Casca 34: Devil's Horseman (15 page)

Every time Casca struck at the Russian, he screamed out in effort, adding to the strength of the blow. Appalled, the Russian tried to retreat but his horse was blocked by two others fighting each other on the other side. Casca saw his chance and rammed his blade up into the side of the warrior, impaling him. The Sudzalian cried out and folded over against the blade. Casca pulled it out and stepped back as the stricken man slumped onto the ground.

Above him Kaidur was still fighting the boyar, and a lancer rode past, streaming blood but still grimly on his mount, now using his sword, the lance having been snapped in the initial charge. The wedge had partially worked. There was a solid block of Mongols now fighting in the center of the Duke’s force, widening the gap with every moment. To Casca’s left there were only Mongols now, fighting their way through towards the back of the Duke’s lines. When they reached it they would have succeeded and the enemy would be doomed.

There came the sound of trumpets and the Duke’s elite guard crashed into the lancers, knocking them backwards. Now the fight became a desperate melee, neither side asking for or giving any quarter. Casca felt his left arm coming back to life, throbbing in pain, and flexed it. It was once again useable. Good. One of Casca’s guards came alongside and held his horse that hadn’t strayed too far, and Casca got back up awkwardly. Nodding his thanks, he allowed the guard to get back into the fray which had moved off some yards in the time he’d last fought someone.

Now back up on horseback he could see better. The battle was coming back his way. Chadhak’s lancers had done their best but were tiring. Now would be a good time for Budjek to send reinforcements. Casca looked round. Behind him lay a sea of corpses with the occasional staggering or feebly moving wounded soldier. To the left the Mongol mass was giving ground and retreating towards him. To the right Kaidur and the boyar were still fighting, but both were nearing exhaustion. Ahead was the immediate problem. Three Russians had cut down two Mongols and were now looking to charge through and take out Casca.

He had to act fast. Pulling his mount round he rode across Kaidur’s flank and slashed down at the boyar, opening his jugular. The Russian clutched his mortal wound and Kaidur took the chance to run his through.
“To your left!” Casca screamed.

Kaidur whirled and saw the three Suzdalians bearing down on him. He turned and Casca came alongside, leaving no gap for anyone to get through. The Russians peeled left and right and came at them from two directions. Casca had just the one to deal with while the tiring Kaidur had two opponents.

Casca’s enemy wasn’t too skilled and the Eternal Mercenary blocked the down stroke with a cross blade, then back handed his blade across the Russian’s face, the blow jerking the luckless man’s head round. He slumped across his saddle, dropping his sword, and the horse trotted off, his rider lying limply across his neck.

Turning, Casca came at the nearest of the two fighting a desperate Kaidur. The Russian saw him approach and swung round but he was too late. Casca struck hard and the Russian’s arm fell to the churned up ground with a wet thud. The man screamed and lost interest in the battle, clutching his spurting stump.

Kaidur was tired. His arm was heavy. His block was too slow and the third Russian got through, chopping down at him, the blade cutting through the mail and silk shirt. Casca saw his guard commander hit and yelled in rage. Turning quickly he came at the last Russian and cut hard and low. The Russian managed to block it but was right up close with his sword low and away from his face, so Casca took the opportunity to head butt him.

There came the satisfying crunch of splintering cartilage and the Suzdalian emitted a bubbling shriek, his face ruined. Casca reached out and grabbed the man by the arm and pulled hard, sending him flying off his horse to land heavily on his back.

Casca dismounted and ran to Kaidur’s side. The Mongol had fallen off his horse and was lying, his face twisted in pain, against the body of the boyar he’d just slain. Casca checked the wound. Blood was welling up from a cut a foot long. It was nasty, but angled from the shoulder close to the neck outwards down to about halfway down the ribs. The left pectoral was badly cut and this was what was bleeding the most. Casca tore a length of clothing from the dead boyar and rammed it against the cut. “Don’t move, my friend.”

Casca stood up and looked round. More cheering reached his ears, and he saw to his delight fresh Mongol units riding into the wedge, relieving the ragged survivors of the lancer Minghan. The Russians staggered back under the fresh onslaught, and then suddenly a cry went up that the Grand Duke had fallen. The Suzdalian army broke up in panic and the Mongols began chasing the routing army. Casca lowered his sword. He knew what was in store for the Russians now.
Death.

There came a deep groan and the Russian who he’d headbutted got to his feet, streaming blood from his pulped nose. “Still want to fight?” Casca challenged him. “Well, come on, you whoreson!” He’d liked that insult Tatiana had taught him. She’d been shocked herself that she’d known it, but she’d heard someone in the street outside her bedroom once use it. Her father had rushed out into the street and beaten the man who’d hurled the insult at their house with a stout staff, giving him such a beating that he’d never come near their house again. The teaching of it had made the girl go red in the face.

The Russian evidently understood it, for he too, went red in the face. Or, so Casca saw, red in the places that were still uncovered by the stream of blood. “So be it, you unclean pig,” he said thickly, spitting out blood.

“I’ll give you unclean,” Casca snarled. “You wounded my friend. For that you die.”

“I hope he dies slowly,” the Russian said, then attacked, gripping his sword in both hands. Casca deflected the blow aside and struck back, aiming for the chest. The Russian clumsily knocked it up and away, but once again had left himself open. This time Casca smashed his left fist into his jaw, snapping his head back. The Russian staggered back and fell onto his ass, stunned.

Casca waited for him, swinging his sword. The Suzdalian wiped his bloodied mouth and got up again, dribbling blood, grunting with the effort. He ran at Casca, his sword pulled back for a huge swinging blow, but Casca contemptuously stepped away, and as his opponent passed in a lurch, slashed the Russian across the midriff which almost cut him in two.

The warrior collapsed to the ground, onto his knees, and doubled up, his head touching the messy ground. He shuddered a couple of times, then lay still. Casca turned and checked on Kaidur again. The Mongol had watched the fight with fascination. “Do all those in Europe fight as you do?” he gasped.

“No,” Casca smiled. “Not that many. At least, I’ve not met that many who can better me in a fight. There had been one, a Frenchman serving in the household of a crusader Lord’s retinue, a man called Meutrier, a one-eyed mean bastard, and it had taken a dirty trick to best him.
” Casca shook the memory from his mind.

“That is
well, for if they did I think we should turn round and go back to Mongolia.”

Casca chuckled. “Have no fear of that. You stay still and we’ll get you seen to. Before you know it you’ll be back on your feet ready to have another go at these Russians.”

“Ashira will be angry with you for letting me get hurt.”

“Ashira will have her hands full in tending you,” Casca said, looking round. Mongols were beginning to check the fallen, slitting the throat of any enemy they found who was still alive, and looting the bodies.

A few came their way and Casca recognized them as his guard. Only three of them, though. The other two must have fallen. He ordered them to fetch a wagon and sheet, and send for Ashira. Casca wiped his blade carefully and slid it back into its scabbard. The battle was over, and they had emerged victorious.

The sun felt good on Casca’s back. He stretched and looked out over the sprawling camp, nestled in a valley close to the River Don. Grasslands flowed in all directions and the horses were content, grazing until their bellies were full. He flexed his arm and was pleased that there was no stiffness, no pain. The blow that had numbed his arm in the battle at the Sit River had indented his shoulder bone, but it had straightened out in the weeks and months since.

Kaidur was almost back to full fitness. There would be a deep scar running down his chest but he said it was a mark of honor and wore it with pride. Ashira was still fussing over him but the warrior was more like his old self. It had been a worrying time soon after the battle, when his loss of blood had made him very weak. Fortunately he had a devoted carer, and he pulled through.

Subedei had congratulated Budjek on his victory but it had been costly; most of the lancers had died, including brave Chadhak, along with half of the archers who had given the engineers covering fire at the river. What with deaths from the elements, the inevitable desertions and losses from the sieges, numbers were well down from those that had been at the beginning. And then there had been the humiliation of losing the vanguard outside Kozelsk. The Mongols had been ambushed and lost about 3,000 men. Subedei had flown into a rage and had ordered the city wiped from the face of the earth. It had taken seven weeks but in the end they had their revenge. Nobody had survived. Casca had kept out of that one; he knew all too well what would happen. He spent his time with the recovering Kaidur and Tatiana.

Now they were resting in the Don Basin, recovering their strength and feeding up. The winter campaign had left its mark and many were glad of the rest, despite their protestations when the return south had been announced.

Batu had returned shortly after they had reached the edge of the forests and had admitted he’d been defeated by the elements and had been unable to get through to Novgorod. Casca caught Subedei’s eye and the old general bowed once to him in acknowledgement. Maybe the next time he’d consult Casca.

Careful to make sure his silk shirt covered the necklace, he made his way over to Kaidur’s yurt. After so many casualties there had been a surplus of these and Ashira had appropriated one for the purpose of caring for the wounded Kaidur. Casca had supported the request and so now hers had been set up alongside Casca’s. It also gave Casca and Tatiana more privacy.

They’d split the guards and slaves down the middle. Casca had even announced a contest for those who’d wished to join his household guard to replace those fallen. He’d set up an archery contest in the wide open spaces bordering the camp and said that the five best shots would have the honor of being his personal guard. There had been a flood of applicants and the contest had gone on most of that day. Subedei and the others had come to watch, as had many of the camp, and it had been a day out for many, eating as they watched.

Eventually after thousands of shots, the best five had emerged victorious, and Casca had greeted each triumphant winner with a prize of gold coins, something he’d picked up as his share of the loot, and a place in his household guard.

Batu had been so impressed that he declared he would hold a similar contest the following month. It seemed Casca had started something of a trend. Subedei merely smiled and invited his senior officers to a banquet that evening in honor of the day’s excitement. Casca decided to take three of his guards – two of the old hands and one of the newcomers.

He nodded to the two guards at the entrance to Kaidur’s and Ashira’s yurt and pushed his way in past the flap. Kaidur was resting on a lounger, something someone had procured from one of the many cities plundered, and Kaidur had bought it off the camp merchant. Ashira was rubbing an ointment into his red jagged scar. Kaidur went to stand but Casca waved him back. “You stay there and enjoy the touch of your woman. I came to say I’m going to attend a banquet tonight, and will take three of my guard. You keep an eye out while I’m away, and teach the newcomers what to look out for. I want them trained up to our methods as soon as necessary.”

“It shall be done, Casca-Badahur. I should be fit to resume my duties very soon.”

“I have no doubt of that, my friend. Don’t rush it.” He grinned and made his way to his tent where three men were waiting. One had his ‘dress’ armor in his hands. Casca wore a chain mail hauberk over his silk shirt for social occasions. He had no wish to receive a sneaky dagger from someone who wished him ill. Thankfully nobody had tried to have a go at him since the failed attempt in Vladimir.

Subedei greeted him with a wave of the arm and bade him sit next to him. The evening was warm and a huge platform had been set up outside the yurt to accommodate all. Low stools or benches had been arranged for the guests, suitably decorated with cushions.
All a long, long way from the humble beginnings he and Temujin had known before they had united the tribes. Victory brings its own rewards.

“How is your man, Kaidur, Old Young One?” Subedei asked politely, picking up a slab of goats cheese from a platter.

“Recovering. He should be back to normal within a couple of weeks, I’d say.” Casca sat down, nodding to the others. Most returned his greeting, but some still gave him the benefit of a frown or scowl. Kuyuk would never forgive him, he supposed, and that extended to his brother Kadan, and the young Buri who practically hero-worshipped Kuyuk.

Baidar was pleasant enough, if a little reserved. Mongke was strictly formal, honoring him with his title and deferring to him as etiquette amongst the Mongols demanded, but that was as far as it went with him. Budjek was a little warmer, probably as Casca thought because he’d fought under him and done well in difficult circumstances.

As for Batu and his four brothers, they were a mixed bag. Batu clearly was overawed that Casca was in his presence, and tip-toed around him. Casca believed if he lost his temper at the Prince he’d probably shit himself. Siban and Berke seemed to have more pragmatic views, and accepted him as a warrior, albeit one who was useless on horseback. Rather than mock him or show contempt, they took it with a resigned air of ironic humor. The gods obviously had decided to play a trick on him; give him battle skills to rival any of them, yet make him the world’s worst rider.

Orda was cool towards him. The oldest of the siblings, he even outranked Batu, but had deferred to him, being content with his little khanate to the east of Batu’s. He was here to help his younger
brother extend his dominions, and he clearly disliked the other princes. Casca guessed the illegitimate issue had soured him, and he saw Casca as a representative of the Mongol system that had disadvantaged him. If seniority had been allowed, then Orda would have been khan. That left young Sinkur. He said little and humbly trotted in the wake of his older brothers. About the same age as the fiery Buri, he couldn’t have been any more different.

“I have sent a messenger to Ogedei Khan,” Subedei announced between mouthfuls.
“For replacements to replenish our losses. They will take some months to arrive. In the meantime you can select an area to ride out and ravage, but avoid the cities. I do not want a repeat of the episode of the City of Sorrow.” That was what the Mongols had renamed Kozelsk. “Is that clear?”

The princes murmured their agreement.

“If I find any one of you has ignored this command and lost your men, then I shall dismiss you and send you back to Karakorum in disgrace, and you will say farewell to this campaign of conquest.”

Casca grinned and picked up a steaming haunch of goat. The juice dribbled down his chin as he bit into it. The taste was delicious. He had to put it down as it was still fairly hot and his fingers nearly got burned.

“You find the prospect of one of us being dismissed amusing, Old Young One?” Kuyuk asked silkily.

“You know your orders,” Casca replied, wiping the juice off his mouth and chin. “Only a fool would disobey them. Do you believe you’re a fool?”

There were a few smirks around the table. Kuyuk glared hatefully at Casca.

“I’ve seen men disobey orders many times, and it nearly always ends up in trouble. War is a costly business, Prince Kuyuk.” Casca spoke to Kuyuk, but he was also addressing the others.
“To go to war costs much. You have to pay the soldiers, you have to pay the engineers, the pioneers, the makers of weapons, the manufacturers of war machines,” he jerked a thumb at the skeletons of the catapults, now in their disassembled parts in the fenced off area where they would remain until the Mongols moved off again.

“Then there is the cost of lives.
Wars always costs lives. All of you here have seen that. Even victorious wars costs lives. What price a victory if it costs you your best troops?”

Nobody spoke. They were all listening intently to him, even Subedei.

“To make war should not be an easy business. It should be only taken after careful consideration of many things. Can a war be afforded?” He looked at Baidar. “Your father is chancellor to the Khan, yes? Then he would know the cost of war. Yes, victory is good, for it refills your coffers. But consider this, Prince Kuyuk; you disobey an order from Subedei here and attack a city. You get wiped out. You have lost hundreds, maybe thousands of valuable men and horses, and given the enemy a morale boost.” He looked at Kuyuk, then briefly the others. “All because you could not do a simple thing like follow orders. If you do become khan, how would you feel if your orders were not followed by someone who thought they knew better, and it cost you men and prestige?”

Kuyuk sneered. “I would have them put to death.”

“Then look favorably upon Subedei here and follow his orders. He is very skilled in the art of war and knows much. I hope all of you here learn even a little bit from him. That would be the best thing you ever bring back from this campaign. More valuable than a few trinkets or bloody trophies from the battlefield, I can tell you.”

Kuyuk smiled without warmth. He looked away, but Casca knew the prince’s hatred towards him had just gone up a few notches. Subedei nodded slowly. It had been a long time since such wisdom had been spoken at his table, and he bathed in its warmth. Batu shivered, but it was a pleasant feeling. He felt as though something wonderful had just passed through him. He had visions of him administering a huge empire, and all of the Russias would be a magnificent domain. He would ensure that wealth would flow to his capital, and make it a Golden Empire.
A Golden Horde.

“You show me great favor, Old Young One,” Subedei said solemnly. “The princes here will raid the area around here, ravaging everything and bring me prisoners. You have knowledge of many things. Tell me, I believe I will have too many captives for use here with the army. Who would be the best to sell them to?”

Casca took a goblet of wine and sipped it for a moment. “Well Europe is not the place; they don’t really go for that sort of thing. Not officially anyway, and I doubt they’ll trade with you. The Islamic lands are much better; slavery is a way of life there.”

“And whom should I send an ambassador to?”

“There’s a Caliph at Baghdad, or there was the last time I looked. He’s more of a spiritual leader these days, a puppet. You need to deal with the money men. The Turks are a possibility, or Egypt.”

“Egypt? They are wealthy?”

“Incredibly. Big land, lots of people. Ancient kingdom. You want to deal with them? Send an ambassador to Cairo. I bet there’s a dealer in the Crimea to the south of here. That land is Kipchak territory, isn’t it? They’re slavers. Bet they’ve got Egyptian traders in their cities.”

“I shall arrange it,” Subedei nodded. “Is there anything you wish? I know you’re a man of action, and we will be here for many months yet, perhaps even into the winter. I notice you get restless if we remain in one place for too long.”

“You’re right. I’d like to scout out west with a small group of men. Gain you intelligence on what’s up ahead. And I’m no Mongol. I could pass for any European. I’d need non Mongols to accompany me. Can you arrange that?”

Subedei thought for a moment. “I shall see what I can arrange.”

After that the drinking got serious and boisterous, and Subedei decided it was time he retired. He left the others to get drunk, and Casca got up and left too, mostly because Kuyuk was getting louder and louder and more arrogant. If he said too much then Casca would flatten the jerk, and that would land him in hot water.

He walked away but caught the majority of an insult hurled at him in a very slurred voice. Casca decided to let it slide. If Kuyuk wanted to behave like a child, then that was his prerogative. Casca
wanted to play with grown-ups, and Tatiana was one grown up he sure wanted to play with at that moment.