by Sam Barone
Hathor wanted all those scouts killed, down to the last man. Asina, one of Hathor’s best men, had orders to ensure no one escaped, and that no message of warning was sent back to the main Elamite camp.
Simaski’s camp, if the Elamite commander had stopped where Hathor expected, would be about ten miles behind their scouts. Hathor’s plan called for a long night of traveling on foot. Each man would lead his horse and carry nothing but his weapons and a small skin of water, most of that intended for the horse.
Hathor and Naxos gathered their commanders and explained the plan. None of the leaders expressed surprise. They had trained often enough for a night march, and expected that one would happen sooner or later. The horsemen, after a few groans at the thought of the long walk in the dark followed by a sharp fight, prepared themselves and their mounts, then went to sleep.
Well before midnight, Hathor gave the order that set the cavalry in motion. The weary soldiers woke, rubbed the sleep from their eyes, and collected their weapons and horses. The night march began.
The Akkadians traversed the mostly level terrain, sprinkled liberally with tall grass, at a good pace. The landscape allowed the cavalry to spread out over a wide front. Hathor’s Akkadian horsemen led the way, since they had trained for many months riding and walking after dark.
For all the men, the walk was a hard one. Each man had to remain alert and careful of his footing. No one wanted to risk a horse stumbling into some hole in the ground.
Three miles to the west, Hathor met up with Asina and his scouts.
“There were eight men, Lord Hathor. We killed them all. Only one of our men was slain.”
“You’re sure none got away?”
Even in the darkness, Hathor saw Asina’s flashing teeth.
“I counted the horses before we rushed them. Only eight horses. None of them escaped as well.”
Hathor grunted in relief. “Good. Send those horses to the rear. I don’t want any of them trotting back to the Elamite camp ahead of us and alerting the enemy. Then rejoin your men, get your horses, and scout on ahead. We’ve still a long way to go.”
Hathor caught up with Naxos, walking with some of the men from Isin, and gave him the news.
“I hate this walking. My feet already hurt.”
Hathor laughed softly. “No horse fighter likes walking, which is why the Elamites won’t be expecting us to double back. They believe we wouldn’t dare to ride in the darkness.”
“Will we get there in time?”
Hathor glanced up at the moon. Thin clouds crossed the tiny orb, dimming the already feeble light. “Yes, we should be there well before dawn. And we’ll have the sun at our backs.”
“You say Eskkar came up with this idea? Something from his past?”
“That’s what he said. He convinced me it could be done. We started training, and once the horses got used to traveling after dark, it worked out pretty well. We lost a horse here and there, but that was a small price to pay to move a cavalry force ten to fifteen miles at night.”
In the last month before the ride south through the mountains, Naxos, too, had trained his men in the same technique, walking and guiding a horse at night. But the men from Isin did not have as much experience, and so Naxos agreed to let the Akkadians lead the way.
The landscape they were crossing made the journey easier. The level ground and soft earth sprouted only the occasional clump of sand grass. Hathor had trained his men on far more difficult ground.
Nevertheless, Hathor heard some of his men complaining as they walked. They hadn’t gotten enough sleep to fully refresh themselves. By the time they reached the Elamite camp, they would be even more weary. Still, Hathor had no doubt that they’d be able to fight. Months of hard training had inured the men to such hardships.
The steady strides of men and horses ate up the distance. As they walked, Hathor kept track of the moon’s descent, but the army’s progress kept pace.
The darkness of night had not yet started to fade when Hathor for the second time made contact with his scout, waiting patiently along the line of the march. Once again, Asina’s teeth gleamed in the darkness.
“The enemy is less than a mile ahead, Lord Hathor,” Asina said. “They’re on the far side of the stream, with only a few guards posted. We should be able to close within a quarter of a mile before they hear us. The stream’s water makes a good bit of noise, and it should help mask our approach.”
“Well done, Asina,” Hathor said. “Stay with me, so you can guide our men directly to the enemy’s position.”
“Should we give the men some rest?” Naxos had remained close, to hear any reports as soon as they came in.
Hathor took another glance at the stars above. “No, I don’t think so. It will take too long to stop the men, and then get them going again. Better to just keep moving. But we’ll pass the word to the men to slow down a bit. And remind them to keep quiet.”
Hathor considered the last stretch of the long night’s march the most dangerous. They had to get close enough without being seen, or more likely, heard. If the Elamites heard them coming, they would react fast enough, finding their horses and preparing their weapons. Hathor needed to catch them before they could mount up and ready themselves for battle.
The long line of men, still stretching over a front a quarter mile wide, continued its slow progress. Hathor jumped at every clink of sword and every grunt or soft whinny the horses made, expecting the alarm to sound. But the enemy cavalry remained unaware of Hathor’s approach, and the distance slowly closed.
“There!” Asina clutched Hathor’s arm. “You can see the stream.”
It took a moment before Hathor glimpsed the thin ribbon of water, glistening faintly in the dim moonlight. Behind it, he saw a darker mass of men who covered the ground.
“Keep moving,” Hathor hissed. “And keep those horses quiet!”
For the first time, Hathor wished he’d brought some slingers with him. They might have been able to slip up on the sentries, and kill a few of them.
Suddenly Hathor could make out the herd of horses, held in rope corrals behind the sleeping men. The Elamites had placed their mounts as far away from the stream as they could, so that the water wouldn’t be fouled by the animals. The stream itself would appear to provide a barrier in the event an enemy tried to raid their horses.
Glancing up at the sky, Hathor saw that in the east, the deep blackness of the night had softened into grayness. Already some of the Elamites would be waking from their slumber.
By now only three or four hundred paces separated the Akkadians from the stream, and yet no alarm had sounded. He again glanced behind him, and saw the first faint shade of pink appearing at the horizon. The carefully contrived plan of maneuver and countermarch had brought the Akkadians to the precise place they wanted, and they had arrived just before dawn.
A shout from the Elamite camp floated out over the stream, but Hathor no longer cared. He swung up onto his mount, and his bellow carried to the far ends of the Akkadian line. Tired, weary, and footsore, his men had finished the march with only a few moments to spare. Now all they had to do was fight and win. Otherwise they were going to be slaughtered.
“Mount up! Attack! Attack!”
In moments the ground thundered under the horses’ hooves. Leading the way were the six hundred Akkadian horsemen who could use a bow from the back of a galloping horse. The first ragged volley of arrows flew into the air, aimed at the frantic crowd of half-awake men scrambling to their feet.
But the second volley, and by far the most important, flew not at the Elamite soldiers, but arched up into the sky, to rain down upon the horse herds that were just beyond the men.
The densely packed horses, already skittish from the shouts and the hoof beats of the Akkadians’ charging animals, panicked as the shafts dropped down from the sky, wounding hundreds of beasts. They broke away from the charging front line of Hathor’s riders, tearing asunder the flimsy rope corrals. Once started, the stampe
de quickly spread to the rest of the Elamite mounts.
By then the first of the Akkadians were splashing across the stream. Hathor and his riders knew the water flowed little more than ankle high, barely enough to slow their galloping horses. With their war cries bellowing over the camp, Hathor’s cavalry tore into the disorganized Elamites.
Caught unprepared, unable to reach their horses, the Elamite cavalry, tough enough when mounted, was no match for the charging Akkadians. Once in among the enemy, Hathor’s men used their swords to slash or dismember the panic-stricken Elamites, hacking at everything that moved while shouting Akkad and Isin’s war cries.
The rising sun, now providing more than enough light to distinguish friend from foe, sent its first rays over a savage fight that quickly turned into a slaughter. Swinging their bloody swords again and again, the Akkadians rode their way through the camp. Many of the enemy were struck down from behind, or tumbled to the earth by Hathor’s warhorses. Others crashed to the earth from the slicing blows that opened the flesh to the bone or knocked a fleeing man to the ground.
Hathor ranged along the widening front, directing his fighters, many of whom still had their bows, to turn their weapons on any knot of men trying to resist. The arrows flew into the unarmored men, most of whom had barely managed to find their swords, let alone their leather jerkins.
Naxos, roaring like a demon from the pits, led a contingent of Isin riders that charged right through the enemy ranks and into the open space where the Elamite horses had been corralled. Isin’s King turned around, and struck again. This time he and his men attacked the thickest bulk of the enemy, and cut them to pieces.
Though the Akkadians were outnumbered at the start of the attack, the dismounted Elamites could do little. Only on their right flank, bypassed by the Akkadians, did enough enemy soldiers manage to find their weapons. Even so, most ran for their horses, desperate to mount up, either to fight or flee.
The sun climbed higher above the horizon, and still the killing continued, as blood-crazed Akkadians unleashed their rage upon their enemy. Naxos had his warhorse killed under him, but one of his personal guards managed to find another for the King. Naxos continued his attacks, challenging any group of Elamites that caught his eye.
At last Hathor realized his men had overwhelmed the Elamites, and now they searched for any enemy left alive. Shouting with all his breath, he managed to collect a few hundred riders to his side. Asina added another fifty or so, and Hathor ordered him to take command of the men and start rounding up the scattered horses.
When Asina galloped out of the camp, Hathor continued assembling his men. Now the groans of the wounded and dying men sounded over the blood-soaked campsite. The screams and cries of the injured horses, some driven mad from the pain, amplified the noise.
When Hathor finally glanced at the sky, he saw the bright blue sky of a new day. Waving his sword high, he called out for his commanders. One by one they gathered to his side, some still shouting in their excitement, others angry at being recalled from the slaughter. The battle, if such it could be called, had ended.
Across the grasslands, small bands of Akkadians still pursued their enemy, cutting them down as they ran. At last even these satisfied their blood lust and returned to the camp, horse and rider equally exhausted. Naxos, his killing rage finally subsided, joined Hathor at what remained of the center of the camp.
Isin’s King clapped Hathor on his shoulder. “What a fight! We killed them all. Killed them all! And I got Simaski!”
“By Ra, that is good news!” Hathor meant every word. “Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes, Simaski was trying to rally his men, but one of my soldiers hamstrung his horse and the crazed beast threw its rider. Before Simaski could find another mount, we were on him. I put my sword right into his back!”
“Well done, Naxos! That should keep the Elamites from regrouping.”
“We killed all of them,” Naxos repeated, unable to control his excitement.
Hathor grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “Not all of them, but enough. Now we must take stock.”
For the rest of the morning, the men counted the dead and dying, finishing off those Elamites still alive. Horses, too, were rounded up and driven back toward the camp, but this time to a site five hundred paces from the killing ground.
Just before noon Hathor and Naxos sat facing each other on stools that must have belonged to the Elamite Simaski. After washing off most of the blood splatter in the stream, the two leaders received the reports of the commanders, who had taken count of the battle. Almost forty-two hundred Elamites dead, and the rest, a good number of them wounded, had scattered in every direction. Many had tossed aside their swords and weapons to run all the faster.
“I can’t believe how many we killed,” Naxos said, “against such a small number of our own men lost.”
“I saw the same thing happen in Egypt, and even at the Battle of the Stream, where Eskkar broke the Alur Meriki. A hard and unexpected strike, and panic overtakes your enemy. Look how many Elamite sandals we found. They never had time to lace them on.”
“And swords and horses, too,” Naxos said.
The number of captured horses reached almost three thousand, with another few hundred dead animals littering the battlefield. Less than four hundred Akkadians had lost their lives or taken wounds.
As the last of the tally was added up, Hathor turned to Naxos. “You have won a great victory, King Naxos. The Elamites who survive, even if they manage to find a horse, are broken men.”
“Tomorrow we’ll start hunting them down,” Naxos declared.
“If I may suggest, King Naxos, that may be left to one of your commanders. You and I, and at least four thousand riders, have a more important target to strike. Sumer awaits us. If we can get there before Chaiyanar learns of his cavalry’s defeat, we can strike another heavy blow to his army.”
Naxos took in a deep breath. “I suppose that’s what Eskkar would do.”
Hathor shook his head. “It’s what you would do, too, once the battle rage left your blood. And after today, you need not compare yourself to Eskkar. As your friend, and his, too, I say no man ever fought harder or killed more men by his own hand than King Naxos of Isin.”
“It has been many years, Hathor of Egypt, since I have called any man my friend. But you have helped me win this victory, and the glory is as much yours as mine.”
“We’ve ridden side-by-side for many days,” Hathor said, “and fought together. Even if we were defeated, I would still call you ‘friend.’”
For a moment, Naxos seemed at a loss for words. “I suppose you’ll want to ride to Sumer at once.”
“The men and horses need some rest. Tell each of the men to pick an extra mount from those we captured. But by midafternoon, we ride for Sumer.”
Grand Commander Chaiyanar surveyed the walls of Sumer from beneath the shade of his awning, which kept the late morning sun away from his chair. The city still resisted his efforts, but since the raid by the Akkadian cavalry, he’d driven his men ruthlessly. His subcommanders and foremen, a length of rope in their hands, strode among the men sweating at their tasks, administering the lash on anyone not working to his utmost.
Each day, the line of trenches drew closer to the walls. Chaiyanar’s men, protected from arrows by tables, planks, logs, fresh hides, even piles of sand, anything that would stop an arrow, moved ever nearer.
Yesterday he’d launched his first all out assault, flinging three thousand men, backed by a thousand archers, against the northeast section of Sumer. For a few moments Chaiyanar thought his men would carry the city. A handful of brave soldiers actually surmounted the wall, but the defenders had somehow rallied and hurled back the attackers.
The Elamites wasted over a thousand men killed or wounded in the attempt, but the Sumerians had suffered heavily as well. Even so, never had Chaiyanar lost so many men before in a single assault, and a failed one at that.
Chaiyanar ignored t
he casualties. He remained determined to overwhelm the defenders as soon as possible, no matter what the cost. Once inside the city, his men could hold it against any remaining Akkadian forces. Ships from Elam could resupply him, until the last of Eskkar’s fighters died under Lord Modran’s attacks.
Each day he received reports from his cavalry, busy pursuing the Akkadian horsemen as they fled to the north. His cavalry commander, Simaski, had maintained close contact with the enemy horsemen, by now at least two days ride away from Sumer.
Today Chaiyanar didn’t care whether his own men caught up with Eskkar’s cavalry or not. All that mattered was keeping the Akkadian cavalry away from Sumer long enough for the Elamites to breech the walls and storm the city. Once Chaiyanar’s men were within the walls, the Akkadian horsemen would be no threat.
The last report Chaiyanar received had been two nights ago, and Simaski declared that he expected to come to grips with the Akkadians the next day. No messengers had arrived yesterday, but that might mean a battle had been fought. Today’s news, he felt certain, would describe that encounter.
He had no doubt about his horsemen. Tough fighters, they would match up with Eskkar’s cavalry man for man. The two thousand man advantage the Elamites possessed would guarantee a brutal battle. No matter who won, the Akkadian horsemen would be eliminated as a fighting force and a threat to the siege of Sumer.
By the end of today, the cavalry battle between Simaski and the Akkadians would be of no importance. Once Chaiyanar captured the city, his men would man the defenses. Already his diggers and soldiers had moved the trenches to within a hundred and fifty paces of the wall. At midafternoon, Chaiyanar intended to launch two fresh attacks, one again at the northeastern section of the wall and Sumer’s main gate, and the other at the south side.
The completed trenches ensured that his men had only a short distance to cover to reach the base of the city’s walls. During the assault, his bowmen would sweep most of the defenders from their position. This time Chaiyanar expected to overcome any resistance.