away, it must be to the west, into the desert. This village is only two days’ ride from Lagash, and word of our presence must not reach them until we are well to the south.”

  Klexor, commanding a third of the cavalry, led his men out first. They would swing to the south, and make sure no one fled eastward, toward Lagash. Muta took another third, and led them to the west, deeper into the desert. When both his subcommanders were in position, Hathor would start the attack from the north, and the Akkadians would strike from three directions. With any luck, they would trap all the Tanukhs between them.

  As soon as his commanders departed, Hathor returned to the crest of the hill to study the camp. Nothing had changed, and if the Tanukhs had patrols guarding the village, they had all returned for the night. From so far away, he couldn’t detect any sentries, but the village would surely have a few in place.

  When he saw that Klexor and Muta had nearly reached their positions, Hathor descended the hilltop and gave the order to advance. In moments,
he and his men rode up and over the top of the low hill that had concealed them. They moved at a steady trot, the usual pace for desert horsemen trying to conserve their mounts, and one that kept their dust trail low to the earth.

  They rode in no particular order, just a straggling column of riders. That took some doing, as both the men and horses tended to want to form the usual column that they had trained for over the last year or two. So the leaders of ten and twenty kept up a constant stream of orders, mixed with a good amount of curses at men who either couldn’t or forgot to control their mounts.

  Hathor hoped anyone noticing them would think — for a few precious moments — that they were a band of returning Tanukh horsemen. The twenty two Ur Nammu warriors under Fashod rode in the rear, where their different clothing and weapons might alert the villagers. The Ur Nammu all rode powerful mounts, the best in Hathor’s force, and could run down almost any horse and rider.

  The Akkadians covered nearly half the distance before they were detected, and managed another few hundred paces before those in the camp heard and understood the alarm. Hathor didn’t bother giving an order. As soon as he saw men scrambling about, he touched his horse’s flanks with his heels, and the big stallion jumped into a gallop. In moments, nearly three hundred men thundered in a wild charge at the Tanukh camp, a large cloud of dust erupting up into the air behind them.

  The Ur Nammu warriors, at last free of the restriction that kept them in the rear, pounded past Hathor, angling their horses to the right. Their frightening war cries rose above the pounding of the horses’ hooves. They would ride around or through the edge of the village, to prevent any from escaping to the west and south.

  By now Hathor could see the confusion and panic in the camp. Women fled in all directions. Some men struggled to string bows, others readied their weapons, while most rushed to get to their horses. But the Tanukhs had no time to prepare a defense. As soon as they saw the great number of the approaching horsemen, most abandoned any hope of resistance, and tried to flee. By then it was much too late.

  The Akkadians greatly outnumbered the Tanukhs. Hathor’s men launched their first flight of arrow as soon as they were in range, about two hundred paces. Two more flights followed, before the Akkadian cavalry tore past the first tent.

  Any resistance had vanished. Men fled, abandoning their wives and children, desperate to reach their horses and escape. But Muta and Klexor’s forces arrived right after Hathor’s, slamming into the village from either side, and sealing the village’s fate.

  Pulling hard on the halter, Hathor slowed his horse near the center of the village, his eyes searching for any resistance. The trap had been well sprung, and all he saw was death and slaughter. His men — most of whom had felt the wrath of the Tanukhs or knew of those who had — now offered no mercy to the desert-dwellers. They had raided and pillaged Akkadian lands for too many years, and now they would be repaid for that blood debt.

  Every one of the Tanukhs died in the assault. Men, women, children, the young, the old, all were killed. The Akkadians had thoughts only of vengeance for the savage attacks on Kanesh and the border outposts. Even before the fighting ended, the women were shoved to the ground and raped, most more than once. Then they, too, were slain.

  Hathor watched it all without showing any emotion. They all had to die, so that none remained who could give warning of the Akkadian presence. Better a thousand Tanukh deaths than the loss of a single one of his own force. The same brutal tactics used by the Tanukhs would be turned on them, only with even more ruthless efficiency. Terror indeed was a two-edged sword.

  When the screams ended and the blood stopped flowing, the task of rounding up the Tanukh horses started. Other men emptied the tents of grain, food, or anything of value, and the herd animals were butchered to provide fresh meat for the Akkadians. They rinsed and refilled their water skins from the well. Then the destruction began. His men torn down every tent and piled them together, along with everything else that would burn. As the flames took hold throughout the camp, Hathor gave orders to dump all the dead bodies — both men and animals — into the well, a horrifying symbol for any desert-dweller. He intended to make sure the water source would be poisoned for many months, so that the Tanukhs could not return and re-establish the village. Akkad wanted no more raids originating from this part of the desert.

  Survivors — if any remained hiding in the sand — must be left to die from thirst and hunger. The Akkadians would have no need to return this way. They would live or die along another route out of the desert.

  Hathor had delivered Eskkar and Trella’s first message of terror to the Tanukhs: those who ride to war against Akkad and its people will be destroyed.

  H athor established his night camp five hundred paces from the still smoldering village. His men, grinning and laughing at their easy victory today, ate well, and the horses had plenty of grain. Margan’s fires burned and smoked with the stench of death long into the night, as Hathor knew they would. He’d waged this kind of war before, and that knowledge ensured that the devastation would be complete. Soon word of Margan’s destruction would spread, and fear and apprehension would travel across the desert.

  In Akkad, Lady Trella’s comprehension of the use of terror had surprised Hathor. She understood — in some ways even better than her husband — how such a massive raid would keep the Tanukhs in check for many years. Always eager for knowledge, Trella had spoken to Hathor many times about his days with Korthac and his brutal ways.

  Terror — she explained once to answer his question — was merely another way to defend Akkad and keep its enemies off-balance. Both our friends and enemies must know that it will not be used first, she declared, but if provoked, then terror would be employed to punish Akkad’s attackers. Tanukh raids into Akkadian lands must stop, once and for all.

  In Hathor’s eyes, Lady Trella was more than just a keen mind. As he soon discovered, she also understood the many ways to use power.

  The first six months had been difficult for Hathor. First his wounds had taken longer to heal than expected. When he grew strong enough to hobble about, he encountered many Akkadians who had suffered from Korthac’s short rule, and now only Hathor remained alive to remind them of those unhappy days. But gradually the rancor had faded. As Eskkar trusted Hathor with more and more responsibilities, the populace started to change their minds about the dour Egyptian.

  About that time, Trella had summoned him to meet her. When Hathor arrived, he found her speaking with another woman, Cnari, who not long before had lost her husband of eight years. Now in her early twenties, Cnari stood tall and slim as a willow, with fine features, long brown hair, and the slightly darker skin that, like Lady Trella, marked her as being born in the lands of Sumeria.

  Trella introduced them, then found a reason to leave the chamber. Cnari appeared nervous, and Hathor realized this was no chance encounter, that Trella must have prepared Cnari for his arrival. For his part, he spoke haltingly, afraid to say much, and certain that his appearance and grim visage would frighten any Akkadian woman. Later he learned that Trella had softened that initial impression by relating to Cnari the story of how Trella first met Eskkar, and the fear and doubts she had experienced that night.

  Trella didn’t return to her chamber for some time, and Hathor and Cnari spoke awkwardly about meaningless things. When Trella rejoined them, Cnari took her leave. But before she departed, she favored Hathor with a brief smile that enhanced her fine features. He stared at the doorway, aware for the first time of the scent Cnari used, still lingering in the air.

  “What do you think of Cnari?” Trella’s words brought Hathor out of his reverie. “She is a good woman, but she needs a strong man to protect her. And it’s not fit that one of Eskkar’s commanders does not have a woman of his own. I can think of no better man in Akkad for her than you.”

  Hathor had not had a woman of his own for almost two years, since he left his family in Egypt to fight with Korthac. He hadn’t thought of the
m in months, and felt no particular sense of loss at their absence. Here in Akkad, the women turned their eyes from him, remembering the horror Korthac had brought to the city.

  “Cnari is… too beautiful, Lady Trella, for a man like me. All the men of Akkad will want her.”

  “And that has frightened her. She has no family of her own, no children, no one to guide her, so she came to me for protection and help in finding a new husband.”

  Trella had arranged dozens of marriages in the last few years. Her skill at matching men and women had proved as good as everything else she undertook, and men as well as women often sought her guidance.

  “You honor me, Lady Trella. But I am not sure… she needs a man with more skills than a mere soldier.”

  “Perhaps you should ask Eskkar about that,” Trella said with a smile. “For now, Cnari is living downstairs. If you wish, call on her, speak to her, listen to her. If you find she is not to your choosing, I will try to find you another. There are many women in Akkad who would now look with favor on you. ”

  Hathor doubted the truth of that statement. Trella said nothing more about the matter, and when Hathor departed, he decided to avoid Cnari. But at Eskkar’s table that evening, chance seated Cnari beside him. They began to talk, and soon were ignoring the rest of the guests. The next evening, after he completed his duties, Hathor took a long swim in the river. Then he called on her, and they sat in Trella’s garden at the back of the house, talking long into the night.

  Just as much as the day Trella spared his life, that evening changed his fortune once again. When Hathor returned to his quarters, all he could think about was Cnari, her hair, her eyes, the hand she placed on his arm for a fleeting moment while they spoke. A few days later, they went to Lady Trella and asked to be wed in the temple of Ishtar.