Battle For Empire

5

Four days had passed since Eskkar and the soldiers broke camp at Aratta. The Akkadian force had marched hard every day, moving deeper into the foothills of the Zagros Mountains. A little before noon, under a gray, cloudy sky, Eskkar rode at the head of the column, trailed by his ten Hawk Clan bodyguards. Hathor, Eskkar’s cavalry commander, usually led the way, but the Egyptian horse master had ridden on ahead to check on the forward scouts, and Eskkar had taken the lead position.

As he reached the crest of a higher than usual hill, Eskkar held up his hand. His guards, riding in a column of twos, halted, grateful for the rest whatever the reason. The remainder of the force continued up the slope.

An eagle’s view lay before Eskkar, and his eyes swept the countryside around him. To his left rose the base of the mountains, an impassable wall of gray and red-hued rock that towered like a giant over the tiny figures of men. The higher peaks carried caps of snow, most of which would not melt even by the end of summer.

To his right, the empty southern lands lay bare, except for the long tendrils of rock and earth that stretched into the horizon, gradually diminishing in size. He gazed out over a vast panorama of rugged country. This high up in the foothills, Eskkar guessed he could see eight or ten miles.

He recognized the landmarks. The army had traveled as far north as possible. Now the men of Akkad would follow the foothills eastward, until they reached the tiny stream called Khenmet. That destination, though, still lay almost fifty miles east of them.

From this spot forward, the army would be crossing over a long series of ridges and steep hills that extended downward from the Zagros Mountains, like the spread fingers on a man’s hand. Between each finger of rock lay mostly bare land, sprinkled with wild grass that disappeared with the next climb. Marching across these spurs, both man and beast would be put to the test by the earth gods.

Satisfied that no danger appeared close by, Eskkar twisted on his horse to study his soldiers. The first half of the column was comprised of spearmen, archers, and slingers, all marching in dogged silence as they fought the hilly slope. Behind them rode the double column of horsemen who brought up the rear.

Every man wore the linen tunic Trella’s supply clerks had issued. Sand colored, the thick cloth provided warmth while leaving the arms unencumbered and lower legs bare. A wide leather belt that could be laced tight to support the weight of a sword and knife circled each soldier’s waist, and sturdy brown sandals protected their feet. Though they had marched a long way, the men displayed little signs of weariness. Months of strenuous training now proved its worth.

The formation showed the importance Eskkar assigned to those who fought on foot. In the event of an ambush by barbarians, the horsemen would charge forward in response. If the enemy attacked from the rear, Muta could wheel his horsemen around in time to face any assault, while archers and slingers provided additional support. On either flank, outriders guarded the twisting line of men and horses.

Since leaving Aratta, each day’s journey had challenged every man in the army, and pushed both men and horses to their limit. Still, the march had proceeded smoothly, though slower than Eskkar expected. By his calculation, they were at least half a day behind schedule. So far they’d seen no sign of the enemy.

Today the weather gods had seen fit to bless their journey. Except for a brief rain that slowed them down two days ago, Eskkar’s army had made good progress. Now cool winds blew down the slopes, and the flinty snow-capped mountains wreathed in dirty-white clouds threatened to ignore the pale green signs of spring and send one last storm upon them. Tonight the men would huddle close together for warmth, wrapped in their blankets.

The terrain they’d traversed slowed the soldiers’ progress. Under those conditions, the four hundred men on foot kept to a pace almost as well as their mounted companions, often forced to dismount and lead their horses. At the end of each day’s march, every soldier, mounted or walking, dropped wearily to the ground. Legs and feet suffered the most, but many complained about sore backs from carrying the equipment and supplies Eskkar and the other commanders insisted on.

Despite the best efforts of his men, Eskkar fretted at the time lost on the march. And from this point forward, the ground would be even more inhospitable.

A shout turned his head back toward the east. Two horsemen, scouts ranging ahead of the main force, had raced over the top of the next hill. From the riders’ rapid pace, Eskkar decided the chance of good news to be slim. As they drew closer, Eskkar recognized Hathor.

The tall Egyptian must have something of importance to relate, otherwise he would have stayed with the lead scouts. At last the cavalry commander arrived, his big warhorse breathing hard from the steep climb up to where Eskkar waited.

“I think we’ve been spotted.” Hathor guided his horse alongside Eskkar’s, so the two men faced each other, their knees almost touching. “We saw at least twenty barbarians, moving to the south, less than two miles away. They saw us at the same time, so there was no use trying to hide. We turned back at once, and I’m sure they’re following our tracks.”

Hathor and ten riders would be no match for twenty barbarian warriors, not in open country.

“Damn the luck.” If Eskkar’s main force had made better time, say covered another fifteen or twenty miles, being observed by the enemy wouldn’t have mattered. The army would be close enough to the stream to reach it ahead of any Alur Meriki force.

Now the situation could be reversed, with the Akkadians caught short of the stream and needing water. Eskkar noticed Hathor’s grim jaw. His horse commander had come to the same conclusions.

“What will the barbarian scouts do?”

Eskkar frowned. “I’m not sure. It depends. . it depends on too many things. How many men they have, what their orders are, how good their leader is, how large a force they think we might have.”

Hathor glanced down the hill, where the last of the horsemen still slipped and stumbled on their way to the top of the crest. “How much faster can we move the men?”

“Not fast enough, not if we want them to be able to lift a sword when they get there.” Eskkar took a deep breath and swore. “We need to get to the Khenmet first. I’ll take a hundred men and ride hard for the stream. That should be enough to hold it. Then you. .”

“No, I’ll do it, Captain.” Hathor used Eskkar’s old title, the one he preferred. “You can’t leave the men behind. They’ll start thinking the worst the moment you’re out of sight.”

Eskkar’s grip on the halter tightened. A-tuku lifted its head in response, and Eskkar patted the animal’s neck to steady it. The two commanders didn’t have time to argue, and besides, he knew Hathor spoke the truth. “All right, you go. Take two companies and get to the stream as fast as you can. Hold it until we get there.”

“I’ll take Draelin’s men with me.”

Those two companies, almost every man a veteran of the Isin War, numbered one hundred riders. Not enough to drive off any sizeable force, but even if Eskkar sent all his cavalry, it wouldn’t be enough to withstand the full might of the barbarians. If he sent any more, he’d be splitting his force, always a dangerous tactic in enemy territory.

“I’ll be waiting at the stream.” Hathor turned his horse around, touched his heels to his mount, and started down the hill, shouting orders to his subcommanders as he went.

“Leave Muta with me,” Eskkar called out as the Egyptian rode off. Hathor waved one hand in acknowledgement. If an Alur Meriki horde suddenly appeared galloping over some hilltop, Eskkar wanted at least one senior cavalry commander with him.

Muttering an oath at his bad luck, Eskkar took one deep breath, filling his lungs, then bellowed out the names of his senior commanders. “Drakis! Alexar!”

When they joined him, Eskkar repeated Hathor’s grim news. “We’ll have to make better time. I don’t want Hathor and his men surrounded at the stream and overrun before we can get there.”

Drakis shook his head in disgust. “I’ll tell the men. But we won’t get there before late tomorrow, if the ground stays as bad as this.”

“We can leave some gear behind,” Alexar said. “Maybe some of the food and spare arrows.”

“No, not after carrying it this far,” Eskkar said. “We’re going to need all those supplies even more. Just get the men to pick up the pace.”

Drakis nodded and turned his horse around. “I’ll warn the men what’s at stake. Let’s just hope Hathor doesn’t run into trouble.”

Eskkar grunted. The war gods and the Alur Meriki made that hope a faint one. The barbarians would find Hathor’s men soon enough. Eskkar just hoped that the Egyptian didn’t find himself facing the full might of the Clan’s warriors.

Chief Bekka, leader of the Wolf Clan, frowned at the warrior who had galloped to his side. Approaching his twenty-eighth season, Bekka’s stocky frame sat lightly on his brown and white warhorse. “A force of dirt eaters? Here? This far north?”

“Yes, Chief Bekka.” The scout, a brawny man named Unegen and a leader of twenty, kept his reply formal. “I counted eleven of them. They saw us, and did not run, at least not at first. Only when we moved toward them did they turn away toward the west, riding at a canter.”

Bekka didn’t like the sound of that. Until this moment, he’d considered scouting these bare hills a waste of time. As the youngest of the Alur Meriki clan leaders, Bekka often drew the worst assignments, such as scouting ahead through empty hills and checking anything of interest along the route. And while that assignment often proved fruitful, this barren terrain promised nothing but rocks and hills.

He’d been about to return to the main caravan. Enough daylight remained to ensure that, if he and his men rode hard, they would reach the wagons of the Alur Meriki in time for Bekka to have a late supper with his wives and children. “Perhaps they were other steppes warriors. Even the accursed Ur Nammu occasionally ride this far east.”

Unegen shrugged. “Perhaps it is as you say. They weren’t close enough to be sure, but they all wore the same clothing and did not look like warriors.”

He guessed that Unegen had wanted to add, ‘to me, at least.’ Bekka grunted at the subtle criticism. All the same Unegen was one of his best scouts, and an Alur Meriki horseman who couldn’t tell the difference between a dirt eater and a steppes rider at any distance didn’t deserve to be called a warrior.

Dirt eaters all tended to dress the same, unlike warriors who liked bright colors and wore whatever clothing they preferred, mixed with the occasional animal skin. Dangling feathers ornamented bow and lance tips, and leather strips slung across shoulders held knives and food pouches.

“Your men are following them?”

“Ten men,” Unegen said. “I brought the rest back with me.”

Bekka opened his mouth, then closed it again. Unegen had taken the right course of action. If there were a large force of horsemen operating in this land, it could only mean trouble. Bekka considered his options. His clan numbered just over eighty, but they were scattered over the countryside, mostly to the south, hunting game and searching for anything of value along the caravan’s route.

Bekka had already scouted those lands when Unegen caught up with him. Like everyone else, Bekka assumed any danger to the Alur Meriki would come from the south, not their line of march to the west. Now that assumption would be tested.

A force of horsemen this far north had to be a war party of some kind. The steep hills and endless boulders of these foothills held no dirt eaters or places to grow food, not even enough grass to support sheep or goats for any length of time. These barren lands were meant to be crossed as quickly as possible. The only reason for anyone to be up here was to get water at the stream that flowed from the mountains.

Supper with his family would have to wait. “I’ll gather my men and head southwest. We may be able to cut them off. You return to your scouts, and see what else they have discovered. As soon as you learn anything, send riders to find me. I don’t want to waste time looking for you.”

Unegen nodded. “And the caravan? Should we dispatch riders to tell them what we’ve found?”

The great caravan of the Alur Meriki moved slowly toward them, still a few days travel from here at their creeping pace. Bekka considered sending word to the caravan. However, he didn’t know anything for certain. And only a fool of a clan leader would waste Thutmose-sin’s time over a single sighting of so small a force, especially one that had turned away at first sight of Unegen’s scouting party.

“No, not yet. Not for a handful of riders. If there is any danger, we have more than enough time. I’ll collect as many men as I can and follow you.”

Unegen shrugged again. “I’ll return to my men.” He’d done his duty, and he had his orders. If trouble arose, Chief Bekka would deal with it. Unegen turned his horse around and rode back toward the west. Somehow he felt certain he would get little rest tonight.

At midmorning the next day, Hathor and his two companies reached the crest of one more hill and halted for a brief rest. He felt as weary as any of his men. Not that he cared about that. The exhausted horses, however, needed rest and water. Man and beast had emptied the last of the water skins at dawn, and neither would get much rest, let alone anything to drink, until they reached the Khenmet.

“Commander!” A man raised his arm and pointed to a somewhat higher hilltop a little to the south and about half a mile away.

Hathor’s eyes followed the direction, and he saw them, a line of horsemen coming into view. By the time the last rider appeared on the crest, Hathor had the count. Fourteen barbarians, sitting stolidly on their horses, staring down at the intruders.

Hathor’s men saw them, too, and now they chattered among themselves, and the ragged line they presented brought a growl to his lips. “Shut your mouths! And form up, instead of gaping. Do you want these barbarians to think you’re a bunch of sheep?”

A few grinning heads lowered in embarrassment. While the Akkadians settled down, Hathor made up his mind. That number of barbarians presented no threat to his hundred fighters, and there was no reason to suppose the enemy would waste a large force of riders in these desolate hills.

But somewhere behind them, more barbarians would be gathering. Nevertheless, it would take time, and Hathor might as well push on. The stream, if he remembered right, couldn’t be more than twenty or so miles ahead, a good half-day’s ride.

The distance no longer mattered. He had to reach it before dark. The new moon had moved into the sky only two days ago. It would rise late, and the slight light it would shed meant no horse could travel safely after dark, not in this rocky land.

Hathor turned to his subcommanders. “Get the men moving. We’ve still a long way to go.”

He put heels to his horse and led the Akkadian cavalry down the hill. He refused to look at the Alur Meriki warriors, though he knew his men would be glancing up at them every few steps. Hathor understood what thoughts raced through his soldiers’ minds. They were moving deeper and deeper into the heart of enemy territory, riding straight into danger. And that was exactly how it felt to him, too.

On the opposite hilltop, Bekka watched the dirt eaters, his lips moving slowly as he counted the strangers. Unegen, who sat beside him, had sharp eyes indeed. Not another clan of steppes warriors, but dirt eaters. Nonetheless, these strangers knew how to handle their mounts, unlike most of the dirt eaters the warriors encountered. It didn’t take long before Bekka had a good idea of who the unknown horsemen were, and where they might be headed.

“Where are they going, Chief Bekka? Are they lost?”

A stupid question, but Unegen was young, less than twenty-two seasons, with much to learn. Bekka softened his reply. “They’re heading for the water that flows from the mountains.”

Unegen digested that for a moment. “Why go there? Why don’t they run from us?”

Bekka ignored the first question. “They don’t run from us because they’re from Akkad, and they’ve been taught how to fight by the demon Eskkar, curse him.” He spat on the ground to appease the gods for speaking the traitor’s name. Bekka’s horse jerked its head at the rider’s sudden movement.

Bekka faced his subcommander. “Take two men and ride to the caravan as quick as you can. Find Thutmose-sin and tell him everything that we’ve seen, that we first found eleven, then one hundred dirt eaters. Say that they’re heading for the water, and that I will raise as many men as I can to stop them from reaching it.”

Without waiting for Unegen to reply, Bekka started giving orders to the rest of his men. In moments the Alur Meriki horsemen disappeared from the hilltop. Once out of sight, they broke into groups of twos and threes, and rode off in different directions. The Alur Meriki had more than one war party scouting these lands, though most of them were too far south to help Bekka. Something tightened in his stomach. He had a feeling that he was going to need every man he could gather.

Hathor and his men pushed their way east, up and down the seemingly endless succession of hills. They rode with care, bows strung, swords loose in their scabbards. Although he could see nothing that smacked of danger, Hathor felt the eyes of the Alur Meriki watching his progress.

His own scouts, six riders spread out along the line of movement, rode with even greater caution, arrows nocked and bows at the ready. At the crest of any hill, they might encounter a hidden band of barbarians ready to cut them down.

The rest of the cavalry rode together, four abreast, with the five pack animals under careful guard in the middle of the column. So far the pack horses hadn’t slowed him down, and Hathor didn’t dare abandon them. Those animals, and the supplies they bore, might mean the difference between defeat or victory.

The sun moved higher in the sky, passed its highest point, and began to descend. No Alur Meriki had yet challenged their passage, but Hathor knew that time approached. As soon as the barbarians gathered enough warriors, they would harass his movements, even if they lacked enough men to stop him. When they thought they had enough, they would attack in earnest.

The Akkadians kept moving, the men dismounting to lead the horses up the steepest part of the trail. By now his riders were too tired even to swear at their misfortune. The sun kept moving, too, falling toward the horizon.

A shout from his rear guard snapped Hathor’s head around. A band of twenty or so warriors, perhaps the same one he’d seen earlier, was traversing another hill to the Akkadian right. They’d come from the south, and now moved in the same direction as Hathor. The barbarians had fresher horses, and their riders didn’t carry the burden of the extra food and weapons.

Whatever the reason, they were making better time across these hills, and at this rate they would reach the stream before him.

Up ahead, Hathor watched his scouts disappear over the top of the next hill. A few moments later, one of them reappeared, waving his arms. Hathor kicked his horse into a canter, and rode up the hill to join him.

“The stream’s not much farther, Commander. I think I recognize the landmarks you described.” He pointed to a pair of almost identical boulders, tall and slim, that pointed like angled fingers toward the mountain peaks. Each stone stood four or five times the height of a man.

Hathor halted his men while he studied the landscape. Mountain crags towered to his left, while fingers of rock extended from their base, as if to lend support to the vast weight of stone soaring above them. He, too, remembered that two large boulders marked the trail, with the stream less than a mile ahead.

Of course all the rocks looked much the same, and it had been over a year since he’d ridden these hills. Still, he agreed with the scout, it couldn’t be much farther. If it were, they weren’t going to make it before dusk.

“Two more hills,” Hathor said. “Call the rest of the scouts back, except for two. We might as well all arrive together.”

No sense in having a few men picked off by the barbarians, or even having his scouts chased back to the main force.

Draelin rode up to join his commander. Hathor had given him responsibility for the rear guard.

“Any sign of the barbarians?” Draelin’s face showed that mixture of nervousness and excitement that often accompanied men riding into battle.

“No, but they’re probably all around us by now,” Hathor said. “The Khenmet isn’t far ahead. Tell the men we just need to push over one or two more hills, and we’ll be there. Tell them to ready their weapons, and make sure they stay close together.”

Draelin laughed. “They’ll be glad enough. They’re sick of riding and walking.”

Hathor’s second in command turned his horse and rode back to the rear. As the word spread through the ranks, men prepared themselves and their horses. They loosened their packs, so they could be discarded at a moment’s notice. The short rest would have to do.

Hathor waited until Draelin gave the signal that he was ready. “Move out!” The Egyptian’s voice easily carried the length of the column.

They rode down the slope, enjoyed a brief respite of almost flat ground for a few hundred paces, then another gradual ascent up the next hill. Once again Hathor found the two scouts waiting at the crest, and when Hathor reached it, he understood why.

A line of barbarian warriors stretched across the top of the next hill. As the rest of Hathor’s men reached the top, he took a count of the enemy.

“Between forty and forty-five,” Hathor commented, as Draelin reached his side.

“There could be five hundred waiting for us behind the hill.”

Hathor shook his head. “If there are, we’re finished, whether we go forward or back. So it doesn’t matter. They’re between us and the stream. We’ve no choice now but to attack.” He stretched himself upright and took one last look around. The hills behind them remained bare of life. For this battle, at least, only the barbarians in front of him mattered.

Nevertheless, Hathor didn’t like what he saw. He and his men would be attacking uphill, always a disadvantage. That, too, no longer mattered. His men needed the Khenmet’s water.

“Form the men in two lines, sixty in front and forty behind the center. That way they won’t be able to charge downhill and just ride through us. You take the left flank, and I’ll take the right. If we can envelop them, so much the better. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go. Tell the men to shoot as soon as they’re in range, but not before.”

“Yes, Commander.”

With a shout of excitement, Draelin wheeled his horse around and trotted off, calling out orders as he went. Hathor called up his leaders of ten and twenty, and gave them the necessary orders. “Remember, watch for any sudden shifts of their line. Wherever they try to break through, shift your men to take them from the flank.”

Each of his commanders would pass his words to the men, so that every man knew what was expected of him. It took only moments, as these Akkadians had trained and practiced maneuvers such as this hundreds of times. When Hathor felt satisfied that every one understood the order of battle, he moved to his own position just to the right of center and waited until Draelin situated himself in a similar position on the left.

The column of fours broke in two parts, then separated again, forming a front line of sixty riders, with the second line of forty about thirty paces behind the first. Each man settled into position a pace apart from his neighbor. As Hathor inspected his men one last time, he saw no signs of fear or confusion, only riders loosening swords in their scabbards, testing their bows, and fitting arrows to bowstrings.

Almost all of these men had fought a mounted battle before, and at Isin they attacked an enemy four or five times greater in size. These Akkadians knew what to look forward to. The Alur Meriki, Eskkar claimed, did not expect to confront men who could ride and shoot at the same time. Now that idea would be tested.

Hathor glanced down the line to where Draelin sat astride his horse, bow in hand, waiting the command to attack. Hathor saw the excitement on their faces and reflected in their movements, but still not a trace of fear. All the men were ready. Hathor drew his sword, raised it up, then swung it forward. “Move out!”

Draelin’s shout echoed his commander’s. The two lines surged forward and down the hill, moving at an easy canter and maintaining a good line. Nevertheless, the animals sensed the tension of their riders. Horses whinnied in excitement and tried to surge ahead, while the ground shook from their hooves as they went down the hill.

As soon as the horsemen reached the middle of the flat expanse, the men would kick their horses into a fast canter. The Akkadians wouldn’t be in range of the barbarian bows until they reached the foot of the next hill. Then the order to gallop the horses as fast as possible would be given.

Hathor tightened his grip on the sword as the front line reached the bottom of the hill and increased their speed across the open space.

From the opposite hilltop, Bekka sat on his horse and watched the Akkadians make their preparations. They wasted no time, showed no confusion, and he detected no signs of fear in any of the riders facing him. Every rider carried a short, curved bow, much like those his own warriors carried, and Bekka guessed these intruders knew how to use them. They handled their bows and horses almost as well as his own men.

Never before had Alur Meriki horsemen faced dirt eaters who knew how to use a bow from horseback. Their calm preparations proved that they had faith in themselves and their weapons. Their leader didn’t even bother to urge his men to the attack.

The more Bekka observed, the less he liked the prospect of this battle. In each previous encounter with Akkadian soldiers, every warrior who had faced Akkad’s dreaded longbow archers soon learned to respect the power of those weapons. If these dirt eaters had mastered the same skills with the smaller bows. .

Kushi, a leader of twenty who had joined Bekka earlier in the day, moved his horse beside that of his chief. One of Bekka’s cousins, Kushi had taken charge of Unegen’s men in his absence and was now Bekka’s second in command. Together they watched the dirt eaters form two battle lines. “They’ll flank us.”

Kushi, too, understood the size of the line and what it meant. The mass of horsemen in the center would slow down any charge trying to cut through the Akkadians, which was exactly what Bekka had intended to do, tear through them and regroup on the far side. Now he knew that wouldn’t work. His warriors would break through the first line, he felt certain of that, but those that survived would be riding into forty more enemy arrows shot at close range.

Long before his Alur Meriki fighters, those that survived the first encounter, could hack their way through the second line, the weight of dirt eaters on their flanks would be on them, putting arrows in their backs. If the enemy knew their business, Bekka’s warriors would be enveloped and cut to pieces. He could lose every man.

Bekka took one final look behind him. For most of the day, warriors in two and threes had ridden to join him. Many of these he had dispatched as soon as they arrived, ordering them to scour the countryside until they located the two main war parties still many miles to the south.

By now a large force of warriors would be galloping over empty lands toward this place from many directions, but none had arrived yet. He’d hoped to convince the enemy horsemen that he had reserves behind the hill, perhaps even make them hold off their attack and send out some scouts, but the Akkadian commander hadn’t wasted a single moment worrying about that.

Instead, the Akkadians would soon be pouring arrows into his flanks. Bekka’s men might hold the center, might even inflict heavy casualties on the men charging up the hill, but whatever advantage he got during that first exchange, he would pay twice over for it when the dirt eaters reached the crest and wheeled their horses into his flanks and rear. Then it would be the Alur Meriki under the gauntlet as they were driven down the slope, while bowmen shot arrows at them from every direction.

Even if Bekka could win this fight, or manage to slow down the attackers, most of his men would be dead. Across the hilltop, Bekka watched a tall rider on the left flank draw his sword. For a moment, he wondered if it might be the traitor Eskkar. Not that it mattered. As the weapon swung down, the Akkadians gave a shout and the line began its descent.

“Damn them.” Bekka just did not have enough warriors, and he didn’t intend to waste the lives of his kinsmen fighting against a trained force more than twice the size of his. “Get the men out of here. We’ll form up on the other side of the stream.”

If Kushi were unhappy with the order, he didn’t show it. “Yes, Chief.” He rode off, shouting orders as he went, and no doubt giving thanks to the gods that he wasn’t in command.

Bekka took one last look at the Akkadians. “Damn you to the pits, Eskkar.” Then he turned his horse around and started down the slope. Some of the men protested, and few launched arrows at the approaching horsemen, but most seemed glad enough to avoid this fight. The Alur Meriki had no qualms about turning away from a fight against superior numbers. A war leader was expected to win fights, not waste the lives of his warriors.

Nevertheless, by the time Bekka splashed across the stream, he had started worrying about how news of this retreat would be received in Thutmose-sin’s tent. The punishment for cowardice in front of an enemy was death.