by Sam Barone
“I saw another dozen following our line of march to the west,” Eskkar said. “Probably more. They’re following us on either flank, with more at our rear.”
“With the forty or fifty we’ve seen, they already outnumber our horsemen,” Hathor said. “Who knows how many more are waiting up ahead?”
“I don’t like it, Captain,” Alexar said. “They’re leading us on, staying just out of our reach.”
Eskkar, too, recognized the signs. All along the southern border, they found dead bodies, farm houses and crops burned to the ground, and the land ravaged beyond all reason. With each grim discovery, Eskkar’s anger grew, along with the determination to make these raiders pay for their incursion.
Even barbarians didn’t wreak such havoc. They might kill many men and take their women, but they left most of those they ravaged alive, so that they could be looted again on some future raid.
By now Eskkar and his commanders realized that the so-called bandits were anything but. Instead of scattering or fleeing at Eskkar’s approach, they yielded ground slowly, staying well away from his force of archers, and confident in their superior number of horsemen. They retreated in only one direction, southward. With each passing day, the situation had worsened, as more and more of the enemy showed themselves.
“Commanders, follow me,” Eskkar ordered. He strode a hundred paces away from the men and sank to the ground on a grassy swell. A lone tree provided some welcome shade from the late afternoon sun, and honey bees buzzed at the nearby flowers. One by one, his commanders — Grond, Alexar, Hathor, Mitrac, Klexor, and Drakis — joined him, sitting knee to knee as they completed the circle.
Looking at their faces, he saw the same anger and frustration that burned in his own belly. He had chosen his commanders well. All were Hawk Clan members and proven in battle.
The Hawk Clan formed the elite corps of Akkad’s soldiers. After a near-fatal skirmish in the early days of the struggle against the barbarians, Eskkar and the few survivors of that first contact had sworn a solemn oath of brotherhood to each other, and to Eskkar, who had saved their lives and led them to victory.
In those days, most of his followers had been outcasts themselves, men without family, kin or clan. The creation of the Hawk Clan changed all that, providing each member with a new family, Eskkar’s own. In Akkad, everyone recognized the bravest of the brave, for only through valor in battle and the acclaim of his fellow warriors could a man become a member of the Hawk Clan. To wear the Hawk emblem on his chest was the greatest ambition of each fighter that served in Akkad, the goal that each soldier sought above all else.
The binding promise each man swore united them as brothers and pledged their loyalty to Eskkar’s leadership as head of the Hawk Clan. This new force of battle-tested warriors, now joined in bonds of brotherhood, turned out to be Eskkar’s single most important contribution to defeating the barbarian horde. For what brave man could abandon his brother in time of need, or fail his family when danger threatened? The clan linked each man to every other, and promised a haven of safety when advancing age or wounds meant they could no longer fight against Eskkar’s enemies.
As they fought together, the bond between the Hawk Clan grew deeper. Having gained their trust and respect, Eskkar repaid it by making sure his commanders and even his newest recruit knew not only what he intended, but what he was thinking. That knowledge made them confident of his leadership, and established that same trust in each other.
Eskkar’s proven ability not only to fight but to lead men into battle enabled him to rely on simple instructions and to avoid complicated strategies, even in the chaos of battle. With his close commanders, he felt certain they had the ability to carry out his orders, act independently if necessary, and improvise where needed. That closeness made them a unique group of warriors, who not only thought as a band of brothers, but fought as one, too. Almost as important to Eskkar, none of them would hesitate to speak his mind.
“It’s time to decide what we face and what we’re going to do,” Eskkar began. “We’ve been chasing these riders for three days, and still they elude us. Whatever city sent them — Larsa, Sumer, maybe even Isin — needs to be taught a lesson. In these lands, and with a force that large, I’ll wager that these bandits are Sumerians, or at least in their pay.”
The city of Larsa had the most to gain from the border lands, and their history of raiding Akkadian territory went back more than a generation. But Trella had a sufficient number of spies in that city, and Eskkar doubted their king, Naran, could organize such a raid without her agents noticing. Isin, farther to the south and west, had a king bold enough for such an affair, but King Naxos hadn’t launched any raids on Akkad’s lands since he came to power several years ago. That left the city of Sumer, ruled by King Eridu.
“Meanwhile we’re moving further and further south,” Alexar said, “and in another day’s march, we’ll reach the River Sippar. That will put us south of our own border, and into the lands of Sumeria. We don’t have enough food or supplies to go that far south, and if we did, we would need to find some way to get across the river. If these bandits or Sumerians crossed over and took all the boats with them, we’d be trapped on the wrong side of the river, and helpless.”
“No, we can’t go further south,” Eskkar agreed. “We need to finish these invaders off once and for all.” He looked at Mitrac, who commanded twenty of the archers.
“Mitrac, what do you think?” Eskkar always started with the youngest of his commanders. His wife, Trella, had suggested that idea to her husband, so that the youngest would not feel the pressure of contradicting their elders.
“Our men can keep up the chase for another few days. If we can close within bowshot, I don’t care how many men they have. So far, the scouts have seen no sign of longbows. We just need to get within reach, so our bowmen can kill them.”
Klexor, who commanded half the horsemen under Hathor, spoke next. “We can’t get close with their scouts watching our every move. The archers can’t keep up with our horsemen if we try and chase the bandits. I think we need to learn more about them, how many mounted men they have. Maybe we should set a trap tonight for one or two of them. We’d have them by morning. We’d soon find out what they know.”
“Even that might not tell us how many men we’re facing, or what their leader’s plans are,” Drakis said. He commanded twenty archers. “There could be hundreds of soldiers just waiting for us to come within their reach. We move toward them, they fall back, and somehow increase their strength.”
“I agree with Drakis. There must be a large force of archers or soldiers somewhere nearby.” Alexar commanded all of Eskkar’s archers. “Otherwise, the tactics of these men make no sense. Why else would they linger near our force, when they could just ride away?”
Eskkar turned to Grond, his bodyguard. “And what do you think?”
“I think they’re luring us into a trap,” Grond answered without hesitation. A large man, even broader than Eskkar, he’d been a slave in the western desert before reaching Akkad. “Somewhere up ahead, where the ground is favorable for them, they’ll turn on us and attack. We’ve little more than a hundred men. If they strike hard enough and with enough men, we’ll be overwhelmed. You need to find a way to get close to them, and soon.”
All eyes went to Hathor, the last to speak. A few years older than Eskkar’s thirty-two seasons, he was the oldest of Eskkar’s leaders. While all the commanders recognized Hathor’s ability, many of the men and inhabitants of Akkad remembered the past. The sole survivor of the band of despised Egyptians who had seized power in Akkad, Hathor had fought against Akkad’s forces. He’d escaped death first by chance, and then by Lady Trella’s intervention.
“Their horsemen,” Hathor said, “outnumber ours at least two to one. They’re well-armed and mounted on animals as good as our own. Not what you’d expect bandits or raiders to be riding. If we have to engage a force twice our size without support from the archers, it could get very bloody.
”
Eskkar started to speak, but Hathor wasn’t finished.
“If we had enough men,” he said, meeting Eskkar’s gaze, “it wouldn’t matter where we fought them. But our enemies have counted our soldiers, and still they remain close by, readying themselves for the battle. So they don’t fear either our numbers or our weapons. If we’re outnumbered, it would be foolish to fight them at a time and place of their choosing. That is the one advantage a smaller force cannot yield. Without a good plan of our own, I say we should retreat, march north toward Akkad for a few days, and send for more men and supplies.”
All the other commanders dropped their eyes. No one wanted to propose an embarrassing retreat, and only someone with Hathor’s experience and proven valor had the strength to make such a suggestion.
Eskkar grunted. “First, let’s make it clear that these men are soldiers under good discipline. That means they’re probably ready for whatever we do, and they won’t be afraid to face us in battle. If we retreat, they won’t just let us go. They’ll nip at our heels all the way back to Akkad if we let them, attacking us at every opportunity. By the time we gather enough men to confront them, the countryside will be ravaged beyond repair, and a whole growing season lost. But Hathor is right. We must not fight on their terms. We must select the time and place of battle, and use it to crush them.”
“And how will we accomplish that trick?” Grond asked.
“We must do what they don’t expect,” Eskkar said. “They’ve made their plans, and they’re waiting for us to advance or retreat. Instead, we must devise something different. The first thing I want to do is stop moving south. Our men are tired from eight days of marching. They need a rest anyway, if they are to fight well. So we’ll stay right where we are tonight and all day tomorrow. The next day, we’ll begin marching back north, and at a good pace, as if we’re afraid to remain this far south any longer.”
He turned to Hathor. “If you were in their place, what would you do in response?”
“I’d send the horsemen to loop around us, get in front of us,” Hathor said without hesitation. “They could delay our escape until their main force of fighters, if there is one, closed up behind us. With so many horsemen, they could easily slow us down.”
“I agree,” Eskkar said. He let his eyes reach each man, and saw that all of them, even the dour Egyptian, had smiles on their faces. They knew their commander well enough to know that he had something planned. The idea that Eskkar had mulled in the back of his head all morning had taken shape. The gamble would be great, and if his plan failed, his entire Akkadian force would be at risk. Nevertheless, he couldn’t come up with anything better. He would put forth his plan. His commanders would add their suggestions and improvements, and when they were finished, their confidence would unite them once again into a deadly fighting force.
Eskkar returned their smiles. “Here’s what we’re going to do. The first step is to convince our enemy that their plan is working.”
Every head leaned closer. Eskkar began scratching in the dirt with his knife. Soon stones and more knives marked the earth, each signifying places where forces could be arrayed. They talked and argued, offered suggestions and criticisms. Their voices rose and fell with the heat of their emotions. By the time the sun sank toward the western horizon, the plan had grown complete. As Eskkar expected, his experienced fighting men had expanded and improved his idea.
From a distance, the rest of Akkad’s soldiers watched in silence. A few of the veterans had seen such a war council before, and knew that a difficult and dangerous plan would soon put them in harm’s way. But those same veterans looked unworried. In battle after battle, Eskkar had always outwitted his enemies. At least, until now.
W hen the war council ended, the Akkadians camped for the night, grateful and all the more relaxed after they learned they would not be marching tomorrow. Eskkar and his commanders huddled about the campfire, reviewing and refining their plans. When yawning slowed the conversation, Eskkar told everyone to get some sleep. He took one last turn around the camp to make sure every man had prepared himself to fight in case of a surprise attack. Respectful of his adversaries, he’d readied his men for the possibility of a night or dawn raid. Finally satisfied, Eskkar rolled himself in his horse blanket and, for the first time in five days, slept as well as any of his men.
A strong guard kept watch over the camp and its horse herd. Whatever happened, the horses had to be protected. A night raid to stampede them would be ruinous.
In the morning, Eskkar’s commanders woke everyone well before dawn. When the sun rose without any signs of enemies approaching, he let his men break their fast, though weapons remained close at hand.
Afterwards, Eskkar and Grond studied the land surrounding them.
“Those low hills over there,” Grond said. “I think I saw movement along the crest.”
Eskkar grunted. He’d studied those same hills, and hadn’t seen anything. “I remember when I had eyes as keen as a hawk. Now I need others to search out any signs of life.”
Grond had five less seasons than Eskkar, though most people thought they were of the same age. “Less than a mile away. Close enough to keep an eye on our camp and count our numbers.”
“Swordplay will carry that far,” Eskkar decided. “Maybe you can swing a blade with Klexor. He’s big enough to make plenty of noise.”
Grond laughed. “Who gets to win?”
Klexor’s stocky body was the largest in Eskkar’s mounted force. Hathor stood a bit taller, almost as tall as Eskkar, but lacked the bulk to his body.
“Decide for yourself. Then you won’t complain afterwards. But let’s start with the men. And send out scouts to the north and west first. That will give you and Klexor time to prepare for battle.”
The hilltops that probably contained the closest enemy scouts lay to the south and east, and Eskkar didn’t want to disturb their vigil by sending outriders in that direction.
Not long afterwards, a fight broke out in the Akkadian camp. A dozen men began pushing and shoving, fists swung, and men staggered to the ground, only to rise again and rejoin the fray. The commanders quickly broke up the quarrel, and the grinning men fell back on the ground, trying to look properly subdued.
Eskkar and Grond looked on with satisfaction at the performance.
“Now you can try your hand with a sword. I’m betting on Klexor.”
“It would be close,” Grond agreed. “But we’ll put on a fight that should send the Sumerians a message.”
“Let’s hope it’s the one we want them to hear.”
3
On the day the Akkadians took their rest, Razrek, the leader of the Sumerian horse fighters, arrived at King Eridu’s camp well after midday. Barrel-chested, with thick arms and muscled thighs, Razrek’s very appearance struck fear into most men. His powerful jaw was half-concealed by a dark beard, and he wore his thick hair in a dozen bristling strands, each one tied with a bit of leather, that reached past his shoulders. For those who heard stories or rumors about his past, Razrek’s deeds frightened them even more than his intimidating presence. He’d fought and killed his way across the length and breadth of Sumeria. Not a rogue in his murderous band dared challenge him to a fight.
Long before Eridu proclaimed himself king of Sumer, Razrek had murdered many of Eridu’s enemies, and Razrek’s killings, aided the ambitious trader in his rise to power. Two years ago, at the height of the battle against the barbarians in the north, Eridu provided Razrek with secret information about a valuable caravan returning from the Indus. Razrek and his band of marauders attacked and robbed the caravan, leaving no survivors. The loot from that one raid had doubled Eridu’s wealth and soon enabled him to dominate every other powerful merchant in Sumer. Many suspected what had happened, though only a handful of men knew the true story, and none of them dared say anything.
Today Razrek rode into camp bringing with him a dozen veteran riders, all heavily armed and wearing leather helmets and vests. He gu
ided his horse carefully toward King Eridu’s tent, his eyes studying the large force of foot soldiers taking their ease. The king had made camp just north of the River Sippar, but well to the east of the usual crossings. Though early in the day, at least a dozen cooking fires sent smoke trails into the sky, and the smell of roasting meat permeated the air. That brought a grimace to Razrek’s face. If they were his men, he’d have them working up a sweat training with their weapons, instead of worrying about their suppers.
Glancing around, Razrek saw more than three hundred men, most sitting or stretched out on the ground. As would be expected, those who could still afford to do so occupied themselves by gambling for whatever coins or belongings they possessed.
A strong force remained on guard, ready to repel any surprise attack from the Akkadians, and Razrek grunted in satisfaction at seeing that. He’d warned Eridu often enough to keep his men prepared and to continue at every moment with their training, but as the Sumerian king extended his sway over the land, he tended to bristle at his troop commander’s suggestions.
Not that Razrek cared what Eridu thought of him or his ideas. Razrek cared only for the gold that Eridu paid him, with the promise of much more to come after the Akkadians were driven back north and the borderlands seized. For as much as Eridu was paying him, Razrek could ignore some of the man’s pride and foolishness.
A large tent, the only one in the camp, sat near the edge of the encampment, close to a bubbling stream. Half a dozen soldiers guarded the tent’s billowy walls and four horses picketed nearby. Razrek dismounted and tossed the halter to one of his men.
“I won’t be long.” He strode toward the tent flap, where two soldiers stood guard, one on each side. For a moment Razrek thought they might try to stop him, but one look at his brutal face and powerful frame convinced them otherwise. Razrek was, after all, the second in command. He shoved the tent flap aside.
Inside, King Eridu of Sumer rested on a cushion, two naked girls kneeling beside him offering him food and wine, among other things. A pleasant scent lingered in the air, some perfume that must have come from the distant eastern lands. Tall and thin, with a prominent nose, Eridu looked more like the merchant he once was rather than a warrior king. His reddish brown tunic, edged with an intricate design stitched on the collar, was bunched up around his waist. One of the girls held Eridu’s rod in both hands, brushing her breasts against its tip. The second offered up a small platter containing dates and grapes for her master’s consideration. Eridu spit out some grape seeds and glanced up in annoyance at Razrek’s interruption.