by Sam Barone
“No, my queen. But this Trella was favored by Ranaddi, favored enough that she attended many of his meetings. She was said to be keen of wit.”
Kushanna frowned. That sounded like the witch of Akkad. “How old was this child?”
“Not a child, my queen. She had already been given the rites of passage. Despite that, no man had claimed her for a husband.”
A shriek erupted from the courtyard. Kushanna glanced down just as the guard tossed the first finger into the dirt.
“And what happened to this Trella?”
“It seems that Fradmon, who planned the attack, was killed by the leader of the bandits, who turned on his master and then took all the gold for himself and his men. Instead of killing everyone, the bandit spared the women and a few young men. He took them with him when he departed, probably to sell as slaves.”
Another scream of pain echoed against the walls. This time the guard looked up at the balcony. Kushanna signaled the guard to cease.
“And Dilse was one of the bandits?”
“That’s what the people living nearby believed. He returned to the area a few months later, still with plenty of coins in his purse. Apparently, he is not quite right in the head. A few times he got drunk, and boasted of the raid on Carnax.”
Down below, the guards were binding up Dilse’s hand. It took only moments before they disappeared from view.
Kushanna turned away from the balcony. “Well, we’ll soon know.” She led the way into the chamber. The guards returned, dragging the prisoner between them. They’d wrapped his right hand in a rag, to catch the bleeding. They knew she didn’t like bloodstains on the floor.
“He’s ready to talk, Queen Kushanna.”
They usually were, after a losing a few fingers. “Give him some water,” she ordered.
Dilse managed to choke down a mouthful, but more spilled on his chest and the floor. “Mercy . . . mercy.” His voice trailed off into a whimper.
“Tell me of Carnax,” she ordered. “Tell me everything you know of the raid, or you’ll lose more than your fingers.”
The story came out between sobs. Dilse had been a servant for the merchant Fradmon. He and his steward had returned and slaughtered almost the entire village. But then the steward, a man named Sondar, turned upon his master, killing him, and taking the few survivors as slaves. They marched the captives, mostly women and children, off to a slave trader waiting nearby. Dilse even remembered the name of the slaver – Drusas.
The name made Kushanna smile. An odious little man, he lived right here in Sumer, flaunting his wealth and still dealing in slaves. A stroke of luck that Dilse remembered the slaver’s name, Kushanna decided. Drusas took delight in every one of his slaves. She felt certain he would remember what happened to Trella and her brother.
“And this Trella and her brother were sold to Drusas?”
“Yes, my queen.” Dilse had to pause to choke back the sobs. “Sondar sold all the captives to Drusas. Once they were gone, all of us rode north, eager to get away from Carnax.”
“No doubt.” She turned her gaze toward Sohrab. “Did you speak to Drusas?”
“I tried to, my queen. I went to his house last night to ask if he remembered anything about Trella’s brother, but Drusas had departed yesterday morning for the slaver’s camp upriver. He won’t be back for several days.”
At least Sohrab understood the importance of the information.
She decided there was little more to glean from the wretch, kneeling at her feet. Then she had another thought. “This Sondar . . . can you describe him?”
A few moments later, Kushanna glanced at Sohrab. He nodded agreement.
“I think we have no further need for poor Dilse,” Kushanna said. “Take care of him.”
The guards smiled and dragged the prisoner away. They’d take him to the rear of the courtyard and drive a sword through his heart.
“You’ve done well, Sohrab. Keep all this to yourself. It may prove useful. Wait here for a moment.”
“Of course, my queen.” Sohrab bowed at the compliment.
Kushanna returned to the balcony. She wanted some time to think. Sondar had changed his name to Razrek, and within a few months had become King Eridu’s most favored leader. Not that Razrek’s murderous past made any difference. He could have burned a dozen villages for all she cared. But there might come a day when such knowledge might be useful.
Even more useful might be Trella’s brother, if he were still alive and could be found. At the least she should be able to sell him to Akkad for a heavy price. Depending on Trella’s feelings of affection, perhaps even further advantages could be obtained. But first the witch’s brother must be found. She turned away from the courtyard and swept back into the room.
“I want Trella’s brother brought to Sumer. Go after Drusas and find out what he knows. Make sure he tells you everything about the raid on Carnax, as well as what befell Trella and her brother. Tell him if I’m not satisfied with what he remembers, he may find more of his property in Sumer confiscated.”
“Yes, my queen. And if I find that the brother is dead?”
“I’ll reward you well if you bring him back. But even if he’s dead, knowledge of his fate might be useful.” Kushanna smiled. Yes, alive or dead, Trella’s brother would help Sumer.
27
The morning after he returned to Akkad, Eskkar went down to the barracks to see Gatus. Last night, at the evening meal, the old soldier mentioned some new training routines that he wanted Eskkar to see. Eskkar promised he would stop by the barracks at mid-morning. Even with Gatus’s warning, Eskkar slowed in surprise when he entered the training ground.
Months had passed since Gatus’s last demonstration. Eskkar had seen the men training during that time, but between governing the city, working with the slingers, visiting Nuzi and the horse camps, not to mention his own training, he hadn’t paid much attention to the men’s training. He had more than enough to occupy his time.
Eskkar’s eyes widened at the size of the group. Today one hundred spearmen stood there waiting for his arrival, all of them carrying shields, swords, and resting the butt end of their spears on the ground. Every man wore thick sandals and each had a bronze helmet, the latest idea Gatus and Trella had come up with. It made the soldiers appear both taller and fiercer. They looked ready to march into battle. Gatus sat on his stool facing them, waiting patiently.
The men had assembled in four ranks of twenty-five each. Two of the ranks faced the other two, about twenty paces apart.
Gatus picked up his stool and strode over to where Eskkar stood. “Good morning, Captain. I think you’ll enjoy this.”
“Were you waiting long for me?” Eskkar imagined the men standing in the hot sun all morning, waiting for his arrival.
“No, I told a runner to let me know when you left the Compound.”
Eskkar remembered seeing a boy dash off down the lane. And, of course, Gatus was too good a commander to let men stand about in the hot sun doing nothing. At least, not without a good reason.
“What am I going to see?”
“I’ve been thinking about Sumer’s army. We know they’ll have men armed with swords and shields, and I think we should expect them to have plenty of spearmen as well. So I decided to figure out what our first encounter might look like. We’ve been practicing this for the last ten days. Now you can see what we’ve been doing.”
Gatus walked back to the men, and moved into the center area between the facing ranks. “You men know the rules. Today you will be the Eagle army,” he pointed to the men on his left, “against the Hawk army.” With his rod, he gestured to the men on his right. “First side to push an opposing man across the rope is the victor. The losing side will buy ale for the winning side all night long.”
A murmur went through the men as they readied themselves. Eskkar noticed two ropes stretched out and pegged down at either end, about ten paces behind each side.
“And this time,” Gatus added, “I don’t want to see anyone o
n the losing side trying to join the winners.”
That brought forth a brief laugh up and down the lines.
Gathering his stool, Gatus moved out of the open area, but stayed just on the edge of the ranks. Two of his subcommanders took positions on one end of the spearmen, and two others shifted to the opposite end. Eskkar, as he moved to Gatus’s side, realized the subcommanders would judge the men’s performance.
“Spears ready!”
The men, all serious now, lifted the spears off the ground, keeping the bronze tip pointing upward.
“What side do you favor, Captain?”
Eskkar smiled as he studied the ranks. Both sides appeared similar in size and weight, so there was little to distinguish one group from the other. “I’ll take the Hawks.”
“Ha! The Hawks always lose to the Eagles,” Gatus said. “You’ll be buying my ale tonight.” He faced the two ranks. “Shields up. Spears forward!”
The spears moved into a horizontal position, held shoulder high and palm up, and facing the opposing side. The men in the second rank of each group moved forward as well, each man letting his spear jut out between the shoulders of the two men in front of him, the longer spears of the second rank reaching out as far as the front rank.
Two spear walls now bristled threateningly at each other across the open space. Even from where Eskkar stood, the line of bronze-tipped weapons looked formidable. Every shield was held at eye level.
“Slow march forward . . . march!” Gatus leaned toward Eskkar. “This is where it gets interesting. Hopefully, no one will get hurt this time.”
The ranks began to walk toward each other. Eskkar watched, fascinated. The men were going to gut each other. But as the opposing spear tips crossed, he saw the men angling their weapons up so that they would pass between the heads of the men facing them.
As soon as the spears extended out past the line of men, the ranks surged forward, taking the last step with a rush that brought the two ranks into jarring contact. Shield crashed against shield, the sound echoing around the barracks, and accompanied by the grunts and shouts of the men.
In an instant the lines were struggling against each other. The men’s feet kicked up dirt as they fought either to remain where they were or push forward. Eskkar saw a few men in the rear ranks slip to their knees, but they immediately regained their position. The men in the front rank couldn’t fall down, since they were held upright by the opponent as well as the man behind. The air filled with curses or cries of triumph. Spears shifted and waved in all directions, and Eskkar saw men struck on the side of the head by the thick shafts, whether by accident or on purpose, he couldn’t tell. For the first time, he noticed the many dents on the bronze helmets.
The lines wavered and buckled, as different parts of the ranks moved forward or back. The earth beneath their feet churned into a cloud of dust that hovered in the air. In moments, sweat covered every man’s brow, and red faces showed the effort the men were expending. The rearmost rank pressed their shields into the backs of the innermost rank, and used that as leverage to shove the leading man forward, leg muscles straining. Every man tried to use his spear as well, to knock aside the opponent’s shield or just to land a blow.
By now Eskkar could have extended his arms and enclosed all four ranks, so close together had they jammed themselves. The two leading ranks, shield pressed against shield, were crushed up against each other not only by their own force, but the pressure of the men behind them.
Slowly the Hawk line began to move backward. Men shouted to their companions to hold on, to not take that step backward. But some had no choice. The Hawk line still gripped their spears, using them to try and dislodge their opponent. Nevertheless, the Hawk line grew more jagged, as the Eagles pushed deeper and deeper into their ranks. By now every man gasped for breath.
A man went down near the center of the Hawk line, and that marked the beginning of the end. Sensing success, the Eagle army pushed harder and broke through the ranks, knocking opponents to the ground, and trampling on them. Spears entangled themselves, or were torn loose from their owner’s grip. The Eagle team’s shouts rose up as they rushed forward. The Hawk line collapsed, its men either driven back or knocked to the ground, trying to avoid being stepped on by the surging Eagles.
“HALT!” Gatus’s voice carried over the spearmen, who crowded against each other gasping for breath. Some jumped up and down in victory, while the losers shook their heads in defeat.
“Reform ranks!”
Eskkar saw how well Gatus had trained them. Within moments, the men disentangled themselves, everyone helping the fallen regain their feet. They gathered up their spears and reformed the ranks, guided by additional orders from the subcommanders. A few of the men needed assistance to regain their positions, helped by those still strong enough to stand. Blood lay scattered across the once smooth ground between the two ranks. Eskkar guessed that a few spears in the belly would have drenched the earth with blood and entrails.
“Perhaps you should inspect the men, Captain . . . congratulate the winners.”
Gatus led the way back into the open space between the ranks. The blood smell now floated in the air. Several men had deep scratches or cuts, others bled from their mouths or noses. Two or three men looked seriously hurt, dazed and barely held upright by their companions. “Stand easy, men.”
Eskkar started with the Eagles, moving up and down the smiling line, talking to the men, congratulating them on their victory. He inspected the Hawk ranks next. Here he saw only a few smiles. More Hawks had been injured. Most of the faces were grim. They’d lost the struggle, suffered embarrassment in front of their king, and tonight would have to pay in the tavern for their defeat.
When he finished his inspection, Eskkar knew he would have to speak to them. This was one of those moments, as Trella explained to him, where he could bind men to his cause. He turned to Gatus. “May I command them?” The polite request was for the benefit of the men.
“Yes, Lord Eskkar,” Gatus replied.
“All of you, close up and face me.”
The odd command confused more than a few, but the sub-commanders stepped in. In moments, one hundred men were packed together facing him.
“How many of you have fought in battle?”
A few voices answered him, but not more than a handful.
“What you’ve just done will give you a good idea of what to expect on the battleground. The enemy will not yield easily. Your spears and swords will have to push him back, step by step, until his line breaks. You’ll need to be tougher and stronger than your enemy, because they will probably have the advantage in numbers.”
He let his eyes scan the men’s faces. By now they caught their breath, and he held the attention of every one of them.
“I’ve waged many battles, most on horseback, or using sword against sword. What you have just done here is different, and I don’t know how well I could have stood against you in battle. But I’m certain this is very much the way real fighting will be. You will be tired and hot. So will your enemy. You will probably be hungry and almost certainly thirsty. But so will your enemy. What will be different is that you will take the fight to them. They will see you ignoring your hunger and thirst, marching toward them, spears pointing at their faces, and they will be afraid. When you smash into their ranks, their fear will overwhelm them as you drive them into the ground. You will be covered in blood, but it will be their blood, not yours.”
He paused and a ragged cheer erupted. Eskkar let them go on for a few moments, then held up his hand for silence.
“And remember this, if you remember nothing else. The side that breaks first will be slaughtered, its broken line easy kills for the advancing enemy. You saw what happened when the Hawk line started to slip. No man can fight well moving backwards. And if your enemy turns and runs, his death is certain.”
Heads nodded in agreement, and he saw the gleam of self-confidence in their eyes.
“You men will be the pride
of Akkad’s fighters, its first army of spearmen. Never before has anyone trained so many to fight as one. If our enemy has greater numbers, it matters little. If you work and fight together, as Gatus and his commanders teach you, no foe will be able to withstand your charge. When the enemy sees you approaching, his knees will go weak with fear. When you smash into his shield wall, he will turn and flee. He will do this because he will know in his heart that you are stronger, tougher, and better trained than he is. He will not stand against you.”
This time another cheer went up, louder than the first, and it went on and on, despite Eskkar’s efforts to silence them.
“Now you must continue your training. But I will join you tonight, to buy ale for Gatus. I will sit with the Hawk army, and complain about our bad luck as much as any of you.”
A laugh rippled through them.
“Gatus, take command of your men again.”
He waited until Gatus had given the orders and turned the men over to the subcommanders. The two friends walked away from the training ground, found an empty spot in the shade of a barrack, and sat down on the ground, both of them leaning back against the wall and gazing out of the common area.
“Gatus, you’ve done well. These men look good.”
Gatus shook his head. “I think they can be better. I want to train them harder. I want to increase the training, and try some new tactics as well.”
Eskkar glanced at the veteran. Gatus had always been an excellent trainer, a good second in command, but seldom initiated anything new.
Gatus caught the glance. “Hear me out. First, I want to toughen them up even more. That means longer marches, more spear practice. I want them to handle their spears as well as you handle your sword. They’ll need to learn how to fight with a sword as well, so we’ll need more sword work. And I want to change the spears. I want thicker shafts. Too many splinter or break at the first hard contact, even on the training ground. In a battle, many would be lost after the first thrust. Then we’ll have nothing but an army of swordsmen.”