Battle For Empire

32

Thirty miles to the north, Bekka glanced up at the sun. Dusk would soon be upon them. He raised his hand to halt the warriors, and eased his sweat-stained horse to a stop. They would camp here for the night. The war party, numbering just over eight hundred men, had ridden hard since leaving the caravan.

Even the strongest warriors had grown weary, but many of their horses were nearing the end of their limits. The animals needed frequent rests, and at each stop Bekka heard more than the usual grumblings from his men. Still, the Alur Meriki had traversed the countryside quicker than the swiftest raiding party, far faster that any raid Bekka had ever ridden on before.

He had his reasons for keeping up the pace. The less time Bekka’s warriors had to think about the coming battle, the better. Many of his men remained angry over his decision to fight the Carchemishi. They argued that this battle would provide little gain and great risk. Others hated the Ur Nammu, and wondered why their Sarum wanted to save them.

Given the lack of enthusiasm, almost everyone had protested the rapid pace of the expedition. After all, they pointed out, even if the invaders killed every last Ur Nammu, the Carchemishi would be weakened from whatever losses they sustained. In fact, they claimed, the invaders would be more likely to be taken by surprise, still celebrating their victory over the Ur Nammu.

Some, and Bekka wished he knew the numbers of this group, disapproved of the decision simply because they did not trust their new Sarum. In their minds, Bekka had done nothing to prove his worth as a leader. At least Chief Urgo, despite the fact that he had negotiated the peace with Eskkar, had years of experience. Bekka, these malcontents grumbled, had yielded ground at the stream against Eskkar’s men, and had accomplished nothing since.

Now, with threats of war surrounding the Alur Meriki, those unhappy with Bekka’s leadership muttered that they preferred to put their trust in Trayack, an older and proven war chief. A rumor already had passed through the ranks, promising that Trayack would absolve all of them from their oath to Eskkar.

Bekka had gritted his teeth when he learned of that claim. It sounded all too believable, something Trayack would say. Bekka might have left the obstreperous clan leader behind, but Trayack’s dark presence had managed to accompany Bekka’s force and haunt his every decision.

Whatever their reasons to complain about the coming battle, those discontented did not understand that the world had changed. Eskkar’s son had returned to the Ur Nammu, after appealing for assistance from the Alur Meriki. If the brash boy died fighting against Akkad’s enemies, sooner or later, the blame would fall on the Alur Meriki for failing to help.

Once that happened, Eskkar would decide, probably sooner than later, to destroy the clan. He had nearly done it at the battle of the stream. If a loud talker like Trayack ruled the Alur Meriki, all it might take to bring Eskkar’s Akkadians down on their heads would be a single raid against some lonely farmstead and a few dead farmers. One dead cow might even be enough.

On the other hand, if Sargon and his allies survived, the King of Akkad would owe much to Bekka and the Clan. That debt would keep the Alur Meriki strong for many years.

“A good place to camp.” Suijan led his horse over to join Bekka. “My bones are aching. I haven’t ridden so hard for years.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Bekka said, grateful for the interruption to his gloomy thoughts. He slid down from his horse. His back felt stiff as well, and he leaned backward to stretch his muscles. “We’ve both gotten lazy and. .”

A shout announced the arrival of a scout, urging a tired and well-lathered horse down the length of the column. Bekka realized it wasn’t one of his war party, but Unegen, the warrior Bekka had sent ahead to escort Sargon and his companions.

“Chief Bekka.” Unegen slid from his horse and strode over to where the two clan leaders stood.

Bekka frowned. “I thought you were going to stay with the forward scouts.”

“I was, but things are happening too fast. I thought you should know.”

The other clan leaders, Virani and Prandar, had seen Unegen ride in. Now they pushed their way through the gathering crowd, anxious to hear the latest news.

Unegen waited until all the chiefs stood together. “The Ur Nammu have gone to ground. They’ve taken refuge on a hilltop. The invaders, and there may be as many as two thousand, have surrounded the Ur Nammu. We couldn’t be sure of the exact number of the Carchemishi. They keep moving around. Nevertheless, Sargon and his companions broke through the lines last night. I think at least one or two reached the safety of the hilltop, to tell their sarum of our plan.”

“That’s good, then.” Bekka felt relief that the boy hadn’t died, not yet. “We’ll be there sometime tomorrow, probably just after midday.”

Unegen shook his head. “That will probably be too late for the Ur Nammu.” He explained the method that he and Fashod had agreed upon, to signal how long the besiegers could hold out. “They’re out of water by now, have been for a day or two. They’ll attack the Carchemishi at dawn tomorrow.”

Bekka grimaced at the bad news. “And how far away are they?”

“A little less than thirty miles,” Unegen said.

A murmur passed through the warriors at the distance. Bekka felt the eyes of the other clan leaders on him, and the gradual shifting of the warriors as they drew close enough to hear their leaders’ words. The little gathering had suddenly become a war council.

Bekka thought about the thirty miles, and knew it couldn’t be done. The distance was too far to cover before darkness, and the men and horses were already bone tired.

“Chief Bekka,” Unegen broke into his clan leader’s thoughts. “I was hoping you could give me some men to return as soon as possible. If we could make a show of force, we might be able to draw off some of the Carchemishi invaders. Even a hundred warriors could make a difference.”

“The invaders would turn on you fast enough,” Suijan said. “Are you willing to risk your life for these Ur Nammu?”

“No, Chief Suijan, not for them.” Unegen’s voice sounded firm. “But this Sargon seems like one whose life we should try and save. I’m willing to risk it, and perhaps a few others would join me.”

Bekka smiled at his young subcommander. Unwittingly, Unegen had given Bekka the opportunity he needed.

“No, Unegen.” Bekka shook the tiredness from his shoulders and raised his voice so that all the warriors, many of whom had clustered around their leaders, could hear his words. “You cannot return alone or with a handful of men. We will all ride together.”

He glanced up at the sun. “If you guide us, we can make another fifteen miles before it grows too dark. Then we’ll rest as long as we can, before we start to walk the horses. With luck, we’ll reach the battleground by dawn.”

Unegen’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “If we do, we’ll catch them from behind, while all their attention is on the Ur Nammu. And there’s the biggest horse herd I’ve ever seen, just waiting for us.” He described the enemy camp, and told the clan leaders about the horses, and where they were corralled.

Bekka nodded. “Yes, that would work.” He turned to the chiefs. “Pass the word to every man. We’re going to have a long ride, a long walk, and a hard fight when we arrive. Any warrior who cannot keep up, will be left behind, to catch up when he can.”

Even the weariest of the warriors understood the subtle challenge. No man could plead exhaustion and keep his honor, not when his clan chiefs and brother warriors went on ahead to war.

Everyone started talking at once, and Bekka heard many voices supporting Unegen and his plan. Others just called out approval, caught up in the excitement of the moment.

Bekka knew Unegen had done more than rally the warriors. Without Unegen’s riding in and volunteering to go to Sargon’s assistance, Bekka might not have been able to convince the others to go on.

But Unegen had ridden as hard as any man, and now he had unwittingly put all of them in a position where they would have to admit their weakness if they refused to press ahead. Bekka promised himself that Unegen would indeed be a chief some day, and soon. Unegen understood the way of the warrior, and now he’d begun to learn the mysteries of power and command.

And even more important, Unegen had probably just saved his Sarum’s life. Not today, but without a victory, sooner or later Trayack would sway the other chiefs and discontented warriors to his side. If Bekka survived the coming battle, Unegen would find himself a chief.

He put that thought aside. “You’ve done well, Unegen. Now, tell us what to expect when we arrive.”

“It’s time to go, Tashanella.” Sargon was grateful for the darkness that hid the tears in his eyes. He held her close, and felt her body shake from her own emotions, but she made no sound. They’d said their goodbyes much earlier and in private, holding each other through the night.

“Ride with courage.” She leaned back and lifted her face to his. “Fight hard, and stay alive. This will not be our end, my husband.”

He smiled at the tender words, the first time she had uttered them. Earlier in the evening, Sargon had stood before Subutai, and claimed Tashanella as his wife. With a wan smile, her father had placed his hands on Sargon’s shoulders and given his approval. Then Subutai had moved away and resumed his preparations for the coming battle.

Sargon hugged her one more time, then turned away. He didn’t trust himself to look back. He’d wanted to stay at her side, but knew that was not the way of the warrior. Tashanella would have been shocked if he failed in his duty.

She, too, had a lance, and she knew how to use it. Anyone who could hold a weapon would follow the warriors down the slope. Roxsanni and Petra had urged her to follow the men, saying they would stay behind to protect the children.

The women knew it was better to die fighting, rather than wait for the rape and other brutality that would be their fate at the hands of the invaders. Sargon hoped Tashanella would die quickly. His own coming death didn’t worry him. He’d expected to die ever since his father dragged him to these lands.

Now, in the predawn darkness, Sargon formed up with the other warriors. He mounted his horse and took his place at Garal’s side, not far from Jennat and Timmu and the rest of Chinua’s clan.

Sargon found the presence of his friends and trusted companions comforting. They had ridden together, fought together, and endured many hardships. If he had to die, then there could be no better place or time. He held tight to his lance, taking strength from the weapon. Sargon vowed he would not let his friends down.

Fifty paces in front of Sargon, Subutai had massed his own warriors. The Sarum would lead his clan down the slope first, and attack the defenders waiting behind the ditch and stakes the Carchemishi had dug into the base of the hill.

Subutai’s fighters would throw themselves against the enemy fortifications and most would sacrifice their lives in what would likely be a futile assault. Chinua led the second force, and would attempt to break through whatever gap the Ur Nammu Sarum could open.

Fifty paces behind Sargon, the old men, young boys, and the women had assembled on foot. They, too, would die with a weapon in their hands.

The battle, however, would begin with Fashod. He had command of fifty men, and they would charge down the hill at the spot where Sargon and his companions had ascended. The rest of Fashod’s men were spread between Subutai and Chinua. All the horses not being ridden would be stampeded down the slope first. The ditch and stakes would kill most of them, but Subutai hoped they could dislodge some of the defenders.

Like everyone else preparing for the attack, Sargon knew the attempt was doomed. The Carchemishi were no fools and had prepared well. The ditch would stop the horses and the first wave of Ur Nammu.

The enemy archers would turn the base of the hill into a killing ground. Less than three hundred men would face more than a thousand. Subutai and most of his men would be killed in the first wave.

The Carchemishi would not be taken by surprise. They expected an attack, and pre-dawn would be the most likely time for the Ur Nammu to try something. The invaders always had at least half their men ready for any such endeavor, and the remaining soldiers took their rest with their weapons close at hand. The fighting would be brutal, but the ditch would slow the Ur Nammu, giving time for the enemy bowmen to rush to their positions and cut the warriors apart.

It didn’t matter. The last of the water had gone to the women and children yesterday morning, with only a mouthful for each of the men, and none for the horses for the rest of the day. That meant they must attack today. By midday lack of water would have so weakened the Ur Nammu fighters and their horses that they would be practically helpless.

Gripping his lance, Sargon sat on his horse and waited.

A glance at the moon told Sargon that dawn approached. Already the blackness of the eastern sky had lessened. He wondered just how much of the dawn he would live to see. At least today would prove his father wrong. No matter how hard and long Sargon had trained and practiced the skills of war, he was going to end up just as dead as Subutai and the others.

At the other end of the hilltop, Fashod strung his bow. He would strike the first blow in the coming battle. By attacking down the hill, he hoped to convince the Carchemishi that the expected breakout would take place here.

If Fashod could cause enough of the invaders to rush to his position, it might help Subutai break through. Of course, the better Fashod attracted the enemy’s attention, the sooner he and his men would be overwhelmed and killed.

Fashod didn’t worry about that. He’d faced death before. Now all that remained was a warrior’s duty to his Sarum, and in that Fashod did not intend to fail.

He took one last look around. His men stood ready. Darkness still covered the land, but a glance toward the eastern sky told him it was time to go. He leaned over the crest. Since Fashod and his little group had scaled the hill at this point, the enemy had stationed more soldiers here.

“Fashod! What is that?” One of his men moved beside Fashod. In the faint moonlight, he could just make out the man’s arm, extended and pointing to the north.

It took a moment before Fashod spotted it. Up in the hills, a tiny glow had appeared, deep in one of the ridges. Fashod stared for a moment, to make sure it was real. It had to be a very small fire, little more than a handful of sticks, but at night even the smallest of flames could be seen over long distances.

And positioned high on a cleft deep between two ridges, the fire would be difficult to see from the base of the hill. In a few more moments, the early light of dawn would overpower the feeble flames. Even if the Carchemishi could or had seen it, it would mean little to them, perhaps just a small party camping in the hills.

Fashod, however, understood its meaning. He turned to his subcommander. “Keep ten men here, to guard the ascent. The rest of you, come with me!”

Without waiting for acknowledgement, he burst into a run, heading for the other side of the hill, where Subutai impatiently awaited the sounds of Fashod’s charge down the hill. But that attack must not happen, not now. He had to tell Subutai. The Alur Meriki were coming.

Fashod had never run so hard in his life, racing across the top of the hill, dodging the occasional woman or wandering horse, weaving his way across the summit until he reached Subutai’s side.

“The Alur Meriki are coming!” Fashod had to pause to take a gulp of air. “They must be close. I saw the signal fire. We must wait for their attack.”

Two miles away and across the plain from the Ur Nammu refuge, Bekka led his horse up the side of a sheltering gully. He found Unegen there, waiting.

“Is this the place?” Bekka growled the words. He didn’t want to reveal how tired he felt. His feet burned from the long walk, and his legs ached with every step.

“Yes, Sarum,” Unegen said. “We’ve reached the plain.”

Bekka took a deep breath, then swung himself onto his horse. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but he would not show weakness in front of his men, not even Unegen.

Instead Bekka glanced up at the moon, now sinking toward the horizon, before turning his gaze on the eastern sky. Dawn approached, and he thanked the gods for letting him reach his destination. He could not have walked much farther.

“Lead the way.” Bekka settled himself on his horse, and made sure his sword slid easily in its scabbard. Already he felt stronger. His mount was weary, too, but Bekka knew it had just enough stamina left for one final charge.

He followed Unegen, both men prodding their horses to a fast walk. It would take some time for all the warriors to climb out of the gully, mount their horses, ready their weapons, and take their positions.

Everyone had rested during the early part of the night, but just before midnight, the Alur Meriki chief had led his warriors, on foot and guiding his horse, the final nine or ten miles needed to reach this place. He’d wanted to favor his horses as much as he could, so that they would have something in reserve and could make the final approach at a full gallop.

His tired warriors had done what many would have considered impossible. They covered a vast distance in only a few days, and now would descend on an unsuspecting enemy. Hopefully the element of surprise, if Bekka could keep it, would be enough to make up for the superior numbers of the Carchemishi.

Bekka glanced behind him. As his fighters emerged from the ravine, they formed up, three or four abreast. Bekka wanted every man well clear of the ridge before they got too close. Only flat plain remained ahead, thin grass and good hard ground that would do little to impede men or horses.

He heard a horse scrambling its way toward him. Bekka frowned at the noise, until Den’rack pulled up alongside his Sarum.

“The signal fire is burning, Chief Bekka.”

Bekka twisted around and looked up at the hills, but he couldn’t see anything. He stared for a moment. There might be a glow against the upper ridges, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Let’s hope the Ur Nammu see it. And that the invaders don’t.” Not that it mattered any longer. The Alur Meriki were committed. They needed fresh horses, and the only place to get them lay ahead.

The slow pace grated on Bekka’s nerves. He wanted to move faster, but he resisted the urge. They’d arrived just in time, and could afford a few more moments to prepare. Finally Suijan, who’d been at the column’s rear, trotted over to join them. “The last of the warriors have cleared the ridge, Sarum.”

In the darkness, Bekka smiled at the formal title. It was the first time Suijan had used it. “Good. Take your position on the right. I’ll lead the center. You know what to do.”

Each of the chiefs had his assigned role. Bekka had worked out the plan last night around the campfire, when they’d finally stopped to rest the horses. Unegen had sketched a rough map in the dirt, and identified the landmarks. Every chief and leader of twenty knew his assignment.

Bekka picked up the pace, setting his horse to a trot. He guided his warriors toward the south first, angling away from the enemy camp. Bekka wanted to drive the invaders’ herd around the base of the hill, to overrun the ditch the Carchemishi had dug to keep the Ur Nammu warriors trapped on the hill. To accomplish that, his fighters had to approach from the south.

Keeping the horses at a trot, the warriors moved southward. The shift in direction didn’t take long. Soon Bekka, taking his lead from Unegen, turned his horse’s head toward the west and led the way in the direction of the enemy herd. Bekka’s fighters now took their position on him, fanning out on either side.

Ahead, Bekka saw a handful of small fires still burning, and he saw shadows shifting at the base of the plateau. No sentries had yet discovered the Alur Meriki. No doubt every eye was focused on the hill, waiting for the Ur Nammu’s attempt to break out. Meanwhile, no alarms had sounded yet, so Bekka took his time approaching. Behind him, his men drew up alongside, gradually forming a line on either side of their Sarum.

“You’re sure we’re heading toward the horse herd?” Bekka still couldn’t see them.

“Yes, Chief Bekka.” Unegen leaned toward his Sarum as he spoke. “My men confirmed that they bedded down the animals for the night in the same place.”

The warriors had now spread out into a line almost a quarter mile wide, just over eight hundred men moving to the attack.

Unegen marked the distance. “We’ve covered the first mile.”

Bekka nodded. He’d expected the Carchemishi to have discovered his approach by now. Every additional stride forward only gave his warriors more of an advantage. He glanced again over his shoulder and toward the east.

The sky seemed brighter over the eastern plain, as the pitch dark night grew lighter with each moment. Another quarter mile passed, and still no alarm. He’d never expected to draw this close without being spotted.

On both sides, Bekka heard the horses snorting and making noise. They sensed their riders’ excitement. Ahead, he could make out the enemy’s horse herd. Less than half a mile to go. Unegen had spoken the truth — a very large herd.

A few of the Carchemishi horses caught the scent of Bekka’s riders. Their whinnies sounded, giving warning. A handful of Alur Meriki animals responded. The enemy sentries must know something was wrong, but as yet they had no idea of the blow about to be delivered.

Step by step, the makeshift corral drew closer, until it was only a quarter mile ahead. Shouts from the sentries floated through the air, giving the first warning, but the Carchemishi would need time to react and form a battle line, time they did not have. Bekka knew his men wanted to rush forward, but he held the horses to a trot for another hundred paces.

A drum began to beat, a frantic pounding that sounded the alarm. The first rays of the sunlight shot up into the sky, the last of the darkness faded, and a swath of sunlight swept over the land. Up ahead, Bekka glimpsed men scurrying around, but it was far too late to organize any resistance.

He drew his sword and raised it high over his head, letting the rising sun glint off the bronze. Even without any commands, the well-trained warhorses began moving faster, the trot turning into a canter, and then to an easy gallop with little urging from their riders.

Bekka took a deep breath. “Attack!”

The whole line charged forward, as the warriors urged their mounts to their fastest speed. The ground beneath them shook and thundered from the horses’ hooves. The wailing war cry of eight hundred Alur Meriki sounded over the plain, a frightening sound that never failed to strike fear in their enemies. It took only a few heartbeats at the charge to bring his warriors within range of the already nervous herd.

“Let fly! Let fly!”

Bekka heard his order repeated, as the chiefs and leaders of ten drew within long bowshot. Launched from the back of a galloping horse, the shafts would fly almost twice as far.

The first flight of arrows arched high up into the air, aimed directly at the Carchemishi horse herd.

Eight hundred arrows slammed into the herd, far more than necessary to stampede the horses. The entire mass panicked, some driven wild by wounds, others by the scream of dying animals nearby, every one spooked by the pounding charge closing in upon them.

The rope corral collapsed. Guards on the far edge of the herd disappeared under a mass of frightened animals determined to escape an unknown but terrifying enemy. In moments, the panicked Carchemishi horses were at a full gallop with only one thought in their heads, to escape the unknown terror bearing down on them.

As they bolted, the right wing of Bekka’s line loosed another volley of arrows, to turn the herd and keep it as close as possible to the base of the hill. Not only would they overrun the ditch and stakes, but that was where most of the Carchemishi had taken their positions for the night.

More arrows, shot at a dead run, now sought out the mass of men struggling to find their weapons and prepare for battle. With so many invaders bunched together, nearly every shaft struck flesh. Cries of pain rose up into the air, mixing with the shouts of fear and panic that raced through the Carchemishi ranks. The alarm drum, if it still sounded, could no longer be heard over the din.

At this tactic, riding down masses of undisciplined or surprised men, the Alur Meriki had no equal. Arrows shot at close range brought down even more of the enemy, as Bekka’s men followed the bloody path churned by the stampeding horses’ hooves.

Bekka saw the frightened herd swerve to the left around the base of the plateau, the lead animals hurling themselves into the ditch. Some managed to jump the obstacles, but others crashed into the earth on the far side, adding their own wretched cries of panic to the noise of war.

More screams from wounded men and animals rose up into the early morning air. By now many of Bekka’s men had slowed their horses, to fall upon the injured or disoriented men staggering about. Some of his fighters had already exhausted their arrows, so fast had they shot their missiles at the enemy.

The stampeded horses, guided by the warriors on Bekka’s right flank, swept around the base of the hill, trampling everything and everyone in their path. Gaps appeared in the mass of animals, and Bekka could see men running about, all sense of organization lost. Pointing with his sword, he swept his force right at the largest group. Unegen rode at his side, both of them screaming their war cry.

Lances, either flung through the air or thrust downward at those hugging the ground took an even further toll. Swords, ripped from their scabbards, swung down, crunching through shields or upraised blades, and splattering bone and blood into the air. With the speed of the horse added to the rider’s muscles, no one could withstand such a blow.

Now the screams of men, dying or wounded, surpassed the thunder of the horses’ hooves. On foot, most of their weapons gone, and in complete disarray, the Carchemishi were easy prey for the savage warriors. The invaders still outnumbered Bekka’s horsemen, but they had no idea of how many had attacked them. The unending war cries of the Alur Meriki made them sound like twice their number.

Fear and confusion added to the rout. Many of the invaders threw down their weapons and ran. Others dropped to their knees, the sign of surrender, but the Alur Meriki had no time or inclination to take any captives. Some Carchemishi fought to the end. Others ran, only to be run down or hacked to pieces.