Four days passed with little sleep or time to talk, as all attention turned to the spectacle beyond Orak’s walls. The main body of Alur Meriki arrived late in the afternoon on the second day after the attack. They spent the rest of that day and the next establishing a semi-permanent camp. Hundreds of women and children soon filled the hilltops, staring at Orak and its wall. The villagers, equally curious, stared back at their counterparts, and Esk kar had to set aside a section of wall so gawkers could see the barbarian encampment without disturbing the soldiers.
Even Esk kar felt impressed as he watched the traveling village re — create itself, as it did almost every day. Most of the encampment remained hidden behind the low hills, about two miles from Orak, but he knew a broad, open expanse would divide the camp into two parts. The warriors would pitch their tents, forges, corrals, and anything else needed for the battle on the side closest to Orak, while the families, their carts, herds, and animals settled in on the other side. At the extreme limits of his vision, Esk kar saw herders tending the flocks of cattle and goats that provided milk, cheese, meat, and hides. The horses grazed close by the river, more than two thousand of them, in three separate herds.
Nicar had scribes try to estimate the numbers of Alur Meriki. It took most of the day, accompanied by much squabbling and arguing, before they agreed upon an estimate of more than fifty — seven hundred. Nicar shook his head in despair at the total, while Esk kar swore under his breath.
On the fourth day Esk kar invited Trella to the tower. They sat there for most of the day, while he explained Alur Meriki ways and how everything functioned for the good of the clan. Smoke from hundreds of fires trailed up into the sky and they caught the smell of burning dung mixed with wood chips whenever the wind changed direction. They watched as slave crews working under the whip built ladders and climbing poles. Another group constructed a battering ram, using a tree trunk dragged up by a team of horses. Carts arrived and departed, carrying lumber that would be used to form shields for their archers.
“They’re a great number of people, Esk kar, but most are women, children, and slaves,” Trella said. “And the horses. There must be more than a thousand of them. What will they eat? How long can they stay before the grass is all gone?”
“More than two thousand horses,” he corrected. “And the warriors, they can eat the cattle and, if need be, the horses as well. A warrior can go for many days without food.”
“If they eat too many animals,” Trella said, “they’ll have none left to breed. Any they expected to find here are across the river, out of reach, and they have no easy way to cross over. They’ve already stripped the land behind them. They must attack the village quickly, overcome it, and move on. Even the land in front of them is burned to the earth.”
That matched Esk kar’s assessment of the situation. The farther away the food source, whether grain or animal, the more difficult to bring it back to camp. Riders would use up as much food as they could carry back in a few days’ ride, so there was little benefit in trying to move supplies on horseback. The cumbersome wagons traveled slowly and broke down often. A team of oxen could generally cover two miles an hour, and no amount of beating would make them move faster. Even herd animals couldn’t be driven too hard, lest they die. So the main camp remained on the move, and always moving in the direction of fresh food and grazing.
“The Alur Meriki lost about sixty men in the first battle with the Ur Nammu, then another seventy across the river, and another seventy here, plus their wounded,” he mused out loud. “That is…”
“About two hundred men,” Trella finished the sum. “They seem to be waiting for the band across the river.”
The day after the battle, the Alur Meriki built a signal fire on the highest ground next to the river, and green wood smoke rose into the air each day since. By now they’d be wondering what delayed their raiders, but Eskkar doubted they’d think the entire party wiped out, at least not yet. In a few more days, when no word came, they’d suspect the truth. That would make them wonder how strong a force opposed them across the river, and whether they dared risk another sizable force in a second crossing.
“When do you think they will come?”
Everyone asked the same question. “Tomorrow, I think,” Esk kar said.
“They are almost ready.”
“Can you hold them off?”
Esk kar gazed into her serious brown eyes. “I don’t know, Trella,” he answered, his voice low so nobody else could overhear his words. “I just don’t know. I do know they’ll pay a heavy price, more than they ever imagined. We’ll have to see.” He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t be afraid for either of us.”
She straightened up, in control of her emotions and her expression. “Make sure you come home early tonight. We’ll have much to talk about.”
But when they found themselves alone in bed that night, there wasn’t much to say, though he held her close and felt a tear on her cheek.
“Enough of my tears.” She sat up in the bed, her voice firm once more.
“You will hold the village, Esk kar. I believe in you and I will not be afraid of the future. You don’t need to worry about me. Just take no unnecessary risks.”
He couldn’t see her in the darkness, but he ran his fi ngers up her arm, then touched the softness of her breast. “I’ll take care, Trella.” Esk kar ignored the whisper in his mind that suggested that tomorrow might be the day of his death. Holding each other, they drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
The next morning Esk kar stood on the wall and watched the sun rise over the hills to the east, the barbarian camp already alive with activity.
One look confirmed his fears. The attack would be today, probably between midmorning and noon.
His men looked ready and every face showed determination. They’d be fighting for their families as well as their lives. Some sought revenge for blood spilled. Whatever the reason, each would put strength in a man’s arm.
“By noon today,” Gatus commented, lifting his leather cap and wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Yes, or sooner,” Esk kar answered, shading his eyes as he tried to estimate what forces would be placed where. “But we have a surprise for them, I think.”
After the first attack, the water wheels had fed water into wooden troughs that led through the wall. The troughs could be pushed out to varying lengths into the ditch. Two such devices had been built on each side of the main gate. In addition villagers lifted water from Orak’s wells and fed a constant stream into the ditch, backbreaking labor that exhausted the laborers after just a few hours.
Even now, leaning over the edge, Esk kar could see water trickling out into the ditch and turning the earth into mud three or four inches deep.
He’d tested it himself last night, lowered from a rope to the base of the wall, where he’d tried to walk around. Instead he had slipped and fallen flat on his face, to the muffled laughter of those above. After more sinking and stumbling, they pulled him back up, his feet encased in mud.
Now he sat on a tall stool halfway between the gate and the northeast tower that had borne the brunt of the last attack. Once again Esk kar expected this site to receive the main thrust. He felt self — conscious about sitting and resting while everyone else stood. But Gatus, who used one himself, urged him to take his rest whenever possible.
Out on the plain, the barbarians began their maneuvers. The war leaders shouted and waved their bows as they moved huge numbers of men and horses into position.
Ordinarily the Alur Meriki found it a simple task to position a warrior at a certain place. But today the war chiefs had much more to do. They had to assign men to attack certain parts of the village, this group of fifty to the rear gate, that group to follow them to the north wall, and so on. And this time each group had to carry ladders, ropes, and fire arrows, items not usually handled by warriors. Many would be complaining or resisting the assignment. Esk kar smiled when he saw ladders passed from one warrior to another, accompanied by much shouting and shoving.
“Warriors want to fight, not carry ladders,” he said to Gatus. “The strongest hand the ladders to the weakest. But there are a great many men.
And today they have plenty of ladders.”
Gatus stepped away to ask one of the clerks assigned to counting the enemy whether he had finished his task, grunted, then returned to Esk kar’s side. “It looks like about fourteen hundred men out there. At this rate, it will be noon before they’re ready,” Gatus said. “Look, they’re bringing a battering ram.”
Esk kar squinted into the sun and saw that a huge tree trunk rested atop a cart, pushed along by a group of slaves, a task that wouldn’t please those assigned to it. About twenty horsemen escorted them to make sure they kept to their work. The slaves carrying firepots wouldn’t be any happier.
The pots needed to be replenished with fresh fuel, which apparently no one had remembered to bring. Resolving these issues took time and more hours passed before all the men and their burdens reached their assigned places. Other carts lumbered up behind the warriors, and the horsemen moved forward a hundred paces to allow the carts to come closer.
At the first stirrings of the horsemen a ripple of sound had run up and down the wall. The soldiers thought the attack had begun. When the horsemen halted, waiting for the carts to close up, Esk kar and Gatus turned to each other with smiles on their faces. The leading edge of the riders stood just within long range of the bowmen. The leading warriors sat on their animals while they waited for the final arrangements, believing themselves out of range, when in truth they stood about thirty paces past the first mark.
Esk kar turned to Totomes, who’d taken his station behind the commanders. His face showed that he looked forward to sending arrows into the unsuspecting riders. “Master Bowman, I think it’s time to show these invaders what they’re in for.”
A villager readied his drum and waited for the order. He’d relay Totomes’s commands. Totomes leaned back and waved his bow to signal the other lead archers. He took but a few moments to assure himself that everyone stood ready, and then he gave the order. Three quick beats sounded, repeated a few seconds later as another drummer relayed the signal down the length of the wall.
Two hundred and sixty archers in two ranks on the wall readied their weapons, drawing their bows to the fullest and aiming up into the sky. Totomes gave the command, and a single drumbeat echoed along the wall.
A storm of arrows burst upward into the sky, followed by another and another. Leaders of ten called the cadence out, exactly as they had during the months of training. Esk kar’s eyes stayed fixed on the distant horsemen even as he heard the rasp of wood on wood, followed by the grunts of the men as they let the shafts fly.
The first flight landed, many falling short, but enough striking the leading ranks as they sat there, many looking up at the wave of arrows that approached, more surprised than worried about any danger at that range.
That didn’t last long. As the second cloud descended, animals reared up in pain and wounded men cried out or slipped from their horses. Though nearly spent at such long range, the heavy bronze — tipped shafts could still kill.
The leading warriors tried to move back, but the riders behind blocked their path, and no chief gave any orders to retreat or move forward. The carts continued their journey and added to the confusion, as sweating slaves under the lash and their masters kept directing men and animals forward.
The Alur Meriki milled about in confusion while eight hailstorms of arrows fell upon them. A few rode forward, trying to move under the cloud of missiles, while others forced their animals to the rear. Those who rode forward became targets for the lead archers, allowed to pick their own shots, and soon shafts flew at those who had moved toward Orak.
Esk kar saw one such rider knocked clean off his horse. Another warrior clutched his stomach and hunched over his mount. Suddenly the whole mass of men surged rearward, any semblance of order gone. Warriors might charge fearlessly through arrows in a wild dash for glory, but none wanted to stand in one place and be a target.
Laughter and jeers rang from the walls as the horsemen galloped back out of range, leaving their dead and wounded behind. That would delay them for at least another hour, Esk kar decided, sitting back down on the stool. Totomes walked over, smiling.
“Well, Captain, that was a good lesson for them. They’ll not stand that close again.”
“Good shooting, Totomes,” Esk kar said approvingly. “How many did we strike?”
That required some closer observation. Totomes stepped to the wall, his lips moving as he watched the activity on the hillside. Others were counting as well, but Totomes apparently had faith in his own eyes. “I’d say that we killed another twenty or twenty — five men and horses, and wounded as many more. Better than I thought these men could do, with such small bows.”
Esk kar felt quite pleased. Half a hundred barbarians would be out of today’s attack, at no cost to his men. “I still say it’s good shooting, Totomes.
Not everyone can have your eye and your arm.”
Totomes snorted. “Good shooting, indeed. To hit only half a hundred?
Two hundred and fifty archers shot at least eight arrows each at a standing target. That’s…” he paused a moment, eyes closed and lips moving as he did the sum, a feat far beyond Esk kar’s ability. “That’s… over two thousand arrows, or about one hit in forty. Not very good results at all.”
“At five hundred paces, Totomes, I’ll take any kills they can make.
We’ve plenty of arrows and we’ve delayed their attack for at least another hour. Meanwhile they’ve been standing in the hot sun for most of the morning.”
“Standing without water,” Gatus added, coming over and joining in on the last part of the conversation. “Both the horses and men will be thirsty.”
Esk kar glanced up at the sky, for once grateful of the heat that burned down from the heavens. The defenders had plenty of food, salt, and water, as evidenced by a steady stream of men using the latrines.
The Alur Meriki took more than an hour to regroup. Esk kar could see the frustration as they readied themselves. One clan leader struck a man with a sword, knocking him from his horse, and farther down the line a fight broke out in the ranks with a dozen men involved.
Finally everything was in place and an Alur Meriki drum began to pound. With shouts of relief the horde began to move, walking their horses up to the line of arrows that protruded from the earth and marked plainly the true range of the villagers’ shafts. As they neared it, Esk kar heard Totomes ready the men. They nocked their arrows and drew their bows. The waiting is over, Esk kar decided. One way or another, five months of work would be decided in the next hour.
Along the wall, Totomes, Forno, and the other lead archers calculated the range perfectly. At the same moment the Alur Meriki began to gallop their horses, the first flight of arrows flew free, rushing to meet the approaching horsemen. Esk kar stood up, gathered the stool and slipped to the back edge of the rampart. He dropped the stool down to one of the villagers below. Then Esk kar stood beside Totomes and watched as the northerner directed the archers.
The barbarians rode quickly through the hail of arrows. Esk kar watched the bows, lowered slightly for each shot, until the archers held them level and fired directly, the height of the wall giving them another small advantage in range. The first arrows from the Alur Meriki arrived with a clatter, most of them hitting the wall, some flying overhead, and only a few striking the men.
At that extreme range, many of the spent shafts bounced off leather jerkins. Nevertheless cries of pain sounded, as arrows pierced bare arms and shoulders. Esk kar saw one man struck in the eye and killed instantly.
But the creak of wood followed by the twang of the released bowstring went on steadily. Enemy horsemen were dropping even as they reached the ditch. This time the horsemen pulled up, not wanting to be caught in the ditch. But a few jumped their beasts in, while others split to each side of the eastern wall, turning along the narrow path to ride down the north and south sides.
Those who jumped into the ditch found more than they bargained for.
The horses sank into the mud and despite the din Esk kar heard leg bones snapping as they pitched, man and beast, to the ground. The high — pitched screams of horses in pain rose above the cries of wounded warriors.
But many of the warriors remained on their horses, trading arrows with their foes on the wall, while others dismounted and leaped down into the ditch. The soldiers kept firing their shafts into the mass of men and animals, with barbarians so crowded together that almost every arrow struck something. If this keeps up, Esk kar thought, we’ll break them right here.
Totomes’s voice boomed over the men, shouting orders that echoed along the wall. The first rank of archers leaned over the wall and began killing those on foot below. A few volleys and the attackers below began trying to scramble back out. Meanwhile the second rank of archers continued to fire into the enemy across the ditch.
Even with only a single row firing, they devastated the riders. The bowmen could scarcely miss such a massed target at close range. Soon the far side of the ditch was littered with men and animals, some writhing in pain, many with multiple shafts protruding from their bodies. A drum began to sound at the rear of the barbarian ranks and the riders broke off, riding north and south to get away from the deadly arrow storm. Others dismounted to attack the walls on foot as carts finally reached the edge of the ditch, pushed into position by slaves and warriors.
With the carts providing some shelter the barbarians began to shoot back at the men on the walls. Totomes directed all the archers to aim at the bowmen behind the carts. Arrows struck home there, instantly turning the carts into a forest of arrows as dozens of shafts hit.
But the carts made a difference. A mass of Alur Meriki moved forward and into the ditch, while the defenders continued to exchange shafts with the warriors protected behind the carts. At least three hundred fighters plied their bows, so they more than matched the defenders. However, the Alur Meriki shot at longer range, about ninety paces, an easy distance for the practiced archers behind the wall. Under their fire the men standing next to the carts went down first. And as more and more men crowded behind the wagons to fire their weapons, even the smaller targets offered were being hit.
The men needed little guidance, each man firing as quickly as possible.
Esk kar turned away from the wall to look back down into the village. The villagers, men and women, kept on doing their jobs. Fresh quivers of arrows continued to reach the bowmen, and enough dead men lay behind the wall to provide replacement bows.
Totomes bellowed orders that brought villagers, armed with axes and forked sticks, up the parapet. The archers continued to ply their bows, moving back just enough to allow these new defenders to take their positions directly behind the wall. The rampart was only four long paces wide, and three ranks of men could barely fit on it at one time.
Ladders slapped against the wall, some pushed away instantly by the villagers, but others remaining as the attackers below used their weight to hold them in place. Esk kar looked out across the ditch. The defenders’ deadly archery continued to take its toll. The barbarian bowmen, carts notwithstanding, seemed to show little stomach to go toe to toe with Or-ak’s bowmen. Less than half of their original number remained standing.
Many of these now huddled behind the carts, themselves barely visible beneath the hundreds of arrows protruding from them.
Esk kar’s archers kept firing, grunting steadily with the effort to bend the stiff bows and launch the heavy shafts. Weeks of practice had tough-ened those muscles and he saw no one fail to pull the shaft to his ear before releasing. A thrill of pride went through him that they could take such punishment and continue to fight so effectively.
In front of him Esk kar saw a man and a woman struggling to push back a ladder. He added his weight to the forked stick and the ladder moved slowly vertical, then toppled backward. As Esk kar moved closer to the edge an arrow rattled off his copper helmet. Barbarian archers stood below, waiting to shoot at any target that appeared on the walls. He looked at the man and woman, their eyes wide with fright, and grinned at them.
“Rocks! Rocks!”
All along the parapet, the same command rang out. The villagers dropped their axes and sticks and began tossing the hoard of stones over the wall. The rounded river rocks, about the size of a melon, made a deadly missile. They were heavy enough, and with fifteen feet to fall, dealt a blow that could snap an arm or crack a skull. For those at the bottom of the ditch, which gave the stones an extra ten feet, the rocks would crush a skull even inside a helmet.
The rain of stones provided yet one more shock to the attackers, struggling in the mud that hampered their movements and now trying to dodge the deadly rain from above.
Of all the practice drills the villagers had conducted, stone — tossing had been the most physically demanding. The men had trained to throw the stones in a random pattern, but always to try and drop them close to the base of the wall. It had been exhausting, backbreaking work, fi rst to place the stones on the wall, toss them down, then retrieve them and repeat the process. Now that effort proved its worth. In the time a man could count to sixty, more than a thousand stones rained down on the Alur Meriki.
This new tactic stopped any attempt to climb the wall. Meanwhile, a cheer went up from Totomes and the archers, as the barbarians’ bowmen behind the carts began to move back, unaccustomed to this kind of exchange and surprised at their losses.
Totomes’s voice rang out, ordering the villagers away from the wall.
He ordered the rear rank to continue firing at the departing archers and moved the first rank up to the wall’s edge, so they could lean over and shoot at anything below. A few archers were struck by arrows from the men below but the rocks had disrupted the attackers and forced the men carrying ladders away from the wall, pushing them into the kneeling archers behind them. Now Esk kar’s men delivered a volley of arrows, ducked, then fired another. After the third volley, they didn’t bother to duck back down, as the barbarians began to flee. Esk kar moved forward and took a quick look, then immediately ducked his head as two arrows flew over him.
The copper helmet made him too conspicuous. He’d have it painted brown tonight. But the quick glance had told him what he wanted to know.
The fight would continue, but the attack against this part of the wall had failed.
He decided to check the gate. Slipping away from the wall he swung down from the back of the rampart and let himself drop to the earth, his bodyguards following him. His horse stood ready under the rampart. A scared youth held the halter, the rope wrapped so tightly around his wrist that it took a moment to loosen it.
Esk kar thanked the lad as he mounted and cantered toward the gate.
The short distance made it hardly worth the trouble to mount and ride. But it looked better to arrive by horseback rather than appear out of breath by running from one place to another. At the gate he found confusion everywhere. Fire arrows still struck the mud — covered houses behind the gate, some shafts still burning harmlessly. Esk kar needed only a glance to see the fighting there had been brutal, with bodies of the dead lying beneath the rampart, most with arrows in their faces or throats.
Smoke and the smell of burning wood floated in the air. A few men, far less than he expected, struggled with buckets of water or bundles of arrows, carrying their loads to those in the towers or standing on the gate itself.
A boy ran up and took the halter from Esk kar as he dismounted. Moments later, the twenty men of the reserve arrived, breathing hard from the quick run. He divided the reserve force and sent half to each tower, but he climbed the steps that led to the top of the gate. Only a few men stood atop the upper rampart and these were busy pouring water over the top of the gate, trying to keep the wood wet.
The lower rampart, only ten feet off the ground, held fewer than ten men firing arrows through tiny slits carved at the intersections of the vertical logs. The supply of rocks on both ramparts had been exhausted and no one carried replacements. He saw the other reserve force of soldiers had already been committed. He turned to find Nicar and Bantor at his shoulder, his subcommander’s arm covered with blood.
“Where are the men bringing the stones?” he shouted before they could speak.
“They’ve run away.” Nicar had to raise his voice to be heard over the din. “I sent for more men but they haven’t arrived yet.”
“Get men from anywhere and have them bring stones as they come.
Hurry!” He turned to Bantor. “Are you holding?”
“Yes, but barely… the fires are beginning to grow. We need more water as well.” As he spoke, they heard a huge crash as something hammered against the gate.
“If we drive them away from the base of the gate, the fi res will go out by themselves.” The gate shuddered again. Esk kar sprinted up the ladder, swinging himself onto the top rampart, shouting down for his bodyguards to find bows and follow him.
“Archers! Get to the upper rampart.” Esk kar and his guards, plus the men still fighting, now numbered a dozen. He spaced them out along the rampart. When they were ready, Esk kar commanded, “Start from the back of the ditch. Don’t try for the ones directly beneath. We’ll take them from back to front… Ready… loose.”
The archers rose over the wall. Instead of one or two bowmen being the targets of many warriors, it was a line of archers who fired their arrows and ducked immediately back below the crest of the gate. The effect of the volley fire might not be impressive, but at least the archers, firing together, knew they would not be singled out. That gave them courage and at Esk kar’s command they launched another volley. “Again!” The rain of arrows at such close range proved deadly to the attackers.
Esk kar glanced at the walls on each side of him. The men from the towers and the adjacent areas of the wall still exchanged shafts with the remaining barbarian archers across the ditch. If the barbarian bowmen directly below the gate could be stopped, then the men working the ram could quickly be killed. So far, it was working, four volleys fi red and not a man lost.
Breathless men began arriving below, scooping stones from the piles, forming a human chain, and handing them up the wall. The gate shuddered regularly now, the ram’s blows starting to take effect. Soon cracks would appear. The archers continued their deadly work, but already two had been struck by enemy shafts, one pitching off the rampart. Meanwhile from across the ditch, the barbarians targeted the men atop the gate, making exposure dangerous.
Esk kar grabbed two stones as they began to arrive. “Wait,” he shouted at the fresh men who now filled the rampart. He moved to the center of the rampart and put down one stone. He waited until a row of men was crouching beside him, all on their knees beneath the line of archers. The rampart creaked and groaned under its weight of stones and men When the archers fired their volley, Esk kar stood, one stone held in both hands. “Now!” Glancing quickly over the top of the gate, he saw at least thirty sweating barbarians handling the ram, using ropes slung underneath the giant log to swing it back and forth. He hurled the stone down and saw it strike the ram, then bounce onto the shoulder of a man, who screamed as his bones snapped. In a flash, Esk kar gathered the second stone, and sent it down as hard as he could, this time not bothering to see what effect it had. Meanwhile his archers fired another volley. A shaft from the attackers buzzed right past his ear.
“Archers! The next volley is for the ram. Aim at those carrying the ram!
Ready… now!” They went over the top, firing their arrows. The archer next on Esk kar’s right dropped his bow with a cry, an arrow through his upper arm. Esk kar seized the weapon and took an arrow from the man’s quiver. He’d spotted the warrior in charge of the ram, a shield raised over his head to protect him. This time Esk kar aimed carefully before he fired, ignoring the arrows that whizzed by his face, hoping his helmet would protect him as he targeted the man directing the battering. His arrow fl ashed low into the man’s stomach, just below the shield.
Arrows and stones rained down on the men carrying the ram and the heavy log slipped sideways and fell. Too many bearers on one side had been killed or wounded. That stopped the ramming. The barbarians would need a sizable effort to upright the ram and get it into action again. Esk kar was amazed they’d managed to wield it even that long on such uncertain footing.
Stones kept crashing down from the gate and now villagers dropped them carefully, aiming them to fall directly at the base of the gate. In a few moments the barbarians realized their cover had disappeared and they turned and ran, staggering through the mud, easy targets for the men in the tower and the nearby walls. Moments later the ditch held only the dead and dying.
Esk kar saw a body of horsemen arrive across the ditch and realized that they’d been coming to reinforce the attackers. If he and his men hadn’t managed to stop the ram, there would have been a hundred fresh men at the gate, more than enough to drive its archers below the wall. The warriors hesitated as they saw their comrades fleeing, and soon arrows began to strike among them. Some went bravely forward to help the men on foot, and a few paid the price for their courage.
The barbarians had started giving ground across the entire length of the wall as Totomes’s archers fi nally swept the carts clear of enemy bowmen. Once again the Alur Meriki had to run the same gauntlet of arrows as they retreated.
Cheers sounded everywhere across the wall, even as leaders of ten cursed their men for using their mouths not their bows. But the defenders had tired, too, so they watched gleefully as the barbarians ran back to their original position of that morning. Esk kar glanced up at the sun and saw that less than an hour had passed since the attack began. Looking out again at the ditch, he found he could scarcely see the earth, packed as it was with bodies of men and animals.
The barbarians began to regroup under individual standards. Even half a mile away defeat and disbelief showed in their postures. The first attack a few days ago had been a probe, nothing more. But this had been a full — scale effort, and they weren’t used to being beaten in battle. Even worse, they’d had to leave many of their clan brothers lying on the earth.
Esk kar could see a group of chiefs, their anger and frustration visible even at nearly half a mile. They argued for some time, surrounded by hundreds of dejected and weary men. Finally the standards were raised. Men turned their horses around and headed back toward the main camp. The battle had ended for today.
Esk kar leaned heavily against the gate, breathing hard, then looked down behind him into Orak. Men and women from the village filled the space, all eyes turned upward, waiting in silence. They’d come because the fighting had ceased and they knew the enemy was moving off. Now they waited to hear the outcome.
Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Esk kar straightened up. He knew he had to speak, that this was one of those times when words were more important than swords. Taking a deep breath he raised his voice, inwardly reviling himself as a hypocrite.
“Men of Orak! The barbarians have been driven off for today.” His last words were drowned out in an uproar that reached all the way to the barbarian camp. Esk kar shouted out the words again, but the jubilant shouting went on, until he raised his hands to silence them.
“We have won a battle, but the struggle is not over. They’re driven off, but they will be back! And now they’re fi lled with anger and hate, and they’ll want revenge for those we’ve slain. As long as they’re outside our walls, the danger grows each day. Return to your duties. There is still much to do.”
That would have to satisfy them. He scrambled down from the gate, to find Gatus and Bantor waiting for him. Bantor had blood running down his arm and his eyes looked vacant as he swayed upon his feet. “Where is Maldar?” shouted Esk kar. “We almost lost the gate because the villagers ran off in fear!”
Furious, Esk kar’s pent — up energy and frustration of the last few days rushed to the surface. The gate could have been stormed and the village captured for lack of a few stones and men to carry them.
Neither Gatus nor Bantor spoke, so Esk kar continued shouting orders, his anger apparent to all. “Send men over the walls to gather up their ladders and weapons. And woodcutters to break up that ram and bring it inside.”
He saw Corio pushing through the crowd. “Corio, get your men over the wall and check the gate. I saw men trying to dig underneath it, and the ram made cracks in the timbers. Make what repairs you can before dark.
And don’t forget to recover the stones!”
Gatus nodded and moved away, shouting orders to his men. But Bantor leaned heavily on one of the villagers and Esk kar realized his subcommander was seriously wounded. Blood dripped steadily from his neck, as well as from the ragged bandage wrapped around his upper left arm.
Esk kar turned to his bodyguards. “Carry Bantor back to the house and find a healer for him.”
A horseman pushed his way through the thinning crowd. Esk kar saw that it was Jalen, come from the rear gate.
“Captain, do you need help here?” Jalen’s voice showed his concern.
“No, not any longer. Any problems at the river?”
“A small party of barbarians rushed the gate, but we drove them back without much trouble. Everything is secure there.”
Esk kar nodded, still hot with emotion. “Where’s Sisuthros? And Maldar?”
Soldiers approached him nervously and the story came out in bits, as each contributed what he knew. Sisuthros had been wounded early, an arrow striking him in the mouth. The missile had passed right through and come out in front of his ear, taking out two of his teeth. He’d been bleeding badly when they took him away.
Maldar had taken an arrow under his right arm and passed out from loss of blood, just as his second in command had been slain. With their commanders wounded, the men had done the best they could. In the tu-mult, no one noticed when the villagers abandoned their duties and ran off.
Esk kar stepped toward the last of his bodyguards, so enraged that the man instinctively took a step backward. “Find the men who left their posts.
Get them and bring them to me. Every one of them! I want them all.”
The cowards had jeopardized everything, though they’d faced little danger themselves. They had seen men die and had run off to hide in their houses or under their beds. As if that would save them. He swore they’d pay for their cowardice. He took a deep breath and tried to control himself.
“Jalen! Take command here. Make sure the defenses are ready for another attack. Clear out the bodies from in front of the gate as well. Get the men water and food, then exchange some of them for fresh men from the other walls. Have the men change their bowstrings, get more arrows and stones… curse all the gods below, you know what to do!”
Everyone burst into activity, any thoughts of celebrating vanished by their captain’s rage and all glad of any opportunity to move away from him. Esk kar took the time to inspect the men in both towers, keeping his anger suppressed and making sure they knew what to do and that help was on the way. When he felt the gate secure, he called out to Jalen. “Send word to Gatus that I’m going back to the house.”
His horse still waited, the reins held by a boy of about twelve seasons.
Esk kar swung onto the animal’s back, took the reins, then reached down and caught the boy’s arm, pulling him up in front of him. “Come with me, lad. You’ve earned a coin for doing your duty today, and I have none with me.” He kicked the horse and they cantered through the narrow streets, people scattering before him, his grim face frightening most of them into silence.
At the house he swung down from the horse, holding the boy in his arm as if he were a child. “Stay with the horse, lad, but get him some water. I may need him again.”
Pushing his way into the courtyard he saw much of the space taken up with wounded. Nicar stood there, directing men and dispatching messengers. Esk kar walked into the house where he found Trella and a dozen women working with the healers. She gave him a brief smile, but went on with her work. Four wounded members of the Hawk Clan lay there, including an unconscious Maldar. Bloody bandages covered his upper body and under his arm.
Esk kar found Sisuthros sitting on the floor, his back against the wall and his chest covered with dried blood. His mouth, jaw, and neck had all been wrapped tightly. These bandages oozed only a trace of blood, though, and the man’s eyes seemed alert enough. Sisuthros couldn’t speak, but he lifted his left hand a little when Esk kar saw him.
Walking over to him, Esk kar took Sisuthros’s good arm gently in his hand. “You look like you’ve been wrapped for burial.” The man tried to shake his head, but the movement brought pain to his eyes. “Rest. We drove them away and the battle’s fi nished for today and probably the next few days.” Esk kar looked around. “Have you seen Bantor?”
Sisuthros raised his hand again, pointing upstairs. Esk kar ran up the stairs to the workroom. He found Ventor there, finishing his work, assisted by Annok — sur, her lips trembling even as she helped bandage her husband, unconscious on the big table.
Esk kar stood there a few moments until the healer stepped back and began putting his instruments into his pouch. “How is he?”
“They pulled an arrow out of his arm,” the healer replied slowly. “That must have been early in the battle. Then another arrow went through the side of his neck.” He looked at Annok — sur. “Your husband is a lucky man.
The arrow missed the big blood carrier.” He turned back to Esk kar. “I’ve washed the wound and bandaged it, but he’s lost much blood and his life now rests with the gods.”
Ventor started to walk away, but Esk kar put out his arm. “Do everything you can for him. He fought bravely today.”
“So did many others, as I can see by their wounds,” he answered tiredly.
“But I will come back when I can. Annok — sur will call me if something happens.” Ventor pushed past Esk kar on his way down the stairs.
“I should be helping the others.” Annok — sur’s voice trembled and her shoulders shook with the effort to hold back the tears. “There are wounded all over the village.”
“Stay here,” Esk kar ordered, “and watch him carefully. Send word if you need anything.” She stood there, twisting a bandage in her hands.
“He’s strong, Annok — sur. The gods will surely help him to recover.”
There was nothing more Esk kar could do, so he returned downstairs, pausing halfway down to survey the aftermath, trying to shut out the moans of the injured. On the battlefield, far from water or healers, with any kind of a serious injury, most men died. Here, with many to care for them, maybe half might live. The women had prepared as best they could, making bandages from clean rags, setting up benches and tables for the injured, and ensuring that water and wine were plentiful, both for those wounded and those helping them.
Esk kar went out into the courtyard, striding over to the table where he found Gatus, Corio, Nicar, Rebba, and the other leaders. Gatus had emerged without a scratch, though he had been exposed often enough. As Esk kar heard their reports he ground his teeth in anger.
The problem was the towers. They drew arrows from every warrior. He swore silently that next time the Alur Meriki came to Orak, they would find more and bigger towers, so that the men defending them were not singled out. And future towers would project out over the wall, so that the defenders would not have to lean out over them to shoot at anyone at the base of the gate or the wall itself. He swore at himself for not thinking of that in advance, though nobody else had thought of it either.
Gatus took one look at his captain, poured some wine into a cup, and handed it to Esk kar. “How are they?” His head turned toward the wounded.
“Sisuthros is good… just can’t talk. Maldar is bad, but may live, if the rot does not set in. Bantor is… has lost a lot of blood and the healer doesn’t know. Or won’t say if he does.”
He held the wine cup to his lips and had to concentrate to keep his hand from shaking-though he wondered why he bothered. Plenty of brave men shook after a fight, grateful to be alive and away from the stress of battle.
“Get the Captain a bench,” Gatus ordered, and one of the Hawk Clan pushed a stool over to Esk kar. “The scribes have finally finished counting our dead and wounded.” Gatus squinted over the clay tablet. “Fifty — one archers dead, sixty — two wounded. If they come again, we’ll have to strip the men from the rear and side walls.”
Esk kar struggled with the numbers for a moment. A quarter of his fighting men were dead or out of action, and most of the casualties came from the towers and the gate. More than a hundred precious archers it had taken months to train. Now the defenses would be stretched thin.
“They won’t be back today, I’m sure of that. How many did we kill? Do you have the count?”
“No, not yet. The ditch men are still doing their work. Jalen will send word when they’ve finished the counting.”
“The ladders have already been picked up and the ram will soon be chopped into firewood, Captain,” Corio added. “It will take them time to fi nd wood and make new ladders. The gate is in good condition. The fi res didn’t burn long enough to damage anything, and the ram made only a few cracks. We’re nailing new wood over the damaged places. It should be completed before nightfall.”
Esk kar nodded in satisfaction. “Good, Corio, your gate did well.” A horse galloped up and a grinning clerk from Nicar’s staff flung himself from the horse’s back outside the gate and then rushed over to the table.
“Captain, I bring word from Jalen. We’ve counted the barbarian dead.”
The messenger paused dramatically before imparting his news. “Three hundred and thirty — two dead, Captain. That includes those killed in the morning,” he added, then remembered the rest of his report. “Jalen is collecting the weapons and arrows, and he went over the wall to fire the carts they left behind.”
“Ishtar!” Gatus smacked his fist on the table. “The fool will get himself killed over a few wagons.”
The clerk looked around nervously. “The archers are protecting them and…”
“That’s enough, boy,” Esk kar said. Too late now to order Jalen back inside. By the time someone reached the gate, he’d either be finished with his burning or dead. “Anything else?” When nothing new was offered, Eskkar thanked the clerk and sent him back to his duties.
“Well, Gatus, the barbarians were fools to leave those carts behind. It will be good to burn them. Nevertheless, if we can count three hundred dead, then there are probably another hundred wounded. This is a terrible defeat for them. They’ve lost many men, including some of their best archers.”
“What will come next?” Nicar asked. “Will they come again?”
“Oh, yes, but not until they have a new plan. They’ve learned their lesson today and they won’t try to match bows with us again. Not like that at any rate. And today they learned we won’t collapse in fear at the sight of them.”
Esk kar took a deep breath. “If they come at the gate again, they’ll be better prepared. They might have taken the gate today if they’d been more organized. They were slow bringing up their reinforcements.”
Even the mighty Alur Meriki could blunder in the heat of battle, Eskkar realized. But they wouldn’t make that mistake again. His eyes met Nicar’s again. “Or maybe they’ll come at night.” Nicar looked uncomfortable, and that reminded him.
“Did we find those men who left their posts?” Esk kar looked at Gatus.
“Where are they?”
Gatus and Nicar exchanged a look before the old soldier replied.
“There are thirty men outside in the street,” Gatus said calmly. “Four men were in charge of them. Three have been found and they’re outside as well. We’re still searching for the fourth man.” Gatus leaned back and looked at Nicar.
“Captain, they just did as their leaders did,” Nicar said defensively.
“Most are good men and shouldn’t be punished for their leaders’ failures.”
A silence fell over the table, though the moans of the injured and the voices of those tending them continued. Esk kar paused for a moment, trying to get his temper under control.
“Those men were supposed to bring stones to the gate. The reserve force was called up. Bantor, Maldar, and Sisuthros were wounded.” He looked around the table. “If the fight on the north wall had lasted any longer, the gate would have been taken and the village lost. And now one of those who ran is hiding from us!”
Esk kar closed his fist and tapped it gently on the table. “I should kill them all, all thirty of them. Perhaps Bantor and the others would not be lying wounded if these villagers had stayed at their posts.” No one met his gaze. “I’d kill every one of them, if I might not need them tomorrow.”
He let his fist open.
“The four leaders are to die and their goods confiscated, to be distributed with any other loot taken. The others will be assigned duties of greater danger. If they falter, the soldiers are to kill them instantly.
What they did and why they’re being punished is to be explained to every man in Orak, so that everyone understands what will happen if they run again.”
Nicar swallowed nervously but kept silent. The look on Esk kar’s face was plain to all. No entreaty would change his mind.
Gatus turned to Nicar. “It’s better than they deserve. The villagers must see that their leaders are willing to fight for them.” He looked back at Esk kar. “We’ll find the fourth man soon enough. How do you want them to die?”
Esk kar wanted them tortured over the fire, but knew he couldn’t order that.
“Just kill them, Gatus, as soon as you find the last one, just kill them and make sure everyone knows why. Do it in the marketplace, with a sword thrust. It’s a better fate than the barbarians would have given them. Nicar and Rebba can handle the details.”
He put all thoughts of those men out of his mind. “Now let’s get ready for the next attack.”
Two miles away, a disgusted Thutmose — sin sat inside his tent, still thinking about the failed attack he witnessed earlier. The dirt — eaters had not quailed at the sight of his warriors. Instead they fought bravely, their cursed arrows wreaking havoc among his men. Their outcast leader had prepared his men well, training the cowards to fight with the bow while hiding behind their wall. And each time the Alur Meriki pressed the attack, this Esk kar had rallied his men.
Now Thutmose — sin had to deliver even more bad news to the council. Bar’rack had ridden into the camp an hour earlier, near exhaustion.
Bar’rack’s clan leader, Insak, heard the story first. Insak then gathered Altanar, the other clan leader who’d provided warriors for the raid across the river, and the three of them carried the evil tidings to Thutmose — sin.
Bar’rack again related what had happened on the other side of the Tigris. Thutmose — sin sat stone — faced as the tale unfolded. The news didn’t surprise him. He’d already assumed the riders were dead or scattered, otherwise they would have signaled days ago. It was one thing to be a day or two late in arriving, but it would be a foolish leader who disobeyed his sarrum’s orders for more than a week. When Bar’rack finished, Thutmose — sin told him to keep silent about the loss and dismissed him.
“It must have been this Esk kar,” Thutmose — sin said when they were alone. “He moves quickly. Across the river only a few days ago, then back to Orak to meet our attack.”
“How did he know about the warriors,” Insak asked. “It would take time to gather men, to prepare this ambush. Is there a spy within our camp, someone who…”
“No, I don’t think so,” Thutmose — sin replied. “From the Ur Nammu he learned about our plans to encircle the village. With that knowledge, he guessed we would send a force across the river. So he recruited the Ur Nammu to provide riders, made his preparations, and moved northward.”
“He’s a demon, then,” Altanar said, “one of our own turned against us.
He must be killed, flayed alive, and burned over the fire.”
“On that we agree, Altanar,” Thutmose — sin said. “But first we have to capture him. Summon the rest of the council. I’ll tell them the news.”
The two clan leaders left, and Thutmose — sin resumed his thoughts.
Orak had turned into a disaster. Today’s failure, coupled with this latest news, would turn the council into an angry mob. Outside his tent, he could hear the clan leaders gathering, some still quarreling about today’s attack, blaming each other for the failure to capture the village. Their voices rose in anger, and the accusations and recriminations flowed freely.
“All the clan leaders are waiting, Sarrum.”
Thutmose — sin cleared his thoughts, buckled the sword around his waist, then stepped outside. The full council of the Alur Meriki, with every clan leader present, turned toward him. His presence stopped the bickering, and they took their seats on the open ground before his tent.
Only then did Thutmose — sin join them, taking the last empty spot that completed the circle. Markad and Issogu took their places behind him.
No other guards were permitted when the full council met. Thutmose — sin nodded to Insak.
“One of my warriors has returned from across the river,” Insak began.
He repeated Bar’rack’s story, taking his time and leaving nothing out. The council sat there, mouths open, stunned into silence at hearing that another force of Alur Meriki warriors had ceased to exist.
“These dirt — eaters,” Insak concluded, “must be swept from the earth.
My clan demands vengeance on these fi lth. They are even worse than the Ur Nammu who shame their clan by joining forces with them.”
They all started talking, asking more questions at fi rst, then beginning the argument that Thutmose — sin expected. Some wanted to hunt down the Ur Nammu, some to raid the lands across the river. Others wanted to attack the village again, as soon as possible. A few, Thutmose — sin noted, wanted to move on. He counted these, relieved that only four clan leaders spoke openly of leaving Orak.
At last Thutmose — sin raised his hand, and the conversations trailed off.
“My clan brothers,” he began, “we must destroy this village. For us, there is no other way.”
He gazed at every clan leader as his eyes went around the circle. “We are committed. We’ve driven the dirt — eaters to this place, and destroyed their farms and fields. Our men across the river were to prevent them from escaping, but they are not trying to escape. The few boats they might have are inside the walls, unused. This Orak offers a challenge to us each day that it resists. Its people are prepared to die here, and die they must. We planned for this battle. We traveled out of our path. Now we must finish it. If we had food enough, I’d stay here and starve them out. But the lands are empty, and we cannot remain here much longer.”
“But the loss of the raiding party. Do we not need them…”
“The raiding party was to keep the dirt — eaters from crossing the river.”
Thutmose — sin stood. “Our men have watched the crossing and none of the villagers have tried to flee. Our warriors across the river would not be of any help to us even if they were alive. And I’m sure Insak and Altanar’s men killed many dirt — eaters before they died. Now it falls to us to avenge our kin.”
No one spoke. He’d shamed them all into silence, and now no one met his gaze.
“So nothing has changed. The dirt — eaters held us off today only by luck. Next time will be different.”
He let his voice grow hard. “The Alur Meriki have never been defeated. Remind your warriors of that. Tell them to prepare to attack the village again. Tell them that no matter what the cost, the next attack will succeed, or every Alur Meriki warrior will die in the attempt. And this time, my clan brothers, we will hold nothing back, and we will not fail.”