by Sam Barone
His eyes took in the ground beneath the hill. The river curved here, and he saw what he expected – a good-sized farmstead. Four huts nestled within the green water’s sweep. Now Eskkar caught the scent from the wheat field that surrounded the houses and animal pens.
“See anything?” Bracca’s words sounded weary, the voice of a man who had traveled too many miles without the benefit of sandals.
Eskkar let his eyes sweep over the landscape, covering every patch of brown earth that might conceal an enemy. Usually he let Bracca lead the way and scout the terrain, but for this, Eskkar knew his eyes would be more likely to spot something that his friend might miss. “No, nothing, just a farm.”
Bracca crawled the last few paces, to lay beside his friend, grateful for the chance to get off his sore feet for a few moments. The two companions had walked close to forty miles in the last day and a half. Lying shoulder to shoulder, they studied the farmstead less than a quarter mile away. “Big enough place,” Bracca said. “No dogs?”
No dogs, no smoke from cooking fires, no movement in the corrals. Nothing, except the silence.
Eskkar’s first thought was that the farmers had abandoned their home. Then his eyes picked out the sheep in the pen. All of them were resting on the ground. The second corral held hogs, but they, too, weren’t moving. The sun had a long way yet to travel before it started to descend, so the heat of the day hadn’t yet arrived. At sunrise and in the early afternoon, herd animals usually wandered about, searching for food.
“They’re all dead,” Bracca said, coming to the same conclusion.
“Smallpox?” Eskkar had seen the disease wipe out entire families and even whole villages.
“Wouldn’t kill the animals, unless they died of thirst.”
That would take several days, Eskkar knew. Moreover, farmers would care for their crops and herd animals as long as they had the strength to move. Most dirt eaters, the name the steppes warriors used to describe anyone who tilled the land, would rather see one of their children die than lose a few lambs. “We’ll have to go down and look. This is probably the best place to cross the river anyway.”
Eskkar stood. No need for secrecy any longer. No need to rush either, with the river close by. He set an easy pace for Bracca. Once they descended the hill, they moved with care, each taking his usual role. Eskkar scanned the ground for any signs of tracks and watched for a possible ambush in their approach. Bracca, a few paces behind, kept his eyes on their rear and sides.
The two fighters had joined forces more than a year ago, and in that time they’d learned how to compliment each other’s skills. Eskkar, tall, powerful, and carrying the long sword that marked him as a barbarian from the steppes, was the one strangers first noticed. But Bracca, short and quick in his movements, had put his sword into many a man’s body before the victim could react. Together they made for a dangerous team, as more than a few opponents had learned to their sorrow.
They crossed the first wheat field, following a meandering path that the farmers had worn into the ground. Eskkar saw several wooden troughs scattered about. The dirt eaters used those to divert water from the narrow channels that stretched from the river to the fields.
He heard the buzzing of the flies even before his nose twitched at the smell of decomposing flesh, not all of it from animals. But Eskkar didn’t see any corpses. They passed the corrals, and approached the houses. Without a word, both men slowed their steps, and Eskkar reached up and made sure that his sword slid easily in the sheath.
The first house they reached happened to be the one farthest from the river. The familiar stench of death, a mix of blood, urine, and excrement, caught in Eskkar’s throat. He moved closer to the entry, blocked by a dirty and ragged blanket hanging from the lintel. Slipping his knife from his belt, Eskkar pushed the blanket aside with the blade’s tip and glanced within.
A moment passed before his eyes, used to the bright sunlight, took in the chamber. The dead bodies were covered with flies, and rats and mice feasted on the flesh.
“Ishtar’s Eyes!” The curse came without thought, the same one villagers used for anything that wasn’t supposed to be seen.
“How many?” Bracca didn’t bother to look. Instead he kept his gaze shifting, always alert for any danger.
Eskkar stood outside the entrance, leaned in, and counted heads, the most distinct body part. “At least thirteen,” he called out. “Might be some more dead children under the bodies. Probably happened yesterday afternoon.”
Hoof prints covered the ground, so many that Eskkar couldn’t tell from what direction they’d come. But it was easy enough to see where they’d gone – straight toward the river.
“Let’s keep moving.” Bracca strode toward the next dwelling.
Eskkar turned away with a long breath of relief. The next two huts held little of interest. Both had been ransacked, and the dirt eaters’ pitiful possessions tossed into one corner. The dirt floors had been dug up in several places. Farmers always buried their valuables, if they possessed any, underneath their huts, as if no robber would ever suspect such a secret hiding place. Likely the bandits had made the inhabitants do all the digging.
The last hut, by far the largest, told the story. A single body, a young woman’s, lay on a dirty, blood-soaked blanket. A deep gash in her naked belly had finally ended her ordeal.
“She’s the last one they took,” Bracca said. “Probably killed her right before they left.”
“We need to get away from this place,” Eskkar said. “If anyone shows up or sees us, we’ll likely get the blame.”
“I’ll check inside, in case they left something we can use.”
Eskkar had no desire to enter the home. Instead he scanned the landscape, searching for anything out of the ordinary. He saw nothing, but that didn’t mean that some keen-eyed villager wasn’t hiding in the fields, watching the farmhold and its latest visitors.
“Ah, yes, by the gods!” Bracca’s cheerful voice sounded out of place in the grim surroundings. He stepped outside the hut, holding a pair of well-used sandals in his hand, the long leather laces still attached.
Eskkar shook his head at Bracca’s usual good luck. If the man needed a sword or a new tunic, he would probably have found those, too.
They started for the river, less than a hundred paces away. As they drew close, they saw a small wooden jetty scarcely longer than a man’s height. Concealed by the tall grasses that grew along with river’s edge, they hadn’t noticed it before. And they saw the horse tracks.
“No boat.” Eskkar stared across the river, but couldn’t see any sign of a vessel on the opposite shore. “There should be a boat or raft.”
“Well, the bandits weren’t coming back, so they probably let the river take it. Probably didn’t want anyone to follow them. ”
“We’ll have to swim across.” Even if this farm offered a good fording place, the river hadn’t yet begun to recede from the spring floods.
They readied themselves, transferring their knives and other loose items into their pouches, and making sure those were fastened tight and secured to their bodies. Eskkar would take no chances with his most valuable possession. He would hold his long sword in his left hand. The river’s current might pull the blade from the scabbard, or slip the casing from his shoulder. Loss of the sword would be a disaster. For both men, the swords might be the difference between life and death.
They took their time crossing. Foolish men underestimated the power of the Euphrates. At every step, its powerful currents threatened to sweep an unwary man off his feet. That could leave him at the mercy of the moving water that often exhausted a man long before he managed to swim to the nearest bank.
But Eskkar and Bracca moved with care through the water, most of the time wading. Twice Eskkar had to swim when the water reached his armpits. Bracca, shorter of stature, had to resort to swimming three times. Nevertheless, they made it safely to the opposite bank, and with all their gear intact. They jogged away from the rive
r, and finally settled down beneath a large date palm to rest.
“You think those were the same bandits who took our horses?”
Eskkar grunted. “Yes. I spotted some tracks that came from your horse. He has that nick in his right hind hoof.”
Bracca thought about that for a moment. “If they left the village at dawn, rode hard, and followed the river, they could have reached here yesterday. And had plenty of time to loot a few farmhouses on the way.”
“While we had to stay inland, far from the river, and walk up and down all those damned hills,” Eskkar agreed.
“A band of raiders that size loose in the countryside, we should have heard something about them. But they took the village and this farm with no warning. The bodies here had barely started rotting.” Bracca paused for a moment. “That means they must keep moving, staying ahead of any reports of their raids.”
“I don’t like it,” Eskkar said. “Even the steppes horsemen stop to rest every few days. These men must have pushed the pace after looting the village, to get here that fast. There wasn’t anyone chasing them. Those few who survived the attack on the village would have needed days to gather men and organize a pursuit. The bandits must have planned to ford the river here as soon as possible.”
“What’s the sense of raiding, if you don’t stop every now and awhile to enjoy your spoils, drink some wine, buy some women?”
“I’ve got another question,” Eskkar said. “Why didn’t they cross the river back at the village? It’s a far easier ford there. Why ride so far north? There are almost as many farms to loot on the west side of the Euphrates.”
Bracca plucked a long blade of grass from the ground and started chewing on the green stem. “These bandits are either very stupid, or very smart.” He spit out the grass. “What would you do if you wanted to raid the smaller villages and farmholds, but didn’t want to get caught, or have half the villagers and farmers banding together for defense or chasing after you?”
Eskkar thought about that. “At the village, Hitha never said anything about raiders loose nearby. If he’d known about any bands of bandits, he would have told us. Worse, when we rode in, he would have suspected that we were part of them, maybe sent ahead to scout out the village.”
“Let’s say a large band of raiders rides up from the south,” Bracca said. “They know the location of all the villages and big farms along the river. They start looting, and they outrun news of their attacks. Hitha’s village could have been merely one of many raided. Remember, we saw quite a few loaded-down pack horses entering the village.”
“Suppose this bunch is more cunning than most bandits,” Eskkar said. “They might only raid the villages and farms on this side of the river. Then they could cross over to the west bank, ride another thirty or forty miles. If they never raided anyone on the west bank, they could take it easy. Nobody on the west side would be chasing after them, or worrying about them. When they were rested, they could cross the river, and start raiding north again.”
Bracca chuckled. “That is clever. Why didn’t we ever think of doing that?”
“For one thing, we don’t have twenty or thirty men. For another, you’re too lazy to do so much riding without stopping every few days to get drunk and amuse yourself with the local whores.”
“If these men raided their way north,” Bracca went on, as much thinking aloud as talking to his friend. “They would have collected plenty of gold and valuables along the way. Soon they’ll have enough to set themselves up for life.”
Neither man spoke for some time, both examining their suppositions.
“About fifty miles north of here is the village of Yarmo,” Eskkar said, breaking the silence. “And it’s on the west bank of the Euphrates. It’s also the last big village before the northern lands.”
“Yarmo is too big for these bandits to attack,” Bracca said. “I visited the place years ago. There were at least four or five hundred people living there, probably more by now. It even has a stockade, and some guards to maintain order.”
“But if what we heard is true, it also has plenty of merchants and taverns. The bandits could easily dispose of their goods, trading them for the local coins. The greedy shopkeepers and traders will take anything they can get, as long as the price is right. Never heard of a cunning trader or scheming merchant who cared where the goods and gold came from.”
“Then they could disband,” Bracca finished Eskkar’s thoughts, “and move east. The villages along the Tigris River are only a little more than a hundred miles from here. Along the way, they could turn themselves into honest and reputable men of wealth.” He shook his head. “One extended raid, and they can end their careers as bandits. It’s perfect.”
Eskkar’s mind raced ahead. “If we’ve guessed their plan, we may be the only ones who know what is happening. And that’s simply because we happened to survive the attack on Hitha’s village, and then came across their tracks at the farm.”
He sat up, pulled his knife from his pouch, and started drawing in the dirt. Eskkar outlined the river, their current position, and the village of Yarmo. “If we’re right, they’ll ride another twenty or so miles north, then cross back over the river to continue their raids on the eastern bank. So we know where they will be in . . . two days.”
Bracca leaned forward and studied the crude map. “They’ll want to ford back to the western bank at least fifteen miles south of Yarmo. That way they can ride in without worrying about anyone knowing where they’ve been.” He picked up a black stone and dropped it near the mark that represented Yarmo.
“If we moved quickly,” Eskkar tapped the black stone with his knife, “we might be able to catch up with them there, when they cross over to the west bank. With luck, we could steal back our horses.”
“So you want us to run almost forty miles in two days, just so we can try to make off with our own horses? For that much effort, I want a lot more than a pair of horses. Think about how much gold they’re carrying.”
“The two of us against thirty of them?” Eskkar shook his head. “These marauders are not simple farmers waving swords during the day and bragging to their women at night. They’re experienced fighters. Don’t forget they have at least five or six warriors with them. Barbarians won’t panic if we try and steal some mounts. Even if we do manage to get away with a few animals, they’ll come after us. That’s part of the warrior code, part of their honor.”
Bracca leaned back against the tree and took a deep breath. “You’re right, they won’t panic. But will they trust each other? You’re the barbarian. How much would you trust these bandits, dirt eaters as you call them? Especially now that you’re close to ending whatever arrangement you’ve made?”
Eskkar thought about that, and followed the idea to its conclusion. “No, the warriors wouldn’t trust the bandits. The barbarians will want to ride home with all the horses they’ve collected. With so many extra horses, they’ll be able to attract wives and rise up in their clans. So the warriors wouldn’t be too concerned about the gold. But those horses would also be worth plenty of coins in the village. The rest of the raiders would know that, too.”
“Well, there you have it, friend Eskkar. Mutual distrust, plenty of greed, and no longer any reasons to keep them working together. I think we can make something out of that.”
Eskkar matched Bracca’s smile with one of his own. “Yes, I think we could. Are you up to running almost forty miles?”
“Why not?” Bracca sighed, lifted his feet, and admired his newly acquired sandals. “It’s better than toiling for months on some filthy farm, trying to save enough copper coins to buy some old nags.”
“Well, then, friend Bracca, we might as well start moving. We’ll probably end up with some barbarian arrows in our bellies.”
“We’ve faced worse odds before.”
“No, we haven’t,” Eskkar said. “But maybe we can figure out a decent plan along the way, hopefully one that doesn’t get us killed.”
Bracc
a gave the crude map one last look. “Then let’s get started. But keep in mind all that gold they’ll be carrying. If we can figure out a way to make off with some of that, even better. ”
Eskkar rose, and returned his knife to its scabbard. “Just the horses, friend Bracca, just the horses.”
In moments, they were on their way, running in silence. They covered the ground with a steady, loping gait. Every half-mile or so they slowed to a fast walk, the same pace they used whenever they encountered one of the numerous low hills that hindered their way. Neither Eskkar nor Bracca wanted to chance an injury running up or down a slope. A twisted ankle would end their plan, and they both knew they would need all their strength for whatever awaited them at the end of their journey.
Two days later, they lay on their stomachs and studied the pale-blue Euphrates flowing peacefully beneath the low hills, still covered in green grass and yellow flowers, that bordered the river. A narrow jetty projected into the water, and three small boats, the kind used by fishermen, were beached along the river bank. Six mud-brown huts were scattered nearby, all within a hundred paces of the jetty.
“That’s the ford, all right.” Bracca lifted his head. “I can’t see anything on the other side.”
“Well, the bandits haven’t crossed here,” Eskkar said. “No sign of that many horses coming up out of the water.”
Eskkar and Bracca now had some further information on the bandits. Yesterday they’d found the place where the raiders had forded back over to the eastern bank. By reading the signs, Eskkar estimated that about thirty mounted men, plus another twenty or twenty-five horses were in the group. A young shepherd boy they encountered had confirmed those numbers. Unnoticed by the horsemen, he’d watched the riders ford the river. Eskkar had thanked the gods that a shepherd had witnessed the bandits’ movements. Unlike most dirt eating farmers, those who herded sheep knew how to count.