by Tony Roberts
Brightly colored and decorative banners were held aloft amongst the massing Russians, many depicting Christ or other religious icons. He spotted three riders who were even more garishly dressed than the others. He turned to Subedei who had been helped onto his horse as soon as the call to arms had gone out. “Princes?”
“Yes. We will take them alive and use them as hostages,” the Mongol said, his teeth flashing. He looked at the other well-dressed riders. “Those others are the senior nobility. They are of no consequence and will be put to death – either on the battlefield or under my executioner’s blade.”
Casca grunted. “They’re called Boyars. They have personal retinues. They often have their own agendas. You might be better trying to buy them off; they’re not always loyal to their princes.”
Subedei snorted. “The purpose of this stage in my campaign is to spread fear amongst our enemies. I care not for the inter rivalry between these dogs. I aim to wipe this place from the map.”
Casca pulled a face. Mongols tended to have a single-minded attitude to war.
The fat Mongol commander caught the expression out of the corner of his eye. “I remember you were never comfortable with this aspect of our warfare, but surely you can see the value of terror?”
“Aye,” Casca sighed, “but it doesn’t mean I enjoy it. You ought to signal the attack before they’re organized.”
“Wait. I want as many of them to be present before we drive them back into their kennel. The more of them that are out here, the more we can kill.”
Casca watched as the three princes got their lines organized, then they formed a huge wedge and began advancing, trumpets blaring. Suddenly Subedei turned and nodded to Batu, waiting a short distance off to the right. Batu raised one arm, paused theatrically, then chopped it down abruptly.
Out from the trees poured hundreds of Mongol horsemen, all with raised bows. Casca had to admire their discipline. It was like a huge wheel. They thundered out in one thick column from the left, wheeled so that they were side-on to the advancing Russians, loosed their arrows, then galloped off to the right and vanished back into the forest. Over to the left, where the Mongol Prince Baidar commanded, a similar ‘wheel’ was working in a similar way. Arrows poured into the Russians, sending the wedge into a confused mass of tumbling bodies and rearing horses. Within seconds the enemy advance had foundered and come to a halt.
From the center of the forest came Mongke and Kuyuk, leading the heavy lancers. One thundering black mass of intent, they bore down on the hapless Russians. The Riazan army took one look at what was coming their way and promptly turned about and fled back towards the city, leaving a few hundred behind; many were dead and the others would be so very shortly.
The lancers slowed and came to a halt, just out of the range of the archers on the ramparts. Kuyuk hurled insults at them, frustrated that his chance of glory on the battlefield had been thwarted, but the Russians weren’t going to hang about just to get slaughtered.
Casca turned to Subedei again. “Will you offer them surrender terms again, now they’ve seen the power and strength of your army?”
“Pah!” Subedei spat into the ice. “Cowards all. They’ll sit behind their wall and think we haven’t the equipment to break in. They may also believe relief will be on the way. I shall dispel both those illusions.” He began to turn back to the camp. “Then the streets will run with blood.”
Casca nodded to Kaidur and his bodyguard and they made their way back to their yurts. As they neared, they saw Ashira standing in front of Casca’s tent. “Now what is she doing standing there in the cold?” he wondered aloud.
Ashira saw them approach and waved her arms. Something wasn’t right. Casca jumped off, always more comfortable on firm ground, and came loping over to her. “What’s the matter?”
“Someone has been in the tent. Things have been broken and others stolen.”
Casca looked at her long and hard, then whipped aside the tent flap. Inside was a mess. The far side had been sliced open, obviously by a sword, and whoever had been responsible for the destruction that met his eyes had gotten in that way, out of sight. The rugs had been thrown into piles and cast aside, the ground underneath dug up in places. Any item of furniture had been tipped up, upended or even in a few cases ripped apart. The contents were scattered all over the place.
“Shit,” Casca said, his eyes roving over the scene. Kaidur came in close behind and uttered a shocked exclamation. Casca turned to Ashira. “You were supposed to be here. You and the servants. How was this allowed to happen?”
“I-I wanted to see the battle,” she said lamely. “The servants have gone – I don’t know where they are.”
Casca looked hard at Kaidur. “Go get Batu. Take two guards. Don’t be distracted any anyone.”
“Sir!” Kaidur bowed and left, growling orders.
“Casca took Ashira by the arm and marched her into the tent. “From now on your responsibility is to make sure this sort of thing does not happen again. I’ll get more servants and you will run my household until this campaign is over.”
“The servants?”
“Are dead.”
Ashira gasped and put her hands to her mouth. “Who – would do such a thing?”
“Good question. Leave it to me to find out. Best you don’t ask any questions to anyone. Count yourself lucky, Ashira; if you hadn’t been consumed by curiosity you would be lying as dead as the poor servants by now.”
“But – but it might happen again!”
Casca nodded slowly, pursing his lips. “So I’ll make sure three guards are on duty at all times here. I’ll not make the same mistake again.” Inside he felt sick; the Stone weighing heavily against his chest. Whoever it had been had been after that, and the poor servants had been abducted and silenced to prevent them from identifying who had been responsible.
His fault had been to take all his guard; he’d thought his tent had been inviolate within the camp. Clearly this was not the case, and one faction had already taken action against him. He just wondered who the hell had managed to find out this fast that he had the Stone. Had someone seen him with Subedei? It must be one of the inner group close to Subedei. All of them had been at the battle but it wouldn’t have been too difficult to organize subordinates to carry out the act.
Batu turned up a few moments later, bad-tempered at being summoned by Kaidur. “I do not take orders from mere arban commanders, Old Young One!”
“And I do not appreciate your camp’s hospitality, Batu Khan!” Casca shouted. “See what your soldiers are capable of!”
Batu stopped, his mouth open. “My soldiers did this?” He stared, aghast, and then enraged.
“I shall behead the camp commissariat for this – this – insult!”
“Batu Khan,” Casca said calmly, although he felt far from calm, “perhaps it may be better to interrogate him. He may know something about this. You have spies under your command, yes? Then ask them to find out who was responsible. I also have a number of servants missing. You know as well as anyone that this inner area is reserved for just a few permitted souls; therefore no ordinary troop could have come this way.”
Batu stared at Casca, his cheeks red with anger and shame, then he curtly nodded. He stamped off, followed by this personal guard. Kaidur stepped up to Casca slowly. “I thought he was going to feed me to the dogs when I insisted he come to you. He refused at first.”
“Did he, by the gods?” Casca chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. “You must have been persuasive.”
“I told him you were prepared to eat your own horse in fury and that only he could calm you down.”
Casca cracked a brief smile, then his look went back to the destruction and he smiled no more. “Kaidur, go get five more servants. Arrange for payment at a reasonable price and I’ll pay. And make sure three of your men are on duty here at all times. No more complacency.”
“It shall be done.”
Casca turned and stepped slowly out into th
e cold forest air. He looked from one prince’s yurt to the next. One of them was responsible. But which one? Mongke? Kuyuk? Even Batu, perhaps? He could trust no one.
Over the next few days the barricade around the city grew. The huge numbers of enforced workers guaranteed the construction didn’t slacken, and the trees were felled in their hundreds, stripped, sawed or chopped into lengths and then sharpened at one end and driven into the hard, frozen ground. Gangs of pressed prisoners were sorted into groups; some dug and hacked at the ground to form a trench for the stakes, others lit fires to melt the frozen earth, some chopped the trees down, still more shaped the stakes, and others again built the wall. All were under the watchful gaze of scowling Mongols, all ready to inflict pain and suffering on anyone who slackened.
Casca stayed away from them; he’d had enough in his lifetime already on the receiving end of such treatment. He was far more interested in the assembling of the catapults and the gathering of the missiles and projectiles. The engineers were rather more professional in the use of prisoners. This was partly because many of the engineers were from the same place, and partly because they wanted the prisoners to be careful in putting together the machines. They didn’t want them falling apart the first time they used them.
Finally the wall was finished and the Mongols were all within it. Some were put on guard to watch for anyone approaching from outside, but most were now watching the city, waiting like wolves.
The catapults opened up with the bombardment, sending rocks and stones hurtling through the air to crash against the wooden walls of Riazan. Logs splintered, split and shattered under the assault. Men were swept from the battlements and houses beyond crushed as the missiles overshot the walls.
Batu permitted Casca to speak to the defenders one more time after two days of the bombardment. As before, he went with Ashira and Kaidur. The catapults ceased fire and the cautious heads of the Russians appeared above the ramparts to see the three approach again.
As before the same big bearded Russian leaned over the edge and sneered at them. “You think your puny rock throwers are going to make any difference? When you dare to attack I shall personally take the sorceress and rape her until she splits in two, then I shall chop you two up and feed you to my dogs.”
Ashira went deep red again. This time she didn’t wait for Casca to ask her to translate. Casca growled. “Tell this particularly ugly warthog of a man that I shall seek him out and make him sorry he insulted us in this way.”
The pleasantries exchanged, the three returned to the camp and the bombardment resumed. The walls slowly fell apart under the incessant attack and the gates in particular were targeted. The Russians shored them up, using the wrecked houses to block the ruined entrance, but it was clear the walls wouldn’t stand much more of the pummeling they were receiving.
On the fifth day the Mongols switched to using fire. Burning incendiary missiles arced through the air to explode in showers of flames and sparks against the walls or soared over them to burst into flaming pieces along the streets or against the wooden buildings. Fires broke out all along the ramparts and the Russians worked hard in putting the flames out, but no sooner had they doused one, then a second one sprang up. The only saving grace they had at the beginning was that there was so much snow and ice. But even that melted eventually and there was little water left to put the flames out.
The Mongols were working themselves into a frenzy, watching all along their lines as the ramparts burned. Once they collapsed that would be it. Casca slowly donned his battle gear, a lamellar mail hauberk, made up of rectangular strips of iron sewn together, over the top of his silk shirt. The armor reached down to his knees down both sides of his legs but was open at the front and rear, a design more suited to fighting on horseback. Casca though wasn’t going to fight mounted; he preferred to be on foot.
His arms had leather guards, supposedly there to protect his arms from the string of a bow once released, but Casca was going to fight using his sword, a long blade slightly curved towards the tip. On his head he wore a conical helm topped with a black plume, denoting him as a senior officer. His feet and lower legs were covered in stout leather boots. He was ready.
He got up off the small stool he’d been sitting on while Kaidur and Ashira had dressed him. “Now I’m ready to face the world,” he said.
Ashira stood back, a solemn look on her face. “Return in one piece.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Casca said, stamping his feet to try to reduce the numbing cold. “I don’t die.”
“Make sure he doesn’t come to any undue harm,” she said to Kaidur.
Kaidur rose up onto his toes briefly. “I am protecting him. No harm shall befall him!”
Casca clapped the Mongol on the shoulder and led him and five guards away from the yurt. The other guards remained solemnly by the side of Ashira and the new servants. They were unhappy at missing out on the action but Casca had promised that they would take part in the next one and a rotation would occur.
As Casca came up alongside Subedei, he was reminded of the conversation they’d had a few days back. Subedei had warned him not to task Batu in seeking out the perpetrators of the trashing of his yurt; he’d called off the investigations almost as soon as they’d begun. Casca, irritated, had asked why. Subedei had explained he didn’t want to cause any unrest between the princes. To investigate them would cause dissent and maybe a defection or desertion from one or more of the princes, and Subedei could ill-afford that. So nothing was to be said.
Casca hadn’t been pleased but could see the fat commander’s point of view. Batu had kept his distance from Casca, shooting him a sly glance every so often. Casca wondered about him; it hadn’t occurred to him that Batu might want the Stone, but then come to that, any of the ten princes in the army would give their right eye for it. He didn’t think all of them knew that he had it, as whoever was hunting him for it wanted it for themselves and didn’t want any rival to know. So he probably thought only one of them knew. If only he knew which one it were.
“You do not wish to be on horseback, Old Young One?” Subedei asked, surprised.
“I prefer to fight on foot,” Casca said shortly. He was still pissed at Subedei.
“Only peasants fight on foot,” Kuyuk commented a little way to the rear. One or two of the princes smirked.
“Young Prince, get off your horse and I’ll show you who is the peasant.”
Kuyuk sneered and ignored Casca. By his side his brother Kadan was laughing contemptuously, and on the other side the absurdly young Buri was giving him a look of utter disgust.
“Pay no attention to them,” Subedei waved a lazy arm, “they are full of pre-battle frustration. Once the signal to attack comes they’ll be your best friends.” His words brought laughter, not much of it pleasant.
Casca spat into the snow. “I’m going to find that disrespectful Russian who insulted me and your ambassador, Subedei. I shall show you all what happens to those who insult me.” He held Kuyuk’s gaze, and the Mongol half sneered, then, unsettled, looked away.
Mongke walked his horse forward. “Do not get separated from the main body of the army, Old Young One. We would not forgive ourselves if you became lost and someone cut you down and we were not able to find you.”
“Thank you for your concern, Prince Mongke, but I have my personal guard and I do not die, as you should know.”
Mongke nodded, and returned to his place, smiling. Casca was as unsettled by that as by Kuyuk’s hostility.
With a crash the portion of the ramparts opposite fell forward, engulfed in flames. A growl rose from the ranks of waiting Mongols and the horses became even more fractious. Casca strode forward to where the waiting infantry stood. Here were the foot soldiers, armed with pikes, swords, spears and bows, who were to be the first into the breach. Their task was to create a gap big enough for the cavalry to ride through, into the city. Casca took up his position at their head, Kaidur and the other guards by his side. The infantry
recognized Casca and stood up straighter. An honor indeed, that The Old Young One was to lead them into battle! Looks were exchanged and more than a few smiles broke out on their faces.
The Noyan leading them bowed once to Casca who bowed back.
Then Batu raised his arm and brought it down viciously.
With a roar thousands of Mongols sprang forward, straight for the still burning breach.
CHAPTER TEN
The Russians blocked the gap, desperation on their faces. They had an array of spears and pikes pointing at the onrushing infantry, and archers stood back slightly, raising their bows to shoot over the head of the men in the breach.
Casca ran alongside the howling mass of men, his blood pounding through his veins. Part of a huge organism, he roared at the top of his voice, exulting to be part of this unit of men, all pumped up and ready to kill.
Arrows arced through the air, cutting down a score or more of onrushing Mongols. The Mongol archers loosed off their own missiles, and a cloud of arrows hammered into the blackened and smoldering wood, the burning buildings, and the men trying to stop the attackers getting into Riazan. Bodies fell at the gap, then no more arrows came as the attackers closed in on the defenders.
Casca leaped over a fallen blackened charred length of wood that had fallen from the ramparts, and pushed into the back of the man in front. Blades rose and fell ahead of him and the screams began. Casca shoved the man ahead of him aside impatiently and stepped up onto the hot pile of timbers that still glowed. Smoke was rising from them but it was scattered into the air by the movement of the fighting men. A Mongol alongside Casca was impaled on a pike and cried out horribly. Casca cut down hard and sliced the shaft in two, then brought his blade down again, severing the Russian’s neck, cutting deep. Blood spattered onto his sword and the Russian staggered back, clutching the wound.