Clash Of Empires

Chapter 23

Jarud raced down the steps from Sumer’s eastern wall, ignoring the sudden chaos that had erupted within the city since the Akkadian attack. He ignored, too, the sounds of battle outside the wall. Jarud knew what the Akkadian cavalry would do to the unprepared Elamites, and he intended to take advantage of the temporarily hapless enemy.

He leapt the final four steps to reach the ground, nearly colliding with his second in command, returning from his rounds. Jarud grabbed his shoulder. “Strip a hundred archers from the southern wall, and send them to the gate. We’re going out there to finish what the Akkadians started. Hurry!”

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Jarud rushed through the lanes, twisting and turning until he reached the Southern Gate. About twenty soldiers and laborers were there, mouths open at the sight of the Commander of the Guard running toward them. “Open the gate! Collect as many axes and torches as you can find. We’re going out!”

For a moment, the men just stared at him. “Damn you, don’t just stand there, get that gate open! We don’t have much time to destroy the Elamites’ supplies.”

The work gang, assigned to reinforce the soldiers on the wall in the event of an assault, burst into motion. More than twenty men hurled themselves at the gate. First they had to free the braces that kept the logs immobile. Swinging oversized mallets, they knocked loose the tapered wooden blocks, hammered into place, that prevented the massive panel of the right side from opening.

As soon as those were out, ten or more men seized the lower log and struggled to heave it out of its sockets. By then a second crew waited, and as soon as the first gang moved aside, they seized the upper log.

The first handful of archers arrived, hurriedly stringing their bows and clutching arrow quivers. They moved into position beneath the gate. Jarud recognized his nephew, Jaruman and his ten bowmen.

More laborers arrived, carrying axes of every shape and size, waiting for the gate to open. The babble of voices rose, until Jarud jumped onto a cart. “Silence! Be still, damn you!”

The din abated, and Jarud grabbed one of the gate’s guardians. “Collect the black oil and torches. I want to burn as much of their weapons and tools as possible.”

The defenders had stored pots of the oil that burns near the gate, to use against any attackers. Stacks of the thick torches, freshly bound and soaked in oil, were also at hand, to provide illumination in case of a night attack.

With a wrenching creak, the heavy gate swung free. Jarud snatched an unlit torch leaning against the wall, and as soon as there was room enough to pass, Jarud led the defenders through the opening. The Elamites had dug almost two hundred paces from the walls, just out of bowshot and a long run for Sumerian archers. Although Jarud was the first one out of the gate, the faster and braver of his men overtook him before he’d gone twenty paces.

Caught up in the excitement of the invaders’ destruction, the soldiers and work gangs of Sumer poured through the gate, raced across the open space, and dashed in among the dead and dying Elamites. By the time Jarud, breathing hard, reached what remained of the Elamite position, his men were already finishing off the wounded, collecting weapons, and using their axes on the large shields.

The Akkadian cavalry had started several fires that still roared, sending thick smoke rushing upward into the heaves. All the same, in their haste, they had missed plenty of material that would burn.

Spreading out, the Sumerians collected lumber, shields, ladders, even clothing ripped from the dead, and heaped them into piles. Discarded swords, knives, spears, and bows were snatched up, and soon men stumbled back toward the gate, each struggling under a load of captured weapons and tools.

Those Sumerians with torches thrust them into the burning fires left behind by the Akkadians. Jarud joined them, shoving the torch he’d carried into the nearest fire. The oil-soaked torch flared, snapping and smoking. One of the soldiers snatched it from Jarud’s hand and moved to the first pile. Another man splashed some black oil on the dry wood. In moments, the first new flames caught and rose. Soon fresh fires joined those started by the Akkadians.

All around Jarud, axes rang as men attacked the shields and planks, breaking them apart. Others scooped up the jagged shards and tossed them to the nearest fire.

“Quick as you can, before the enemy returns,” Jarud shouted as he ran among his men. “Bring everything that will burn and toss it into the fire!”

He glanced around. More men still streamed from the Southern Gate, hurrying to add their efforts to those of their companions. By now more than two hundred Sumerians scrambled and searched through the Elamite position.

“Elamites! Look, they’re coming!”

Jarud whirled toward the east. A small group of Elamites had collected their weapons and moved toward the Sumerians. “Archers! Keep those men at bay.”

Another detachment of archers had joined with Jaruman, who now had thirty men under his command. They formed a small line of bowmen facing the advancing Elamites. Jarud watched as the archers launched the first flight of arrows toward the enemy.

Other Sumerian soldiers dropped their loads, took up their bows, and extended the rough skirmish line, widening the bowmen’s position on either side. Soon they were launching shafts as fast as they could at the approaching Elamites, halting their progress for the moment. Still, Jarud knew it wouldn’t take the enemy long to regroup, but every moment was precious now.

A shift in the wind sent a hot wave of air from the nearest fire over Jarud. A quick glance showed at least twenty fires of varying size consuming the enemy’s supplies. Several of the pyres loomed taller than a man. All of them flamed and crackled, gathering strength as his frantic men continued to add ever more combustibles.

By now men were tossing sandals, swords, cooking pots, clothing, anything they could snatch up into the blaze. The heat forced Jarud back a few more steps, as the crackling tongues of fire roared into the sky.

Another gang of men arrived from the city, and Jarud shouted at them to collect anything they could find and toss it onto the bonfire. Some lugged more pots of oil, to spread the fire ever faster. By now the Sumerians had stripped the Elamite position on the southern side of the city nearly clean.

“More enemy soldiers! More soldiers!”

Jarud turned toward the enemy. Every Elamite who could find a horse had joined the pursuit of the Akkadians, ignoring the Sumerians. But the invaders had plenty of infantry. About three hundred of these had formed into a cohesive force which now advanced with raised shields toward the Sumerians. His archers still launched shaft after shaft at them, trying to slow them down, but Jarud knew it was time to go.

“Back to the city! Back inside the walls!”

Every man turned and raced for the safety of Sumer’s walls. Every man except Jarud’s nephew, Jaruman, and his handful of archers, who kept shooting arrows, even as they slowly backed their way toward the safety of Sumer’s walls. Jarud watched as enemy shafts began to rain down on the last of the bowmen.

Some fool started laughing, and soon the sound spread through the men rushing back within the walls. Jarud found himself grinning as well. But when he reached the gate, he glanced over his shoulder and glimpsed a handful of his men still working their bows.

“Get back here! Now!”

The archers launched one more ragged volley before they turned and broke into a run, heading for the open gate and following Jarud’s men.

He shoved the last man inside. “Damn fools!” Jarud took a final look around, to make sure his remaining soldiers passed through the entrance. Everyone had returned.

He stepped inside. A gang of carpenters waited there, hammers and levers in hand. “Seal the gate!” The ponderous gate creaked to a close, and the laborers swarmed over it, dropping the beams into place, and hammering the bracing blocks tight.

A cheering crowd of Sumerians — men, women, soldiers — waited just inside the gate to welcome them. Those who had followed Jarud outside the wall had wide grins on their faces, as they caught their breath. Some of them still laughed, and to Jarud’s surprise, he joined them. The raucous chorus swept through the defenders. He climbed atop a supply cart, and waited until the din died down.

“With the help of our Akkadian friends and allies, we taught the filthy Elamites a lesson today,” Jarud shouted. “That will slow them down!”

A roar of support echoed against the walls and gate, a sound that would be heard by the invaders. Jarud, even more than the jubilant crowd, knew the truth of his words. The Elamite siege effort had taken a heavy blow. If Hathor had destroyed the enemy boats along the coast, the loss of supplies would hinder the invaders almost as much as the loss of men.

More important, the Akkadian cavalry’s attack, combined with the efforts of Sumer’s own forces outside the wall had strengthened the resolve of every man and woman in the city. The gloom that had hung over the city since the enemy’s arrival would dissipate like the smoke from a campfire in the southern breeze.

The people of Sumer now knew they didn’t fight alone any longer, and that a large force of friendly fighters had arrived and already started harrying the Elamite invaders. And that, Jarud decided, was almost as important as the number of enemy dead lying outside Sumer’s walls.

Chaiyanar guided his warhorse through the debris and dead that, only this morning, had comprised his forces facing Sumer’s southern walls. His guards, retainers, and senior commanders followed behind, hanging as far back as they dared, and each one hoping the blame for the disaster would not fall upon him.

Corpses littered the ground, almost all Chaiyanar’s men. Nearly three thousand soldiers and siege workers had stood in this place, and the Akkadians had ripped through them like a whistling scythe through a field of ripe wheat. Despite the briefness of the assault, the Akkadians had been thorough.

At least four thousand Akkadian cavalry had overwhelmed Chaiyanar’s unprepared men, and now nearly twenty-five hundred Elamites lay dead, in exchange for a few handfuls of Akkadian corpses.

The rest of the Elamites had managed to escape, but the savagery of the raid would haunt the survivors. The easy siege had turned into something else. Now every man in Chaiyanar’s army would keep glancing over his shoulder, in fear of another surprise attack. And when they next rode into battle, awareness of defeat and death would ride with them.

He saw the hand of Eskkar of Akkad in all this. Chaiyanar had been warned about the King of Akkad’s tricks, but he expected nothing so brazen at Sumer. He knew the cities of the Land Between the Rivers had little love for one another, and the spies had reported only bickering between Isin, Sumer, and Akkad. In fact, the fools claimed that the squabbling had increased in the last few months. Now that lie stood exposed.

Today’s surprise attack from the south seemed like one of the barbarian king’s cunning tricks. Chaiyanar’s scouts, spread out in a line more than fifty miles long to the north and west, had reported nothing. The Akkadians must have swung far to the west, before turning toward Sumer.

Chaiyanar stared at the still burning fires, then glanced toward Sumer’s walls. The defenders had sallied forth from the city within moments of the attack, almost as if they expected it. The Sumerians had added their efforts to the destruction caused by the horsemen, and wreaked still more havoc on the supplies abandoned by his men. He’d heard the laughter and cheering from within the city.

Chaiyanar’s men tried to put out the fires and salvage what they could, but the heat drove them back. Of course there was no water to douse the flames. The largest bonfires would smolder long into the night. Whatever remained beneath the ashes would be useless, melted and twisted by the heat. His men had lost almost all their weapons, tools, and lumber, much of it irreplaceable.

By the time Chaiyanar had organized the rest of his horsemen, the cowardly Akkadians had fled to the south, crossed the river, and jeered at his men from the opposite bank. Then they rode off into the west, no doubt boasting about their success.

Now Chaiyanar had to deal with the mess. The cursed Akkadians had set back his schedule for capturing Sumer. Worse, he now had a large enemy contingent to deal with. This was no mere raid, to harry his efforts. With a force that size, he knew the Akkadians would be back, and they would seek to break the siege. He wondered why the Akkadians hadn’t persisted in their attack, instead of fleeing south at the first sign of opposition.

Fortunately, he yet had plenty of soldiers left. His cavalry would ring the doomed city, and the next time the Akkadian filth returned, he would be ready for them. Once the city fell, he would hunt down the Akkadians and slaughter them to the last man, to avenge today’s losses. There would be none of the usual assimilation of conquered soldiers. The Akkadian victory today would not be allowed to infect his army.

Still, he would need new supplies. Chaiyanar remembered the supply train that had gone south this morning. His pack handlers probably had run straight into the approaching horsemen. By now the bodies of the guards, porters, handlers, and, much more important, all the pack animals littered the way to the supply cove.

The more Chaiyanar thought about his situation, the angrier he grew. Damn the gods, he needed the supplies arriving each day from Sushan. He turned to one of his cavalry commanders.

“Take a thousand riders and as many extra horses as you need, and ride to the cove. Escort all the supplies you find here at once. Send word back to Sushan that we’ll need more food, weapons, and grain. Don’t forget to warn the commander at the cove about the Akkadians. Have the ships put to sea at the first sign of trouble.”

“Yes, Lord Chaiyanar. At once.”

The man wheeled his horse around and galloped off, no doubt glad to be away from his grim commander.

Chaiyanar turned toward the leader of his cavalry. “You’d better send word to the horse camp. If the Akkadians know about it, they may be headed there.”

The man blanched. He’d forgotten about the verdant valley where many of the Elamite cavalry had encamped, to have access to food and water for the horses.

‘Yes, Grand Commander!” The man started bellowing orders to his men.

If the filthy Akkadians rode straight to the camp, they would fall upon a small force of Elamite cavalry with as much surprise as the Akkadians had delivered at Sumer.

Chaiyanar turned his gaze back to Sumer’s walls. He hadn’t expected the haughty men from Isin and Akkad to ride to Sumer’s aid. After all, the two cities had fought a bloody war ten years ago. Still, if Eskkar’s horsemen were this far south, then Akkad itself would be undermanned. Unless Eskkar had some other trick planned for Lord Modran, who should even now be moving toward Akkad.

Thoughts about Lord Modran enraged Chaiyanar even more. If Modran could manage to capture Akkad before Chaiyanar could take Sumer, then Modran might lead his troops down to take command of the Sumerian assault. That would mean disaster and humiliation for Chaiyanar. King Shirudukh might even award Sumer to Modran.

Chaiyanar decided to redouble his efforts to take Sumer, no matter how many lives it cost.

“Damn all the gods, you’ll suffer for this, Eskkar of Akkad!”