with a shout, and came on. Fifty paces later, the trumpets sounded a third time, and the riders doubled their speed. The horses, trained to combat, strained at the reins, excited for the coming clash; but the riders held them back, waiting for the signal.
Faster and faster came the barbarians, the sound of their screams and drums and horns shaking the very earth and air, drowning out the thunder of the onrushing hooves. At the strategus' signal, the trumpets shrilled once more. Ten thousand lances swung level.
The two forces closed upon one another at speed. As the gap swiftly narrowed, the trumpets gave out a last signal and the horsemen put spurs to their mounts and let them run.
For the space of two heartbeats, the world was a churning chaos of blurred motion as the two onrushing armies fell upon each other. The clash sounded a mighty crack which echoed from the surrounding hills, and ten thousand barbarians fell. Many of these were trampled down and their brains dashed out beneath the iron hooves of the emperor's horses; the rest met death at the point of a Byzantine spear.
The charge carried the emperor and his troops deep into the barbarian mass. The screaming hordes, seeing the gleaming gold and purple standards, leapt over one another in their frenzy to strike down the Elect of Heaven. But Alexius, mindful of the danger of allowing the enemy to surround his division, had instructed Taticius to signal the retreat as soon as the assault foundered. Accordingly, the trumpets sounded above the barbarian shriek and, with practised ease, the imperial soldiers disengaged, fleeing back over the bodies of the dead and dying.
The enemy, seeing the horsemen turn away, pounded on in blood-blind pursuit, screaming as they ran. They chased the fleeing horsemen-only to be met with another measured charge by oncoming cavalry. The emperor, having had time to halt the retreat, had turned his troops and reformed the ranks; Alexius, with five thousand horsemen behind him, spurred his division into the centre of the oncoming barbarian battlehost.
The barbarians, neither so quick nor so tightly clumped as before, were more cautious this time. They tried to dodge the spears and hooves, to allow the horses to pass and stab at the riders as they swept by. The Byzantines had long acquaintance with this tactic, however, and were not easily outflanked. The ranks behind covered for the line ahead, and the barbarians could not close on those they sought to strike. Indeed, most were fortunate not to be cut down as they darted into position.
The charge ground to a halt, and the imperial troops made good their retreat, falling back the instant the attack faltered. They fled back across a battleground now deep with Pecheneg and Bogomil dead. This time, however, they did not regroup and charge again, but fled up the hill.
The enemy, believing they had beaten the Byzantines, quickly reformed the line. The drums began beating, and the horns blaring, and they marched ahead once more, but slowly this time. Two disastrous charges had taught them respect for the elusive horsemen.
Nicetas, who had been waiting on the hilltop, joined the emperor, and said, 'The Cuman are growing restless, Basileus. They say that if they are not allowed to fight before midday, they will leave the battlefield.'
'It is a long time to midday,' Alexius replied. 'Their patience is soon rewarded. See here!' He pointed to the approaching horde. No longer a single amorphous line, the barbarians had separated themselves into three distinct bodies, each under the leadership of a battlechief. 'Tell our vengeful friends that we will soon deliver their enemies into their hands. Warn them to be vigilant.'
Nicetas saluted, turned his horse and galloped back to his position. The emperor returned to the head of his troops to lead the next assault. Aware that he was embarking on the most dangerous phase of the battle, Alexius uttered a brief prayer and crossed himself. Reining in among his standard-bearers once more, he signalled to Taticius, who turned and shouted the order: 'Slow march!'
The trumpets sounded, and the long ranks of horsemen stepped out. The invaders reacted to the movement by increasing the distance between their divisions. Alexius could see that if he gave them half a chance, the enemy would try to outflank him. Should the barbarian horde succeed, the balance of the battle would shift perilously.
Alexius watched the two enemy clusters moving farther out on either side of the central host. Behind the three advancing bodies, he could see the rest of the enemy horde taking up the positions vacated by the three advancing groups.
They were learning, he thought; their battles with the empire over the years was teaching them the rudiments of tactical warfare. Each encounter was more difficult to win, and more costly: all the more reason to make certain it ended here and now. He raised his hand and signalled his strategus. An instant later the trumpets sounded their high clarion call, and the imperial troops surged ahead.
As expected, the moment Alexius committed himself to his attack, the enemy's two flanking bodies turned and drove in on either side. At the same time, the greater host behind swept in to surround and crush the Immortals.
As before, the attack was halted by the dense numbers of foemen, who absorbed the assault with their shields and bodies. The horse soldiers abandoned their lances and took up swords to slash their way free of the enemy's grasp. Glancing quickly to the right and left, Alexius saw the enemy divisions closing swiftly. He gave Taticius the sign, and the trumpets sounded retreat.
Crouching low, Alexius jerked the reins back hard, wheeled his mount and led the Byzantines in full flight up the hill. The barbarians, amazed at the ease with which they had blunted the imperial attack, rushed forward to press their advantage. The three main bodies, followed by the great rolling wave-twenty thousand barbarians wide and twenty deep-swept on up the hill at a run, determined not to allow the Byzantines enough time to regroup for another charge.
With an earth-trembling roar, the barbarians rushed to the kill, their feet pounding the hillside, weapons gleaming in the bright sunlight. The Immortals, unable to order the ranks and prepare the charge, had no other choice but to retreat further up the hill. The trumpets shrilled the call to retreat.
Within moments, the imperial horsemen were fleeing the field, cresting the hill and disappearing over the other side. The barbarians, screaming in triumph, pounded after them, baying for blood.
Upon reaching the hilltop, the enemy saw the Immortals galloping down the far slope towards a loop of the river. Eager to catch the horsemen as they floundered through the ford, the barbarians flew after the retreating troops, shrieking in triumph.
Down and down they came, streaming headlong into the valley, racing for the river. As the first barbarians reached the fording place, however, ten thousand foot soldiers suddenly appeared on either Desperate now to retake the high ground lest they find themselves pinched between the two opposing forces, the foemen turned and fled back the way they had come.
It was then that the Cuman mercenaries appeared on the hilltop behind them: an entire barbarian nation, thirty thousand strong, and each and every one of them nursing a long-standing hatred of their Pecheneg and Bogomil neighbours.
The trap was sprung, and the slaughter commenced.
Alexius, confident of the outcome, withdrew from the battle. Summoning his Varangian bodyguard, he charged Dalassenus to bring word as soon as the victory was complete, then rode at once to his tent.
That was where the Grand Drungarius found the emperor, bathed, shaved, dressed in his clean robes, dictating a letter to the Magister Praepositus, who was taking Alexius' words and inscribing them on a wax tablet.
'Ah, Dalassenus! Enter!' he called as the young man appeared behind Gerontius. He waved the chief scribe away, saying, 'That is all – bring it to me to sign as soon as you are finished. It will be sent immediately.' The scribe bowed once and withdrew. 'Well? Tell me, how did the battle end?'
'As you predicted, Basileus,' answered the commander.
'Indeed?'
'Down to the last detail. The Cuman auxiliary were merciless. Once they had the scent of blood in their nostrils, we had no need to engage the Immortals. We merely stood by to prevent the survivors escaping into the hills.' He paused, and added, 'There were no survivors.'
'Gerontius, did you hear?' called the emperor. 'Our victory is absolute! Pour the wine! Dalassenus and I will drink to the triumph.'
The elderly magister bent to the table, and turned a moment later bearing golden cups. The emperor lofted one of the cups and said, 'All praise to God, who has delivered our enemies into our hands, and driven them into the dust of death!'
