by Sam Barone
“Damn me for a slow-witted fool,” Jarud said. “Stay here on the walls, and keep the men alert.” He turned and dashed down the parapet steps two a time.
“Where are you going?” King Gemama shouted the words at Jarud’s back.
“To get into the fight,” Jarud called over his shoulder, “before it’s too late.”
Hathor led nine hundred Akkadian cavalry, every man screaming his war cry, straight ahead for the first three hundred paces, as if he intended to attack the entire Elamite force. Then he guided his horse to the left, and turned toward the southern walls. Behind him rode the finest mounted bowmen in his command. They followed his path, and as they made the same sweeping turn, they shot arrow after arrow at the main force of the invaders, those positioned in front of the eastern wall.
Each man launched four or five high-arcing shafts, and that arrow storm struck confusion into the scrambling enemy. The shafts, not aimed at any particular invader, rained down on men and horses. Two small herds of Elamite horses, likely mounts for the enemy commanders, bolted, adding to the panic. Hathor didn’t intend to engage them, merely keep them away from Naxos and the rest of the Akkadians until the King finished his slaughter.
Hathor and his riders had divided the enemy encircling the walls in two. The largest part of the Elamite army lay to the east and north of the city, but those who had taken up their station on the southern side of Sumer now found themselves cut off and encircled.
King Naxos led the rest of the men, four thousand strong, straight into the enemy’s confused ranks. Trapped between the river, Hathor, and Naxos, more than three thousand Elamite soldiers, many still scrambling for their weapons, were ridden down in a fury of blood.
Outnumbered at the point of attack, caught unprepared, and swarmed from all sides, Chaiyanar’s men never had a chance to offer any real resistance. Most just ran. Some in their fright sought to escape to the safety of their companions on the eastern side of the city, but Hathor’s men turned their deadly bows away from the main force and directed their weapons at any fleeing toward them. Now the Akkadians aimed their arrows with care, loosing shaft after shaft into the panicked mass of besiegers.
Other Elamites tried to move up closer to Sumer’s walls, but the moment they came within range of the archers atop the parapets, flights of arrows from the defenders tore into them. Some Elamites fled toward the river, hoping to escape into the waters. But many couldn’t swim, and for them the river proved as deadly as the approaching horsemen. Those who could swim, tossed away swords and any other impediments in a desperate effort to plunge into the river and get out of range.
Hathor guided his men down a line that he guessed would be just outside the range of Sumer’s arrows. By now his wild charge had reached the river. His bowmen eased their horses to a stop, and started picking off those in the water. Soon enough, the river cleared, as the dead, arrows protruding from their bodies, floated away to the south on the blood stained waters.
Even before the slaughter ended, Hathor ordered the destruction of the enemy supplies to begin. Akkadians flung themselves from their horses and began stacking anything that would burn. The Elamites had several fires going at the time of the attack, and some of those still smoldered. Now fresh smoke rose into the air as shields, clothing, tools, anything that would burn was heaped into the flames. Stacks of arrows, waiting ready for the Elamite attack on the city, were the first to be tossed into the fire, after the cavalrymen had replenished their own quivers.
Hathor, with three Akkadians as his guard, picked his way through the dead and the debris. He shouted orders and pointed with his sword to any piles of goods that should go into the fire. But the Akkadians had not missed much.
The ram’s horn sounded again, this time with a different note. Everywhere men raced back to their horses. Hathor glanced to the east. The main force of Elamites had regrouped, and now advanced toward him, a thick double line of infantry carrying shields. They had recovered faster than Hathor expected. Behind them he saw archers forming up as well. Even farther back, the Elamite cavalry, at least three thousand of them, had raced to their horses and now prepared to confront the Akkadians.
“Time to go!” Hathor’s bellow carried over the battlefield. “Let’s get out of here, unless you want to give those bowmen a target.”
Laughing, the Akkadians cantered southward and toward the river, moving faster once they cleared the fields of the dead. In moments they were out of range of the approaching archers. The Elamite cavalry, however, had finally collected enough of its force to launch a counter attack.
But first they had to catch the Akkadians. Hathor, riding at the rear of his men, kept glancing back at the enemy horsemen. They were closing the gap, but Hathor’s men needed to cover only little more than a mile. By the time he reached the ford, Naxos had already ordered most of his men into the water. The King, always eager to demonstrate his courage, waited at the river until Hathor reached his side.
“They’re at your heels,” Naxos shouted, as he turned his horse into the stream.
Hathor didn’t bother to look behind him. With a touch of the halter, his stallion slid down the now slippery bank, roiled into loose muck by nearly five thousands horses, and splashed into the muddy water. More than a hundred paces ahead the first of the two islands that divided this part of the Tigris waited. Hathor caught up with Naxos, and the two men churned their way through the warm water, their horses kicking up walls of spray.
Twice Hathor thought he might have to cling to his horse’s mane and swim for it, but each time the big warhorse, holding its head high, found its footing. Then he and Naxos were scrambling up onto the first island. Hathor patted his horse’s neck, then turned toward the eastern shore.
The first Elamite horsemen to arrive at the fording place were already dead or dying, multiple shafts riddling their bodies along the river bank. The Akkadian bowmen had just enough range with their weapons to drive the enemy away from the shoreline.
“Well, that will teach them.” Naxos laughed at the sight.
An arrow splashed into the water at the King’s feet.
“They do have a few bows,” Hathor said. “Let’s keep moving.”
Naxos, bellowing commands that floated over the river, ordered the men to continue the crossing. Soon the entire force was strung out between the two islands and the western bank. When Hathor, breathing hard, finally reached the far side of the river, he swung down from his horse.
The enemy hadn’t attempted to pursue. They knew they would run into an arrow storm as they struggled through the water. They just sat there, watching the Akkadians.
“They won’t leave their rear unguarded again,” Naxos said with a grin.
“That they won’t,” Hathor matched the King’s grin with one of his own. “Which will be even better for us, since we’re not going south. Now it’s time to teach them a few other lessons.”
Chapter 23
Jarud raced down the steps from Sumer’s eastern wall, ignoring the sudden chaos that had erupted within the city since the Akkadian attack. He ignored, too, the sounds of battle outside the wall. Jarud knew what the Akkadian cavalry would do to the unprepared Elamites, and he intended to take advantage of the temporarily hapless enemy.
He leapt the final four steps to reach the ground, nearly colliding with his second in command, returning from his rounds. Jarud grabbed his shoulder. “Strip a hundred archers from the southern wall, and send them to the gate. We’re going out there to finish what the Akkadians started. Hurry!”
Without waiting for acknowledgement, Jarud rushed through the lanes, twisting and turning until he reached the Southern Gate. About twenty soldiers and laborers were there, mouths open at the sight of the Commander of the Guard running toward them. “Open the gate! Collect as many axes and torches as you can find. We’re going out!”
For a moment, the men just stared at him. “Damn you, don’t just stand there, get that gate open! We don’t have much time to destroy the
Elamites’ supplies.”
The work gang, assigned to reinforce the soldiers on the wall in the event of an assault, burst into motion. More than twenty men hurled themselves at the gate. First they had to free the braces that kept the logs immobile. Swinging oversized mallets, they knocked loose the tapered wooden blocks, hammered into place, that prevented the massive panel of the right side from opening.
As soon as those were out, ten or more men seized the lower log and struggled to heave it out of its sockets. By then a second crew waited, and as soon as the first gang moved aside, they seized the upper log.
The first handful of archers arrived, hurriedly stringing their bows and clutching arrow quivers. They moved into position beneath the gate. Jarud recognized his nephew, Jaruman and his ten bowmen.
More laborers arrived, carrying axes of every shape and size, waiting for the gate to open. The babble of voices rose, until Jarud jumped onto a cart. “Silence! Be still, damn you!”
The din abated, and Jarud grabbed one of the gate’s guardians. “Collect the black oil and torches. I want to burn as much of their weapons and tools as possible.”
The defenders had stored pots of the oil that burns near the gate, to use against any attackers. Stacks of the thick torches, freshly bound and soaked in oil, were also at hand, to provide illumination in case of a night attack.
With a wrenching creak, the heavy gate swung free. Jarud snatched an unlit torch leaning against the wall, and as soon as there was room enough to pass, Jarud led the defenders through the opening. The Elamites had dug almost two hundred paces from the walls, just out of bowshot and a long run for Sumerian archers. Although Jarud was the first one out of the gate, the faster and braver of his men overtook him before he’d gone twenty paces.
Caught up in the excitement of the invaders’ destruction, the soldiers and work gangs of Sumer poured through the gate, raced across the open space, and dashed in among the dead and dying Elamites. By the time Jarud, breathing hard, reached what remained of the Elamite position, his men were already finishing off the wounded, collecting weapons, and using their axes on the large shields.
The Akkadian cavalry had started several fires that still roared, sending thick smoke rushing upward into the heaves. All the same, in their haste, they had missed plenty of material that would burn.
Spreading out, the Sumerians collected lumber, shields, ladders, even clothing ripped from the dead, and heaped them into piles. Discarded swords, knives, spears, and bows were snatched up, and soon men stumbled back toward the gate, each struggling under a load of captured weapons and tools.
Those Sumerians with torches thrust them into the burning fires left behind by the Akkadians. Jarud joined them, shoving the torch he’d carried into the nearest fire. The oil-soaked torch flared, snapping and smoking. One of the soldiers snatched it from Jarud’s hand and moved to the first pile. Another man splashed some black oil on the dry wood. In moments, the first new flames caught and rose. Soon fresh fires joined those started by the Akkadians.
All around Jarud, axes rang as men attacked the shields and planks, breaking them apart. Others scooped up the jagged shards and tossed them to the nearest fire.
“Quick as you can, before the enemy returns,” Jarud shouted as he ran among his men. “Bring everything that will burn and toss it into the fire!”
He glanced around. More men still streamed from the Southern Gate, hurrying to add their efforts to those of their companions. By now more than two hundred Sumerians scrambled and searched through the Elamite position.
“Elamites! Look, they’re coming!”
Jarud whirled toward the east. A small group of Elamites had collected their weapons and moved toward the Sumerians. “Archers! Keep those men at bay.”
Another detachment of archers had joined with Jaruman, who now had thirty men under his command. They formed a small line of bowmen facing the advancing Elamites. Jarud watched as the archers launched the first flight of arrows toward the enemy.
Other Sumerian soldiers dropped their loads, took up their bows, and extended the rough skirmish line, widening the bowmen’s position on either side. Soon they were launching shafts as fast as they could at the approaching Elamites, halting their progress for the moment. Still, Jarud knew it wouldn’t take the enemy long to regroup, but every moment was precious now.
A shift in the wind sent a hot wave of air from the nearest fire over Jarud. A quick glance showed at least twenty fires of varying size consuming the enemy’s supplies. Several of the pyres loomed taller than a man. All of them flamed and crackled, gathering strength as his frantic men continued to add ever more combustibles.
By now men were tossing sandals, swords, cooking pots, clothing, anything they could snatch up into the blaze. The heat forced Jarud back a few more steps, as the crackling tongues of fire roared into the sky.
Another gang of men arrived from the city, and Jarud shouted at them to collect anything they could find and toss it onto the bonfire. Some lugged more pots of oil, to spread the fire ever faster. By now the Sumerians had stripped the Elamite position on the southern side of the city nearly clean.
“More enemy soldiers! More soldiers!”
Jarud turned toward the enemy. Every Elamite who could find a horse had joined the pursuit of the Akkadians, ignoring the Sumerians. But the invaders had plenty of infantry. About three hundred of these had formed into a cohesive force which now advanced with raised shields toward the Sumerians. His archers still launched shaft after shaft at them, trying to slow them down, but Jarud knew it was time to go.
“Back to the city! Back inside the walls!”
Every man turned and raced for the safety of Sumer’s walls. Every man except Jarud’s nephew, Jaruman, and his handful of archers, who kept shooting arrows, even as they slowly backed their way toward the safety of Sumer’s walls. Jarud watched as enemy shafts began to rain down on the last of the bowmen.
Some fool started laughing, and soon the sound spread through the men rushing back within the walls. Jarud found himself grinning as well. But when he reached the gate, he glanced over his shoulder and glimpsed a handful of his men still working their bows.
“Get back here! Now!”
The archers launched one more ragged volley before they turned and broke into a run, heading for the open gate and following Jarud’s men.
He shoved the last man inside. “Damn fools!” Jarud took a final look around, to make sure his remaining soldiers passed through the entrance. Everyone had returned.
He stepped inside. A gang of carpenters waited there, hammers and levers in hand. “Seal the gate!” The ponderous gate creaked to a close, and the laborers swarmed over it, dropping the beams into place, and hammering the bracing blocks tight.
A cheering crowd of Sumerians – men, women, soldiers – waited just inside the gate to welcome them. Those who had followed Jarud outside the wall had wide grins on their faces, as they caught their breath. Some of them still laughed, and to Jarud’s surprise, he joined them. The raucous chorus swept through the defenders. He climbed atop a supply cart, and waited until the din died down.
“With the help of our Akkadian friends and allies, we taught the filthy Elamites a lesson today,” Jarud shouted. “That will slow them down!”
A roar of support echoed against the walls and gate, a sound that would be heard by the invaders. Jarud, even more than the jubilant crowd, knew the truth of his words. The Elamite siege effort had taken a heavy blow. If Hathor had destroyed the enemy boats along the coast, the loss of supplies would hinder the invaders almost as much as the loss of men.
More important, the Akkadian cavalry’s attack, combined with the efforts of Sumer’s own forces outside the wall had strengthened the resolve of every man and woman in the city. The gloom that had hung over the city since the enemy’s arrival would dissipate like the smoke from a campfire in the southern breeze.
The people of Sumer now knew they didn’t fight alone any longer, and that a lar
ge force of friendly fighters had arrived and already started harrying the Elamite invaders. And that, Jarud decided, was almost as important as the number of enemy dead lying outside Sumer’s walls.
Chaiyanar guided his warhorse through the debris and dead that, only this morning, had comprised his forces facing Sumer’s southern walls. His guards, retainers, and senior commanders followed behind, hanging as far back as they dared, and each one hoping the blame for the disaster would not fall upon him.
Corpses littered the ground, almost all Chaiyanar’s men. Nearly three thousand soldiers and siege workers had stood in this place, and the Akkadians had ripped through them like a whistling scythe through a field of ripe wheat. Despite the briefness of the assault, the Akkadians had been thorough.
At least four thousand Akkadian cavalry had overwhelmed Chaiyanar’s unprepared men, and now nearly twenty-five hundred Elamites lay dead, in exchange for a few handfuls of Akkadian corpses.
The rest of the Elamites had managed to escape, but the savagery of the raid would haunt the survivors. The easy siege had turned into something else. Now every man in Chaiyanar’s army would keep glancing over his shoulder, in fear of another surprise attack. And when they next rode into battle, awareness of defeat and death would ride with them.
He saw the hand of Eskkar of Akkad in all this. Chaiyanar had been warned about the King of Akkad’s tricks, but he expected nothing so brazen at Sumer. He knew the cities of the Land Between the Rivers had little love for one another, and the spies had reported only bickering between Isin, Sumer, and Akkad. In fact, the fools claimed that the squabbling had increased in the last few months. Now that lie stood exposed.
Today’s surprise attack from the south seemed like one of the barbarian king’s cunning tricks. Chaiyanar’s scouts, spread out in a line more than fifty miles long to the north and west, had reported nothing. The Akkadians must have swung far to the west, before turning toward Sumer.