At least twenty times along the way, Eskkar had cursed himself for not bringing more pack animals. Another twenty added to the thirty he had started with would have made a difference.
All that didn’t matter now. Eskkar halted A-tuku and watched as his men stumbled by, all of them grateful there were no more cursed hills to climb. He could see Hathor’s position below, the men spread out along the stream. A line of alert guards surrounded the camp, most of them watching the east. Eskkar could also see the bodies of men and horses scattered between the far side of the stream and the base of the next hill.
Shading his eyes, Eskkar squinted toward the hill on the far side of the stream. Twenty or thirty mounted Alur Meriki scouts stared back at their Akkadian counterparts. He had no idea how many warriors might be encamped behind the hill. That too, no longer mattered. All that mattered was that Hathor’s cavalry had reached the Khenmet and held it against the warriors.
He knew the details of yesterday’s fight from the pair of scouts Hathor had dispatched to find Eskkar, and help guide him in.
Hathor rode up the hill to join his commander. “Good to see you, Captain.”
“Not as glad as I am to see you alive.” Eskkar always tried to keep his emotions under control, but this time he didn’t bother to hide his relief. He gestured toward the enemy. “Any more attacks?”
“No. More barbarians are arriving, but we gave them a belly full of arrows in yesterday’s skirmish. Whoever led that attack was a fool.”
“We may not be so lucky next time. When the whole Clan gets here, their war leaders will know how to mount an attack.”
“Any trouble on the way in?”
Eskkar shook his head. “No, but a few of their scouts watched us from the hilltops. They never came close. Must have seen Mitrac’s men with their long bows.”
The two men rode down the hill and into the camp. Eskkar swung down from A-tuku and stretched, forcing the stiffness from his muscles. He led the bay to the stream and let it drink, then handed the animal over to one of his guards. The horse might object to strangers riding it, but had learned to accept grooming and care from Eskkar’s personal guards.
Meanwhile, a crowd of Hathor’s men had bunched up around the just arrived pack animals, and soon seven or eight sacks containing stale bread, dried apples, figs, and dates, all foods that traveled well, were ripped open to feed Hathor’s hungry men.
Eskkar strode over to where Drakis and Alexar stood with Draelin, staring across the stream. Using his bow, Draelin pointed out the various points of attack. Soon Mitrac, Muta, and Shappa joined the group.
Eskkar listened as Draelin recounted the fight, explaining how the Khenmet’s flowing water had slowed the charge and disrupted the barbarians’ ability to control their mounts and use their bows. Each of the commanders had questions, but by then, Eskkar knew everything he needed to know. Ignoring the conversation, he focused his attention on the enemy hilltop.
Ten or twelve new barbarian riders had joined the others on the crest. They sat on their horses and stared at those who had dared to block their path. Every one of them would want vengeance for their unburied dead still lying on the ground.
The talk died down, and the men turned to their leader. Eskkar set aside his thoughts.
“Well, we’re here now, with our men and supplies intact. All of you have done well. Now the hard fighting will start.”
Eskkar let the sobering words sink in for a moment. “Alexar, Mitrac, take your subcommanders and prepare for another attack, and this time it will be with every man they have. See how you can best arrange the men, and if there’s anything we can do to make our position stronger.” Alexar knew how to build a stout defensive position, and then defend it. “Lay out as many stones as you can. We’ve plenty of those, if nothing else.”
Alexar had worked with old Gatus on defensive positions until he died, and then with Bantor. And Mitrac’s bowmen would find the best positions to cover the approaches.
“Shappa, take your slingers and study the cliffs.” Eskkar gestured toward the towering rock face. “See if you can get a few of your men up there. I don’t want the barbarians to take the high ground and start shooting arrows down at our men. The more men we can put up there, the better.”
Shappa stared up at the steep rocks. “I hope we brought enough ropes, Captain.”
“If any of your men threw theirs away on the journey, let me know. They’ll go up first, and without any ropes.”
The slingers had brought plenty of rope with them, along with a few hammers and some bronze chisels. Eskkar knew Shappa would not report any of his men who had discarded their ropes. The master slinger would deal with such an offense himself.
Eskkar turned to Hathor and Muta. “As soon as Alexar stakes out his position, you’ll station your horsemen. The barbarians may try to get some of their riders behind us, if they aren’t already moving into position. We may need to fight on two fronts. If they don’t attack our rear, assign your bowmen to stand beside the others facing the stream. Make sure that both you and your commanders know Alexar’s plans.”
The Akkadian leaders, mounted on their horses, would present an easy target for any enemy bowmen. If Hathor and Muta were killed, their subcommanders must know what to do. In battle, confusion reigned, and once soldiers stopped fighting to ask for orders, the battle would be lost.
Eskkar nodded in satisfaction as his commanders moved off and the camp stirred itself with activity. There remained much to prepare before the next attack, but his commanders knew what to do. All of them were veterans of at least one major battle. If they wanted to live through the next few days, they would make sure their men were ready.
Thutmose-sin guided his best stallion, a tall and rangy gray, up the slope. He’d ordered the standard bearers, and other trappings that indicated the presence of the Sarum, to remain behind and out of sight. When he reached the crest, only two bodyguards attended him, accompanied by the three chiefs invited to join him.
Once atop the hill, Bekka led the way along the crest, until the four clan leaders reached the best position to examine the force of dirt eaters below.
Only moments ago, Thutmose-sin had ordered the survivors of Chulum’s Clan to be merged with that of Bekka’s. No one, not even Chulum’s kin, voiced any opposition. Chulum had acted like a fool or a loud talker on his first raid, and Bekka had done well to kill him, saving Thutmose-sin the trouble of having to deal with the man. Still, because of Chulum’s stupidity, the Alur Meriki had lost many irreplaceable fighters.
After making the decision vindicating Bekka, Thutmose-sin had spoken to the remaining warriors in Chulum’s clan. That action had elicited many angry looks, and Thutmose-sin had taken time to make sure the Serpent Clan understood their position. They had disgraced themselves before a force of dirt eaters, and for that offense, their clan was no more.
Thutmose-sin set all those thoughts aside as he settled his horse alongside Bekka’s and stared down at the stream. He saw the bodies, men and horses, lying where they’d fallen two days ago. The death smell, held at bay by the cooler air of foothills, hadn’t spread through the basin yet, though there would be plenty of flies buzzing about and feasting on the ripe flesh. “No arrows in the bodies.”
“No, Sarum. The dirt eaters recovered them, along with the weapons and anything else of value from our warriors.” Bekka made no excuses for not preventing it.
Thutmose-sin understood. Looting the bodies and collecting the weapons of the fallen would have been the first order of business for the dirt eaters. As long as men had been fighting, the living always took from the dead.
He lifted his gaze to the stream. The glistening flow glinted in the sunlight. Already his riders lacked enough water for their mounts, and the men’s dry mouths would soon be protesting as well. The Akkadians had plenty of water, and doubtless enough food for a few days.