Chapter 201: Each Harboring Their Own Designs

Beneath the walls of Kesh, a great army was already bearing down, yet the atmosphere lacked the tension of a coming storm; instead, it was shot through with a strange, uncanny air.

The Khotan army of sixteen thousand, dragging along fifty or sixty thousand tribesmen and laborers, had halted thirty li from Kesh.

They showed no sign of intending to storm the city at once, but instead set about building siege engines and gathering provisions at a leisurely pace, and even stretched great nets across the Yaxartes to catch fish.

What sort of war was this? It looked more like a spring outing from a later age.

Inside Kesh, things were stranger still. By rights, with an enemy army in the distance, they should have been stripping the fields and destroying the roads at once.

Yet the defenders of Kesh had only made a show of wrecking the nearest small pontoon bridge, while several bridges upstream were left untouched, as if simply forgotten.

The Khotan scouts who went out to reconnoiter even suspected that, had it been the season when the wheat ripened, they might well have seen field after field of standing grain.

And the Samanid Persian army camped two hundred li to the south at Juzjan was just as strange; they did not look like a relief force at all.

Far from rushing along in desperate haste, they would amble a few dozen li and then pitch a camp, advancing step by careful step without the slightest sign of alarm.

Zhang Zhao rubbed his chin. It seemed they were all thousand-year-old foxes. He had been nursing the idea of besieging the city to strike at the relief force, so he had taken his time.

Yusuf was probably afraid that the Samanid Persians would arrive before Zhang Zhao did, so not only had he left the pontoon bridges over the Yaxartes intact, he had not even moved away the boats, large or small.

And the Persians, for their part, had evidently seen through Yusuf's little scheme; the thirty thousand men coming to his aid advanced with rigid caution, as though ready to look after themselves first if things turned wrong.

Very well. Seeing how wary the Persians were, Zhang Zhao abandoned the idea of slipping downstream to strike them first. This Hakim of Juzjan under the Samanid Persians was a capable man.

"Tiance, go inform Prefect Pei and Ashina Sili to draw off another two hundred of the Youyi cavalry and probe down along the Yaxartes.

Give them all the mail shirts and ringed armor in the army. They must smash the scout riders the Samanid Persians have sent out, and first turn the Persians into blind and deaf men!"

Zhang Zhao quickly changed his strategy. Since the Persians were advancing step by careful step, keeping open the option of fighting or not fighting, he would hold nothing back and first lay siege to Kesh.

"Liu Zaisheng, take your unit as the vanguard, gather the main army, and first clear away the forts around Kesh!"

In Kesh, Yusuf's brows were tightly knit, his heart sinking. He could barely keep from cursing aloud.

Where was the Khotan army that was supposed to besiege the city? Where were the Persians who were supposed to come to the rescue through the night? If neither of you bastards comes, how am I supposed to sit on the hill and watch the tigers fight?

How awkward. The bait had been thrown out, but both tigers hung back hesitantly and would not come forward. What sort of affair was this?

"Elder brother, good news! Qadir Fort has sent a messenger begging for aid. Before dawn today a great host of Khotan troops crossed the river, and they are now surrounding Qadir Fort. It is said there are no fewer than ten thousand of them, all armored elite troops."

The one who came running in, delighted, was Yusuf's younger brother Musa. Although Yusuf considered this brother as stupid as a pig, his other brothers were stupider still, and the only one barely usable was Musa.

Had this news come a few days earlier, Yusuf would certainly have taken it for good tidings, but now it was otherwise.

For the Khotan army had come at last after all that dawdling, yet the Persians still had not arrived.

This meant that the Hakim of Juzjan, Abdur, had very likely seen through his scheme and would not easily take the bait — at least not until he, Yusuf, had suffered serious losses.

"Who is Abdur's backer in Bukhara? Does he have enemies?"

There was not the slightest trace of joy on Yusuf's face. Instead he turned and questioned Musa about the Hakim of Juzjan, Abdur. Musa rubbed his chin and pondered for a moment.

"Abdur is a man of Prince Hamid, the Grand Salar. He was able to hold Juzjan precisely because Hamid recommended him with all his might.

As for enemies, Abdur was raised up by Prince Hamid from among the slaves and has always held local posts, so he probably has no enemies to speak of.

But Prince Hamid, the Grand Vizier Balami, and the Dargah Ahmad have been at odds with one another for many years."

Salar — this was an office of the Samanid Persians, somewhat akin to the Grand General of the Tiance Office under Emperor Taizong of the Tang.

It was the supreme command of the Samanid Persian army. Apart from the Emir's guards in the forbidden city of Ark, all the armies, including the Ghulam guards, were under the Salar's command.

Prince Hamid was the second son of the present Samanid Emir, Nasr II, and had held the post of Salar for more than ten years. He was in effect the heir apparent, and his prestige within the realm was very high.

The Grand Vizier, meanwhile, was the head of the government — in effect, the chancellor.

The Dargah was the palace chamberlain, in charge of all palace affairs in the royal city, the forbidden city of Ark, somewhat akin to the chief eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial in Ming times.

Both of these posts were likewise held by trusted men of Nasr II.

This was the "separation of powers" that kept Samanid Persian power stable, and in particular preserved the authority of Nasr II.

That is, the heir apparent served as Salar, keeping military power in the hands of the dynasty's successor.

The Grand Vizier served as head of government, while palace affairs were entrusted to the Dargah, the palace chamberlain, and the guards of the royal city were controlled by the Emir himself.

It did indeed look sound. The heir apparent commanded the standing army outside, checking the power of the royal city's guards, while also ensuring that the guards obeyed the Emir himself.

The palace chamberlain checked the chancellor, thereby keeping government affairs in the Emir's own hands as well.

And the chancellor and palace chamberlain together checked the heir apparent, the Salar, who held military power.

That was how the Samanid Persians presently operated. When Prince Hamid's power grew too great, the chancellor and palace chamberlain would join forces against him, while Nasr II simultaneously strengthened the guards to prevent any mishap.

Thus, although the three men had struggled against one another for seven or eight years, none could overcome the others. If any one side grew too powerful, the other two would unite against him.

But now a small flaw may have appeared. Nasr II himself was already no longer young when he succeeded to the throne, and naturally Prince Hamid had by then essentially reached adulthood.

It was only after Nasr II had been Emir for ten years that he handed the post of Salar to Prince Hamid.

He had assumed that, being already in his fifties, living another ten years or so would be about enough.

Yet no one could have foreseen that ten years later, at sixty-three, Nasr II was still in quite robust health. This year a princess was even born to him, and it seemed there would be no problem with his holding power for another ten or twenty years.

This was troublesome, for because of Nasr II's long life, Prince Hamid had now been Salar for a full ten years.

A post that commands military power makes it easy to gather factions and win over trusted followers, and so over the course of ten years, a great host of powerful men hoping to become meritorious supporters of the future sovereign had gathered around Prince Hamid.

Nasr II had in fact had several chances to do away with Prince Hamid, but after all, this was his own son, and the prince had committed no fault, so Nasr II could not quite bear to do it. Thus he could only watch, step by step, as Prince Hamid grew ever stronger.

By now, he could only prop up the Grand Vizier Balami and the palace chamberlain Ahmad, using the two of them to oppose the ever-growing power of Prince Hamid.

On the face of it there was no great problem, but whether the Grand Vizier Balami or the palace chamberlain Ahmad, they were first and foremost human, each with his own private calculations.

Nasr II wanted to raise them up to check Prince Hamid, and they had no objection. But Nasr II was already past sixty. Any day now he might go to meet the True God.

If they could not bring down Prince Hamid before that, then on the day Nasr II went to meet the True God, their entire clans would go to meet the True God as well.

For this reason, in recent years, with the Samanid Persian capital of Bukhara at its center, amid all the outward splendor and prosperity, an extremely fierce political struggle had broken out.

With every "exchange of blows," great numbers of high officials and nobles fell from power, and the methods of both sides grew ever more ruthless, until even Nasr II could no longer keep it under control.

"Musa, set out at once. Take all the treasures in the city and go to Bukhara to see the Grand Vizier Balami.

You must make sure to pass on to the Grand Vizier Balami the news that we are willing to go to Bukhara to pay court, and that Abdur, the Hakim of Juzjan, is holding his troops back and refusing to move!"

A flash of ruthlessness crossed Yusuf's eyes, and then he looked toward his younger brother Musa.

"That old man Abdur wants to see us and the Khotan people tear each other apart. We can't let him have his way — otherwise, you and I, brothers, will surely die in the dungeons of Bukhara."

"Fine! I'll go make preparations and set out early tomorrow morning." Musa nodded in agreement. Strategy and military affairs were beyond him, but when it came to scheming and intrigue, he was quite skilled.

Watching his younger brother Musa leave, Yusuf let out a long breath, his mind in complete turmoil.

Why had this Khotan army come so quickly? If only they had come a year or half a year later, he could have trained up officers loyal to himself. It wouldn't be like now, where he could only gamble on a desperate risk.

The night was deep. The Samanid Persian army, traveling in black-and-white Persian and Arab-style robes, had already finished building their military camp.

The vast host of thirty thousand troops and more than ten thousand laborers stretched out in a long serpentine line along the Jaxartes River. The low murmur of voices and the glow of the camp lights seemed to bring the entire Jaxartes to life.

Abdur was forty-seven years old this year. He was of medium build but extremely sturdy, and though past middle age, he showed no sign of putting on weight.

His brown skin and brown hair showed that he was not a pure Persian, but carried a great deal of Turkic blood.

Hakim was also an office of Samanid Persia — in effect a governor, but with smaller authority and jurisdiction than a true governor, such as Ali Durlaf, the governor of the Tashkent region whom Zhang Zhao had captured and killed. Perhaps one could call this post a minor governor.

As an officer who had risen from among slaves, Abdur was highly self-disciplined, because he knew that a man like himself, if he lost his military ability, would quickly be cast aside by the court at Bukhara.

Moreover, competition in this line was fierce, because with the glory and prosperity of Samanid Persia at its height, large numbers of Persian nobles were unwilling to go endure hardship on the frontiers. They preferred to wallow in luxury and dissipation in the great cities of Bukhara, Samarkand, and the like.

This had led to the middle and lower officer ranks being filled in large numbers by converts from the various Turkic peoples. There were only so many positions, and Turkic slaves were as numerous as the gazelles on the steppe — competition was naturally fierce.

"Father, our scouting range has been compressed to less than twenty li. We can now only keep the two banks of the Jaxartes from being infiltrated and controlled.

Those Khotan scouts are very hard to deal with. Whether in armor or weapons, theirs are better than ours. Apart from warhorses, we can't gain any advantage over them."

Seeing that there was still blood on his son's armor, Abdur hurriedly ordered a guard to fetch a basin of water so he could wash up.

"The Khotan people... in my impression, they are better at fighting in infantry formations, much like the vanished Taohuashi Empire.

Since when have these people had such elite cavalry scouts? To dare send them more than a hundred li out to harass us — the Khotan commander is very confident in his soldiers!"

Abdur looked at his son, who had removed his armor and was washing, and sighed. "Alptegin, don't you think these people might have some connection to the Juer Khan reported from the direction of Tashkent?"

"Juer Khan?" Alptegin, who was cleaning himself, was taken aback. "The glorious Khan of Khans! Could it be that a new great khan has risen on the steppe?

Father, tomorrow evening I will personally lead our Wolf Guards out to capture a few alive. If a Khagan has truly appeared on the steppe, then our troubles will be great."

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