Bones Of the Hills

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Shah Ala-ud-Din Mohammed seethed as the elephant under him rocked like a ship at sea. The last he had seen of his cavalry had been watching it disappear into the east days before. After each dawn prayer, he could not resist turning to the sun to see if they were returning, but his hopes sank lower each time. The desert tribes could not be trusted and he was certain Khalifa was resting at some distant town, caring nothing for the betrayal. Ala-ud-Din swore there would be a reckoning, when the Mongols had been thrown back over their mountains, or destroyed.

All around the shah, his army marched stolidly on, heading for the hills that would lead them to Otrar and the Mongol khan. The sight of the shining ranks never failed to lift his ageing heart. In truth, the invasion had come at the right time for him. He had spent almost twelve years bringing kings and chieftains to heel, and when they were at their most rebellious, an enemy had swept in from the north, forcing them to choose loyalty over bickering and petty rivalry.

It was hard not to think of Saladin as the army strode on over rocky ground. The great king had captured Jerusalem and sent crusaders reeling. Saladin had faced enemies as fearsome as the Mongol khan and more so. Each night, when the army made its camp, Ala-ud-Din read lines by lamplight from Saladin’s own record of his battles, learning what he could before tucking it under a thin pillow and finding sleep. Next to his copy of the Koran, it was his most prized possession.

The curtained howdah was still cool after the night, though the sun would be fierce as it rose. Ala-ud-Din broke his fast with a plate of dates and dried apricots, washing them down with a draught of cool yoghurt. His men carried dried mutton and flat bread that had long gone stale, but it did not matter. Otrar was not more than a few days away and his idiot cousin, Inalchuk, would entertain him with the best of meats and fruit when they saved his city for him.

Ala-ud-Din jerked as his servant cleared his throat softly outside the curtains.

‘What is it?’ he demanded. The curtain flicked back to reveal the man standing on a step set in the elephant’s belly strap.

‘The last of the coffee, master.’

Ala-ud-Din nodded and held out his hand for the cup. They had been on the move for almost an hour and he was surprised to find the black liquid still steaming. He tipped it carefully so as not to dribble the precious drink onto his beard.

‘How have you kept it hot?’ he asked.

His manservant smiled to see his master pleased.

‘I put the pot in a leather bag, master, filled with ashes from the morning fires.’

Ala-ud-Din grunted, sipping. It was bitter and delicious.

‘You have done well, Abbas. This is very fine.’

The curtain dropped as his servant stepped down. Ala-ud-Din heard him trotting at the side of the great beast for a while. No doubt he was already thinking of what he could scavenge for his master’s next meal after midday prayers.

If his men would have allowed it, Ala-ud-Din had considered granting a dispensation not to pray as they marched. They lost more than three hours a day doing so and the delays chafed on him. It would be taken as weakness in the faith by those who looked to challenge him and he brushed off the thought once more. It was their belief that kept them strong, after all. The words of the prophet formed the call to prayer and even a shah could not resist.

He had turned his army from the great valley at last, heading north to Otrar. Ahead was a range of brown hills and, beyond that, his men would fall on the Mongol host with all the ferocity of men bred to the harsh southern deserts. Ala-ud-Din closed his eyes in the rocking howdah and considered those he had brought to war. With the loss of Khalifa’s riders, he had only five hundred horsemen, his own guard of noble sons. Already he had been forced to use them as messengers and scouts. For the sons of ancient families, it was an insult to their blood, but he had no choice.

Further back in the column, six thousand camels plodded, the supplies of the entire army on their backs. Half as fast as the best horses, they could carry immense weight. The rest of the army marched, while the shah and the most senior men rode in comfort. He doted on his elephants for sheer power and strength, eighty bulls in their prime.

Looking out from the howdah, Ala-ud-Din took pride in the force he had assembled. Saladin himself would have been proud of them. The shah could see his oldest son, Jelaudin, mounted on a black stallion. The shah’s heart soared at the sight of the handsome young man who would one day succeed him. The men adored the prince and it was not hard to dream of his line ruling all the Arab peoples for centuries to come.

Ala-ud-Din thought again of Khalifa’s horsemen and struggled to prevent anger from spoiling the morning. He would have them hunted down when the battle was over and leave not one of them alive. He swore it silently as his army marched on and the hills grew slowly closer.

Tsubodai’s scouts came racing in as he crouched on one knee, overlooking the plains below the hills and the shah’s army. The view stretched for many miles and he did not need the young men to tell him the enemy was coming through the wide pass, the one he had chosen to defend.

As the scouts dismounted, Tsubodai waved a hand in their direction.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘Go and tell the other generals. We will hit them here.’

In the distance, he saw the shah’s outriders cutting dusty lines through scrub crops as they rode north. Tsubodai tried to put himself in the shah’s position, but it was hard. He would never have brought such an army through a single pass. Instead, he would have gone round the mountains entirely and let Otrar fall. The distances would have delayed the shah for another month in the field, but the Mongol tumans would have been forced to meet him on open ground, with all advantages stolen away.

Instead, the shah took the easiest route, showing that he valued Otrar. Tsubodai was learning everything he could, noting every decision that would help to destroy his enemy. He knew as well as anyone that Genghis was over-extended in this realm. It was no longer a matter of bringing vengeance to one city, but simple survival for their people. They had stuck their hands into a wasps’ nest every bit as furious as the Chin empire and once again the stakes were at their highest.

Tsubodai smiled at the thought. Some of the men fought for new land, for exotic women, even for gold. From his private conversations with the khan, Tsubodai knew he and Genghis cared for none of those things. The sky father gave a man his life and nothing else. The khan’s people were alone on the plains and it was a savage loneliness. Yet they could ride and conquer, take cities and empires one by one. Perhaps in time those who followed them would be as weak and soft as the city-dwellers they faced, but that did not matter to Tsubodai. He was not responsible for the choices of his sons and grandsons, only for the way he lived his own life. As he knelt on hard grey stone and watched the clouds of dust come closer below, he thought again that he had only one rule, which guided everything he did.

‘Fight for every breath and step,’ he muttered aloud, the words a talisman to him. It was possible that the shah’s great army could not be stopped, that it would roll over the tumans of Genghis, right to the plains of home. Only the sky father knew. Like the khan, Tsubodai would still seek out anyone who might ever be a threat and hit them first and harder than they would believe. With that, when he came to the end of his life, he would be able to look back with pride and not shame.

Tsubodai broke off his thoughts as riders from Kachiun and Jelme cantered up to his position. After days in that place, he knew them all by name and greeted them. They dismounted and bowed deeply, honoured by a general who remembered such details.

‘The tumans are coming, general,’ one of them said.

‘Do you have orders for me?’ Tsubodai replied.

The scout shook his head and Tsubodai frowned. He did not enjoy being set under Kachiun’s command, though he had found him a solid leader.

‘Tell your officers that we cannot wait here. The shah could still send men around us. We need to sting him, to force him along the route we have chosen.’

Tsubodai looked up with the others as Kachiun and Jelme came riding in, leaping down from their horses and striding to the high crag. Tsubodai rose and dipped his head to Kachiun.

‘I wanted to see for myself,’ Kachiun said, staring out onto the farmland below. The shah’s army was only a few miles away and they could all see the front ranks through the dust. It came on as a solid block and the sheer size of it was enough to alarm any man.

‘I have waited for your orders before moving, Kachiun,’ Tsubodai said.

Kachiun glanced sharply at him. He had known the young general when he was just another warrior, but Genghis had seen something valuable in him. He reminded himself that Tsubodai had repaid his brother’s trust many times.

‘Tell me what you have in mind,’ Kachiun said.

Tsubodai nodded.

‘This is a huge army, ruled by one man. The fact that he has chosen to come through this pass shows that he does not have our structure of officers. Why did he not trust two good men to take columns through the other passes? Know the enemy and you will know how to kill him. It is all useful to us.’

Kachiun and Jelme looked at each other. As experienced as they were, Tsubodai had a reputation for keeping his warriors alive that was unmatched in the tribes. He spoke without haste and all the time the shah’s army was drawing closer.

Tsubodai saw Jelme glance over his shoulder and smiled.

‘We hit them with that weakness,’ he continued. ‘We have thirty minghaans between us, each commanded by a man who can think and act on his own. Our strength is in that and in our speed.’ He thought again of wasps as he went on. ‘We send all but four out against them. Like a swarm. Let the shah try and crush them with his clumsy hands. We are too fast for them.’

‘And the four thousand men who stay behind?’ Kachiun asked.

‘The best archers,’ Tsubodai replied. ‘The very best we have. They will line the pass, high in the rocks. You showed the power of our bows at the Badger’s Mouth pass, did you not? I cannot find a better example.’

Kachiun twisted his mouth at the praise. Against Chin cavalry, he had once stood with nine thousand men and hammered shafts at them until they had broken.

‘If I keep the men low enough on the rocks to be accurate,’ he replied, ‘the shah’s archers will pluck them down with their own shafts. We don’t even know how those elephants will act in war.’

Tsubodai nodded, unconcerned.

‘No plan is perfect, general. You must use your judgement to place your men, of course, though they will have more range shooting down than up, no? I have said how I would tackle this shah and his host. Even so, I will follow your orders.’

Kachiun thought only for a moment.

‘Pray you are right, Tsubodai. I will send the men out.’

Tsubodai chuckled, surprising both Jelme and Kachiun.

‘I do not pray to anyone, general. I think if I did, the sky father would say, “Tsubodai, you have been given the best fighting men in the world, generals who listen to your plans and a foolish, slow moving enemy, yet you are still looking for an edge?”’ He chuckled again at the idea. ‘No, I will use what we have. We will take them apart.’

Kachiun and Jelme looked once more at the immense enemy marching towards the pass. A hundred and sixty thousand men were coming with their blood up, but somehow they seemed less terrible after Tsubodai’s words.

Shah Ala-ud-Din Mohammed jerked as his army let out a great shout all around him. He had been playing chess with himself to pass the hours and the set slipped from the small table in the howdah, scattering pieces. He swore under his breath as he yanked back the curtains at the front, squinting into the distance. His eyes were not strong and he could only make out bodies of horsemen coming at his army. Alarm horns sounded across the host and Ala-ud-Din felt a spasm of fear as he turned to look for his servant. Abbas was already running alongside and leapt nimbly to the wooden mounting step. Both men stared across two miles to where the Mongols rode.

‘Will you say nothing, Abbas?’

The servant swallowed nervously.

‘It is… strange, master. As soon as they are out of the pass, they sheer off and take different directions. There is no order to it.’

‘How many?’ the shah demanded, losing his patience.

Abbas counted quickly, his mouth moving with the strain.

‘Perhaps twenty thousand, master, but they move constantly. I cannot be certain.’

Ala-ud-Din relaxed. The Mongol khan must have been desperate to send so few against him. He could see them better now as they galloped towards his marching army. They rode in strange patterns, weaving and overlapping the groups so that he could not see where they would strike first. No orders had yet been given and his men marched stoically on towards the pass, readying their shields and swords. He wished Khalifa’s riders were there, but that was merely revisiting empty anger.

Ala-ud-Din beckoned to three sons of chieftains riding behind his elephant. He saw his son Jelaudin riding close, his young face stern with righteous anger. Ala-ud-Din raised a proud hand in greeting as the scouts came up.

‘Take my orders to the front,’ he told them. ‘Have the flanks move out to a wider line. Wherever the enemy strikes, we will surround them.’

‘Master,’ Abbas said. The servant had paled. ‘They are already attacking.’

‘What?’Ala-ud-Din snapped. He narrowed his eyes, blinking in surprise at how close the Mongols had come. He could hear distant shouts as his front ranks met the first volleys of arrows with raised shields.

Columns of galloping Mongol horsemen were swinging in, passing the front and riding along the vulnerable flanks of his army. Ala-ud-Din gaped. Khalifa could have held them, but the man had betrayed his master. He could feel his son’s eyes burning into him, but he would not send the guard out yet. They were his shield and they rode the only horses he had left.

‘Tell the generals that we do not stop for these. March on and use the shields. If they come too close, make the sky black with arrows.’

The noble sons raced to the front and the shah fretted as the elephant strode on, oblivious to its master’s concerns.

Tsubodai rode at full gallop along the flank of the shah’s army. He stood in the stirrups with his bow bent, balancing against the pony’s rhythms. He could feel the strike of each hoof and then there would be a moment of flying stillness as all four legs were in the air. It lasted for less than a heartbeat but he loosed an arrow in that instant and watched it strike a yelling enemy soldier, knocking him off his feet.

He could hear the shah’s officers bark commands, strange syllables on the wind. The man himself was well protected in the heart of the army. Tsubodai shook his head in amazement at the core of riders trapped in the centre. What good did they do there, where they could not manoeuvre? The elephants too were deep in the ranks, too far to hit with his shafts. Tsubodai wondered if the shah valued them more than his own men. It was one more thing to know. As he thought and rode, thousands of marching men raised their double-curved bows and loosed. Arrows whined at him and Tsubodai ducked instinctively. The shah’s bows had more range than anything he had faced in Chin lands. Tsubodai had lost men on his first pass down the flank, but he could not stay out of reach and still make his own shafts count. Instead, he brought his column swinging in, pounding the Arabs with arrows, then galloping away as the reply came snapping back at him. It was a risky manoeuvre, but he had begun to get a feel for how long he could delay in order to aim. The Arabs had to hit a fast-moving column, while his men could aim anywhere in the mass.

Around him, his minghaans adopted the tactic, each column of a thousand biting holes in the Arab lines before racing clear. The shah’s army marched on and, though the shields saved many, a trail of broken dead marked their path towards the pass in the hills.

Tsubodai pulled his men in a wider curve than the last three strikes, straining his eyes to see the pass. Once the shah’s front ranks reached it, there would be no chance to slip back in and join Kachiun. The shah’s army advanced like a plug being forced into a bottle and there was not much time left before the pass was blocked. Tsubodai hesitated, his thoughts spinning. If the shah continued at that speed, he would leave the flying columns behind and punch his way through to Otrar. Kachiun’s four thousand would surely not stop such a mass. It was true that Tsubodai could continue the attacks on the rear as they advanced and he knew that was a sound decision. He and his men could snatch thousands from the helpless ranks and the shah would be unable to stop them. Even then, there were two other passes to go round the army. Tsubodai could lead the minghaans through and still support Genghis at Otrar.

It was not enough. Though the Mongol riders had killed thousands, the shah’s army barely shuddered as they closed ranks over the dead and moved on. When they reached the plain before Otrar, Genghis would be left with the same problem Tsubodai had been sent to solve. The shah would hit the khan from the front, while the Otrar garrison waited at his back.

Tsubodai led his men in once more, loosing arrows a thousand at a time. Without warning, another minghaan crossed his path and he was forced to pull up or crash into the young fool who led them. Arrows soared out of the shah’s ranks as soon as they saw him slow and this time dozens of warriors fell, their horses screaming and bloody. Tsubodai swore at the officer who had ridden across his line and caught a glimpse of the man’s appalled expression as the two forces separated and swung away. It was not truly his fault, Tsubodai acknowledged. He had trained his own tuman for just such an attack, but it was hard to weave trails around the shah without some confusion. It would not save the man from public disgrace when Tsubodai caught up with him later on.

The shah’s army reached the pass and Tsubodai’s chance to dart in ahead of them had gone. He looked for Jelme, knowing the older general was riding his own weaving path, but he could not see him. Tsubodai watched the tail of the great host begin to shrink as the shah passed to what he thought was safety. If anything, the stinging attacks on the flanks intensified as the minghaans had less ground to cover. As the tail shrank, they struck again and again and Tsubodai saw some of the wilder men lead attacks with swords, cutting right into the marching lines. The Arabs screamed and fought, holding them off as best they could, but with every pace the numbers fell in Tsubodai’s favour. There would be a moment when the flying columns outnumbered those left in the tail and he decided then to cut it off completely.

He sent his freshest men off to pass on the order, but it was hardly necessary. The Mongols had gathered round the last of the shah’s army, harrying them so closely that they had almost stopped. The ground was red around the mouth of the pass and Tsubodai saw limbs and bodies lying everywhere as the carnage grew.

Forty thousand Arabs were still in the column before the pass when a shudder rippled through them. Tsubodai cocked his head and thought he could hear screams in the distance, echoing back from the hills. Kachiun’s attack had begun. Tsubodai’s quiver was empty on his back and he drew his sword, determined to see the shah’s tail wither in the sun.

Warning shouts broke his concentration as Tsubodai led his men in again, this time directly across the face of the column. He had chosen a spot close to the pass itself and his heart was hammering as he kicked his mount into a gallop. At first, he did not hear the shouts, but his instincts were good and he looked up for the source, raising his sword to halt his men before the attack.

For an instant, Tsubodai swore under his breath. He could see riders and an awful suspicion followed that the shah had kept a rearguard to surprise their attackers at just such a moment. The fear passed as quickly as it had come. He saw his own people riding and his heart lifted. Jochi still lived and Jebe rode with him.

Tsubodai looked around sharply with fresh eyes. Perhaps thirty thousand Arabs still struggled to reach the pass, hammered and struck on all sides. The minghaans really did swarm around them like wasps, Tsubodai thought, but even a bear could be brought down in the end. He was not needed there, though he could not leave without telling Jelme.

It seemed to take an age before he found his fellow general, bloody and battered, but jubilant as he too readied his men to ride in once more.

‘Like sheep to a slaughter!’ Jelme shouted as Tsubodai rode up. Concentrating on the battle, he had not yet seen the riders and Tsubodai only nodded in their direction.

Jelme frowned and let his fingers drop to a long shaft that had struck him in the shoulder. It had passed through armour to cut his flesh just below the skin. Jelme worked furiously at it, trying to pull it free. Tsubodai came close and took the shaft, snapping it quickly and throwing the pieces down.

‘Thank you,’ Jelme said. ‘Is it our missing generals?’

‘Who else has two tumans in this place?’ Tsubodai replied. ‘We could have used them before, but I shall send them around the passes to attack the shah as he comes out.’

‘No,’ Jelme replied. ‘You and I can do that well enough. Let these latecomers take our leavings and follow the shah into the pass. I am still fresh, general. I will fight again today.’

Tsubodai grinned and clapped Jelme on the shoulder. He sent two scouts back to carry orders to Jebe and Jochi before peeling off and calling his men after him. The closest pass was little more than a mile away.

In just moments, the attack on the rear had ceased and the last of the shah’s bloody soldiers passed between the hills. As shadow crossed their faces at last, they looked fearfully back at the wild horsemen who rode so swiftly towards somewhere else. No one cheered to have survived it. They were filled with dark foreboding and as they looked behind at the swathe of dead they had left, another army rode closer and closer, ready to begin the killing again.

Tsubodai forced his mount over broken ground, heading up into the hills. The second pass was a narrow trail and the shah might well have discounted it for so many men. Still, it served a rank of ten across, and as he climbed, Tsubodai looked at the farmlands below, seeing a wavering red slash marking the path of the battle, quickly drying to brown. Over it came the tumans of Jochi and Jebe and, even from that distance, Tsubodai could see they were riding slowly. He saw the tiny figures of his scouts reach them and the pace picked up.

Tsubodai’s view was blocked after that and he did not see them follow the shah into the pass. Kachiun would be out of arrows and still the army was too large for the forces of Genghis at Otrar. Yet Tsubodai was pleased with the killing. He had shown the strength of the columns on their own and the best way to act against a slow enemy. He looked ahead to where Jelme rode, urging on his men. Tsubodai smiled at the older man’s enthusiasm and energy, still undimmed. Every warrior there knew that they might have another chance to attack if they could get through the hills before the shah reached open ground. There would be no place for stinging wasps then, Tsubodai realised. With the right timing, they would hit the shah’s right flank with the best part of twenty thousand men. Most of their arrows had gone. Shields and swords would have to finish what they had begun.