Casca 43: Scourge of Asia

by Tony Roberts

  “Yes, guarded by the Khuttalani Emirs, and we know Kaykhusraw is a friend of the Moghuls,” another added.

  Timur slapped his hand down on the map. “Kaykhusraw will ride out to meet Amir’s army as it makes it way eastwards from Samarkand. All spies in that part of the land will report on that, while we make our way silently through the mountains at their backs, from a position nobody will anticipate. We are still here in Balkh, while Amir moves north to Samarkand. Where would you think the move on Moghulistan will come from?”

  There was silence. Timur nodded. He looked up at Casca. “Well, general, do you have any contribution to this?”

  The sentence was a challenge. The mercenary looked down at the map. From his memories of the area their route seemed reasonable enough. They would follow the Oxus upstream until it curved eastwards and then south-east, then they would move north. It was there that they would have trouble with supplies. “I would suggest sending out scouting parties to collect livestock and firewood and arrange for our army to pick it up here” he pointed at a small town on the banks of the Oxus close to where it curved in a huge half circle. “Also it would be wise to have a screen of riders a day ahead of the main army to ensure no word gets out of our approach.”

  Timur nodded. “This will be done.” He turned to the others. “You see, a useful strategist. Another thing: we will leave Balkh at night so as to get away without any unwanted eyes watching us.”

  Casca looked at the passes through the western edges of the T’ien Shan. “I suspect the Khuttalanis will have these passes guarded. They will have to be secured long before our army approaches them. How are they to be taken?”

  “By stealth. Already there are riders preparing to ride out with express orders to capture two passes. Only one will be used but if things go wrong at one, then we have another ready for us.”

  “And the Moghuls? I can’t see them letting the Khuttalanis defend their frontier.”

  “Tughluk, their leader, is far to the east well within his own domain. He is old and weak and may die any day. It takes time for orders to be received by their field commanders and I suspect that word of our seizure of Balkh will be still on its way to Almalik, his capital. From there a counter order will have to come, and by that time we will be at the gates of Khokand.”

  Casca agreed that the initiative was with them, and they broke up, each returning to their units with orders to prepare to ride. The destination was kept secret, lest traitors within their own ranks let it be known. On the second night they left in darkness, riding out of the north gate, not the east, and made off towards Samarkand. Once out of sight of the city they wheeled eastwards and made their way along the north bank of the Oxus, riding all night until they stopped, tired, at dawn.

  They resumed in the late afternoon, reports from their scouts coming in all the time. The local commanders eased their passage with supplies and more men, and soon their army was twice the size it had been before they had captured Balkh.

  Reports from the north stated that Samarkand had opened its gates to Amir.

  They entered the steep defile that the Oxus cut through the T’ien Shan and slowly moved north east. Here the tribal lands of Transoxiana passed behind them and they were now in a different land. This was of hill dwellers and mountain tribes, fierce, independent people who kept away from the squabbles of the tribes of the lowlands. Eyes watched them as they passed through, but the very size of the army deterred even the bravest from attacking.

  They left the Oxus on the fourth day and struck uphill, climbing out of the Oxus valley. The twisting, turning climb left many exhausted and they rested for a while, before Timur urged them on. It began to rain which worried Casca. The rain would turn the ground into sodden, muddied morasses which would not suit his quick, mobile tactics at all. It was much colder up in the mountains, and the misery of the troops was added to as they got more and more sodden the further they went on, and morale began to ebb away. Casca sensed the troops were becoming more reluctant to press on and he found he had to help them along with words of encouragement, even though he was soaked through himself.

  Eventually word reached them that the passes ahead had been secured and they gratefully pressed on, encouraged that their vulnerable position was not open to attack. Casca was relieved, for it raised morale and the men began talking amongst themselves again, which was a good sign. They passed through and descended towards the lands of the Khuttalanis. They met no resistance and made their way down the other side of the mountain to pasture land. Scouting parties were sent far and wide to report on activities ahead. What they reported back was not good. The rains had continued, turning the land to mud. The villages were deserted and no food was to be found.

  And there was no sign of Amir’s army.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Their return was not to Balkh but to Samarkand. During their journey back many deserted their army, returning to their tribal lands and taking up a neutral stance, now that the initiative had swung away from Timur. After a day seeking the Khuttalanis word had reached them that the Moghuls had retreated, following the death of their Khan, Tughluk. The Khuttalanis, deserted by their former allies, had either melted away into the hills or gone east with the enemy. Amir, ensconced in Samarkand, had decided to call a Kurultai, a general convocation of all tribal leaders, to choose a leader.

  “That arrogant fool!” Timur raged, limping up and down the yurt he had pitched outside Samarkand. “I was ready to crush the enemy and he thinks of calling a meeting! Who does he think he is? I must go, but I will certainly demand an explanation why he changed his mind about supporting my plan for invading the Moghuls territory.”

  Casca sat quietly on a pile of rugs while the emir raged. “Perhaps it’s an attempt to gain control of the Chaghatay. He is very ambitious. He also is in the center while you were on the edges. Perhaps he agreed to you leading an invasion while he remained behind, securing support. With you out of the way, he saw an opportunity not to be missed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got his way at the Kurultai. If you really want to gain control, you must be in the center, controlling the trade routes and the cities.”

  Timur glared at the mercenary, then nodded. “I was a fool, thinking of glory. It clouded my vision. I have lost prestige. It will be difficult now to regain it, particularly in Samarkand.”

  Casca shrugged. “Time is your ally. Wait, be patient. Amir will make mistakes, and when he does, you will be there to take advantage. But for now, bite your tongue; be as the others, an emir of the Chaghatay, no more. You have learnt not to trust Amir, for he will put his own political future above you at all times. If he sides with you, it is only because it is advantageous to him.”

  The emir inwardly digested this, and still pondered on this as he left his army with orders to return to Balkh while he and his closest advisors entered Samarkand. Amir greeted Timur warmly enough but made no apology in leaving him to his own devices on the campaign.

  It was soon apparent that Amir had what he wanted. The practice in the Ulus Chaghatay was for a dominant tribal leader to appoint a puppet Khan, thereby continuing the Mongol tradition of having a leader. It was a sham, but then, Casca decided, that was what politics was mostly about. Amir appointed a nonentity from the lineage of Genghis Khan to be nominal ruler of the area and this was approved by the convocation. The puppet Khan in turn recognized Amir as the leader of the united tribes. Timur snorted in disgust. “He went behind my back and raised himself to a position second only to the Khan. Bah!”

  Casca leaned sideways towards Timur. “Careful, Emir, ears are listening. You must be as the snow, pure and benign to the eye, yet underneath cold and dangerous.”

  Timur shot his general a quick look. “Truly you have a devious mind. I like the way you think.” He looked over to where the new tribal leader of the Suldus, Sheikh Mohammed, was sitting. “That one owes me his position. I will impress that upon him.”

  Casca nodded. It was wise at times like this to find out
who were your friends and who were your enemies. Amir had secured what was left of the Khuttalanis by having his puppet appoint a new leader for them, and he sat firmly in Amir’s camp. Although Timur’s association with Amir gave him prestige, it was clear who was subordinate, but Timur’s personality and drive went against that. Sooner or later Timur would turn on Amir, but only when he felt he was strong enough. When that happened, there would be no time for those who couldn’t decide on one or the other.

  Timur returned to Balkh, grumbling about Amir, and went about building up support amongst the Suldus. Together with the tribal homeland of the Barlas, they formed a solid block of territory to the south and west of Amir. The tribal leader was not unaware of this and began levying higher taxes against these tribes in order to weaken their finances.

  In the middle of all this the Moghuls decided it was time to regain their power over Transoxiana. Calls went out to the tribute tribal leaders to rally to Amir’s standards and face the invading Moghuls.

  The meeting place was to be outside Samarkand. Timur grumbled to Casca. “He’s protecting his own lands and leaving ours open to the enemy. This man is not a leader; he is a snake. While he bleeds us dry through taxation he sits there in his palace and surrounds himself with the army we pay for. Agh!”

  Casca shrugged. “Once you become leader, be wary not to make the same mistakes, for if you do then there will be those like ourselves who will plot to change it.”

  Timur grunted. “I shall make sure there is nobody who will plot, Badahur.”

  “And how will you know that? Even family members become corrupted with power and position; the more they have the more they want. You buy loyalty through mercenaries. As long as you have a treasury you’ll be able to protect yourself.”

  “And if someone comes along with deeper pockets?” Timur waved his arms in the air. “No, mercenaries are not trustworthy; they put money above anything else.”

  “Not all – some yes. Family members are just as inclined to turn on you. Give them enough rewards to keep them happy, but not too much so they can afford to be independent of you.”

  Timur regarded his advisor shrewdly. “That I shall be careful of, yes.” He sucked in a deep breath. “For now we must gather our army and march to Amir’s side. The only good thing about this campaign is that we are all fighting someone who we hate more than our rivals. I doubt anyone will not rally to his standard.”

  Casca agreed, getting to his feet. “I’ll call the regiments to gather outside the city here. That way we’ll all be together before making our way to Samarkand.”

  “And it’ll give me time to get the supply wagons collected with enough supplies. The cost of it all! Let us hope we can emerge victorious. If not, I don’t know how we’ll get enough plunder to break even.”

  “If we lose perhaps Amir will fall; then you’ll have an opportunity to get to Samarkand before any other rival.”

  Timur laughed. “Don’t tempt me! If it were anyone other than the Moghuls I might be persuaded. Come on! Let’s go to war.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The rain had decided the outcome of the battle before it started. The mobility of the mounted units of the tribes were negated by the sodden, soaked earth, turning it into a quagmire. Amir’s army, which included Timur’s, was broken east of Samarkand, and sent fleeing westwards. Thousands deserted and it was only due to Timur’s authority that his Tumen stayed together. He screamed at his officers that it was only due to him that they were where they were, and if he fell then so would they. He demanded they keep their troops with them, and so, defeated but not destroyed, they fell back on Balkh and awaited the Moghuls.

  All around the city a sense of unease pervaded. The city was not walled to the extent cities were further west; but this was due to the nomads not wanting to be hemmed in by brick. They still liked yurts far better, and Timur remained in his, brooding.

  Casca sent scouts out far and wide for news of the enemy, but oddly they were not in sight anywhere. He returned to Timur with this disquieting news. The Emir frowned. “They should be approaching Balkh by this time. Where are they? Perhaps Samarkand had not fallen!” He unrolled a map and peered at it. “To ride to Samarkand without first knowing where the enemy is would be foolish.” He looked north and his eyes went to his own tribal lands. “Go to Karshi. My own people are there. If the Moghuls are not in sight then send word and we will advance, you from Karshi, I from here. This time I shall be the one to get to Samarkand first!”

  Casca nodded and left the yurt, yelling for Olujey to rouse the army. His ten thousand was made up of Suldus tribesmen and Tajik nomads, known as Sarbardars. These were mainly peasant Iranian speaking people, who made up the majority of the infantry and siege engineer units he had. The Mongols were hopeless at sieges, so Casca had dragged all the skilled engineers he could find into his army and formed units out of them. Timur questioned him about this and the mercenary replied that at some time they would need to storm a city’s defenses, and that would take engineers. Timur agreed, trusting in his general’s judgement.

  The Suldus horsemen were his mobile units and they were his most effective offensive arm. They made their way north west but scouts were sent to the east. He had no wish to present a flank to the enemy whilst on the march. The days were hot and tiring, and in Kish they learned that Amir had re-crossed the Oxus and was nearby. Casca sent a messenger back with the news. They reached Karshi within five days and found it to be free of Moghuls. Another messenger was sent and it was shortly afterwards that a return message reached them from Timur.

  Casca read the missive and handed it to Olujey. “Samarkand is still free. The Sarbardars there held it against the Moghuls. If we’re quick we can relieve them. The bad news is that Amir is also on the way.”

  Olujey threw the paper down. “I’ll get the men ready to march.”

  They left that afternoon but although they made good time Amir had beaten them to it. He congratulated the Sarbardars for holding his capital then proceeded to execute their leaders. Timur, breathless after a hard ride with all the mobile units he could muster, arrived the following morning. Casca gave him the bad news. “He has subordinated the Sarbardars to his will by killing their leaders.”

  “That is something I should do to Amir!” Timur growled, frustrated he had been thwarted again. “What of the Moghuls?”

  “They’ve retreated. Something is killing their horses and they’ve decided to return home.”

  “Well that’s something to praise Allah for. May Amir catch this plague.”

  “Not likely.”

  “No. He is not a horse, he is a dog.”

  Amir summoned Timur. He greeted his ally once more, thanking him for the support he had given him, but now he had to show his loyalty by collecting taxes from all regions Timur had a position of power in. Timur ground his teeth together. Amir would have to go.

  ____

  The next few years were something of a struggle. Amir’s position of strength ensured he always had the advantage; and no matter how many times Timur formed alliances against him, Amir bribed or killed off all opposition. Timur’s following shrank, and he was forced to leave Balkh for his homeland. Even here his life was threatened and Amir’s army came pillaging in with orders to kill the troublesome Emir, but with a few thousand men he left Bukhara and went into exile in Tashkent. With him were Adil, Casca, Olujey and the new leader of the Khuttalanis, Kaykhusraw. This man had come to power after his predecessor had been executed by Amir, and he had no love for the power hungry man.

  The other tribal leaders first jumped one way, then the other. Consequently the war between the two men dragged on. All through this time Casca busied himself in organizing Timur’s army and had little time for leisure. But when he did have time off, his thoughts often went to Adil, and he wondered if she still thought of him. The few times their paths crossed they always passed pleasantries, but she said not one word on how she felt about him. He felt as though he’d lost out, som
ehow.

  It was in their third year of exile that Casca, desperate to find a way to break the deadlock in order to get Timur to power and thereby hope to form a powerful nation to challenge the Ottomans, proposed that Timur enlist the Moghuls in order to form a big enough army to smash Amir. From what news Casca heard from time to time from merchants, travelers and soldiers who passed through from the west, the Ottomans were still growing in power and making the occasional threat against Constantinople; but they were not yet strong enough to tackle the mighty fortress.

  Timur was aghast at the suggestion. “But this is against the wishes of my people to side with our enemies!”

  “If I read Amir correctly, he is weary of this war. He needs to keep a large army at the ready and this drains his money. If you threaten to unleash the Moghuls upon him he’ll sue for peace, of that I’m sure. In fact, he’ll beg you not to and offer you a position of power as a bribe.”

  Timur thought on the matter. He looked at his shaman, Jaibut. The old man nodded slowly. “He speaks the truth, Emir. Besides, three years of exile is hard to endure, even for loyal men.”

  “Then I shall send word to the new Khan of the Moghuls and request he send me, shall we say, seven thousand men? I then shall send word to Amir that I will descend upon his cities with the Moghuls behind me.”

  The letters went out. The Khan of Moghulistan, eager to spread discord between rivals of the Chaghadai Khanate, duly sent the men on request, but not seven thousand. Timur was appalled when twenty thousand turned up, ready for war. The really bad news was however that Amir had called his bluff and threatened to smash his meagre forces on the plateau east of Samarkand if he dared show himself. “Very well, he shall see for himself I’m a man of my word.”

  He sent out the Moghuls on raids west and south of Tashkent, pillaging the border villages. This area, between Samarkand and Tashkent, was the fertile Jaxartes river valley; the river itself forming the border between Moghulistan and Transoxiana. This was the tribal area of two tribes, the Jalayir and Yasa-Uri, both nominal supporters of Amir. Soon reports of terrifying content were winging their way to Amir Hussayn, of hordes of plundering Moghuls destroying livestock and villages, enslaving women and children and slaughtering men.