The prince's face was a bloody ruin, his teeth broken and his jaw hanging loose. He would surely die from such a terrible wound, but his eyes cleared and he swung his left arm like a mace. Clad in iron, it struck Batu across the chest. He was guiding his pony with pressure from his knees and he had no reins. The high wooden saddle horns saved him and he twisted at an impossible angle. His sword had gone and he could not remember it leaving his hand. Spitting anger, he pulled a blade from a sheath on his calf and jammed it into the red mess of the prince's jaw, sawing back and forth at the blond beard that was thick and shining red.

The prince fell and a wail of horror went up from his shield-bearers and retainers. Batu raised both hands in victory, roaring long and loud at being alive and victorious. He did not know what Tsubodai was doing, or what the orlok would think. It had been Batu's decision and the prince had faced him. He had defeated a strong and powerful enemy and, for a time, he did not care if the Russians killed him. It was Batu's moment and he relished it.

At first, he did not see the ripple that spread across the Russians as the word spread. For half the army, it had happened behind them and the news of the death of the prince had to be shouted from unit to unit. Before Batu lowered his arms, some of the furthest nobles had turned their mounts and begun to withdraw, taking thousands of fresh horsemen with them. Those who tried to continue the fight saw them go and shouted angrily across the battlefield, blowing horns. The prince was dead and his armies shook with the suddenness of the omen. This was not to be their day, their victory. They went from determined fighters to frightened men as they heard, backing away from Tsubodai's tumans while they waited to be rallied, to have someone else take command.

It did not happen. Tsubodai sent minghaans racing along the flanks, the wiry ponies spattering clots of earth like rain as they went. Arrows poured into the Russian ranks once again and Tsubodai's heavy horse peeled off from the front and then came back in spearpoints like the one Batu had led into the heart of their army. Three separate strikes tore at the milling ranks. Even then, the defenders were half-hearted. They had seen their senior noblemen leaving and regiments and units beginning to withdraw. It was too much to ask that they stay to be slaughtered. Someone else could take the brunt of the Mongol warriors, now that their blood was up. More and more Russians marched clear, looking back at the shrinking heart where their companions still rode and died. It was enough. The prince was dead and they had done enough. Tsubodai watched calmly as the Russian army fell apart. He wondered how his own tumans would fare if he was seen to fall, but he knew the answer. They would go on. They would endure. In the tumans, the warriors hardly ever saw the orlok or even their own generals. They knew the leader of their ten, a man they had elected among themselves. They knew the officer of the hundred, perhaps even the minghaan officer by sight. Those were the ones who spoke with authority, not some distant commander. Tsubodai knew that if he fell, the nation would complete his task and promote another to lead in his stead. It was a cold business, but the alternative was to witness the destruction of an army from the death of one man.

Tsubodai sent messengers to his generals, congratulating them as they took new orders. He wondered if those who had left the field expected him to let them go. He could not always understand the foreign soldiers he encountered, though he learned everything he could. He knew that some of them might expect to return to their homes, but that was foolish. Why leave alive men who could one day face you again? That was war as a game, and Tsubodai knew it would be a long hunt, weeks or even months, before his men had killed the last of them. He did not need to teach them their foolishness, only to destroy them and move on. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly weary. He would have to face Batu, if the young man still lived. He had disobeyed his orders. Tsubodai wondered if he could have a general whipped after handing him such a victory.

Tsubodai looked around as men cheered nearby. His lips thinned in irritation as he saw Batu was at the centre of it. Half the Russian army was still in the field and his minghaans were passing around wineskins and whooping like children.

Tsubodai turned his horse and trotted slowly towards the scene. Silence fell among those he passed as they realised the orlok was among them. His bannermen unfurled long strips of silk that fluttered and snapped in the breeze.

Batu sensed or heard the approach. He had already begun to feel the battering he had taken. One eye and cheek were swelling, making his face look lopsided. He was filthy with blood, sweat and the strong smell of wet horses. Scales from his armour hung loose and he had a line of crusted red marking the skin from one ear down into his tunic. Yet he was jubilant and the sour face of Tsubodai could not spoil his mood.

'General, you are throwing away a morning,' Tsubodai said.

The men around Batu choked off their cheering. As it died away, Tsubodai continued coldly.

'Pursue the enemy, general. Let not one of them escape. Locate their baggage and camp and secure it from looting.'

Batu looked at him, suddenly quiet.

'Well, general?' Tsubodai went on. 'Will you face them again tomorrow, when you have thrown away this advantage? Will you allow them to reach the safety of Moscow or Kiev? Or will you hunt the Russians down now, with the other tumans under my command?'

The warriors around Batu turned away with sudden jerkiness, like boys caught stealing. They would not look at Tsubodai and only Batu held his gaze. Tsubodai expected some sort of retort, but he misjudged his man.

Another group of riders came cantering across the lines. The slaughter of the enemy was beginning, with lancers and archers picking them off almost as sport. Tsubodai saw that the group was led by the khan's son, Guyuk, his face fixed on Batu as he approached. He did not seem to see Tsubodai.

'Batu Bahadur!' Guyuk called, bringing his horse alongside. 'That was very fine, cousin. I saw it all. By the sky father, I thought you would never make it back, but when you reached the nobleman!' Lost for words, he clapped Batu on the back, patting him in admiration. 'I will put it in the reports to my father. What a moment it was!'

Batu glanced at Tsubodai to see how he was taking such generous praise. Guyuk noticed and turned.

'My congratulations on such a victory, Tsubodai,' Guyuk said. He was bluff and cheerful, apparently unaware of the strained moment he had interrupted. 'What a stroke! Did you see any of it? I thought I would choke when I saw the prince come forward to take him on.'

Tsubodai inclined his head in acknowledgement. 'Even so, the Russians must not be allowed to regroup. It is time to pursue, to hunt them all the way to Moscow. Your tuman will ride out as well, general.'

Guyuk shrugged. 'A hunt, then. It has been a good day.'

Oblivious, he thumped Batu on the shoulder again and rode clear with his men, bawling orders to another group to come with him. The quiet swelled as he moved away and Batu grinned as he waited. Tsubodai said nothing, and Batu nodded to himself, turning his horse and joining his minghaan officers. He left Tsubodai staring after him.