Hathor shook his head. “If there are, we’re finished, whether we go forward or back. So it doesn’t matter. They’re between us and the stream. We’ve no choice now but to attack.” He stretched himself upright and took one last look around. The hills behind them remained bare of life. For this battle, at least, only the barbarians in front of him mattered.
Nevertheless, Hathor didn’t like what he saw. He and his men would be attacking uphill, always a disadvantage. That, too, no longer mattered. His men needed the Khenmet’s water.
“Form the men in two lines, sixty in front and forty behind the center. That way they won’t be able to charge downhill and just ride through us. You take the left flank, and I’ll take the right. If we can envelop them, so much the better. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go. Tell the men to shoot as soon as they’re in range, but not before.”
“Yes, Commander.”
With a shout of excitement, Draelin wheeled his horse around and trotted off, calling out orders as he went. Hathor called up his leaders of ten and twenty, and gave them the necessary orders. “Remember, watch for any sudden shifts of their line. Wherever they try to break through, shift your men to take them from the flank.”
Each of his commanders would pass his words to the men, so that every man knew what was expected of him. It took only moments, as these Akkadians had trained and practiced maneuvers such as this hundreds of times. When Hathor felt satisfied that every one understood the order of battle, he moved to his own position just to the right of center and waited until Draelin situated himself in a similar position on the left.
The column of fours broke in two parts, then separated again, forming a front line of sixty riders, with the second line of forty about thirty paces behind the first. Each man settled into position a pace apart from his neighbor. As Hathor inspected his men one last time, he saw no signs of fear or confusion, only riders loosening swords in their scabbards, testing their bows, and fitting arrows to bowstrings.
Almost all of these men had fought a mounted battle before, and at Isin they attacked an enemy four or five times greater in size. These Akkadians knew what to look forward to. The Alur Meriki, Eskkar claimed, did not expect to confront men who could ride and shoot at the same time. Now that idea would be tested.
Hathor glanced down the line to where Draelin sat astride his horse, bow in hand, waiting the command to attack. Hathor saw the excitement on their faces and reflected in their movements, but still not a trace of fear. All the men were ready. Hathor drew his sword, raised it up, then swung it forward. “Move out!”
Draelin’s shout echoed his commander’s. The two lines surged forward and down the hill, moving at an easy canter and maintaining a good line. Nevertheless, the animals sensed the tension of their riders. Horses whinnied in excitement and tried to surge ahead, while the ground shook from their hooves as they went down the hill.
As soon as the horsemen reached the middle of the flat expanse, the men would kick their horses into a fast canter. The Akkadians wouldn’t be in range of the barbarian bows until they reached the foot of the next hill. Then the order to gallop the horses as fast as possible would be given.
Hathor tightened his grip on the sword as the front line reached the bottom of the hill and increased their speed across the open space.
From the opposite hilltop, Bekka sat on his horse and watched the Akkadians make their preparations. They wasted no time, showed no confusion, and he detected no signs of fear in any of the riders facing him. Every rider carried a short, curved bow, much like those his own warriors carried, and Bekka guessed these intruders knew how to use them. They handled their bows and horses almost as well as his own men.
Never before had Alur Meriki horsemen faced dirt eaters who knew how to use a bow from horseback. Their calm preparations proved that they had faith in themselves and their weapons. Their leader didn’t even bother to urge his men to the attack.
The more Bekka observed, the less he liked the prospect of this battle. In each previous encounter with Akkadian soldiers, every warrior who had faced Akkad’s dreaded longbow archers soon learned to respect the power of those weapons. If these dirt eaters had mastered the same skills with the smaller bows. .
Kushi, a leader of twenty who had joined Bekka earlier in the day, moved his horse beside that of his chief. One of Bekka’s cousins, Kushi had taken charge of Unegen’s men in his absence and was now Bekka’s second in command. Together they watched the dirt eaters form two battle lines. “They’ll flank us.”
Kushi, too, understood the size of the line and what it meant. The mass of horsemen in the center would slow down any charge trying to cut through the Akkadians, which was exactly what Bekka had intended to do, tear through them and regroup on the far side. Now he knew that wouldn’t work. His warriors would break through the first line, he felt certain of that, but those that survived would be riding into forty more enemy arrows shot at close range.
Long before his Alur Meriki fighters, those that survived the first encounter, could hack their way through the second line, the weight of dirt eaters on their flanks would be on them, putting arrows in their backs. If the enemy knew their business, Bekka’s warriors would be enveloped and cut to pieces. He could lose every man.
Bekka took one final look behind him. For most of the day, warriors in two and threes had ridden to join him. Many of these he had dispatched as soon as they arrived, ordering them to scour the countryside until they located the two main war parties still many miles to the south.
By now a large force of warriors would be galloping over empty lands toward this place from many directions, but none had arrived yet. He’d hoped to convince the enemy horsemen that he had reserves behind the hill, perhaps even make them hold off their attack and send out some scouts, but the Akkadian commander hadn’t wasted a single moment worrying about that.
Instead, the Akkadians would soon be pouring arrows into his flanks. Bekka’s men might hold the center, might even inflict heavy casualties on the men charging up the hill, but whatever advantage he got during that first exchange, he would pay twice over for it when the dirt eaters reached the crest and wheeled their horses into his flanks and rear. Then it would be the Alur Meriki under the gauntlet as they were driven down the slope, while bowmen shot arrows at them from every direction.
Even if Bekka could win this fight, or manage to slow down the attackers, most of his men would be dead. Across the hilltop, Bekka watched a tall rider on the left flank draw his sword. For a moment, he wondered if it might be the traitor Eskkar. Not that it mattered. As the weapon swung down, the Akkadians gave a shout and the line began its descent.
“Damn them.” Bekka just did not have enough warriors, and he didn’t intend to waste the lives of his kinsmen fighting against a trained force more than twice the size of his. “Get the men out of here. We’ll form up on the other side of the stream.”
If Kushi were unhappy with the order, he didn’t show it. “Yes, Chief.” He rode off, shouting orders as he went, and no doubt giving thanks to the gods that he wasn’t in command.
Bekka took one last look at the Akkadians. “Damn you to the pits, Eskkar.” Then he turned his horse around and started down the slope. Some of the men protested, and few launched arrows at the approaching horsemen, but most seemed glad enough to avoid this fight. The Alur Meriki had no qualms about turning away from a fight against superior numbers. A war leader was expected to win fights, not waste the lives of his warriors.
Nevertheless, by the time Bekka splashed across the stream, he had started worrying about how news of this retreat would be received in Thutmose-sin’s tent. The punishment for cowardice in front of an enemy was death.