The infantry was doing its best to keep up with the rest of the troops, while, at the same time, obeying his orders not to wind themselves. He'd warned them to half walk and half run until they were near enough to the foray to form a square, then they would halt until ordered to move. They would form an island in the sea of battle, from which Casca's men would regroup and charge again.
He rode faster now, bent low over the mane of his steed. He could smell the acrid sweat from thelunging animal, hoping it wouldn't lose footing and fall in the charge.
They could see the faces of the individual Huns now, looming ever closer as they neared. The shock of surprise showed clearly in their eyes by this change of events; they were not prepared for this. It would take some time for them to reorganize for an attack and they clearly did not have time for that. Casca cursed as his spear sank into the belly of a nomad and was twisted from his grasp. 'Damn, Jugotai, come on out.' The main Persian forces split the Huns into two disjointed fragments, then, whirling about and keeping the momentum of their charge going, they struck with everything they had. Horses screamed and men died, gasping for breath and not finding it.
Casca rode on, gritting his teeth, yelling silent orders to his old friend behind the walls. 'Now, Jugotai. Come out now!' The Huns were rallying in force and beginning to repel the Persians. Casca rode through the ranks of the Huns, wildly swinging his blade like a cleaver. There was no time for any of the finesse of the arena now. He barely missed trampling a knot of terrified women and children. He whipped his horse into a turn and as it reared in fright, he screamed at the women and old men.
'Help us! Now is the time. Fight if you want to save yourselves and your babies. Take vengeance on these animals. Fight, damn you all. Fight!'
The women hesitated a moment, torn between fear of the Huns and indecision as to what to do. It was near panic all around, but suddenly, one woman handed her baby to an old crone and threwherself into the path of an oncoming Hun on horseback. She grabbed his reins and the horse stumbled, tossing its dwarfish master to the ground. That did it. The women broke, setting their children into the arms of the older women and aged men, or even on the ground if no one was there to receive them. They tore the downed Huns to pieces with their savage hands and untrimmed nails, and went immediately after more who'd been knocked from their mounts or thrown by their scared animals.
Casca wheeled his horse around, and kicking it in the flanks, urged it forward and through the mass of men, animals that had fallen, and wild vengeful females, to the other side of the circling Huns. Cut and battered, but still in the saddle, he rushed his sobbing animal to the safety of the square that had been formed by his arriving infantry. He rode through a gap they'd just opened in their ranks and gave them his orders.
'Advance one step at a time. Set your spears with the butts to the ground and aim for the horses' chests. If you kill the horses, the Huns will be nearly useless on the ground.'
He charged out once more, content that his orders would be obeyed to the letter.
A trumpet came to him from the walls as the sound of the massive gate of iron and wood crashing down told him that Jugotai was coming. It seemed much longer to him, as well as to his soldiers, but the actual time that had elapsed since their first assault, had been only seven minutes. Yet, a lifetime for the hundreds that now lay dead.
Boguda tried to get his men into some sense oforder, but they were too confused. Where had all these Persians come from? He slashed open the face of an enraged woman and trampled her small child underhoof. The brat had tried to climb up into the saddle with him, screaming that she was going to kill the rider.
Boguda gathered a force around him and called to the other Toumans to restrain their men and attack as one.
As Boguda gave his orders, so did Jugotai give his. He and Shuvar led the throngs of the city as they all burst from the gates. He'd warned them that this was their last and only chance for survival, and they hit the Huns outside their walls like winds of death. Each resident of Kushan was determined and bound to take at least one Hun with him if he fell. They broke the Huns' flank and turned in on it to aid the Persians, who were now beginning to falter. They'd now lost the initial impetus of the charge, as the battle had been downgraded into ten thousand individual conflicts.
Most surprising to Shuvar was the vicious attack by the women. They were picking up weapons from dead warriors of both sides and doing deadly work against their enemy. They weren't experts at what they were doing but their hate made them as dangerous as any warrior. There was no stopping them now. Any Hun who fell and ended up in their hands, was more than lucky if he died swiftly. It seemed that the women were somehow finding time to pay them back for the rapings and killings.
Shuvar stayed close to his father's side. It was an honor to be with him in battle and if they were to die, then he would share the moment with the manhe loved most in all the world. They rode at the head of their forces. They'd mustered nearly six thousand men that could sit upon a saddle. Those that didn't have horses were even now coming over the walls to join the women in their rage.
Many men saw women in a new light that day- not just feeble things waiting for their bellies to be filled by the seed of their mates, but as wrathful raging powers that hated as no man ever could.
The battle surged on, back and forth, but the square of infantry that Casca had ordered made the difference. The square advanced as he'd ordered, one step at a time all the way to the wall until they had split the forces of the Huns into parts that could be dealt with separately.
The superior discipline of the Persians began to tell. They reorganized faster and responded to a single will with more rapidity than the Huns could ever hope to master. Gradually, they began to gain control of the battle.
Jugotai waged war as if this might be his last battle. His blood boiled and the passion of the day overrode all else. For a time, youth came back to aged muscles and bones. He fought with a ferocity that left his son in open- mouthed awe of his father. They worked their way into the center of the gap held by the infantry and wheeled to slice into the left flank, rolling the Huns up into a massed, milling knot of blood-lusting savages, aware that they would have to win or die. This was a fight to the finish and it was known by all that the victor would show no mercy to the vanquished. They killed, both sides, the Huns crying aloud for their gods to give them strength to kill their enemies.
Casca was drenched with both his own blood and that of the Huns. His tunic was torn in a dozen places; all that had saved him thus far from even worse injury was the shirt of fine chain mail he wore beneath his green cotton outer garment. His sword was becoming dull from the repeated slashing against Hun shields.
The battle was beginning to get to him. He could feel what the Nordic tribes called the berserker rage gaining control of him and he fought it off, not wanting to lose that control. But he was unable to resist it. The berserker finally took complete charge of his sanity as he rode over the body of a ten-year-old that had been trampled by the hooves of Boguda's horse. The sight of the small bleeding body snapped the final restraints and he broke entirely.
He sobbed and cried, tears running freely down his scarred face, as he raced forward slashing and killing, then laughing hysterically. His sword reached endlessly for new bodies to drink in. He thirsted for blood, a berserk slayer of the enemy, unable to be sated. Even his own men drew away, avoiding him in fear. They'd never seen anything like their commander, who would circle like a child in play, laughing wildly, then slash down on a foe, splitting him open from his brain casing to his chest, then crying out to the Huns to send him some more for he had yet to have his fill.
Jugotai spotted Casca. Even his blood-stained tunic and flinging arm and crying face had not hidden him from his Kushanite friend.
He kicked his mount in the flanks and tried to fight his way through to Casca's position. Hunswere as close as lice on all sides and it seemed impossible to proceed more than a foot or two without getting slaughtered. Yet, inch by slow inch, he came closer to his old sword mate. Shuvar had been separated from his father, fighting desperately just to stay alive himself. He cut and thrust his blade, reaching out to pluck an eye out or dance across the throat of his opponent. He was an artist, picking his targets and conserving his strength by wasting no motion. But his father was away from him now and he could not get to his side. At least for the time being, he couldn't. Shuvar, too, had seen the scar-faced stranger who had saved him in the desert five years before, and knew that his father was trying to reach his old friend.
A loud cry brought Jugotai's head around. As he turned, a spear sank its full length into his leg, piercing through the other side and into the horse's side. The animal stumbled and threw Jugotai to the ground.
He called out, 'Casca!'
