57

On the river, Yavtar watched the soldiers form up and move northward. As soon as they moved out, he issued orders and his own three fighting boats pushed away from the riverbank just after dawn. Three of the cargo ships had departed in the middle of the night, carrying wounded men and sacks of loot intended for Akkad. Yavtar had wished the boat captains good luck, and guessed they would need it. For them, the first stage of the slow passage upriver might be more dangerous today than fighting Shulgi’s army.

Yavtar had hoped to have five or six of the big war boats here today, but Shulgi’s blockade had left him with only three. At least he had some of the rowers and archers from the lost boats, so each craft had more than its usual compliment of bowmen. His three vessels would deliver a deadly sting to the Sumerian army, but whether any of them would survive the encounter remained an unanswered question. No one – at least as far as he knew – had ever used boats as floating platforms for archers, or contemplated using them against a massive land army.

With his three craft well away from shore, they rowed up river, already struggling to keep station with Gatus’s spearmen, whose easy strides covered the ground faster than his boat crews could row. Each ship had raised its sail, but the linen squares hung limp in the still air. Later in the morning Yavtar expected a slight breeze from the south that might help, but this early in the day, such winds seldom appeared.

The boat crews had to row hard just to keep from being shoved downriver by the current. Since the boats carried extra men, the heavily laden vessels handled even worse than usual, each craft carrying more than twenty archers and a dozen rowers. His men struggled with the oars, thrusting them deep into the brown waters of the Euphrates and pushing with all their strength, forcing the craft forward against the current.

The archers provided some assistance. They used the few extra paddles to help drive the boats. Yavtar had intended to take the lead, but another craft slid easier through the water, despite Yavtar’s steady cursing at his own rowers, and until finally he waved the other boatmaster ahead, settling into the second position.

Daro, in command of all the archers, also directed the bowmen on Yavtar’s craft. Daro kept moving up and down the line, making sure the broad shields sat firmly in their place, and that every man had plenty of arrows and extra bowstrings at hand.

“Pull, you dogs!” Yavtar’s bellow carried across the water to all three craft. “Gatus is moving ahead. Damn you, pull!”

A few men had enough breath to laugh at their commander’s eagerness to get into battle.

Stroke by stroke, the ships clawed their way upriver, until they rode alongside Gatus and his spearmen, only a hundred paces away. “Keep rowing. We need to be ahead of them.”

When the spearmen launched their real attack, they’d be running as fast as they could cover the ground. The sooner the infantry could close the distance, the less time the enemy archers would have to launch shafts at them. That meant Yavtar needed to be well ahead of Gatus’s infantry. Fortunately, the river widened a bit, and the boats began to move faster through the water, slowly drawing ahead of Gatus and his spearmen.

As soon as Yavtar saw that he’d be in position, he took a moment to study the enemy. His eyes widened at the sight of so many men. No one had ever assembled such a host before. He could scarcely believe what he saw. Yavtar had heard the estimates, seen the numbers, but to actually face so many, their upright spears glinting in the sun . . . he wondered how Eskkar could maintain his steadfastness of purpose, let alone his belief in victory. Even more, Yavtar wondered how the soldiers marching forward maintained their trust in their commander. Eskkar’s reputation had much to do with that, of course, but most of all Eskkar believed in himself, and the men sensed and shared in that belief.

The king had once remarked that every battle he’d ever fought, he’d been outnumbered.

“Did you ever think of run . . . not fighting?” Yavtar had corrected himself just in time.

“Every time,” Eskkar replied, smiling at his friend.

Seeing the enemy host, Yavtar wondered what thoughts might be tempting the king today.

“What a sight.” Daro finished checking his bowmen, and joined Yavtar at the rear of the boat, just ahead of the steering oar. He stared in amazement at the enemy army.

Two crewmen crouched right behind Yavtar, one holding the steering oar and the other ready to take his place should an arrow take him. A larger than usual shield gave them good protection, but under no conditions did Yavtar want to end up with his boat beached on the riverbank due to the loss of the steersman.

“I think I’m glad to be on the water,” Yavtar said, following Daro’s gaze to the shore.

If disaster struck the Akkadians, the boats would have a chance to escape, though they would still have to maneuver past the narrow bend in the river a few miles from here. Yesterday Shulgi had spread his boats and men across the water and caused the sinking of half a dozen boats before Yavtar could break free. But the Sumerians might have abandoned that place once the battle started.

“It’s a long way back to Akkad.” Daro strung his own bow, then tested the pull. Thumb-ring and wrist gauntlet were already in place. “Let’s hope we don’t have to row all the way there.”

“Look! There goes the cavalry!” Yavtar couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice.

Eskkar’s horsemen were on the move, walking slowly away from the spearmen. Gatus had already halted his men. The boat crews caught their breath. Now they just had to hold their position until the next advance.

“My bowmen are ready to fight,” Daro said. “They’d rather shoot arrows than row any time.”

“Good luck and good hunting to you, Daro.”

“And to you, Yavtar. Remember to keep low and stay behind the shields. I think we’re going to have thousands of arrows launched at us.”

The idea of a thousand arrows striking the boat made Yavtar’s mouth go dry. The archers would be behind shields, but they would still have to expose part of their bodies to launch their shafts. And his crew would still have to work the boat, despite the enemy’s missiles. Many on board were going to die.

Yavtar reached down and scooped up a water skin half hidden beneath the steering bench. “Better take one last drink before we start.” He took a few swallows then handed the skin to Daro. While the archer drank, Yavtar retrieved another skin from a deeper recess. “And a few swallows of wine can’t hurt, either.”

Deciding there would always be plenty of water from over the side to drink, Yavtar took a deep pull from the wine skin, then handed it to Daro.

Daro accepted that skin as well. “To victory.” He lifted the skin as if it were a cup, and drank deep.

Yavtar took another look at Shulgi’s army. “I’ll drink to that. I’ll even drink to having a drink tomorrow night, if we’re still alive.” He took back the wine skin and swallowed as much of the strong liquid as he could force down his throat. “It’s going to be a long day,” he explained, “and I don’t want to get thirsty later.”

From the shore, Gatus’s spearmen gave their battle cry, and began moving forward, the men maintaining their position. It appeared as though a solid block of shields and spear points were on the move.

“It’s time.” Daro moved forward, to his place in the center of the boat.

“Pull for all your worth,” Yavtar shouted. He tossed the wine skin to the two men behind him. “Might as well finish that. We’re going to need it.”

Once again, the three ships slowly gathered way against the current. For the first time in anyone’s memory, boats were going to be in the thick of a land battle. Yavtar checked his sword for the tenth time, and moved toward the bow of the vessel. Soon they’d be far enough upriver to see what lay behind the enemy lines.

Gatus’s infantry halted for the second time, but Yavtar continued moving forward, and soon his three little boats had drawn almost even with the enemy ranks. So far no one had loosed an arrow at them, but Yavtar knew that would soon change, once they saw how powerful a sting rode the river.

Daro’s voice rose up, echoing out over the calm water. “Bowmen! Loose at will!”

After the training volleys that Yavtar had seen in Akkad’s training ground or the northern camps, the few shafts from Daro’s archers seemed puny indeed. But soon more than sixty bowmen spread out over three ships were launching shafts at Shulgi’s right flank. Many fell short, but Yavtar knew that would change in a few moments as the range shortened, as the ships continued making headway against the river.

The archers were on their fifth or sixth shaft before the Sumerians returned the first volley. Daro shouted a warning, and Yavtar looked up to see a cloud of shafts arch up into the sky, then begin to fall toward his ship. For a moment it seemed as if every single arrow were aimed right at him. He ducked down behind the shield, practically shoving his face into the bilge water, just as the shafts struck home.

In a moment, the ship was riddled with shafts protruding from every surface. As the arrows struck the wooden hull or shields, a loud drumming came from the wood, as if each shaft were a hammer blow. To Yavtar’s surprise, not a bowmen went down under the first volley. He picked up his own round shield, and held it between his head and shore, so he could see what was happening. The lead ship was shooting arrows as well, already in range to reach targets well back from the river. To his rear, Yavtar saw that the third boat had turned away from the shore for a moment, then righted its course once again. A body fell into the water, but its archers continued to launch their arrows.

A quick glance toward shore saw that Gatus’s spearmen continued moving slowly toward the Sumerian line. But as they drew within a quarter mile or so, they halted. The front rank had its shields held up, while the second and third ranks raised them over their heads. Behind them, he saw Mitrac’s archers begin shooting.

“Yavtar! Can you get us a little closer to the shore?” Daro’s bellow shook Yavtar out of his fascination with the battle on shore.

Yavtar took a quick glance at the water flowing beside the hull, then at the riverbank. The water would be deep enough and the current about the same. It seemed madness to draw closer to the enemy bowmen, but today no one worried about that. He scrambled back to the rear of the craft, hunched over the whole way. He found himself muttering prayers to the god of the rivers, and hoping an arrow wouldn’t find his backside as he wriggled past the grunting archers and sweating rowers.

“Move us in closer, about twenty paces.” The steersman’s face went a shade whiter at the order. “Hurry, Daro wants a closer shot!”

The man nodded his understanding, and he pushed on the oar with hands that shook more from fear than the force of the river. The craft responded well, turning slightly and edging closer to the shore.

Yavtar glanced at the other boats. Hopefully they would remember their orders to take station wherever Yavtar’s vessel went.

Daro shouted orders to his men. Soon arrows from sixty archers again began striking the partially exposed right flank of the Sumerian spearmen. The enemy had their shields raised up for protection against Mitrac’s shafts, and Daro’s arrows weren’t a numbing volley, but even Yavtar’s hurried glimpses over the side of the boat showed the attack’s effect. The Sumerian spearmen anchoring Shulgi’s right flank had to shift some shields to protect their exposed right sides. Meanwhile, arrows from the Akkadian archers behind the ranks of Gatus’s spearmen continued to fall on them. Daro’s men had an unheard of opportunity to loose their shafts down the solid mass of the enemy’s main battle line. Even shafts that glanced off an upraised shield might strike another target before they came to rest.

No infantry expected to be under continual fire like that, from two directions, especially not at such close range. If the Sumerians could have mounted even a brief charge, the Akkadian bowmen would be slaughtered. But at least seventy-five paces of water remained between the boats and the river bank, and Daro’s archers were as much out of reach as if they were on the other side of the river. Unless Shulgi wanted to order swimmers into the river to try and board the boats, he could do nothing except have his archers shoot back at them.

By now the sides of the boat and the shields were riddled with arrows. At least two of Daro’s men were down, one wounded in the leg and out of the fight, another dead with an arrow in his throat.

But the Akkadian shafts continued to fly at the Sumerian ranks. Each boat had pushed away from shore that morning with two hundred and fifty shafts for every archer, an enormous reserve of arrows and more than enough to allow a steady fire. And Yavtar knew these bowmen could do it, shooting shaft after shaft, drawing each feather to the cheek before releasing the arrow.

The bowmen ignored the bellowed threats and curses from the shore, Yavtar’s shouting of orders that passed up and down the length of the boat, and even the harsh breaths and grunts each man made as he released his missile. The snapping of bowstrings mixed with the steady drumming of Sumerian arrows striking every wooden surface on the boat added to the din. Yavtar had fought before, but nothing compared to this frenzy of conflicting noise.

On the shore, Shulgi’s commanders soon recognized the danger in the boats attacking them. An entire company of Sumerian bowmen shifted their position and started launching arrows at the three vessels that lay just out of reach.

“Bowmen!” Daro’s voice boomed out over the battle din. “Maximum range. Aim for their leaders. Aim for the red banner!”

Yavtar risked another glance, but couldn’t see any banner. Daro must have caught sight of a worthy target, perhaps Shulgi himself or one of his commanders. Yavtar saw the bowmen elevate their weapons even higher, sending the shafts high into the sky, to rain down well away from the riverbank, and close to the position occupied by the Sumerian leaders.

It seemed odd to be shooting at something that wasn’t shooting back at you, but the archers didn’t seem concerned about that. They just kept launching their shafts at whatever target their leaders selected, grunting with every effort to draw the string back to the full force position before letting fly.

Yavtar wondered if these latest shafts, aimed high into the sky, were having any effect. He watched Gatus’s men first advance and then fall back, an orderly movement that kept their lines and shield wall intact. Still, the Sumerians hadn’t budged from their position, which wasn’t a good sign. By now Yavtar expected that the enemy would have abandoned their defensive positions to come to grips with their attackers.

He decided to move the boats a little more upriver, to catch a glimpse what lay behind Shulgi’s main battle line. It might confuse the Sumerians who would be expecting the ships to stay just ahead of Gatus’s spearmen.

“Move the boats upriver!” With both hands cupped to his mouth, Yavtar’s bellow carried to the other two ships, and he repeated the message twice in each direction. “At least three hundred paces. Pull, you lazy bastards, pull!”

He turned to find Daro staring at him, but the questioning look on the master bowman’s face gave way to approval.

“Good idea!” Daro, too, had to shout to be heard. “We’ll be able to see behind them.” He raised his voice. “Keep shooting! As fast as you can!”

The three ships moved ponderously forward, pulling well ahead of Gatus’s line. If Yavtar could maneuver the boats even a small distance behind the Sumerian front, Daro’s archers should be able to create havoc.

The ships crept steadily upriver. The enemy either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. Yavtar’s vessel, still in the center of the little fleet, had drawn almost even with the Sumerian line when the arrows stopped arriving. The cessation of enemy arrows drumming against the hull tempted Yavtar to take a good look at the Sumerians.

On the shore, at least a thousand bowmen had shifted their positions, readying themselves to fire directly at the boats. The men moved quickly, formed ranks facing the river, and drew their bows. Yavtar turned to Daro, but the archer had already grasped the significance and shouted new orders to his men.

A few moments later the first volley hurtled toward the ships. Yavtar hunched down below the boat’s hull, and shouted a warning to his steersmen and rowers to do the same. Daro and his men ducked behind their shields. The thudding impact of the first volley was strong enough to make the boat lurch in the water. Before Yavtar had time to congratulate himself on being alive, more arrows struck, creating a hammering sound that went on and on. The limp sail even captured a dozen shafts entangled in the thick linen, while plenty of others just passed through.

Looking forward, he saw more arrows protruding from the vessels’ sides like blades of grass in a field. If it weren’t for the outriggers, slipped into place right after the morning launch, the boats might have capsized from the extra weight of all those arrows alone. Every one of the archers had dropped to his knees and huddled close to the shields, while the rain of death poured down on them.

But the moment the volleys ended, Daro ordered his men to return to their shooting positions. Yavtar counted four more bowmen down, victims of the savage volleys, either dead or out of the fight. Probably the losses would be about the same on the other boats. But Daro still had a battle grimace on his face, and every man that could fight still launched his shaft with a full pull of his bow.

Something burned along his cheek, and Yavtar realized a shaft had just missed his eye. He felt the warm blood dripping down his face, and he hunched a little closer to the wooden shield, not much thicker than the width of his thumb, all that stood between himself and almost certain death.