“As long as they can keep up with us, they can come,” Naxos had declared at the war council. “If they can cause some mischief with the enemy supplies, so much the better.”
Daro recognized the doubt in King Naxos’s voice. The King of Isin had little expectation that Daro’s efforts would amount to much.
And so the river archers had walked their horses all the way from Akkad to the sea, following the cavalry, and stepping through endless piles of horse droppings the entire distance. Daro’s small troop of bowmen wouldn’t be of much use in the coming battle north of Akkad or even at Sumer, but here, on the beach, they just might fulfill a much larger role.
As Daro glanced around at the ruins of the enemy camp, he knew the first part of the plan had gone perfectly. His men had captured three large and sturdy ships, vessels capable of moving with ease through the powerful coastal flows of the Great Sea. Just as important, they also had all the weapons, food, and water they might need. The more difficult part had just begun — putting the ships into the water and preparing them for war.
By nightfall, Daro could barely stand. He’d raced his horse back and forth across the beach too many times to count. Fifty paces behind the dunes his men found a small ravine, and soon began dumping the bodies, with the help of the horses. Daro had to order a few men into the pit with the bodies, to arrange them as close together as possible, so that no space was wasted.
When the last Elamite body slid into the ravine, the men scooped and kicked sand over the dead. It wasn’t much of a grave, but they managed to at least cover the corpses. In the morning, Daro would have them do a better job, collecting more sand and tossing as many rocks as possible over the bodies. He didn’t want a flock of sea or carrion birds screaming and circling over the site, alerting any observer that something was amiss.
Daro finally trudged over to the two prisoners, starting with the common sailor first. Daro sat down on the sand facing the man, his face still streaked with dried blood.
“What’s your name?” Daro spoke in the common language, used by sailors and traders along the coast of the Great Sea.
“Pettraka, Lord.”
“Would you like some water?” The prisoner looked as dry as the sand beneath him.
“Yes, Lord. Please.”
Daro glanced at the guard and held out his hand. The bored soldier tossed over a water skin. Daro quenched his own thirst, but made no move to share any with the prisoner.
“Tell me about the boats. When is the next boat coming?”
“I. . I don’t know, Lord. I’m just an oarsman. All I do is row.”
“Show me your hands.”
The man lifted his bound hands. Daro saw the thick calluses that covered his palms and fingers, and the powerful muscles in his arms. A simple rower.
With a few questions, Daro learned all he needed. The man’s ship had arrived in the early afternoon, carrying food and grain for the horses. The sailor knew nothing else of value.
Daro stood, and handed the man the water skin. “From now on, you will row for Akkad, if you wish to live.” He let the man have a few swallows, enough to quench his thirst, then pulled the skin from his grasping hands. Daro didn’t want the prisoner to regain his strength just yet.
The beach still bustled with activity. The ships, their bottoms hacked out, remained useful as a source of fire wood. Their deck planks would also make excellent shields. The men had discovered two saws, and were busy cutting the wood.
Daro strolled over to where the second prisoner sat. One look at the man’s tunic, and Daro knew Hathor had indeed captured either a ship captain or one of the beach commanders. Again he eased himself to the sand, this time stretching out his legs. He glanced at the man’s parched lips and jiggled the water skin.
“Your name?” This time Daro spoken in the language of the Elam.
The man, of about forty seasons, licked his dry lips and glanced around the beach, as if searching for help. Matted sand still clung to his hair and beard, both speckled with gray. His once fine tunic revealed that he had soiled himself, either from fright or because the guards hadn’t allowed him to move since he’d been captured.
“If you won’t talk, then you’re of no use to me. I’ll have you beaten to death.”
“And if I do talk to you?”
The hoarse words, spoken in Akkadian, came out in a rasp, and with only the slightest trace of an accent. Daro smiled at his good fortune. “First, you’ll have some water to drink. Then, if your words are helpful, you may live. Otherwise. .”
The man didn’t take long to decide. “Water. Please.”
“Your name. I’ll not ask you again.”
“Kedor of Sushan. I am the owner and master of that ship, the one with red eye painted on the bow,” he inclined his head towards one of the three intact vessels. “You selected well. It is a fine craft.”
Daro handed him the skin, and let the older man quench his thirst. “Well, Kedor of Susa,” Daro used the Akkadian name for that distant city, “I thank you for your ship. My name is Daro, and I command these men.”
“Akkadians, yes, I’ve visited your fine city several times. A pity the King of Elamites intends to enslave it.”
“King Shirudukh may find that Akkad is not an apple waiting to drop into his hand. Those who wage war on King Eskkar usually end up dead.”
“You know the barbarian King?”
“Oh, yes. I have fought twice at his side.” Daro shifted his legs to a more comfortable position. “But now I need your help, and I am willing to let you live in exchange. After the Elamites are defeated, your kin in Elam can ransom you.”
Kedor shook his head. “I am from Sushan, not the land of Elam. Once it was a free city, but years ago King Shirudukh established one of his palaces there. He’s there now. He plans to visit Sumer as soon as it is taken, to see for himself the fertile countryside of the Land Between the Rivers. No doubt he will be even less merciful here than he was at Sushan.”
“We look forward to his visit,” Daro said. “As much as I enjoy talking to you, now I need the knowledge that is in your head. Tell me all about the supply boats, when they come, what they carry, how they are defended. You see, Kedor, I intend to capture as many of them as possible, and sink the rest. By the time I am finished with Elam’s supply craft, you may be the only ship master still alive on the Great Sea. Think how well you’ll do after the fighting ends, and when you’re ransomed and returned home.”
Chapter 20
The next day, a little after noon, a well-rested Daro surveyed the placid and peaceful beach. The debris from yesterday’s brief battle had vanished. The last of the churned sand had been smoothed with a dragged mast, and no evidence remained that a large body of horsemen had charged through the area.
A cheerful driftwood fire burned, the sharp breeze from the sea whipping the flames and whirling glowing ashes into the air. Several of his men lay scattered about on the sand, taking their well-earned leisure.
Others, their bows and shafts hidden in the broken hulls, strolled about the camp, leisurely moving supplies from place to place. Every man had worked without ceasing long after dark, to mask every trace of the Akkadian attack.
The camp looked, or so Daro hoped, like a woman waiting for her lover, or in this case, the next Elamite ship to arrive. Kedor, the captured Elamite sea master, informed Daro that ships seldom arrived before midday. They preferred to leave themselves plenty of daylight as they covered the last leg of their difficult journey along the coast.
Whatever the prisoner’s reasons, either fear of death or a real hatred toward the Elamite rulers, he had decided to cooperate completely with his captors. Or perhaps Kedor had considered the possibility of being the only surviving shipmaster in his home port of Sushan. With his help, Daro had prepared the camp. Now nothing remained except to wait, to rest, and enjoy whatever brief respite the gods allowed them.