Clash Of Empires

Chapter 29

Sargon and Garal rode side by side, each leading a spare horse. In the last two years, Sargon had often led a second horse. Each time always reminded him of his first battle against the Carchemishi invaders and then the wild ride to the Alur Meriki caravan.

Since those days, Sargon had proved his competence as a horseman. Months on horseback with his friends had toughened his legs and thighs. Today he sat astride his horse with the same ease and assurance as Garal or any of the Ur Nammu and Alur Meriki warriors surrounding him.

In less time than the three and a half days that took Eskkar from Akkad to the mouth of the Dellen Pass, Sargon and Garal had ridden almost twice as far. The barbarian war party numbered over thirteen hundred well armed fighting men. Traveling light, with food and supplies awaiting them along the trail, the fast moving steppes warriors covered long distances with each day’s journey.

Sargon and two hundred and fifty Ur Nammu warriors had joined with eleven hundred Alur Meriki fighting men. For this campaign, Chief Subutai of the Ur Nammu had placed himself and his men under Chief Bekka’s command. That decision was not made lightly. Honor and pride aside, Subutai was the older and probably wiser war leader. But in battle, only one can command, and Bekka led a far greater number of men.

Both leaders had recognized the significance of the gesture. For the Alur Meriki, it acknowledged their leadership and the role they would play in honoring their blood oath to Sargon’s father. For the Ur Nammu, it declared their willingness to honor their debt to Chief Bekka and the Alur Meriki for saving their Clan from the Carchemishi.

In addition, another hundred or so young Alur Meriki boys and older men rode with them, carrying extra food and supplies, and leading forty more spare horses. Last night, those too young or old to fight had handed over their sacks and horses, and turned back to the west, leaving only warriors to continue their journey eastward.

But the old and young men who returned to the west still had one more task to perform. They would gather additional food and fresh horses, and once again ride back into the mountains, to this very place. Here they would wait until Chief Bekka and the warriors finished their raid.

On that day, all the returning warriors would likely be in desperate need of food and fresh horses. Even more likely was the possibility that an avenging force of Elamites might be right behind, chasing the warriors.

In the last year, Sargon, Eskkar, Subutai, and Bekka had worked together preparing for the coming war. Almost eight months ago, the Great Raid, as Eskkar called it, had taken shape. In Eskkar’s absence, Sargon helped guide the planning and coordination with the Alur Meriki and Ur Nammu.

For the first time in a campaign, the steppes warriors received the benefit of Akkad’s efficient supply masters. Sargon assumed command over all the clothing, weapons, food, and tools that during the last six months, quietly and without fanfare, had trickled north to Akkad’s outposts. He made sure the supplies were distributed or stockpiled, and available at a moment’s notice.

Meanwhile, a small Alur Meriki scouting party had ridden back through the mountains into Elamite territory, quietly marking out likely campsites, grazing grounds, and watering holes. These scouts, after reaching into Elam’s lands, returned by way of the Jkarian Pass.

With the routes mapped, the leaders knew in advance what routes to take, where to make camp, and the best watering places. Just as important, the warriors knew exactly how much distance they needed to cover each day.

As the looming Elamite invasion drew near, the wagons of the Alur Meriki moved closer to Eskkar’s northern outposts, to place themselves under their protection. With plenty of food in storage for their women and children, the steppes warriors awaited only the final delivery of weapons and grain.

During those months, Bekka and Subutai had improved Eskkar’s basic strategy, adding the wisdom of the steppes and its tactics. With Sargon’s help, the chiefs calculated the precise number of days of riding needed to reach the Elamite supply village. Trella’s maps had aided that process greatly.

The small force of warriors would be no match for the vast cavalry of the enemy, so careful timing would be required to avoid early discovery. Again and again, Sargon studied the maps, and satisfied himself that the warriors could, in fact, maintain the pace that they had set for themselves. And that they understood the necessity of following the plan. Then he made sure that every warrior had whatever he needed to ride to war. No man would lack a good horse or fine weapons.

“Remember,” Eskkar had said to Bekka and Subutai at their last meeting, “you do not need to face them in battle. You will strike a heavy blow just by disrupting their supply lines and stopping the flow of men into the Dellen Pass.”

Both Subutai and Bekka had nodded gravely, too polite to contradict Akkad’s leader. Sargon soon realized that neither clan chief intended to accept such a minor role. When the warriors of the steppes went to war, they expected blood to flow. To avoid conflict with an enemy, despite its greater numbers, did not fit into their own designs.

Just into his eighteenth season, Sargon had also not corrected his father. Eskkar might have grown up in the clan, but Sargon had lived and worked side by side with clan leaders for the last few years. By now he knew more about their way of life, including the ways of their leaders, than his father ever learned.

Nevertheless, Sargon always deferred to his father. Only when asked did Sargon offer his opinions or suggestions. Over time, as the boy-turned-warrior showed his wisdom, Eskkar relied more and more on his son’s advice. Little by little, Eskkar gave Sargon more authority to deal with the clans. With sage counsel from Subutai and Bekka, Sargon had fulfilled that task well beyond Eskkar’s expectations.

Sargon had also developed lasting friendships with many of the chiefs from both clans which gave him a depth of knowledge about the warriors and their ways. And they, in their turn, had come to trust Sargon more and more. He might be the son of the King of Akkad, but in their eyes, Sargon remained a warrior first, and an Akkadian second.

A year ago, Chief Bekka had formally adopted Sargon into his Clan, to the cheers of the Alur Meriki people and the approval of his parents.

Father and son now maintained an aloof but trusting relationship. Ten months ago, Eskkar had accepted his son as his heir, and Trella had made the public announcement to the people of Akkad. Whatever their feelings once might have been for their son, Sargon’s trials with the Ur Nammu had turned him into a man. He’d proved himself worthy of one day becoming the ruler of Akkad and its people.

More important, at least in Eskkar’s eyes, was that Sargon had made peace with his mother, and welcomed her role as a counselor and advisor. In the long run Eskkar knew that would prove more vital than the father and son relationship. They did not always see eye to eye on every issue, but both had learned to listen to the other, a major accomplishment for any father and son, warrior or village bred.

Tashanella and her mothers, by their careful maneuverings, had helped restore the mutual trust and respect between Sargon and his parents. Working subtly, wife and mothers ensured that Sargon set aside his bitterness toward his mother, Lady Trella.

Sargon and his wife had visited Akkad twice, and both times Trella had openly embraced her son and daughter-in-law. Only then, when Sargon felt secure in his mother’s treatment of his chosen wife, had he let go of the last of his anger.

Sargon, again following Tashanella’s suggestion, had journeyed to Akkad with his wife, where she gave birth to Sargon’s first born, a daughter. When the proud parents returned to the Ur Nammu, Trella had accompanied them, to spend more time with her new granddaughter.

Time had changed Sargon. He’d grown into manhood even as he won the respect of the Ur Nammu for his quick wits and good sense. The Alur Meriki trusted him, too. He often spent time in their camp, visiting Chief Bekka or Den’rack, who had grown into another of Sargon’s friends and mentors.

Last year Bekka had promised one of his daughters to Sargon as a wife, as soon as she completed the rites. Once Sargon might have refused such an offer, but both Tashanella and Trella had advised him to accept the gift. Anything that joined the Ur Nammu, the Alur Meriki, and the Akkadians had to be considered carefully and treated with respect.

Not to mention that Sargon still had no son of his own. A year after he’d taken Tashanella as his wife, she had given him a girl for his first born. Less than a year later, a second child came, this time a boy, who died soon after birth.

None of that mattered now. The time for the endless planning and subtle diplomacy, so much a part of Lady Trella’s maneuverings, had passed. The warriors of the steppes rode to war. For them, this was a time of joy. Unlike Sargon’s civilized parents, the Alur Meriki relished the chance to strike a hard blow at their enemies.

By the end of the third day, the warriors had ridden far to the north, and entered deep into the foothills of the Zagros Mountains. Turning eastward, they followed the same path that three years earlier, the Alur Meriki had traversed when they departed the lands of the Indus and the Elamites.

The combined force of warriors continued the arduous journey, rapidly retracing the slow steps of the Alur Meriki, back toward the northernmost lands of Elam. Three days after the boys and old men turned back, Bekka and his men completed the journey through the northern foothills.

When the warriors climbed the last hill at the place where the high passes opened up to the south, they enjoyed a vista that revealed the vast and mostly barren high plains. Sargon had never beheld such an expanse. He estimated he could see more than four miles to the south and east.

But the land was empty, save for two Alur Meriki scouts who waited there to receive them. Sargon noticed that their horses were played out. These warriors had ridden hard. He recognized the markings on their lances. These were men from Den’rack’s clan, who had traveled in secret into the Elamite lands almost a month ago.

Sargon and Garal, taking their position just behind Bekka and Subutai, heard the scout’s words.

“Chief Bekka. . Chief Subutai.” The rider, a veteran warrior with more than forty seasons, nodded to Sargon as well. “Den’rack is waiting at the Jkarian Pass. We only just reached this place, to await your arrival, and to give you the news. Den’rack spotted a large force of Elamite cavalry, more than five thousand, as they rode toward the Jkarian Pass. Unless they stop, by this time tomorrow they’ll have entered the Pass. More of our scouts have ranged far to the south, and observed the village where the dirt-eaters were assembling to go through the Dellen Pass.”

Sargon heard Bekka’s grunt of frustration. “Have they started west?”

“Through the Dellen Pass?” The scout nodded. “Yes, three days ago. Den’rack said they move slowly, because there are so many of them.”

Sargon heard the bad news. His mother’s spies had estimated that the Elamites wouldn’t be starting for the two passes for another few days. That extra time would have given Bekka’s men plenty of time to get into position. Obviously the Elamites had moved sooner than expected. They, too, understood that Akkadian spies were everywhere.

Bekka turned to Sargon, who knew much more about how dirt-eater cavalry operated. “The soldiers going through the Dellen Pass do not concern us now. But how long would it have taken for the Elamites to reach your Engineer’s place in the Jkarian Pass?”

“At least three days, Chief Bekka,” Sargon said. “They would see no reason to hurry.”

Sargon saw the frown on Bekka’s forehead, and did the same calculation the Alur Meriki leader had just completed. Riding hard, it would take Bekka’s warriors two days to reach the mouth of the Jkarian Pass.

If Eskkar’s plan to block the Pass succeeded, the Elamite cavalry could already be on the way back. That meant the Alur Meriki warriors might soon have a large enemy force behind or even in front of them.

Sargon offered his own thoughts. “Chief Bekka, even if the trail is blocked, they will probably spend some time trying to get through. They will not likely just turn back at once.”

“It matters not.” Bekka, too, had come to the same conclusion. “We ride south, as planned.”

The march resumed, the warriors beginning the long descent to the valley floor. They continued moving at their usual pace, a combination of fast walk and occasional canter. At least two or three times each day, depending on the terrain, Bekka would give the order and the riders would dismount, to lead their horses on foot. At those times, Chief Bekka would set the pace, either a fast walk or a gentle jog that kept the ground passing beneath their feet.

From dawn to dusk, they rode, eating on the move, and resting only enough to keep the horses strong. By noon on the eighth day after setting out, the warriors reached the mouth of the Jkarian Pass. Standing atop a small plateau and less than a quarter mile from the mouth of the Pass, Den’rack and twenty of his men waited there to greet them.

For a man who had been riding through hostile lands for the last twenty-plus days, Den’rack seemed relaxed. He greeted Bekka, and the other war chiefs with his quick smile. The clan leaders gathered together — Bekka and his chiefs, Suijan, Prandar, Virani, and Subutai, along with Chinua and Fashod of the Ur Nammu.

While not actually a leader, Sargon took his usual place beside Bekka and Subutai. Garal and the other warriors crowded close around their commanders. On the trail, there were no secrets.

Den’rack waited until all the chiefs had taken their places. “King Eskkar’s plan to close the Pass has succeeded,” he said with a smile. “Two days ago, three riders galloped out of the Pass, messengers from General Jedidia, the Elamite who leads the expedition. We captured them and put them to the torture. They were more than willing to tell us what happened, in exchange for a quick death.”

Sargon had no trouble visualizing that interrogation. He’d seen warriors extract information from prisoners before. The three riders would have been separated, tortured, and questioned. If the three stories did not agree, the torture would resume, increasing in intensity, until the men pleaded for death. Only when their reports agreed would they have received a quick dispatch.

“They carried messages for both Lord Modran and for King Shirudukh, advising of the delay. This Jedidia claimed he would attempt to force his way through the landslide and continue his march. If not, he would send word that he was returning to Zanbil to resupply and follow Lord Modran’s soldiers through the Dellen Pass.”

“And nothing since then?” Bekka asked.

“No. My men watch the Pass very closely. No one has tried to enter it since General Jedidia’s soldiers went in. Only the three messengers we captured have come out.”

Bekka considered the information for a moment, then glanced at Sargon.

“He must make a serious effort to get through the blockage,” Sargon said. “He will have to stay until his supplies run low. To just give up would be too humiliating, and the Elamite King might not be pleased. My mother’s spies say that there is little trust among any of these Elamite leaders.”

“Then if the Pass is truly blocked,” Bekka said, “this Jedidia could come back through as early as today or tomorrow.”

“Perhaps.” Sargon shrugged, in much the same way as his father. “I think it more likely he will spend a few more days. But he will soon be behind us.”

“Then I will leave three men here to keep watch, and bring us warning when the enemy leaves the Pass.”

If Jedidia’s army emerged. Sargon heard the doubt in Bekka’s voice. Sargon also worried about Alcinor’s ability to close the Pass for more than a short time. But that didn’t matter any longer. Bekka gave the orders, and the great war party continued their way south, now deep into the lands of the Elamites and aiming for the Dellen Pass.

Despite the need for urgency, Bekka slowed the pace somewhat. So deep in hostile territory, the warriors dared not push their horses too hard, not when they might need their strength at any moment, either to attack or withdraw. They halted more often, to graze the animals. Fortunately Den’rack had traversed all these lands, and had already located the best sources of grass and water.

As for food, the warriors’ supply was running low. They had consumed more than expected, and Sargon knew that after tomorrow, the last of the food would be gone. If they didn’t find the supplies they needed, many of the spare horses would have to be butchered. No matter what the cost, the warriors needed to maintain their fighting strength.

Riding and walking, the warriors moved south, keeping the mountains and foothills on their right. They travelled on what Den’rack called the Upper Trail, a track that hugged the crest of the low foothills. About four miles to the south, another trail also led to the village of Zanbil.

The Upper Trail offered the most direct route, and would cut a day or so off the journey, versus the Lower Trail, which traversed mostly level terrain with more plentiful grasslands.

While the terrain of the Upper Trail might not be as favorable to dirt eaters, it presented little difficulty to the experienced horsemen of the steppes. And it took them straight toward their destination. Every warrior felt grateful for that. They had endured enough of the endless hills in their ride through the mountains.

By mid morning of the fourth day, the riders had covered more than two hundred miles, an incredible distance for such a large force. From their high vantage point they could see their destination. Directly ahead, no more than three or four miles, lay the opening to the Dellen Pass. Even if Den’rack had not pointed out the jutting ridgeline that extended down from the mountains, there was no mistaking the broad trail that descended to the plain. Thousands of men and horses had trampled the earth flat across a wide swath of ground.

“There is the village,” Den’rack swung his arm toward the southeast. “The dirt eaters call it Zanbil, about thirty or forty huts, two corrals for holding horses, and a third full of cattle. A small stream borders the village, flowing down from the foothills. All of Modran’s army passed through here, and a few soldiers still remain, guarding the supplies.”

Sargon craned his neck. Zanbil lay about three miles away, closer than the opening of the Pass. Everything seemed peaceful. No guards or scouts rode patrol around the depot. It meant, Sargon realized, that no one had detected the Alur Meriki warriors in their rapid journey.

That situation would not last long. By now someone must have seen the long column of riders heading south, and soon the word of a large force of barbarians would reach even this place.

To better study the landscape, Bekka, Suijan, and Subutai dismounted and moved on ahead, accompanied by Den’rack. For this engagement, Bekka had announced to the assembly of warriors that Suijan would be second in command, and Subutai would be third.

This arrangement satisfied the honor of both clans, and the Alur Meriki warriors understood they would not have to follow the orders of an Ur Nammu leader unless both Bekka and Suijan were dead. And by then, Sargon knew, whoever led the remaining fighters would matter little.

Sargon followed Bekka’s example. None of the clan leaders ever gave him direct orders. In battle, however, he would be expected to follow Subutai’s commands.

Standing in the shadow of a large boulder, the clan leaders studied the landscape. Den’rack identified the various landmarks, and pointed out the trails that led to the village from both the south and the east.

Sargon resisted the urge to offer suggestions. He knew that Bekka would give him an opportunity to speak, and if Sargon disapproved of the plan, he would make his thoughts known.

Chief Bekka didn’t take long to grasp the situation. “We need to cut the village off, so that no word of our attack escapes. Den’rack, you know the countryside best. You and Prandar will ride with Suijan, and guide him. Encircle the village to the east and south. Subutai and Virani will take their men straight toward Zanbil. Unegen and I will follow the foothills, and get between the Pass and Zanbil. We will make sure that no riders can slip past us to warn Modran.”

“Yes, Chief Bekka.” Den’rack couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. “We will need time to get into position.”

“Hurry, then,” Bekka answered. “Remember, not one man can escape.”

Out of sight of Zanbil, the warriors made their preparations. Soon nearly six hundred men departed. They would backtrack for nearly a mile. From there, Sargon knew they would turn east, keeping out of sight of the village, until they were in position.

Bekka leaned back against the boulder. “At least our men will get a chance to rest their horses. Once Suijan launches his attack, we will have to ride like the wind.”

Sargon stared at the village. It seemed peaceful enough, the soldiers there unaware of the terror that would soon be upon them. Still, this was war, and these men planned to destroy Akkad and the other cities in the Land Between the Rivers.

“Are you worried about something?” With the chiefs making their preparations, Garal had rejoined his companion.

Sargon smiled at his friend’s concern. “No, not any longer. During the ride, I had my doubts that we would arrive here unopposed. But it seems we will surprise the Elamites after all.”

“Perhaps some of your father’s luck now guides your footsteps.”

References to his father no longer troubled Sargon. “I hope it does. This campaign, there is much that can go wrong. Even if we drive the Elamites back, they may return again in a year or two, this time better prepared.”

“Did we not smash the Carchemishi, beat them so badly that few escaped our riders? They have withdrawn all the way to Carchemish, and who knows if they will ever have the stomach to ride into our lands again.”

“The Elamites are stronger than the foolish Carchemishi, and more cunning. But you may be right. My father thinks so, too. Beat them hard enough, show them they can’t win, he says, and their will to fight again will vanish.”

“The Alur Meriki, and the Ur Nammu, too, have fought many battles. But your father knows how to win. He has fought alone many times, like the day he slew Thutmose-sin. Out here, in these lands, if something goes wrong, we can just ride away. It takes much courage to stand in one place and face an enemy five or six times your number. And Subutai says Eskkar will have little chance to fall back if he is defeated. Yet he rode into the Dellen Pass to confront his enemy.”

“My father once told me that courage follows once you’ve picked your course of action. If the Pass can be held, he will hold it. His soldiers are both tough and skilled.”

The waiting continued. Bekka and the other leaders paced among the warriors, confirming that each man knew what he had to do. The horses were examined yet again, to make sure each mount had the stamina for one final charge. Men strung their bows and tested their draw. Arrows were loosened in quivers, and everyone sharpened their swords and knives. The tasks helped fill the time until Suijan and Den’rack completed their encircling movement.

Sargon heard a murmur pass through the warriors, as they caught sight of Suijan and his riders. Even before Bekka gave the order, men swung themselves up on their horses, everyone impatient to launch the attack.

Subutai, too, appeared more than ready to ride. Sargon and Garal mounted their horses, and took their place behind Chinua and Fashod.

Chief Bekka called out to Subutai and Virani, who acknowledged the command.

“We ride.” With those two words, Subutai led the way. The horses descended the final slope to reach the level ground. In moments, the Ur Nammu warriors spread out, dividing into three main groups. Now Chinua took the lead, with Sargon and Garal riding just behind the clan leader.

Glancing to his right, Sargon saw the long column of Bekka’s warriors also on the move. The terrain that led to their destination, the mouth of the Dellen Pass, was more rugged, and it would take them longer to reach their position.

Virani and Subutai’s men, now spread out in a wide line, kept the already excited horses to an easy canter. They held that pace for the first mile. Looking ahead, Sargon saw no signs of alarm, no Elamite soldiers scurrying about. Clutching his lance, Sargon watched the distance between the riders and the village close, until only a half mile remained.

By now, even the most careless of sentries would have heard the horses approaching. Subutai flashed his sword over his head, and the warriors burst into a gallop. At the same time, they voiced their war cries, the dreaded sound of the steppes warriors riding into battle.

Looking ahead, Sargon now observed the panic sweeping over the villagers. Some of the soldiers reached for their weapons, but most, after one look at the nearly five hundred warriors descending upon them, turned and ran, desperate to get to their horses.

But the Elamites had no chance. Even those who leapt onto their horses could already see the column of warriors approaching from the east, a long line of men that would stretch across the trail that led south. Suijan’s riders would extend that line until it reached the base of the foothills, blocking any chance of escape.

Subutai’s warriors thundered into the village. Sargon had expected the Elamites to resist, but there were far fewer soldiers than he anticipated, and only a handful tried to put up a fight. The horsemen, still screaming their war cries, launched arrows at anything that moved.

Standing or fleeing, the Elamites were cut down. Those who could not reach a horse ducked into the houses to hide, but the warriors were already swinging down from their mounts, to search each hut. When they emerged, blood streaked every sword blade.

Sargon ignored the chaos and the screams. He rode straight through the village, halting only when he reached the other side. No more than ten or fifteen Elamites had galloped away, but even as he watched, he saw Suijan’s men angling toward them. The desperate Elamites tried to dodge this new threat, but they were far too late. Within moments, Sargon witnessed the last of the fleeing riders riddled with arrows.

Satisfied that no enemy had slipped away, Sargon turned his horse back to the village. Screams now filled the air, not the sounds of men dying in pain, but those of the women. Captured, they would be raped before they found their own release in death. Sargon slipped down from his horse in front of the largest hut in the village. Subutai was there, and three Elamites, their hands tied behind their backs, knelt in the dirt before him.

Glancing at the prisoners, Sargon saw that they were all soldiers. One had taken a shaft in his left arm, another had a large bruise on his forehead.

Fashod and Chinua strode over, both smiling grimly. “Our men are searching the village,” Chinua said. “Every body will have a lance thrust into its throat, to make sure they are truly dead.”

“Are there any more prisoners?” Subutai glanced around what had once been the center of the village.

“No, Chief Subutai.” Fashod gestured toward the kneeling men. “Only these three, and the women.”

“Sargon will want to question them,” Subutai said. “Chinua, have some of your men help him. Tell our warriors to leave the women alive. They may be of use.”

The captured men did not speak the language of the steppes, but they realized that they were being discussed. Sargon saw the fear in their eyes. If they’d been standing, they would have collapsed to their knees. He moved to face them.

“I am Sargon, son of King Eskkar of Akkad. You are my prisoners, and you will answer my questions.”

He saw the surprise in their eyes that anyone riding with steppes warriors would speak their language. But for the last few months, Sargon had studied the Elamite tongue from a captured Elamite trader, snatched up from an ale house late at night, and taken to Annok-sur’s farm for interrogation. In exchange for his life, the prisoner promised to teach the Elamite speech to the Akkadians. When he’d finished that task, Annok-sur had sent the man north to the Ur Nammu, to teach Sargon.

Sargon had a good grasp of several languages, and he knew these men understood his words. “You will be separated, and I will question each of you. At least one of you will have a chance to live, as I intend to send a message to King Shirudukh. But anyone that hesitates, or if one of your answers does not match what the other two say, that man will go to the torture.”

Sargon gestured toward Garal, standing a few paces away. “The Ur Nammu prefer to let their women torture prisoners, but these warriors know the ways of pain. A pole sharpened at one end will be buried in the earth, and anyone who displeases me will sit on it. The pain will be intense, and it will take you at least a day before you die. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lord.” The oldest of the three, and only one not injured, bowed his head. “I will answer your questions.”

“Then I will see.” Sargon turned to Garal, and explained what he wanted.

The Elamites were dragged across the open space, until each was at least fifty paces away from one another. A warrior stood behind each of them, a club or stick in his hand, to ensure that answers would be both forthcoming and rapid.

Sargon started with the oldest. The man’s name, where he came from, why he went to war, how many men were with him, those easy questions established the pace. When he asked about Modran, the prisoner hesitated the slightest moment. Sargon nodded to the guard standing behind the man. The warrior, using both hands, swung his thick stick, likely part of a tent pole, across the Elamite’s back.

The blow knocked the man forward, wrenching a cry of pain from his lips. At first Sargon thought the guard had broken the captive’s back. With a grunt, the guard pulled the stunned soldier by his hair back onto his knees.

“There won’t be a next time,” Sargon remarked. “If I think you’re lying, or trying to hide information, you go on the stake. Once your companions hear your screams, they’ll be only too glad to tell me what I want to know.”

The interrogation took the rest of the afternoon. But before the sun began its descent, Sargon had all the information the prisoners possessed.

Bekka returned, and the clan chiefs gathered around. “The entrance to the Pass is secured,” Bekka said. “I ordered twenty riders into the Pass, to go in about three miles, and watch for anyone coming in either direction. If they see only a few riders heading for Zanbil, they’ll let them pass. If it’s a large force, they’ll return as fast as they can ride, to warn us. I’ve also stationed another twenty right at the entrance. They’ll stop anyone who tries to enter.”

Suijan spoke next. “I’ve ringed the village with riders. They’ll remain concealed, at least half a mile away, so that anyone trying to come to this place from the south won’t see them. No one will get in or out without our knowing it.”

Bekka turned to Subutai.

“There were sixty-four men and sixteen women in the village,” Subutai said. “We killed them all, except for the three Sargon wanted to question and nine women. None of our men were killed or wounded. The village is full of supplies, including grain and bread. There are ninety head of cattle in the pen, so we have more than enough to feed our men for five or six days. We captured thirty horses. I’ve everything under guard, until you decide how to dispose of them.”

Loot taken in battle belong to the clan leader. He determined how to distribute or destroy the material.

Bekka grunted. “We’ll eat our fill. Sargon can choose what to do with the rest.”

Eyes went to Sargon. “The three prisoners have told me what they know. Lord Modran’s army entered the Pass three days ago, around midday, with somewhere between twenty-eight thousand and thirty-thousand men. At least nine thousand were mounted, but the army travels slowly. Once in the Pass, with its steep hills, they’ll be unlikely to make more than fifteen or twenty miles a day.”

“Even so, by now they have probably encountered Eskkar’s forces. If they sent their cavalry on ahead, they would have found the Akkadians even sooner,” Bekka said. “That might cause Modran to pick up the pace.”

“Perhaps, but the prisoners said most of the horsemen were at the back of the column,” Sargon answered. “Still, even a few scouts might have encountered my father’s men by now.”

Armies comprised of foot soldiers and cavalry usually marched in two separate columns. In the narrow confines of the Dellen Pass, the soldiers would have led the way, so as to not be constantly stepping and slipping on horse dung.

“Well, that doesn’t concern us for now,” Bekka said. “Our task is to close the Pass and keep any supplies or men from entering. And that’s what we’re going to do, for as long as we can.”