Hathor guided his men down a line that he guessed would be just outside the range of Sumer’s arrows. By now his wild charge had reached the river. His bowmen eased their horses to a stop, and started picking off those in the water. Soon enough, the river cleared, as the dead, arrows protruding from their bodies, floated away to the south on the blood stained waters.
Even before the slaughter ended, Hathor ordered the destruction of the enemy supplies to begin. Akkadians flung themselves from their horses and began stacking anything that would burn. The Elamites had several fires going at the time of the attack, and some of those still smoldered. Now fresh smoke rose into the air as shields, clothing, tools, anything that would burn was heaped into the flames. Stacks of arrows, waiting ready for the Elamite attack on the city, were the first to be tossed into the fire, after the cavalrymen had replenished their own quivers.
Hathor, with three Akkadians as his guard, picked his way through the dead and the debris. He shouted orders and pointed with his sword to any piles of goods that should go into the fire. But the Akkadians had not missed much.
The ram’s horn sounded again, this time with a different note. Everywhere men raced back to their horses. Hathor glanced to the east. The main force of Elamites had regrouped, and now advanced toward him, a thick double line of infantry carrying shields. They had recovered faster than Hathor expected. Behind them he saw archers forming up as well. Even farther back, the Elamite cavalry, at least three thousand of them, had raced to their horses and now prepared to confront the Akkadians.
“Time to go!” Hathor’s bellow carried over the battlefield. “Let’s get out of here, unless you want to give those bowmen a target.”
Laughing, the Akkadians cantered southward and toward the river, moving faster once they cleared the fields of the dead. In moments they were out of range of the approaching archers. The Elamite cavalry, however, had finally collected enough of its force to launch a counter attack.
But first they had to catch the Akkadians. Hathor, riding at the rear of his men, kept glancing back at the enemy horsemen. They were closing the gap, but Hathor’s men needed to cover only little more than a mile. By the time he reached the ford, Naxos had already ordered most of his men into the water. The King, always eager to demonstrate his courage, waited at the river until Hathor reached his side.
“They’re at your heels,” Naxos shouted, as he turned his horse into the stream.
Hathor didn’t bother to look behind him. With a touch of the halter, his stallion slid down the now slippery bank, roiled into loose muck by nearly five thousands horses, and splashed into the muddy water. More than a hundred paces ahead the first of the two islands that divided this part of the Tigris waited. Hathor caught up with Naxos, and the two men churned their way through the warm water, their horses kicking up walls of spray.
Twice Hathor thought he might have to cling to his horse’s mane and swim for it, but each time the big warhorse, holding its head high, found its footing. Then he and Naxos were scrambling up onto the first island. Hathor patted his horse’s neck, then turned toward the eastern shore.
The first Elamite horsemen to arrive at the fording place were already dead or dying, multiple shafts riddling their bodies along the river bank. The Akkadian bowmen had just enough range with their weapons to drive the enemy away from the shoreline.
“Well, that will teach them.” Naxos laughed at the sight.
An arrow splashed into the water at the King’s feet.
“They do have a few bows,” Hathor said. “Let’s keep moving.”
Naxos, bellowing commands that floated over the river, ordered the men to continue the crossing. Soon the entire force was strung out between the two islands and the western bank. When Hathor, breathing hard, finally reached the far side of the river, he swung down from his horse.
The enemy hadn’t attempted to pursue. They knew they would run into an arrow storm as they struggled through the water. They just sat there, watching the Akkadians.
“They won’t leave their rear unguarded again,” Naxos said with a grin.
“That they won’t,” Hathor matched the King’s grin with one of his own. “Which will be even better for us, since we’re not going south. Now it’s time to teach them a few other lessons.”
Chapter 23
Jarud raced down the steps from Sumer’s eastern wall, ignoring the sudden chaos that had erupted within the city since the Akkadian attack. He ignored, too, the sounds of battle outside the wall. Jarud knew what the Akkadian cavalry would do to the unprepared Elamites, and he intended to take advantage of the temporarily hapless enemy.
He leapt the final four steps to reach the ground, nearly colliding with his second in command, returning from his rounds. Jarud grabbed his shoulder. “Strip a hundred archers from the southern wall, and send them to the gate. We’re going out there to finish what the Akkadians started. Hurry!”
Without waiting for acknowledgement, Jarud rushed through the lanes, twisting and turning until he reached the Southern Gate. About twenty soldiers and laborers were there, mouths open at the sight of the Commander of the Guard running toward them. “Open the gate! Collect as many axes and torches as you can find. We’re going out!”
For a moment, the men just stared at him. “Damn you, don’t just stand there, get that gate open! We don’t have much time to destroy the Elamites’ supplies.”
The work gang, assigned to reinforce the soldiers on the wall in the event of an assault, burst into motion. More than twenty men hurled themselves at the gate. First they had to free the braces that kept the logs immobile. Swinging oversized mallets, they knocked loose the tapered wooden blocks, hammered into place, that prevented the massive panel of the right side from opening.
As soon as those were out, ten or more men seized the lower log and struggled to heave it out of its sockets. By then a second crew waited, and as soon as the first gang moved aside, they seized the upper log.
The first handful of archers arrived, hurriedly stringing their bows and clutching arrow quivers. They moved into position beneath the gate. Jarud recognized his nephew, Jaruman and his ten bowmen.
More laborers arrived, carrying axes of every shape and size, waiting for the gate to open. The babble of voices rose, until Jarud jumped onto a cart. “Silence! Be still, damn you!”
The din abated, and Jarud grabbed one of the gate’s guardians. “Collect the black oil and torches. I want to burn as much of their weapons and tools as possible.”
The defenders had stored pots of the oil that burns near the gate, to use against any attackers. Stacks of the thick torches, freshly bound and soaked in oil, were also at hand, to provide illumination in case of a night attack.
With a wrenching creak, the heavy gate swung free. Jarud snatched an unlit torch leaning against the wall, and as soon as there was room enough to pass, Jarud led the defenders through the opening. The Elamites had dug almost two hundred paces from the walls, just out of bowshot and a long run for Sumerian archers. Although Jarud was the first one out of the gate, the faster and braver of his men overtook him before he’d gone twenty paces.
Caught up in the excitement of the invaders’ destruction, the soldiers and work gangs of Sumer poured through the gate, raced across the open space, and dashed in among the dead and dying Elamites. By the time Jarud, breathing hard, reached what remained of the Elamite position, his men were already finishing off the wounded, collecting weapons, and using their axes on the large shields.
The Akkadian cavalry had started several fires that still roared, sending thick smoke rushing upward into the heaves. All the same, in their haste, they had missed plenty of material that would burn.