For several days the Drevich army remained encamped at Mostek, growing in size as more men arrived from the remoter areas. During this time Bardiya greatly widened his circle of acquaintances; Mirosh was well-known among the younger leaders, and more influential than his actual status would have indicated. The minor commanders gathered around each other’s camp-fires instead of accepting insignificant places in Volko’s hall, and here Bardiya’s talent for story-telling, his great fund of unfamiliar experience and his mastery of military affairs combined to create a favourable impression among these less hidebound soldiers. Almost unaware of what he was doing, the exile propagated his views on strategy and tactics, with the tacit approval of Mirosh.
Little by little, he discovered that the outwardly informal Drevichi had a clear, firm division between their aristocracy of mailed horsemen and the mass of the people. Now that they had left Krotos, Mirosh and his brother no longer mixed freely with their men, and the latter showed them a respect for which there had been little evidence at home. Bardiya had noticed the beginning of these changes on the march to Mostek- he recognised the transition towards a form of military discipline, and was heartened.
It was almost the end of April when the Tugars struck; Mirosh was summoned away urgently to a conference, and he returned looking worried.
‘They have come,’ he told Bardiya. ‘Svatar was taken by surprise three days ago. They captured Sered with hardly a blow struck- luckily a few men escaped and brought the news. Several of Gromir’s villages have been plundered already. Of course, he is all for marching at once for the north.’
Yarosh, who was within earshot, interrupted eagerly. ‘And?’ he asked.
‘Volko wants more information about enemy numbers and position- scouts are being sent north. The Princes want to see you again, Bardiya; the fugitives from the villages report enormous numbers of Tugars.’
When Bardiya entered the great hall at Mostek for the third time, the babble of voices faded and the crowds made way for him. Now, he thought, with the enemy present in force, when it was too late to take sensible action, they were willing to listen to him. Volko was all smiles and courtesy, but Gromir glared at him, sensing that his own point of view would receive little support from the Saka.
Bardiya had considered what he should say, and was ready when information was asked of him.
‘There will be about forty thousand men- four Tarkhan’s divisions. Remember that every man will have at least two spare horses- your scouts must learn to distinguish between cavalry and reserve mounts. About half the Kagan’s force will be light horsemen, mounted archers; there is probably a screen of them already spreading out from Sered to prevent your men from observing the main army’s movements. The other half of the Tugars will be heavier cavalry, light and heavy lancers and the Kagan’s own guard.’ He hesitated, knowing that he must speak out now or face accusations of deceit later.
‘There will probably be some Sakas among them- my own people. I would prefer not to be in that part of your battle line which may face them.’
Gromir broke in at once. ‘Must we listen to him any longer?’ he shouted, looking round the hall. ‘He says quite openly that his people are against us.’ By now, however, Bardiya was known to many of the Drevich commanders, and there was mixed reaction to Gromir’s words. Volko spoke non-committally:
‘What do you say to that, Saka?’
‘My own people are not free in this matter,’ he answered. ‘When the Kagan campaigns, they must provide a contingent. This is not my fault- if you doubt my loyalty I have no way of proving it, but last summer I killed one of the Tugar Tarkhans- I could never go back. What sort of traitor would I be to live amongst you for months, accept your hospitality and then betray you?’ His indignation was boiling up, largely because of the difficulty of proving his good faith.
Prince Dragesh intervened in judicial fashion. ‘Would this man have come here if he is proposing to betray us? Would he have told us what he has? I don’t think so, because it would not be easy for him to escape.’ Bardiya was favourably impressed at this first sign of common sense among the Drevich leaders. Characteristically, Volko avoided a decision.
‘We shall be able to check your statements, stranger. In any case, there cannot be much of importance that you could report to the Tugars.’
‘There is not much that they will remain ignorant about unless you put out mounted sentries beyond the horizon,’ retorted Bardiya. ‘There may be enemy patrols within sight of your roof here already.’ He looked up at the wooden beams across the hall, high above his head, and they automatically followed his glance.
There were other men who wanted to have their say in the council, and inevitably a compromise was reached- mounted men were to be sent out to obtain news of enemy movements. Bardiya rode out with Mirosh into the plain north of Mostek, accompanied by the mounted men from Krotos and several volunteers from other contingents. More patrols fanned out to the left and right of them.
In his element at last, the Saka took over direction of reconnaissance without objection from Mirosh, who was apparently still doubtful as to the usefulness of the exercise. He demonstrated how a couple of dozen men could be spread out in a great network, each rider just within sight of the next, with Mirosh and himself in the centre of the web. Having no confidence in the vigilance of the other Drevich patrols, he insisted that the rear also should be covered so that the formation took the shape of a complete circle.
Beyond the ploughed fields scattered in blocks around Mostek, the natural grassland spread away towards the mountains two or three days’ ride beyond the northern horizon even for the fast-moving nomad horsemen. Bardiya knew that there were villages, towns and small cultivated areas all over these plains; he had seen many on his ride from Sered to Krotos last autumn. But in comparison with the immensity of the virgin grassland, they were insignificant. With Mostek behind him and only the vast empty spaces ahead, the Saka could easily have believed himself somewhere in the steppes away to the north-east, many days’ ride from any inhabited spot.
The sun was past its noon zenith when danger came, from the least expected direction- the south-west. Bardiya spotted at once the urgent signals relayed from his left flank- he had given clear instructions to his scouts to retire before the enemy, and the western rim of his circle was caving in as the riders retreated towards him. He rode with Mirosh to meet them, hoping that the other Drevichi would have the sense to keep within signalling distance. Not wanting to tire his mount, he held it to a canter, and Mirosh followed his example.
The retreating riders had now halted to await his arrival, which indicated the absence of immediate enemy approach. Long before he reached them he saw what they had seen- a column of smoke rising from some point beyond the sky-line, growing thicker and blacker as he watched. As he approached, one of the three waiting men came forward- Terko, Rostas’ relative, as Bardiya noted. He shouted briefly, ‘Burning village,’ and the Saka noted with approval his quick conveyance of essential information. He turned to Mirosh.
‘Do you know this place- or will any of your men?’ No one knew the area and Bardiya made his decision at once.
‘Terko, signal in the others, then bring them behind us- but keep a bow shot or so away. You two,’ he said to the remaining pair of riders, ‘come with us.’
Terko galloped off to collect the rest of the force and Bardiya moved slowly towards the smoke with his three companions. The column was now dense and black.
‘No time for caution,’ he explained to Mirosh. ‘Only a small raiding party would set fire to buildings without sending sentries out- it gives away their position too easily.’
‘Unless some villager has set fire to his barn by accident,’ Mirosh suggested, with a smile. Bardiya was startled- such a simple explanation had never occurred to him, familiar as he was with the destructive habits of the nomads.
‘In that case,’ he replied, ‘some villagers are going to get a surprise.’ He took skilful advantage of the slight irregularities in the ground, and of patches of tall grass, to conceal their approach. When he eventually signalled a halt they could hear faintly the crackling of burning wood. He rose cautiously in his stirrups and surveyed the scene quickly. It was not a large village, only a small hamlet with three or four solid Drevich houses and some out-buildings- barns and stables, he assumed; all were well alight, with flames leaping up from roof and walls.
It was not these things, however, which made him drop back into his saddle and duck his head in one swift, instinctive movement. Silhouetted against the firelight he had seen the unmistakable outline of a Tugar horseman. The enemy sentry was motionless, and so close that his profile was distinguishable- flat nose, high cheek-bones and conical iron helmet. By good fortune, he had been looking away to the east, so that Bardiya’s brief appearance to his left had gone unnoticed.
The Saka explained the situation to his companions in whispers, sending one of them back to warn Terko and Mirosh’s other men as they came up. Then he removed his helmet, knowing that his blond hair would be difficult to pick out among the gold and green of the tall grass. On his second careful inspection of the scene, he saw a great deal more. Mounted figures were moving among the buildings; one of the strange, clumsy Drevich ploughs lay abandoned near where the sentry’s pony was standing; beyond the Tugar there was open ground which had recently been cleared for cultivation.
It was an old story to Bardiya- he had seen such evidence a hundred times; the wretched peasant taken by surprise, bloodshed and flames, plunder and ruins. Mirosh, however, clutched his sword and muttered obscure Drevich oaths- for a moment Bardiya thought he would charge single-handed, but instead he looked at the Saka, who signalled patience.
‘Ten men- the smallest Tugar unit,’ Bardiya whispered, ‘and we have more than twenty.’ Mirosh heard the satisfaction in his voice.
The Drevichi assembled silently behind their leaders, and Bardiya passed back his instructions: ‘When I charge, follow- but spread out around the buildings, take them from all sides.’ They nodded happily at the straightforward method of attack; each selected his weapon, spear or sword, and waited eagerly.
The exile replaced his helmet, loosened his sabre in its sheath, and unslung his bow from his shoulder. Then he kicked hard against his horse’s flanks. By now thoroughly familiar with its rider’s ways, the animal sprang forward, shouldering aside the high, flimsy barrier of grass. By the time Bardiya emerged into the open ground he was already moving forward at a gallop.
The Tugar must have been taken utterly by surprise, yet he reacted with instantaneous precision; his left hand brought up the bow casually held on his saddle, his right flew to the quiver slung over his shoulder, and simultaneously his knees and thighs spun his horse round towards the buildings. To the charging Drevichi it seemed as though he was suddenly, miraculously galloping away, turning to shoot over his horse’s tail.
Bardiya crouched low; he heard a thud and gasp from his left as the arrow struck one of his men. Then, as the Tugar reached for a second arrow the Saka straightened up, drawing back his own bow-string, and shot for the centre of the nomad’s back. His missile flew high, but it caught the Tugar a glancing blow on the thick leather flap that hung down from his helmet to protect the back and sides of his neck.
Bardiya never discovered whether the man was wounded or merely stunned- the effect was in either case equally fatal; horse and man overbalanced and crashed down. The rider rolled clear, trying to draw his sabre, and Mirosh drove his long spear forward and down as he passed, impaling the nomad and almost unseating himself. Bardiya’s own horse swerved frantically to avoid the struggling Tugar pony, and they were past.
On they galloped, fanning out to surround the blazing ruins. By now they had been seen, and guttural Tugar voices were shouting the alarm as the raiders milled around in the smoke. Bardiya watched for the crested helmet that would mark the enemy commander, but all was confusion. As Mirosh and he came hurtling through the swirling, stifling clouds, he slashed savagely at a figure that loomed up to his right and heard a satisfying grunt of agony. He turned after another shadow and found himself face to face with the Tugar commander, his crest unmistakable even in the semi-darkness. Forcing his horse alongside the nomad, he brought his sabre down again and again in an effort to beat aside his opponent’s parries; failing to break through, he jabbed his point at the man’s chest whilst the Tugar’s blade cut at his own head. Both weapons arrived- Bardiya rocked in his saddle, his head vibrating with the concussion of steel against iron, but the nomad sagged forward with blood pouring from his wound, and toppled off his mount.
Now that his bloodlust was aroused, the Saka peered round aggressively, but he was alone in the drifting smoke. Tantalising clashes of metal came to his ears from all around, but he could see nothing. As he hesitated, his natural caution prevailed. He walked his horse forward into the wind. It shied suddenly at an indistinct bundle on the ground; Bardiya saw that it was a body, then he realised from its smaller size that it must be a child. One of the unfortunate inhabitants of the burning houses, no doubt. As he sat there gazing at the pathetic heap, it came to him that he had become shockingly callous in his years with the Tugars. By Mitra, he thought, he had stood aside and let things be done which would damn him for ever in Marissa’s eyes if she found out.
His reveries were interrupted- the breeze swept away the burning fog and he could see. The skirmish was over- here and there were Drevich riders looking for each other, riderless horses, and dead men sprawled on the ground. Yarosh came trotting towards him, grinning broadly:
‘All the bastards dead or fled,’ he reported.
‘I can see that,’ replied Bardiya, somewhat sarcastically, ‘How many got away?’
‘Three, I think- what’s that?’ The Drevich suddenly noticed the dead child.
‘Tugar work- it’s parents are somewhere here; also dead, I should think.’
They found two more unarmoured bodies, adult males cut down in a futile attempt to defend their homes. The buildings were now raging furnaces, defying any attempt to locate other corpses inside. Two of Mirosh’s men had been killed and three more had suffered wounds serious enough to require attention- Bardiya was anxious to withdraw.
‘We killed a commander of ten,’ he explained to Mirosh, ‘but somewhere nearby is his squadron-commander with anything up to a hundred men within call; by now he may know that we are here. And the sooner Prince Volko puts his camp in a proper state of defence, the better.’
They rounded up the loose horses and hurriedly made ready to move out. At the last moment, Bardiya had a thought.
‘Put that over a horse and bring it along,’ he ordered, indicating the dead Tugar commander.
When the patrol reached Mostek, the sun was setting. Bardiya strode into Prince Volko’s crowded hall once again, this time with the nomad corpse over his shoulder. Silence fell as he marched up the central gangway and tipped his burden on to the floor in front of the three princes.
‘One Tugar,’ he said loudly. ‘A witness to my good faith. Unfortunately he is not able to speak, but his presence here should be sufficient.’
He had judged the Drevichi correctly- this flamboyant demonstration in fact proved nothing, yet it had more effect than any amount of argument; no further doubts were expressed about his hostility to the Tugars.
For days the Princes sat in conference at Mostek, debating their course of action. More troops came in from the forest areas, along with groups of terrified refugees who told tales of atrocity and destruction. But for the occasional smoke rising from beyond the horizon, it would have been difficult to credit their evidence of the widespread havoc out in the open plains. Mostek itself basked in warm spring sunshine.
Bardiya was summoned several times by the Princes; never had his eloquence or his patience been so severely tested. He urged caution against Gromir’s insistence on attack; he described vividly what would happen to a force consisting largely of infantry if it ventured into the grassland.
‘Their archers will outflank you,’ he said. ‘When your cavalry attack they will ride away- when you are beyond infantry cover, you will be surrounded and shot down. Those little Tugar ponies can move faster and more nimbly than your horses- you will never get near them. Then your infantry will be left unprotected to run short of water, to tire in the sun, to be shot to pieces by an enemy at whom they cannot strike back. Only when they are on the edge of collapse will the Kagan send in his heavy cavalry to ride them down and finish them.’
His words could not but have some effect on the imaginative Volko and the thoughtful Dragesh, but Gromir brushed aside his arguments.
‘So we must wait, I suppose,’ he shouted, ‘while these barbarians destroy our villages, kill our people, ruin our crops?’
Volko tried to restrain him; Bardiya shouted back: ‘The Kagan’s whole purpose is to provoke you, to draw you out from cover- why do you think he has not appeared here? His scouts must have told him long ago about your army. The Tugars dislike venturing far into enemy country until they have destroyed the main hostile force. All this destruction is part of his strategy, to drive you to desperate counter measures. He may even have given orders that only Gromir’s villages are to be attacked, to raise dissension among you.’
Gromir turned purple with indignation and Dragesh intervened rapidly:
‘I am sure that Volko will join with me in compensating you for any damage. We know that your territory is most exposed, Gromir.’
Bardiya’s respect for Dragesh rose another notch at this sensible suggestion. Volko nodded with only slight hesitation.
‘That is true, Gromir, I give you my word. You must see that there is much sense in what this foreigner says- if we just march north into the plain, it will be like chasing the wind- we couldn’t catch these Tugar horsemen.’
It was painful to see Gromir torn between common sense and his obligations.
‘You may rebuild my villages,’ he said, ‘but how will you re-populate them- how will you bring the dead to life?’
In a detached part of his mind, Bardiya was fascinated by the complex forces at work among the Drevich leaders. He had heard the Kagan and his officers speculate about enemy reactions, and now he could see how clearly the Tugar generals understood such a situation as this. Nevertheless, he strove his utmost to hold the Drevich army at Mostek, on the edge of the forest, where some effective resistance to the Tugar cavalry was possible. In this he was, as he well knew, in direct conflict with the Kagan: if he could keep the Princes here, the Tugars must come. Eventually, the decision was taken out of the hands of Volko and his colleagues- the Kagan’s army marched on Mostek.