Chapter 61 – The Fall Of The Giant
February 24, 907 AD
Charsianon, Eastern Anatolia
"I have a bad feeling about this", grumbled Captain Tryphon of the Varangian Guard when the army of the proud Roman Empire entered the gorge, maybe sixty metres wide, attached to the mountain pass leading to the castle of Charsianon from the South. Their scouts had not returned on the prior evening and no one knew why exactly. Maybe the garrison around Charsianon got hold of them – or worse. "Lots of cover, lots of high ground. God help us if the Khazars are already here."
The High Command of the Empire knew that the hordes from the other side of the Black Sea were on their way. Still Basileios Bardas, riding at Tryphon's side at the front of the 5.400 men under their command, insisted on moving quickly to secure the strategically important fortress before the rebels had the chance to send additional defenders and fortify their own positions before the steppe hordes arrived.
"How could they? It's a difficult path through the mountains from Amisous, and they cannot possibly be that fast, even on horseback. Trust me, when the Khazars arrive we will be prepared. Once we enter the valley, we will lay siege to the fortress and block all entrances."
"We can hope you are right", the experienced veteran, born as Trifon to a Slavic maid and a Norse warrior in the Ladoga area and Captain of the Varangian Guard for more than twenty years, replied without enthusiasm. "We'd better be on our guard in any case."
The Byzantine Army marched into the gorge. Three blocks of men, with the centre slightly broader and mostly composed of archers and footmen, while their cavalry kept to the flanks and pikemen covered the front and back of each segment. Soldiers from all parts of the Empire, from Athens to Trapezous and even a small levy from Sicily. The mood was tense and hardly anyone spoke a word.
Suddenly, a shout and then loud crashing noise emanated from behind. The ranks at the bottom whirled around first and saw that a large tree lay on the road. In that moment, they saw men on the other side of the ridge dropping another tree. Then the first arrows flew down towards the Byzantine army.
Please let it be the rebels, thought Tryphon, uttered a Norse imprecation and quickly shouted out orders. "We keep going forward! Shields up! Archers, give us cover fire! See that they cannot fall into our backs!" The well-trained legion quickly fell back into their usual order and kept moving toward the other end of the gorge. Yet with their own archers firing uphill, they were barely able to pose a threat to the still unknown enemies. Finally someone recognized the Ashina herald on the man in front of the typical light-armored horsemen appeared behind them. They didn't dare to come close to the spear-guarded rear end of the Byzantine army, but made more than obvious who they were dealing with.
***
"Follow them! Keep up the pressure without getting too close!", shouted Egill, full of excitement for the upcoming battle, while he and his men chased the Byzantines into the valley ahead of them.
Everything was going as expected. Had the Romans caught upon them earlier, they could have avoided the site altogether. Had the ambush in the gorge – which involved only a few hundred men - somehow failed or drawn too little attention, the larger host waiting for the Romans under Tarkhan's command would have met a much better organized opponent. The Byzantines were well trained and disciplined, and Tarkhan and Egill relied on disruption and the element of surprise to keep their positional advantage over time.
The valley that hosted Charsianon castle was a large hollow, wide enough to give the Khazar horsemen room to maneuver, but it inclined steep enough to leave only two ways out: the one they were occupying now, and one that was guarded by the castle. Through its lowest point ran a creek, not wide but rapid and freezing cold. The plan was to keep the Romans stuck here and wear them out until Khan Yilig and the others arrived with reinforcements and the full offense could start. In the past night the horde had taken position on the ledges and in the woods surrounding the narrower western boundary of the valley, from where they could harass the trapped Romans with little risk.
The Roman army poured into the valley and regrouped to face the troops in their back. Khagan Tarkhan had watched the scene from a high ledge and held his breath. The enemies were in disarray for a few seconds, convinced they had a suitable window of time before their persecutors arrived. This was the moment.
Tarkhan shouted from the top of his lungs, and his men set themselves into motion. Tarkhan himself joined the charge, and thousands of hooves echoed on the mountain ridges when a brigade of Khazar horsemen stormed into the Byzantine troops who were completely overwhelmed by this second ambush.
***
"REGROUP! Pikemen to the rear! It was all a setup!"
Captain Tryphon was desperately trying to keep the troops in order. If their ranks fell apart, this would be the end for all of them. He saw the Basileios, who seemed paralyzed in disbelief, and sent a quick prayer to God. At least his counterpart, the local Strategos Eudokimos whose very existence was threatened by the situation, kept control and made the other flank quickly align.
Two hours and several attack waves later, the situation was tolerably under control again. The lines of the Romans held their ground, and the Khazar riders were rightfully reluctant to engage the wall of shields and pikes that formed when Captain Tryphon and his equals recognized the situation. When the struggle subsided for the moment, the Byzantine command got to coordinate itself and assess the situation.
The Byzantines were still at a striking positional disadvantage, at lower ground and with the icy creek disrupting their possible retreating path. To regain the upper hand, the Byzantines would have to take over a number of hostile positions in the woods and the mountains surrounding them. It was a dangerous proposition – but there was little alternative, with both ways out of the valley easily sealed off by the enemy and the rumours of another Khazar host on its way.
March 2, 907 AD
Captain Tryphon stood in front of the Basileus who was lounging in a large, well furnished tent to the back of the army's provisional war camp. His face was stained with splatters of blood, but he didn't know anymore whose it was. The days started to blur into each other, in this endless battle for every yard under constant prodding of the Khazars. Three dozen men had his brigade lost only today, and for the other platoons the numbers didn't look much better. At least, scouts had located the main lair of the Khazar forces in the valley and determined they were about equal in numbers. This is turn meant that there was little hope to drive them off eventually.
"I have to insist that we need to apply a different plan, Your Infinite Grace. It has been almost a week, and we are taking ever more grave losses trying to break the blockade. Without any success whatsoever. And there are rumours among the men that there is a second Khazarian host on its way..."
"Well, there we have the reason why our legions cannot manage to subdue a bunch of steppe riders in the mountains. I am positive the Khazars themselves have somehow initiated this scaremongering talk. The fear in the men's hearts, not the swords and spears of the Khazarian horde, is what causes these losses. The enemy clearly looks stronger than he is – otherwise they would have tried to overrun us long ago. I expect you and Eudokimos to ensure the proper motivation, so we will beat them back and march onto the fortress by the evening."
Captain Tryphon ran his hand through his face in silence, not knowing what to do. For days he and Strategos Eudokimos had tried to convince Basileus Bardas to evacuate the armies. The only possible way out of the valley for an army of several thousand men was right past the fortress and the Roman generals knew that it would be costly to lead their armies right past the rebels' bowmen – but it was obvious by now that there was nothing to win here. And Bardas, in his deluded pride, still acted like he was invincible.
"What are you still doing here? We are getting out to the men now!" snarled the Basileus, interrupting Tryphon's thoughts and slowly getting up from his chair. "I will look immediately to get back into my armor...now what is all the noise outside about?"
Indeed there was noticeable turmoil to hear from the camp. A grim suspicion creeped up Tryphon's mind. He looked at Bardas with graveness. "Yes, we ought to get out there."
When Captain Tryphon and Basileus Bardas stepped out the tent, they immediately saw what was causing the unrest. From the direction of Charsianon castle, a seemingly endless mass of riders streamed into the valley at a quick pace and took position in broad rows.
So the stories were right...they have another army. God help us. Tryphon cursed again, then turned to the Basileus.
Bardas was frozen in shock and as pale as a corpse. "It can't be...they cannot...God is..."
Tryphon shook him and ungently pulled him along on his arm. "There is no time, Emperor. We have to get out of here. The Khazars will slaughter every last of us."
"But how?"
"I do not know yet. When the moment comes, we need to be ready."
***
"Täbär!", shouted a delighted Khan Yilig of Bulçir when he spotted his brother riding towards him. While Yilig and the troops under his command were marching towards Charsianon, Täbär was at the head of the Bulçir horde that had stayed with Tarkhan's host the whole time. "It's great to see you well."
"Oh, the Romans don't stand much of a chance to get to our higher ranks. We are not
really sure what they have been trying over the past days, but as it stands they are burning their men against our raiders without causing us much worry. Now that you are here, the Khagan's orders are to crush them entirely."
"Any specifics I should know of?", Yilig asked. Both men grinned and went on to determine the plan.
A few minutes later, Täbär Bulçir returned to his troops - and hell broke loose for the trapped Byzantines. The horde under Khagan Tarkhan that had set up the ambush in the gorge and kept its full strength back before was now storming toward them.
"CARRY ON! DON'T RELENT!" Tarkhan rode across the Byzantine lines, to avoid the Roman's pikes and prepare for the next attack wave. Crashing into them frontally would only cause unnecessary losses as long as their lines held. Around him, arrows flew and once every few yards the shielded Divine Guards could entangle their opponents in melee, creating small gaps for mounted support to get through the defense line. In the hind ranks of the Byzantines, movement was visible.
Where are Yilig, Guyug and Yeçtirek? Their men should arrive any second...
***
When the Khazars that had plagued them for the past days broke out of the woods and stormed onto them, Captain Tryphon had quickly derived an emergency plan. Now that the Khazars were off the plateau that guarded the gorge constituting the northern exit to the valley, fleeing through there would be their only chance.
"We move toward the gorge! NOW! Cover the retreat!"
Shouting further orders to his sergeants, Tryphon rushed back into what was now a rearguard battle. The Khazars were hardy warriors, but there was a reason Captain Tryphon was leading the Emperor's personal guard. He single-handedly slew three of their skirmishers and in doing so prevented them from getting behind the front line. The pikemen at the front were still constantly decreasing, and soon there would be no way to hold the Khazars back whatsoever.
When he turned around, Tryphon saw with dread that the retreat did not in the least go fast enough. There was movement, and the front lines were constantly drawing back, but now the second Khazar host was heading for them too. He witnessed Bardas' men still holding their position, as if the Basileus still was unwilling to accept the dire situation and cursed again.
"BASILEUS BARDAS! WE MOVE TOWARD THE GORGE! ALL OF US!"
The Basileus turned around in surprise, but Tryphon was already beside him. "Are you out of your mind?! I TOLD you we need to get out of here. This is our only chance. It will be a bloody ordeal any way, and every second costs lives. Now get your men moving!"
In that moment, the Khazarian horde under Khan Yilig hit the Byzantines' much less heavily defended flank. With little to slow the five thousand horsemen down, they plowed through their opponents with enormous force. Mere fractions of a second before one could reach the Basileus, Captain Tryphon pulled his lord out of harm's way and unhorsed the man with his hammer.
A freeman from Tryphon's ranks took care of the man. Tryphon turned to the Emperor again. "The lines are breaking. If there were any doubts, reconsider right now - or get familiar with the thought of a dungeon cell. Or a grave."
The retreat did not stay organized for long, and when catching upon the plan of the Byzantines, Tarkhan's men saw to man the positions along the gorge again. This and the constant attacks from behind caused horrible losses to the fleeing Romans, and in the end only 1800 men made their way through this gauntlet of arrows from above and spears from behind. The only silver lining, if one could speak of such after a bloody day like this one, was that the Basileus along with his generals made his way out safely.
March 25, 907 AD
Koralla, Trapezous
Strategos Antonios Maurikios of Opsikion, Chancellor to the Byzantine Emperor, had sweaty palms. Sure, the Khazarian envoy had promised diplomatic protection – but what was this worth in those days of chaos? And those people weren't like the Kings and Dukes he was used to deal with - or at least he was firmly convinced of that. In the steppes, raw force ruled rather than nobility and statecraft.
The Lord protect us from those barbarians was all he could think when riding towards the walls of the occupied town of Koralla.
Here he was, sent to negotiate a peace agreement with the Khagan in person. The man who had allegedly brought the desaster in Charsianon upon them. Never had the proud Roman Empire thought that the Khazarians, little more than a bunch of horse breeders to the public, would be able to beat the legions. The Khagans would be all tied up fighting one another, that's what Basileios always said.
To Antonios' surprise, the town did not look devastated when he and his envoy entered. There were reports of looting and displacement from the occupied territories, and everything was quiet on the streets of Koralla because the Horde and especially the Divine Guard exercised a firm regiment over the remaining people, but there were few signs of destruction.
They must have left their rage out on the women, Antonios thought to himself and spent the rest of the walk in silent prayer for the victims of these heretics from the steppes.
"Let him in." Khagan Tarkhan of Khazaria waved from the mayor's pompous chair to the guards at the door of the town hall where he and his men had taken residence for the peace negotiations. Beside him sat Khan Yilig, who had lead the decisive charge on the Byzantine army, and his younger brother and chancellor Menümarót who had traveled to Trapezous swiftly after the news of the enemy faltering reached Tmutarakan.
Strategos Antonios, a grey-bearded, dignified man wearing a simple but well-worked tiara, and his translator behind him entered the room. Antonios bowed, but the Khazarian lords showed no sign to get up.
"I bid you welcome,
Strategos", Tarkhan expressed in broken Greek and carried on in his own tongue, with a sardonic grin: "I reckon your
Basileus has finally come to his senses. Let us waste no time. I assume you and your men are very busy these days, with so many families to bring condolences to."
The interpreter looked insecure and hesitantly spoke in Greek to Antonios, who looked back doubtfully and seemed to ask him something. Menümarót whispered to Tarkhan: "From the bits of Greek I know, I don't think he carried on the last part properly."
"You should have brought a man of our own along", grumbled Tarkhan.
Finally, the interpreter turned back to the Khazarians. "The Strategos is thankful for your good will. He bears the mandate to fulfill the late Khagan Zachariah of Khazaria's, and in consequence your own, claim to the County of Cherson and transfer all obligations of Count Petronas to you. In turn, the Basileus asks for nothing but what is considered rightful among Kings - a truce of ten years and the return of all prisoners of war."
"Tell him to not lecture me about what is considered rightful", replied Tarkhan with cold voice. "And you better care about passing my words on correctly. You are only getting out of this city the moment I say so."
"Of course, your highness." the interpreter said hastily. With a hint of sweat on his forehead, he spoke to Strategos Antonios again. "The Strategos...apologizes for the impression."
"Then he will surely approve of the prisoners not being returned, considered rightful or not among your royalty. We have a persistent demand for slaves."
This time Strategos Antonios was visibly discontent with the answer. With anger in his voice he bellowed something, directed toward the Khazarian lords. "He says...there is little to do about it, but you shall rest assured you will regret this...outrageous behaviour."
"I'm pretty sure I've heard something about unwashed cavemen in there", added Menümarót and leaned back in his chair.
"On the contrary. I rest assured that we will not see nor hear anything from your Empire...until we meet again. You shall have your truce – no more, no less. I do not care in the least what your decadent, bloated so-called Lords think is appropriate. Was it not the Emperor you swear allegiance to who deemed it rightful to cut off the testicles of a diplomatic envoy? I wonder what this despicable creep calls barbaric if this is considered civilized."
The interpreter looked at Tarkhan in desperation. "I can't...translate all of that unless...."
The Khagan cut him off. "Oh, is there
one person in your realm who isn't a bloody coward?" He looked at his advisors, who only nodded in approval. "Tell him we keep the prisoners and Cherson. Anything else than an acceptance will have dire consequences for you, the realm and the Emperor. In stark contrast to you, we have the means to enforce these consequences."
Strategos Antonios listened to the translation. It was visible he needed to suppress his wrath about the demeanor of the Khagan, but eventually he gave a reluctant nod. Without a further word, everyone signed the peace declaration – Antonios on behalf of Basileus Bardas, Khagan Tarkhan on his own and Yilig and Menümarót for the Khazarian council.
When that was done with, Khan Yilig asked the Khagan "Will you have their balls cut off too?", half aloud and in straight face.
The translator turned pale, but Tarkhan only snickered. "No. We can sure all agree we are better than that." And toward Antonios, he added "I insist you let Bardas know."
The chancellor and his servant were lead out of Koralla unscathed. Khazaria had bested the proud Roman Empire and was now in full control of the northern Black Sea coast, while the battered Byzantines had to admit yet another defeat.
