Such an opportunity, to appear out of the desert without warning, would give him a real chance to strike Uruk hard. Even if he couldn’t gain entry to the city, Hathor could ravage the countryside, destroy crops and herds, and break Uruk’s ability to support the war for some time.
He glanced up at the sun, which appeared to have jumped higher in the sky in the last few moments. Hathor raised his voice and let his bellow cover the entire column. “Mount up! We turn east here! Today we show the Sumerians the danger of attacking Akkad. We ride for Uruk!”
The men gave a cheer. They had had enough of the desert and its heat, and each step eastward would bring them closer to the fertile lands of Sumeria.
Hathor tugged on the halter and turned the animal’s head toward the east. He and his commanders had trained these men for years, and now the long months of training would be put to the test. Like a long sword pointed at an unsuspecting foe, the column cantered toward the lands of Sumeria. The horses responded well, moving easily, as strong and well conditioned as their riders. Even the pack animals and spare mounts had no trouble keeping pace. With luck, the Akkadians would attack from a direction the unsuspecting enemy least expected.
The long ride began. With such a great distance to cover, they rested only briefly. To ease the strain on their mounts, Hathor periodically swung down from his horse’s back and ran beside the animal. His men followed, of course. No horse fighter would ever admit that the old man commanding them could perform any feat of horsemanship or physical effort that they couldn’t match. And they knew that today of all days, the Akkadian cavalry had to outrace the sun.
“Run, damn you lazy bastards!” Hathor shouted, again and again. “You can rest tomorrow, in Uruk!”
Scouts moved out ahead and to the flank. The Tanukhs would not be expecting a turn eastward. After two attacks on their own camps, they had no reason to think the Akkadians would suddenly turn their attention toward Uruk, nor would they likely be too concerned about such a move even if they knew. If the Akkadians moved out of their lands, so much the better. Let the Sumerian city with its thick walls deal with this new enemy. At least, that remained Hathor’s earnest hope.
They rode and ran beside their mounts, every man giving his utmost, running and riding, the miles passing swiftly beneath them. Before long, each step became easier, as they gradually left the sandy wastelands behind and moved onto firmer ground. They crossed a riverbed, nearly dry now at the height of the summer, pausing only long enough for horse and rider to drink the brackish liquid and refill the water skins.
They resumed the punishing ride, racing the sun now at their backs. Mile after mile passed, and Hathor’s feet burned and stung with every step. He ran until he could no longer draw a breath, then pulled himself onto his horse’s back. Every time he glanced up, the sun moved lower across the sky, moving ever faster toward the horizon.
Suddenly, one of the scouts riding point halted, waving his arms and shouting that the Euphrates lay ahead. A few moments later, Hathor crested a low rise and saw the wide ribbon of brown water in the distance. By now every rider’s dry throat burned with thirst, and the horses’ necks and chest were covered with dried froth. Every water skin had gone dry long ago. Hathor had pushed every man and beast to the limit, but now that the horses caught the scent of water ahead, they renewed their own strength, pressing on until the Akkadians cantered right into the river before halting.
Men slipped from their mounts and fell into the water, shouting in delight and relief. Horse and rider drank together. The cool water refreshed them all, and man and beast drank and drank until every belly was stretched to its limit. The water soothed Hathor’s feet, washing some of the pain away. After a brief rest, the men walked their reluctant horses across the river. The horses would be more likely to stumble and injure themselves carrying a man’s weight through the water. The Euphrates was wide here, but moved slowly. Only near the center did they need to cling to their mounts and swim for a few dozen paces. When they emerged, they rested again on the east bank. According to Muta, Uruk lay about ten miles due south.
Hathor took one last look at the horizons. Nothing moved, not even a farmer tending his fields. The scouts had seen no one, which meant their presence might yet be unknown.
“Klexor, you take command of the main force. Muta and I will ride ahead with the picked men.”
Hathor, accompanied by Muta and thirty men, prepared themselves. Hathor inspected every mount, to make sure it was fit to ride. Then he and his troop gathered the weapons and tools they needed, and cantered off. The rest of the Akkadians fanned out, to follow their commander at a somewhat slower pace, and to block the route of anyone who might see them.
All the horses were weary now, after a long day, and Hathor could feel his mount starting to tire. Nevertheless, Uruk drew closer with each stride. The sun sank nearer to the horizon, but now that worked in the Akkadians’ favor.
On the main trail to the city, they encountered few travelers this late in the day, and those they did meet were all on foot. Farmers and traders shrank away at their approach, and none would be able to outrun them to Uruk. The city’s gates would be closing at sundown. Hathor wanted to reach the city just before then.
Finally, the city’s walls rose up. At this distance, Hathor had to rely on one of his men’s eyesight. He couldn’t tell if the gate were open or closed. If word of their approach had reached Uruk, the gate would be closed and the wall bristling with armed men. If it remained open, it would mean that Uruk had not yet learned of the presence of the Akkadian force within their heartland.
He knew a little about the history of Uruk. Supposedly the oldest city in the land between the rivers, farming and trade had flourished here long before anyone began working the land around Akkad. For a while, or so its inhabitants claimed, Uruk had stood above the other villages, but in the last few generations, Sumer and the other cities, with their emphasis on trade, had surpassed it. Uruk’s walls reflected its status. Raised in the last few years, they were just high enough to keep out the occasional desert raiders.
Hathor halted his men for one last brief rest, and to allow them a few moments to ready themselves. The riders swung down from their horses. Twenty men, already dressed to look like slaves, wrapped ropes around their wrists as if bound. They would complete the journey on foot. Weapons were placed in sacks and tied on the backs of the horses. The change over took little time, because the men had prepared for it last night. Leading the way, Hathor rode slowly toward Uruk’s northern gate, with Muta at his side.
Behind them came the twenty “slaves”, trailed by ten mounted men leading the rest of the horses. The riders wore rope whips fastened to their wrists, the usual means to keep slaves in order. A single rider brought up the rear, leading two pack animals. Hathor’s pace kept the supposed slaves staggering to keep up. He heard them cursing at the effort, but slaves often were pushed to the limits of their endurance and beyond. No one cared about a few slaves staggering along or falling down from exhaustion. More important, Hathor didn’t want to find the gate slammed in his face just as they drew near. This close to the city, he couldn’t see any extra guards appeared on the walls, and step by step, the little caravan moved closer.
“We’ve done it, Muta. They haven’t heard about us.”
If the Uruks had been warned and the city on alert, Hathor’s orders were to raid the countryside and cause as much damage and confusion as possible. But if they could get into the city…
“They will soon enough.” Muta couldn’t conceal the excitement in his voice. “Just a few moments longer.”
Hathor wanted to see if Klexor and the rest of the Akkadians had closed up the gap behind them, but didn’t dare to turn around and draw the guards’ attention to their rear. At last, only a hundred paces lay between Hathor and the gate. Then they were within hailing distance.
“Who are you?” The words came from the guard tower on the right.
“Answer him, Muta.” Hathor tried to look unconcerned.
“Muta of Margan, bringing slaves and horses for Uruk’s market.”
“Hurry, then,” the guard called down. “We’re about to the close the gate for the night.”
Another forty paces and Hathor’s horse stepped its way through the open gate. A half dozen slaves stood there, ready to close the heavy panels that would secure the city for the night. He slid off his horse and moved aside.
“Where are you from? I don’t recognize you.”
Hathor turned to find the same guard who had hailed him approaching. He wore some emblem of rank on his tunic and appeared in charge of the soldiers at Uruk’s main entrance. By now the first of the “slaves” had trudged through the opening, shoved along by their overseers.
