by Sam Barone
Hathor, too, had urged his horse forward. But he reached for his lance, swinging it up in a smooth motion that bespoke years of practice. The servant, his eyes wide with shock, whirled his horse around, but before he could get it to a gallop, Hathor’s powerful arm flung the bronze tipped weapon, and Daro saw it bury itself into the man’s back.
With a roar, the entire column surged forward. Daro saw horses flash by him on either side, as the better riders overtook him. Nevertheless, he followed Hathor who headed directly toward the gap between the water and the boats. The Akkadians had their orders – to seize those vessels and kill their crews.
Naxos, meanwhile, led his horsemen straight ahead. The first few hundred riders would swing past the Elamite camp, to prevent any chance of their fleeing toward Sumer and their allies. Only when that escape route was closed would he and his men turn and attack.
The riders had nearly reached the camp before the Elamites grasped the horror approaching them. Many were sailors, porters, and camp followers. Little more than a hundred fighting men found themselves facing thousands of fast charging horsemen.
Panic reigned, as the Elamites rushed about. Some reached for weapons, others tried to get to their horses. But by then, hundreds of Akkadian cavalry had galloped past, cutting off any way of escape. A few of the Elamites tried to fight their way through, while others rode into the surf, but they never had a chance. Akkadian bowmen soon brought down all those attempting to flee. Soon blood stained the sands, as the Elamites died, most without ever striking a blow against their attackers.
The crews of the ships reacted faster than the soldiers. They rushed back to their boats, frantic to get them into the water and away from the shore.
But they, too, had no time. Hathor’s men tore into the gap between the surf and the boats resting high on the beach, the Akkadian horses kicking up great gouts of sand. Lances and arrows flew through the air, striking down any man that moved.
This was not battle, just the easy slaughter of the ships’ crews, most of whom knew little about fighting. Some Elamites fled up the beach, gaining a few more moments of life before the horsemen rode them down. Others dashed into the surf, but the waves pushed them back, and the Akkadian bowmen finished them off.
The Akkadians had their orders. Kill everyone in their path. Daro wanted all those sailors dead, and Hathor had issued another order to his commanders – thrust a lance into every throat. None of their foes could be allowed to fake death, or hide beneath the bodies of others.
Daro reached the first of the boats, his horse splashing in the wet sand behind the craft. He continued on, until he’d ridden past every one of the vessels, sword in hand and peering into each one, to make sure no Elamite sailors could get a craft into the water. He ignored the clash of weapons and cries of the dying that continued further up the beach, where Naxos and his men finished hunting down the last of the invaders.
Daro finished his quick examination of the boats. By then, his one hundred and twenty Akkadian bowmen had arrived and surrounded the ships. Though all of them knew how to ride, they were not experienced horse fighters, and Hathor had ordered them to the rear.
Daro hadn’t minded. The arrangement meant that none of his carefully selected archers, all of whom had experience on river boats, had risked an injury in the fighting.
As the first of his men dismounted, Daro sent them onboard the vessels, to make sure no Elamites hid among the ballast. Meanwhile, he selected the three largest and sturdiest boats, and ordered them to be dragged closer to the water. Daro wanted them ready to be launched at a moment’s notice.
Each boat he selected stretched longer than any river boat in Yavtar’s fleet, with a wider beam and taller sides as well. All three looked sturdily built, strong enough to withstand the waves of the Great Sea. Unlike the clumsy Apikin, Daro recalled, as he nodded in satisfaction.
“Leave the rest of the boats where they are, but stave out the bottoms. Make sure none of them ever goes to sea again. Keep the hulls intact, but rip out every plank and board within. Collect every paddle, rope, and sail, too. We’ll need them.”
By now all of Daro’s bowmen had reached the water’s edge. He had more orders for them. Their supply of extra bows and shafts, laboriously transported all the way from Akkad, were to be divided up and loaded onboard the three captured craft.
That finished, his bowmen formed a line to carry water skins, food, and anything else needed to keep the three boats afloat and ready to fight. Fortunately, the stacks of fresh supplies that covered the beach, intended to support the Elamite army at Sumer, provided everything Daro needed for his small force, and in more than sufficient quantity.
Next he divided up his men, forty to each ship. That was a large contingent, but since the boats carried no cargo, there should be just enough room for that many to work the ship and fight. With so many extra men plying the oars, the boats would race through the sea, faster than any cargo vessel.
Hathor rode up just as the initial frenzy of loading supplies and weapons ended. “I see you found more boats than you expected.”
Daro grinned. “These three,” he pointed toward the boats now resting on the wet sand, “are bigger and better than anything I expected. My sailors will need to learn how to handle ships this size.”
“Well, don’t drown them all at once.” Hathor gestured toward the cavalry. “Naxos is already regrouping the men. We’re pushing on ahead. There’s still plenty of daylight left, and Naxos doesn’t want to risk anyone getting by us after dark.”
“Any word on the Elamites?”
Hathor nodded. “Yes, the last of the army passed through here six days ago. By now, the entire army is outside Sumer.”
Sumer lay less than a full day of hard riding from here.
“Leave us a few horses,” Daro said, “so we can get word to you if any more Elamites show up.”
“I’ll do better than that. Naxos wanted to take all the extra horses with us, but he agreed you can have five. I told him it would look odd if someone shows up and there were no horses about.”
Sixteen horses had been in a rope corral, which had somehow remained intact.
“Good. We can use them to drag the bodies away.”
“I never thought about the dead bodies.” Hathor shook his head. “There’s always something you don’t think of, isn’t there?”
“Well, I can’t leave them lying about. No boat master with eyes in his head would land his ship on a battlefield.”
“I’ll leave you the prisoners we found. We took two men alive, and the older one looks like some kind of merchant or trader. See what you can wring out of them. If it’s anything useful, send word.” Hathor whirled his horse around. “I’ve got to get back to Naxos. He wants me to stay close, so he can keep an eye on me.”
“Don’t forget these.” Daro handed him the two pennants that had flown over the camp. “My men picked them up. They’re a little dirty, but you might find a use for them.”
“Ah, good idea.” Hathor reached down and grasped the pennants. “And to think that Yavtar told me you couldn’t find your prick in the dark.”
Daro laughed. “Good hunting, Hathor.”
With a wave, the Egyptian touched his heels to his horse and rode off in a flurry of sand.
In moments, the last of the cavalry, now moving at a respectable canter, disappeared behind the sand dunes to the west. Four of Daro’s men arrived, pulling along two prisoners at the end of a rope, their hands bound before them. His bowmen looked annoyed, no doubt unwilling to be guarding insignificant prisoners.
Daro glanced at the two captured men. Both had blood splattered over their tunics, though neither appeared to have more than minor injuries. Neither bothered to keep up any pretense of courage. Fear gripped them both, and the older one couldn’t control the occasional shiver that made his arms tremble.
“Keep them apart,” Daro ordered. He had no time for them now. “Make sure they don’t talk or escape.”
He
climbed into one of the beached boats, and gazed around the cove. Bodies littered the beach, and the roiled sand would tell anyone at a glance that a battle had been fought here. The dead needed to be concealed. The best place for them would be the Great Sea, but the bodies would soon wash up on shore, or float along the coast, as likely toward any approaching Elamite ship as not.
Daro sighed. Lifting his eyes from the shoreline, he stared across the grassy belt that butted up against the low hills, about five hundred paces away. Damn the gods, why couldn’t the camp have been closer to the hills.
“Get all the ropes you can find, and bring up the horses. We’re going to drag the dead inland, behind the grass and those hills.”
Months ago, at Eskkar’s war council in Akkad, Daro had first learned of the daring plan to save Sumer. Yavtar had also attended the meeting. The old sailor had provided estimates of the numbers of boats that would be needed to keep the Elamite supplies flowing until Sumer could be taken.
The discussion of the coastal shipping had given Yavtar an idea to strike a hard blow against the enemy. Seize a few boats, destroy the rest of them, and use the captured ships to patrol the sea and prevent further supplies from landing. If successful, the lack of supplies would help weaken the invading enemy.
The war council talked about such a venture for most of the day, before Eskkar agreed to it. Daro, the logical choice for such a daring plan, had joined Orodes’s expedition, commanding the small force of soldiers accompanying the Master Miner. Now Daro, by patrolling the seacoast, would try to help King Naxos and Hathor in their coming fight. Unlike the rest of the cavalry force, Daro had brought with him a troop of one hundred and twenty archers, almost all of them with some experience on Akkad’s fighting river boats.
“As long as they can keep up with us, they can come,” Naxos had declared at the war council. “If they can cause some mischief with the enemy supplies, so much the better.”
Daro recognized the doubt in King Naxos’s voice. The King of Isin had little expectation that Daro’s efforts would amount to much.
And so the river archers had walked their horses all the way from Akkad to the sea, following the cavalry, and stepping through endless piles of horse droppings the entire distance. Daro’s small troop of bowmen wouldn’t be of much use in the coming battle north of Akkad or even at Sumer, but here, on the beach, they just might fulfill a much larger role.
As Daro glanced around at the ruins of the enemy camp, he knew the first part of the plan had gone perfectly. His men had captured three large and sturdy ships, vessels capable of moving with ease through the powerful coastal flows of the Great Sea. Just as important, they also had all the weapons, food, and water they might need. The more difficult part had just begun – putting the ships into the water and preparing them for war.
By nightfall, Daro could barely stand. He’d raced his horse back and forth across the beach too many times to count. Fifty paces behind the dunes his men found a small ravine, and soon began dumping the bodies, with the help of the horses. Daro had to order a few men into the pit with the bodies, to arrange them as close together as possible, so that no space was wasted.
When the last Elamite body slid into the ravine, the men scooped and kicked sand over the dead. It wasn’t much of a grave, but they managed to at least cover the corpses. In the morning, Daro would have them do a better job, collecting more sand and tossing as many rocks as possible over the bodies. He didn’t want a flock of sea or carrion birds screaming and circling over the site, alerting any observer that something was amiss.
Daro finally trudged over to the two prisoners, starting with the common sailor first. Daro sat down on the sand facing the man, his face still streaked with dried blood.
“What’s your name?” Daro spoke in the common language, used by sailors and traders along the coast of the Great Sea.
“Pettraka, Lord.”
“Would you like some water?” The prisoner looked as dry as the sand beneath him.
“Yes, Lord. Please.”
Daro glanced at the guard and held out his hand. The bored soldier tossed over a water skin. Daro quenched his own thirst, but made no move to share any with the prisoner.
“Tell me about the boats. When is the next boat coming?”
“I . . . I don’t know, Lord. I’m just an oarsman. All I do is row.”
“Show me your hands.”
The man lifted his bound hands. Daro saw the thick calluses that covered his palms and fingers, and the powerful muscles in his arms. A simple rower.
With a few questions, Daro learned all he needed. The man’s ship had arrived in the early afternoon, carrying food and grain for the horses. The sailor knew nothing else of value.
Daro stood, and handed the man the water skin. “From now on, you will row for Akkad, if you wish to live.” He let the man have a few swallows, enough to quench his thirst, then pulled the skin from his grasping hands. Daro didn’t want the prisoner to regain his strength just yet.
The beach still bustled with activity. The ships, their bottoms hacked out, remained useful as a source of fire wood. Their deck planks would also make excellent shields. The men had discovered two saws, and were busy cutting the wood.
Daro strolled over to where the second prisoner sat. One look at the man’s tunic, and Daro knew Hathor had indeed captured either a ship captain or one of the beach commanders. Again he eased himself to the sand, this time stretching out his legs. He glanced at the man’s parched lips and jiggled the water skin.
“Your name?” This time Daro spoken in the language of the Elam.
The man, of about forty seasons, licked his dry lips and glanced around the beach, as if searching for help. Matted sand still clung to his hair and beard, both speckled with gray. His once fine tunic revealed that he had soiled himself, either from fright or because the guards hadn’t allowed him to move since he’d been captured.
“If you won’t talk, then you’re of no use to me. I’ll have you beaten to death.”
“And if I do talk to you?”
The hoarse words, spoken in Akkadian, came out in a rasp, and with only the slightest trace of an accent. Daro smiled at his good fortune. “First, you’ll have some water to drink. Then, if your words are helpful, you may live. Otherwise . . .”
The man didn’t take long to decide. “Water. Please.”
“Your name. I’ll not ask you again.”
“Kedor of Sushan. I am the owner and master of that ship, the one with red eye painted on the bow,” he inclined his head towards one of the three intact vessels. “You selected well. It is a fine craft.”
Daro handed him the skin, and let the older man quench his thirst. “Well, Kedor of Susa,” Daro used the Akkadian name for that distant city, “I thank you for your ship. My name is Daro, and I command these men.”
“Akkadians, yes, I’ve visited your fine city several times. A pity the King of Elamites intends to enslave it.”
“King Shirudukh may find that Akkad is not an apple waiting to drop into his hand. Those who wage war on King Eskkar usually end up dead.”
“You know the barbarian King?”
“Oh, yes. I have fought twice at his side.” Daro shifted his legs to a more comfortable position. “But now I need your help, and I am willing to let you live in exchange. After the Elamites are defeated, your kin in Elam can ransom you.”
Kedor shook his head. “I am from Sushan, not the land of Elam. Once it was a free city, but years ago King Shirudukh established one of his palaces there. He’s there now. He plans to visit Sumer as soon as it is taken, to see for himself the fertile countryside of the Land Between the Rivers. No doubt he will be even less merciful here than he was at Sushan.”
“We look forward to his visit,” Daro said. “As much as I enjoy talking to you, now I need the knowledge that is in your head. Tell me all about the supply boats, when they come, what they carry, how they are defended. You see, Kedor, I intend to capture as many of them as possibl
e, and sink the rest. By the time I am finished with Elam’s supply craft, you may be the only ship master still alive on the Great Sea. Think how well you’ll do after the fighting ends, and when you’re ransomed and returned home.”
Chapter 20
The next day, a little after noon, a well-rested Daro surveyed the placid and peaceful beach. The debris from yesterday’s brief battle had vanished. The last of the churned sand had been smoothed with a dragged mast, and no evidence remained that a large body of horsemen had charged through the area.
A cheerful driftwood fire burned, the sharp breeze from the sea whipping the flames and whirling glowing ashes into the air. Several of his men lay scattered about on the sand, taking their well-earned leisure.
Others, their bows and shafts hidden in the broken hulls, strolled about the camp, leisurely moving supplies from place to place. Every man had worked without ceasing long after dark, to mask every trace of the Akkadian attack.
The camp looked, or so Daro hoped, like a woman waiting for her lover, or in this case, the next Elamite ship to arrive. Kedor, the captured Elamite sea master, informed Daro that ships seldom arrived before midday. They preferred to leave themselves plenty of daylight as they covered the last leg of their difficult journey along the coast.
Whatever the prisoner’s reasons, either fear of death or a real hatred toward the Elamite rulers, he had decided to cooperate completely with his captors. Or perhaps Kedor had considered the possibility of being the only surviving shipmaster in his home port of Sushan. With his help, Daro had prepared the camp. Now nothing remained except to wait, to rest, and enjoy whatever brief respite the gods allowed them.
“Sail to the east!”
The lookout, positioned on board the proud craft that had once belonged to Kedor, waved his arm toward a faint smudge of white far out to sea. The winds and waves must have pushed the ship far from shore before it could turn its bow toward the beach. Daro watched as it turned toward land, and he saw the vessel lose the favor of the wind.