His scouts had ridden out as usual in a constant relay. A few days before, without warning, some had not come back. As soon as the first ones were missed, Tsubodai prepared for attack, almost two full days before an enemy was in sight.
Still in darkness, with a cold drizzle soaking them all to the skin, horn warnings sounded, relayed from man to man. The Mongol columns had come together from miles apart, forming a single mass of horses and warriors. There was no separate camp for those who could not fight. From children to old women on carts, Tsubodai preferred them to move in the safety of the main army. His light cavalry took positions on the outskirts, each man covering his bow and dreading the moment when he would have to shoot arrows in the rain. They all carried spare bowstrings, but rain ruined them quickly, stretching the skin strips and robbing the shafts of force.
The ground was already soft as the grey morning lightened almost imperceptibly. It would bog down the carts. Tsubodai began to arrange a corral for them behind the battlefield. All the time, he continued to gather information. Many of his scouts had been ridden down, but others struggled through to bring him news. Some of them were wounded and one had an arrow lodged in his back, near the shoulder blades. Before Tsubodai could even see the horizon, he had estimates of the enemy numbers. They were moving quickly towards him, risking life and mounts to surprise the Mongol columns, to catch them out of formation.
He smiled at the thought. He was no wild tribesman, to be surprised at dawn. His men could not be routed with a sudden charge. The Russian noblemen were reacting like ants to repulse an invader, without a pause for thought.
The tumans moved smoothly in formation, each jagun of a hundred following the next in the darkness, calling back and forth to keep position. The five generals spoke to Tsubodai in turn and he gave them their orders without hesitation. They split apart at a gallop to pass them down the line of command.
It was Tsubodai's practice to interrogate prisoners, if gold would not buy what he needed. Moscow lay ahead, a centre of power in the region. The prisoners had known its location on the Moskva river. Now Tsubodai knew as well. The Russians had a record of arrogance, considering themselves masters of the central plains. Tsubodai smiled again to himself.
The downpour had begun after the enemy horsemen had begun the attack, but they had not called it off. The soft ground would hamper them as much as his own warriors. His tumans were outnumbered, but they always were. The auxiliary forces Batu had poured scorn on were good enough to hold the flanks and prevent encirclement. Tsubodai had his best men among them, training them constantly and setting up chains of command. They were already more than just a rabble of peasants and he would not throw them away without good reason. To his experienced eye, their formations of foot soldiers were ragged compared with the discipline of his tumans, but they were still many, standing in the mud with axes, sword and shields.
Tsubodai had given his orders and the rest was up to the individuals who led. His men knew the plans could change in an instant, if some new factor showed itself. The ripple of orders would run again and the formations would change faster than an enemy could possibly react.
The light did not brighten under the cloud. The rain became suddenly heavier, though the thunder fell silent for a time. By then, Tsubodai could make out horsemen moving across the hills like a stain. He rode alongside his own tumans, checking every detail as messengers raced across the field. If it had not been for the rain, he would have split his force and sent Batu to one side to flank or encircle the enemy. As it was, he had chosen to appear slow and clumsy, a single mass of warriors riding blindly at the enemy. It was what the Russians would expect from armoured knights.
Tsubodai looked across to where Batu rode with his tuman. The younger man's position was marked in the third rank by a host of banners, though Tsubodai knew he was not there. That too was an innovation. Armies concentrated their arrows on officers and kings. Tsubodai's orders had been to reveal those spots with flags, but have the generals in the ranks to one side. The bannermen carried heavy shields and their morale was high at the thought of fooling an enemy in such a way.
A clot of cold mud flung from a hoof touched Tsubodai's cheek and he wiped it away. The Russians were no more than a mile off and his mind clicked through calculations as the armies closed. What else could he have done? He grimaced at the thought. Much of the plan depended on Batu following his orders, but if the younger general failed or disobeyed, Tsubodai was ready. He would not give Batu another chance, no matter who his father and grandfather had been.
The rain died away without warning, the morning suddenly filled with the sounds of horses and men, orders suddenly clear where they had been muffled. The Russian prince had widened the line when he saw their numbers, preparing to encircle. One of the Russian flanks was struggling to keep up with the rest over boggy ground, their horses plunging and rising. It was a weakness and Tsubodai sent scouts to his generals to make sure they had noted it.
Eight hundred paces and he kept the columns together. It was too far for arrows, and cannon would have been left behind on such a slog over soft ground. Tsubodai saw that the Russian warriors carried spears and bows. He could not see the huge horses ridden by knights in iron. This Russian noble seemed to favour light armour, speed over power, much as Tsubodai did himself. If the enemy truly understood those qualities, Tsubodai knew they would be hard to pin down, but they showed no sign of such an understanding. They had seen his smaller force, lumbering along in a single block. Whoever led them had chosen a simple hammerhead formation to crush mere tribesmen and sheepherders.
At four hundred paces, the first shafts were sent high, shot by young fools on both sides who should have known better. None reached his men from the Russian side and most of his own warriors guarded their bowstrings, keeping them covered until the last moment. Men who had fashioned a bow themselves would not risk it being destroyed by a snapping string. The weapons were precious, sometimes the only thing of value they owned apart from a pony and saddle.
Tsubodai saw the Russian prince who led the force. Like Batu's false position, he was surrounded by flags and guards, but there was no mistaking the enormous horse at the centre of the army, its rider sitting in armour that shone like silver in the rain. The man's head was bare and at two hundred paces, his eyes still sharp over distance, Tsubodai could see a blond beard. He sent another rider to Batu to be sure he had marked his man, but it was unnecessary. As soon as the messenger had hared away, Tsubodai saw Batu point and exchange commands with his minghaans.
Thunder grumbled again above their heads and for an instant Tsubodai saw thousands of lighter faces among the enemy as men looked up. Many were bearded, he realised. Compared to the Mongol face, where little hair grew, they were like great lumbering bears. Arrows followed as his light cavalry released thousands of shafts, sending them high. For the first shots, every tenth man used a whistling head, carved and fluted to scream in the air. They did less damage than the steel-head shafts, but the sound was unearthly and terrifying. In the past, armies had broken and run from that first volley. Tsubodai grinned to hear the naccara drums hammer out their own thunder, answering the storm as it dwindled to the east.
The arrows curved upwards, dropping hard. Tsubodai noted the way the Russians protected the blond leader with shields, ignoring their own safety. Some of the man's guards fell, but then the steady approach seemed to go faster and the distance between them dwindled rapidly. The Mongol light horsemen released another storm of arrows before falling back at the last moment and letting the lancers through. It was Batu's moment of madness, exactly as Tsubodai had ordered. The grandson of Genghis would challenge the blond leader personally. A knight of iron would expect just such a challenge.