Casca 3: The Warlord (11 page)

Tzin often rode at Casca's side during the march to the Valley of Chong-Ye, where they would bivouac and wait for the word that the barbarians had gone for the bait. In the cool of the evenings, the King and his baron would spend time together. The youngster was fascinated by the Roman. His tale was one at which to marvel. He constantly posed questions to Casca, shaking his head at the stories the Roman told of the world beyond the wall and oceans. Tzin would cluck his tongue at the depths of ignorance of the rest of the world. True, the Romans and Greeks had made some modest attempt at culture and civilization, but to Tzin's mind, they were only a few degrees above the aboriginal tribes which infested the jungles of the southern empire.

Fast riders brought word that the tribes of the Hsuing-nu were on the march and already were near the road leading to the Valley of Chong-Ye, where the treasure train was encamped. The Hsuing-nu had merged into the two long columns which had flanked the swamp marshes of Chin-yo. Their outriders were already at the entrance to the pass and had been seen scouting the high ground and even circled far to the rear, but they had not gone as far as the emperor's main force. They would return to their chieftains with the word the treasure was alone. With this information, only one fire a day would be permitted and the soldiers of the Empire would eat cold rations at night. There could be no chance of a campfire being spotted by a stray scout for the Hsuing-nu.

The army advanced to their final campsite, carefully hidden. The thousands of men were ordered to maintain strict silence and minimum movement. The deep valley in which they waited was ringed with a strong force of the fastest horsemen and best archers.

These men lay in places of concealment to stop any who might take word of their presence, be they barbarians or traitors. None would be permitted to approach the valley or leave it until the Emperor commanded otherwise. There was no more they could do, just wait. The waiting was always the worst, the tension gnawed at one's innards and made the constant droning of the flies unbearable. It was difficult to prevent outbreaks of temper and only the strictest punishment could serve as a deterrent. The day before ten men and their commander had been beheaded for fighting among themselves. The commander lost his head for allowing it to happen. The example served its purpose and the rest of the army and its officers knew what fate awaited them if they failed to keep proper discipline.

Constant communication was maintained between the treasure train and the army by a clever system of minors flashing coded signals over the twenty miles separating them. A signal of two bonfires would be lit at night if that was when the attack was to take place. Though Casca doubted that would occur. From what he had learned, the Hsuing-nu preferred the early hours of predawn. When wary men were still in their deepest sleep was the most likely time for them to hit; still, one never knew for certain and the precautions were taken.

The Hsuing-nu rode under standards of human heads and oxtails. Shamans cast bones and read the future; a great victory was to be had. From a distance they appeared to be a long line of ants crossing the marshes and entering the sheltered confines of the region of passes and valleys that led to the Jade Gate and the riches of Han beyond. A cloud of dust rose over them as they entered the drier regions where the marshes gave way to ever greater encroachments of the arid regions that sometimes would claim even the huge swamps.

Fierce men, they fed on a diet of meat and lust for blood as they rode.
Grim brown faces that were strangers to any feeling of compassion or mercy. They lived for slaughter and died for it, this making no difference as it was a warrior's only honored ending.

Ten miles from the encampment of ten thousand men guarding the treasure train they massed each under their own
tribes standard. The chieftains gathered in the felt yurt of the strongest tribe's leader, Longi, one of the oldest men of the tribes, who had survived more battles than most men would see in years. His teeth had long since been worn to stubs from the sand that found its way into everything they ate and had slowly ground the teeth down to the gums. His meat was pre-chewed by women of the tribe and meat was all he would eat, meat and blood from the veins of his herd of horses; only cattle ate that which grew from the ground.

In the smoky interior, the chieftains ate and listened to the words of the shamans. Tomorrow they would attack with the first light of the sky. They would ride down the defenders of the treasure with no need for tactics as this was to be a mass charge of the entire nation, one hundred thousand horsemen would trample all under their hooves. Each tribe was to select a thousand of their best warriors to form a unit of twenty thousand to strike straight to the treasure, while the rest finished off the imperial guard. They were also to insure the treasure found its way into the proper hands – namely, theirs.

That night they feasted long on meat and fermented mares' milk, gloating in the thought of the riches and slaughter that the morrow would bring. Before the red glow of the coming sun brought the false dawn, the army of Tzin was on the march in the cool of the predawn. They moved to the edge of the valley where the ten thousand waited with their Trojan Horse, behind a small rise. They were not able to be seen from the entrance from which the barbarians must come but still, strong pickets were set.

Casca's chariots were behind the first rank of cavalry, their reinsmen and archers curled up in their cloaks to catch a few more minutes of sleep. They knew the day would be long. In the camp of the Hsuing-nu the warriors massed under their standards while the shamans and chiefs made sacrifice to the sun. The shamans wailed and chanted, waiting for the moment when the sun would first show
itself over the edge of the world, glowing red.

The shamans watched carefully, their victims bound between two horses, the cool of day sending shivers over them, long curved knives held expectantly and then...the sun! With a wail, they sliced open the stomachs of their victims, the stretching between the horses aiding in forcing the intestines out to the ground where they lay in slimy steaming mass of convoluted tissue. Quickly the shamans searched through them for any sign of an ill omen and finding none, they whipped the flanks of the horses and the bodies of the victims were torn in two. The horses raced around the camp, the torn cadavers bouncing behind. They cried out, "We ride! The horde rides!"

By the thousands they spilled like a flood into the entrance of the valley, whipping their beasts with the flat of their blades, racing low in the saddle and leaning over, they swept the first rank of the defenders under their hooves screaming with pleasure. Several halted long enough to take heads and hang them from their saddles before racing on.

In the valley center, the defenders were ready behind boulders and rocks. They waited. The crossbow men and infantry and cavalry formed one unit stretching across the valley and waited. They were not to attack, but to hold only so long as they could and then withdraw and break away, drawing the barbarians after them; at this moment, the main force of Tzin would enter the battle and the Hsuing-nu would be crushed. The only fly in the ointment was that the army of Kushan had not made its appearance. The Yueh-chih
were delayed by rock-slides and floods to the south of the Suget Pass and would not be here this day. So be it, the die was cast, they were seventy thousand to the barbarians' hundred thousand; close enough so that a surprise on their side should be more than enough.

The first wave of barbarians struck the main force of the treasure party, slicing deep into the ranks. They cut and slashed their way in, trying to reach the tents behind, which they knew held the gold their masters craved. Like demons they fought, each in
his own world of blood. A thousand broke through to the rear and were cut down by the bolts from the hidden archers and crossbows. A hundred managed to fight their way back through the broken ranks of the soldiers of Tzin and rejoin their tribes. A blaring bugle call which signaled the ten thousand to begin their withdrawal fighting against the ever increasing numbers of savages who crowded in on them. A solid wall of screaming mindless killers, they withdrew; the pressure of the barbarians made it difficult to break away with any semblance of order.

Another bugle blast and it was each man for
himself. The soldiers of Tzin broke and raced back into the valley, riding for their lives. The dogs of the steppes raced after them. Four thousand never made it and the survivors of the king rode for their lives.

The bugles also signaled the main army to advance. Sung Ti had not had much time to spend with Casca. As his aide-de-camp, he had much to prepare for and even now the last of the chains that had so carefully been forged in tile furnaces of Chung Wei were being attached to the ring bolts of the chariots, a rope of iron stretched between them, the chariots were ready. Horses neighed and whinnied, the smell of blood coming to them on the morning breeze. Their eyes rolled in fear and uncertainty. Their masters' words and hands tried to soothe them.

The army stepped forth over the small rise. The land fell away from them. They would be attacking downhill. The division commanders waited and then the second bugle blast sounded, showing that the defenders were breaking ranks. They raised swords, cried, "Death to the barbarians! Long live the son of Heaven!" and sixty thousand men and animals moved forward.

Casca positioned himself where he could watch not only his charioteers but the young king as well. The boy was eager and might get into trouble. The advancing forces of Tzin met those of the Hsuing-nu and for a moment hung suspended in the terrible confrontation. They were locked in a grip none could escape; eight thousand men of Tzin died in less than minutes, but not before taking an equal amount of barbarians with them. The shock of meeting Tzin's reinforcements gave pause to the tribesmen. They halted, breathing deeply, the sides of their horses heaving.

A long low growling rose from them and in a spontaneous burst of hatred, they charged; horses shoulder to shoulder, a thousand across and behind packed deep with their brethren urging them on, trying to find their way into the front ranks, screaming and crying for blood.

The time came for the chariots to be used and the reinsmen lined their war wagons up, the chains connecting each to the other in pairs. They looked to their leader. Casca drew his short sword and with sweep pointed it to the battle. Three hundred chariots surged forth, slowly at first and then gaining speed they crashed into the living wall of tribesmen, the chains tearing the feet out from under the tribesmen's horses. By the hundreds, the animals fell to the sandy valley floor with broken legs, spilling their riders to the ground, where they were trampled under the hooves of their brothers or crushed under the wheels of the chariots. Over half of the three hundred chariots were swamped under the deluge of screaming tribesmen, but not before they had thrown the army of barbarians into a confused milling mass.

The orderly ranks of the imperial cavalry and infantry poured down on the confused tribesmen, slicing and striking, they performed great slaughter. Disciplined and efficient, they went about their soldiers work.

The barbarians were beaten. The chariots had done their job. Now it was up to them to finish off as many as they could. From the corner of his eye, Casca saw the King slice the head off a chieftain and race into the battle followed by his personal household guard. He plunged into the milling knot of tribesmen, showing a total lack of concern for his own safety.

"Oh, shit. That little bastard's going to get himself in trouble," thought Casca. Turning over command of the remaining chariots to Sung Ti, he permitted him to join the battle, whipping Glam's shaggy carcass, fighting his way to the spot where the king had disappeared into the whirling mass of men, beasts and dust. Striking left and right, Casca laid about him whacking the hand off a tribesman who grabbed his reins and broke the neck of another with a well-placed kick in the face. The king was down. His horse had its legs cut out from under it and lay screaming like a woman in that shrill manner only horses dying have. The surviving guards placed themselves in a circle around their imperial master ready to die rather than leave him; had their master died, they would live in disgrace and shame forever.

Driving his sword through the eye of a wild-faced barbarian, Casca broke through to the king. Glam rose on his hind legs and struck out with his sharp hooves, crushing the brain case of a wiry tribesman like an eggshell. The king's guard commander grabbed the imperial person and ignoring his lord's protests, threw him to Casca, who laid him across his saddle, holding him like a sack of grain. The commander cried out for Casca to save the king and Casca saw him go down as the last of the guard was overwhelmed and a tribesman severed the commander's spinal cord with a well-placed axe blow that broke him in two at the back.

Whirling Glam around, Casca fought his way back, ignoring Tzin's threats to have him made into an eunuch if he didn't let him down immediately. Slapping the youngster on the ass, Casca screamed above the din, "Keep still, my Lord, or you won't be able to give that command."

When they reached the rear of the battle, Casca deposited the young king unceremoniously at the feet of his generals. On the battlefield, the tribesmen began to waver, their confidence broken.
Instead of the easy victory they had anticipated, they found an avenging army of disciplined, well trained troops and those damned chariots, that knocked the horses off their feet.