"On our way south, we followed the west bank, Jarl. There is much evidence of a large force moving south and two hours ago we met a courier ship heading north. They had been sent north to report."
"And what did they say?"
"They reported seeing a large force of Pechenegs riding hard for the south. By now they should be approaching the southern ford."
"Are our men there ready to block the crossing?"
"With their lives, Jarl! We have done as you commanded. Foresters have floated hundreds of logs to the island, and several shiploads of spears and arrows should have arrived by now. Dir reports a delay in mounting the spear-throwers on the karves, but he told me to tell you that they are on their way. Once completed, they will travel south non-stop. The ships should pass here either this afternoon or tonight."
Askold still looked concerned. "And do you have reports about the Pecheneg forces south of us on this side?"
"There we had good luck, Jarl.' The couriers found a present for you. The ship commander turned to the crewmen who stood respectfully behind him. 'Bring us the captive."
A dark-visaged Pecheneg warrior was casually tossed over the side of the karve, into the arms of waiting crewmen. The prisoner, still with his hand tied behind him, was frog-marched over to Askold.
The captain smiled. "Last night the courier ship anchored just off the eastern shore. They sent some men ashore to check for any potential dangers. Apparently they found four warriors drunk and camped right in the middle of the caravan road."
Askold stared thoughtfully at the captive. The Pecheneg was obviously injured, for he was caked in dried blood, but he wore expensive armour trimmed in gold.
"Where are the other three?"
"This one must have been the most drunk. In any case, he was apparently the slowest of the four. The others managed to get to their weapons before they could be subdued.' He shrugged. 'They were cut down."
"What have you learned from him so far?"
"Little, Jarl. He does not speak any Slavic tongue we know."
Askold turned around and surveyed the column. He quickly spotted Polonius. "Polonius! You speak more languages than any man I know. Come and see if you can understand this stranger's language."
"Aye, Jarl Askold."
Polonius approached, escorted by Ambrose and Phillip. The lean Byzantine took his turn staring at the battered captive, then suddenly spoke to him in Greek.
"What is your name?"
The man stared mutely at him. Polonius tried the same statement in a dozen different languages. To each the man responded with a shrug, until Polonius tried his very limited Persian. The prisoner responded immediately.
"You finally speak a human tongue. Who are you that you are so thin and dark, yet march with these barbarian scum?"
"I was once a Byzantine scholar, but I spent much of my life as a slave. My masters travelled a lot, and I learned many languages. Now I am a free man, but what I am is not important. What is important to you is what my master Askold wants. If you do not co-operate with him, he will have you killed."
The captive sneered. "I am a Pecheneg warrior. Kill me if you want. I have no fear of death. Allah Akbar!"
"What is your name?"
"Katarz."
"Katarz, I, too, believe in the One True God. I also know that you believe a warrior who falls in battle goes directly to heaven. Jarl Askold, however, will not have you killed by a warrior. The Vikings are a cruel people. You will be slowly tortured."
"I am a warrior! Allah will know the way of my death! I will say nothing."
"Katarz, the women will be allowed to have you as their plaything. First you will lose your manhood, then your sight.
If you still refuse to co-operate, they will remove more pieces of you, one at a time, which they will feed to pigs. You will be so defiled that Allah will never allow you to enter the kingdom of heaven. Are your secrets worth being damned for all eternity?"
The prisoner blanched. "If I do answer your khan's questions truly, what will happen to me?"
"I do not know, but I will bargain for your freedom, if you wish it."
"If I am promised my freedom and a small boat, I will answer your questions freely and honestly. But you must give me your personal word that there will be no tricks."
Polonius turned to Askold. "Jarl, he offers to answer your questions honestly, if you will agree to two conditions."
"I do not know what magic you spoke, Polonius. I expected that this one would hold out for hours even under torture. Truly, I am glad you are on my side. Tell him we agree, Polonius."
"But you haven't heard his conditions yet."
Askold grinned. "It doesn't matter, Polonius. We will agree to anything he wants."
"It is not that simple, Jarl. I have to swear to personally guarantee his safety if he helps you."
Askold sighed. "What are his conditions, Polonius?"
"One. We set him free after he has answered everything you want to know. Two. We let him loose in a small boat."
"Polonius, I do not see a good reason to negotiate. We can have the irons red hot in short order. Soon after that he will beg to tell us anything we want to know."
"True, Jarl, but will you be able to believe anything he tells you? I have been put-to-the-question, and at that time I would have told you anything you wanted to hear. The truth at that moment was anything that would stop the pain."
"Polonius, go ahead and tell him that we are willing to agree to his terms."
"Willingly, but I have to swear that he will be released afterwards, and I think I should say now that I cannot serve a master who would knowingly betray my sworn word."
"Polonius, you are worth ten thousand captives to me! You have already deduced that my word to him is meaningless. You, however, have my word that he will be released as promised."
Polonius turned to the prisoner. "Katarz, I give you my word that you will be released after questioning, if I believe that you are telling the truth. Is that satisfactory?"
"My life is in your hands, Greek. Ask what you will."
"What are your khan's plans for Kiev?"
The man spit on to the grass. "The army was split. A sufficient force will remain to maintain the siege, but there will be no more costly assaults launched."
"And the rest of the army?"
"Has been sent to the tents of our main encampment at the ford."
"Why did your Khan recall the force?"
Katarz shrugged. "The Ghuz are closing on us from the east. To the south the Khazars are busy defending the traders at the cataracts, but we know that eventually they, too, will ride north.
"And what are your master's new plans?"
"The Great Khan has commanded that the entire horde must gather to assist in getting our wagons across the river. We did not expect serious opposition from Kiev, either in taking the town, or in crossing the river. In this, it seems, we were wrong."
"And what of us?"
"The Great Khan had already commanded that when our families are all safely on the western bank, then the horde would push north again.' Katarz smiled tentatively. 'It is hoped that our second journey north will make you more obedient to your nomad masters, but first he intends to destroy your puny army in a lightning thrust north along the eastern bank.
Tell your master that as soon as enough warriors have re-crossed the river, the horde will close on your position. You are all dead men. You just don't know it yet."
Polonius stooped to cut the ropes around the prisoner's wrists. "Jarl Askold, this man needs a small dugout."
"Don't worry yourself, Polonius. I will have someone take care of him."
"It is no problem, Jarl. With your permission, I must take care of it personally."
Askold grinned. "Of course, Polonius, if that is your wish."
Ambrose, Polonius and Phillip continued the slow march south with the Slav regiment they had trained just a few months previously. Some reinforcements arrived by ship and the sick were
evacuated, but the march south continued to be slow and tedious. Polonius was thrilled when a supply ship arrived with the caltrops.
On the next day, a small vessel was spotted moving north. It was a sleek ship, and the water around it churned. Ambrose was able to see that it was double-crewed, and both sets of rowers looked like they had been driven to exhaustion.
As soon as its lookout had spotted the column, it had nosed into the bank close to where Askold stood and waited. The commander jumped ashore and quickly made his way to Askold.
Soon shouts could be heard echoing up and down the winding column. "Officers forward! The column is to halt, and officers are to report immediately to Askold!"
In less than a quarter-hour, the army's officers had all congregated at the head of the column. They were very curious, and somewhat apprehensive. The word was that somewhere just ahead of them lay an entire horde of steppe warriors, and the Pecheneg prisoner had boasted that a reinforced force would soon be moving north at a gallop.
Askold faced his assembled officers. Each stood silent, waiting to hear their orders. The big man drew himself up to his full height.
"Slavs. Varangians. This autumn we have faced a mighty enemy, and we have fought together, as one nation. Together, we have already done the impossible. Many settlements resisted the invaders, and they survived. We have forced the enemy to reduce his forces around Kiev itself, and south of here we are doing serious damage to the Pecheneg nation as they try and cross the Dnieper River. The Pechenegs are suffering huge casualties.
One more major task remains to be done. If the Pechenegs are able to break us, then they will be free to ride south, cross again at the ford, and then move north to devastate Kiev. You, my friends, are the only barrier between our loved ones and the savage raiders soon to be riding north.
In less than two days the Pecheneg cavalry could easily be upon us. If we but stand firm, then the invasion of our homeland, and the danger to our loved ones, will be over. That's all I ask of you. You do not have to defeat the Pechenegs. All you have to do is to hold them off, in a location of our choosing. If we can do that, then we have won!
Pray tonight to Perun and Odin, and all the other gods . . . We will rest here for the night, and tomorrow we will begin our preparations. I want to see a secure perimeter erected before dark, including a dry ditch . . . Regimental commanders and above will remain to plan our strategy. The rest of you may return to your commands."
The great orb of the sun, rising slowly from over beyond the mighty Dnieper River, found the combined Slav-Varangian army ensconced in front of thick forest. From the south, several thousand hard-bitten riders rode northward. When they found themselves facing a formation of Slav and Varangian warriors, they paused. Horns blew, and the mighty host formed up for battle.
Both armies took stock of each other. The nomads had managed to get over two thousand mounted warriors across the river to join the raiding party of a thousand, while the combined Varangian and Slav levies numbered perhaps a few hundred more. A horde of veteran steppe warriors faced Slav farmers, seasoned only by a few hundred northern barbarians.
Ambrose stood in the front ranks of the Slav wing. He watched in awe as the huge column of riders smoothly shifted into a massive wedge formation. Ambrose whispered to the faithful Phillip who stood at his side.
"By all that's holy, Phillip. I had no idea that there were so many horsemen in all the world. My knees are weak and my stomach is in knots."
The gruff giant replied as quietly. "You have killed men before, Prince. That is what you will be doing today."
"Aye, Phillip, but they came at me one at a time."
"They will today, too. All you have to do is to remember to kill them one at a time. Let the men around you take care of the rest."
"Thank you, old friend. I have never been so scared in my life."
"You have never faced a formal battle before, either. I will tell a secret to you, Prince, that I have never told another living person."
"What is that, old friend?"
Phillip's mouth showed a hint of a smile. "I've stood in a battle line over a hundred times, and my stomach still does somersaults each and every time. The fear only leaves me once I am actually fighting."
Polonius, nervously scanning the approaching force, spoke. "May God damn all pagans! Would you two look over by the copse of trees on the right?"
Ambrose stared for several moments, and then replied. "I see men, and see the trees. Just what exactly is it that I am looking for?"
Phillip replied for Polonius. "Look, Prince, at the banner. See, it is being blown by a gentle breeze."
"I see a banner of a horse."
Phillip's voice rumbled. "That is the personal standard of the Great Khan of the Pechenegs. That means the mean bastard is here personally to make sure our asses get kicked."
"Does it matter?"
Polonius sniffed. "Prince, the man's very word means life or death to his followers. Cowards today will have their herds confiscated and their entire families butchered. Heroes today will make their fortunes. In the khan's presence his men will fight like demons."
The Pecheneg heavy cavalry was selected to begin the hostilities. Five hundred heavily armoured riders spurred their horses forward. Aware of both the Varangian combat prowess and their fanatical bravery, the officers planned to probe the weakest links in the allied army. They rode straight for the Slav wing.
As the horsemen thundered forward, there was clear evidence of anxiety in the Slav ranks. As the cavalry started their advance, hundreds of lightly armoured bowmen retreated, scattering objects behind them. When the Pechenegs spurred to a charge, the skirmishers turned and ran for their lives.
The horsemen had probably never expected to strike home against the main force, but the sight of the running men was irresistible. The armoured line swept forward like an unstoppable tidal wave.
The Pecheneg warriors were just approaching the slowest runners when the first horse screamed. Suddenly dozens of horses crashed to the ground. Many of the riders were thrown. Some of the Pechenegs died beneath the hooves of their companions' mounts.
The momentum of the charge was totally lost and the survivors wheeled to the right and left. Several dozen warriors lay dead or injured, and the two enemy forces had not yet come together.
The horns sounded anew, and this time skirmishers advanced from the Pecheneg side. Holding shield high and moving at a walk through the tall grass, the swarthy men of the steppes advanced gingerly.
Ambrose watched the steppe warriors advance and again turned to his companion. "What are they up to, now, Phillip?"
"They know that we planted something in the grass. The bastards intend to find out just what it is."
"Can we stop them from removing the caltrops?"
"No, Prince, but we can make it expensive. Just be ready to drop when Polonius gives the command."
Once the line of skirmishers reached the first injured horse, they quickly ascertained the cause of the problem. Shouting curses at the allied warriors, the men advanced slowly, checking the grass as they moved forward. Behind them, two squadrons of the heavy cavalry rode parallel to the skjaldborg, moving to threaten the Varangian wing. Two more, however, waited restlessly.
Polonius spoke to Phillip. "At all costs, the men must hold their positions."
Phillip looked up and down the rank of nervous men, and called out in his booming voice. "Spread the word! Hold your positions!"
At last Polonius could stand it no longer. "Phillip, signal the archers whenever you think it is time."
"Just a few moments more, Polonius."
The burly thane raised and dropped his arm. Immediately, the Slav war horns blew two short blasts. As one, the three front ranks of spearmen dropped. The suddenly exposed archers filled the sky with shafts.
The Pecheneg skirmisher line first halted, and then grudgingly retreated. They did so in good order, but they had not been able to clear away all the caltrops, and some two
dozen of them lay dead or wounded in the grass.
The Khan signalled the light cavalry to advance. These men, lightly armed and mounted on swift steppe ponies, galloped forward. Several hundred horses were injured by the caltrops, but this time the warriors just accepted the punishment and kept coming.
A cloud of them closed on the Slav ranks, and the ranks of spearmen hastily climbed to their feet. As the horsemen neared the skjaldborg, they seemingly panicked. The riders turned and fled by the hundreds.
The ploy, however, was in vain. Askold had carefully chosen the spot by the woods and he intended his men to stand fast where they stood. His orders had been unequivocally clear. No one would budge, in spite of any repeated feints made by their old enemy. The Pecheneg riders neared a second time, shooting arrows and daring the Slavs to break formation and go after them.
Individual Slavs fell when an arrow or spear made it past their shields and armour. Phillip started the litany of battle. "Wounded men to the rear! Second rank, fill the gap!"
Finally realizing that the enemy coalition forces were not going to be fooled into breaking ranks, the Khan ordered a general softening up. Countless seasoned foes had been decimated by the excellent Pecheneg archers. Here, at last, the superb steppe cavalry could show its prowess against the stubborn river people.
The blaring war horns set the giant wheel of archers into motion. In an unending line, the warriors of the horde rode by, launched their arrows, and then passed around again. The Khan, from his vantage point, watched as the Slavs hastily formed military Turtles. Where seconds before long ranks of spearmen and archers had stood, now a series of solid structures had formed, with shields forming both wall and roof. Peppered like a cur that had attacked a porcupine, yet the shield formation prevented most serious casualties.
Finally the enemy blew their own signal horns, and the mounted archers withdrew.
Polonius ordered a single note on the Slav signal horns. The formation rippled fluidly and the 'Turtles' were replaced by the former continuous ranks of infantry. There was a difference, however. Each man in the first three rows thrust forward a huge spear.
The heavily armoured lancers advanced next. A sigh went through the Slav ranks. These riders were what the Slavs feared above all else.
Phillip casually strode along the edge of the spear wall. "Dress this line! Get those spearheads up, lads! I want to see a wall of spears that a sparrow couldn't make it through! First rank! Plant the butts firmly. Let the horse do all the work when it hits your spearheads."
Ambrose, Prince of Wessex; Trader of Kiev. Page 24