Casca 34: Devil's Horseman (20 page)

Javelins, spears, arrows and stones came hurtling through the air at the attackers, but most of them were thrown blind, the snow was driving almost horizontally now into the Hungarians’ faces. Casca ran hard, reasoning that if he were going to be hit, he was going to be hit no matter what route he took. So he charged head down, yelling madly,
right for the gap.

Three men were swept aside close to him, one he clearly saw screaming through a crossbow bolt that had gone through his mouth. The image of the fountain of blood that came vomiting out of his mouth stayed with Casca for a while. The fleeter footed ones in the charge got to the break in the wall first and hacked madly at the Hungarians who were half blinded by the snow that was driving into their faces. Casca slipped on an icy patch but kept his balance, cursing the snow and ice, and barged into the back of a fur cloak clad tribesman who was hacking at a defender with a long handled axe.

Lars roared mightily as he reached the scene, brandishing his four foot length of steel high above his head, and smashed it down on a defender who was locked in a struggle with a Bulgarian hillman. The Hungarian collapsed, his head almost split in two. Casca pulled the tribesman out of his way, determined that the Swede wasn’t going to outdo him, and slammed the pommel of his sword into the face of the Hungarian soldier, breaking his nose and teeth. The man clutched his shattered face and screamed in pain, pulling himself away from the fight.

No sooner had he staggered away then two more tried to plug the hole. One had a spear that was clearly of no use now that the fight had become a hand to hand melee, but the other was armed with a sword and shield and was the more dangerous one. Barging into the spearman who was desperately trying to bring his weapon down to point at someone – probably Casca – the Eternal Mercenary slashed down hard at the swordsman. His blade bit into the edge of the wooden shield, sending splinters up, and he pulled the sword back and gritted his teeth. This was going to be a case of brute force.

The teeth-jarring sound of men being struck by steel and wood pounded through his mind as he focused on the Hungarian warrior in front of him. He was wearing a hauberk of chain mail and over the top was a padded jerkin. His face was covered by a face plate, something Casca hadn’t seen before, and he briefly wondered if this were the new fashion in Europe. The shield was decorated with a red lion and the knight – he couldn’t be anything else – was trying to smash it into Casca’s face while at the same time sliding his sword under Casca’s guard and up into his ribs.

Casca half turned to his left and blocked the thrust with his sword. His right shoulder took the blow of the shield and Casca pushed hard, slashing back downwards at the knight’s chest. The shield was out of the way and the Hungarian’s sword too low to effectively block the attack. Casca’s sharp blade bit into the padded jacket and split it open from close to the shoulder down to the bottom of his
ribs. The armor absorbed much of the blow but the links were cut open and were breaking apart as the knight jumped back in shock.

He grunted in pain. Even though Casca doubted the blow had actually reached flesh, the force of the blow must have been severe. Because of the face plate of the bucket type helm, the Hungarian’s expression couldn’t be seen, so Casca had to guess he was hurt. Now he straightened and came at the worried knight, gaining a few feet. The flailing of the swords had created a gap and Casca had a glimpse of a sheepskin wearing Vlach to his right coughing up blood from a chest wound, falling to one side as a defender went for the kill.

The ground was becoming even more slippery with half melted ice, mud and blood mixing into one viscid ooze, and it made getting a purchase on the ground difficult. The sucking sound of feet pulling clear of the ooze added to the shouts and cries of the combatants, blows of weapons clashing and the howl of the wind. It was an animalistic struggle, man against man, in which the loser would lose everything. Life.

Lars had cleared a path with his sheer fury and the soldiers of Batu were flooding in behind him. Casca gripped his sword in both hands and slashed down hard, pounding into the shield, knocking the knight backwards with the sheer force of the blow. Casca stepped forward, feeling his front foot slide briefly, before it stuck and he sucked in another deep breath, raised his blade once more, and struck again.

The knight desperately used his shield again. It was marked with cuts and holes. More chippings flew up from the blow. The Hungarian thrust forward hopefully. Casca saw it coming. He slammed the blade aside and stepped forward. Now he was very close. Too close to use his sword blade. He pulled his right fist up hard and sent the pommel into the defender’s chin, snapping his head back with the force of the blow.

In a reflex, the Hungarian grabbed Casca, his sword falling into the ooze. Casca twisted and threw the man over his hip to the ground. The Hungarian flailed madly, his shield striking Casca on the arm painfully. Casca knelt on the man’s chest and tore the shield from his arm and flung it aside. He didn’t care if it hit friend or foe.

A mailed fist came up and struck Casca on the side of his head, making him hear a ringing noise through his left ear. He roared a curse at the Hungarian and grabbed him by the throat. The knight was pushing hard to get up. Casca had slid off his chest and was on his knees in the mud. He punched at the face plate and it moved slightly but stayed there. That had hurt Casca’s hand.

Now the knight was trying to put one foot on the ground to get a height advantage. Casca got purchase with his right knee and kicked out with his left leg, driving the Hungarian’s right leg out from under the man’s body and causing him to lose balance. The two of them, locked together, fell to the ground and the knight was underneath. Casca put all his weight into turning the man so he was face down, and rammed his head into the ooze. The helm sank halfway into it, the slimy liquid rising up in a thick wave. Casca fixed his teeth in a grimace as he held the writhing, struggling man there, the ooze seeping into his helm, slowly suffocating him.

Then the man stopped struggling. Breathing hard Casca pushed himself up from the corpse. His sword was lying in the mud. He hadn’t recalled dropping it. As he picked it up, a defender stepped over to him, raising his spear high to impale him and Casca twisted aside hard. The spear slammed into the earth next to him and he kicked out, knocking the spear out of the Hungarian’s grip. He slashed wildly to give himself space to get up and by the time he’d got to his feet the Hungarian had retreated, allowing another to take his place.

A javelin flew suddenly close to his head and a man behind him screamed. Casca grimaced and closed in on the defender who was blocking his path, armed with a short sleeved chain mail hauberk, leather leggings and a short sword. Casca guessed he must be a Kipchak, judging by his hair style and facial features. The man’s hair was gathered in a long plait at the back and he had vaguely Asiatic features. Like many people, he wore a mustache, a common feature.

The Kipchak attacked, his eyes gleaming madly. The short blade was faster than Casca’s longer one but Casca had the greater reach. He thrust repeatedly at the Kipchak, keeping him back, then feinted to attack but suddenly withdrew. The Kipchak struck thin air and before he could recover, Casca was in and sliding his blade up into his ribs and holding him close, making sure there was no final blow from the dying man, and watched as the man’s eyes faded and went still.

He released the man and turned to see the Hungarians fleeing. The breach had widened too much for them to hold and with the main force now flooding through, all hope of holding them had gone. Batu was now sending his mounted archers in and the weary foot soldiers parted to allow them through. Anyone who was too
slow, merely got knocked over and trampled down to become one with the blood soaked earth.

“Tired, Old One?”
Lars said, beaming through a face that was plastered with mud and blood.

“Fuck off,” Casca said, using a corpse to sit down on.

Lars threw his head back and roared in mirth. He jabbed his bloody sword into the ground and stood next to the Eternal Mercenary. “Good fight! Plenty of fools who wanted to meet death.”

“Go check to see how many of our unit is still alive. Then fetch me water. I’m dying of thirst, you madman.”

Lars bowed in mock seriousness and grabbed his sword, walking off towards the scene of devastation. Bodies lay everywhere and the cries of the wounded came to him. He was tired. He was also covered in gore and mud. He bowed his head, slowing the sweat to drip from his face, and he felt it cooling. The snow was still falling heavily and it would hinder the chasing Mongols from finding many of the fleeing Hungarians. No matter, they had broken through the defenses and were now able to advance into Hungary.

Kaidur came up to him, Karl a short distance behind. Both were tired and bloody, but unharmed. “Are you hurt?” Kaidur asked solicitously.

“Nah. Tired. How are the men?”

“Lars is checking.” Karl replied, cleaning his sword. “We lost a lot of men.”

“So did they. We can afford it; they can’t.” Casca heaved himself up and flexed his aching muscles. Not bad for someone aged 1235 or so. He lost count. He didn’t celebrate it anyway. Who was there to tell? Who could he tell? Nobody. Despite the presence of so many men, he felt lonely.

Shaking his head angrily, he dispelled the thought. He clapped a concerned looking Kaidur on the shoulder. “I’m just tired, that’s all.” And worried to hell about Tatiana, he added grimly to himself. “Come on, Kaidur, let’s get cleaned up and tended to by the women. We’ve earned it.”

Kaidur nodded, then looked at Casca in sadness. He, too, was thinking of Tatiana. Karl walked off, and Casca looked at his retreating back. Kaidur caught the look. “When are you going to kill him, Old Young One?”

“When the time is ready, Kaidur, my friend.
When the time is ready.”

The two wearily made their way across the body-strewn battlefield back to where the temporary camp had been set up. They would rest, and on the morrow move off down through the pass and out onto the Hungarian plains. There was nothing left to stop them.

They came down off the mountains and found that the plains were much warmer and free from the snow and ice they’d battled through recently. Losses had been high but the Hungarians had abandoned the passes after heavy defeats. Now the free roaming Mongols were riding at will through eastern Hungary, plundering as they went. Refugees flooded to the Danube and took refuge on the far side where the Hungarian King Bela was assembling a mighty army. Their dispute had been sorted out when the nobles took matters into their own hands and had slaughtered the Kipchaks, thus denying themselves in one stroke the valued assistance of the mounted warriors.

What Kipchaks that had survived went over to the Mongols and provided Subedei and Batu with invaluable information. All four columns converged near the city of Pest, now abandoned, and Casca and his men halted in front of the great river, staring across the wide, slow moving waters to the opposite bank. Casca sat in the saddle and gazed at the far side, thinking to himself that in times gone past there would be the Roman Empire. It was almost as if he had come home.

“Truly a mighty river,” Kaidur commented in awe. “It would take a brave man to cross this.”

“I don’t think Batu and Subedei are thinking of that yet,” Casca said, his eyes roaming over the flat landscape, broken by trees or the distant spire of a church. There were no hills at all. “Not with the main Hungarian army over there.”

Directly across the river from Pest stood Buda, and Hungarian soldiers could be seen manning the city walls. The Mongol army stood in one long line on the ridge above the river, so that to the watching Hungarians they seemed to fill the horizon. Then, on a signal from Subedei, they all turned and rode off eastwards. They rode for three days, making sure the slow moving camp wagons were protected at all times, while the free riding warriors raided far and wide, and kept an eye on the host that Bela was now dragging across the Danube in their wake.

The pursuit was on.

Casca rode with Batu and spoke to him on the third night when they had stopped. Subedei came to Batu’s yurt and inquired as to Casca’s thoughts. If he was puzzled as to why Casca had stopped riding with him, the aged general didn’t show it. “So, Old Young One, do you wonder why I have ordered the retreat?”

“Your classic tactic of the feigned retreat, clearly,” Casca replied, chewing on the still hot joint of mutton he was holding. “But this is bigger than I’m used to. You can’t be thinking of retreating out of Hungary, and Bela is less than a day’s ride behind us.”

“That is true,” Subedei admitted, and leaned back, his hands on his thighs. “I have been thinking these past few weeks how we can defeat the Hungarians, and I believe I have found the perfect place. Tomorrow we will ride through the area and when we stop tomorrow night I shall show you what my plan is. I shall of course ask for your thoughts and approval.” He clearly didn’t speak to Batu whom Casca felt stiffen beside him.

Then the old general stood up awkwardly. “I must speak with you alone, Old Young One.” Casca shrugged at Batu who nodded at Casca. He would want to know what was said. Casca would go to him later. He also wanted to reassure Batu and stop any rift that Subedei was obviously trying to cause between the two of them by ignoring the prince and favoring Casca in front of him. Casca was slightly disappointed in Subedei. He thought him more subtle than that. Maybe age was affecting his thinking.

Giving Batu a small hand signal he rose up, cursing the petty rivalries and factionalism within the Mongols, and followed Subedei into the darkness. Guards hovered close by and Casca nodded at Kaidur who was never far.

“What is it, old friend?” Casca felt sad at his own words; he no longer felt Subedei was a friend. Even Subedei had fallen into the intrigues he’d warned Casca about before the campaign had started. How long ago was that? Nearly four years back, Casca realized with a start. Gods! How quickly time passes.

“Do you still have the Stone? Are you still carrying it?”

Casca looked at the general, alerted by the edge in his voice. “Yes, of course. After that incident with the false Stone I’ve never stopped wearing it.”

“Show me,” the general almost barked. He kept his voice low, but it was nonetheless a command.

Casca unfastened his shirt and briefly showed Subedei the necklace. He re-tied the shirt and made his collar comfortable. “You’re jumpy tonight. What’s the matter?”

“A battle approaches. A big one, I feel it in my bones. Men can die. Men can become wounded. If you fall, I must be certain you have the Stone.”

“You know I cannot die, Subedei.”

“That is true, yet I know you can be hurt and you must not allow the Stone to be lost.”

“I can’t leave it somewhere else, can I? It’s my duty to keep wearing this. You’ve made this clear to me enough times in the past, Subedei.”

Subedei held Casca’s gaze for a moment, then nodded and turned away. He paused and looked back over his shoulder. “You carry a great responsibility, Old Young One. Do not forget that.” Then he walked stiffly off back to his yurt.

Kaidur glided up and stood alongside him. “Trouble?”

“Not yet. But I feel things are beginning to close in. Time to start my plans, I think.”

Kaidur nodded. “You wish me to do anything, Old Young One?”

“Not at the moment, but I may have need of you soon. Make sure the others are fully equipped and ready for battle. Subedei thinks we’re on the eve of a huge one, and I’m inclined to agree. Things are falling into place.” Kaidur nodded and stepped back a few paces. Casca looked out into the night air and closed his eyes.
Yes, battle is coming; a really big one. Like the old general, I feel it in my bones, too.
He opened his eyes and made a decision. He needed an ally in the Mongol hierarchy, as he could see no way of pulling off his plan to rescue Tatiana without one. And amongst them all he could only see one he could ally himself to. He was also the only one who would trust him. So Casca took a deep breath, shook himself, then took the first step in what he hoped to hell was the right course of action. It would take months, probably, but again, he could see no other alternative.

* * *

The following day they rode across a marshy piece of ground and came to a small river that twisted and turned through the landscape. In the distance the foothills of the Carpathians could be seen, and forests covered the slopes both to the east and the north. To the south the land was a bog, and they avoided this. They rode past a small village; all the doors to the hovels were open and nobody was seen.

Next to the village a stone bridge crossed the river and Subedei urged his men over it, assigning his men to peel off to left and right and cover the rest of the army as they crossed. He sat astride his horse chewing on his lower lip, thinking. Casca rode up, hoping he could get off the mobile torture rack soon. All this riding was giving him sore legs and buttocks.

“Batu Khan,” Subedei greeted the prince. Casca was a few feet behind him. He rarely left Batu’s side now. “We are to ride to the low hills you see over behind me,” he waved in the general direction of a low range of hills perhaps ten miles distant. “Once you get there have your men prepare cover for the army. We are to conceal ourselves in the thickets.”

“Very well, Subedei. The camp?”

“Is to be set up for one night only.
Tomorrow we fight.”

Casca glanced at Batu who nodded to him and they galloped off, dragging their guard details with them. They reached the edge of the slopes before long and Batu dismounted and examined the area. Casca joined him, glad to be back on foot. “We can hide everyone in here,” Casca said, nodding in satisfaction. “Best start planning where everyone is to go.”

Batu began barking orders and the guards tethered their horses and began marking out parts of the undergrowth for the various groups who began arriving soon after. When the wagons turned up, late into the afternoon, they were directed straight into the deepest part of the undergrowth.

Subedei arrived with his men last of all, satisfied that all was working as he hoped. The sun set far to the west, a red ball sinking to the flat horizon, and in the distance Hungarian scouts could be seen, riding across their line of vision, giving the thickets a cursory glance. The gathering dark and the concealment fooled the scouts into thinking the Mongols had gone.

As night was falling the enemy returned to their camp and Subedei and Batu led the other princes and generals to a small hill that protruded from the range of hills they were camped in. Before them the land fell away to the river they had crossed. The last of the daylight showed a huge Hungarian camp on the other side of the river. It was vast. Before them, to the east, they had the river. To the south they had the boggy ground. To the north the forests ran. Only behind them could they be approached, and that was on the far side from where the Mongols were standing.

“Princes of Mongolia, and honored generals,” Subedei waved at the Hungarian army. “There stands the Hungarian army, one hundred thousand men and their king. “They are in a trap.”

Batu nodded and the princes and generals began chuckling. Subedei turned to face the others. “Old Young One, can you see what I can see?”

Casca eyed the lights of the enemy camp. “You must cross the river to get at them. If you do, then they can contain you with your backs to the river. They number, what did you say, one hundred thousand? How many do you have here?”

“Seventy thousand.”

“They could bottle you up here and chop you to pieces. There’s just that one bridge. You’ll have to find another crossing and hit them in two places at once.”

“So tomorrow before dawn I take three tumens and build a crossing point upriver. While this is happening Batu Khan leads the other four across the bridge and takes on the enemy head on. And while they are distracted?”

Casca shrugged. “While Batu’s men try to hold the entire Hungarian force off, you ride round the back and then you’ve got them in a trap; they can’t escape. They’re hemmed in on three sides and only one way out exists. If you block that they have nowhere to go.”

“Indeed. Do you see any problems?”

“Timing; you’ve got to get on the scene before Batu’s men are cut to ribbons. They’ll be outnumbered two and a half to one. It’ll be close-up fighting. There’s no space to maneuver and the Mongols need space.”

“But he’ll have you there to help. How can he fail?”

Casca gave Subedei a long look. It seemed Subedei was setting the two of them up for a hammering. “Very well, but if you muck up you won’t have an army left to continue. Your Great Khan in Karakorum won’t be happy with you.”

Subedei laughed. “Fear not; I shall be on time.”

Casca pulled a wry face. After the meeting broke up and the generals returned to their respective camps, Kaidur, Lars and Karl along with the other guards all crowded round the fire to hear what was planned for the morrow. They took it in a mixed sort of way.

“We are facing the entire Hungarian army with half our force?” Karl asked in disbelief. “Is he crazy?”

“He’s planning on surrounding them,” Casca said. “We keep their attention while Subedei hooks round the flank and catches Bela and his army in a trap. But it all depends on him getting his men over the river quickly.”

“More for us to kill,” Lars said with relish.

“If they have any brains they’ll block us on the bridge,” Kaidur added soberly. “And if we cannot cross, then it’ll be Subedei who’ll be on his own. He’s taking a risk.”

“I hope Batu’s got a plan,” Casca said thoughtfully. “He won’t be able to get over unless the way is clear. The Hungarians could hold off all 40,000 of us with just a couple of thousand. Bela could then turn the bulk of his force on Subedei.”

“Batu had better think of a plan in that case!” Karl snapped. “You think he’s up to the job?”

“With me to advise him, yes.” Casca had the glimmer of a plan in his mind, but it’d need having a word with a couple of the senior commanders attached to Batu’s staff.

“We’d better get our weapons ready,” Kaidur said. “There’ll be plenty of killing to be done tomorrow.”

Lars laughed, brandishing his thick, muscled arms. “Just try to get in my way!”

Casca stood up. “Kaidur, see to it that everyone is armed and equipped. I’m off to speak to a couple of people.”

The Mongol stood up quickly. “I should come with you, Old Young One.”

“No necessary, my friend,” Casca smiled. “Tonight I’m perfectly safe.” He knew it to be true; everyone was preparing for the morrow’s fight, and in any event, those who wished him ill wouldn’t act against him until the time was right, and that wouldn’t be until the Mongol army ended its campaign. Casca wasn’t prepared to wait that long in order to get Tatiana back. Besides, he believed her life would be forfeit once the Stone was in the hands of those who wished it. Too many women had died on his account in the past, and this time he was determined that the Russian girl would live. But first he would have to plan his move carefully and time it right, or things could easily turn against him.

All that was in the future. First he had a battle to fight. And win.