Casca 34: Devil's Horseman (23 page)

The Hungarian camp was a mass of tents reinforced by wooden fences and barricades, and the majority of the enemy army was arranged in front of this. Their cavalry regrouped behind them, and then once ready, rode back out, reformed and then charged. All this would take time but it wouldn’t be too long before they were ready for the next charge.

The archers rested, trying to recover their strength, and took quick pulls from their water skins. Once the enemy looked ready for another charge, they would once again seek to keep them at bay. Casca recognized one banner fluttering from the Hungarian camp; the white cross on the black background of the Knights Templar. He grimaced and his mind went back some fifty-five years when he’d been in the lands of the crusaders. He’d fallen foul of one particular nasty individual who’d supported the Templars, and his experience of that military Order hadn’t been pleasant. One thing he’d learned about them, though; they were fanatics and fought like bastards. They’d stand and die no matter what.

Kaidur reappeared, his mount puffing. “Everyone is good; the water is being brought from the river. It’s nice and cold.”

Casca grunted. “It’s full of melt water from the mountains we crossed a couple of weeks back. That’s why the river is so full.”

Kaidur nodded. “So it is with the rivers of my homeland.”

They spent a couple of moments sat in companionable silence, watching as the Hungarians gathered for a new assault on them, then Lars trotted up, his right arm soaked in blood. “You hurt?” Casca asked, staring at him.

“No! This is one of their men’s. I chopped his head off. You see the Templars are there?”

“Yeah, I saw. You fought them before?”

“No, not me!
Know of their reputation. Not the kind to cross.”

“Well, you’ve crossed them alright today. I’ve a feeling we’ll have to deal with them before the days out.”

Lars nodded. “Look out, here they come again!”

Sure enough, the Hungarian cavalry had regrouped, and at a command from their garishly-dressed commander, a prince by the look of things, they broke into another charge, screaming madly. No sooner had they set off when a fresh shower of arrows plunged down on them. The archers didn’t need to be told when to shoot. Casca rode up to the front of the lancers and raised his sword again. Where’s Subedei?

“Lancers, ready yourselves!”

The clattering of steel rose up as swords were drawn. Casca eyed the charging Hungarian knights. Again they were heading for the same spot, trying to split Batu’s force in two. Arrows fell amongst them and horse went tumbling, pitching their riders headlong to destruction, but many more poured forward, roaring their hatred of the invaders. Casca admired them. But it was
kill or be killed and he wouldn’t be merciful.

Now!

He cut his sword down through the air and the mass of men alongside him sprang forward, yelling out their war cries, announcing their arrival onto the field of combat. Casca was left slightly behind, and he urged his steed in their wake, cursing his inability to match their brilliance on horseback. Lars whooped in delight and passed him to his left, while Kaidur respectfully stayed behind and to his right where he would always be. Karl and the other Mongols were to the rear, formed in a small wedge.

Thundering across the mud, dung, corpses and crushed vegetation, they hit the Hungarian cavalry in their left flank, driving deep into their ranks, breaking up their charge. Casca slammed his gauntleted fist into the face of one rider who came past quickly, blood on his blade, and the man was knocked clean off his seat. He landed hard on his back and Kaidur altered direction slightly to ride over him. A thin scream came to Casca.

A second Hungarian appeared across his path, a red shield with a white bar on it presented to him, and a shining steel sword raised high. Casca jabbed his feet into his steed and the horse leaped forward to the challenge. As Casca passed he struck out and pieces of wood flew from the shield.

He turned sharply and the Hungarian wheeled to meet his second attack. They clashed once, twice, and then had to turn their horses to continue the duel. The tumult was deafening; it seemed to Casca that the entire plain was full of maddened horsemen hacking away at each other. The Hungarians fought with the knowledge that if they fell so would their loved ones, and so they struck and struck again.

Casca deflected a wicked strike that would have cut his neck open and grabbed the man’s gauntlets, their blades aloft above their heads. They struggled and pushed at each other. The knight’s breath stank as it whistled out through gaps in his teeth, and Casca gave him one extra hard push and they separated. When Casca turned to meet him again the Hungarian had vanished. Instead there were ranks of retreating enemy horsemen and the Mongols let them go; they didn’t have the strength to chase them.

Casca led the exhausted men back to their start positions, but this time their ranks were thinner and the bodies more numerous that they had to avoid. Lars came riding up, puffing,
his cheeks stained red. Even he was finding it tough. “God, these swine don’t know when to stop!”

“Neither do these boys,” Casca waved a tired hand at the Mongols, many of whom were walking their horses back to the lines, heads bowed. They were close to their limit, and one more attack by the Hungarians would surely break through. Come on, damn you, Subedei!

Siban nodded to Casca as he came up alongside him. “Truly is this a struggle of strength this day, Old Young One. My men are just about at the end of their endurance.”

“The enemy hasn’t yet used the Templars. They have fresh units waiting to be used.”

One of the staff officers with Siban suddenly pointed to Batu’s signaler. More flags were being raised, the one with the Mongol symbol of a diamond with a horizontal line through the center. Siban looked at Casca and shrugged. Over to the left and right the horse archers of Kuyuk and Budjek fanned out and stretched their front. Siban waved to his men and they slowly made their way to a position directly behind the archers but also in a long thin line. The right hand edge of the front now reached the river bank and the left hand one curled round to a point that faced the river bank, so that the entire force resembled a long, thin half circle, the focus of their attention the Hungarian camp.

And in the distance they could hear the horns of Subedei. At last!

The Hungarians were surrounded. Subedei’s men had also formed a half circle and the tips met close to the river. Opposite that, facing the only solid land route away from the battlefield, a small gap was allowed to remain. It clearly said to the Hungarians here you are
, if you want to run, this is your way out. Judging by the look on the faces of the archers, he didn’t think they would allow them to go unhindered.

Gratefully he dismounted and walked stiffly over to Siban.
“Ahhh, gods! My ass. How do you do it, sat on your mobile torture racks all day without a single damned sore spot forming?”

Siban laughed briefly. “You are too soft, Old Young One.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. So,” he looked at the Hungarians who were now having what seemed a conference, or more accurately, an argument. Their raised voices drifted to his ears, carried by the wind. He couldn’t make out what they were saying but the garishly dressed prince was gesturing violently all round at the Mongols while another man was shouting back at him. “What now? Do we ask for them to surrender?”

“I do not think Batu Khan will be so generous. We have lost a lot of men this day.”

Siban was right. Hundreds of men, maybe thousands, were laying still on the ground, some half covered with the glutinous mud that had gotten worse throughout the two hours the battle had lasted so far. Casca was standing in relatively untouched ground but he saw the ground close by was maybe ankle deep or worse with the black viscid ooze.

“And what of Subedei?
He’s not had a single blow to worry about so far. He and his men will be itching for a fight.” Casca stretched, cracking his shoulders, and turned in grateful surprise as Kaidur passed him a water skin. After a mouthful of fresh, cold water that made his teeth ache, he passed it back and smacked his lips. That was better! He watched as Subedei rode round towards the bridge and Batu finally moved, crossing the bridge with his entourage. He didn’t look pleased. Casca gave his excuses to Siban and made his way over to the Mongol commanders, high stepping to squelch through the mud, but he was damned if he was going to get on horseback just yet.

Subedei reined in a few paces from Batu who stared at the elderly general with a furious expression. As Casca approached, he caught the first words spoken.

“You are late! I’ve lost a quarter of my men!” Batu complained.

“We had to build a bridge – it took longer than I anticipated. I apologize for that, but we are here now and we can finish it.”

“No,” Batu shook his head vehemently. “My men are tired and they have fought as long as they can. We must call a truce.”

“A truce?”
Subedei was astounded. “Have you lost your sense of reason, Batu Khan? We have them! They, too, have lost many men. Judging by the bodies they have lost more than you! We must attack now!”

Batu glared at Subedei. He drummed his fingers on the pommel of his saddle.

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 gap 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.”