the archers had formed a double column, each man a long stride apart from his nearest companion, and ready for the long night march. The chill in the air made more than a few shiver.
Every bowman carried two quivers full of arrows, thirty shafts in each. Every fifth man carried a water skin, but that burden would be shared as they marched. In a few hours most of it would be gone. Other than their swords and knives, the archers carried nothing else, no food, no cooking pots, nothing. They’d already eaten the last of the food. Morning might herald a long day of hunger and thirst, with the grim possibility of a fight to the death.
Eskkar moved to the head of the column. Lifting his eyes, he studied the sky and located the North Star. He would keep that at his back. Before long, the moon would rise, but by then Eskkar and his force of archers intended to be well away from their campsite, which would remain in place to reassure those watching the Akkadians’ movements. With luck, he and his men would soon be far from the camp and any spying eyes.
It wouldn’t be a full moon tonight, but should shed enough light to help mark the trail. At least, Eskkar hoped it would.
“Tell the men to move out, Grond. Pass the word to each man.”
With that order, Eskkar had committed himself and his men to the risky plan. He waited until he felt certain the order had time to reach the rear of the column, and then started walking south, back along the trail they’d followed during the day.
Grond passed the order, then disappeared ahead into the darkness. He had the most dangerous assignment tonight. With two men, both experienced hunters, Grond would scout the way south and make sure Eskkar and the rest of the men didn’t blunder into any enemy sentries.
Now Eskkar had plenty to occupy his thoughts. His men would worry about the spirits and demons that prowled the land, searching for living bodies to carry back to their caves beneath the earth. No one liked to travel at night.
Eskkar, however, ignored any fears about the hunters of the underworld. Since childhood, he had heard many stories of people taken during the darkness, but he had never seen a demon himself. If they hadn’t bothered any of his enterprises until now, he doubted the evil spirits would choose tonight to try and carry off a few of his men. Instead, Eskkar worried more about someone tripping and breaking a leg, or stumbling over a bush and spraining an ankle. Any sound or movement could alert the enemy sentries, who might still be posted somewhere nearby, watching the Akkadian camp.
In the past Eskkar would have led the men himself, but he knew his eyes had lost some of their keenness in the dark. Better to let another with sharper sight lead the way than for Eskkar to stumble and fall, embarrassing himself in front of his men. Eskkar didn’t intend to allow his pride get in the way of his plan. Waradi, one of the youngest archers and raised in the hill country west of Akkad, had been assigned the lead.
Waradi moved out ahead, Eskkar right behind. The soldiers gathered strength from his presence, and from the knowledge that he took the same or greater risks as any of them. Eskkar ordered every warrior to follow three paces behind the man in front of him. That should be close enough to maintain contact with the man ahead, yet far enough apart so that if someone tripped, he wouldn’t take the man ahead or behind down with him.
The first few hundred paces would be the most dangerous. If the enemy saw or heard them, and sounded the alarm, Eskkar would have to call the whole plan off and return to Hathor and his horsemen. Then they would have no choice but to fight their way north. Alexar, Drakis, Grond, and the other commanders would have warned the men over and over about the need to keep silent, watch where they stepped, and keep the proper distance. Nevertheless, Eskkar kept glancing behind him. Finally, he realized that the more he fretted about his men, the more he stumbled himself. Swearing under his breath, he concentrated on the ground before him.
That first part of the long night march moved with maddening slowness. Eskkar worried that the enemy had detected them, might even now be gathering strength to attack. Still, as the Akkadians moved farther away from the camp, their chances of being seen lessened. All that mattered now was maintaining his place behind Waradi, and keeping silent. In that way, step by step, the column crept through the darkness and, despite the occasional stumbles, no alarm was given.
Waradi moved back beside Eskkar. “I think we’re safe enough. We’ve traveled at least a mile from the camp.”
“No sign of Grond?”
“No, not yet. He might be far ahead.”
Eskkar, who tended to worry over every thing that might go wrong, had little concern for Grond’s safety. The man was made of bronze, and it would take more than a few men to subdue him. If Grond encountered any of the enemy, the noise would carry over a great distance in the still night air.
“Speed up the pace, Waradi.”
“Yes, Captain,” Waradi said, risking the familiarity usually reserved for Eskkar’s closest friends and commanders.
Eskkar grunted. He turned to the man behind him. “Pass the word, we’re picking up the pace.”
Each man whispered the order to the man behind him. Soon eighty-five men and the horse boys were stretching their legs at a fast walk, risking the occasional stumble over a rock or patch of high grass. A broken leg or even a sprained ankle would mean a man out of the fight, and Eskkar needed every archer he had. Thankfully the moon had risen, shedding a bit more light to mark both the hills around them as well as the ground beneath their feet.
They kept moving, covering the dark ground as fast as they could. Only when Eskkar’s own legs protested did he halt for a brief rest. Every man sank to the ground, glad to be off his feet. Nevertheless, Eskkar paused only long enough to let the men catch their breath. The archers’ legs would just have to suffer.
They resumed the grueling march. All too soon the moon rose to its highest point and began its descent. Eskkar estimated that they needed to cover at least fifteen or sixteen miles to reach the Sumerian camp. And, of course, that assumed that a Sumerian force existed, and that this unseen enemy had moved north to pursue the retreating Akkadians. If that held true, Eskkar was still gambling his enemy would camp at the most likely place, where the small stream would provide plenty of water. Still, for all Eskkar knew, they could have marched ten or twenty miles in the opposite direction, back toward Sumer.
Walking through the blackness, Eskkar wondered if his march was anything more than a fool’s errand. The plan that had seemed so reasonable yesterday now seemed more like a dangerous gamble that would put the Akkadians in harm’s way. If dawn arose without their encountering the enemy, he would have wasted more than just a long and dangerous night’s march. Hathor and the horsemen would be miles away, possibly in as much danger as Eskkar’s archers. And some of his men would gaze at him before looking away, wondering about their leader’s ability. The thought of looking foolish in their eyes always bothered him.
“Look into the mind of your enemy,” Trella had often advised him, “and try to think as he does.” That single piece of advice from his beautiful wife had accounted for more of Eskkar’s good fortune in battle than anything else. So he placed himself in the enemy’s mind, and tried to think like the leader of the Sumerian force behind him. If the Sumerians wanted a fight, they would follow his trail, chasing after him as fast as they could, and counting on their large force of horse fighters to slow the Akkadians down until they could be caught from behind. Now the long string of assumptions seemed tenuous. Eskkar forced such thoughts out of his head. It was too late now to have qualms about appearing foolish.
More thoughts of Trella jumped into his mind. He always worried when he left her behind, though he knew she was safe enough. Akkad now had sufficient soldiers to man the extended walls, more than enough to repel any attacker and to defend Trella and their son, Sargon from any assault from within. With old Gatus guarding the city, and Bantor protecting Trella, Eskkar felt certain he had little to concern himself about in that regard. Those two were his most trusted and loyal followers, and both would defend Trella and her son while they had breath in their bodies.
He shook his head, angry at himself for letting his mind wander. Now was not the time to be wasting thoughts on Trella. Instead, Eskkar turned his mind toward the coming fight. He still didn’t know for certain who or how many he would be facing.
Sumer, deep in the Sumerian south, had yielded little information to Trella’s few informants in the last six months. They had gathered some rumors of war and of men training to fight. Loose talk provided only a rough count of their numbers, and Eskkar estimated that Eridu could have as many as two hundred men under his command. If supported by a strong force of horsemen, King Eridu might be tempted to attack the border.
