Section 19: The Night Ambush

He picked from that famous army thirty thousand sword-wielding riders. They set out at midnight, with no drum, no horn, no clamor. When Piran, the army's commander, led on, seven leagues lay between the heroes. First they reached the herds that grazed loose across the plain of Turan. They seized many and killed many too; nothing stood before their evil fortune. Many herdsmen and shepherds were slain, and the star of the Iranians turned dark. From there they moved toward the Iranian camp, sweeping in like a black storm of dust. The Iranians were all drunk; some sat with their belts loosened. Inside his tent Giv was awake, and the commander Gudarz was alert. A roar rose and the crash of axe-blows; the fierce Giv sprang up in alarm. Before the great tent stood a horse, armored and ready on its feet. He raged at himself like a leopard; he was ashamed to waste time on foot. He came and set his foot to the horse, and shot from that place like the wind. He reached the commander's tent and saw the sky darkened by the dust of an army. He said: Rise, an army has come; dust has risen from the battlefield. From there he went to his father, an ox-headed mace gripped in his hand. He circled the camp like smoke, rousing whoever was still sober. He picked a quarrel with Bizhan: This is a field of war, not a vineyard for wine. Then he came out to the fight, and along the way a few riders hurried after him. With that small force they drew the line against an army of Turks thick as ants and locusts. Gudarz looked in every direction: army had closed in upon army. The sleepers woke in panic at the uproar; a cloud rose and rained down arrows. The drunk man's pillow soft beneath his head, with mace and club and hot sword above him. When dawn lifted its head from the House of Leo, brave Giv looked out over the army. He saw the whole plain covered with slaughtered Iranians; he saw their waking fortune overturned. Banners torn, war-drums toppled, the faces of the living dark as ebony. The commander looked and saw no champions; he found none of the army's brave men left. The whole battlefield was slain from end to end, their bodies soaked in blood. Sons left fatherless, fathers left sonless, the whole mighty army turned upside down. In helplessness they turned their faces away, abandoning pavilion and tent. No drums, no army, no baggage or gear; the whole left wing wounded, the whole right wing too. In this state the army withdrew toward Kaseh-Rud, stripped bare, unraveled thread and warp. So this swift-turning dome of heaven works: sometimes it grants joy, sometimes pain. The riders of Turan came behind Tus, hearts full of hatred, chiefs full of regret. Maces rained down as if from a cloud, upon armor and helmet and mail from behind. No one could hold firm in the fighting; the champions made a fortress of the mountain. Horses and warriors were spent; not one had sense, strength, or steadiness left. In this way the army turned back, worn out by battle and the long road. The commander went from the plain up to the mountain, freed from grief in the fight with the Turks. The Iranians were greatly diminished; a cry of anguish rose from their midst. All who survived were wounded and bound; the dead are gone, now one must weep for the wounded. No crown, no throne, no pavilion; no horse, no warriors left standing. No thriving land, no men of action, and no one to care for those wounded ones. How many fathers wept over their sons, how many hearts were scorched over the wounded. Such is the way of this world, the world that hides its own deeds from you. It plays with you behind a curtain, while outwardly it pretends it needs you not. You came from the wind, you will go with the dust; how can you know what they mean to do with you? We are long in captivity and gripped by greed; we cannot tell the plain truth from the hidden. Two thirds of the Iranians had been killed; the rest turned back from battle, wounded. The commander went mad from the fighting; his heart grew a stranger to reason. In the camp the army longed for wine, tables, and feasting in the place of war. World-experienced Gudarz, in his old age, left without son or grandson, without land or lineage. No food for the wounded, no physician; everywhere was grief and bloody tears. The world-wise ones came before him, broken-hearted, seeking a way out. He set a lookout on the mountaintop, watching toward the enemy's mass. He sent scouts out in every direction, hoping to find some cure for this pain. He ordered one of the famous Iranians to gird his waist tight. To bring the king word of all this: what ruin the army's commander had brought. What an evil day had come upon the Iranians; the chiefs' loss had surpassed all fortune's gifts. The messenger carried word to the king that those days of glory had gone dark. When the brave king heard these words, he boiled over, and his heart burned with grief. He was already full of pain over his brother, and this heaped the army's grief upon that pain. He set his tongue to cursing Tus, from dark night until the cock's crow.