Legends Never Die: Divide and Conquer (ch. 168) (Patreon)

Lot of names get thrown out in this chapter. Here is something of a reference to make things a bit easier for you. 

Jafar Barmakid

Yahya (son)

Emir Ismail of Damascus  (Does not like Hadi because of a duel) 

Isa (Emir of Isaid)

Abd al-Aziz ibn al-Qasim (Emir of Dulafid)

Hasan (Emir of Zaydid)

Emir Divdad of Sajid (Co-head of conspiracy)

Al Muwaffak ibn al-Mutawakkil (Emir of Basra)

Ahmad ibn Malik (Emir of Attab)

Emir Asad of Egypt (Hadi’s ward)

Al-Khayzuran (Harun mom)

…

Being an Emir was an immense privilege. Less than a dozen bore the title, and even amongst his peers, his domain was vast. Powerful. And on the very far reaches of the Caliphate, so he enjoyed freedoms unknown to the other Emirs. Emir Bassam of Syria was a rich man, but his territory was comparatively small. It was also a territory tightly controlled because of its proximity to the heartlands of the Caliphate. 

When it became clear that Harun was attempting to murder Hadi with kindness and favors, Hadi found himself… tripping the fat, so to speak. With his meteoric rise from an absolute no one to one of the most powerful men in the Caliphate, he had no shortage of enemies. Some who were jealous of his rise, others hating him fiercely because he overpassed them, and a few who despised him as a matter of principle. In the first year of his rule alone, he must have survived at least a hundred assassination attempts. 

Well, it felt like a hundred. It was closer to three. 

The point being, with such a plethora of reasons for his subjects to want him dead, Hadi began to rein in his worst habits. He was a married man, so no more brothels. He had never been a particularly devout muslim, but Allah frowned upon wine for some reason; thus he would abstain. That was enough to convince Hadi that Allah hated him in particular for some reason, because there were few things more miserable than having a banquet with people who already hated you and being completely sober. 

He had gotten used to it over time. Even appreciated it. His position wasn’t entirely devoid of its amusements or advantages. He had come to care for his wife, and he liked to think she was at least a little fond of him in turn. It was also very nice that people had to tip-toe around him, instead of the other way around. 

However, there were moments like these that made him long for wine. His days of absolute obscurity. Because the moment he laid eyes on the woman in his tent, he could already tell he was going to loath the conversation that followed. 

“You claim to be here on behalf of Al-Khayzuran,” Hadi began, eyeing the woman warily as he moved to his desk. A knife was in a secret compartment, which he was ready to grab while he sat down. “What proof do you have of this claim?”

The woman seemed pleased by his caution, watching him from behind her veil, “Lazy. Content. Cynical. These were the words my master passed to me to convince you of my identity.”

There were few people that Hadi genuinely feared. Siegfried was one of them, even if that fear had faded as they were nominally allies. Another was Al-Khayzuran, Harun’s mother. He met her the first time as a humble Shiekh, fresh from their defeat at Ravenfeast but victory over the Romans. It had been that meeting where she summarized him in three words. 

He had met her two times since, and she was no less terrifying with exposure. Khalid denied that she was like him, who could gaze upon something and know its innermost secrets. But never before, and never since, had he been so exposed. A well-crafted mask he wore as naturally as breathing was ripped off with ease. 

But, because of those three words, he rose as high as he did. Al-Khayzuran trusted him because she knew that Hadi didn’t even want the power he had as a Shiekh. That, in turn, had Harun dumping more and more responsibility upon him until he landed in this mess. Damn it all. Maybe he should just rebel. Maybe then he could get some peace and quiet. 

Hadi pushed the thought away with a sigh, “You are who you claim.” He acknowledged with a nod of his head, some of the tension easing out of him. “Does Harun still live? Is Al-Khayzuran safe?” He questioned sharply, bracing himself for the answer. “What is your name?”

“This one is named Tahleela el-Sadri, Emir Hadi al-Ghayb,” Tahleela answered with a bow. “The message is thus: Caliph Harun al-Rashid lives. His strength is recovering, but he and the Queen Mother are imprisoned inside the palace under the guise of protection. The servants and guard have been purged of loyalists. Should the battle turn against the traitor Jafar, my master believes that they will be slain outright.” 

Relief and concern warred in Hadi’s chest. Relief that Harun still lived. That his corpse wasn’t being propped up and wrung of all use before being discarded. Concern overshadowed his relief because he was in a precarious position. Hostage in his own palace. Baghdad was as much Harun’s seat of power as it was Jafar’s. He had a wealth of influence in the city -- control over the servants, the city guard, keys to the treasury, and lesser appointments at court. 

The Barmakids had no lands. No armies. However, their position of servants to the Abbasid dynasty had granted them a wealth of influence, which they used to pull off the coup. However…

“Jafar is the face of it, but who is his backing?” Jafar didn’t have the power to become Caliph. Hadi had no doubts he orchestrated the coup, but the people and the Emirs wouldn’t accept him as Caliph. The most he could hope for was to be granted an Emirate with wealth, armies, and titles, so his family would have hard power to support their soft power. 

“A collection of Emirs, one you have already bested. Emir Ismail of Damascus and Emir Divdad of Sajid are the heads of the conspiracy. Each of them has recruited their own followers, quarreling for the throne even as they usurp it.” At that, she unveiled a scroll of parchment that she presented to him. “Jafar serves as an intermediary between them, playing both sides against each other for the promise of greater rewards and to keep them from descending into pure chaos.”

On the scroll was a list of his enemies. 

Emir Isa of Isaid and Emir Abd al-Aziz ibn al-Qasim of Dulafid supported Emir Ismail. 

On the other side of the conspiracy were Emir Al Muwaffak ibn al-Mutawakkil of Basra and Emir Ahmad ibn Malik of Attab, who supported Emir Divdad. 

Meaning that of the eleven Emirs, six of them were attempting to usurp the Caliphate. He and his former ward, Asad, were loyal. The remaining three were waiting to see which way the wind blew before committing. It was a less than ideal situation. It would also seem that the Emirs were not fond of Harun’s efforts to curtail their powers and influence. 

If there had to be a piece of good news, then it was that most of his enemies were divided and far removed from each other. Emir Isa of Isaid controlled the territory around Mecca. While Mecca was important, the lands around it were not. Harsh, sparsely populated, with a desert between Hadi and whatever army Isa could muster. 

On the other hand, the half of the conspiracy that supported Divdad was far more localized around the Arabian Peninsula. That would be a problem. While not all Emirates were created equal, there was no such thing as a weak Emir. They could summon thousands of men to their banners, if not tens of thousand. Hadi was an extreme outlier on how much power an Emir could traditionally command. 

Between those three, he would face an army thirty to fifty thousand strong. Perhaps more. It entirely depended on how desperate they were. Worse, since they were so tightly grouped together, he had little hope of marching fast enough before they could group up.

“Emir Ismail and his son Yusuf have been diminished with the loss here,” Hadi ventured slowly, putting together parts of ideas to create a halfway coherent plan. “That would unify them under Divdad's leadership. What is his temperament?” 

“Cold.” Tahleela answered, and that was the last thing that Hadi wanted to hear. Rash men made much better enemies. 

“The men who support him?” Hadi tried, looking for an angle that turned his plan from impossible to merely a long shot. He searched his memory. “Ahmad of Attab. I recall that he is the ambitious sort.” 

“Your memory serves you well,” Tahleela confirmed with the barest of nods. “He cares little for the truth of Caliph Harun al-Rashid's near assassination. He merely seeks to put an end to the efforts to diminish his own standing. He, and many others.” 

That was something to use. Support was conditional. There was always a first amongst equals, and there were few who chaffed more than those who looked at their peers and thought they should be the one in charge. When there was a shift in that hierarchy? Someone like Ahmad would always take a step forward to fill it. It was just a question of how he could convince the man that it was his own idea. 

“Is there any one being misled? Any who earnestly believe that I am responsible and they serve the Caliph's will?” A little much to hope for, but apparently not too much. 

Tahleela offered a deep nod, “Emir Abd al-Aziz. At least, that is our belief.” That was a relief. In that case, the plan was possible. A thoroughly terrible idea, but possible. “What is your intention, Emir Hadi al-Ghayb?” 

Hadi's fingers drummed on his desk, pulling together details and half-formed ideas into a coherent plan. “First… I shall strike Divdad directly. A forced march into the heart of his territory.” A risky maneuver, but with it, they will have lessened the leadership behind the coup. All the better, by his recollection, Abd al-Aziz and Ahmad of Attab were no friends. 

It would have to be fast, however. Before they have a chance to earnestly join forces. Even with all haste, they wouldn’t be able to stop at least one or two armies joining forces. It would require the right battlefield and a pinch of luck, but it was a battle they could win.

“And second?” Tahleela questioned, earning a small smile from Hadi. 

“I shall kidnap the Caliph.” 

…

Upon the morning, before they had a chance to earnestly celebrate the victory, his army began its long march into the heartlands of the Caliphate. A small arms of scouts road ahead of them, ensuring that they didn't march into an ambush, but also to keep an eye on the new shifting lines amongst the rebelling Emirs. 

With Yusuf's defeat, Emir Ismail was diminished. His support wavering. Emir Isa was a desert away, and Hadi already sent missives to Egypt to rally up some troops. They wouldn't be used in the conflict, not unless something went well and terribly wrong. Beyond how horribly wrong everything already was, of course. They were just another factor for his enemies to consider as Egypt was perhaps the second most powerful Emirate. 

While he didn't have access to his spy network, Al-Khayzuran had her own that she opened up to him. Word of his victory spread a bit faster than Hadi would have preferred. All of the lords, nobility both high and low, had kept a close eye on the battle so word spread like wildfire. He made a concentrated effort to disperse the truth with false rumors -- that his victory had been far more narrow, that his losses were grievous. How effective it was, there was no way to tell. 

In the end, he saw the cracks he hoped to see. Emir Ismail was pushing against Divdad while Ahmad of Attab attempted to usurp his place in the alliance. Hasan flirted with supporting Ahmad, while Abd al-Aziz remained steadfast. Where it really counted was the fact that support was being frozen for Divdad. 

If they joined forces in earnest, they could boast an army many thousands strong. Perhaps a hundred thousand strong if they threw caution to the wind. As it was, as Hadi tore through the heartlands, purchasing supplies rather than carrying them to avoid any extra weight to slow them down. Well, he said purchasing but it was mostly looting with a promise of repayment that he was going to foist on Harun. 

An army that could have been a hundred thousand strong was instead divided. Split up by political machinations and distance. Something Hadi took full advantage of more than a week later, his arsenal covered in saddle sores, but they were in position. 

“Hadi…” Khalid began, once they arrived on their chosen battlefield. Or, rather, the battlefields. 

“I know," Hadi replied, already knowing what Khalid was going to say. No need for special powers for that. “Believe me. I know.” 

At his back were twelve thousand men. Another twelve were elsewhere, marching on Khalid's command. The remaining ten thousand? They were marching towards Baghdad underneath a commander Hadi trusted enough to hold the siege, but not enough to win the three pivotal battles that were coming. 

It was a risk to spread his forces. A substantial one. It was, however, necessary. 

Abd al-Aziz and his eight thousand men were rushing to Baghdad instead of reinforcing Divdad.  Al Muwaffak ibn al-Mutawakkil marched to join Divdad with fifteen thousand additional men, which wouldn’t be arriving due to Khalid marching to battle him. Meanwhile, Emir Ismail- or, rather, Yusuf, joined up with Hasan. Combined, they numbered twenty thousand strong with the cavalry Yusuf had managed to salvage from the battle. 

Leaving the lone force before him to be the combined might of Divdad and Ahmad. An army that could have been as many as a hundred thousand strong was instead fifteen thousand. Ten thousand levied from Divdad’s holdings, with the remaining five thousand commanded by Ahmad. 

“You are needed elsewhere, Khalid. Have a little faith. I only pick fights that I know I’ll win.” He was a coward like that. Because, despite being outnumbered by three thousand men, he wasn’t truly outnumbered. It could even be argued that he had the advantage. “But only if you win your battle.”

The pieces on the board were divided but not so much that they couldn’t unify. When their enemies learned that he divided their forces, they were going to pounce on the isolated armies. Yusuf would be eager to avenge his loss, but he might not be in control over the army. He remained afar for now, but only because his rivals were battling his enemies. 

“Be careful, Hadi,” Khalid said after a moment, gazing off in the direction of the Divdad army. They were not yet in sight, but he knew their composition. Ten thousand infantry. Three thousand archers. Two thousand cavalry, one part heavy, two parts light. “The path we walk is a narrow one.”

Hadi inclined his head to his trusted right hand before they went their separate ways. 

His twelve thousand men marched onward to a battlefield that wasn’t of their choosing, as it was a vast flatland with not so much as a hill to be found, or a river. It was within Hadi’s expectations when they arrived. His men marched out according to his orders. 

Eight thousand infantry, five hundred archers, and three thousand and a half cavalry. Two thousand light skirmisher cavalry and a thousand five hundred heavy cavalry. Which he, rather unfortunately, would be at the head of. A messenger was sent out when both armies took to the field, but Divdad apparently wasn’t feeling too talkative given he merely shot an arrow at Hadi’s messenger. 

It mattered little, even if it would have been nice to rile up the peer commanders. Inflame tension and work a divide between them. A divide that was already there as when the enemy army arranged itself in its battle lines, it was quite clear who commanded which part. Ahmad’s control was concentrated on a single wing.

Lies were a useful thing on the battlefield. Misdirection was better. Things didn’t need to be true for others to believe them to be. And sometimes, a lie could become the truth if given the opportunity. 

Hadi had no doubt in his mind that Divdad, wherever the man was amongst the army, noticed how Hadi arranged his. A concentration of skirmisher cavalry on the right flank. Where Ahmad was. The anemic norsemen guarding Hadi’s own flank, while the majority of his infantry was concentrated on the center and left wings. 

An odd arrangement, to be sure, given that Divdad’s right wing had the largest amount of infantry in it. A suspicion would be planted in his mind. An opportunity in Ahmad’s. 

With a call to arms, Hadi first sent forth his skirmishers. There was dust in the air, but nothing compared to what had been kicked up during his battle with Yusuf. They charged forth, unleashing arrows and javelins into the right wing. And they were answered in turn by a volley of arrows. Some fell, but more wheeled around for another pass. 

The sheer volume of his skirmisher cavalry undercut Divdad’s own archers, forcing them to shoot from the back ranks of the army. Where they were less effective by half. Yet, Divdad did not dare to unleash his own skirmishers. Not when the same flank they sat on was mirrored by Hadi’s heavy cavalry. 

Instead, he made the natural course of action. He had the advantage in numbers. It would be better to use them. 

A distant horn blew and Divdad’s army began to march across the field. They weren’t professional troops, but Divdad’s domain now bordered the Khazars after their mad Roman gold-fueled dash towards their northern border, so they were drilled better than the average levy. An equal to Hadi’s own force. Better, even. 

But it was in that action the cracks began to show. Hadi’s skirmishers delayed Ahmad’s advance, making it lag behind the entire army as his horsemen darted in and out, harassing the flank with a single-minded commitment. It wasn’t an effective use of his skirmishers. They would be better used along the entire army, weakening the men’s resolve. After all, seeing a friend with an arrow in the eye put quite a damper one’s spirits. It was ideal for what he had in mind. 

The divide widened, both physically and metaphorically. 

Ahmad felt singled out. Like he was being left behind, sacrificed to arrows and javelins for the sake of convenience. Ahmad likely thought that Divdad was doing the exact same thing that Hadi had done to the Norse mercenaries. 

Divdad, however, suspected betrayal. With Ahmad’s forces tied up, he was facing a far more even fight than he wanted. Worse, he was doing it by attacking Hadi’s position in the field. By all accounts, it looked like a farce. That Hadi had deliberately weakened his left wing, knowing that Ahmad would not reach it. 

How openly Ahmad confessed his ambitions was anyone's guess, but if Divdad wasn’t a fool, then he would have at least some kind of inkling. A spark of suspicion that was catching fire after being fed kindling to nurture his doubts. 

Hadi had his archers step forward, unleashing a volley into the mass of approaching men. He didn’t have many of them, giving most to Khalid for his own battle. Some men fell, but most didn’t and simply marched onward. At least until a point. 

The gap between the right and the center widened, driving things to a tipping point. A point where Divdad would either have to halt his advance to secure his right, or simply abandon it to commit to the advance. 

The moment Divdad decided to commit was the moment the lie became the truth. Ahmad saw that he was being abandoned. Sacrificed upon the altar of victory. Something that he did not take with grace. Through the swarm of skirmishers, Hadi saw Ahmad pulling back. Retreating from the field, refusing to be a sacrifice for a lesser man. 

Of course, that confirmed his treachery in Divdad’s eyes. A deal brokered before the battle, or simple opportunism. It mattered not. 

In truth, it didn’t matter. Because the moment that Ahmad retreated?

The outcome was decided.