by Sam Barone
“Did you ever think of run . . . not fighting?” Yavtar had corrected himself just in time.
“Every time,” Eskkar replied, smiling at his friend.
Seeing the enemy host, Yavtar wondered what thoughts might be tempting the king today.
“What a sight.” Daro finished checking his bowmen, and joined Yavtar at the rear of the boat, just ahead of the steering oar. He stared in amazement at the enemy army.
Two crewmen crouched right behind Yavtar, one holding the steering oar and the other ready to take his place should an arrow take him. A larger than usual shield gave them good protection, but under no conditions did Yavtar want to end up with his boat beached on the riverbank due to the loss of the steersman.
“I think I’m glad to be on the water,” Yavtar said, following Daro’s gaze to the shore.
If disaster struck the Akkadians, the boats would have a chance to escape, though they would still have to maneuver past the narrow bend in the river a few miles from here. Yesterday Shulgi had spread his boats and men across the water and caused the sinking of half a dozen boats before Yavtar could break free. But the Sumerians might have abandoned that place once the battle started.
“It’s a long way back to Akkad.” Daro strung his own bow, then tested the pull. Thumb-ring and wrist gauntlet were already in place. “Let’s hope we don’t have to row all the way there.”
“Look! There goes the cavalry!” Yavtar couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice.
Eskkar’s horsemen were on the move, walking slowly away from the spearmen. Gatus had already halted his men. The boat crews caught their breath. Now they just had to hold their position until the next advance.
“My bowmen are ready to fight,” Daro said. “They’d rather shoot arrows than row any time.”
“Good luck and good hunting to you, Daro.”
“And to you, Yavtar. Remember to keep low and stay behind the shields. I think we’re going to have thousands of arrows launched at us.”
The idea of a thousand arrows striking the boat made Yavtar’s mouth go dry. The archers would be behind shields, but they would still have to expose part of their bodies to launch their shafts. And his crew would still have to work the boat, despite the enemy’s missiles. Many on board were going to die.
Yavtar reached down and scooped up a water skin half hidden beneath the steering bench. “Better take one last drink before we start.” He took a few swallows then handed the skin to Daro. While the archer drank, Yavtar retrieved another skin from a deeper recess. “And a few swallows of wine can’t hurt, either.”
Deciding there would always be plenty of water from over the side to drink, Yavtar took a deep pull from the wine skin, then handed it to Daro.
Daro accepted that skin as well. “To victory.” He lifted the skin as if it were a cup, and drank deep.
Yavtar took another look at Shulgi’s army. “I’ll drink to that. I’ll even drink to having a drink tomorrow night, if we’re still alive.” He took back the wine skin and swallowed as much of the strong liquid as he could force down his throat. “It’s going to be a long day,” he explained, “and I don’t want to get thirsty later.”
From the shore, Gatus’s spearmen gave their battle cry, and began moving forward, the men maintaining their position. It appeared as though a solid block of shields and spear points were on the move.
“It’s time.” Daro moved forward, to his place in the center of the boat.
“Pull for all your worth,” Yavtar shouted. He tossed the wine skin to the two men behind him. “Might as well finish that. We’re going to need it.”
Once again, the three ships slowly gathered way against the current. For the first time in anyone’s memory, boats were going to be in the thick of a land battle. Yavtar checked his sword for the tenth time, and moved toward the bow of the vessel. Soon they’d be far enough upriver to see what lay behind the enemy lines.
Gatus’s infantry halted for the second time, but Yavtar continued moving forward, and soon his three little boats had drawn almost even with the enemy ranks. So far no one had loosed an arrow at them, but Yavtar knew that would soon change, once they saw how powerful a sting rode the river.
Daro’s voice rose up, echoing out over the calm water. “Bowmen! Loose at will!”
After the training volleys that Yavtar had seen in Akkad’s training ground or the northern camps, the few shafts from Daro’s archers seemed puny indeed. But soon more than sixty bowmen spread out over three ships were launching shafts at Shulgi’s right flank. Many fell short, but Yavtar knew that would change in a few moments as the range shortened, as the ships continued making headway against the river.
The archers were on their fifth or sixth shaft before the Sumerians returned the first volley. Daro shouted a warning, and Yavtar looked up to see a cloud of shafts arch up into the sky, then begin to fall toward his ship. For a moment it seemed as if every single arrow were aimed right at him. He ducked down behind the shield, practically shoving his face into the bilge water, just as the shafts struck home.
In a moment, the ship was riddled with shafts protruding from every surface. As the arrows struck the wooden hull or shields, a loud drumming came from the wood, as if each shaft were a hammer blow. To Yavtar’s surprise, not a bowmen went down under the first volley. He picked up his own round shield, and held it between his head and shore, so he could see what was happening. The lead ship was shooting arrows as well, already in range to reach targets well back from the river. To his rear, Yavtar saw that the third boat had turned away from the shore for a moment, then righted its course once again. A body fell into the water, but its archers continued to launch their arrows.
A quick glance toward shore saw that Gatus’s spearmen continued moving slowly toward the Sumerian line. But as they drew within a quarter mile or so, they halted. The front rank had its shields held up, while the second and third ranks raised them over their heads. Behind them, he saw Mitrac’s archers begin shooting.
“Yavtar! Can you get us a little closer to the shore?” Daro’s bellow shook Yavtar out of his fascination with the battle on shore.
Yavtar took a quick glance at the water flowing beside the hull, then at the riverbank. The water would be deep enough and the current about the same. It seemed madness to draw closer to the enemy bowmen, but today no one worried about that. He scrambled back to the rear of the craft, hunched over the whole way. He found himself muttering prayers to the god of the rivers, and hoping an arrow wouldn’t find his backside as he wriggled past the grunting archers and sweating rowers.
“Move us in closer, about twenty paces.” The steersman’s face went a shade whiter at the order. “Hurry, Daro wants a closer shot!”
The man nodded his understanding, and he pushed on the oar with hands that shook more from fear than the force of the river. The craft responded well, turning slightly and edging closer to the shore.
Yavtar glanced at the other boats. Hopefully they would remember their orders to take station wherever Yavtar’s vessel went.
Daro shouted orders to his men. Soon arrows from sixty archers again began striking the partially exposed right flank of the Sumerian spearmen. The enemy had their shields raised up for protection against Mitrac’s shafts, and Daro’s arrows weren’t a numbing volley, but even Yavtar’s hurried glimpses over the side of the boat showed the attack’s effect. The Sumerian spearmen anchoring Shulgi’s right flank had to shift some shields to protect their exposed right sides. Meanwhile, arrows from the Akkadian archers behind the ranks of Gatus’s spearmen continued to fall on them. Daro’s men had an unheard of opportunity to loose their shafts down the solid mass of the enemy’s main battle line. Even shafts that glanced off an upraised shield might strike another target before they came to rest.
No infantry expected to be under continual fire like that, from two directions, especially not at such close range. If the Sumerians could have mounted even a brief charge, the Akkadian bowmen would be slaughtered
. But at least seventy-five paces of water remained between the boats and the river bank, and Daro’s archers were as much out of reach as if they were on the other side of the river. Unless Shulgi wanted to order swimmers into the river to try and board the boats, he could do nothing except have his archers shoot back at them.
By now the sides of the boat and the shields were riddled with arrows. At least two of Daro’s men were down, one wounded in the leg and out of the fight, another dead with an arrow in his throat.
But the Akkadian shafts continued to fly at the Sumerian ranks. Each boat had pushed away from shore that morning with two hundred and fifty shafts for every archer, an enormous reserve of arrows and more than enough to allow a steady fire. And Yavtar knew these bowmen could do it, shooting shaft after shaft, drawing each feather to the cheek before releasing the arrow.
The bowmen ignored the bellowed threats and curses from the shore, Yavtar’s shouting of orders that passed up and down the length of the boat, and even the harsh breaths and grunts each man made as he released his missile. The snapping of bowstrings mixed with the steady drumming of Sumerian arrows striking every wooden surface on the boat added to the din. Yavtar had fought before, but nothing compared to this frenzy of conflicting noise.
On the shore, Shulgi’s commanders soon recognized the danger in the boats attacking them. An entire company of Sumerian bowmen shifted their position and started launching arrows at the three vessels that lay just out of reach.
“Bowmen!” Daro’s voice boomed out over the battle din. “Maximum range. Aim for their leaders. Aim for the red banner!”
Yavtar risked another glance, but couldn’t see any banner. Daro must have caught sight of a worthy target, perhaps Shulgi himself or one of his commanders. Yavtar saw the bowmen elevate their weapons even higher, sending the shafts high into the sky, to rain down well away from the riverbank, and close to the position occupied by the Sumerian leaders.
It seemed odd to be shooting at something that wasn’t shooting back at you, but the archers didn’t seem concerned about that. They just kept launching their shafts at whatever target their leaders selected, grunting with every effort to draw the string back to the full force position before letting fly.
Yavtar wondered if these latest shafts, aimed high into the sky, were having any effect. He watched Gatus’s men first advance and then fall back, an orderly movement that kept their lines and shield wall intact. Still, the Sumerians hadn’t budged from their position, which wasn’t a good sign. By now Yavtar expected that the enemy would have abandoned their defensive positions to come to grips with their attackers.
He decided to move the boats a little more upriver, to catch a glimpse what lay behind Shulgi’s main battle line. It might confuse the Sumerians who would be expecting the ships to stay just ahead of Gatus’s spearmen.
“Move the boats upriver!” With both hands cupped to his mouth, Yavtar’s bellow carried to the other two ships, and he repeated the message twice in each direction. “At least three hundred paces. Pull, you lazy bastards, pull!”
He turned to find Daro staring at him, but the questioning look on the master bowman’s face gave way to approval.
“Good idea!” Daro, too, had to shout to be heard. “We’ll be able to see behind them.” He raised his voice. “Keep shooting! As fast as you can!”
The three ships moved ponderously forward, pulling well ahead of Gatus’s line. If Yavtar could maneuver the boats even a small distance behind the Sumerian front, Daro’s archers should be able to create havoc.
The ships crept steadily upriver. The enemy either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. Yavtar’s vessel, still in the center of the little fleet, had drawn almost even with the Sumerian line when the arrows stopped arriving. The cessation of enemy arrows drumming against the hull tempted Yavtar to take a good look at the Sumerians.
On the shore, at least a thousand bowmen had shifted their positions, readying themselves to fire directly at the boats. The men moved quickly, formed ranks facing the river, and drew their bows. Yavtar turned to Daro, but the archer had already grasped the significance and shouted new orders to his men.
A few moments later the first volley hurtled toward the ships. Yavtar hunched down below the boat’s hull, and shouted a warning to his steersmen and rowers to do the same. Daro and his men ducked behind their shields. The thudding impact of the first volley was strong enough to make the boat lurch in the water. Before Yavtar had time to congratulate himself on being alive, more arrows struck, creating a hammering sound that went on and on. The limp sail even captured a dozen shafts entangled in the thick linen, while plenty of others just passed through.
Looking forward, he saw more arrows protruding from the vessels’ sides like blades of grass in a field. If it weren’t for the outriggers, slipped into place right after the morning launch, the boats might have capsized from the extra weight of all those arrows alone. Every one of the archers had dropped to his knees and huddled close to the shields, while the rain of death poured down on them.
But the moment the volleys ended, Daro ordered his men to return to their shooting positions. Yavtar counted four more bowmen down, victims of the savage volleys, either dead or out of the fight. Probably the losses would be about the same on the other boats. But Daro still had a battle grimace on his face, and every man that could fight still launched his shaft with a full pull of his bow.
Something burned along his cheek, and Yavtar realized a shaft had just missed his eye. He felt the warm blood dripping down his face, and he hunched a little closer to the wooden shield, not much thicker than the width of his thumb, all that stood between himself and almost certain death.
58
From the slight incline that provided some height, Shulgi still had to strain upwards on his horse to take in the entire battlefield. What he did see caused his brief moment of exultation to turn to anger again. The Akkadians had finally advanced within bowshot, but then they retreated almost as quickly. Meanwhile, their cursed archers were wreaking havoc on his bowmen and infantry. The spearmen at least had their shields, but the rear ranks of archers and foot soldiers were taking losses at an alarming rate.
Now those damned riverboats had crept further up the river, almost level with his own position, and launched arrows at his spearmen’s right flank, and even toward his command post. Once again the main force of Akkadian archers remained just out of reach of his smaller bows, and though he had three times as many archers, they might as well have stayed in Sumer for all the good they were doing. They couldn’t even stop the handful of enemy archers on the ships, who kept shooting despite the massive volleys that he’d ordered directed at them.
“Shulgi! We have to advance! Now! Their archers are cutting our men to pieces!”
He turned to find Vanar beside him, a shield held up high to protect his head. His commander’s wide eyes reflected his concern. Shulgi took another look toward Eskkar’s horsemen, still moving slowly to the east.
“Not yet. I want to see what Eskkar’s cavalry are doing.”
“Damn Eskkar! Whatever he’s up to, we’ve got to close with those bowmen. The men are already looking behind them. They’ll be running soon.”
“The Akkadians should have been out of arrows by now.”
“The riverboats must have resupplied them. We have to attack. Now.”
Shulgi gritted his teeth. He wanted to wait at little longer, but if even a few men started to run . . . he knew what that would lead to. “All right, give the order to advance. Move them all forward. Make sure they all move together. We need to strike the enemy with a solid line.”
“They will, and the sooner the better.”
Vanar shouted the orders as he turned away, and the subcommanders repeated it. The Sumerian spearmen raised a cheer as the preliminary commands worked their way up and down the ranks. They welcomed the order. Better to move forward on the attack than just stand there taking enemy fire, and plenty of men in the Sumerian ranks wanted re
venge for Larsa.
As Shulgi watched, the first rank, after some pushing and shoving, moved forward, slipping between or knocking aside the stakes driven into the ground yesterday in preparation for the Akkadian night attack that had never come.
Shulgi urged them on. His Sumerians looked as eager to close with the Akkadians as he was. They’d chased Eskkar’s army for days, and now wanted nothing better than to cut them apart. Shields held high, they moved forward.
He turned to see Razrek’s cavalry on the move, continuing to shift so as to contain Eskkar’s moving horse fighters. Then Shulgi saw the gap between his infantry and horsemen begin to grow. Razrek was supposed to keep the left flank of the spearmen protected. Instead he’d left it exposed as he moved his men eastward.
Shulgi turned to one of his messengers. “Move up the Tanukhs! Have them close that gap! And send a rider to Razrek and tell him to protect our flank!”
Shulgi had kept a quarter of the Tanukhs in reserve, almost three hundred fighters, intending to send them in where they might be needed. They might not be as steady as Razrek’s men, but they would do until Razrek got his horsemen under control. For now, Shulgi wanted to maintain a solid line, as much to overawe his enemy as protect his center.
Out of the corner of his eye, Eskkar watched the movement in the Sumerian lines. He saw the small gap developing, but forced himself to continue plodding east. He needed to get all of the Sumerian horse in motion. And once they started, he knew they would find it hard to stop. The horses would want to keep moving, if nothing else.
Across the gap between the two cavalry forces, Razrek’s men – not as well trained or used to following orders – began to move faster and faster to the east, determined to stay ahead of Eskkar’s horsemen, so that when the attack command came, they could easily sweep around Eskkar’s flank.
“Eskkar, I think it’s time . . .” Grond’s voice betrayed his excitement.
More than five hundred paces now separated Eskkar from Gatus and the spearmen, and the rest of the line stretched far ahead.