The dirt eaters remained in their protective half-ring, with their horses bunched up in the gully behind them. Every man kept his bow and weapons at hand, and Bekka had no doubt they knew how to use them.
A shout made him turn to the east. He saw Kushi galloping his horse down the adjoining hill, across the flat space, then scrambling up the slope to join his clan chief.
“Chief Bekka,” Kushi began, then had to catch his breath. “Chief Chulum and his warriors are here.”
Bekka could not hold back a brief frown. He’d known that Chulum and the warriors of his Serpent Clan rode closest to his position, but with a little luck it might have been one of the other chiefs who arrived first. Chulum, five years older than Bekka, had risen to command of the Serpent Clan only five or six years ago, and he’d done it by sheer strength of will. No man questioned his fighting skill or courage, but he’d yet to prove himself as a wise leader.
His name, Chulum, meant “stone,” and the members of his clan muttered among themselves, though not when Chulum might overhear, that he’d been aptly named.
“How many riders with him?”
“All of his clan, I think,” Kushi said. “Ninety, perhaps a few more.”
Bekka gritted his teeth at the news.
The sound of hoof beats echoed over the hills, and Bekka saw a mass of riders cresting the hill behind him. He watched as riders climbed over the crest and began the descent. It was a good way to count them. When the last man started down, Bekka’s count reached ninety-four.
Chulum, at the head of his force, rode straight toward Bekka.
Bekka resigned himself to the coming encounter, knowing there would be trouble. The situation was awkward. As the leader of warriors in this part of the countryside, Bekka should take command. But being the older chief and with a superior number of warriors, Chulum would expect to give the orders.
Once again, Bekka swore under his breath at the bad luck that dogged his steps. Then he had time only to get control of his emotions as Chulum rode up to his position.
“Chief Bekka.” Chulum gave the merest nod to acknowledge Bekka as an equal.
“Chief Chulum.” Bekka returned the nod with as much enthusiasm. “It is good to see you.”
Taller and broader than Bekka, Chulum had thick arms that could strangle an ox. He carried no bow, but had two lances slung over his right shoulder. “These are the dirt eaters in our path?” He had already turned his attention to the narrow valley below.
“I think they are Akkadians, probably sent by the traitor Eskkar. They are. .”
“You should have stopped them before they reached the stream.”
Bekka ignored the insult. “They have a hundred men and. .”
“Dirt eaters.” Chulum cut him off. “It matters not. With your men and mine, we have more than enough to finish them.”
Bekka kept his voice under control. “I think we should wait. More warriors are on their way. And I’ve sent riders to Thutmose-sin.”
Perhaps the mention of the Great Chief’s name would restrain Chulum’s eagerness. “Meanwhile, the invaders have no place to go.”
Chulum shook his head. “Thutmose-sin is not here, may not be here for days. Besides, my men need the water. We rode hard when we got your message.” He turned to his commanders, waiting in silence behind their leader, and listening to every word of the exchange. “Prepare the men to attack.”
Orders were bellowed, drowning out Bekka’s reply. Chulum’s men readied weapons and started forming a battle line. Some of Bekka’s own men, caught up in the excitement, joined in. Bekka attempted to order his own men to hold fast, but already the shouts of the warriors preparing for battle drowned out his efforts. Without challenging Chulum, Bekka could not stop him. Swearing again, Bekka resigned himself to the attack.
Chulum never looked back. He kicked his horse into position in the front of the line even before all of Bekka’s warriors formed up. Bekka tried to reach Chulum’s side, but too many riders were jostling about, blocking the way. The horses caught their riders’ excitement, and added their whinnies and snorts to the din.
Warriors gulped the last of their water and readied their weapons. Meanwhile, Chulum unslung his two lances and held them up, one in each hand. A loud roar went up from his men and echoed out over the valley, as bows and lances were thrust upwards.
“Warriors! Destroy the dirt eaters! Attack!”
Bekka swore again, a mighty oath that should have made the gods strike Chulum down from his horse. Nevertheless, Bekka drew his sword and put his heels to his horse’s flanks. Nothing could stop Chulum’s warriors now, and all Bekka could do was join in the fight and hope for the best.
“Not wasting any time, are they.” Hathor studied the movements on the hilltop.
“The sooner they come, the less time our men will have to worry.” Draelin nocked an arrow to his bowstring. “Too bad I don’t have my war bow. It’s not doing much good hanging over my door in Akkad.”
Hathor shook his head at Draelin’s eagerness. The smaller cavalry bows had shorter range and less stopping power. Still, at close range, their bronze tips would take a man down. Hathor unslung the lance that had chaffed his shoulder for the last eight days, then loosened his sword in its scabbard.
His men were drawn up about twenty paces from the stream, in a half moon formation, with the opening facing the northern cliff. The horses remained in the gully. Ten of the strongest soldiers attended to them, each man responsible for hanging on to ten horses.
The animals, tethered together, would need to be restrained once the attack began, and more than a few were going to be struck by arrows. No matter how many wounded animals panicked or bolted, the rest of the horses had to be held fast. If they all broke loose or stampeded, Hathor’s men would be left on foot.
The Egyptian didn’t waste any words exhorting his men. They understood the need to hold the stream. Besides, if they tried to retreat, the barbarians would cut them to pieces.
The Akkadians settled into their positions. Each man knelt on the ground, on one knee, with his two quivers of arrows before him. The smaller bows, designed to be used from horseback, could still be used effectively in that position. Kneeling made every bowman a smaller target, with each archer separated from his companions by a good pace on either side. That allowed enough room to work the bow properly, and swing it from side to side if necessary.
Hathor moved to the center of the line, where the brunt of the attack would likely fall. Draelin stood thirty paces to the right, in the more exposed position. The barbarians would try to envelop their enemy on the south side and break through to the horses. Hathor had given Draelin command of the men. As an experienced archer, he would know when to loose the first volley.
A din of noise erupted from the enemy’s position and floated over the stream. To Hathor, it sounded as if every barbarian had given voice to his war cry. Then the warriors started down the hill. Hoof beats added to the fury of sound that echoed off the cliffs and washed over the Akkadians. As soon as the barbarians reached the base of the hill, they put their horses to a full gallop.
As he watched their progress, Hathor made a rough count of their number. He grunted in satisfaction. They didn’t have enough men to break his position.
“Ready arrows!” Draelin’s bellow, too, boomed out against the cliff behind him, but every man heard the order.
Already the first few barbarian shafts flew into the air, arching upwards. Hathor didn’t bother to try and watch their approach. He’d seen men dodge one shaft only to be struck down by another. Best to stand in one place and cover his chest and neck with the small shield he’d carried all the way from Akkad. And hope the gods of war stood by your side to brush each deadly shaft away.
“Shoot!” Draelin’s command started the defense.