Devil's Horseman

by Tony Roberts

Subedei pressed home his point. “Would you rather be looked upon by your men as the general who turned his back on a victory? The other princes would mock you; they are always looking for an excuse to belittle you, especially Kuyuk! He would not want a retreat now, not after so much Mongol blood has been spilled here.”

  “Kuyuk would mock me no matter what I do!”

  “And he would point out to the others that he was justified if you turned your back on the greatest victory of the entire campaign! Think of the tales that will be told around the campfires in years to come of the victory that Batu Khan achieved here in Hungary.”

  Casca looked up at Kaidur who had slowly walked his horse over to Casca’s side, holding Casca’s horse’s reins. “I think Subedei has made his point.”

  Kaidur grunted. “The enemy is beaten. Some of them are running away already.”

  Casca took his reins and stood waiting. Subedei pointed at the seven catapults and pointed next at the enemy camp. Batu nodded and wearily turned and spoke to his artillery officer.

  Subedei, having won his argument, now ignored a still sulking Batu and took over. The catapults lumbered over the bridge, now swept clear of bodies and other detritus of battle, and formed up in a line behind the lines of the Mongol soldiers. Casca reluctantly mounted up and led Kaidur back to the ranks of the lancers who were looking a little better now they had been given time to rest and refresh themselves. The wounded were led to the rear and tended by the camp followers while arrows were re-supplied and horses given water to drink.

  The Hungarian army had retreated into their camp but some of the less brave were trickling away down the path that had been left open to them. Ominously, two units of mounted archers were slowly moving along the line of the path, one on either side, and the riders were testing the tension of their composite bows. It was going to be a hunt.

  The catapults now sent their fire pots arcing into the camp, exploding amongst the soldiers, sending many into a panic and driving the horses mad with fear. Tents burst into flame and the barricades of chopped down wood burned away. The trickle grew into a regular stream and the Hungarian army began to break up.

  Casca took the time to eat. His strength flowed back into his limbs and he felt ready to take on the enemy again. Kaidur, Lars and the others stood in a small group, sharing a hastily assembled meal, and Casca made sure they all were fit to carry on. One of his small group hadn’t made it so far. He was one of the thousands of corpses that laid all round.

  Finally Subedei and Batu got tired of throwing fire pots into the enemy camp and wanted an end to it. They ordered a stop and got their men to close in on the Hungarians. Their camp was a mess; the tents had burned away and the barricades smashed to pieces and were still burning in small piles. Smoke drifted over the enemy position and the ash blew gently past in the wind. Casca wiped some from his brow and mounted up with a groan.

  He saw almost at once that a large number of Hungarians remained in the camp. The Templars were there, inevitably, as was the prince and his contingent. He saw for the first time the king, Bela, who led his personal retinue, and a large golden cross on a long pole denoted the presence of a bishop or an archbishop. He wouldn’t flee either. But the rabble that made up the infantry had gone.

  Subedei waved his men in closer, and the archers fitted arrows to their bows. This was going to be a slaughter. Siban gathered his lancers to him and Casca led his small group over to join them, away from the scene. They were the tactical reserve.

  Batu came over too. Casca could see from the look on his face he was hugely upset. “Ah, Old Young One,” he began, a tremble in his voice. “I fear we cannot carry on much longer. I do not know if I wish to remain part of this army.”

  “This is your expedition, Batu Khan,” Casca said softly so that his voice didn’t carry. “All this is to enlarge your domain.”

  “I already have more than I can possibly rule,” he answered, looking around. “My domain is back close to the Sea of Caspian. We do not have sufficient men to control all that we have conquered!”

  “Come on, Batu Khan,” Casca stared him in the eye, “we both know it’s because you and Subedei have had a falling out.”

  “I have no say in what happens,” Batu hissed, leaning towards Casca. “I yearn to be the one to rule, not to serve. In Sarai – my capital – I can rule as a prince. That is what I wish for now; not to be a figurehead, an impotent meaningless man!”

  Casca shrugged. Maybe Batu had finally gotten fed up with Subedei. It had taken enough time. “Then end it all. You have the power to overrule him. Despite what Subedei says, he’s only the army commander. You’re the prince who commands all the others. Yes, yes,” Casca held up a hand to forestall Batu’s imminent objection. “I know what you’d say; Kuyuk and Mongke and the others would object and argue. They’re only here for the fighting and loot. To be honest, I think they’d agree to an end, since Kuyuk in particular doesn’t like the territory you’re gaining. I think he’s jealous.”

  “He would inherit all this if he became Khan,” Batu said sulkily. “I would be his vassal.”

  “As you would be under Mongke as well.”

  Batu said nothing, but chewed on his lower lip. Finally he straightened. “I’m ready to do my part in your plan, Old Young One. Just give me the signal.” With that he turned and walked his horse off, followed by his staff. Casca felt elated. Now he could put his rescue plan into operation. He just needed the right situation and circumstances.

  The Mongols now fired a cloud of arrows into the remaining Hungarians, dropping dozens of them, but they gathered together in a huge wedge and readied themselves for an all-out last charge. Casca sat up straight and stared hard at the forming mass. It was a suicide charge! Do or die; shit or bust.

  “Kaidur! To me. Now!”

  The group was galvanized into action. Men jumped onto horses and threw away the food and implements they’d been holding. Siban, too, had seen the warning and called his men to ready themselves. This was the final act, the one that would determine whether the battle was won or lost.

  Once again the Hungarians formed a huge wedge, and began riding out from the camp straight towards the Mongols, but the archers turned and scattered, still pouring arrows into the desperate defenders. King Bela could be seen at their head, encouraging them to follow him right towards the collection of Mongol standards that marked where Subedei and Batu were sat, directing the Mongol army.

  Siban called his men to be ready and Casca drew his sword for, so he hoped, the last time that day. As the Hungarian army bored their way through the showers of missiles that fell amongst them, Siban waved the lancers into the attack. Casca rode out in front and veered towards the flank of the Hungarians, followed by his men and the right flank of the lancers.

  He leaned forward, the point of his sword aimed at the onrushing Hungarians, and slashed at the back of one as he reached their lines. The rider screamed and toppled off his horse to lie in the path of Lars, who rode over him, crushing what life he had left immediately. Casca didn’t look back but carried on, his blade rising up, stained red with blood, and fell as he crossed the path of a second man who swerved to avoid crashing into the side of Casca. There had been the possibility that he could well have knocked Casca over but the impact would almost certainly have meant he too fell and that was almost a death sentence, given the numbers of horses galloping around.

  The Eternal Mercenary slashed down and the Hungarian raised his sword, but far too late. Casca’s thirsty blade slid in under the armpit and buried itself in his lung. The knight screamed and fell, his arms raised almost as if in supplication. Casca draw his sword back and hacked again at yet another, a man who seemed startled by Casca’s appearance. The blade slashed a deep furrow in his face and the man’s expression disintegrated into a mask of blood.

  Lars rode hard to Casca’s left and Kaidur to his right, and Karl directly behind. They hacked a path clear through the Hungarian wedge, their men following, smashing the ga
p wider and wider, and the charge faltered.

  Casca came across a black-garbed knight with a white cross sewn onto his tunic. A Templar! Screaming his challenge, Casca rode down on the man who turned just in time to receive a shaft of steel into his guts. The Templar was lifted up and off his saddle and dumped onto the ground, his helmet rolling off his head and he lay there staring up at the sky, not seeing the destruction of his comrades.

  The Hungarian’s last charge had broken up into small groups and the numerically superior Mongols were destroying them one by one, surrounding them and shooting arrows into their ranks, and then closing in when their numbers were too small to resist them.

  King Bela saw all was lost and led what was left of his men in an escape bid. The last of the Templars stayed where they were, buying time for the king and his retinue to get away with their lives. Casca sliced down into the neck of one and pushed past the writhing man. He came face to face with the garishly dressed prince and slashed at him. At the last moment the prince swerved and the blade cut down his side. The prince screamed in agony but his horse took him away from Casca, and two of the prince’s bodyguard turned to block Casca.

  In fury Casca slashed at the first and he blocked, while the second was attacked by Lars. Kaidur came round the flank and hacked at the bodyguard, and the man’s shield stopped that. Casca slashed again, hoping to get through the man’s guard. He deflected the blow aside and countered.

  Casca cursed. This man was good. His partner wasn’t as lucky, however. Lars simply crushed his helmet with a mighty blow and the man slid off his saddle, blood seeping through the eyes of the closed bucket helmet.

  Seeing this the bodyguard turned and ducked under Casca’s swipe and rode hard after the wounded prince. Casca let him go; he was too tired to chase anyone. Lars was too slow and Kaidur remained by his master’s side.

  Casca stopped and turned round slowly. The battle was over. What Hungarians that were left were being herded into small groups and led off tied together with ropes. A few more slaves to add to the huge number they already had.

  Casca took off his helmet and wiped the sweat off his brow. “I’m glad that’s over,” he said. “That was hard.”

  “It was,” Kaidur nodded, “but we have been victorious. Hungary is ours now.”

  He was right. The Hungarian army was destroyed and there was nothing left now between the Mongols and Central Europe. Casca wondered if the king had escaped, and if he had, would he be able to organize a new army? Casca doubted it.

  The ground was littered with the dead. Spears and pennants rose up from the ground like the bare trees of winter, and overhead birds were already gathering for the feast. Casca sighed and felt weary. The excitement of battle was gone from his body and he now was too tired for words. He looked up and saw the two Mongol commanders surveying the battlefield. Victory was theirs. They ought to feel elated. But Casca wasn’t thinking of the spoils of victory; he was thinking of a woman, and how he was to rescue her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Over the next few weeks the Mongols roamed far and wide, terrorizing the Hungarian population and burning the city of Pest. Casca remained close to Subedei’s headquarters close to the burning city, but Batu went north to besiege Gran. Casca wasn’t sure whether Subedei had deliberately sent him there or not.

  The other Mongol princes and their forces arrived from Poland, swelling the Mongol numbers in Hungary, and Casca was sat at the late night meal and celebration near Pest when all the princes, including Batu, finally returned from putting Hungary to the torch.

  He listened to what had gone on in Poland. Baidar, as the one who commanded the Polish attack, had the honor to present to the others what had happened. It seemed they had enjoyed as much success there as the rest had in Hungary.

  “When we neared the city of Cracow, our scouts heard one of the defenders give a warning on a trumpet, so our scout shot him through the throat before he finished! That scared them enough to flee the city.” Baidar smiled and quaffed some wine before carrying on. “Then we found an army blocking our path near the place they call Legnica but we defeated them, destroying them utterly!”

  Incredibly, Casca worked out that their victory had come on the same day as the battle by the River Sajo that Subedei and Batu had won over the Hungarians. But even as the others congratulated Baidar on his successes, Batu slammed his goblet down on the table. “Yes, it is a fine victory, and we won one too, but I lost many men because of Subedei’s slowness in getting to the battlefield!”

  There was a silence, and eyes turned to either Batu or Subedei. The old general scowled for a moment, then leaned forward. “When the prince attacked he did not realize that the crossing point where I was building my bridge was deeper, so it took longer to cross. He should remember that.”

  Batu colored and held Subedei’s gaze for a moment, then nodded curtly. He passed the old general his goblet. “Yes, it is true; our victory was thanks to Subedei.” But his look at Casca was one of resentment and Casca nodded slightly. Batu nodded back in the same manner.

  The feast went the same way as the others had. The princes got drunk and Casca had no time to listen to their bragging, or to hear Kuyuk’s needling disdain directed at either Batu or himself. As he stood up to leave, he caught Batu and Mongke talking, heads close to one another. That was interesting.

  “On the morrow I am leaving for Karakorum,” Kuyuk suddenly announced, his words slightly slurred. “Batu’s domain has reached the limits of what he can rule. We have destroyed what armies the Europeans can raise against us. My work here is done!”

  “And I, too!” Buri stood up quickly, his face flushed. He shot Casca a quick glance and then looked away. But Casca had caught it.

  The wolves were closing in. Fuck.

  “Princes!” Subedei heaved his bulk out of his stout chair. “There is still much work to be done! More kingdoms to subdue. They are in terror of us, and divided. If we wait too long they may join forces and present a much more difficult opponent.”

  Kuyuk sneered. “If Batu wishes to extend his domain further, then he should find the men to do it himself. When I am elected Khan, I will not have the time to wet nurse him!”

  “The Khan, your father, has decreed we are to ride to the western ocean! Would you defy his words?” Subedei was angry.

  “Pah! He’s an old man, a drunkard. His death cannot be far off. I go to Karakorum to my father, and to be there when it is time for my succession.”

  “Surely the Old Young One should accompany us?” Buri said. “He must be present at the succession. Such an endorsement would bind the loyalty of many to your rule, Kuyuk Khan.”

  “I go in another direction, Buri Khan,” Casca replied. “My time with the Mongol army is coming to an end. You have proved yourselves superior to all once again. I salute each and every one of you, but you no longer need me. You have grown to a point where my advice and presence is no longer necessary.”

  Buri looked at Kuyuk for help. Kuyuk looked from one to the other, trying to work out what the heck the young Buri was talking about. Subedei sank back into his chair, looking every one of his many years. It was at that point that Mongke stood up. “I, too, must return to the capital. There is much work for me to do. It may be something that the boy,” and he contemptuously looked at Buri, “may have forgotten, but I am also a candidate for the succession. If Kuyuk is to return to Karakorum to secure his succession, then I, too, must go for the same reason. I regret, Subedei, that I must go, but it is necessary.”

  Casca stepped back as the Mongols broke out into an argument. He knew this wouldn’t be sorted out, so it was pointless getting involved. Batu was looking at him, and Casca pointed to the outside. Batu nodded. Casca left the yurt and the raised voices became fainter in the warm air outside. Kaidur stepped forward and Casca shook his head. “I have words for Batu Khan alone, my friend. Wait outside ear shot, and make sure nobody eavesdrops.”

  “As you command, master,” Kaidur bowed, an
d stood twenty paces away from Casca, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Casca felt a pang of regret. Soon he would have to bid the faithful Mongol a sad farewell.

  Batu approached, and his guard stood a respectful distance, standing in a similar way to Kaidur. “Is it time, Old Young One?”

  “It is time, Batu Khan. I must leave this night. We know they will come for me, and I must save the life of the one I love. You know what I require of you?”

  “I do, Old Young One. I am grateful for what you have done since we first met; it is a sad thing you are leaving, but I know you must. I shall keep your memory alive by passing down your tales to my children and grandchildren. Perhaps one day you shall return to our lands and you will be greeted with the honor and respect you deserve?”

  “Not if Kuyuk is elected Khan. What were you and Mongke talking about back there?”

  “The very same thing. He is a good friend to me. I know the Mongols will never accept me as their leader, but I would rather serve as a vassal to Mongke than Kuyuk! My brothers feel the same. We have done a deal; I shall support Mongke in the leadership bid in return for his support of me in the lands I hold. Kuyuk would seek to get rid of me and my family, I am certain of that.”

  “I have the same impression. Then I give my support to your decision. Kuyuk and Buri must not be allowed to get their hands on the Stone.”

  “They shall not. Where do you plan to have the exchange?”

  “To the south of here, the great river is crossed by a bridge of stone at a place called Kalocsa. It’s likely to be burned to the ground, but the bridge will be still there. The river is wide and fast flowing, so horses won’t be able to cross. It’s the perfect place. I think one full day’s ride will get me there. I’ll take one other with me.” Casca thought back to the times he’d passed the place in the past. A stone bridge wouldn’t change much over time. It was also the next crossing place downriver from Pest.

  Batu nodded. “I shall wish you the best speed there in that case.” He grasped Casca by the forearm, and Casca did likewise. “May the gods give you wings.”