“You sound like old Gatus.” Eskkar grinned at his infantry commander. “Always eager to make his men sweat.”
Alexar laughed. “Well, Gatus would be happy to be here and see what we’ve done.”
“He would be proud of these men, and of all of you,” Eskkar agreed. “The veterans tell the new men stories about how hard training was in the old days, and how easy the recruits have it today.”
Gatus had been dead for more than eight years, yet many of the men still spoke of him as if they’d suffered one of his tongue lashings only yesterday. Eskkar, too, missed the old warrior, who had befriended Eskkar and Trella early on, and remained loyal to the very end. At least he had died as he wanted, in his sixtieth season, fighting with his companions.
“Let’s hope his spirit is watching over us.” Alexar took one last look at the enemy hilltop. “I think we’re going to need him.”
Thutmose-sin spent the rest of that day and half of the next on the hilltop, watching the Akkadians, while he waited for the remainder of his forces to arrive. His enemy kept busy. Gangs of dirt eaters moved rocks from the base of the cliff, the stream bed and the water itself. They scattered these in a wide belt along the bank, creating an obstacle for ten paces as the ground sloped up and away from the flowing water.
With the west side of the stream littered with the smooth river rocks, they repeated the process on the east bank. Then, to further stymie the Alur Meriki warriors, they started piling more stones on the far side, to provide their bowmen with some protection, at least for their lower legs.
The speed of the Akkadians impressed him. In less than a day, they created a barrier on the west side of the stream that would slow any charge. Any horses that managed to make it through the rocks and across the stream would find even more dangerous footing on the Akkadian side. Nor would his bowmen shoot their arrows effectively while guiding their mounts through the water’s current and past the field of stones.
In yet another affront to the Alur Meriki, the hated Akkadian archers set up some target butts. Thutmose-sin watched as groups of bowmen took turns practicing with their long bows, launching the heavy shafts that could bring down a horse at close range, let alone stop a man. Those tall bowmen with their brawny arms would launch two or three arrows before his warriors rode into range.
Nor were the archers the only ones practicing. Groups of slingers flung stones at the cliff face. He could see the puffs of stone chips fly off the hard rock wall. Small of stature, they looked like boys at this distance. Some had used ropes to scale the cliffs on the west side of the stream. From those heights, they would hurl their missiles at any approaching warriors. More important, they ended Thutmose-sin’s idea of sending a band of his fighters to slip over the north end of the stream, clamber through the rocks, and catch the Akkadians unaware.
The steepness of the south cliff, where the flowing water disappeared into the ground, prevented even Akkad’s slingers from using it to advantage. No enemy could work his way through those rocks, to attack from behind.
Thutmose-sin didn’t fully understand the purpose of the Akkadian slingers. He’d used a sling himself as a boy. But somehow the traitor Eskkar had created a whole class of fighters using what Alur Meriki warriors considered a toy for women and children. Scattered across the cliff, or mixed in with the rest of Eskkar’s fighters, they would no doubt add to the killing of his men. Otherwise, the traitor would not have brought them, instead of more bowmen or spearmen.
The Alur Meriki had never faced slingers before, and while he doubted they would be as dangerous as archers, they might take their toll. What effect they would have on the battle remained to be seen.
The foot soldiers, spearmen as they were called, presented another unknown. Thutmose-sin knew his warriors had ridden down bands of dirt eaters armed with spears in the past, but the Akkadians had brought two hundred of these fighters to this place, and they, too, were an unknown.
Even at this distance, he could see the spearmen moving back and forth as they practiced, thrusting with their spears from behind shields. The spears looked to be both thick and long, and the bulky shields appeared solid enough to stop an arrow or turn a sword stroke.
For Thutmose-sin’s warriors scrambling up from the stream and picking their way through the rocks, the spears would be a daunting weapon to face. A powerful thrust could impale a rider before he could bring his sword to bear. Nor would horses willingly charge a bristling line of sharp spear points.
Of course if his warriors could ride back and forth, launching their arrows, the spearmen would be cut down soon enough. But the Akkadian archers and slingers would make sure that tactic failed.
The six hundred horse fighters Thutmose-sin counted also looked dangerous. If they had truly learned how to shoot a bow from the back of a fast moving horse, they presented a threat as dangerous as another steppes clan. Their presence ended any hope of sending an Alur Meriki force of warriors to the Akkadian rear.
However many Thutmose-sin dispatched on the two day trek, they would only find themselves facing these horsemen after a long ride, and the Alur Meriki would be that much weaker on this side of the stream. Scouts on the cliffs would see his warriors coming in plenty of time for the Akkadians to shift their soldiers and counter the attack.
Man for man, Thutmose-sin had no doubt his warriors were superior. They had, after all, learned to ride almost as soon as they could sit on the back of a horse. But Eskkar had chosen his place of battle well. Most Alur Meriki tactics relied on movement and skill with a horse. Those would be less effective in this enclosed pass through the foothills.
And if Eskkar had trained and prepared his men for a steppes battle, Thutmose-sin had to respect their strength. They’d out-fought his warriors before.
The odd mixture of forces Eskkar had established on the west bank worried Thutmose-sin. He didn’t know how effective they might be in a combined effort. On an open plain, the Alur Meriki could hurl their entire force at a single point, and nothing could withstand that. But here, the cursed stream with its desperately needed flowing water prevented the warriors’ best tactic.
Midday had just passed when Bekka returned from his duties and rejoined his Sarum on the crest. A fresh bandage covered his thigh, now marked by only a trace of blood.
“The last of our men have arrived, Sarum. There can’t be more than a handful who haven’t ridden in.”
Thutmose-sin turned away from the enemy camp. He’d seen all he needed. “What is the count now?”
“Over twenty-two hundred warriors,” Bekka answered.
That included more than four hundred old men and young boys, fit to ride and capable of holding a sword, called up from the caravan. These would take their station in the front ranks, to take the first rush of arrows from the Akkadians. Many, if not most, of the old and young would sacrifice their lives to allow his seasoned warriors to close with their enemy.
“Then it is time to prepare.” Thutmose-sin rose and swung onto the back of his horse. “Ride ahead and summon the clan leaders.”
As Bekka rode off, Thutmose-sin took one last look at the Akkadians. Obviously they didn’t have more than a few days supply of food, and by now the first stirrings of hunger might be making itself felt.
The invaders had dragged a few dead horses from the stream and gutted them. That would give each man a fistful of raw meat, since the bare ground held little in the way of firewood. Too much uncooked flesh made men sick, but it would take several days for that to happen.
Meanwhile, his own men had nearly emptied the last of their water skins. The thirsty horses, who could scent the water just over the hill, would soon be more than restive. At last Thutmose-sin turned his horse’s head aside, and followed Bekka’s path back to camp.