The King of Isin, away from the treacherous mountains at last, seemed more relaxed. The prospect of fighting against a superior force apparently didn’t bother him.
As Daro watched, Hathor and Naxos scratched out lines on the top of the boulder, and went over the assignments and the order of march one last time. When they finished, Luka dashed off back into the hills, to bring the vanguard of the cavalry down to the beach. It would take time for the entire force to work its way through the last part of the narrow trail and assemble here.
Hathor turned to Daro. “Are you and your men ready? You’ll be on your own.”
“Better that, than galloping across the country,” Daro laughed. “My men are archers and boatmen, not horse fighters. As long as we can capture at least two boats, we’ll take our chances on the sea.”
“Then we’d better get moving.” Naxos turned his face away from the sea. “Hathor, post lookouts, and let’s get the men formed up as soon as we can. The quicker I get away from these damned hills, the better.”
“Remember, we just need to make sure that none of the boats get into the water,” Daro said. “If even one of them escapes to the sea, it will put all of us in danger.”
“We’ll do our best,” Hathor said. “You’ll ride with us?”
“Oh, yes. I need to see the boats, and I might have to get two or three of them into the water as quickly as possible. If any do escape, I might have to pursue. Hopefully, by the time we’re ready, no more will be arriving so late in the day.”
By mid afternoon, the last of King Naxos’s force finally emerged from the hills and joined the march westward. The long column of horses plodded along, not on the sandy beach, but farther inland, along the grassy belt that sprouted at the base of the hills.
A refreshing sea breeze in the men’s faces marked a dramatic change from the hot and still air of the mountains. For the first time in many days, the soldiers felt at ease. Even the prospect of a fierce battle against a numerically superior force didn’t seem to give them any concern.
The horsemen rode in two thick columns, with riders four abreast in each column. Despite the eight man wide front, the double line of horsemen stretched back almost a mile and a half.
Naxos wanted a slow pace, which made sense to Daro, who rode beside Hathor at the head of the column closest to the water. The Elamite army had trodden this same path, and hopefully the men at the beach would think this new approaching force just another, late arriving, part of the army. After all, Daro reasoned, enemies would not approach at a walk.
Soon the enemy camp could be seen, and Daro took a quick count. Eleven boats, far more than he had expected, lay in a jagged line on the sandy beach, out of the surf and well above the high water mark.
He saw no signs of crews loading or unloading cargoes, so the work must be finished for the day. Some of the empty boats likely would push out to sea and set sail for Elam at first light tomorrow. No doubt the others waited for Sumer to fall, so they could stuff their holds with captured loot before returning home.
Now, however, the boat masters and their sailors rested from their long voyage. With any luck, Daro prayed, half of them would be swilling wine or ale stolen from the cargo. The more he thought about it, Daro decided that many of them would be drunk. Sailors had uncanny skills at tapping into and skimming portions of the kegs, skins, or jars that carried ale and wine intended solely for the army’s commanders.
The blue waves topped with white foam of the Great Sea beat and fell upon the shore, moving back and forth with a powerful regularity that drew the eye. The sounds of the surf rumbling onto the sand added to the pleasant ride. Cool air blew off the water, refreshing soldiers who had sweltered among the rocks during the long journey south. Even the horses showed more spirit, apparently enjoying the softer mix of sand and grass beneath their hooves.
By now Daro could see the entire cove. No one in the camp paid any attention to their approach. He reminded himself that thousands of Elamite soldiers had made the same journey along the coast, and this would appear to be just one more contingent of soldiers joining the campaign.
Daro kept his position alongside Hathor. The column closest to the water was comprised of Akkadians. Naxos led the second column. All the men had been ordered to ride slumped on their horses, and to look both weary and bored, as if they had just completed a long journey. The King had also warned them not to gape like fools at the sight of the water, the first time most of these men had ever seen the Great Sea.
“Might as well turn toward them,” Naxos called out. He led the column closest to the hills. “We’d be expected to stop and talk.”
By now they were within five hundred paces of the camp. Two pennants flew about fifty paces apart, one yellow with black trim, and the other crimson with some emblem stitched in its center. As Daro watched, two men swung up onto horses and trotted out to meet them.
Without turning his head, Hathor gave the first order. “Pass the word. No one is to reach for a weapon until I give the command. ”
The two Elamites cantering toward them suspected nothing. One wore a brightly colored cloth wrapped around his head, with a glistening gemstone set in the fastening band. A sword hung from his waist. The other, unarmed, looked more like a servant than a guard. Daro surmised they were used to seeing strange folk in their empire. They halted their horses twenty paces from the head of the column. Naxos raised his right arm, and the vanguard eased their horses to a stop.
The leader of the Elamites spoke, his words an odd combination of gutturals and higher pitched sounds. Daro, though fluent in the language of southern Elam, had trouble understanding the meaning. Naxos didn’t bother to reply to their incomprehensible language. Instead he kicked his horse into motion, drawing his sword as the same time.
For a moment, the man just stared at the horse and rider rushing toward him, flashing death in his hand. The Elamite didn’t know whether to draw his sword or turn to flee. Before he could do either, Naxos’s sword swung down, striking at the base of the man’s neck.
Hathor, too, had urged his horse forward. But he reached for his lance, swinging it up in a smooth motion that bespoke years of practice. The servant, his eyes wide with shock, whirled his horse around, but before he could get it to a gallop, Hathor’s powerful arm flung the bronze tipped weapon, and Daro saw it bury itself into the man’s back.
With a roar, the entire column surged forward. Daro saw horses flash by him on either side, as the better riders overtook him. Nevertheless, he followed Hathor who headed directly toward the gap between the water and the boats. The Akkadians had their orders — to seize those vessels and kill their crews.
Naxos, meanwhile, led his horsemen straight ahead. The first few hundred riders would swing past the Elamite camp, to prevent any chance of their fleeing toward Sumer and their allies. Only when that escape route was closed would he and his men turn and attack.
The riders had nearly reached the camp before the Elamites grasped the horror approaching them. Many were sailors, porters, and camp followers. Little more than a hundred fighting men found themselves facing thousands of fast charging horsemen.
Panic reigned, as the Elamites rushed about. Some reached for weapons, others tried to get to their horses. But by then, hundreds of Akkadian cavalry had galloped past, cutting off any way of escape. A few of the Elamites tried to fight their way through, while others rode into the surf, but they never had a chance. Akkadian bowmen soon brought down all those attempting to flee. Soon blood stained the sands, as the Elamites died, most without ever striking a blow against their attackers.
The crews of the ships reacted faster than the soldiers. They rushed back to their boats, frantic to get them into the water and away from the shore.