Mid-morning on the fourth day, Eskkar saw Ur Nammu riders standing on a crest line, outlined against the sky. He gathered his horsemen around him.
“I think we’ve reached the place,” Eskkar said. “Now remember what I’ve told you. Make sure you give no offense, no matter what happens. And the first man who puts his hand on a sword will wish he’d never been born.”
They rounded the base of the hill and trotted the last few hundred paces until they reached the entrance to the valley. He counted fifteen warriors waiting for them. Subutai wasn’t among them, but Eskkar relaxed when he saw Fashod. Eskkar halted his men a few paces from the waiting horsemen.
“A good day to ride,” Eskkar said, one of the traditional greetings used by the horse people.
“A good day to ride,” Fashod replied. “Welcome to our camp.”
Eskkar glanced around. He didn’t see any ropes blocking the valley entrance, and wondered what kept the animals from bolting out.
“How long have you been waiting for us?”
“Only two days. It took longer to bring the animals here than I thought. A few ropes broke, and twice a pesky mare slipped her noose.”
“How many horses did you bring?” Eskkar couldn’t restrain his curiosity.
“Thirty. Are these the men who will need to be taught how to ride?”
“No. Those should arrive tomorrow. There will be twenty to teach, as well as men with tools to build corrals and whatever else is needed. They’ll bring plenty of rope. These men,” Eskkar waved his hand to include those who had ridden with him, “need only to be taught how to fight from horseback.”
“Good. Then the rest of today we can hunt and talk, and begin work tomorrow. Would you like to see the horses?”
“Very much, Fashod.” Eskkar turned to the leader of his guard. “You stay here, and remember what I’ve told you.”
Fashod wheeled his horse around and started up the valley, and Eskkar galloped after him. The rest of the warriors followed, and Eskkar had the strange sensation of riding with a group of warriors, something he had not done since his boyhood days with the Alur Meriki.
The valley curved slightly, and as they rounded the bend he saw the horses, already in retreat away from the approaching men. Fashod slowed his pace as they neared the end of the valley. The nervous animals watched them approach, ears flicking back and forth, a stallion pawing the earth as it kept its gaze on them.
“Good horseflesh,” Eskkar said, his eyes examining the animals. You couldn’t be sure, of course, until you worked with them, but he didn’t see any dull coats or listless movements. Every head stretched upwards, and the wild look in their eyes showed plenty of spirit.
“A few good ones,” Fashod agreed. “Better than most horses that dirt-eaters ride.”
The horses were growing more restive, unsure of these strange men and animals. They’d been driven a long way, but they were still wild, and it would take a lot of hard work before they would let a man approach them, let alone slip a halter over their heads.
The horsemen rode back to the mouth of the valley and dismounted. Eskkar asked Fashod if he could meet his men, and Fashod obliged. Many of the warriors were young. In the Alur Meriki clan of Eskkar’s youth, they would still have been considered boys. But the Ur Nammu had been devastated by war and nearly exterminated, and now the clan needed its boys to turn into men as fast as possible.
The warriors were cool to Eskkar. They didn’t know much about him.
To them, he was just another clan deserter or outcast, someone who had joined with the dirt-eaters. Even worse, some suspected he had come from the clan of their hated enemy, the Alur Meriki. Most of all, the Ur Nammu considered themselves superior to any villager or farmer, and their words were cautious or aloof.
One warrior – Eskkar guessed he had about twenty seasons – did more than repeat Eskkar’s name in greeting. “My name is Chinua. I know you, Eskkar of Akkad. I fought with you and your men when the Alur Meriki nearly overwhelmed us in the canyon of death.” He raised his voice so that all would hear. “All of you have heard many times the story of that fight. I was there, and I say that Eskkar of Akkad is a mighty warrior, who saved my life and the lives of many Ur Nammu that day. Despite his many wounds, he helped Subutai slay the leader of our enemy.”
Chinua, which Eskkar knew meant “wolf”, moved to face the rest of his men. “Some of you have loose tongues and foolish words. If any of you insult King Eskkar or his men, it will be as if you have challenged me. I will not forget the blood oath that binds all Ur Nammu warriors with Eskkar of Akkad.”
The little speech, coming from one of the warriors and not Fashod, did more to impress the men than anything either commander could have said. Eskkar wondered if Fashod had suggested it.
“Your words are wise, Chinua.” Eskkar moved his horse beside that of the warrior and extended his arm. “It is always good to greet an old comrade again.”
Chinua clasped Eskkar’s arm in friendship. “We will break many horses for you.”
“And help me train my men to fight as warriors fight.” Eskkar didn’t like to give speeches, but he knew that, at times, words were more powerful than swords. “As the Ur Nammu have fought against the superior numbers of the Alur Meriki, so will my men have to fight against great odds. That is why we seek your help, as brother warriors, so that we can overcome our enemies.”
That was important to remind them, that Subutai and Eskkar had sworn the blood oath of warriors. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
“It is true,” Fashod added. “I, too, have fought at Eskkar’s side, not once but twice. Though because of him, I have a wife that I must beat regularly, taken in a raid against the main camp of the Alur Meriki.”
The men laughed at the jest, but the words of Chinua and Fashod, and
even Eskkar, made them aware of the special relationship that existed between them. Eskkar saw some of the hostility and distrust fade from their faces. A good start, but much more would be needed to bridge the gap between them. With luck, they would have plenty of time.
“Now it is time to feast.” Fashod turned to Eskkar. “Is there any wine in those skins I saw your men carrying?”
“Only one skin,” Eskkar said. “But I will have more brought out, if you and your men think you can drink with my men.”
“A fair challenge.” Fashod turned his horse back toward the camp. “First one back to the camp gets an extra cup of wine.”
In an instant the riders whirled their horses around and burst into a gallop, leaving Eskkar still struggling to turn his mount around. By then the Ur Nammu were thirty paces ahead of him, and Eskkar realized that he would likely be the one without any wine tonight.
A
fter the men finished their meal, Fashod came over to Eskkar’s campfire. He sat down beside Eskkar, so that both of them faced the fire. “Tell me of your plans, Eskkar.”
“First we must break the horses and train the men. I will send orders back to Bisitun, and soon more of my men will come. They’ll bring ropes, poles, shovels, everything needed to hold the horses. Wine and food, too. If this place seems suitable, I’ll send for masons to build a wall across the mouth of the valley, with a gate. That way we’ll be sure the horses can’t break out.”
“All that will take time,” Fashod mused.
“There is time, but I intend to waste none of it. As long as you keep bringing me horses, I will have more men coming to learn how to fight.”
“Bows, arrows, lances, those will be needed as well.”
Eskkar nodded. “All has been considered, including what you and your men will receive in return for your help. If anyone is unhappy with the exchange, come to me and we will work things out between us. I want no Ur Nammu warrior feeling slighted.”
“Will your men obey our orders?”
“They will. If you set the example. Treat them fairly, but no better than you would treat any of your own. They have much to learn, and the sooner the better. As you train these, they will help train those that follow them.”
“It will be as you say, Eskkar.” He stared at the fire for a moment. “Do you think you will be able to defeat your enemy, when you come to face him?”
“The future is never certain, Fashod, but I’ve learned one thing in the last few seasons, if nothing else. Well-trained and well-armed fighters can defeat almost any number of the enemy.”
“Then I promise you, Eskkar of Akkad, that when the time comes, your men will be ready.”
T
hey started the next morning. Fashod gave half the warriors to Chinua and told him to get started on the horses. Eskkar told his men to form a line with each rider ten paces apart, facing Fashod’s remaining warriors, who formed a similar line two hundred paces away.
“When I give the order,” Eskkar said. “We’ll walk our horses toward Fashod’s line. His men will move toward us at a walk. Each of you will guide your horse into the gap between two warriors. At all times, keep the line intact.”
Blank looks and open mouths greeted these orders. “We need to train our horses to fight, and this is how we begin. The horses must get used to seeing other animals coming toward them. They must also think that there will always be a gap for them to pass through. Otherwise they will not charge in combat. Or if they do, they may pull up at the last moment, turn aside, or dig in their heels and toss their rider. Now we begin.”
He moved to the end of the line. “
WALK
!” At the same time, he raised his sword in the air, held it for a moment, then lowered it. Fashod repeated the same signal, and his men advanced as well.
The ten men started moving. Immediately the line grew ragged. Some animals were impatient, others too slow. The riders all had different ideas about what a walk meant.
“Damn you, look at Fashod’s line.”
The men lifted their eyes to stare at the approaching line of warriors, all moving evenly across the grass toward them.
“Straighten out the line!” Eskkar knew the warriors would be grinning at the clumsy dirt-eaters.
By now the two lines were drawing close to each other, and the nervous horses added to the confusion. They passed between Fashod’s men in twos and threes, a sorry example of horsemanship.
“Keep the line even!” Eskkar made them continue pacing forward until they reached Fashod’s starting point. “Wheel left! Reform the line.”
Two riders turned to the right, which brought guffaws or curses from the mount they bumped into. Eskkar swore again. The idea of right and left wasn’t clear to some of them. That, too, would have to be explained.
Nevertheless, the line eventually reformed. Of course, Fashod’s line had turned smoothly, without a lost step and they now waited patiently.
“Walk!” the ten horsemen plus Eskkar moved forward, the line ragged within a few steps. “Keep the line even, damn you!” His voice would be hoarse by the end of the day if he kept shouting at this rate.
They did a little better the second time. When they’d finished the tenth pass, the line remained nearly straight. Still, Eskkar wasn’t sure if it wasn’t the horses who grasped the concept quicker than their riders.
“Now we’ll try the same movement at a trot.”
One rider started forward.
“Damn you, wait for the command!” Eskkar bellowed. At this rate his voice wouldn’t last the morning, let alone the day.
The sheepish rider had to ride around his grinning companions to regain his place.
“Trot!”
This went a little better. A lot of the work depended on the horse, but gradually each animal got used to keeping pace with the horse beside it. After ten times, Eskkar gave the order for a canter. Once again, the horse and rider had to learn what that command meant, what gait to set, the faster horses being held back, the slower ones urged to move a bit faster.
Again and again Eskkar shouted to keep the line even. As mid-morning approached, both horse and rider were getting weary. The drill seemed senseless, and only the fact that the warriors executed each pass with precision proved that they, too, had practiced such things.
The men were getting tired, which was what Eskkar wanted. Weary horses and men would be less likely to do something foolish or injure themselves. “Now we try a gallop. The sooner you get it right, the quicker you can rest.”
This time the line held together better than expected, either by luck or skill, and the two lines rushed toward each other. Eskkar repeated the drill three more times, then waved Fashod’s men in.
“Enough for now. Take care of your horses, wash them down, and return here. Move!”
Fashod discharged his men as well, but he rode over to join Eskkar. Both men dismounted and sat down on the grass.
“Your men did better than I expected.”
“These men are experienced fighters, good archers, and decent riders, but they’ve never learned how to use a horse in battle. The next group will be far worse.”
Fashod grunted at hearing that.
In ones and twos, Eskkar’s men returned. He waited until he had all ten sitting on the ground before him. “Any questions?”
The men glanced at each other, but one man finally spoke. “Why are we doing this? We’ll never walk our horses toward the enemy.”
Eskkar kept the frown from his face. Better to let the men ask questions, even stupid ones. If he started cursing at them, they’d never learn to speak out.
“Do you know why the steppe warriors are so ferocious?” No one answered. “It’s because they’re better horsemen. They’ve learned that a well-trained horse is worth two or three men in a battle. And this – what we’ve done this morning – is how they train their horses. Their animals will charge toward an approaching group of horses, because they know there will be a gap for them to pass through. And they trust their rider to find that gap. In battle, they strike together, crashing into their enemy. When villagers fight on horseback, they ride up to an enemy, stop the horse, and start hacking at each other with their swords. The warriors let the horse do the fighting. They never stop. They know a wound is just as good as a kill, so they strike at the horse, the rider, anywhere they can, and they keep moving forward. They push through their enemy until they break through to his rear. Then they wheel around and attack again. They never worry about their back, because they’re always moving forward.