by Sam Barone
Up on the hill, Bekka sat on a stone and stared down at the dead and dying below. Another of his men, skilled in the ways of the healer, knelt on the ground beside him. He finished bandaging his leader’s wounds with the damp shreds of Bekka’s own tunic.
Bekka’s horse had been killed beneath him by a flung lance, and the plunge into the chilled water had stunned him. Or some horse had kicked him in the head. Only the courage of one of his clan brothers had saved him. The man had dragged his dazed commander onto the back of his horse, turned around, and raced for safety.
Both of them had taken wounds in the flight. Bekka, clinging to the man’s back, had taken two arrows, one in the left arm, and a glancing shaft that had ripped a gash in his right thigh. He forced the pain from his thoughts.
“Get me a horse, a good one.” Bekka pushed himself to his feet. His head hurt, either from the fall into the water or the rage in his heart. The growl in his voice made his men jump to find him a suitable mount. This fight might be over, but Bekka still had work to do. His right leg hurt more than the wound in his arm, and he accepted the help of two of his men in climbing on the strange and skittish stallion.
He settled onto the animal’s back with a sigh, and sat there a few moments, to calm his new mount. When the horse settled down, he took a moment to make sure both his knife and sword slid freely in their scabbards.
A glance around showed the extent of the disaster. Men sat on the ground, staring at nothing, weapons dumped beside them. Many of his fighters had taken wounds. Others appeared stunned at their defeat. Some hung their heads, unwilling to speak, embarrassed by the shame of their failure. Bekka had no idea how many warriors had fallen, even those from his own clan. That, too, could wait.
“Kushi, come with me,” Bekka ordered. “You are now a leader of forty.”
His newly promoted subcommander had his own bloody bandage across his chest, but he seemed fit enough. Kushi swung up onto his horse, hiding any pain that he might feel.
Bekka guided his horse across the top of the hill, then down about thirty paces to the place where Chulum’s clan had gathered to lick their wounds and count their dead and missing. Bekka picked his way through the dismounted men, ignoring their grunts of pain as they tended to their injuries.
Chulum had survived the battle, damn the luck, though he now wore a bloody bandage wrapped around his forehead, and a second one around his left hand. Chulum, too, had found a new horse, and he remained astride as he listened to the reports of his men.
The wounded Serpent Clan warriors ignored Bekka’s approach. Those still fit to fight glanced at him with little interest. The shock of defeat weighed heavily on their hearts. Chulum’s men had led the way and taken the brunt of the losses, but Bekka didn’t concern himself about that.
Chulum saw Bekka’s approach, and his right hand moved closer to the hilt of his sword.
Bekka ignored the gesture. He slowed his horse and stopped it beside that of Chulum, facing him, their right knees almost touching. Bekka stared at the leader of the Serpent Clan.
“Your men should have taken their flank,” Chulum said, breaking the silence with an angry shout. “We were almost across. If you had . . .”
Bekka kicked his horse’s right flank, at the same time easing up on the halter. The horse, as well trained as any Alur Meriki mount, moved toward the right, pushing against Chulum’s mount and forcing it to take a step backward. At the same time, Bekka’s right hand flashed down, not for his sword, but for his knife. Before the startled Chulum could recover control of his horse or draw his sword, Bekka had lunged forward, extending his arm to its fullest, and thrust the knife deep into Chulum’s right side.
Not a killing blow, but Bekka kicked a second time at his horse, and once again the animal responded, this time shoving Chulum’s mount with enough force to stagger the animal. The sudden lurch tipped Chulum from his horse, and he fell heavily onto the hard ground, Bekka’s knife still protruding from his side.
Bekka slid his good leg over the neck of his horse and dropped to the ground, ignoring the sharp pain that lanced up his injured leg and made him clench his teeth. Bekka’s sword slid from its scabbard, as Chulum struggled to his knees and fumbled for his sword, blood already staining his right side. With a quick move, Bekka raised his weapon and struck, striking Chulum in the shoulder blade. The blow knocked Chulum back to the ground and wrenched a cry of pain from his lips.
“You disobeyed the order of your commander!” Bekka put all the force of his body into the shout. He wanted to make sure everyone heard his words. The warriors all around him had gone silent, though he heard the faint rasp of bows against shafts. At least a handful of Chulum’s warriors had drawn their weapons. Only one had to let loose and Bekka would be dead.
Caught up in his own rage, Bekka didn’t care. “You disobeyed my order to wait for Thutmose-sin.” Again the words bellowed across the hilltop. “Because of your stupidity, many of your men and mine are dead, slaughtered for nothing. And the dirt eaters are now laughing at all of us.”
Bekka raised up his sword again, this time using both hands. The blood streaked blade swung down, and this time it landed exactly where Bekka aimed. The thick bronze cut deep into Chulum’s neck, nearly slicing through and unleashing a burst of bloody spray that pulsed for a few moments before Chulum’s heart ceased beating.
“Men of the Serpent Clan,” Bekka shouted, whirling the sword around to include all the warriors, “you will obey my orders!”
“Put down your weapons,” Kushi bellowed, following Bekka’s lead. He, too, had drawn his sword. “Obey your new clan leader.”
The Serpent warriors exchanged glances. Chulum’s leadership had garnered him few friends. One by one, the warriors lowered their weapons, letting bows go slack or half-drawn swords slide back into their sheaths.
Bekka knelt down, ignoring the pain in his leg, and cleaned his sword on Chulum’s tunic. Now was not the time to show weakness. When he finished wiping the blade, Bekka jerked his knife from Chulum’s side, and cleaned that, too. Then Bekka straightened up, returned his weapons to their scabbards, and turned to face the warriors.
“You will obey my orders until Thutmose-sin decides what to do with you.” He extended his right arm and swept it around, encompassing all of Chulum’s men. “Any one of you who disobeys a command from me or Kushi, or from any of my commanders, will be handed over to Thutmose-sin for judgment. Do you understand?”
They did. If Chulum had indeed disobeyed the Sarum’s orders, he deserved his death. If not, the Alur Meriki High Council would sort it out. When clan leaders fought, the common warrior preferred to stay out of it. Meanwhile, no warrior wanted to face Thutmose-sin’s fury, especially not after this defeat.
Bekka surveyed the sullen warriors one more time, as if searching for any sign of disobedience. He saw only sullen looks, and no one met his gaze. “Good. Kushi, take charge of these men. Count the dead and wounded, and report back to me.”
It took all his strength and he had to grit his teeth, but Bekka managed to swing himself back onto his horse, refusing to let the pain from his wounds show on his face or in his movements.
He had survived another battle. Now all he had to worry about was the same danger he’s just used to threaten the Serpent Clan. Thutmose-sin’s anger might soon be directed first and foremost at Bekka.
8
Bone weary, the men trudged along, over, and through the foothills. Just after midmorning, Eskkar and his men crested the last hilly obstacle between them and the Khenmet. He had hoped to reach the stream yesterday before dark, but the men carried too much weight on their shoulders.
At least twenty times along the way, Eskkar had cursed himself for not bringing more pack animals. Another twenty added to the thirty he had started with would have made a difference.
All that didn’t matter now. Eskkar halted A-tuku and watched as his men stumbled by, all of them grateful there were no more cursed hills to climb. He could see Hathor’s po
sition below, the men spread out along the stream. A line of alert guards surrounded the camp, most of them watching the east. Eskkar could also see the bodies of men and horses scattered between the far side of the stream and the base of the next hill.
Shading his eyes, Eskkar squinted toward the hill on the far side of the stream. Twenty or thirty mounted Alur Meriki scouts stared back at their Akkadian counterparts. He had no idea how many warriors might be encamped behind the hill. That too, no longer mattered. All that mattered was that Hathor’s cavalry had reached the Khenmet and held it against the warriors.
He knew the details of yesterday’s fight from the pair of scouts Hathor had dispatched to find Eskkar, and help guide him in.
Hathor rode up the hill to join his commander. “Good to see you, Captain.”
“Not as glad as I am to see you alive.” Eskkar always tried to keep his emotions under control, but this time he didn’t bother to hide his relief. He gestured toward the enemy. “Any more attacks?”
“No. More barbarians are arriving, but we gave them a belly full of arrows in yesterday’s skirmish. Whoever led that attack was a fool.”
“We may not be so lucky next time. When the whole Clan gets here, their war leaders will know how to mount an attack.”
“Any trouble on the way in?”
Eskkar shook his head. “No, but a few of their scouts watched us from the hilltops. They never came close. Must have seen Mitrac’s men with their long bows.”
The two men rode down the hill and into the camp. Eskkar swung down from A-tuku and stretched, forcing the stiffness from his muscles. He led the bay to the stream and let it drink, then handed the animal over to one of his guards. The horse might object to strangers riding it, but had learned to accept grooming and care from Eskkar’s personal guards.
Meanwhile, a crowd of Hathor’s men had bunched up around the just arrived pack animals, and soon seven or eight sacks containing stale bread, dried apples, figs, and dates, all foods that traveled well, were ripped open to feed Hathor’s hungry men.
Eskkar strode over to where Drakis and Alexar stood with Draelin, staring across the stream. Using his bow, Draelin pointed out the various points of attack. Soon Mitrac, Muta, and Shappa joined the group.
Eskkar listened as Draelin recounted the fight, explaining how the Khenmet’s flowing water had slowed the charge and disrupted the barbarians’ ability to control their mounts and use their bows. Each of the commanders had questions, but by then, Eskkar knew everything he needed to know. Ignoring the conversation, he focused his attention on the enemy hilltop.
Ten or twelve new barbarian riders had joined the others on the crest. They sat on their horses and stared at those who had dared to block their path. Every one of them would want vengeance for their unburied dead still lying on the ground.
The talk died down, and the men turned to their leader. Eskkar set aside his thoughts.
“Well, we’re here now, with our men and supplies intact. All of you have done well. Now the hard fighting will start.”
Eskkar let the sobering words sink in for a moment. “Alexar, Mitrac, take your subcommanders and prepare for another attack, and this time it will be with every man they have. See how you can best arrange the men, and if there’s anything we can do to make our position stronger.” Alexar knew how to build a stout defensive position, and then defend it. “Lay out as many stones as you can. We’ve plenty of those, if nothing else.”
Alexar had worked with old Gatus on defensive positions until he died, and then with Bantor. And Mitrac’s bowmen would find the best positions to cover the approaches.
“Shappa, take your slingers and study the cliffs.” Eskkar gestured toward the towering rock face. “See if you can get a few of your men up there. I don’t want the barbarians to take the high ground and start shooting arrows down at our men. The more men we can put up there, the better.”
Shappa stared up at the steep rocks. “I hope we brought enough ropes, Captain.”
“If any of your men threw theirs away on the journey, let me know. They’ll go up first, and without any ropes.”
The slingers had brought plenty of rope with them, along with a few hammers and some bronze chisels. Eskkar knew Shappa would not report any of his men who had discarded their ropes. The master slinger would deal with such an offense himself.
Eskkar turned to Hathor and Muta. “As soon as Alexar stakes out his position, you’ll station your horsemen. The barbarians may try to get some of their riders behind us, if they aren’t already moving into position. We may need to fight on two fronts. If they don’t attack our rear, assign your bowmen to stand beside the others facing the stream. Make sure that both you and your commanders know Alexar’s plans.”
The Akkadian leaders, mounted on their horses, would present an easy target for any enemy bowmen. If Hathor and Muta were killed, their subcommanders must know what to do. In battle, confusion reigned, and once soldiers stopped fighting to ask for orders, the battle would be lost.
Eskkar nodded in satisfaction as his commanders moved off and the camp stirred itself with activity. There remained much to prepare before the next attack, but his commanders knew what to do. All of them were veterans of at least one major battle. If they wanted to live through the next few days, they would make sure their men were ready.
Thutmose-sin guided his best stallion, a tall and rangy gray, up the slope. He’d ordered the standard bearers, and other trappings that indicated the presence of the Sarum, to remain behind and out of sight. When he reached the crest, only two bodyguards attended him, accompanied by the three chiefs invited to join him.
Once atop the hill, Bekka led the way along the crest, until the four clan leaders reached the best position to examine the force of dirt eaters below.
Only moments ago, Thutmose-sin had ordered the survivors of Chulum’s Clan to be merged with that of Bekka’s. No one, not even Chulum’s kin, voiced any opposition. Chulum had acted like a fool or a loud talker on his first raid, and Bekka had done well to kill him, saving Thutmose-sin the trouble of having to deal with the man. Still, because of Chulum’s stupidity, the Alur Meriki had lost many irreplaceable fighters.
After making the decision vindicating Bekka, Thutmose-sin had spoken to the remaining warriors in Chulum’s clan. That action had elicited many angry looks, and Thutmose-sin had taken time to make sure the Serpent Clan understood their position. They had disgraced themselves before a force of dirt eaters, and for that offense, their clan was no more.
Thutmose-sin set all those thoughts aside as he settled his horse alongside Bekka’s and stared down at the stream. He saw the bodies, men and horses, lying where they’d fallen two days ago. The death smell, held at bay by the cooler air of foothills, hadn’t spread through the basin yet, though there would be plenty of flies buzzing about and feasting on the ripe flesh. “No arrows in the bodies.”
“No, Sarum. The dirt eaters recovered them, along with the weapons and anything else of value from our warriors.” Bekka made no excuses for not preventing it.
Thutmose-sin understood. Looting the bodies and collecting the weapons of the fallen would have been the first order of business for the dirt eaters. As long as men had been fighting, the living always took from the dead.
He lifted his gaze to the stream. The glistening flow glinted in the sunlight. Already his riders lacked enough water for their mounts, and the men’s dry mouths would soon be protesting as well. The Akkadians had plenty of water, and doubtless enough food for a few days.
The southern end of the stream, where it disappeared beneath the rocks, had already been turned into a latrine. Two soldiers stood there, side by side, talking as they pissed into the waters.
“How many are there?” Thutmose-sin had heard the number already, but it might have changed since yesterday.
“Just over a thousand men, Sarum.”
“Damn that Eskkar,” Thutmose-sin muttered. “How did he get so many men here without our learning of h
is movements?”
“My scouts have already reported in,” Bekka said. “They back-tracked the Akkadians and found their trail, coming straight from the west, right along the crest of the foothills.”
The last place the Alur Meriki expected to find anyone approaching them. Too late to worry about that now.
Instead, Thutmose-sin examined the enemy force across the stream. First he studied the horsemen, all apparently skilled with the short curved bow that once marked only the Alur Meriki. Then his eyes picked out the accursed Akkadian archers that had slaughtered his men at Orak, recognizable by the longer bows they carried.
Thutmose-sin next turned his gaze on the spearmen, what the dirt eaters now called infantry. They carried true spears, not lances, each one as thick as a man’s wrist and longer than the tallest warrior.
He gave but the briefest of looks at the company of slingers, who even from here looked more like boys than men. Still, the Akkadians had selected a carefully chosen force to fight in this particular place, and Eskkar must have some plan for the slingers.
“Any signs of confusion, fear, any quarrels in their ranks?”
“None, Sarum.” Bekka kept his voice respectful. “These men are under strong discipline. When we charged, they took their positions and stood their ground. Not a man turned to flee.”
Thutmose-sin shifted to face Urgo and Altanar, the other two chiefs who had accompanied him. Urgo had not spent so much time on a horse’s back in months, and the old man’s pain, though he tried to hide it, showed in his clenched jaw. But Thutmose-sin knew he would need the old fighter’s experience, especially his knowledge of the land.
“What do you think, Urgo?”
The experienced warrior shook his head. “First there were eleven. Then they became a hundred. Now they are a thousand. They spread across the pass from end to end. Any more men would only be in the way, not worth the food they would need to eat. This Eskkar of Akkad has chosen this place, this time, and these men to offer us battle.”