“Soon.”
The laconic reply grated on Eskkar’s nerves. Nevertheless, he’d learned during the siege of Akkad to leave the training to Gatus. In those days, Eskkar had been stunned to hear that it would take many months to train a competent archer. He’d fumed at the delay, amazed that so simple a weapon required so much time for a novice to master. But Gatus had proved himself right. One of the reasons why Akkad’s archers remained so formidable was their complete mastery of their weaponry.
But did teaching a man to use a spear take as much time as learning to use a bow and arrow? This time, he held his tongue, just in case Gatus once again proved himself right. And Eskkar had plenty to occupy his time. He’d spent many days in Nuzi helping establish the gold mine and clearing the nearby countryside of bandits. Visits to Bisitun and the other northern cities took Eskkar away from Akkad for long periods as well. And whenever he returned, there were always the nobles, merchants, traders and craftsmen to deal with, all claiming some urgent need that no one besides the king could resolve.
Yesterday, just before the sun had set, Eskkar had returned from the north once again. This time Gatus met him at the Compound. “My first group of spearmen is ready for you to see. Come to the barracks in the morning.”
Gatus’s demeanor provided no hint as to what would await Eskkar at the barracks.
“I’ll be there.” He resisted the temptation to ask what he would see, or to add that it had taken long enough to whip a few men into shape.
O nce again Eskkar studied the men. They all looked confident, and he recognized the nervous movements that revealed the excitement that lay just below the surface. Gatus had worked with these men for months, testing, changing, and refining his ideas on how spearmen should train and fight. No longer a group of raw recruits, the men standing behind the old soldier had suffered months of hard discipline and physical labor. Now Gatus felt satisfied that they had mastered their craft, and that they stood ready to demonstrate their skills.
“All right, you men,” Gatus called out. His booming voice echoed over the training ground. “Let’s show our king what we can do.” He gave a command, and the men turned to the right, transforming themselves instantly into a column of twos.
“Carry spears!”
The weapons bobbed upward for a moment, then came down, until each spear hung naturally at the end of each man’s right arm, the point held slightly outward, so as not to jab the man in front.
“March!” The barked order started the soldiers moving forward.
Gatus paraded them back and forth in front of Eskkar. The men marched in a straight line and moved in unison. Three subcommanders stepped along at the men’s side, noting how each movement was executed, and correcting and encouraging the men, though not loud enough so that the king’s group could hear the words.
Eskkar noted that every man took his first step with his left foot, so that their arms and legs moved together. That would be important, because if the men got out of step, they would be more likely to trip and fall over each other. The long spears they carried would make that dangerous enough. It wouldn’t take much to poke out someone’s eye.
The line of spears moved together, each weapon remaining level with the earth as the men marched back and forth. The drill continued, the men marching this way and that, until Eskkar felt his attention wandering. He expected more than just watching men march back and forth. And with the spear held loosely at arm’s length, the spearmen didn’t look particularly dangerous.
At last, Gatus gave the order to halt and the column stopped directly in front of Eskkar, resuming their original formation of two ranks, but about seventy paces away from where he stood. Another command swung the line around.
“Attack positions!” Every spear was raised in a smooth motion, held just above shoulder height, each man gripping his weapon with the palm facing upwards. The rear rank took one step forward, so that they stood just behind the front rank. Shields were raised to eye level, covering almost all of the man’s body.
For a moment, all Eskkar could see were the soldiers’ eyes peering over the tops of the shields. They stood almost shoulder to shoulder, the tips of the weapons extending to the front.
“Advance!” Gatus’s voice again rang out over the training ground.
The spearmen, in perfect step with each other, moved toward Eskkar, and he saw that all the men carrying the longer spears now formed the rear rank. Their spear points protruded almost as far forward as those of the men in front. A compact line like that would brush aside any line of swordsmen, who needed room to swing their weapons. And even if you could get close enough to take a swing, the spearman’s shield would deflect the blow, and any swordsman would probably be gutted by at least two spears for his efforts.
Eskkar saw all this at a glance as the line approached, covering the distance with long strides and without hesitation. If they didn’t stop, he and Grond would be pinned like rabbits to the barracks’ wall. Grond saw the same impending danger. His sword rasped from its scabbard and he took a half-step in front of Eskkar, just as Gatus gave the command to halt. The spear points hung in mid-air, two paces from Eskkar’s chest.
Taking his time, Gatus walked casually from behind his men to stand at Eskkar’s side. “Well, next time you’re late, I may forget to give the order to halt.”
The men didn’t laugh. Gatus’s rod, which he still held in his hand, would have instilled silence into their ranks. Still, Eskkar saw plenty of grins covering their sweaty faces. At least he hadn’t been frightened enough to draw his own sword.
“Impressive. I wouldn’t want to be facing them on open ground.”
“Spears up, at rest!” Gatus shouted, and the men raised their weapons to the vertical, then let the butts drop to the earth. Gatus moved closer, but he kept his voice loud, making certain that his men heard the words of praise. “This line of spearmen would tear through any enemy.”
“They would at that,” Eskkar agreed, impressed by their skills. “But against archers, how would they stand up?”
“The shield covers most of the body,” Gatus explained. “In a real fight, they’d be wearing bronze helmets. You’d lose a few to arrows, but attacking at a run, most of the line would reach the enemy intact.”
Or so it was hoped, but now wasn’t the time to talk about doubts. Eskkar took a step forward, stopping in front of the nearest spearman. He reached out to take the spear, but the soldier refused to let it go. Eskkar tightened his grip and pulled harder, putting his own muscles into it. The soldier slid forward, feet struggling to hold his position, but didn’t release his grip. The man’s arm, Eskkar saw, was as thick as most men’s legs.
“They’ve been taught never to let go of the spear,” Gatus said, tapping the rod against his thigh. “Give the king your spear, Drannah.”
No doubt Gatus knew the name of every man in the ranks. The soldier let go of the weapon. Eskkar hefted the spear, surprised at its weight. Far too heavy to throw more than a short distance, it was meant to thrust, to push through a thin shield or a man’s body. The slim bronze tip, carefully fitted and bolted to the shaft, would enter smoothly, and be withdrawn just as easily, with little chance of snagging on clothing, flesh or shield.
“Each man has been trained to thrust with the spear, and to fight with his sword if the spear breaks or gets entangled with the enemy,” Gatus explained. “The shield gives plenty of protection, and each man is responsible for guarding the man on his left as well as himself. And the shield can be used as a weapon itself.”
“Show me how they fight with swords.”
Gatus nodded, and his trainers took over. The men broke ranks, leaned their spears against the barrack wall, and reformed. Once again, the soldiers repeated their maneuvers, now carrying their short swords. They advanced, striking out with the weapon as they moved. The sword, Eskkar noted, was never swung, only thrust with short, stabbing motions, either straight ahead or upwards. Using the weapon that way meant thrusts to the belly, chest and throat. That went counter to Eskkar’s instincts. The long sword he carried was meant to strike in an arc, hitting with the edge of the heavy blade and cutting through flesh and bone from the pure force of the swing. The usual intended target was your opponent’s head or shoulders. The sharp point allowed a mounted rider to vary his attack, or stab downward, but that was seldom the first choice in a fight.
Nevertheless, Eskkar realized the benefits of thrusting with the point of these much shorter weapons. Less muscle was used, and the stroke could be launched faster. He guessed a competent soldier could get in two or three thrusts before a warrior could swing his blade a single time. Also, a man went down as fast or faster with a blade in his stomach or bowels. As long as these men had the shield to protect them, that way of using the sword would be deadly to anyone in their path.
