Devil's Horseman

by Tony Roberts

  “What would happen if you kept it? If you left the army now and took it with you?”

  Casca laughed. “They’d come after me, chop me into little pieces and probably you, too, and take it. It would be Subedei’s orders too.”

  She shuddered. “Why would he do that? He’s your friend!”

  “A Mongol isn’t someone you cross. Friend or not, Subedei knows his duty, and expects me to know mine. If I break his trust, he’ll have no qualms about ordering me cut down. I’m stuck with this until it’s time to pass this to whoever I think is the right candidate.”

  Tatiana stared at the glittering object. “I wish you’d never been given it.”

  “So do I, little one, so do I.”

  And outside the yurt, a shadow slowly slipped away, shivering in the cold but satisfied at hearing enough.

  * * *

  Subedei summoned Casca to his yurt the following morning. Cold but with a gut full of bread and a mug of warm milk, Casca was escorted over to the army commander by Lars. The huge blond Swede looked like one of the Viking warriors of old, with ice coating his long mustache and beard. Kaidur was still being tended by Ashira. Lars cracked a joke about riding indoors. Casca smirked and put a finger to his lips in case the Mongol heard him.

  Subedei was dressed in battle armor and Casca was warned. Oh, ho, the old man’s going to talk tactics. He smiled at the Eternal Mercenary and showed him to his campaign table, set up in the rearmost part of the vast tent he had as his quarters. “You slept well, Old Young One? A long sleep, I trust. You left the feast early, didn’t you?”

  Casca was on his guard. The words, pleasant enough, were loaded with a challenge. It seemed Mongke had passed on Casca’s feelings to the others. “Yes, Subedei. I’m refreshed. You wished to ask for my advice?”

  “Indeed. Come.” On the table, weighed down with daggers and gauntlets, was a map of eastern Europe. Subedei jabbed a finger at a point close to the right hand edge. “Here we are. Russia is subdued. Now we must decide what to do next. I wish to seek your advice, since this is your region, rather than mine.”

  Casca glanced at the map. Close to them were the Carpathians. On the other side were Bulgaria, Hungary and the lands of the Holy Roman Empire. To the north of the Carpathians stood the Polish and Lithuanian kingdoms. “Whichever way to go you’ll have your flanks threatened. Hungary has the strongest army but the Poles could call on the knights of the Teutonic Order. I hear they could give your lancers a hard fight.”

  “I have heard the same, Old Young One. But I know this. I am asking the advice of the same man who aided the great Genghis Khan in molding the peoples of Mongolia into one.”

  Casca held his gaze for a moment. “You must look after the army and its horses. The only place you’ll get decent grazing in the coming spring and summer will be Hungary. You’ll be protected by the mountains to your rear, and by the Danube river to your front – but you’ll have to watch your right flank. The Poles won’t be idle.”

  “You recommend Hungary? Then it shall be so. As for Poland, allow me to take care of them. The army is to move to the borders of Poland and there I shall hold my council of war. I trust you will honor us with your presence? Your words of wisdom are always welcome.”

  “Of course, Subedei; have I ever failed to attend a council of war?”

  “No. And now we are on the verge of greatness your contribution to the army is needed more than ever.”

  Casca returned to his yurt puzzled over Subedei’s formal attitude. He was certainly cooler towards him than he’d been since he’d known him. Had Mongke been putting him down too much at last night’s feast? He’d have to have words with Batu. He was just about the only one who readily talked to him.

  Karl was on guard at the yurt. The Austrian grinned at his and Lar’s approach. “New orders?”

  “You’ll hear soon enough,” Casca said. “We’ll be off soon westwards again.” He ducked into the yurt and looked round. Tatiana wasn’t there. Frowning, he checked behind the screens but she wasn’t there. Then he saw a note pinned to one of the yurt poles and slowly tugged it off the nail it had been fixed with.

  It was written in the Cyrillic script which Casca understood. It was close enough to Greek. He mouthed the words, pronouncing the letters, forming words in Russian. His mind slowly translated them. I have been taken hostage. Do not try to find me or organize a search for me. My life is at risk. You will be approached when the time comes to hand over the Stone. Please do nothing now. My love, Tatiana.

  Casca crushed the note and bared his teeth. Someone would pay for this.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  He was sunk in a deep black mood. He hardly remembered the ride out of Russia into Poland, and when they stopped near the town of Przemysl, he stood watching as the yurts were put up without saying a word, then pushed his way into his own quarters and sat on the bed, even before the slaves had completed setting up the furniture. He ignored all approaches, saying nothing, just staring into infinity.

  Kaidur left him alone. He would speak when he was ready. He ate little but it never seemed to affect him. Ashira was worried but she was persuaded to stay away and let the slaves look after The Old Young One.

  Subedei sent for him, and Casca heaved himself up, stinking with the three week ride, and slouched wordlessly into the pavilion Subedei used for his headquarters. The princes shuffled away from him; not through the smell, but from the thunderous expression on his face and the palpable air of leave me alone he gave off.

  The aged Mongol army commander didn’t appear to notice, however, and he beckoned Casca to stand next to him. “The Old Young One has spoken to me on the matter of where our campaign goes next, and I have done much thinking. So.” He waved a hand at the now stained and obviously well used map. “We divide here. Baidar, Kadan, you will take your tumens west from here and spread fire and destruction to the lands of Poland. Your task will be to find and destroy all armed resistance and make sure our enemies do not gather and then descend upon the rest of us who will head south west through the mountains here.” Subedei theatrically jabbed a thick and calloused finger at the chevron symbols that denoted the Carpathians.

  “Siban, you will take your tumen through the northern most pass and ravage the north of Hungary.” He turned to Kuyuk. “You will force your way through here, in the center, and attack the region known as Transylvania. Batu, you will cross through the next pass to the south while I will take the other tumen and cross the furthest south. We will then sweep up towards the Hungarian city of Pest and meet there. Send your scouts out and keep in touch with each other. To the Hungarians we will appear as if we are everywhere. Any questions?”

  “What are our roles in this?” Mongke asked, a little aggrieved that he was not leading one of the five detachments. He waved at the other princes who hadn’t been given commands.

  “Mongke, you shall ride with Baidar; Buri, you will be with Kadan. Orda, you shall ride with your brother, Batu. Berke, you shall be with Siban and Sinkur will be with Kuyuk. Budjek shall come with me.”

  “And what of him?” Kuyuk waved contemptuously at Casca. Casca glared at him from under his eyebrows. The way he was feeling at that moment he didn’t really care of Kuyuk was heir to the Mongol throne. One wrong word from him and he’d rip his throat out.

  “Old Young One? Who do you wish to honor with your presence?”

  Casca slowly roamed his eyes over the assembled nobles. Finally his attention centered on Batu. “With Batu Khan.”

  Batu looked pleased.

  Subedei made a surprised face, then nodded. “Very well, you will be special advisor to his tumen. Go to your men, make ready. The camp will reform on the plains of Hungary, save those who are going into Poland. May the hunting be good!”

  Casca paused at the entrance of the pavilion, and laid a hand on Batu’s shoulder. “Batu Khan, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Of course, just ask and I shall be most pleased to accept!”

  �
�You don’t know what I’m going to ask, but it must be between the two of us. Nobody else must know.” He waved at Kaidur and Karl to remain where they were and accompanied the intrigued Batu off to one side. He didn’t take him to Batu’s yurt, as he didn’t trust the confined space to remain secret. So he spoke to the Mongol prince, and Batu listened, shocked, and then with an increasingly incredulous expression on his face.

  He didn’t speak very long and soon came back over to the two waiting men. They looked at him expectantly, but Casca merely waved them on after him. Casca felt much better, having gotten off his chest what he’d wanted to say, and Batu had responded just as he’d hoped.

  Kaidur waved off the serving wench and poured a warm cup of chee for Casca, dropping a blob of butter into it. Casca had hoped he hadn’t added it, as he preferred the drink neat. But hell, when in Rome….

  “An interesting talk, Old Young One?” Karl asked. The Germanic clipped way of speaking the title still sounded odd to Casca.

  “Tactics. I wanted to know what his intentions were when riding through the pass. I gave him some advice and he was attentive. After all, I know this area better than any of them.”

  “You could have asked me. I know this area too.”

  “That may be so, Karl, but you’re not a general. Your job is to guard me. Kaidur knows that, even if he understands Mongol tactics better than me.”

  Karl shrugged and spat into the icy soil. Kaidur was happy that The Old Young one had finally spoken more than one word in a sentence. He looked as if a huge cloud had been lifted away from him. “We are to ride with Batu Khan’s men?”

  “Yes, Kaidur. But first, roast me some of that lamb you have been keeping back. I’m hungry enough to eat the back end of my horse!”

  Kaidur nodded, bobbing his head eagerly. He was pleased at last that his master was showing signs of life. Lars popped his head out of the yurt he had been sleeping in and grinned at the return to something close to normal. It was as if suddenly the scarred one had come back to life.

  Kaidur roared at the slaves to assemble a table and places to eat. Karl looked around, surprised. “We are going to eat in the open? It’s cold enough to freeze my balls off.”

  “Then freeze them off. We will have a wind break and a fire going in no time! It shall be warm enough.”

  Karl muttered and stood there, arms folded. Lars laughed and grabbed the cooking pot, lifting it with ease to the beginnings of a fire that the slaves were working hard to make. The sooner it was up and going the warmer they’d feel. The year was only just beginning and the winter was at its deepest. These men were crazy.

  A wind break made out of animal skin was arranged wind side and stuck into the ground with sharpened stakes. Stools and chairs were dragged out of the yurts and the diners assembled, mouths watering at the prospect of roast lamb. Ashira came out from her quarters carrying the meat and great applause greeted her. She smiled and ran the roasting spit through it and placed it on the twin metal forks set either side of the now crackling fire.

  Casca ate at that meal as much as he had over the last two weeks. He had come to a decision, and he also knew he would have to kill at least one person, and maybe two. Tatiana was close by, he knew it, and he knew that her life depended on him doing the right thing at the right time. And not only him, but certain other people too, some of whom wouldn’t do it if they knew what was involved.

  * * *

  The Vereke Pass. A steep-sided mountain gorge that cut dizzyingly down from jagged peaks to pine-covered lower slopes thousands of feet below. Streams and mini rivers flowed through the landscape, a jumble of boulders, rocks and pine forests, and through them ran narrow routes that linked the two sides of the mountains.

  Clouds covered the highest peaks and snow lay thickly on the sides of the hills and on the branches of the pine trees, making their boughs sag. The Mongol soldiers rode slowly through the pass, muffled against the wind and snow, occasionally casting wary glances up at the sheer sides of the pass.

  The column of soldiers snaked back for miles, and towards the rear struggled the camp followers and the wagons. Their only saving grace was that the thousands of soldiers who had gone before them had trampled the snow down and made it easier for them to make a slow if steady progress. Batu had a small rearguard under orders to make sure everyone was ahead of them. Bandits were known to strike the unwary and he sure as hell didn’t want his supply train ambushed.

  Up ahead were the waiting Hungarians. Their king, Bela, knew what was coming and had sent men to defend the passes. He’d known for some time that he was next on the Mongol’s list of conquests, for the Kipchaks who had fled from the Mongols in Russia had found a new home in Hungary and pleaded for protection in exchange for their swords and skills.

  Bela had jumped at the chance; here was a group of warriors who could swell the ranks of his already large army. Yet the nobles distrusted them and warned these Kipchaks were barbarians, just like the approaching Mongols, and that they would betray them. So while the Hungarians argued amongst themselves, the Mongols approached. Batu’s scouts had warned that the enemy had built wooden palisades across the pass at its narrowest point up ahead, and were waiting behind them.

  Casca knew what to expect. The Mongol’s natural abilities and tactics of speed, mobility and the feigned retreat would be of no use here. It was back to the good old fashioned way. Send in the infantry and smash a way through. The fighting would be on foot and hand to hand, close up. Just the way he liked it.

  “We’ll be at the front for this little fight,” Casca said to both Lars and Karl. The Mongols alongside pulled faces. They much preferred to ride round shooting arrows into confused and outflanked enemies. Lars flexed his arms and smiled, showing his tombstone teeth. “Good. Plenty of heads to crush!”

  Karl looked thoughtfully at the narrowing pass ahead. “Hungarians fight hard. They’ll be defending their homeland.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Casca replied sharply, “just be alongside me in the attack.”

  Kaidur looked once at Karl and then at Casca. The Eternal Mercenary nodded just once, very slightly. Casca leaned towards the Mongol guard captain. “Kaidur, lead the men on. I’m going to have a word with Batu Khan. Be back in a moment.”

  Casca pulled over to the side of the icy track and watched the lines of half frozen men ride on into the gloom. He waited for the vanguard to pass, then walked over to the general, surrounded by his guards. Around him rose the standards and banners, looking like a moving forest. Batu bowed to him as he approached. “All is well up ahead?”

  “So far, Batu Khan. But the men will have to fight on foot. This is no place for cavalry.”

  “Yes, I know. What tactics would you recommend?” Batu looked worried.

  “Pin the bastards down on each flank with foot archers, and bash a way through the center with your infantry. Arm them with every big weapon you’ve got. We’ll need something to smash apart their barricades too. See these woods all round? Plenty of material to build catapults and towers. The Hungarians aren’t the only ones who can build.”

  Batu nodded. His aides took note and looked at the trees with a professional eye. Already they were assessing how many slaves to assign to the cutting down and building gangs. Casca returned to the front and led the vanguard on, the horses carefully feeling their way across the slippery surfaces of the Vereke Pass.

  As darkness was falling, and in the narrow pass it fell very quickly over the towering slopes to their right, they came in sight of the Hungarian defenses, a bristling wall of wood that stretched right across the pass and reinforced with towers and sharpened stakes sticking up from every conceivable place. In front of the palisade pits had been dug and these, too, were full of stakes. Even at this distance and in the growing darkness, Casca could see that the sharp wooden points were clean. They’d been cut within the last two days.

  Oh it was going to be a tough one, this. But Casca felt a thrill all the same. He was going to lead the attack
on the fortified position. It would be bloody and vicious, just what he was looking for. Someone to take out his frustrations on. He smiled.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  He wasn’t smiling the following morning as he crouched behind an outcrop of rock along with his men, waiting for the newly built catapults to do their job. The clouds had lowered and were now drifting amongst them, depositing snow in freezing clumps everywhere. The wind howled along the pass from the north east, behind them, and blew the snow in the faces of the Hungarians, so that they couldn’t see what was coming towards them or when.

  The men shivered as they waited, hoping to hell that the stone throwing war machines did their work fast. At least they would be moving and fighting hard, which would give them a chance to warm up. Rather that than freezing your balls off here, Casca thought sourly.

  The machines crashed as the arms came up and sent yet more boulders hurtling through the air at the palisade. There was no shortage of missiles; the pass floor was full of them. Casca grimaced as another blast of wind blew around the outcrop and stung their faces. The Mongols bore it in stoic silence; they were used to such hardships out in the wilds of High Asia, but some of the European mercenaries that had found their way to Batu’s force turned their backs and cursed the wind, the weather, the Hungarians and anything that came to mind.

  As in all war, the side that appeared to be winning attracted men to its banners and they were willing to even turn their backs on their own king, for some Hungarians were there amongst the rag-tag collections of Kipchaks, Bulgarians, Vlachs, Germans and Slavs who had volunteered their sword arms and expertise. Many of the Vlachs were hardy mountain men and knew the passes well in these mountains. Casca thought they’d slit their own mothers’ throats if paid enough. Still, Batu had decided that the Europeans would spearhead the charge. That way his Mongols wouldn’t get the worst of the defenders’ missiles in the attack. Sensible of him, Casca admitted.