by Sam Barone
Even Razrek knew enough to glance around, to make sure no Tanukhs could hear the conversation. The Tanukh horsemen made up almost a third of Razrek’s cavalry. They retained their own leaders, and fought only for gold and the chance to loot their enemies. Razrek had unleashed them on the Akkadian farmlands, but they somehow managed to devastate and pillage almost as many Sumerian farmers in the process. Brutal and cunning, they were like jackals. They struck only when their enemy appeared weak, and stole anything and everything they could get their hands on. Against a strong enemy, they were as likely to turn and run.
“If the Tanukhs think that Akkad has horsemen raiding their lands,” Razrek said, “they’ll race home as fast as they can ride.”
“It might almost be worth it, for all the trouble they’ve caused.”
The Tanukhs had created more problems for Razrek and the rest of the Sumerian army than any other group. Everyone hated them. They had only joined the Sumerian cause because of Shulgi’s gold, and the promise of more loot from Akkad when the city fell.
“If they left, they would keep Eskkar’s cavalry off our backs.”
Shulgi shook his head. “Even if they stayed together, the Tanukhs wouldn’t number much more than the Akkadians. They’d never face Eskkar’s horsemen in battle. Hathor would ride right through them, if they tried to stop him. No, better to keep them here, where they can be useful.”
“Well, what are we going to do?”
“We’re not going to tell anyone about our suspicions of where Eskkar’s cavalry might be. We’re going to need every horseman we have, even the Tanukhs, when we come to grips with the Akkadians.”
“You think Eskkar will stand and fight?”
“When he’s ready, he’ll attack us. He intends to wear us down, weaken us by marching up and down Sumeria, wait until our supplies are low. Then he’ll attack.”
Razrek wasn’t convinced. “You think Eskkar has planned all this out in advance? It would have taken days, months…”
“Yes, I think he has. The barbarian — or perhaps his witch-wife Trella — has prepared for this war for at least a year, maybe longer. We thought we had given him only two choices, to march south and fight us at Kanesh, or wait for us to come to Akkad. Instead, he’s devised another way, and unless we start out-thinking him, Eskkar may end up nailing our hides to Akkad’s gate.”
“But he doesn’t have enough men,” Razrek protested. “He’ll never face us in battle.”
“I underestimated Eskkar once,” Shulgi said. “And now Larsa is gone, along with most of our supplies. I’m not doing it again. We’re going to make him fight us when we’re ready.”
“How will we do that? He’s already proven he can out-march our men, and we don’t have enough horsemen to stop his army.”
“First we have to make sure Isin holds. If he captures that city, he can march in any direction, south toward Sumer or north to Lagash and Nippur. Whichever way we march, he’ll move in the opposite direction.”
“Isin’s been warned. Eskkar won’t be able to take it, not before we can reach him. Naxos is not some merchant who can be brushed aside, like Naran.”
“I’m telling you, Eskkar already has a plan to take the city. Just like he did at Larsa. The best way to stop him is to send all the soldiers and horsemen from Isin back to their city. We’ve got three thousand men from Isin in our ranks, and a third of them are cavalry. Send as many as you can get on horseback at once. They should be able to reach the city before Eskkar’s foot soldiers get there.”
“And if they can’t, if they arrive too late?”
“Tell them to ride the horses to death, whatever it takes to save their city. Send any horsemen from Larsa, too. They’ll understand what losing Isin means. Meanwhile, I’m going to stop these boats that have been resupplying Eskkar’s forces. Without them, he can’t move as fast or as far. If Isin can hold out for a few days, we’ll catch up with him and crush him there.”
“What about our own supplies?”
The mountain of supplies that had been laboriously transported to Kanesh now languished there. Shulgi knew it would take more than a few days to get even a portion of those goods moving south again.
“I’ve already sent word to Sumer. They’ll load every boat they can find and send it upriver to Isin. Your horsemen will have to make sure that we get those supplies, not the Akkadians. And you can do that while you find and finish the Akkadian cavalry. When they’re finished with Lagash, or more likely, Uruk, they’ll head east to rejoin Eskkar. Once they’re reunited, that’s when they’ll be ready for the final battle.”
“And if you’re wrong, if Eskkar marches toward Sumer?”
“Then Sumer will have to hold out. But even if it falls, the barbarian will have no way to escape.”
“You don’t care about your own city, Shulgi?”
“The city can always be rebuilt, Razrek. If Eskkar is dead and his army smashed, we can take Akkad at our leisure, and win the war. A few cities lost along the way are a small price to build an empire. Now get moving, and get those men on their way to Isin. By tomorrow I want them well on their way.”
51
Day 7
Well after dawn, Eskkar and Grond rode to the top of the bluff overlooking the Tigris. Across the river lay the ruins of what had been Larsa, where a few fires still smoldered and sent wisps of smoke into the air. The advance elements of Shulgi’s army had arrived yesterday afternoon and established a camp just beyond the ruined walls. Before long, scouting parties rode north and south, no doubt looking for anything they could use to get men across the river. Today would see the rest of the Sumerians march into view.
Shulgi must have decided to cross here, which meant he wouldn’t waste any time going north toward Akkad or south to defend Sumer. Eskkar hadn’t expected that, and frowned at the implications. “He’s going to stick to our heels.”
“Well, you couldn’t expect Shulgi to keep making mistakes. Sooner or later, he had to do something right.”
The Sumerian king had lost the tactical advantage twice, once when he let the Akkadians slip past him at Kanesh, and again when he let Hathor’s cavalry ride off uncontested. Perhaps even a third time, when he wasted Razrek’s horsemen trying to save Larsa.
“I almost wish we had the means to send a raiding party back across the water. With some luck, they might catch Shulgi off guard. His death would go a long way to ending the war.”
“No doubt Shulgi has the same ideas about you.”
Neither force could cross the river for now. Shortly after the Sumerians were sighted, the boats that had ferried the Akkadians across the river were dragged onto the riverbank, broken up and burned. Without boats, neither side could harm the other. Instead, the tired Sumerian cavalry would now have to search up and down the river, looking for boats or anything else that would float to help them ferry their soldiers across.
Meanwhile, Eskkar’s soldiers rested in their camp, while he and Grond stared across the Tigris, watching the weary enemy straggle into camp. The Sumerians arrived in ragged groups, the result of their rush to Larsa, which had spread their force as the better-trained and conditioned elements moved faster than those slower of foot. Nevertheless, the entire Sumerian army would be at Larsa by midday, joining with those who had ridden in yesterday.
Eskkar watched as the enemy soldiers — no doubt as soon as their commanders dismissed them — moved toward the river, to get a better view of the ruins of the city. He remembered a saying of his clan: a sword can cut two ways. According to Trella’s spies, the Sumerians had begun this war with high spirits, eager for conquest and glory. Now those same soldiers had learned a grim lesson. War had come to their land, and struck down their own kind as mercilessly as they had killed the farmers and villagers living along the Akkadian border.
Even more important, Shulgi and his commanders had learned that same lesson. The Sumerians had captured a few outposts and destroyed crops. Outposts could be rebuilt and new seeds planted. Meanwhil
e, Eskkar had overwhelmed and destroyed one of their cities. That loss would not be replaced easily, as new supply lines and depots would have to be established, a lengthy and laborious process.
Eskkar had ridden to the bluff so that the enemy could see him, just out of reach of Shulgi’s vast army. Some of the Sumerians would be angry and eager to strike a blow in revenge. But others would be worrying about losing their own lives, or their own city. When men ride to war, the sword indeed can cut two ways.
“They don’t look very happy,” Grond remarked.
The Sumerians had noticed the little party of Akkadians watching them from the bluffs. A distant muttering of angry voices floated across the river, and Eskkar saw men jumping up and down in anger, unable to control their rage at the Akkadians who had burned their city. Voices couldn’t carry over such a distance, but a few began to bang their swords against their shields, unable to do anything more.
“Many of those soldiers are from Larsa,” Eskkar said. “They’re wondering what happened to their families, their wives, whether they are alive or dead.”
“Some will go off looking for their kin, I expect.”
“Shulgi won’t allow that. None of them dare come closer to the ruins. If he lets even one of Larsa’s soldiers depart, they’ll all desert.”
“And we just stay here all day?”
“Our men need to rest, and we might as well do it here as anywhere. Besides, this way we can use up most of the food we took from Larsa. It will be that much less to carry. Shulgi’s soldiers will be tightening their belts tonight. They’ll find little to eat but what they carried with them.”
“And you think Shulgi will cross here and follow us to Isin?”
“If not here, then somewhere nearby. He must know where we intend to go by now. I just hope he hasn’t figured out where Hathor has gone.”
“Even if Shulgi does, Hathor will be fine. He knows…” Grond moved his eyes to the north. “There’s a boat coming down the river.”
Eskkar gazed up the expanse of the Tigris, lined on both sides with small trees and rushes. The height of the bluff, about a hundred paces, provided a good vantage point. A faint blur of white showed a ship under sail, taking advantage of a favorable breeze to race down the waterway. “We’re not expecting any more of Yavtar’s ships. It could be Sumerian.”
The last of the river craft had set out yesterday for Akkad. No more boats would be linking up with Eskkar’s army until he reached his next destination.
“I don’t think that’s… it’s moving too fast to be Sumerian,” Grond said. “It must be one of Yavtar’s messenger boats.”
Built for speed, the small but trim craft carried a taller sail and more than enough rowers to race a boat up or downriver.
By now Eskkar’s eyes picked up more detail. Definitely a messenger boat piloted by a fearless master, to sail his craft right toward the heart of the Sumerian army. “Let’s get down to the water before Shulgi finds some way to sink the boat.”
They wheeled their horses around and cantered away from the edge of the bluff. It took a few moments to reach the bottom. They rode along the back of the hill until they reached the opening that led to what had been the western side docks for the city of Larsa.
When they reached the water’s edge, they found themselves joining a growing crowd of Akkadian soldiers. Other eyes had spotted the boat and come to the same conclusion. Every man in the army wanted to know what news it carried.
Eskkar didn’t have to wait long. The boat moved towards them, six rowers on each side propelling the craft through the calm waters. When the ship drew closer, the sail came down. Eskkar saw the oarsmen slow their strokes and lean back, letting the steersman guide the vessel through the currents. A man stood in the prow of the boat.
“It’s Draelin!” Someone with keen eyes recognized one of Daro’s subcommanders.
A moment later, the craft hissed onto the sandy riverbank. Before it stopped moving, Draelin leapt off the bow and splashed his way through the mud, ignoring those soldiers helping pull the boat up on the shore. Instead, he headed straight for the king.
Eskkar swung down from his horse just as Draelin arrived. Whatever news the soldier carried, it couldn’t be bad, not with a grin that broad on his face.
“Lord Eskkar,” Draelin began, but words failed him. He threw his arms around Eskkar and hugged him tight. Some of the soldiers standing around laughed at the sight. Before Eskkar could react, Draelin pushed away. “Lord Eskkar, I bring you — ”
A powerful voice from one of the boat crew spoiled whatever speech Draelin had prepared. “We won! We defeated the barbarians and drove them from the walls!”
The words echoed off the cliff and out over the river. In a heartbeat the soldiers broke out in a cheer. By now more Akkadians had wandered down to the river. They took up the cry, everyone shouting and pounding their companions on the back.
“We won! Akkad is safe! The city is safe!”
Like a raging hillside fire, the word swept through the camp. Soldiers ceased whatever task occupied them and rushed to the river’s edge. In moments every Akkadian fighter joined in the celebration. The cheers and cries of five thousand voices swelled and soared over the river, a jubilation of pure joy mixed with relief. Since leaving Kanesh six days ago, the men of Akkad had worried about the dangers facing their city. By unspoken agreement, no one had said anything about the threat to their family and friends left behind, but every man had struggled to keep the dark thoughts from his lips.
Across the river, the Sumerians clenched their fists in rage. They’d seen the ship come sailing down the Tigris, unafraid of their vast army. The enemy knew of the other ships that plied the river with the same impunity, carrying food and supplies to Eskkar’s army. And the Sumerians knew that only some great victory would have occasioned such an outburst, and that whatever good fortune cheered the Akkadians would bring only anger and gloom to their own cause and hearts.
By now Eskkar had regained his composure. Men from the boat had jumped ashore, each one shouting news about the attack. Draelin couldn’t be heard above the din, so Eskkar swung back up on his horse, then leaned down and grabbed Draelin by the arm. With one powerful swing Eskkar pulled the messenger up behind him. A touch of Eskkar’s heels sent the horse in motion, clearing a way through the still growing crowd of happy soldiers.
With Grond following, Eskkar finally broke free of the soldiers. He guided the horse back up the bluff, leaving the thousands of milling soldiers still celebrating beneath them. When he eased the horse to a stop, the cheering had started to die down.
“At least we can talk up here,” Eskkar said, as Draelin slid down from the horse. Eskkar followed, and with Grond accompanying them, they moved to the edge of the bluff, where they could see the camps of the Sumerians. “Now, tell me what happened!”
Draelin’s smile had returned. He told the story of Trella’s victory, how she had unearthed the plot and lured the Alur Meriki into the city, where the archers had riddled them with arrows.
“In the morning, we counted over seventy dead and wounded. That included another dozen cut down in the ditch as they fled. Horsemen from Bisitun arrived and even though they were outnumbered, they chased after the fleeing barbarians and killed a few more. The Alur Meriki didn’t even stop to attack or loot the outlying farms. By then they had no stomach for facing our fighters.”
As Draelin’s story unfolded, Eskkar felt a vast weight ease from his shoulders. Like his men, he had refused to think about Akkad and the danger to Trella. Now that burden could be set aside. With Shulgi’s army here, instead of ravaging Akkad’s lands and storming its walls, Trella and little Sargon would be safe. The countryside and the all-important crops would be protected. And no matter what happened to Eskkar, it would be many months before Sumer could mount another assault on the northern lands.
Another emotion grew in his breast. The Sumerians had made a pact with their hated enemy, the common enemy of all city- and village-dwe
llers. Shulgi sought to unleash the fury of the Alur Meriki. Eskkar determined to turn that same fury against the Sumerians.
He made Draelin tell the story again and again, each time dragging a bit more information from the messenger. At last he could think of no more details to add.
“Lady Trella asked me to give you this message. She said to tell you that the city is safe, and well-stocked with provisions. Another cargo of silver just arrived from Nuzi, and all the soldiers received their pay. She wished you good fortune in your attack on Larsa.”
By now the boats that had departed after the capture of Larsa would have carried word of the city’s destruction to the north.
“You’ll stay the night with us, Draelin,” Eskkar said. “There’s enough wine to celebrate Trella’s victory.”
Draelin stared at the ruins across the river. “I stopped in Larsa only a few months ago. People spat at me in the lanes when they heard I was from Akkad.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to believe it’s all gone now.”
“They brought it on themselves,” Grond said. “Now I think we should take advantage of the wine, before the men drink it all.”
“I’ll drink a cup to your victory, Lord Eskkar. But as soon as darkness falls, we’ll push off for Akkad. Shulgi is positioning men all along the river, to stop our boats. It’s best to get as far north under cover of darkness as possible.”
With so many crewmen, the little craft could row all night, even against the current.
“Then a good journey to you, Draelin,” Eskkar said. “And tell Trella that we’ll be home soon.”
“Yes, only a few more battles to go,” Grond added. He took one last look at the vast Sumerian army camped across the river and shook his head.
52
The great western desert…
Hathor hated the desert, had always hated it, even when he lived in Egypt, where the desert sands lapped ever closer as one moved away from the Nile. Growing up along the mighty river’s banks, Hathor never experienced the cruel heat and burning sands of the desert until his fifteenth season, when his parents were killed. To fill his belly and seek revenge against their murderers, he joined Korthac’s marauders and fought against Korthac’s enemies for the next nineteen years. In time, he became a feared and powerful subcommander.