Conn Iggulden - Conqueror (2011)

The flow of men over the hill-crest kept coming, like a spread of oil. Hulegu looked for a tuman he could disengage, but they were all in the thick of the fighting. The Afghans and Persians raised their heads as they saw the reinforcements and fought with more energy, knowing they could waste their strength and fall gasping because the Mongols would have to answer the threat. One of the tumans was pushed back by yelling thousands, forcing them to break free and gain space around them for another charge.

Hulegu cursed. He would have to take the opportunity, but he saw the danger if he pulled them out. The men they had been killing would surge after them and in doing so flank the tuman next in line. For an instant, he pictured the threat.

‘God’s blood,’ he muttered. Kitbuqa’s old habit of blaspheming had rubbed off on him. Hulegu knew he could have done with his friend on the field that day. It had been poor fortune that Kitbuqa had faced a huge army while Hulegu was in Karakorum to see his brother made khan. At least the tribes had paid a harsh price for the life of a Mongol general. He had seen to that in massive organised reprisals.

Hulegu signalled to his bannerman and watched the result as the tuman flag went up and was swung in a great circle, flapping. The tuman answered its personal flag in moments, halting almost as they began to charge back in. Hulegu could see the faces turned towards his position and he tried to ignore the feeling of panic as the enemy began to surge forward.

‘Second flag. Engage enemy,’ he snapped to his bannerman. There were too few signals and he had nothing to point to the new force coming over the hills. Yet his men were experienced and they would know he wouldn’t stop them only to order them back in.

They whirled their horses and began cantering up the rising ground. Hulegu grunted in relief, then his breath caught as he saw the enemy were still coming. Thousands more of them had appeared and he cursed the labyrinth of valleys all around that could hide so many from his scouts.

The Persian lines below ran forward, howling in glee as they appeared to chase the tuman from the field. Their momentum took them along a wing of his personal tuman as he had feared. Hulegu took a deep breath to shout new orders to the single minghaan of a thousand who had come with him.

‘Back in support!’ he bellowed. ‘To the Brass tuman line, in support!’ He repeated the order as he dug in his heels. There were too many of the enemy, but he was not ready to retreat, not from those. The battle could yet turn and they could break. He would wait for the moment, pray for it. The Brass tuman was under pressure at the front and side, close to being overwhelmed. For the first time that day, Hulegu felt a worm of doubt in his stomach. He had never lost a fixed battle against the wild tribesmen, though they challenged him each year with increasing numbers, crying ‘Baghdad’ and ‘Allahu Akbar’ as they came. He showed his teeth as he rode to support his tuman. His men would not break against dog-raping farmers. They could be defeated, but never made to run.

The thousand with him stretched out to a full gallop. Many of them had lost their lances and emptied their quivers in the fighting, but they drew swords and struck into the enemy, seeking to cut through the chaos, roaring their battle cries. Hulegu laid on around him with all his strength, smashing his sword down on helmets as shields were raised against him. From horseback, he could still see the fresh soldiers meet his tuman on the rising ground. The tuman had slid into a wide charging line with lowered lances, but even as Hulegu watched, it began to falter against the sheer numbers. Like a broken fishing net, the charging line was sundered in a dozen places. They could not hold and the screaming Persians were flowing around and through them, losing hundreds of men to reach the main battle.

Hulegu swore, turning his anger into a quick chopping blow that cracked the skull of a bearded man as he showed his red mouth in a wild yell. It was his task to keep a feel for the battle and never to lose himself in the pain and fury. The ranks on the hill were still coming and Hulegu felt a cold chill, despite the heat. The shahs had caught him neatly, making him commit his forces and then springing the ambush with everything they had.

Hulegu had cut himself a space and he was gathering the minghaan back to him for another charge at a weak point when he saw his scouts racing over the bloody grass. They were already pointing into a shadowed valley on his right hand and Hulegu groaned to himself. If there was another army there, he was done.

Even as he formed the thought, the first ranks came out of the shadowed hills, not far from the heels of the scouts they followed. Hulegu rubbed sweat from his eyes, gaping. What he saw was impossible, but he felt his heart lift even so. Solid ranks of Mongol warriors came surging out, lances standing upright like a forest of thorns. He knew them from their banners and he shook his head in a sort of wonder before turning back to see the enemy. Slowly, his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth. It was not a smile.

The tumans in the hills had been riding close, pressed in by the narrow valleys all around. As they hit the open space, they fanned out and Hulegu shouted in joy to see manoeuvres he knew as well as his own body. Two entire tumans jerked into a new path, heading for the force sliding over the hill-crest. Two more increased their speed on the flat ground and came at his position like a hammer swinging down on the Persian ranks.

Hulegu saw arrows soar out from them, bows thrumming their deep note over and over, shafts by the tens of thousand filling the air as the forces closed. The Persian ranks crumpled under the new assault, their battered shields saving only a few. Hulegu stood in his stirrups to see the lances come down. A rank five hundred wide struck his enemies and went over them, crushing and cutting. He bellowed in excitement and snapped new orders to his officers. He had the Persians on two sides, as neat a trap as if he had planned it. One last glance up the hill let him see the new tumans were butchering the Persian reserve, taking on their cavalry and sweeping across their face with black arrows, again and again.

The battle was over, but the slaughter had barely begun. Many of the Persians threw down their weapons and tried to run, or simply held bare hands up to the sky and prayed their last. They were cut down as the tumans rode around them, accepting no surrender and sending arrows in to pick them off at close range.

Hulegu’s tumans lifted their heads, putting aside the weariness they felt as their pride forced them to stand tall in the presence of their own people. They had been hard-pressed and they were merciless as the enemy fell back. The killing went on and on as the sun began to set and the enemy were herded into smaller groups. Wounded men stood among the dead and Hulegu used a broken lance as a club as he rode past one man, snapping his neck with the force of the blow and sending him tumbling.

The single minghaans rode the battlefield like stinging ants, lunging across to find new targets until the last of the enemy were running in terror, hoping only for darkness to hide them. The heat of the sun began to wane and Hulegu removed his helmet, rubbing his wet scalp. It had been a good day. A warm breeze picked up, carrying the smell of blood. Hulegu closed his eyes in relief, turning into it. He thanked the sky father for his deliverance and then on a whim thanked the Christian God as well. Kitbuqa would have enjoyed the scene around him and Hulegu was only sorry he had not lived to see it.

He opened his eyes as Mongol horns sounded victory across the open ground, a low drone that was quickly echoed by every tuman who heard. The sound raised gooseflesh on Hulegu’s arms. He whistled between his teeth to catch the attention of his officers and watched as his banners went up, bringing the senior men to him. The droning noise of victory went on and on, filling the valleys and echoing back from all directions. It was a good sound.