Casca 34: Devil's Horseman (6 page)

Casca grinned. “The punishment for failing to do so need not be mentioned here, but sufficient to say I would find it unpleasant.”

Mongke chuckled, and the others sat with him nodded, smiling. “You know our ways. Then you would know that it would not be any special attention you would be receiving.”

Casca returned to his yurt and told the others what had transpired. Kaidur shook his head. “Both Kuyuk and Mongke were boys when you were still with us last, Casca-Badahur, and they cannot remember you. But they have seen you, I know that. You have seen them too.”

“Yes, but they were brats. Now they are full grown men with facial hair. It’s as if we’re meeting each other for the first time.”

The winter began to bite deeply, covering the land with snow and ice, and everyone huddled miserably into their yurts as much as possible. The training of the soldiers went on however, and exercises continued as if it were the middle of summer. The Mongols clearly were preparing themselves for a long continual campaign in all kinds of weather.

It was then that word came that Subedei and Batu were approaching, leading a long column of soldiers and prisoners. Bulgar, it was said, had ceased to exist and now the Mongol rear was secure. Now they could advance into Russia without fearing an attack from behind.

And at least, Casca could now prove to everyone who he damned well was.

Subedei slowly dismounted, his bulk making it awkward, and a soldier had run to his side and placed a small wooden stand for him to step down upon to ease his passage. Casca was surprised to see that the old soldier had put on so much weight, but maybe the good life’d had its effect. There again he may just have gotten fat because his ancestors had all been so.

Batu was much more of a soldier’s build, maybe a touch too stocky, but he was thickset, short and his dark hair covered his head like an unruly sheep’s coat. Casca remembered Batu, as he had been almost at the age where he was ready to be accepted as a man when he’d left. He wondered if Batu remembered him. No matter, Subedei was the important one.

The soldiers and commanders all crowded round. Now the truth would be known. Behind Casca stood Kaidur and the others, their breaths held as their fate would be inextricably caught up with Casca’s. Death would be quick and certain.

Subedei slowly pulled off his fur lined gloves and unbuttoned his hat straps from under his chin, so that the flaps dangled long. His breath clouded the still air and Casca could detect the aroma of horse coming from him and the others. There was almost no sound as Subedei approached Casca, save for the crunching of his boots compacting the already flat ice and snow.

He stood in front of Casca for a long moment, studying him intently. Age had been unkind to Subedei, but his eyes still sparkled and the intelligence he possessed still came clearly through to Casca. Finally the Mongol general grunted. “Welcome, Casca-Badahur, it is good to see you again, my friend.” He broke into a wide smile and embraced Casca.

The relief amongst the group was palpable. Men broke into cheers and hats were thrown into the air. Kaidur puffed out his breath on one long sigh and relaxed. Even the princes nodded and smiled. It was good, they had a legend amongst them, and surely this was a blessing from the sky god.

Batu now came forward and nodded, smiling as he did so. “Yes, yes, I do remember you, Old Young One. I was a young boy but seeing you again has reminded me of that time before my grandfather and father died. Seeing you brings back good memories. You are welcome!”

Batu nodded repeatedly, unsure as to how to treat Casca. Casca grinned. “It will be a pleasure riding with the soldiers of the Mongol army once again. I remember only good things in my time with your grandfather.” It wasn’t true, but Casca wasn’t going to go into the slaughter thing. He knew what these fierce people were all about, and to be truthful to himself, he’d rather be riding with them than having to face them.

Batu nodded one last time, then turned to Subedei. “I go now to clean up. I will hold a feast to celebrate our victory over the Bulgars, and to formally greet Casca-Badahur. It will be tonight in my yurt.”

Subedei beamed. “Excellent! I always attend a feast!” He patted his stomach. “I do not drink, so I must have one vice at least!” as he roared with laughter. “I will speak with you once I have changed and freshened up. There is much to discuss for the future, and I recall how your sage advice was heeded by the great Genghis Khan.”

The two commanders made their way to their respective tents, while Kuyuk and Mongke followed Batu, each jabbering away excitedly at him. Casca caught one glance from Buri, the youngest of the princes, who wasn’t smiling at all. Casca wondered what the hell the matter was with him.

Kaidur bowed to Casca. “We must prepare for the feast, master. From now on, you must not go anywhere without a guard.”

“I know, Kaidur, I know,” Casca said heavily. “
Come, let us be prepared for by our women. We must look our best in front of so many princes of the blood!”

Night came early and the temperature sank even lower. A wind was blowing, but not too hard, pressing against the exposed faces of Casca and Kaidur as they made their way to Batu’s immense marquee. Behind them came the other guards and the slaves. The drovers, being neither slaves nor soldiers, had been paid off and dismissed. From now on the yurts and equipment would be moved by the large number of prisoners the Mongols had taken, free of charge. The prisoners were grouped in a miserable mass in a fenced-off compound alongside the main camp and guarded by bad tempered guards, disgruntled at having to be on duty in the cold of a winter’s night when they could be celebrating the victory and the return of the Old Young One.

Casca had a felt cloak wrapped around him, and was waved into the marquee by two well-armed guards holding elaborate bladed pole arms. It seemed the Mongol infantry were favoring these halberds over spears these days, or so it appeared to Casca.

They were shown to a large cloth-covered table set upon a platform that took up much of the floor space in the center of the tent, and male and female servants were already bringing food to it. Seated around the table were a number of Mongols, all now dressed in their finest clothes. No weapons or armor were in sight, and Casca and Kaidur had been told to leave their newly-returned weapons in their tent as they would not be needed, or permitted. Only the personal guards of the yurt carried weapons, and they were on guard outside.

Casca was seated next to Batu and Subedei at the head of the table, and the princes down the two sides, their rank diminishing as they went further down. Then there came the Noyans of the various units and other distinguished guests and visitors. Already some of those feasting had been drinking a fair bit, and from their flushed faces it was clear they were on the way to getting roaring drunk.

“I see you’ve brought your own slave and bodyguard,” Batu said loudly, having to speak up over the general hubbub. “Already establishing
yourself, Old Young One?”

Casca grinned, reaching for a chunk of roasted goat. The smell was delicious, and herbs had been smeared on the top. He wondered where the hell they’d managed to get that in the depths of winter! “Kaidur here has been with me since Samarkand, as have the others. Compared to the usual household entourage, Batu Khan, mine is very humble.”

Subedei nudged Casca, nearly hard enough to cave in his ribs. “I can arrange for more guards and slaves for you if you so wish, Casca-Badahur. Slaves we have a-plenty, now our raid on Bulgar has ended, and we have thousands of soldiers here, many of whom would kill to be in your personal elite guard.”

“Your generosity is appreciated, Subedei. I shall decide my needs over the next few days. But tell me, what is it you intend to do now that Bulgar has been subdued?”

The aged general began to speak about his plans. Batu knew them of course, as did the princes. The campaign was to enlarge Batu’s domain and in doing so increase the lands under the rule of Mongolia. After Genghis’ death, his empire had been shared between his sons, and since Jochi had died before him, that which had been due to him had gone to his two eldest sons, Ordu and Batu. Ordu was the elder, and Subedei indicated him by bowing in the direction of a serious looking Mongol who bowed back. Subedei told Casca that Ordu had agreed that Batu should be given seniority which surprised the Eternal Mercenary, but then the Mongols believed in a meritocracy, and often a younger son benefitted rather than an older one if he were more suitable to inherit land or power. Casca supposed that that was why Ogedei, Genghis’ third son, had succeeded to the Khanate rather than Chaghadai, the second and now eldest surviving son.

“So Batu, you are the senior ranked prince here?” Casca asked, the juice from the succulent meat running down his chin. He wiped it with his hands and sucked the juice from his fingers.

“No I am not,” Batu looked briefly down the ranks and his eyes rested momentarily on Kuyuk and Mongke. “But as this is my domain I have precedence as far as military matters go. Both Kuyuk and Mongke outrank me.” He sounded jealous, and maybe a touch resentful.

Casca looked thoughtfully at the two nearest princes. Kuyuk was seated at the first place down from Batu, and opposite him was Mongke. Both smiled predatorily and lifted their wine goblets. The Eternal Mercenary nodded at each. Batu’s father Jochi had always had a question mark over his parentage; although the first born son of Genghis Khan, his birth had come shortly after his mother Borte had been freed from captivity and there were those who said Jochi was not Genghis’ son. So that stain had passed down from father to son. Batu was obviously lower down the pecking order than the descendants of the other three sons of Genghis.

But this was his army, his campaign. As such, he was the commander. He waved at the assembled princes. “The princes have taken command of various tumens and minghans, and they are eager to enlarge the empire for the glory of our people.” Casca grunted. They were more interested in plunder than glory, and probably didn’t give a damn about Batu or enlarging the empire in which Batu’s realm would profit. But they would publicly agree they were all acting as one.

Subedei belched and patted his girth. “Therefore it is our task to subdue the principalities that stand to the west of the mighty river called the Volga.” He described how he had just over a dozen years before defeated a Russian army and that he was confident of doing the same again, but it was important to keep the Russian princes from joining forces. If they could be kept separate, then they could be defeated piecemeal. So the plan was to thrust hard through the center, splitting Novgorod and Vladimir in the north from the southern princedoms. That meant invading Riazan and conquering it swiftly.

After that the talk drifted to other matters and the tale of how Bulgar was destroyed. It was a chilling story, and Casca had a feeling it was merely a foretaste of what was soon to be repeated across the unsuspecting Russian states. Some of the princes were very drunk by now and each of them vowing to take more plunder and glory than their comrades. It was a useful time for Casca though, as he worked out who was on whose side. Batu had four brothers amongst the princes, so his power bloc was fairly big. Kuyuk had one brother with him, as did Mongke. The other two were from the line of Chaghadai, Baidar, a son, and the young Buri, Chaghadai’s grandson. Buri was a hot head and often spoke before he thought. He also was sucking up to Kuyuk and it was clear he favored him as opposed to Mongke. The rival camps were clear to see.

During the evening Kuyuk lurched up to Casca who had been peeling off a slab of mutton from a steaming plate. “So, Old Young One, you’ve seen and listened to both me and Mongke. Who do you believe should be the next Khan?”

Casca shrugged. “Kuyuk Khan, it is far too soon to make my mind up. I need to see you in action and how you lead men. So far both of you are equal in earning respect from your men and in drinking wine. But there’s much more to being Khan than having sycophantic adulation and getting drunk.”

Kuyuk stared incredulously at Casca for a moment, then whooped in amusement and slapped the scarred mercenary on the shoulder. “You have a sense of humor! Good, you’ll need one around that old woman Batu! Without one you’ll soon lose the will to live!” Laughing, he staggered off to find a place to urinate.

As the night went on, further conversation became impossible. As Casca had once heard someone say, conversation became ‘less structured’. Subedei heaved himself up and approached Casca. “Old Young One, I need to retire to my yurt. Please escort me. I wish to talk over the old times when I was less in size and more in agility!”

Batu came over, a worried look on his face. “Subedei, you must be careful; there is much ice outside. Old Young One, you will take care of him.”

“Oh, Batu, stop fussing over me; you’re like a wet nurse! I have faith in Casca-Badahur here to make sure I arrive at my bedside intact!”

Batu nodded and backed away, concern still exhibiting itself over his features. The two men left the noise and revelry and paused outside as the chill air assaulted their lungs. Kaidur stepped out behind them and sucked in his breath, cursing. Subedei coughed a few times,
then showed Casca the way, both of their personal guard stepping in their wake. The old warhorse was strangely silent as they made their short way across the frozen soil to his quarters.

Casca turned just before following Subedei into his tent. “Go make sure Ashira and the others are back in our yurt. Then return here, and make sure you’re wearing your sword.”

“It will be done,” Kaidur bowed and backed away.

“Faithful man you have there, Old Young One,” Subedei commented quietly. His face was serious. “It is
good, these are times when loyalty and good service are essential. Come.”

Inside, it was warm. A large fire flickered away in the center and slaves hovered, ready to do their master’s bidding. Subedei instead dismissed them with a flick of his fingers and the two were left in privacy. Subedei waddled over to a large pine chest, reinforced with bands of iron. He fished out a key from his clothing and unlocked the chest and fumbled amongst the clothes Casca could see were inside.

Subedei looked round to make sure nobody was in sight, then pulled out a dazzling jewel and handed it to Casca. It was beautiful. It was of gold and inlaid with jade and lapis lazuli in an intricate pattern, and was the size of his fist, suspended on a chain of gold. It was clearly a necklace of some sort. The gems formed a shape of a dragon’s head.

“It’s magnificent,” Casca said. “What is it?”

“Once owned by the Emperors of Hsia, it was taken by Genghis Khan on his last campaign, and he wore it until his death. It was used to confirm Ogedei’s accession, and whoever succeeds him must be wearing this to legitimize his rule. We call it the Khanate Stone. It was touched by Genghis himself and is therefore sacred.”