Casca 34: Devil's Horseman (14 page)

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.

“Oh hell,” Casca said, leaning forward.
“Sneaky bastard!”

A cloud of arrows rose into the air, and fell like straw in the wind.
Scores of Mongols were struck, none of them having shields. The men of Chadhak’s unit muttered and a wave of impatience rolled along their line. They wanted to get at the impudent enemy for daring to strike back.

Casca kept his eye on the Grand Duke, sat on a white horse dressed in a deep red kaftan. Although he couldn’t make it out, he knew the Duke would be also wearing chain armor underneath it. Atop his head there was a round iron helmet with a plume. Two large banners fluttered at his position; one depicting the haloed head of Christ, the second a depiction of the Virgin and Child.

The Mongol archers wheeled and came again, this time directing their shots at the Russian archers. The river was crossed in both directions with hundreds of deadly missiles, and the bodies began to mount on both sides. Sometimes a Mongol horse was hit and the rider was thrown to the ground. Most of the time they got up, cursing the enemy, but sometimes they lay still. It was easy to break your neck falling like that on that iron hard surface.

The ground directly in front of Casca and the others was kept clear; the archers didn’t ride across their path, so to give them a clear uncluttered route to the enemy. The only obstacle was the narrow river, perhaps twenty feet wide. How they expected to charge across the ice and not fall in was something that was worrying Casca. Surely the numbers and weight would break through. Subedei was usually much more careful in his planning than this.

Once beyond the river the land rose and then leveled out. The enemy was fifty yards beyond the bank. Anyone crossing the river would almost certainly be hit with a counter charge and driven back into the river. Grand Duke Yuri had chosen his ground well.

Another flag was waved from Budjek’s command position and yet another force of Mongols came galloping out, this time to the right. They were angling in towards the path of Chadhak’s Minghan’s route to the enemy. Casca frowned. If they did this they’d cross it at about the river’s edge. What were they up to?

Arrows rose up ahead of the charging force, and pattered into the ground around the nearest enemy soldiers. Shields came up and a few archers switched their aim to the new group. As the Mongols came close to the river, more archers turned to shoot.

“Our unit signal, look!” Kaidur said, excitement rising in his voice.

Casca twisted and looked again. Sure enough, the yellow flag signal was raised. It signaled the unit to ready themselves. The ranks muttered and gripped their reins, and lances rose to the vertical. Chadhak took a few steps forward and raised his hand, looking hard at the flag.

Casca gripped his reins and took a few deep breaths. Then he caught sight of a small group of men running behind the Mongol archers who were down by the river. They had been amongst them but had been left behind in the charge. They were running awkwardly, carrying rolled up lengths of wood, two to each roll. The wooden pieces weren’t thick, but they appeared to have been fixed together like matting.

Matting!

He laughed wildly. The clever swine! “That’s our way across the ice, Kaidur!”

The matting carriers reached the river’s edge, having got there safely thanks to the sacrifice of the mounted archers. Losses were mounting amongst them as they traded shots at a suicidally close range, but the matting carriers got to the bank and began unrolling the wood, pushing it out onto the ice, unfurling it as they went. There were twenty of them and suddenly the Russians spotted what they were doing.

The Grand Duke desperately signaled to his archers to cut them down, but losses had been heavy amongst them and the suicide archers were still firing as though their life depended on it, milling about the bank, sending shaft after shaft into the Suzdalian archers.

But their ranks were being thinned too, and they’d lost perhaps half their number. The pile of bodies on the river bank was getting higher, just off to the right of where the matting was being unrolled. Arrows began to strike the matting carriers, and three lay where they’d fallen, halfway across the river. Now the other archers, those to the left, closed up and began sending clouds of missiles into the Suzdalian archers. Caught between two sets of archers, they dissolved into panic and fled for the safety of the shields, leaving nearly five hundred of their comrades dead or dying behind them.

The matting was unrolled right to the other bank and the brave men turned and fled back to their side of the river.

Then the yellow flag was lowered and Chadhak’s arm cut down dramatically, and he dug his heels into the flanks of his horse. Casca hauled out his sword and slapped his mount on the rump with the flat of his blade, yelling in excitement, and behind him Kaidur and five of his guard shrilly added their voices to the roar from the Mongol lancers as the entire unit began moving down towards the crossing point that had been bought for them with the lives of the men lying by the bank.

Chadhak formed the point and Casca rode close to him, just behind him. Then
came the guard units of both men, and behind them the lancers in a gradually widening wedge formation. The matting was maybe thirty feet wide which would allow at most six horses abreast, but once over they would spread out in time to hit the Russians, who were beginning to set themselves to take the charge.

Casca held his breath as his steed clattered onto the wood, and the noise of the hoofs changed to a lighter, higher sound. He was across in hardly the blink of an eye, right on the tail of Chadhak, and screamed as he galloped up the slope towards the waiting enemy.

Behind him, as they reached the firm ground over the river, the lancers lowered their points and bore down on the horrified Suzdalian soldiers. As he closed in on the front of the enemy formation, Casca picked out his first target, a masked warrior clad in chain armor, a red tunic with a barred cross motif, and armed with a sword similar in style to his.

He raised his sword high, and brought it down as he came alongside. The blow was parried, but Casca didn’t stop. Plowing into the ranks of the Russians he hacked left and right, aware that Kaidur was right behind him. Chadhak was battering away at a man right in front of him and the charge slowed as the weight of the defenders blocked their way through. The lancers came on, barreling into the defenders, and a sickening splintering sound rent the air as dozens of horses and men crashed into each other.

Casca hacked down and down again, beating away at a rider who had appeared, armed with kite shield and sword, and riding a horse whose mane had been plaited with green ribbons. The shield was raised to block the blows and the Russian’s sword came round in a vicious arc. Casca met it with a swing of his arm, then cut down from the block, striking the warrior in the face, denting the helmet and knocking the man off his horse, blood splattering on Casca’s blade. Swinging his horse round he got a vision of a maddened sea of men and horses battling away at each other, shouting, cursing, screaming. The horses’ whinnying and screams of pain were added to it, and the smell of sweat, urine and blood was almost overpowering.

Casca hacked at the exposed back of one man who was beating down one of the lancers, and he fell off with a cry.
A quick check to see if Kaidur was alright, which he was, and on to the next man. A Russian blocked his route, a bearded man with blond hair. He had a mace and swung at Casca. Casca’s attempted parry only glanced off it and the mace head struck him on the left shoulder.

A bolt of agony shot through him and Casca lashed out in fury and pain. The Russian clutched his throat and his beard was engulfed in a shower of red.
Wheeling round and round, Casca roared at the top of his voice in agony. Kaidur came alongside and acted as a shield while Casca got himself under control.

“You are wounded!” the Mongol shouted above the din of battle.

“I’ll be fine – just a blow to the shoulder. My mail absorbed much of it.”

Kaidur didn’t answer; he was distracted by a boyar who had seen Casca and, spotting he was a senior officer, thought he could gain glory by finishing him off. Kaidur met him face-on and the two traded blows. Neither was going to give way. Casca hefted his sword and gritted his teeth. The pain would go but his left arm was too numb at present to be of any help.

A Russian came at him from the crowd, sword raised high, yelling. Casca roared at him and jabbed his horse hard. Startled, it shot forward and Casca bent low, his sword suddenly an extension of his arm, and sank the blade into the enemy’s ribs, twisting as he passed. The Russian was pulled from his saddle but so was Casca. Keeping a tight grip on his sword, he fell with a loud “SHIT!” onto his back.

He rolled at once and got to his feet. Cursing his numbed left arm which meant he hadn’t been able to grip his reins properly, he looked left and right to where danger would come from.
Left. A horse came alongside and a Suzdalian attempted to slice his head from his shoulders. Casca met it with a crossed blade and struck back, surprising the Russian.