HE clans of the Khaukesh stretched as far as the eye could see, from the bank of the frozen Kur to some low hills covered with pines. They were moving down the valley, away from Hugh, in masses of a thousand or more grouped around the standards and the banners of the princes. As they marched they sang and clashed axes and swords against their shields.
All in the main battle were on foot, even the chieftains. But Hugh saw that the constable had kept apart in the rear of the warriors a body of horse—Circassians.
These, too, were in motion, the ponies plunging into drifts and kicking up a smother of snow when they trotted. A bleak wind swept the valley and the gray sky hid the sun.
Beyond the line of the Georgians Hugh could see the Horde clearly—the black patches that were masses of horsemen. The distance was too great to make out any standards, and Hugh counted the black patches. There were ten, and he knew that each numbered a thousand. They were advancing at a walk.
Though he searched the whole valley, even the low banks of the ice-bound river and the timbered foothills on the far side, he could not discover any other Mongols. The ten thousand looked no larger than so many flocks of sheep in the vast basin between the ranges.
Hugh urged on the tired horse, passing through the last camp of the Georgians where slaves and peasants with their carts stood at gaze. Here were visible the thatched roofs of a hamlet, and when the crusader passed near-by, stalwart mountaineers stared at him and shouted joyfully:
“Eh, Lord Prince, make haste or the onset will be over. 'Tis said the steeds of the accursed Mongols are helpless in the snow.”
“Their bowstrings will be damp! Satan is opening his gates for them.”
“We will slash them, and they will never see Tphilis!”
So the varlets of the camp cried out, beholding the goodly charger of the stranger and the gold inlay of his sword. And Hugh, who could have answered that the Mongol ponies were accustomed to snow and even to digging beneath it for the scanty forage of dry grass, and that the Mongol bowstrings were silk or waxed cord, passed on in silence, heavy with misgiving. The somber sky was like a pall over the valley and the bitter wind whispered of death.
He had not reached the Circassians before sudden tumult resounded on his right. Toward the foothills patrols of the invaders were retiring before the steady advance of the hillmen. But the shouting and clash of steel meant a charge.
Evidently the Mongol onset was repulsed, because Hugh, hastening on, saw presently the bodies of warriors outstretched and a few riderless ponies galloping off, while groups of Georgians clustered around the wounded and the clamor dwindled to a hum of voices.
No one paid him any attention and he sought anxiously for the standard of the constable, or for sight of Rusudan or Shotha Kupri.
Before seeking Subotai in the Horde he meant to warn Rusudan to leave the field—no easy task. She should never come into the mêlée.
Here were only bands of hillmen, ax and spear on shoulder, striding forward through the snow that was often knee-deep, shouldering and pushing to win nearer the front ranks that had halted.
The reason was clear in a moment. A roar of voices drowned all other sounds, and Hugh rose in his stirrups. The Mongol center was in motion—a long line of riders trotting toward the Georgians, followed by other lines that plied their bows from the saddle. Arrows whistled into the close-packed mass of Georgians, who answered with cross-bows and, in a moment, with a flight of javelins.
Stung by the flying steel, the shaggy ponies of the Mongols began to rear and plunge before the first line crashed against the spears and shield of the Georgians. Still the arrows whistled. Hugh heard the clash of armor when men dropped near him, heard the oaths of their comrades who pressed on, heedless of hurt, with the single thought of closing with the horsemen.
They did not lack courage, these men of the Khaukesh. Harried by shafts that tore through their leather shields and the chain-mail beneath, they wielded their swords and heavy axes, and the line that had yielded at first, stood firm.
The Mongol charge had been broken. The tumans were drawing away, scattering in groups without formation and apparently without leaders.
Hugh, who had seen these same veteran divisions crash through the chivalry of Islam, could not believe them broken; but the impatient Circassians, tossed simitars and spears over their heads.