by Tony Roberts
Casca bowed and left. He had things on his mind that didn’t add up, and cast an uneasy glance to the south. It would be there that trouble, if there was to be any, would materialize. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that the Junggar was a trap. Desert to the east of it, mountains to north, south and west. Once through the Kurgans they could be trapped there like a fly in a bottle, and he knew now that they were being watched.
His forces were prepared swiftly, for he had an idea they would meet trouble, so he divided them equally into infantry and cavalry. No camp followers were to come with them on this occasion which meant the baggage and tent wagons were also to remain with the main army. The mercenary knew this was to be a quick recce and nothing else. He sent scouts out to north, east but particularly south. North was the Ili river and they had express orders not to cross it upon pain of death. The infantry came next, marching neatly in groups of one thousand, before the rest of the cavalry brought up the rear. The scouts were rotated so that as soon as one returned another was sent out in the same direction while the first reported his findings and then took a well-earned rest.
As the mountains loomed nearer and they passed into the narrowing valley of the Ili, reports came in of fleeing civilians ahead and abandoned settlements. Of his scouts to the south, they reported nothing to note. Nothing at all.
On a gut feeling he brought his outriders to the north in and sent them south with orders to penetrate the mountain passes and report back what lay beyond. His army also slowed so that on one day they marched half of what was expected. They also took a more southerly route. Supplies were not forthcoming from the abandoned settlements and Casca nodded to himself. The trap was set.
“Pitch camp here” he announced late in the afternoon. They were away from any shelter or cover. His captains questioned the spot but they were silenced immediately. Casca knew full well it was a foolhardy position to stop for the night but he knew what he was doing. He ordered fires to be lit so that the camp was well illuminated, then he gave his captains their orders, and smiles broke out all around. Perhaps it was not so foolhardy after all.
The last of the scouts rode in, tired. They had seen nothing, heard nothing. They were fed, rested and given their tasks for the night.
____
That night soldiers filtered down from the mountains to the south, soldiers confident of victory, confident that their quarry was unsuspecting. All day they had hidden away from the scouts sent out and had smiled in their brush hideouts as the riders galloped past unaware of their location. The general in command had insisted the invaders had no idea they were so close and waited until dark to move his force onto the plain. The camp fires of the Transoxianans were clear to all, and no movement was seen passing amongst them.
“Good” the Moghul general said, surveying the scene, “the fools are asleep. We will ride them down before they have time to rub their eyes.” He had planned on bottling up the entire enemy force but now that a small part had detached itself he targeted them, picking thirty thousand of his own men for the job. The Khan had not been happy to allow so many of his troops to take on the enemy, but the general’s persuasive tongue had swayed his mind. Most of the men picked were from the area, so they had an additional incentive to fight well. Besides, they outnumbered the invaders three to two and with the element of surprise on their side, they would surely crush these fools.
The cavalry would ride down the camp first, scattering the fires, guards and tents, then the foot soldiers would wade in, slaughtering the dazed defenders before they had time to organize themselves. A simple plan, but effective. The order was given, and ten thousand riders slowly walked their beasts onto the plain and towards the unsuspecting camp. Closer they came, closer, and still no challenge came to them. There was a single trumpet blast, then the riders drew their swords and broke into a gallop and plunged through the tiny barricades that formed the camp perimeter and over the first of the fires. The leading riders looked about for the enemy, but oddly there were none to be found, not even a guard.... it was too easy.
The infantry came running up, eager to join in the butchery, but faltered as the cavalry came trotting back, puzzled looks on the riders’ faces. “The camp is empty” they said, bewildered.
Suddenly a great roar broke out to left and right, and arrows flew through the air to strike into men, horses and equipment. The bewildered Moghuls swung round to see what was coming at them from the dark, and died that way as hundreds of mounted men cut past, their swords dealing out death left and right. The Moghul general ran to his men screaming at them to reorganize, pulling foot soldiers around to meet the danger, but his men were confused and their units mixed up, while deadly men rode out of the night, struck, then vanished. The infantry tried to break for the hills but found their route blocked by a line of enemy infantry, standing silently with spears and swords in their hands.
There was too much shouting from behind to hear any order clearly and the Moghuls stood uncertain as to what to do. It was their bad fortune to do that because the camp fires behind them made them perfect targets to the archers who poured down a deadly accurate barrage on them. Scores dropped dead and panic took them. They broke and fled back towards the camp, followed slowly by the enemy.
Casca kept his cavalry riding across the Moghul lines as they made for the camp, then ordered them to stand clear and shoot arrows into the retreating soldiers. Soon they ran out of arrows so he ordered them to advance, pick up the used ones lying in the ground, and shoot again. To the Moghuls, it was a nightmare. They couldn’t see anything and yet they were being picked off by the dozen. The general realized the reason and screamed for the camp fires to be doused. His cavalry rode quickly and trampled the fires to extinction, then they stood and waited for the next attack.
It never came.
Gathering his men around him he got the cavalry to ride ahead and break through the enemy line so that the infantry could make for the mountains and safety. The riders rode forward but found nothing except the dead. Shouting encouragement the mounted men called the infantry forward and the entire Moghul force made for the hills.
The waiting Timurids force, having separated to allow a clear passage to the south, now drew on their bows and released their last arrows high into the night sky. They fell like a deadly, hissing rain, cutting down men as they made a break for safety. “Now!” Casca yelled, and his cavalry charged after the fleeing men, coming upon them suddenly out of the dark. They fell about them mercilessly, slaughtering the blundering foot soldiers at will. The general ordered his cavalry back to help the vulnerable infantry, but the cavalry commander shook his head. Too many of his men had fallen to the counter-trap, and besides, in the dark no-one would know who was a friend or enemy. The eight thousand remaining riders trotted off to the mountains, leaving the infantry to catch up if they could.
____
The morning revealed the full extent of the carnage. Bodies lay everywhere over the plain, massed close to the remains of the camp and then in a line south towards the hills, the corpses becoming fewer as they went.
Casca drank deeply of his bottle and looked around, sitting on a rock. He had outfoxed the enemy general, but only just in time. If he had never served in the Yuan Court in China all those years ago he would never had spotted Lu-Fong’s outfit as a phony. It was Moghul, not Yuan. The Yuan were still skulking in Karakoram, leagues to the east. Besides, no Yuan would have been allowed to pass through the Moghuls domain fully dressed for war. On top of that no Yuan could have heard of Timur’s invasion and reached the area in time. Lu-Fong had been too insistent in getting the army to head for China, and they would have been caught like rats in a trap.
So Casca had lured the would-be ambushers into a trap of his own.
And it had worked. His men reported a hundred and ten dead with perhaps another hundred wounded, while the corpses of the enemy were beyond counting. Perhaps five thousand. He had sent word back to Timur. He wondered what the reacti
on would be.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The army returned to Samarkand back the way it had come, laden with plunder and happy in the knowledge they had devastated the enemy’s land for miles. The only part left alone was the Fergana Valley and its abundant crops. It was annexed and Umar Shaykh left in charge as governor. Timur had been peeved to learn that his advisor had been involved in the only battle of the campaign and sulked as they made their way back via Tashkent and Khujand.
It was here that Timur learned of a plot to kill him, led by Sheikh Mohammed of the Suldus, so he crushed it by lopping off Mohammed’s head and handing his men over to the control of one of his generals, Aktimur. Timur was hardly mollified by this and spent much of the time in a drunken rage. “Why don’t the fools learn? I kill their leaders and turn their men over to proven and trusted men! Didn’t the lessons of Zinda and Kaykhusraw teach them anything?”
Casca could say nothing. At least another potential threat had been removed. There were very few tribes now that were still led by their own emirs.
Upon returning to Samarkand Adil refused to let Casca out of their house for three days. At the end of it he has hardly in a fit state to do anything. He did manage to show her the items he had brought back from the campaign for her, including a bundle of furs which she took to. “Something to warm you in the winter” he grinned, “best sable”.
“You keep me warm” she chuckled, “but they’re wonderful all the same. Thank you.”
“Something you had better know, Adil” Casca said, “future campaigns might be longer and take over a year.”
Adil stopped hugging the soft fur and frowned. “Why?”
So he told her of the grand plan, to unite the former Mongol world into another great empire. He had his doubts though. Brilliant he may be on the battlefield, he was crap at administration and it took all of Casca’s patience and little knowledge of running a state, to even get him to appoint governors of a trustworthy nature. The more land they conquered, the further they had to travel to enter enemy land. At the moment, the borders were fairly close but if all went to plan, they would shortly be setting out on long campaigns which would require them wintering on enemy soil.
Adil sighed. “Then I shall accompany you on these ‘campaigns’. And don’t argue” she said, as she saw her husband’s mouth start to open, “many wives and girlfriends go with the army, I’ve seen them. And the whores! Hordes of them. Why, Timur could create a regiment of them and send them into battle.”
Casca grinned. What a novel thought, shock troops of whores. Tire out the enemy in a softening up tactic.
“Don’t you smile, Casca! I’ll be there to see you behave; I know what you soldiers can be like. I can sew, tend wounds, so I won’t be a piece of baggage, but I will not cook! I will take two slaves to do that.”
“Ever thought of becoming a general?” he muttered.
“What was that? Stop muttering and arrange for three extra places in the wagons the next time you boys want to go out and fight.”
“I’ll do that Adil, now be calm, woman.”
Adil rubbed her furs, pleased she had won that little contest. “Now, come see what I have bought you while you were on campaign.”
She led him to a large wardrobe and opened it. Standing within was a complete suit of armor. It was of mail, with a round-style helm, the mail extending up to cover the face so that only the eyes were left uncovered. There were plate additions, consisting of vambraces, which were hinged arm guards, and leg protectors. There were leather boots of a light brown color and a silken garment to fit under the mail. It was the latest style of armor and must have cost a packet.
Lying beneath this hanging suit were the weapons: a cylindrical quiver with arrows and an unstrung bow next to it; a long curved sword with an ornate hilt which betrayed Chinese influences; a pointed dagger with a hilt that was decorated with vines and leaves; and lastly, three curious objects, ceramic pots about the size of a fist, each with a stopper in the top. Casca knew what these were. The Mongols had used gunpowder ever since coming into contact with the Sung Chinese the previous century. Although there were various uses for this chemical it had been found especially effective in battle if thrown inside small pots to explode amongst your foe. Gunpowder proved to be dangerous as it tended to explode as much in the hand of the user as in the face of the foe, but the adoption of ‘Greek Fire’ following the conquest of the western shores of the Caspian Sea had increased the effectiveness of this device enormously. The chemical was obtained in and around the city of Baku which was where the Byzantines had originally got hold of it, and so legend goes, the old Greeks had. Then, the stuff had come via what had been known as Colchis, the so-called land of the Golden Fleece. This was, in fact, based on truth as the locals used to prospect for gold in the rivers running off the Caucasus by draping sheepskins in the river and the gold dust used to collect in the particles, thus making the fleece appear as if made of gold.
Now Casca stared at these three ‘Greek fire bombs’ and smiled. “These must have cost some money. Where did you get them?”
“A merchant from the west brought them to the market yesterday, and I knew you like new devices so I got you these.”
Casca hugged his wife. “I’ll try the armor on, it looks magnificent.”
He did and it fitted well. He noted a few adjustments required and called to his senior slave to get the changes done in time for the next review which Timur would hold, probably the following week. Adil then informed him of a newcomer to the palace which had caused gossip in the high echelons of Samarkand’s society. “A prince from the Blue Horde to the north arrived last week requesting help in his bid to secure the throne against Urus Khan. He wanted an audience with Timur at once.”
Casca groaned. That meant he’d be summoned shortly. “Who is this prince?”
“He calls himself Tokhtamish.”
____
Tokhtamish pleaded his case well. He had been fighting against Urus Khan for a number of years and had made a bid for power in that Khanate. However, Urus had proved too strong and had chased him out into the lands of Timur. He told the listening warlord that if he received help in securing the throne of the lands of Sibir, as they were known, then he would be Timur’s friend and ally and watch the northern and eastern frontiers for him.
Such an offer was too good to turn down. Timur agreed and gave him some soldiers to take and hold the two cities of Utrar and Sighnak, both lying along the Jaxartes and the latter being the capital of Urus Khan. He would then follow up to help Tokhtamish the next spring when the campaigning season got under way.
Casca wasn’t pleased. Another diversion in the wrong direction, but he recognized the opportunity that presented itself. “My lord, help him but do not totally destroy his enemies. Leave some in the field. Better to keep him occupied than idle, for he may look upon our lands with envious eyes.”
Timur smiled without humor. “I know very well what could happen. Do not worry; I will give him plenty to do. But it will be a short campaign.”
“Why is that?”
“This is not a campaign of conquest; it is merely a military expedition to help in a civil war. Besides, one of my wives is with child and I will want to be here when she gives birth. Perhaps another son?”
Perhaps, thought Casca. That would make four sons. Another future governor?
____
As Timur promised, the campaign to the north was short and concluded swiftly. Tokhtamish had been unable to hold the two cities and had been forced to flee to Tashkent but the arrival of Timur’s full army soon reversed things and Urus Khan and his army were obliterated, and his two sons captured and executed. Tokhtamish was installed as Khan of the Sibir Khanate and was left to exert his authority over his new domain.
Timur was therefore present when his fourth son - Shahrukh - was born. This prompted great celebrations and Timur got blind staggering drunk, a Mongol rather than Islamic trait. Although Casca joined in with the celebra
tions he kept away from the traditional Mongol alcohol and stuck to the wine. However, these celebrations were tempered when a few weeks later Timur’s eldest son, Jahingar, died suddenly.
Later that year Casca met a Greek trader from Trabzon who brought him up to date with events happening way to the west. The Turks had rampaged through Thrace and had then turned on the Bulgars, seizing the frontier fortresses and forcing them into suzerainty. They had also smashed an alliance army made up of Bulgars, Serbs and Hungarians. It seemed now that the Turks were too strong to dislodge from Thrace. The merchant confirmed that the Byzantines were still holding Trabzon, Constantinople, the southern part of Greece and a few fortresses elsewhere, but it was a sad and fragmented society. This made Casca more determined to get Timur to push westwards and become the dominant force in the Middle East.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Casca’s urgings to press westwards was met with a stubborn refusal at first. Timur’s eyes were still on the east, the traditional homeland of the Mongols, but his advisor’s constant referrals to the Turcoman threat were dismissed impatiently. However, something happened to change Timur’s mind.
He appointed his second eldest surviving son, Amarinshah, as governor of Khorasan, and called all the rulers of that region to a Kurultai to discuss the new arrangement and how the power would be shared out. This was something of a bold move as he had not conquered any of Khorasan yet he had cowed many of the lands bordering his into submission by reputation alone. The rulers of these lands came but the King of Herat, Malik, sent a brusque refusal. Timur was outraged. “This puny king in his puny kingdom thinks he can refuse me? If the rulers of Sabzawar and Mashhad-Tus come to me, then so should he! This impudent insect shall pay in rivers of blood!”
Casca turned to face Cheku. “Go prepare the army; I think we’re heading south to Herat.”