Tatar Storm by Tibor Gergely

Author:Tibor Gergely
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tibor Gergely

CHAPTER IV.

At the first hint of daylight strange, monstrous beasts were brought, bleating and bellowing, to the river bank to drink. These were camels, with their herdsmen yelling amongst them. Every camel had buckets fastened to their backs for carrying water to the camp’s smaller animals. Barefoot children ran around, filling up the buckets and putting them on the backs of camels. It was not long before we had joined them walking back to the camp with water buckets on our shoulders. Dmitro struggled to keep the pole bearing buckets at either end balanced on his shoulders. He was hissing with pain, but despite feeling sorry for him we couldn't help, as the Tatars picked out anyone not fit to work and killed them on the spot. He strode on, doing his best to look like someone who knew where they were going. We had soon distanced ourselves from the river, away from the Hungarian camp, and walked in between the leather covered yurts of the giant pagan encampment, quickly swallowed like stones in an ocean, with Dmitro acting as our guide.

“Here” he said, keeping his voice low, as we reached the edge of the endless field of yurts. “Here is where all the equine people camp. There are so many of them they could form a regiment alone. They herd and feed the immense amount of horses. They are always camped in front of the main camp and are often put in front of the armed forces to fool the enemy into believing a much larger army approaches.”

Large numbers of the short, stocky, indefatigable Mongolian horses were feeding in the meadow near the yurts, nibbling blank-faced on crisp grass. Glazed looking prisoners wearing filthy rags making fire and cooking breakfast stood trembling with fear and the morning cold. This fear wasn't without reason, as we soon witnessed a rough-looking Mongolian in a horse skin coat stepped out of a nearby yurt, taste the food, then scream in disgust and set about the defenceless prisoners with a whip.

“You see? They are all like that. In their own country they ate nothing but rat, wolf and horse meat and here they demand of the prisoner’s food fit for kings. They take every opportunity for torture and when some poor soul can no longer walk they simply behead him. The horses receive better treatment, pushed hard during battles but cosseted in periods of rest.”

Murmuring to himself he carried on and we walked a fair distance before the grazing horses and the equine camp were behind us. Meanwhile the sun got higher and soon dried the sparkle of dew from the grass. Patches of fluffy clouds decorated the sky, but only a few puddles remained from the previous night's rain. Finally, we reached a slightly hilly area where the yurts of the main camp were pitched.

“This is where the Mongolian tumens are camping. The Khan only really trusts them, so it's their tents which surround his leaders’ yurts.”

“What are tumens?” Asked Móric.

“A Tatar tumen is a unit of ten thousand knights.

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