by Tony Roberts
The chance for the defenders had gone and the Mongols flooded through the gap, putting the Russians to flight. The attackers didn’t pursue as they dived into the houses, Casca’s men amongst them, and soon sounds of crashing and looting came, but thankfully no screams. The occupants had fled to the city center.
Casca and Kaidur walked along the street to the city square, where the last stand was being made. It was mid-day now and the fight had been going on for four hours. The cathedral was thronged with civilians and the surviving soldiers. Four columns of Mongols had converged and met, driving all before them. Some Russians had been cut off and eliminated as their line of retreat had been blocked by a group from another gate.
Casca saw Berke on horseback shouting out orders. He came up to him. “Hail, Prince Berke. What’s going on here?”
Berke looked down and beamed. It was going very well, he explained. “The Russians have taken refuge in the cathedral, including the Grand Duke’s wife and family. I was supposed to take them alive as hostages if possible, but there are too many there now for me to take them. My men are to storm it and slaughter all.”
“In that case I’ll leave you to finish the task. I’ll return to camp. My job here is done.” Casca had no intention in watching the inevitable end.
Berke nodded and waved him off. Casca led Kaidur back through the now deserted streets. They were more than halfway back to the camp when an arrow flew out of nowhere and struck Casca in the ribs, knocking him forward onto the frozen earth.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Hold still, Old Young One,” Kaidur’s voice came to Casca dimly.
Casca groaned. The pain in his side was intense. The damned arrow was in deep. It must have been fired from very close by. Casca opened his eyes and looked around. They were in a house. He was on a table. Kaidur was standing by his side, unfastening his armor.
He must have been unconscious for about a minute. “Who shot me?” he croaked.
“I don’t know but whoever it is, is outside. I’ve barricaded the door. Mongol arrow,” he commented, nodding at the black feathers.
“Swine,” Casca grunted, gritting his teeth. “One of our unknown friends, obviously.”
“Of course. I think there’s only one or two of them. They’re listening.”
“Can you get it out?”
“Yes, if you stop moving.” Kaidur had unfastened the armor and lifted the back. The arrow had gone through part of it and Casca hissed as the barbed head was moved. Kaidur slid the back off as much as he could, the gripped the arrow in both hands. The silk shirt Casca was wearing had been driven into the wound, as it had been designed to. This was the beauty of the silk garments all Mongols wore. It wrapped itself around the arrow and was taken with it into the wound. Now Kaidur began tugging on the shirt, twisting it, pulling the arrow out slowly. As the shirt pulled the missile out, the head reversed its rotation and slid out of the hole without tearing any more of the flesh.
Casca slumped in relief. “Ahhhh, thank you, Kaidur. Now refasten my armor.”
“You have a wound that needs treatment,” Kaidur protested.
“Trust me, Kaidur, The Old Young One doesn’t need that treatment.”
Kaidur looked at him, then grinned. “Yes, yes of course. Forgive me.” The door suddenly shook to a blow from outside. He hurried, tightening the straps and slapping Casca on the back to tell him he’d finished.
Another blow and the door cracked from top to bottom. Casca slid off the table and winced. It wasn’t too bad and the wound would be already re-knitting. Not bad enough to stop him moving and fighting if push came to shove. Kaidur stepped up to the door and waited silently, his sword raised close to his body and face.
The door crashed inwards, revealing a boot. A blade followed and a Mongol cautiously appeared. Kaidur’s down stroke removed the arm holding the sword and the unlucky man screamed and staggered back into the street, clutching a bloodily spurting stump.
Another arrow came flying through the door and Kaidur stepped back in alarm. “My apologies, there are three out there. Well,” he corrected himself, “two and a half.”
A lit lump of wood came flying into the house, followed by a crash from a window and another. Flames began licking along the wooden floor.
“Right, time we were out of here,” Casca said and waved Kaidur deeper into the house. At the back was a wooden door and he unbolted it and stepped out into a yard. A pig was nosing around the frozen mud and Casca patted it on the back and vaulted the pen, followed by Kaidur. There was another house beyond it and they pushed through the yard into the looted building. They plunged out into another street, and finding it empty, turned and jog-trotted down towards the gate. Behind them smoke and flames rose as the house they’d been in began to burn.
“Another failed attempt,” Casca said, looking back over his shoulder. “I think they might begin to realize these efforts are a waste of time.”
“Indeed,” Kaidur panted. He wasn’t used to running. Galloping on horseback was his thing. “They may change tactics.”
“So will I,” Casca replied. “No more damned city fighting for me.”
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Kaidur said, and the two quickly made their way out of the smoking city.
* * *
Casca’s wound healed fast, and Tatiana only had to dress it once. She fussed over it until Casca shut her up by kissing her. When the city had finally stopped burning and the Mongols had rested, Subedei gathered the forces together. Mongke and Kuyuk had returned from Suzdal, having taken care of that place, and brought back thousands of prisoners. Casca noted that both Mongke and Kuyuk had been absent when he’d been shot, so it looked unlikely either was responsible – for the latest attack anyway.
He looked furtively for a soldier with an arm chopped off by the elbow but no one appeared. Most likely he’d been disposed of as a failure, and as someone who could have been too easily identified, or he’d bled to death.
The army was divided into two. Batu and Subedei would each take half of the army and go after different targets. Batu, together with his brothers and Kuyuk and his brother, Kadan, were to head north-west and attack Novgorod. Subedei, Mongke, Baidar, Budjek and Buri, as well as Casca, were to chase down the Grand Duke and destroy his army.
Once again the tents were taken down and placed on the lumbering carts. The engineers and pioneers with their siege equipment followed Batu, leaving only the camp wagons of Subedei and his tumens to follow the army northwards deeper into the pine forests.
During the journey Casca rode alongside Prince Budjek, wanting to know more of him, and to try to work out if the man were behind the sinister attempts to get the Stone from him. He found the prince a thoughtful man; not perhaps the most charismatic, but someone who took his duties and position seriously. He was looking forward to taking command of his tumen in the battle ahead.
“Tell me, Old Young One,” he said, looking intently at Casca, “what is best for a commander in battle; to direct from afar, or to lead his men personally into the fight?”
Casca pursed his lips. “A fair question, young Prince. Sometimes, when directing many different parts of one army, then it is best to find a high vantage point and watch the battle. That way a commander can choose the right moment to release the reserve, or to swap forces from one part of the field to another. But sometimes it is better to lead your men into battle, particularly if there is only one enemy force and you have the confidence to leave the decision to commit the reserve your subordinates. But you must have absolute faith in them that they will do the right thing. The most important part of any army on the battlefield is the reserve.”
“Not the mounted archers, or the heavy lancers?”
“You may use the lancers as your reserve,” Casca smiled, “to administer the telling and decisive blow. But a reserve is vital to any commander; it can be used in attack or defense. To attack, it is to tip the balance of a battle in your favor. In defense, it can be used to delay any pu
rsuit while the rest of your army flees in defeat, thereby saving many from being run down. Many times it has been in a rout when most casualties occur, not when the two sides are fighting face to face.”
Budjek looked thoughtfully ahead.
Casca continued. “Or you could use it as an unexpected switch – just when it seems part of the battle has been won, and a flank is giving way, the reserve comes in to stop the rot. Or you can use it as the hammer.”
“The hammer?”
“Yes; a good tactic is what I call the hammer and anvil. Stand a unit on the field and face an enemy, such as infantry armed with pikes or spears against cavalry, and take what they are throwing at you, then sweep round the rear with your reserve and crush them from behind, catching them between the hammer and anvil of the blacksmith.”
Budjek laughed. “A clever plan! I shall remember that one! Thank you.”
Subedei came alongside and motioned for Budjek to take up point with his bodyguard and a Jagun of men. When the young Mongol had gone, Subedei spoke. “Tell me, Casca-Badahur, why are you here with us?”
“Why? You know damn well why.” Casca looked round and lowered his voice. “The reason why is hanging round my damned neck. I’ve already had two attempts on me personally to take it, and my yurt was trashed, remember?”
The old army commander waved a hand lazily. “I mean, what are you doing here with us besides carrying the Stone? This is not really your kind of warfare; I’ve seen it in your face.”
“If you must know, I’m hitching a ride to Europe. You’ve said you’re going in that direction, so it makes sense for me to join with you. And I don’t want to be riding through Russia when your lot come charging out of the forests at me! I’d rather be with you than against you. And then on top of that some of your people saved my life back in the Himalayas so I owe you people a favor. I guess carrying this is the favor repaid.”
“I see. You know I cannot give you command of a tumen? Your heart is not in the taking of cities, so it would not be right to give you command of a large section of my force.”
“I don’t want that; I dislike the wholesale slaughter of civilians. I can’t stop it, but I don’t like it.”
“If you wish, you can take part in the battle to come. It is the least I can do.”
Casca nodded. “That’s more to my liking. Thanks. Who will command the army on the field?”
Subedei nodded ahead to the front of the column. “Budjek. Time he had command of a force on the battlefield. I’ll sit back and watch. If he gets into trouble I’ll give him help. My scouts are watching the enemy. They have crossed the Volga and are close to a small watercourse they call the Sit. The Grand Duke has assembled an army from the nearby towns.”
“How far away?”
“Two or three days. They are not going to cross the River Sit. My advance guard is deceiving them as to where I intend crossing the Volga. I shall of course cross elsewhere, and by the time they discover the deception it will be too late.”
“Naturally. You know you’ve given Batu a hard task to take Novgorod, don’t you?”
Subedei looked at Casca. “Why do you say that?”
“I remember the weather in these parts,” Casca said. He thought back maybe three centuries, when he’d been part of the great exploration the Vikings had made of the rivers of the region. They’d sailed into a great river from the Baltic and founded the city that would become Novgorod, then they’d sailed upriver until they could go no further and had placed their longships on wheels, and pushed them overland to the next river. From there they’d sailed downriver and founded another city. This one would become Kiev.
The native Slav peoples had called them Ros, after the red hair of many of the adventurers. It had become corrupted to Rus, and later the peoples of the area had intermingled with the Rus and taken the name for their own; and since then had been known as the Russians.
Casca and his men had called themselves Vikingar, and the Byzantines whom they had traded with had called them Varangians. Casca had later become a Varangian in the pay of the Byzantine emperor. “In the spring the ice and snows melt and turn the area into a mud bath or swamp. Nobody can get through that. Batu has siege equipment. He won’t get to Novgorod.”
“I see. I should have consulted you before my decision, it would seem.” Subedei scratched his chin. “Unless you are wrong.”
“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. But I don’t think I am.”
Subedei grinned. “We will see in time.” He rode off.
A few days later they came to the Volga, a frozen sheet of ice. The Mongols put cloth on the hoofs of their horses and walked the creatures across. They spread out wide so that no area got overused. The wagons went one by one, with most of the camp followers walking on foot behind them. The trees grew close to either bank and so the army was quickly swallowed up as soon as they had crossed.
The camp was struck and the wagons arranged to form a half circle for protection. Here the army of the Grand Duke was close by, and Subedei wasn’t taking any chances. His scouts went out far and wide and reported back that the Russians were close to the Sit River, and that their advance party had clashed with the Mongol scouts.
So now both sides knew the other was nearby.
They armored themselves up and checked their weapons. Subedei left 5,000 men to guard the camp while the rest, arranged in two tumens, rode off with him to battle.
This time Casca was going to fight on horseback.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The army of Grand Duke Yuri of Suzdal was drawn up in a dazzling array of color on the far bank of the little Sit River, waiting for the Mongols to make their move. Huge gold and red banners depicting Christ and the cross fluttered in the strong breeze and it seemed the nobles, the Boyars, were trying to outdo each other in the brilliance of their armor and insignia.
Much of the Suzdalian force was mounted. It would be cavalry against cavalry, Casca realized. Great. I can hardly ride across country and here I’m to fight on horseback! He turned to Kaidur. “An impressive sight, don’t you think?”
Kaidur grunted and scowled. “That means nothing; how will they fight?”
“Like the devil, I expect.” Casca looked critically at the enemy. “They have plenty of archers, by the look of things.” There were a number of skirmishing troops riding out in front of the main body of the enemy, and even at that distance, it was clear they had bows. The banks of the river sloped up steeply and the land on either side of the river had been cleared some time ago, probably for firewood. A rutted mud road ran through the ground the Russians were waiting on, and a log cabin could be seen a little way off. It was almost certainly a woodcutter’s.
He turned in his saddle and looked towards the silent and still figure of Budjek, wondering what was going through the prince’s mind. The usual Mongol tactic was to draw the enemy into a trap, using the ‘false retreat’ ruse, but it seemed unlikely this would work here. The river divided the two forces. It was still cold, and the river frozen over, but the spring thaw would not be far off.
The force that Casca and Kaidur were part of was under the nominal command of a Noyan by the name of Chadhak, but he was looking to Casca for orders. There were 1,000 mounted lancers. Their job was to drive a wedge into the enemy, splitting their front apart and allowing the following units to get in amongst the disrupted lines of the Russians and finish them off. So that was the plan, anyway. Casca had volunteered to join this unit, more to give them a morale boost than anything else, but he admitted to himself that the cry to battle had compelled him to choose this Minghan. The fighting would be the hardest with this lot.
The signal was given and two large groups of mounted archers rode out from cover, the woods a few hundred yards away, and galloped easily down towards the river. The noise of thundering hoofs shattered the morning peace and the ground shook, the still frozen soil sending the shock waves far and wide. It was like hundreds of drum rolls all at once.
Chadhak licked
his lips and fussed with his harness and tack. Casca guided his mount over to him. “Be confident, Chadhak. The men have faith in you to lead them to victory.”
Chadhak nodded but swallowed. Pre-battle nerves were getting to him. Casca guessed he’d been a recent promotion to Noyan. The Mongols promoted from the ranks on merit, a system that guaranteed the best got to be generals. If you were a failure, well you either got demoted back down or you lost your head. “I shall be with you,” Casca said calmly. “Let your men see you are strong and resolute. Make your decisions clear. Your men won’t let you down, you know they’ll do their job. They will look to you to do yours. And all you have to do is lead by example.” He grinned and slapped the wiry man on the shoulder.
“You make it sound easy, Old Young One. But I am full of anxiety.”
“Once the charge begins that will pass. As I said, I shall be with you. How can you fail with the Old Young One at your side? Imagine the looks on the faces of your grand-children in years to come when you tell them this story!”
Chadhak nodded and forced a grin. He looked like he wanted to throw up. Casca walked his horse back to Kaidur. “Keep an eye on my back. I don’t want a Mongol arrow in it.”
“I have told the others here to watch for that. It will be a glorious fight!” Kaidur, in contrast to Chadhak, was impatient to get at the Suzdalians. Casca breathed in a deep lungful of chill morning air, the smell of leather, horse and pine finding its way into his senses. This is what I live for. Battle. May the gods help me.”
By now the Mongol archers had reached bow range and began peeling off into two huge wheels, releasing their arrows high into the air and galloping off. The enemy force raised their kite-shaped shields and many arrows struck these, but others found their targets and men were seen falling off their mounts. The faint sound of screams came to him with stronger breaths of the wind. The Grand Duke made a gesture and suddenly from the ranks a host of foot archers appeared and raised their weapons.