Chapter 66
They'd had a flurry of snows and cold, bitter weather, and then the skies had cleared a little. Vlad took advantage of the lull in winter's fury to organize some exercises with his mounted infantry. He also took this as an opportunity to visit and put his stamp on the Székely fortified villages. He went further south along the mountains than he'd been before. The Székeler were, if anything, too hospitable. They had been the barrier to Mongol raiders for centuries. The Buz u river valley—which the Mongol called the Iret, had been one of the routes that Vlad had followed. It was steep, snowy and forested. The tale of his exploits on the plains had spread, and besides, some of the new cannons had arrived in their fortress. Cannon from their overlord! Overlords took, they did not give, especially not weapons that might be used against them! He was plainly mad, but great. The Székelers there took him to a ridge line where he could see far into the lowlands. And pointed out something no prince fighting a war wants to see.
A large army. At least twenty thousand strong. On the move. In winter.
The Mongols had done that historically, Vlad knew, using frozen rivers as roads, using speed and the unexpectedness of an attack in winter to destroy their enemies. "It's all right Drac. They're not coming up here. They're hunting the women and children from the local Mongol clans. We saw them root a bunch out. They have them in a stockade a bit further down the Iret. There is a war going on down there."
Vlad took a deep breath of the dry, cold air. "Do you know where the stockade is?" he asked, weighing matters in his mind.
The Székeler nodded. "You can see it from Coltii."
"Take me there. And I will need two of your best riders to bear a message for me back to Primore Gabor Peter who is in Berek with my troops. I need it done as fast as possible. They must get a change of horses at Csomak rös. The Primore Peter will carry the message further."
Within the hour the messengers were off, eager to prove to their Count just how fast they could be. And Vlad was off to go and look at the stockade.
It was pale predawn. Erik and Manfred were at their usual morning's fencing. The always attracted a few watchers. Manfred noticed, with amusement, that Bortai was always there, despite the cold and the hour. She and Erik seemed, heh, to be frequently seen together. "Prince!" called someone from the sidelines.
"Up swords." They stopped.
Manfred recognized the fellow as the taciturn scarred man who had commanded Vlad's handful of Székeler cavalry on the plains. He did not speak much Frankish. But knew enough to say "Message for you, Prince," and hand Manfred the roll of vellum.
The fellow was staying in Berek with Vlad's growing corps. He seemed, for his sins, to have been saddled with preparing Vlad's gun-wagons and their crews. Vlad's encampment was a good mile and half further into the mountains. The Székeler Captain must have left well before first light to be here already.
Manfred unrolled the message, and rapidly saw why. He handed it to Erik. "Here. Your Mongol language skills are going to be needed for this. Bortai," he beckoned to her, and the young woman came over from where she had squatted with two others.
Erik read the letter. Turned to listening Bortai. "It is a message from Prince Vlad. The Khan over the mountain. You need to get a message to your generals. He says that there is an army of some twenty thousand across the headwaters of the Iret. They have captured some of your people. He says that he will make the attempt to free them."
Bortai did not pause. She turned to her two companions and let loose a high speed stream of orders. Erik could follow only about half of it. She was even sending them to her brother. At a run, by the looks of the way they took off.
"What else does he say?" Bortai demanded. "Translate every word for me. It is a long message, I see."
Erik looked at Manfred, who nodded. Erik did his best.
"To my fellow Prince, Manfred. Greeting. Friend I ask you to convey news with all possible speed to the Young Khan of the Hawk Clan. There are an army of, by my . . . I do not know this word in your tongue, it means 'he thinks but does not know precisely' some 20 000 men on horse who have crossed the upper Iret. They have ravaged one small encampment, taking some prisoners. My men say they are mostly the women and children. They are being held . . . I think 'a wall made of logs.'
We have a watch on this from a nearby mountain ridge. If they try to move them—if possible I will attempt to liberate them. I only have some three hundred of my mounted infantry here. I send to my officer, the Primore Gabor Peter, a letter of safe conduct for up to five hundred of the Hawk clan, to be escorted by the same officer to come to their aid. They still owe me some three hundred sheep, which I do not think I will get from the invaders.
My regards to you and my friend Erik.
Yours etc.
Vlad
Several more Mongol men, officers by the looks of them, came running up.
Bortai bowed to the Primore. "Will you wait? I will see to it that food and drink are brought."
She strode off, talking nineteen to the dozen with the officers.
Manfred clapped the Székeler Primore on the shoulder. "Our ger is just there. Come and get out of the wind and have some wine and bread. They will send you Kumiss—we offer wine. Erik, tell one of these hangers on to find Bortai and tell her that they can find the Primore at our ger, at our fire."
The Primore's Frankish was limited, but he knew both 'wine' and 'fire'.
The most terrifying thing about the Mongol was just how fast they could mobilize their forces. Bortai returned with two generals a little later. They were both embarrassed, and yet eager to take the opportunity offered. The worst aspect of it seemed to be that it was across Székely land. Both for Székely and the Mongol, it would seem. "How about if we form part of the escort," said Manfred. "That way the Mongol can be escorted by us, and we will be escorted by the Székeler Horseheads."
Bortai clapped her hands and nodded. Translated. It appeared that would be a great deal easier for both sides . . . But could extra steeds be found for the knights? The mongol wished to push through at speed.
"Anything they can do, we can do better," said Manfred. He was to regret that statement later. "And maybe the Primore can send messengers ahead so that we won't be met with a hail of defensive arrows." Amusingly this had to be explained to the man in Mongol, which he understood better than Frankish.
They were in the saddle and riding by terce, with five hundred Mongol, two hundred and thirty Székeler Horseheads—all that could be ready in time—and a hundred knights, leaving the injured and a guard for Eberhart. The trail was icy but mercifully relatively snow free. The Székely Primore said that would not be true for very long. The Mongol had brought no less than five changes of horse. They intended to press very hard.
Manfred was soon regretting his statement about anything they could do he could do better. But he was pleased too. He'd seen Erik smiling at the little Mongol girl. And her smiling back. He knew a lot more about women than Erik did. Somehow those two had broken through each other's defenses. Now all he had to do was contrive to leave the two of them alone together. But she was seldom alone. There always seemed at least three female chaperones hovering. And five or six men-at-arms who seemed to have nothing better to do than be there. Not too close, but there. He was none too sure who she was in their society, but he also knew more about society than Erik did. If she was a simple Golden Horde maiden, the daughter of a warrior in the imperial guard, as Erik believed, then Manfred was a Breton fisherman. Hell, then he was a Breton fisherman's daughter. But if that was the game she wanted to play . . .
She'd accompanied them on this ride too. For once without her female chaperones, but if anything, more guarded. How she'd got away with this would be another tall story, thought Manfred, with a grin. She'd probably tell Erik it was to act as liaison between the knights and the Mongol or something. Erik spoke their tongue adequately for that purpose. He spent enough time practicing it, and he had a natural gift for languages that Ma
nfred could only envy. Besides they had the Székelers. Manfred had to smile about that too. He'd thought the source of the conflict was the raiding . . . but it turned out the sticky point was about wives. Marriages, particularly among the wealthy and powerful Mongol, were often arranged. They were ways of cementing clan ties. Sometimes there was mutual love and attraction . . . sometimes there wasn't. Mongol women were not reared to be complacent doormats. Not surprisingly, a small number of Mongol girls did what any sensible lass would do if she didn't like her marriage: leave. Which, if you didn't want to be fetched home again, meant one of two things. Another clan—or up over the border, where a girl with a few horses could find a replacement husband very easily—and he could be of her choosing. Sometimes the deprived spouse tried quite hard to get her (and the horses) back . . . Of course to Mongol it was always theft. But the Székely were very Christian, and also, more significantly, not confident enough as warriors to go raiding into Mongol turf. 'Marry a girl with a few good horses' was a promotion for them—a man could become a horsehead. But only if she came with horses.
It meant most of the Székelers spoke at least some Mongol, and neither side trusted or liked each other much.
* * *
Some secrets are impossible to keep. Kildai's Khesig had got far too used to David, and their young master's visiting and consulting and talking and, yes, the two of them behaving like a pair of teen-age hooligans, to think anything of it. He looked a lot like the Young Khan, but not if they actually stood next to each other. David was treated with tolerant respect that he found much more disturbing than the way Kildai talked to him. Kildai was just . . . a kid. A kid brother he'd dressed, helped to the toilet. Rather as if he, David, had not been the youngest brother of the family.
David had had little enough time to spend with Kildai, though, since Von Stael had 'adopted' him. The Knight was just too good—good to the edge of saintly—David had to admit. Erik or Kari would have seen a scam, and given him a clout. Von Stael earnestly believed the best of his squire. There was no skill or difficulty at all in putting one over him . . . so David found that there was really not much fun in doing it. Besides . . . it would hurt his knight. Von Stael would never be sharpest blade on the rack. But he would be the most reliable and consistently work the hardest. And he was intensely proud when David did things right. It was unfair. He didn't want to disappoint the man.
The result was that he had worked harder than he had in his life. He was already putting on muscle. And sleeping like the dead.
But now he had some liberty at last. Von Stael had gone with Prince Manfred and Erik. David, however, was not taken along.
So he went to see Kildai . . . Who had ridden off too, to join the regiments in field, to attack the orkhan's invasion in the flank.
So David thought he'd go for a ride on his own—an idea that six months ago would never have crossed his mind. There was nothing else to do. And no need to wear a breastplate, or helmet, for the first time in ages. He waved to the guards—they all knew him and the odd privileged position he enjoyed. He rode off to see what the back of the nearest mountain looked like.
It looked like it was occupied by five incredulous men he'd never seen before in his life. Men who had just seen a main chance presented to them on an unguarded horse. Without as much as a bow with him.
Vlad greeted them. With relief—on seeing the Mongol—and delight at seeing the knights. "The palisade is guarded by two companies. We had considered taking them on, but we were afraid the women might not trust us."
"More likely to trust you too much," said Manfred. "But anyway. We're here. Let's decide on a strategy."
However, the Mongol the plan was very simple. Those were people of their clan. Theirs to rescue. They deeply appreciated the news, and the safe passage. Bortai, in rather broken Frankish relayed that. She seemed to feel it was right to speak to him in Frankish. "But the war-khan . . . He wishes to know why? Besides the sheep. Why the safe passage?"
"Tell him it was because of the children. I was a taken as a child to be the prisoner of my worst enemy. I will have no other child suffer the same." Vlad had a quality that most politicians and generals would give half their wealth for: When he spoke there was a deep earnestness about him. He was very believable, even if the listener didn't understand a word of it.
Bortai nodded. Translated. It plainly struck home with the audience. Manfred made a mental note to tell Bortai just exactly what Emeric had done to the scared little boy that Vlad had been. "But Orkhan he say: this is our fight."
"If that's the way they want it, sure," said Manfred. "What are you going to do once you break them out of there?"
"They will be tired and scared. Some are wounded," said Vlad. "You have our permission to bring them back here to the fortress . Then we will give you safe passage back again."
Bortai translated. The surprise on their faces was quite funny really. The officers talked among themselves. And then the senior officer bowed low. Manfred assumed that what he said was "thank you", in Vlachs.
The knights, the Székelers cavalry, Vlad and his Mounted infantry and Bortai and five Mongol escorts remained behind, to watch the action from the ridge line that Vlad had observed the palisade from.
The Hawk clan's five hundred men didn't waste time and energy on strategy. They just rode down to the palisade as if they had every right to be there and started shooting. They drove off the guards, broke open the wooden stockade, and began mounting the captives on to spare horses . . . when the enemy strategy became clear.The captives weren't just prisoners. They were bait.
Only . . . any attempt at rescue had been expected . . . to come from the plain, not the mountains.
There were a lot of men and horses hidden in forest. All that saved the Hawk clan rescuers was the fact that—as they were supposed to sortie from the plains and not the mountains—The ambush had been positioned below, down slope, from the palisade. The ambushers, instead of cutting off the retreat, now had to gallop in the chase.
Vlad took in the scene. Turned to his troops. "Mount up," he shouted.
"What are you going to do?" asked Manfred.
Vlad pointed. "I should be able to get my arquebusiers to there—in the woods where the valley narrows, on the south of the track. The Székeler cavalry must stop them in the woods, while we retreat."
Manfred nodded. "Give me fifty of your light cavalry and I'll take a charge right across the column, there. We'll go up that valley diagonally opposite."
"There are several thousand of them, Manfred."
"They will be strung out in a long thin column by then. No-one can move that fast in the forest, so they'll be on the trail. I want your Székeler as guides, and to cover our backs, because we'll have to leave through the forest. Ask if we can get back over to your fortress up that valley."
The inquiry was made, and the troops divided and set off. The Hawk clan were fighting a systematic retreat, pushing the former captives ahead, and slowing the pursuit with arrows. But once again they were in a situation where their horses had been ridden, or made to run far, and their foes were fresh.
The women and children and a handful of the Hawk clan came galloping along the trail. Behind came the Hawk clan, turning and firing from the saddle, in full flight, with the last of the riders not more than thirty yards from the van of Gatu Orkhan's men.
Vlad had his men in a treble row in the edge of the wood. They waited. "On your command, Sire," said Sergeant Mirko.
Vlad waited until the van was almost past his men. "Fire!"
They were firing into the side of the column. Not as massed a fire as Vlad would have liked—the target was strung out. More a task for marksmen than his men. Still, at forty yards, it was hard to miss all the horses. And that was what his infantry aimed for. And the impact was devastating. The Mongol had met infantry before. They destroyed foot-soldiers. They hadn't really had to deal with disciplined massed fire before though. It was not a feature of the Bulgar warfare, or the their op
ponents to the north—who were mostly light cavalry like themselves—or even Székely who used a combination of light cavalry and fortifications defended by infantry. Emeric had companies of Arquebusiers, but they had not been deployed here. The Székely had been left to hold this border.
Vlad did not wait. His men mounted up and raced back up the narrow road. What they lacked in horsemanship they made up for in the freshness of their mounts. The Székelers covered the retreat. In the distance Vlad heard the clash arms. The knights. He could only hope they would be all right, and rode on . . . to be met by Hawk clan warriors . . . turning to help cover the retreat. Cheering. A mile further up, with the last of the sun touching the mountain tops, he halted his men again. Formed them up and stood ready.
For a charge that never came. One of Székeler Primores rode up. "They're retreating, Drac. They obviously think that this is one big ambush!"
With a screen of scouts behind them, Vlad and his men and the Hawk Mongols also retreated on the Székeler fort, in the dark. The knights and the rest of the Székely Horseheads were there, already tending to the wounded and the rescued women and children.
"How did it go, Manfred?" asked Vlad, seeing the Prince. "I did not mean to drag you into my wars."
Manfred waved a hand dismissively. "This is more like the Mongol wars. We hit them a little late, after your volley. But they were still badly disordered by it. We sliced through them like an axe through a cabbage. No serious damage at all. Well. Barring Erik."
"Erik is injured?" asked Vlad, worriedly.
Manfred beamed. "Yes. Bleeding and being tended to by a lovely Mongol lass."
"It is not serious?"
Manfred guffawed. "Oh it is serious, all right. But the wound isn't. And now I need a drink and we need to discuss what steps to take next. You just tweaked the beard of quite a large army down there."
"I will deal with it."
"Of that I have no doubt. But friends are around to help with these little things. And I gather the Hawk Clan think they owe you, now."
Much Fall of Blood-ARC Page 49