miles distant, and that they could see the walls of the city from the next rise. Casca called a halt and rode to the rise, looking down on the fields in front of Kushan.
There was a distance, he estimated, of about two and a half miles before they would reach the walled city. It was an easy downhill grade, which wasgood. It would aid their horses in the charge.
The Huns were laying back now, only a few bands making random sorties around the wall, firing off a few token arrows to keep the sentries on their toes and unable to relax.
To the left, Casca could make out the holding pens where the villagers were being kept. From this distance they were no more than specks to the eye, but the movement of horsemen about them was easy to see in the clear high air.
He needed to let those in the city know that help had arrived and to give them some idea of his plan. He summoned Shirkin, whispered in his ear, and handed him a piece of parchment tied to a Hun arrow. Shirkin grinned and left in obedience. Casca ordered his forces to remain behind the rise and out of sight of the enemy.
Shirkin came back shortly, wearing the clothing and equipment of one of the Huns they'd slain that morning. He had been aware that his infantrymen had taken some as souvenirs. Instead of his own fine-blooded steed, Shirkin now rode one of the dead men's, a shorter and hairier pony than the stock that the Persians preferred. Casca had to admit, Shirkin damned sure made a fine-looking Hun. He wore a fur jacket over his tunic, a head cap of wild mountain sheepskin with the hairy side exposed, and pantaloons of horse leather stuffed into high boots at the top. He had put aside his own long curved sword and carried the short straight blade that had belonged to one of the captives. Casca would bet that somewhere in his infantry companies there was a pissed-off warrior who was certain he was to lose his souvenirs forever.
In Shirkin's hand he held one of the Hun's powerful bows made of laminated strips of horn and wood. Casca could see the parchment tied to one of his arrows.
Shirkin looked to Casca for permission to leave and was given it by a nod of his general's head. He rode around the base of the hill, avoiding the rise and being noticed too soon.
He galloped his horse casually the short distance and joined a band of ten Huns who were firing off shots at the walls. He waved merrily to the others and set the arrow with the parchment attached onto the gut bowstring. Galloping still, and guiding his horse with his legs, he took careful aim at a spot close to what looked like a Kushanite officer. He loosed the arrow, missing the man's head less than ten inches, sinking it into a timber beside him. Shirkin yelled to the man, 'Use your eyes or lose your head!' The fact that one of the Huns spoke a civilized tongue was enough to attract the man's attention if the arrow had not already made him duck for cover. He whirled his horse around and nonchalantly rode away from the walls, leaving the Huns to their sport and amusement. He'd done his job; now it was time to get his ass out while he still could.
Shirkin reported back to Casca after his ride.
'It is done, Lord, and I am sure they have your message. As I rode off, I saw one I took to be an officer pulling the arrow out of the beam I shot it into.'
Casca was pleased and told Shirkin to change back into his own uniform before one of the men got excited and filled his young ass with arrows.
He called for Indemeer to summon his staff and he'd give them the battle plan. His idea had started taking shape when he'd seen the Huns start herdingthe captives out of the pens and toward the walls. In less than an hour it would make or break them.
As he waited for his officers, he watched the Hun force gathering in their strength. Forty thousand men of the steppes, circling each other, throwing up clouds of dust to rise with the wind. Shamans were casting spells to bring them luck and reading the signs of the earth and sky to ensure their victory and to please the god and spirits of battle. Boguda had ordered that a thousand women be sacrificed so that their blood could spill onto the earth and sink into the dry dust to feed the Great Mother.
Casca watched the slaughter of the women but could do nothing about it at the moment. It was too soon now to commit his men. If he charged at this moment all would be lost. But he sent word back to his men about what had happened to the women, and that if they failed this day, the Huns would be in Persia next, doing the same thing to their women. This day, there could be no mercy, for they surely would receive none from the Huns. They must have only one thing in mind, and that was tokill, kill, kill!
The Kushanite officer that Shirkin had nearly clipped with the shaft noticed the parchment attached to the arrow and pulled it from the timber, taking it to Shuvar, officer of the guard at the time. Shuvar read the message and smiled, double-timing off to locate his father. He finally found him looking over some wounded men, trying to decide which ones might still be able to return to the walls for their shift.
He was scarcely able to contain his excitement ashe pulled his father aside so none could hear and whispered:
'He is here!'
Jugotai responded somewhat testily. 'Who is here, pup?'
'Father, Casca has come. Casca the Roman. He is leading a Persian relief force. Even now they are just out of our sight over the hills to the west. He says the time has come for us to meet again and we should come to him when the moment is right. We are to be ready and mounted at that moment, then everyone must attack at the same time, even the guards on the walls are to let themselves down by rope if necessary. He needs everyone, Father.'
Jugotai jerked the message from his son's hand, reading it slowly. He wasn't very good at making out words, but his son was a fine reader. His eyes began to water, tears forming. 'He is here. My old friend has come to help me once more. It is good that I shall see him again before I die.'
Forcing back his emotions, he told Shuvar to do as the Roman had bade them. 'Get them all ready, my son. The time will come soon, if I know my Roman friend.'
After ordering his horse made ready for him and held at the bottom of the steps in mounting position, Jugotai went up to the wall to wait. Soon, he would ride out to meet his old friend and sword mate again.
TWELVE
The time was near. His men were positioned. The cavalry in two broad fronts, the infantry behind them, long lances in their hands. Many had spears that resembled gaffing hooks more than anything else. Casca had first seen them used in the forests of Germany, when the Teutonic tribesmen had used them to pull the young Equites from their horses and slit their throats before they could rise to fight.
The women and children, wailing and crying, were being savagely whipped by the Huns and herded to the walls. Any that fell along the way died in place. Babes were being trampled beneath the hooves of the warhorses to lie broken in the dust.
The captives reached the wall, crying and begging for mercy from those up on the ramparts. They carried with them the ladders, holding their babies in their arms as they stumbled and clumsily raised the ladders to lie against the stones of the city. They wailed and pleaded for those on the ramparts not to kill them, for they only wanted food for their babies, and themselves if there was enough.
'Food for our starving children,' they cried. 'Mercy, have mercy. Pity us and save our children.'
The archers on the wall held their fire. The Huns were an equestrian cloud, circling the walls, waiting for the moment to make their own assault.
Casca gave the order and the horns of battle blared loud and long to echo across the valley floor. Once, then again, and his men moved forth. Slowly at first, then faster, gathering momentum, ten thousand of the finest warriors in the Persian army surged forth, an irresistible tide.
They rode even faster now, the beat of their horses' hooves pounding in time with their own pulses. Casca was in the lead of the element on the right. He'd chosen this position because, not only would it take him straight to the gate of the wall, where he was relying on Jugotai's exit, but it also put him in the vicinity of where he'd seen Boguda's standards. Casca carried one of the long lances grasped firmly to his side, letting the urge for battle take him. There would be no time for fine tactics of war today. It was plain. They were to break directly into them and kill relentlessly, until there were no more.
