The heavy cavalry was on its way, but instead of a skjaldborg, they now faced an impenetrable wall of steel spearheads.
On the left stood the Varangians, arrogant in their strength and bravery. Few Pechenegs rode willingly against them. To the right was the Slav wing. It was the wing the khan had chosen as the weak link. As the khan watched, however, the space between the trees and the dressed ranks suddenly filled with running archers. Hundreds more bowmen raced into the spaces behind the phalanx. Without hesitation, the archers proceeded to loose volleys of arrows high into the air. Their quivers were full, as they had lain hidden in the forest while the nomad riders had emptied theirs.
The Khan raised his arm to prevent the charge, but it was too late. The massed regiments had already started forward at a trot that quickly escalated into a thundering gallop.
The sky was dark from sling stones and arrows. Many Pechenegs never lived to reach the enemy lines, yet their horses, excited by the mad charge, followed the others; never slackening their pace even after their masters tumbled from their backs.
With a tremendous crash, loud enough that the entire earth trembled, the two lines met. Railing at the triple line of extraordinarily long spears that met them, the Pecheneg riders were quite unable to reach the Slavs.
Because of their speed and fantastic mass, the leading riders were unable to turn aside. Those not struck down by the hail of missiles died on the spears. Hundreds of Pechenegs died within a minute, but in their death they weighted down the spears with their dead bodies. Stubborn cavalrymen scrambled over the dead bodies of their own horses and men and found that the Slav defence had been seriously compromised. Their officers, seeing the opportunity, signalled for reinforcements. Hundreds more spurred forward.
Ambrose watched from his position in the line while he hacked at stubborn Pecheneg warriors who crawled over their own dead horses and men to attack the weakening Slav line. The Slavs were fighting heroically, but many in the three lines were down. They were close to being unable to fill the lines and Ambrose knew that when they couldn't, then the horsemen inevitably won. He looked involuntarily towards the fleet that floated on the river nearby. Askold had told the men that the fleet was ready to rescue them if necessary. What he hadn't told them was that the river, a thousand feet away, might as well have been a hundred miles away. Between them and the water was open ground; prime Pecheneg cavalry killing ground.
Finally they stopped coming. The surviving lancers limped back to their own ranks.
Ambrose stepped back out of the front rank and approached the thin Byzantine. "Polonius, there are not enough men left uninjured to do that again. If our line breaks, then we are all dead. What are we waiting for?"
Polonius looked at Phillip. "Weapons-master?"
"I don't think they will hold next time. It is time."
"Then order it."
The Saxon thane turned to the line of men behind him. "Signallers! Sound the retreat."
As the strident new signal reverberated across the battlefield, the archers turned and ran back fifty feet. The phalanx spearmen marched slowly backwards. Once the remaining spearmen had dressed their lines, another signal blared out. The second rank of spearmen pulled on ropes that snaked back towards the ground they had just retreated across. As the wooden planks were withdrawn, a long pit lined with sharpened stakes appeared. The pit was wide enough to prevent a horse from jumping it, and deep enough that a cavalryman would have great difficulty in getting his horse to climb back out . . . and that was if they missed the stakes.
The fresh line of advancing Pecheneg lancers skewered any Slavs who had been slow to retreat, but suddenly the front rank of horsemen found itself pushed into the deep trench. Spears and arrows were rained down on them from the embankment, and many more brave horsemen died.
A messenger, exhausted, ran to stand beside Polonius.
He tried to stand at attention. "Commander!"
Polonius replied. "Speak. What is your report?"
"You were right, Commander. They sent several hundred lancers into the forest behind us in a flanking movement."
"And what happened?"
The messenger grinned. "Great man-traps opened in the forest floor. They fell into the deep pits lined with sharpened stakes, riders and horses both. Bent boughs with spears attached swung at others. Our archers stood in the open and shot at them, but when the riders gave chase, they just found more pits and many, many sharpened stakes. We broke the bastards, Commander! They lost half their number before they broke, but break they did!"
As the Pechenegs attempted to withdraw, Slav skirmishers climbed through the protective ditch and moved forward. They ruthlessly cut down wounded and any others too slow to escape the vengeful axes and swords. They watched the cavalry carefully, however, and were prepared to run at a moment's notice.
The battered Pechenegs reformed in their regiments and squads and Ambrose wondered what he would do next if he were the Khan. He realized that if it was not for the forest, the rear would have been all but defenceless. The cavalry could take care of the foot archers, who needed a skjaldborg for protection, yet the skjaldborg could not defend all sides, at least not with such unwieldy spears. And yet . . . And yet . . . But Polonius had chosen the site carefully, and the Khan, in his arrogance, had not disputed the choice. The forest WAS there, and the archers and spearmen could destroy any cavalry who dared enter where cavalry mass-tactics couldn't be applied.
With no way to flank the enemy, the battle was lost for the Pechenegs. The Pecheneg hope for success would have been to make use of their great mobility, but Polonius had countered that brilliantly.
Now the Khan had a dilemma. Could he leave such a strong force not far from the Pecheneg women and children?
Polonius wouldn't dare advance much further south onto the open steppes in the face of a large army. Yet if the khan sent his main force across the river and back to threaten Kiev, then the horde's dependents were in considerable danger.
His train-of-thought was broken when Phillip put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"You fought well, today, Prince. It may not be over yet, however. Here come more cavalry- no, it's just a squadron, and it is approaching the Rus wing."
Seeing the horsemen coming, the Slavs retreated to their ditch while hundreds of archers lined the embankment. The Viking wing, having been ignored all day, just held their ground. Finally one Rus warrior, carrying a white shield and no weapons, left Askold's side and stepped forth alone to parley.
"Pechenegs!' he yelled, 'Askold, leader of our army, wishes to know if you want to remove your dead and wounded. If you wish to so signify, send forth small groups of unarmed men and we will make no further hostile moves."
As one, the squadron of horsemen, driven into a fury by their frustration, spurred their horses into a gallop towards the envoy. At last, here was an enemy that they could touch! The ten lances hit in rapid succession, and the envoy's body was driven back many foot lengths. Ten lances grew out of his supine body.
A great cheer went up from the other mounted warriors. Even the cheers, however, could not hide the commotion that occurred in the combined Varangian and Slav ranks. Within a hundred heart-beats, a blond warrior, naked except for a huge two-handed axe he swung about his head in dizzying circles, climbed through the ditch and stepped forward, alone.
"Odin! Odin!" shouted the warrior, with the madness of the berserker coursing through his veins. Frothing and spitting in his insanity, he yet yelled wildly at the advance squad of horsemen who were retrieving their lances from the corpse of the emissary.
"My brother, an honourable man, lies at your bloody feet! Come then, and meet a warrior, you bloody scum of the earth! Come you ten! See how a man fights! Odin, I come to you!"
The ten warriors, taken aback, bemusedly watched the weird apparition advance upon them. Too late for the front two, they discovered that he was a fanatical fighting machine.
The berserker fought naked only to prove his coura
ge, for he felt armoured by his anger and his beliefs. His terrible weapon loped the two from their horses in a single stroke. Scattering then, and swerving, the survivors surrounded the warrior. His long axe, almost the length of their lances, carved great glittering arcs in the air, and cut down a third lancer who ventured too near and whose metal helmet, far from stopping the axe blow, merely slowed it slightly as it smote his helmet. The man's head was crushed like an eggshell.
At last, at a safe distance, a warrior threw his lance so that it transfixed the naked northerner. Without hesitation, the berserker leapt at the man. He struck the amazed horseman right out of his saddle. The remaining horsemen, seeing the transfixed dead man charging next in their direction, forgot their military discipline and fled towards the main horde. The naked berserker lurched after them. He continued to yell in his native tongue as long as he was able to draw breath.
"Come and fight, you cowardly bastards! Odin receive me! Odin! Odin!"
Finally he came to a halt, close to the main body of the horde formation. There he slid slowly to his knees. Even as he fell, a dreadful apparition bathed in his own blood, he held his great axe over his head, and called out to Odin a last time.
The defeated Pecheneg army turned south and abandoned the field. The Slavs and Varangian warriors had won!
CHAPTER 29.
The Varangians Fight at the Ford.
The messenger could be heard long before he could be seen. "Can anyone tell me where Polonius, Canuteson, and Phillip are camped? I am looking for the foreigner Polonius, and his companions Canuteson and Phillip."
The three friends looked at each other. Polonius smiled at his two companions. "I wonder what trouble we are in this time?"
Ambrose responded. "I guess there is only one way to find out.' He raised his voice. 'Polonius and his faithful companions are here!"
Soon the messenger stood over their little fire. "Sirs, Jarl Askold has requested your immediate presence."
The three friends followed the messenger into Askold's makeshift tent. The Rus jarl rose when he saw the men enter. He hugged each man in turn.
"Welcome, Canuteson. Welcome, Polonius and Phillip. Our new empire owes all three of you a great debt. Polonius, without your ideas and your training, the Slavs would never have held. You gave them the tools, and the confidence, to hold against the worst that the Khan could throw against them.
Ambrose and Phillip, you were the voice of Polonius, and it was you two that translated Polonius' brilliant ideas into sound tactics. We are truly in your debt. Please, sit down. I would talk with all three of you."
Askold smiled at the three foreigners from across the little room. "Good news, my friends!"
Polonius spoke for his companions. "We are all ears, Jarl."
"Our scout ships have travelled down-river as far as the ford, and it is clear that the Pechenegs are retreating to there. This little expedition has, in one fell swoop, managed to siphon off enough enemy warriors from the siege of Kiev that the Pechenegs have had to cease offensive operations, and also managed to protect our northern settlements on the eastern bank. Finally, and perhaps most important, we have unequivocally defeated the Pecheneg in open battle.
News of what we have done here will be recorded in song and story, and will entertain Slavs and Varangians for generations to come. We have stood up to the toughest there is, and we have won!
I tell you, my friends, this victory will allow us to dramatically expand both our influence and our borders. Mark my words. Kiev will one day become the hub of a great empire.' Askold grinned. 'And the Rus will be the masters!
I have an offer to make you. Tomorrow I intend to sail south; to join Dir at the next great battle site. We have almost closed the fords to the Pechenegs, and I intend that we hurt them a lot more before we are finished. I would be honoured if you would join me there as guests."
Polonius looked worried. "Jarl, surely we are not leaving the army here, leaderless. The Great Khan has lost the battle, but he is not done yet. His army could return to the attack at any time. I do not feel that I can abandon my regiment so far from safety."
Askold smiled. "You, who expressed no interest in being an officer, are one of the greatest, my Byzantine friend. It is right that you think first of your men. Safety, however is not as far away as you think. Before I so much as put one foot on a ship, I will see each and every man of this army embarked and safely on the waters."
"Jarl, with so many of our trader vessels trapped far to the south, we simply do not have enough ships to embark the entire army."
"Quite true, Polonius. But there is an island within sight, that is quite safe from any force without ships. The army can camp there until sufficient ships can be sent to transport them."
"Forgive me for asking, Jarl, but after the island, where are we transporting them to?"
"You see, Polonius, you are a good commander. You think first of your troops . . . even if you never wanted a command in the first place. The answer to your question, however, is simple.
The Slavs will be sent north to strengthen Kiev's defences. Once the Pechenegs withdraw completely, we will send the villagers home to guard their own lands. There are rumours of other hordes crossing farther north, and I took a calculated risk in moving the army away from its home territory.
As to the Varangians, they will be sent south as reinforcements. The battle there is just warming up.
The karve was anchored north of the deepest channel of the river ford, and just out of arrow range. It floated, one of a line of six. Dir stood in the bow, along with Askold, Ambrose, Polonius, and Phillip. Dir pointed to the two massive wagons now half way across the river.
"Here they come! The fools are going to try again. Signaller, sound the call for logs!
Now watch, lads. First they will send the archers to hold us off."
Even as Dir spoke, more than two hundred riders raced across the sandbar and plunged as deep into the waters as they could. The sky filled with arrows, but all fell short of the waiting karves, though some by less than a hundred feet. One karve, with its sides raised by planking, slid into arrow range. The frustrated Pecheneg archers peppered it, but at some cost. From carefully prepared arrow slits, arrows flew back. Several mounted archers fell, and the riders were forced to retreat a little.
In turn, new Pecheneg crews ran forward with massive wooden beams. In a remarkably short time, several portable ballistae were put together. As large rocks started to hurtle into the air, the ship was forced to retreat northward.
Dir grinned again. "They keep trying the same tactic. We know just how close we can get, and the armoured ship kills a few of them each time we use it. Then they chase us off."
Polonius looked puzzled. "Jarl, why do they not build permanent catapult emplacements on the sandbars?"
"A good question, Polonius. And the answer is, they did. We landed a couple of hundred warriors late one night, and bad things happened to their precious catapults. Now they dismantle them before dark each day.
But where are our logs? The timing of the next part is tricky."
As he spoke, teams of hard-rowing men in dugouts approached. Behind them, attached with ropes, were massive logs. Dir pointed.
"Gentlemen! Here comes Polonius' 'warriors'. They are even bigger than a Varangian warrior, and a lot dumber, but by all the gods, they can fight! Watch now."
As the front wheels of the first of the massive wagons slipped into the raging water, the first of the logs were pushed into the current and released. Ambrose and his companions watched with interest. The massive log moved only sullenly and slowly, until the main current gripped it. The channel was narrow and relatively shallow, but the constricted water rushed south and took the ponderous log with it. The next crew readied their log, waiting for Dir's command before releasing it.
Dir watched attentively. "Here is where we play a game. When they first started this, we just used Polonius' giant crossbows to kill a couple of the horses. Once the wagons were
stopped, it took the very devil to get them moving again. If the archers aren't around, the men take the dugouts and pepper the stupid bastards. If they are, we release the logs. The wagons became perfect targets, and if we get it right, the wagon is either knocked over or pushed into the deeper waters just south. Either way, it's finished."
As Dir spoke, crewmen on each of the half-dozen anchored ships ran to the crossbows mounted in their bows. Several men cranked the bowstrings back, while another carefully laid a giant arrow in the trough.
"Here we go, lads!"
The thrum of giant crossbows filled the air. The darts, really spears with feathers, flew in a low, flat trajectory. Of six shot, two struck. The two horses screamed and kicked a few times, and then died.
Dir spoke again. "Unfortunately they have learned a few new tricks, too."
Teams of Pechenegs on either side of the channel strained on massive ropes, and suddenly a rope barrier emerged from the water. The first log pressed against it and applied enormous force, but several hundred men strained, and the log was brought to a halt.
At the same time, men ran along the wagon hitch. With sharp knives, they cut loose the dead animals. Another team of men, on the western bank, pulled on a massive cable that was attached to the wagon. In spite of the loss of the two horses, the wagon grudgingly moved forward.
Dir turned to his companions. "I must admit, the bastards are good. With that rope in place, we can't stop the wagon even if we kill all of the horses. When the wagon is across, they will pull on a thinner one, retrieve the thick one, and be ready for the next wagon."
Polonius turned to Dir. "Jarl, do you have rags, some oil, and a flint?"
"What are you thinking, Polonius?"
"My people use a substance that burns even under water. It is their greatest weapon. The wagons are wooden. Just regular fire should at least do some damage, and the crossbows give you the vehicle to deliver the fire to the targets."
Ambrose, Prince of Wessex; Trader of Kiev. Page 25
