by Sam Barone
Nine families now comprised the Council that advised Eskkar and Trella. Their advice and influence were important parts of the strength of the City.
“Can we trust the Noble Families?” Uvela’s oldest daughter had suffered under one of the ruling families before Eskkar came to power. “Some of them may be willing to take gold from these Elamites.”
“We must trust them, to a certain extent,” Trella said. “We have to in any case, since they will learn sooner or later about the threat.”
“Most are loyal to Eskkar.” Uvela paused for a moment, as if considering each of the Families. “But what if the Elamites offered to make the head of any Noble Family the next ruler of Akkad, in return for his support and help? That kind of offer can tempt almost anyone, including any of the younger and wilder sons of the Nobles.”
And Sargon could be counted among that number. Trella put the painful thought aside.
“That will have to discussed.” Trella smiled at Uvela’s quick grasp of the situation. “But right now I am more concerned with finding a way to turn our enemy’s strength into a weakness. Eskkar and Bantor will prepare our soldiers for battle, of course. As we gather knowledge of the Elamites, we will also prepare for the invasion. When it comes, we must try to guide the war so that our soldiers are victorious.”
“How will we do that?” Uvela’s voice sounded dubious.
“Eskkar gave me the idea years ago,” Trella said, “when we fought the Alur Meriki at the walls. We will make our strengths seem like our weakest points, and at the same time we will ensure that our weaknesses appear much worse than they are.”
“After all,” Annok-sur said, “it will still take months for information, or perhaps I should say misinformation, to make its way back to the Elamites. This war will not be like the war against Sumer. In that conflict, news could travel from Akkad to Sumer in a matter of days. By the time the Elamites discover they have been misled, it will be too late.”
“If we can guide the course of the war in our favor,” Trella said, “we may help bring victory to our men.” She glanced at each of the women. “What we discuss here must never leave this room. Right now, only Eskkar and Bantor know what we know.”
Uvela nodded in understanding.
“Then we are agreed.” Trella leaned back in her chair. “Tomorrow we will make lists of those traders and merchants who deal with the eastern trade. We want to know everything about them, especially if any seem to be in possession of extra gold, or whose sons are quarreling with their fathers or brothers.”
“That will be a long list.” Uvela shifted in her chair. “What will we do when we discover who they are? Kill them?”
“No, not yet.” Trella’s voice took on a hard tone that few ever heard. “I want to use them. But first you must find them for us, Uvela. Once we know who they are, we will observe them and discover who else is in their pay. Only when we are sure of ourselves will we get rid of them.”
“Meanwhile,” Annok-sur placed her hand on Uvela’s shoulder, “you will start your most trusted informers searching for any foreigners who have moved into Akkad in the last year or two. Strangers and newcomers must also be found and watched. In the coming months, we must learn much not only about our enemy, but what his plans are.”
“All this may take longer than a few months,” Uvela said.
“Yes, but we have time.” Trella took a deep breath. The war had indeed begun. “Just not any to waste. We have much to do, and it must start with you. Find them for us, Uvela. Find them all. After that, we will watch them, and then we will decide their fate.”
5
Four days had passed since Eskkar and the soldiers broke camp at Aratta. The Akkadian force had marched hard every day, moving deeper into the foothills of the Zagros Mountains. A little before noon, under a gray, cloudy sky, Eskkar rode at the head of the column, trailed by his ten Hawk Clan bodyguards. Hathor, Eskkar’s cavalry commander, usually led the way, but the Egyptian horse master had ridden on ahead to check on the forward scouts, and Eskkar had taken the lead position.
As he reached the crest of a higher than usual hill, Eskkar held up his hand. His guards, riding in a column of twos, halted, grateful for the rest whatever the reason. The remainder of the force continued up the slope.
An eagle’s view lay before Eskkar, and his eyes swept the countryside around him. To his left rose the base of the mountains, an impassable wall of gray and red-hued rock that towered like a giant over the tiny figures of men. The higher peaks carried caps of snow, most of which would not melt even by the end of summer.
To his right, the empty southern lands lay bare, except for the long tendrils of rock and earth that stretched into the horizon, gradually diminishing in size. He gazed out over a vast panorama of rugged country. This high up in the foothills, Eskkar guessed he could see eight or ten miles.
He recognized the landmarks. The army had traveled as far north as possible. Now the men of Akkad would follow the foothills eastward, until they reached the tiny stream called Khenmet. That destination, though, still lay almost fifty miles east of them.
From this spot forward, the army would be crossing over a long series of ridges and steep hills that extended downward from the Zagros Mountains, like the spread fingers on a man’s hand. Between each finger of rock lay mostly bare land, sprinkled with wild grass that disappeared with the next climb. Marching across these spurs, both man and beast would be put to the test by the earth gods.
Satisfied that no danger appeared close by, Eskkar twisted on his horse to study his soldiers. The first half of the column was comprised of spearmen, archers, and slingers, all marching in dogged silence as they fought the hilly slope. Behind them rode the double column of horsemen who brought up the rear.
Every man wore the linen tunic Trella’s supply clerks had issued. Sand colored, the thick cloth provided warmth while leaving the arms unencumbered and lower legs bare. A wide leather belt that could be laced tight to support the weight of a sword and knife circled each soldier’s waist, and sturdy brown sandals protected their feet. Though they had marched a long way, the men displayed little signs of weariness. Months of strenuous training now proved its worth.
The formation showed the importance Eskkar assigned to those who fought on foot. In the event of an ambush by barbarians, the horsemen would charge forward in response. If the enemy attacked from the rear, Muta could wheel his horsemen around in time to face any assault, while archers and slingers provided additional support. On either flank, outriders guarded the twisting line of men and horses.
Since leaving Aratta, each day’s journey had challenged every man in the army, and pushed both men and horses to their limit. Still, the march had proceeded smoothly, though slower than Eskkar expected. By his calculation, they were at least half a day behind schedule. So far they’d seen no sign of the enemy.
Today the weather gods had seen fit to bless their journey. Except for a brief rain that slowed them down two days ago, Eskkar’s army had made good progress. Now cool winds blew down the slopes, and the flinty snow-capped mountains wreathed in dirty-white clouds threatened to ignore the pale green signs of spring and send one last storm upon them. Tonight the men would huddle close together for warmth, wrapped in their blankets.
The terrain they’d traversed slowed the soldiers’ progress. Under those conditions, the four hundred men on foot kept to a pace almost as well as their mounted companions, often forced to dismount and lead their horses. At the end of each day’s march, every soldier, mounted or walking, dropped wearily to the ground. Legs and feet suffered the most, but many complained about sore backs from carrying the equipment and supplies Eskkar and the other commanders insisted on.
Despite the best efforts of his men, Eskkar fretted at the time lost on the march. And from this point forward, the ground would be even more inhospitable.
A shout turned his head back toward the east. Two horsemen, scouts ranging ahead of the main force, had raced over the top of the
next hill. From the riders’ rapid pace, Eskkar decided the chance of good news to be slim. As they drew closer, Eskkar recognized Hathor.
The tall Egyptian must have something of importance to relate, otherwise he would have stayed with the lead scouts. At last the cavalry commander arrived, his big warhorse breathing hard from the steep climb up to where Eskkar waited.
“I think we’ve been spotted.” Hathor guided his horse alongside Eskkar’s, so the two men faced each other, their knees almost touching. “We saw at least twenty barbarians, moving to the south, less than two miles away. They saw us at the same time, so there was no use trying to hide. We turned back at once, and I’m sure they’re following our tracks.”
Hathor and ten riders would be no match for twenty barbarian warriors, not in open country.
“Damn the luck.” If Eskkar’s main force had made better time, say covered another fifteen or twenty miles, being observed by the enemy wouldn’t have mattered. The army would be close enough to the stream to reach it ahead of any Alur Meriki force.
Now the situation could be reversed, with the Akkadians caught short of the stream and needing water. Eskkar noticed Hathor’s grim jaw. His horse commander had come to the same conclusions.
“What will the barbarian scouts do?”
Eskkar frowned. “I’m not sure. It depends . . . it depends on too many things. How many men they have, what their orders are, how good their leader is, how large a force they think we might have.”
Hathor glanced down the hill, where the last of the horsemen still slipped and stumbled on their way to the top of the crest. “How much faster can we move the men?”
“Not fast enough, not if we want them to be able to lift a sword when they get there.” Eskkar took a deep breath and swore. “We need to get to the Khenmet first. I’ll take a hundred men and ride hard for the stream. That should be enough to hold it. Then you . . .”
“No, I’ll do it, Captain.” Hathor used Eskkar’s old title, the one he preferred. “You can’t leave the men behind. They’ll start thinking the worst the moment you’re out of sight.”
Eskkar’s grip on the halter tightened. A-tuku lifted its head in response, and Eskkar patted the animal’s neck to steady it. The two commanders didn’t have time to argue, and besides, he knew Hathor spoke the truth. “All right, you go. Take two companies and get to the stream as fast as you can. Hold it until we get there.”
“I’ll take Draelin’s men with me.”
Those two companies, almost every man a veteran of the Isin War, numbered one hundred riders. Not enough to drive off any sizeable force, but even if Eskkar sent all his cavalry, it wouldn’t be enough to withstand the full might of the barbarians. If he sent any more, he’d be splitting his force, always a dangerous tactic in enemy territory.
“I’ll be waiting at the stream.” Hathor turned his horse around, touched his heels to his mount, and started down the hill, shouting orders to his subcommanders as he went.
“Leave Muta with me,” Eskkar called out as the Egyptian rode off. Hathor waved one hand in acknowledgement. If an Alur Meriki horde suddenly appeared galloping over some hilltop, Eskkar wanted at least one senior cavalry commander with him.
Muttering an oath at his bad luck, Eskkar took one deep breath, filling his lungs, then bellowed out the names of his senior commanders. “Drakis! Alexar!”
When they joined him, Eskkar repeated Hathor’s grim news. “We’ll have to make better time. I don’t want Hathor and his men surrounded at the stream and overrun before we can get there.”
Drakis shook his head in disgust. “I’ll tell the men. But we won’t get there before late tomorrow, if the ground stays as bad as this.”
“We can leave some gear behind,” Alexar said. “Maybe some of the food and spare arrows.”
“No, not after carrying it this far,” Eskkar said. “We’re going to need all those supplies even more. Just get the men to pick up the pace.”
Drakis nodded and turned his horse around. “I’ll warn the men what’s at stake. Let’s just hope Hathor doesn’t run into trouble.”
Eskkar grunted. The war gods and the Alur Meriki made that hope a faint one. The barbarians would find Hathor’s men soon enough. Eskkar just hoped that the Egyptian didn’t find himself facing the full might of the Clan’s warriors.
Chief Bekka, leader of the Wolf Clan, frowned at the warrior who had galloped to his side. Approaching his twenty-eighth season, Bekka’s stocky frame sat lightly on his brown and white warhorse. “A force of dirt eaters? Here? This far north?”
“Yes, Chief Bekka.” The scout, a brawny man named Unegen and a leader of twenty, kept his reply formal. “I counted eleven of them. They saw us, and did not run, at least not at first. Only when we moved toward them did they turn away toward the west, riding at a canter.”
Bekka didn’t like the sound of that. Until this moment, he’d considered scouting these bare hills a waste of time. As the youngest of the Alur Meriki clan leaders, Bekka often drew the worst assignments, such as scouting ahead through empty hills and checking anything of interest along the route. And while that assignment often proved fruitful, this barren terrain promised nothing but rocks and hills.
He’d been about to return to the main caravan. Enough daylight remained to ensure that, if he and his men rode hard, they would reach the wagons of the Alur Meriki in time for Bekka to have a late supper with his wives and children. “Perhaps they were other steppes warriors. Even the accursed Ur Nammu occasionally ride this far east.”
Unegen shrugged. “Perhaps it is as you say. They weren’t close enough to be sure, but they all wore the same clothing and did not look like warriors.”
He guessed that Unegen had wanted to add, ‘to me, at least.’ Bekka grunted at the subtle criticism. All the same Unegen was one of his best scouts, and an Alur Meriki horseman who couldn’t tell the difference between a dirt eater and a steppes rider at any distance didn’t deserve to be called a warrior.
Dirt eaters all tended to dress the same, unlike warriors who liked bright colors and wore whatever clothing they preferred, mixed with the occasional animal skin. Dangling feathers ornamented bow and lance tips, and leather strips slung across shoulders held knives and food pouches.
“Your men are following them?”
“Ten men,” Unegen said. “I brought the rest back with me.”
Bekka opened his mouth, then closed it again. Unegen had taken the right course of action. If there were a large force of horsemen operating in this land, it could only mean trouble. Bekka considered his options. His clan numbered just over eighty, but they were scattered over the countryside, mostly to the south, hunting game and searching for anything of value along the caravan’s route.
Bekka had already scouted those lands when Unegen caught up with him. Like everyone else, Bekka assumed any danger to the Alur Meriki would come from the south, not their line of march to the west. Now that assumption would be tested.
A force of horsemen this far north had to be a war party of some kind. The steep hills and endless boulders of these foothills held no dirt eaters or places to grow food, not even enough grass to support sheep or goats for any length of time. These barren lands were meant to be crossed as quickly as possible. The only reason for anyone to be up here was to get water at the stream that flowed from the mountains.
Supper with his family would have to wait. “I’ll gather my men and head southwest. We may be able to cut them off. You return to your scouts, and see what else they have discovered. As soon as you learn anything, send riders to find me. I don’t want to waste time looking for you.”
Unegen nodded. “And the caravan? Should we dispatch riders to tell them what we’ve found?”
The great caravan of the Alur Meriki moved slowly toward them, still a few days travel from here at their creeping pace. Bekka considered sending word to the caravan. However, he didn’t know anything for certain. And only a fool of a clan leader would waste Thutmose-sin’s tim
e over a single sighting of so small a force, especially one that had turned away at first sight of Unegen’s scouting party.
“No, not yet. Not for a handful of riders. If there is any danger, we have more than enough time. I’ll collect as many men as I can and follow you.”
Unegen shrugged again. “I’ll return to my men.” He’d done his duty, and he had his orders. If trouble arose, Chief Bekka would deal with it. Unegen turned his horse around and rode back toward the west. Somehow he felt certain he would get little rest tonight.
At midmorning the next day, Hathor and his two companies reached the crest of one more hill and halted for a brief rest. He felt as weary as any of his men. Not that he cared about that. The exhausted horses, however, needed rest and water. Man and beast had emptied the last of the water skins at dawn, and neither would get much rest, let alone anything to drink, until they reached the Khenmet.
“Commander!” A man raised his arm and pointed to a somewhat higher hilltop a little to the south and about half a mile away.
Hathor’s eyes followed the direction, and he saw them, a line of horsemen coming into view. By the time the last rider appeared on the crest, Hathor had the count. Fourteen barbarians, sitting stolidly on their horses, staring down at the intruders.
Hathor’s men saw them, too, and now they chattered among themselves, and the ragged line they presented brought a growl to his lips. “Shut your mouths! And form up, instead of gaping. Do you want these barbarians to think you’re a bunch of sheep?”
A few grinning heads lowered in embarrassment. While the Akkadians settled down, Hathor made up his mind. That number of barbarians presented no threat to his hundred fighters, and there was no reason to suppose the enemy would waste a large force of riders in these desolate hills.
But somewhere behind them, more barbarians would be gathering. Nevertheless, it would take time, and Hathor might as well push on. The stream, if he remembered right, couldn’t be more than twenty or so miles ahead, a good half-day’s ride.