Conflict of Empires (2010) (86 page)

“And that excuse, what will it be?”

Gatus’s rehearsed words sounded a bit awkward, but Eskkar doubted any of the soldiers listening nearby with open mouths would notice.

“We are going to strike at the head of the Sumerians. Shulgi is all that holds them together, when they see him fall, or turn to flee, the battle will be over. He has only fought against the desert horsemen, never fought a real battle. So I will take the fight to him. Let us see if he is willing to face me.”

One by one, he spoke to each commander, listened to what they had to say, answered any questions. None, he saw with satisfaction, needed any reassurance. All of them wanted to close with the enemy as much as he did.

When everyone had had their say, Eskkar stood. “Make no mistake. Shulgi is a strong leader and his men will fight hard. But he lacks experience, and we will take advantage of that. We’ve trained for this battle for months. Tomorrow is the day we will win it. Commanders, repeat my words to those who could not be close enough to hear our voices. I want every man to know what he’ll face, and what to do. Then tell them to get as much rest as they can.”

He picked up the map and tossed it to his clerk, who had stood nearby, open-mouthed, during Eskkar’s speech. The map wouldn’t be needed any more. “All of you will lead your men bravely, I know. Our soldiers have already proven themselves. They, like you, will know what to do. And tell them that I am proud to lead them into battle. And after we win, the spoils of Sumer will be ours. Good hunting to all of us tomorrow.”

The fire had nearly burned out, and this time no one thought to replenish it. Eskkar strode into the darkness, but not to try and rest. Instead, he walked through the camp, talking to the men, repeating parts of what he’d said earlier. Again and again he spoke, each time with a hundred or more men clustered about him, more than a few reaching out to touch his arm. Many were in awe of him, of his reputation. He used that trust now. He had to rely on them tomorrow, and they needed to know that.

As Trella had told him time after time, win the loyalty of your men
and they will follow you wherever you lead. Long ago she had foretold him that that someday a thousand men or more would follow him into battle, no matter what the odds. At the time, he thought she spoke without thinking, or more likely, without understanding how hard it would be to command so many men. But as he’d often found with Trella, she always chose her words with care, and meant what she said. Tomorrow her prophecy would come true. Eskkar intended to lead Akkad’s soldiers against a mighty host, and he knew how much risk they all faced.

At last Grond, who had stayed at Eskkar’s side as he moved throughout the camp, put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “It’s past midnight, Captain. You’ve spoken to enough of our men. They’ll spread your words. Time to get some rest, or you’ll be too tired to stand in the morning, let alone fight.”

They returned to the camp fire, one of the few that still burned this late into the night. Eskkar threw himself down on his blanket. The stars shone overhead, and he remembered another night watching the stars cross the heavens, and knowing a fight to the death waited in the morning. Balthazar, an old shepherd, had taught him about the mysteries of the starry heavens that night. Eskkar wondered if the old man had found the peaceful life that he sought, surrounded by his kin. Balthazar might even still be alive. When this battle was over, if Eskkar survived, he decided he would send word to the shepherd, perhaps invite him to come visit Akkad. He was, after all, a companion in arms, one of the few who had fought at Eskkar’s side in the old days.

Tired as Eskkar felt, sleep would not come. He knew that many of his men would be lying there, staring at the same heavens and wondering if they would live to see the sun set once again. Or wondering if they could face the enemy with courage. Tonight they would think about death and dying, about pain and blackness. Tomorrow they would stare into the eyes of their enemies. Each man would fight, not for Akkad, not for Eskkar, but to hold the respect of the men who stood beside him, his friends and companions. These men had trained together for months or even longer, and now the bonds of brotherhood would hold them fast, side by side, in the face of the enemy.

He knew one thing for certain. Tomorrow a lot of men were going to die. His soldiers would follow him because he would lead, and they would show no fear. But deep down, inside their bowels, they would be afraid nonetheless.

Eskkar had experienced fear before, but never felt the battle dread, nor the fear that sometimes gripped men the night before a battle, banishing sleep. But he worried nevertheless. The fate of Akkad might be decided tomorrow, even Trella’s life and that of his son, determined by the deaths of thousands of men he would lead into battle.

He looked again at the sky. The stars seemed so peaceful as they moved across the night, but the priests claimed that the tiny sparks of light could foretell a man’s future. Eskkar wished he knew more about them, enough to read the ending to tomorrow’s battle. That meant more than his own fate. As long as Akkad defeated the Sumerians, he would be satisfied.

Finally, he decided there was no use lying there, that he might as well be up and about. Instead, he closed his eyes for one last moment of rest, and fell into a troubled sleep.

G
rond, stretched out beside his friend, saw his captain’s body relax, and heard the soft snoring. Thank the gods, he thought. His friend would need all his strength in the morning. Grond let his own eyes close, though he slept lightly through the darkness, waking often and making sure each time that all was well, and that Eskkar’s restless sleep continued without interruption.

Day 12

I
t seemed to Eskkar that he had just closed his eyes when Grond awoke him. Eskkar jerked himself upright. Sounds of men moving about were all around him, not the loud morning sounds of men yawning and complaining themselves awake, but the softer sound of men rising and preparing for battle, and trying to do it with as little noise as possible. When he got to his feet, Eskkar realized that everyone else was already fully awake. A quick glance at the fading moon told him dawn approached.

“Nothing to see yet, Captain.” Grond held a heavy sack in his hand. “Gatus is moving the men in shifts down to the river and back, telling them to drink all they can hold. Every water skin will be filled.”

Grond dropped the sack, and Eskkar heard a clanking noise from within. “A gift from Trella,” Grond said, as he untied the cord that held the sack closed. He lifted a bronze breastplate. “She says you’re to wear this when you ride to battle. Yavtar’s been lugging this up and down the Tigris and Euphrates for days. Says he’s glad to finally be rid of it. I think he was afraid someone would steal it.”

Eskkar started to protest but Grond cut him off. “Don’t argue, Captain. You’ll need this today. Every archer will be aiming at your heart, and we can’t afford to lose you. At least until the battle’s won. Trella told me not to give it to you until just before the battle, so that you wouldn’t have a chance to lose it.”

“Naxos had one like that.” Eskkar had never worn a breastplate. They were difficult to make and cost a great deal of gold. “Will it even fit me?”

“We’ll see. Hold this.” Grond handed Eskkar the breastplate, picked up the back protector and began lacing the two parts together across Eskkar’s shoulders. A few quick tugs, and it slid into place. The two pieces fit perfectly, and Eskkar suddenly remembered Trella a few months ago spending what seemed like half a morning measuring him for a new tunic.

Grond fastened the sides together just above Eskkar’s waist, and the breastplate settled onto his chest.

Eskkar took a deep breath, half expecting to find some excuse to avoid wearing the armor. He felt the weight of the bronze, but it moved smoothly and didn’t seem to affect his breathing. Nor did it seem that heavy, with its weight distributed over his shoulders. At least for now.

Gatus strode over. “About time you were up. Thought you were going to sleep right through the fight. Did he give you any trouble about the bronze?” Gatus wore armor himself, but made of thick leather.

“No, Gatus. I think I caught him before he fully woke. He hardly protested.”

“Well, then that’s taken care of. I had half a dozen men waiting to force him into it.”

Gatus laughed at the thought, and Eskkar wasn’t sure if he meant it or not. With Gatus, you never knew for certain.

“The last of the food has been handed out, and the men are swelling their bellies with water. Everyone’s pissing like mad, either from too much to drink or because they’re scared to death. Watch where you step, there’s shit everywhere. I swear there’s not a tight bowel in any of them. Even I dropped a good load, always a good sign.”

With the reminder, the strong odors of urine and shit caught Eskkar’s attention. The urge to relieve himself became urgent, and he, too, decided to walk down to the river. It was going to be a long and hot day. He splashed into the cool water and washed his face and hands, then drank until he could hold no more, forcing himself to swallow long after his thirst was satisfied, until his belly protested it could hold no more.

His commanders were moving everyone into position when he returned. Grond waited there, holding Eskkar’s horse. The first rays of the sun were starting to lighten the eastern sky, and soon the sun would lift itself above the land of Sumeria. If the Sumerians planned to attack at dawn, they would find the Akkadians ready and waiting.

Grond handed Eskkar a loaf of bread. Eskkar saw there was only one loaf, and broke it in two, giving half back to his bodyguard. “Don’t argue. You’ll need your strength today, too.”

He swung up onto the horse. Boy snorted and pawed the earth, sensing the excitement in the air. To Eskkar’s surprise, he felt relief. For two years he dreaded the coming of this day, even hoped it would never come. Now there was nothing left to think about. He recalled his father’s words: Just kill the man in front of you, and don’t worry about anything else. Well, father, today we’ll see how well you’ve taught me.

The edge of the sun cleared the horizon, and flooded the land with the day’s first light. Everyone searched the landscape, but no enemy moved toward them, though in the distance Eskkar could see plenty of movement from the enemy camp. Sumerian commanders would be moving their men into position as well, though he doubted the task would be done as smoothly as the Akkadians.

“Move the men out, Gatus. And good hunting to you today.”

The old soldier had replaced his usual wide-brimmed hat with a bronze helmet that covered his forehead and protected the back of his neck almost to his shoulders. But he kept the hat with him, hanging by a loop from his belt. Eskkar understood. The battle might not start for some time, and the bronze helmet would heat quickly in the sun.

With the first rays of the sun, the men’s spirits rose. Throughout the camp, men shouted orders, heard them repeated and expanded. Leaders of ten cursed their slow-moving men, pushing the laggards still brushing the sleep from their eyes into position. The spearmen moved out first, leading the way. They marched in a three-deep formation. The archers wearing their leather caps and vests fell into place behind them. Eskkar and Grond guided their horses out of their way, and joined Hathor and Fashod. Shappa and Nivar followed the horsemen, striding along behind them.

“Well, we’ve given them the first surprise.” Hathor jerked his head toward the Sumerian camp. “I don’t think they expected us to be marching toward them.”

“Let’s hope that’s not all they don’t expect. Fashod, your men are ready?”

“Ready? I can scarcely keep them in check. The thought of killing so many dirt-eaters at one time is more than they can stand.”

Eskkar smiled at the Ur Nammu warrior’s words. He hadn’t used the term “dirt-eater” for months now, out of politeness to his allies. “Just keep
them under control until I give the signal. Hathor, you’d better take your place as well. Good hunting to you.”

“And to you, my king.” No mere title of courtesy sufficed this day.

The Akkadians kept moving, taking their time. The spearmen marched with their left flank against the Euphrates. They carried their spears loosely, dangling them at arm’s length in their right hands. Each spear now showed a thick wrapping just behind the center of the shaft, to provide a better grip. Bronze helmets glinted in the rising sun. As they stepped forward, Eskkar heard the subcommanders keeping order, making sure the line moved as one. Even today – or maybe today of all days – discipline had to be maintained, and a united front presented to their enemies. Leaders of ten and twenty gave their own commands, to keep each group in its proper place and position.

Just as they were trained, Eskkar thought, watching the familiar spectacle of men moving in formation. He’d seen Gatus march his men out a hundred – maybe two hundred – times before. Well, the routine orders would keep everyone’s mind off the enemy waiting for them. Eskkar knew that the Sumerians would be sweating already. Despite their greater numbers, they knew they would face a determined force.