Koten's son bowed his head so briefly it was almost a jerk.

'My father's oath bound us, King Bela. I am not bound by it,' he said.

'What are you talking about?' Bela demanded. 'Whatever your concern is, this is not the place or the time. Return to your position. Come to me this evening, when we have crossed the Danube. I will see you then.'

King Bela deliberately turned back to his messengers and took another sheaf of vellum to read. He jerked his head up in amazement when the young man spoke again, as if he had not just been given his orders.

'This is not our war, King Bela. That has been made clear to us. I wish you good fortune, but my task now is to shepherd my people out of the way of the Golden Horde.'

Bela's colour deepened and the veins stood out on his pale skin.

'You will return to the lines!' he roared.

Koten's son shook his head. 'Goodbye, your majesty,' he said. 'Christ bless all your many works.'

Bela took a deep breath, suddenly aware that the Cuman horsemen were all staring at him. To a man, they had their hands on swords or bows and their faces were very cold. His thoughts whirled, but they were forty thousand. If he ordered the son killed, they could very well attack his royal guards. It would be a disaster and only the Mongols would benefit. His blue eyes grew still.

'With the enemy in sight?' Bela roared. 'I call you oath-breakers! I call you cowards and heretics!' Bela shouted at Koten's son as he trotted away. Christ, why could he not remember the man's name! His words might as well have been empty air. The king could only froth and rage as the Cumans peeled off in a mass of riders after their leader. They took a path that led around the great army of Hungary and back to the encampment of their people.

'We did not need goatherders in the ranks, your majesty,' Josef Landau said, with distaste. His brother knights growled their affirmation on all sides. The Cumans were still streaming across the main lines and King Bela struggled to master his fraying temper. He forced a smile.

'You are correct, Sir Josef,' he replied. 'We are a hundred thousand strong, even without those…goatherders. But when we have triumphed, there will be a reckoning for such a betrayal.'

'I would be pleased to teach the lesson, your majesty,' Josef Landau replied, his expression unpleasant. It was matched or exceeded by Bela's own.

'Very well. Spread the word that I sent the Cumans from the field, Sir Josef. I do not want my men dwelling on their betrayal. Let them know that I chose to fight alongside only those of good Hungarian blood. That will raise their spirits. As for the nomads, you will show them the price of their betrayal. They will understand it in those terms, I am sure.' He took a deep breath to calm his anger.

'Now I am weary of standing here listening to the plaintive voices of cowards. Give the order to march.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Tsubodai watched the army of King Bela begin to swarm across the river, the bridges black with men and horses. Batu and Jebe sat their mounts and stared out with him, judging the quality of the men they would face. Their horses whickered softly to themselves, munching at the grass. On the plains, spring had come early and it showed green through the last patches of snow. The air was cold still, but the sky was pale blue and the world was bursting with new life.

'They are good enough horsemen,' Jebe said.

Batu shrugged, but Tsubodai chose to answer.

'Too many,' he said softly. 'And that river has too many bridges. Which is why we are going to make them work for it.'

Batu looked up, aware as always that the two men shared an understanding from which he was excluded. It was infuriating and clearly deliberate. He looked away, knowing they could both read his anger all too easily.

All his life he had been forced to scramble for everything he had achieved. Then the khan had dragged him up, promoting him to command a tuman in his father's name. Batu had been honoured publicly, and instead of his habitual hatred for the world, he had been forced to a new struggle, almost as painful as the first. He had to prove he was able to lead, that he had the skills and discipline men like Tsubodai took for granted. In his desire to prove himself, no one could possibly have worked harder or done more. He was young: his energy was almost infinite compared to the old men.

Batu felt torn as he looked at the orlok. One small, weak part of him would have given anything to have Tsubodai clap him on the shoulder and approve, just approve of him as a man and leader. The rest of him hated that weakness with such a passion that it spilled out, making him an angry companion for quieter souls. No doubt his father had looked up to Tsubodai once. No doubt he had trusted him.

It was part of growing-up to crush that sort of need in yourself, Batu knew very well. He would never gain Tsubodai's trust. He would never have his approval. Instead, Batu would rise in the nation, so that when Tsubodai was withered and toothless, he would look back and see he had misjudged the young general under his care. He would know then that he had missed the only one who could take the legacy of Genghis and make it golden.

Batu sighed to himself. He was not a fool. Even the fantasy of an old Tsubodai realising his great error was a boy's dream. If he had learned anything in manhood, it was that it didn't matter what other people thought of him – even the ones he respected. In the end, he would patch together a life, with its sorry errors and its triumphs, just as they had. He tried not to listen to the inner need that wanted them to hang on his every word. He was too young for that, even if they and he had been different men.

'Let them get about half their number across the Danube,' Tsubodai was saying to Jebe. 'They have…what? Eighty thousand?'

'More, I think. If they'd hold still, I could be certain.'

'Twice as many horsemen as we have,' Tsubodai said sourly.

'What about the ones who rode away?' Batu asked.

Tsubodai shook his head, looking irritated. He too had wondered why tens of thousands of riders would suddenly break from King Bela's army before the march. It smelled of trickery, and Tsubodai was not one who enjoyed being fooled.

'I don't know. They could be a reserve, or part of some other plan. I don't like the idea of so many soldiers out of sight as we pull back. I'll send a couple of men out to look for them, have them cross further downriver and scout around.'

'You think they are some sort of reserve?' Batu asked, pleased to be part of the conversation.

Tsubodai shrugged dismissively. 'If they don't cross the river, I don't care what they are.'

Ahead of them, King Bela's army trotted and marched across the wide stone bridges of the Danube. They came in clear units, the movements revealing much about their structure and offensive capability, which was why Tsubodai watched with such interest. The different groups linked immediately on the other side, establishing a safe bridgehead in case of attack. Tsubodai shook his head slightly at seeing their formations. King Bela had almost three times as many trained soldiers as he did, if you didn't count the ragged conscripts Tsubodai had brought with him. For three tumans to achieve victory over such a host would take luck and skill and years of experience. The orlok smiled to himself. He had a wealth of those things. More importantly, he had spent almost a month scouting the land around Buda and Pest for the best spot to bring them to battle. It was certainly not on the banks of the Danube, a line of battle so vast and varied that he could not control it. There was only one response to overwhelming numbers: remove their ability to manoeuvre. The largest army in the world became just a few men at a time if they could be squeezed through a narrow pass or across a bridge.