Levend!

As the Yoruks ride off, they are replaced by a shambling noisome, ill-disciplined mass that doesn't so much march into view as intermittently dribble forwards.

Hospodar Casimir nods. 'So finally we have the camp followers: thieves, beggars, diseased doxies - the noxious sediment at the bottom of my army'.

'Alas, no, my lord' says General Bulbous. 'These are indeed a core component of the fighting troops of your army'. 

The wind then changes direction. Casimir chokes violently on the terrible, terrible smell.

'What on earth ...', says the hospodar in strangled tones.
'Borat levend', replies General Bulbous, his familiarity with the troops meaning that he has already stuffed some rags up his nose.

'I am confused', says Casimir. 'Their limbs are moving and yet, indisputably, they smell partially decomposed'.

'They rub themselves in the blood of woodland animals to enable them to better blend in'.

'Blend in better with what? Dead woodland animals? Is there much of a call for that?'

'I don't believe, my lord, that the Borat region has a terribly active social scene'.

The levend assemble slowly, alternately chattering and stinking.

Casimir pulls a face. 'So these fellows are even poorer than their Yoruk countrymen?'

'Indeed, sir - too poor a prospect even to attract sufficient fleas to afford a mount'.

'Stinking and impoverished - they don't sound very promising, Bulbous'.

'They are indeed worthless trash, my lord: and yet they are quite flexible on the battlefield'.
The hospodar nods. 'Bendable and expendable: that sounds a lot more promising. Well, if this is the army that I have, then I must give due considering to how - and against whom - it should be employed. Now, give me go of your palanquin, and let's head back to the palace'.