Much Fall of Blood: Chapter Fifteen

    Maria was standing outside on the battlements of the Castel a Terra — it was one of little Alessia’s favorite walks — when she saw Manfred and Erik come up the hill from the newly anchored galleys. They were not hard to recognize. White blonde heads such as Erik’s were rare, and so were people of Manfred’s bulk. She smiled and took the now sleepy child back to their apartments in the vast castle complex.

    She had been very sad to leave the house that she had shared with Umberto. But practicalities had dictated. The house was part of the living given to whoever was in charge of the little Arsenal. Spare houses were few in the citadel. It would have been unfair to deprive the new master sent out by Venice. Yet there were ample accommodations in both the Castel a Terra and the Castel a Mar. The governor traditionally lived in the Castel a Mar, but that had a tunnel that led into the caves in which the island’s age-old Goddess temple was hidden. Benito, she was sure, had engineered matters so that all the possible apartments in the Castel a Mar were either more inconvenient for his work and ill-suited to Alessia’s comfort, or were occupied by people whom she would have felt guilty to have him evict.

    There were some rooms available, it was true. Rooms that were on the small side, and up several flights of stairs. These rooms in the Castel a Terra, on the other hand, were so much more comfortable and had a fine view and a pleasant breeze. Benito could be very subtle when he chose. Of course, it would need a little more than mere inconvenience to take her away from the Goddess. But the living arrangements did stop her from spending quite as much time with Renate Belmondo as she would have otherwise.

    Not that the priestess was not available to her, or that she could not visit her. But it was a little more difficult, and there was always a wary look in Renate’s eyes when they met. Renate had been accustomed to huge power. It had been kindly and gently wielded, but the priestess had been accustomed to having the final word, and being deeply respected for this. Maria had to smile. Benito was not too good at respect for anyone.

    Maria could accept that Renate Belmondo had made innocent misjudgments. But, older and wiser now, she could also see that Lady Belmondo had been grooming Maria for the role that she now found herself in. Something that Benito said rang very true: Aidoneus should choose his own brides, and court them just as other men did. Too often, intrinsically unwilling brides — girls schooled into complaisance, or desperate and miserable — had taken up the half almond. That had not been good for Corfu, and it had not been good for the Goddess or her priestesses either.

    Of course, Maria thought wryly, it hadn’t been for the benefit of those ill-suited brides that Benito had wanted Aidoneus to go and choose his own girls to woo. Still, the situation had had a curious side effect: the priestess had let it be known that Maria was her chosen successor, as well as the living bride. Women came to talk to Maria now. In many cases she simply sent them on, but there were some things that she felt better qualified to help and arbitrate with. Renate Belmondo was Casa Vecchi Longi. As well-meaning as she might be, she had never known poverty or want. Most of the goddess’s worshipers on the island were peasant women. They had never known anything but poverty. Maria understood the choices they had to make better than Lady Belmondo. She’d had to make them herself, as often as not.

    As time passed, she found that word had plainly got around: more women came to consult her. And it became more and more difficult to actually manage to do her own housework. Someone would just do it for her. That was not something that she’d ever thought she’d miss. On the plus side it did mean that entertaining became very easy. She’d felt guilty about it, and the small gifts too. But she understood all too well that to refuse would hurt their pride. And when pride is almost all you have, it is very precious.

    She was very sure that Benito would bring Prince Manfred and Eric Hakkonsen to visit their apartment. Once it would have terrified her to have such elevated people in her home. Now, she looked forward to it, with some pleasure. Besides, when you came down to it, they were remarkably human. Perhaps not ordinary — well, definitely not ordinary — but still people, despite their rank.

    Benito was trying to deal with the mountain of things that had to be sorted out before he left, when someone knocked tentatively on the door to his office. Benito ground his teeth in fury. He had given very strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed. He refused to even look up from his desk.

    “Who the hell is it this time? Tell them to go away, Spiro!” he shouted to his secretary. He recognized that timid knock.

    Instead, somebody opened his door. “And there I thought you would be pleased to see us again,” said Erik.

    The carefully sorted papers and documents went flying. Benito nearly knocked his desk over and landed on his face in the process of vaulting it. Erik grinned from the bear-hug, “You’re really not suited to desk work, Benito. You nearly broke your neck there. A fine way to treat it after all the care we took looking after you during the siege.”

    Benito attempted — and failed — to throw Erik over his hip, grinning so widely that his ears were in danger.

    “You’ve gotten fat and sloppy since I’ve been away,” said Erik, also beaming. “We need to practice again.”

    “Excellent,” said Manfred from where he was blocking the doorway to Benito’s secretary’s office. “Then he can beat you up for a while. I need a break.”

    “What would you prefer?” asked Erik, cracking his knuckles. “Fingers? An arm?”

    Benito had stepped back and stood looking at the Icelander, while still holding on to his upper arms. There were lines on that handsome clean-cut face that had not been there before. But at least Erik was able to smile again, even if there was a sadness in his eyes that Benito suspected would never quite go away. Erik was back his to dry jesting, too.

    He also plainly understood the way that Benito was looking at him. “I won’t say that time heals Benito. But you get used to it.”

    Not knowing quite what to say, Benito just nodded. There was some things that went beyond saying anyway. Suddenly, only having to part from Maria for four months of each year seemed a very small price to pay for getting her back. He knew that Erik would have settled for that, or made any other bargain, to see his Svanhild again.

    “Let’s go and get ourselves a drink,” said Manfred gruffly. “Even some of that vile kakotrigi.”

    Benito laughed. “It’s not that bad. Actually, I am getting to like it.”

    Manfred looked into the office. “Want some help getting this lot into the fire? Best thing you can do with papers, honestly.”

    Behind Manfred, Benito’s secretary flapped his hands as if he were a large panicking goose, trying to take off. Erik beckoned to the man. “Pick this lot up. Sort it out. Make sure that he has any relevant bits that he has to actually read clearly marked. And if you get any wrong you can explain to me just why your life is of any further value.”

    Manfred chuckled. “When you finished sorting them out I think my uncle could use your help in Mainz. No wonder Icelanders are known to be such prudent traders. It’s the way they keep records. Now let us go and find some wine. We’ve got quite a lot to tell you. And you might as well enjoy your kakotrigi now because I have a feeling that you are going to be joining the Venetian fleet shortly.”

    Benito gaped at him. “How in heaven’ s name did you know that?”

    Manfred nodded to Erik. “See? It seems that Eneko Lopez got a message through after all.”

    Erik scowled at Benito. “You had to say that, didn’t you? Now he’ll think he’s an expert at manipulating the likes of Eneko Lopez.”

    Benito snorted with laughter. “There are some people that it just doesn’t pay to try and fool. And he is one of them.”

    “Now you’re making his head even bigger. Let us go and find this wine. I dare say you have some in your quarters. It’s more likely to be private than a dockside tavern.”

    “Besides, I’ll get to make eyes at that pretty wife of his,” said Manfred with a grin. “I like to live dangerously.”

    “And she is the dangerous one,” said Erik.

    “I knew that,” said Manfred. He punched Benito on the shoulder, in what he probably thought was a gentle manner. “You didn’t think I was afraid of the hero of Corfu?”

    “It’s my wine, and my wife,” said Benito, rubbing his shoulder, and leading them off. Privately, he found it heartwarming that they thought of Maria as his wife. That was more than the church was prepared to do.

    “How did you know that they were coming?” asked Benito, looking at the wine goblets and the platter of pickled squid, olives and wedges of frittata.

    “Who cares?” Manfred cheerfully ambled forward and bowed to his hostess, gesturing at the food and bottles. “You should be grateful, you dog. It matters not if she consulted the entrails of a seagull, or received a divine visitation. She has provided wine and food. And, as usual, I’m starving.”

    Erik came forward too and bowed and kissed her hand. Maria blushed slightly. It was a far cry from the canals where a friend would have given her a hug, and kissed her on both cheeks. She knew just what he had been through, and decided that it was time he learned some canal manners. She stepped forward and hugged him. He hesitated a moment and then hugged her back. “Gently,” she gasped. “I’m not a bear that you have to squeeze to death, Sir.”

    It was his turn to blush. Manfred pushed him aside. “I should have gotten Francesca to give you lessons. This is how you do it.” He enclosed Maria in an embrace only fractionally less bear-like, but also with a kiss on each cheek. “Better?” he said cheerfully. “Mind you, he’s a braver man than I am, is Erik. I was more wary about hugging young Benito’s wife. At his age men are very possessive.”

    “Well,” said Benito, “I would be jealous except that Erik told me that you were starting to become senile and not really responsible for your own actions anymore.”

    Maria laughed. “Don’t worry, Benito. If they become too familiar, I will make them hold Alessia. I have found that she controls most men better than I ever will.”

    “And how is the young charmer?” asked Manfred, looking at the rocking crib.

    “She likes to be moving when she goes to sleep,” explained Benito.

    “Like her father, she has restless bones,” said Maria. “She sleeps best if she is very tired and we are traveling.”

    “Of course it could just be that she likes the rocking motion,” said Benito, “but that does not allow it to be all my fault.” He grinned and assumed a posture of deep dignity. “We fathers have our responsibilities.”

    “We have a few of those too,” said Manfred. “Currently, in the shape of a group of Mongols from the Ilkhan that we are supposed to do something useful with. We’re hoping to put them on a ship heading for the Black Sea. We thought you’d be the best person to deliver them.”

    Benito blinked. “What?”

    They explained.

    “So,” said Manfred, “we are relying on you to get these Mongols to the lands of the Golden Horde. Hopefully, that will stop Erik muttering incomprehensibilities at our rather useless horseboy.”

    “What?” said Benito again.

    “I was trying to learn some of the Mongol tongue,” explained Erik. “The horseboy is supposed to be teaching me. In exchange, he avoids doing any work. He’s better at that than at teaching, I’m afraid.”

    “Ah!” Benito rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “I think I may be able to deliver your Mongol emissary, and possibly without mobilizing a fleet and subduing Constantinople.”

    “Don’t tell me,” said Manfred, grinning. “You have a new plan which avoids ships entirely. You’re going to disguise us as Magyar and persuade Emeric of Hungary to send us there with a personal escort.”

    “Well,” said Benito, “That’s not a bad idea, but not quite the one I had in mind.”

    “No doubt something worse. Why do we always fall in with these lunatics, Erik?” asked Manfred plaintively, helping himself to more wine. “I mean, he’s better than that mad bastard up in Telemark. The Turk would have attached all of us by leashes to the feet of well-trained eagles and flown us across. Screaming, because that’s what we did mostly when involved with his clever ’solutions’. I suppose we should be grateful. With Benito, at least we just end up as nervous wrecks, shaking a lot.”

    Benito had heard about their misadventures with a certain Jarl Cair in Telemark. They sounded a little too magical to him, and far too involved in matters he understood less well than warfare or thievery. Cair was a problem he’d rather not face, by the bits that Erik had left unsaid. Fortunately, he wasn’t likely to be his problem. Telemark was a long way from Corfu or Venice. “While it does involve crossing the land of the white eagles, I hadn’t yet decided to attach you to any of them. I cannot say that it isn’t tempting though, as an idea.”

    “And where are you going to find enough eagles to carry something that size, especially in armor?” asked Erik, jabbing a thumb at Manfred.

    “He means Illyria,” said Maria. “The land of the white eagles.”

    “I see he hasn’t gotten any less crazy since we met him,” said Erik. “It would probably be easier to disguise us as Magyar. From what I’ve heard, it would take a fairly large land army to fight its way across the Balkans. And the terrain is hell. Straight up-and-down, apparently. Rough on anything except the locals. Bad for a big slow-moving field army.”

    Benito smiled. “There used to be a road, a Roman road across. As it happens I have been in… ah, negotiations with Iskander Beg. The Lord of the Mountains, as they call him.”

    “What he means is that he went and did more crazy things, and got himself accepted into one of their tribes,” said Maria tartly. “I was very angry with him, and he’s been trying to persuade me ever since that there are great advantages to us being close friends with our ancient enemy.”

    “Well, there are some advantages, if they have stopped trying to kill you,” said Erik.

    Benito laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far. Illyrian ideas of hospitality are enough to kill most people. But I do think it would be possible to have them take your party of Mongols off your hands and escort them across the mountains. That would solve one of the tactical issues that’s really been bothering me. Forcing our way through the Bosphorus is going to be tricky enough. If we find that the Byzantines have been reinforced while we’re in the Black Sea, things could become very awkward indeed — especially if we’ve suffered losses.”

    “Planning your campaign already?” asked Erik.

    “He’s collecting maps,” said Maria. “Some of them smell.”

    “And none of them are too accurate,” said Benito grumpily. “Or at least no two of them seem to agree with each other exactly. I’m hoping that they’ll have better quality maps and more information in Venice. There has to have been more to this than one message from the Ilkhan.”

    Manfred nodded. “I think you’ll find that is true. Petro Dorma and the Council of Ten maintain a pretty effective and widespread network of spies and assassins. So does the Holy Roman Empire. You know it often only takes one keystone piece of information to make it all fit together. From what you say, they’ve been conferring. It may even be that this confirms information that hasn’t come back. Jagiellon uses some means which are denied to the rest of us to maintaining his security. And working in his territories is a high-risk profession.”

    “Petro is not exactly a rash individual,” said Erik. “I think you can guarantee that he knows more than just the information we sent from the Ilkhan.”

    “I hope so,” said Benito. “What we have now is not much to plan a campaign upon.”

    “Why don’t you come down and discuss them with Falkenberg and Von Gherens? You wouldn’t find much better advice,” said Manfred. “Just so long as you bring the wine with you. They’re too expensive for me to provide for at the dockside tavern. For men of God, the Knights drink far too much.”

    “I’ve noticed that you only complain now that you’re paying,” said Erik. “And they drink far less than you do. We also need to discuss the possibility of sending Mongols across the Balkan mountains with the tarkhan himself. He’s not the easiest of men to read or get along with.”

    Manfred grunted an agreement. “The Mongols keep to themselves. A couple of the warriors speak a little Frankish. So does the tarkhan. But he doesn’t talk to anyone.”

    “I suppose keeping himself to himself is part of what an envoy has to do,” said Erik.

    “Huh,” said Manfred. “Old Eberhart can and will talk to anyone, usually at such length that they will pay him to go away. And my uncle says that he is one of the most effective diplomatic envoys in the Empire.”

    “Still, talkative or not, we could use the Mongols not coming south.” Benito paused. “Actually,” he said thoughtfully, “what we really want is information from the Black Sea. Or better still… An alliance with the Golden Horde and we would have successfully isolated Alexis and flanked Emeric, and threatened Jagiellon. By a stroke of diplomacy we would have won more than the Knights of the Holy Trinity have in the last fifty years.”

    “Remind me not to get you to explain that to Falkenberg,” said Manfred, laughing. “Still, the idea is not without some temptation. I wonder if we can send old Eberhart with the Ilkhan’s Mongols to the Golden Horde?”

    “He is not that bad,” said Erik. “A bit prosy, that’s all. But he has served you very well on occasions. Bought us a lot of time.”

    “He’s good at that,” granted Manfred. “I’m still in favor of sending him to treat with the Golden Horde, though. It’s as good an opportunity as the Empire has had to make contact with them. As usual, Benito makes a good point.”

    “It wouldn’t work,” said Erik. “They are very hierarchy conscious. Well, in a way. They believe any Mongol is the social equivalent of a noble among other people. They would only treat prince to prince. That’s always made finding ambassadors very hard. Eberhart was telling me about it. Actually, he was telling both of us about it, but you were asleep.”

    “The Empire has at least half a dozen impoverished principalities in it,” said Manfred. “A fair number of princes should be willing to take on lucrative and non-energetic employment, I would have thought.”

    “Eberhart commented on that also,” said Erik dryly. “It’s true enough that there is no shortage of princes. However, can you think of any one of them that you would trust to buy a horse for you without them coming home with a three-legged donkey? That is, assuming that they didn’t drink away the money before they even got to the horse fair. Most of them are not impoverished for no reason.”

    Manfred grinned. “Prince Heinrich of Swabia. The perfect choice. He could be guaranteed to come home from the horse fair with a fine pair of dead ducks and a price on his head. As a diplomatic envoy, he would make a very fine hat stand.”

    “Curiously, the very example that Eberhart mentioned,” said Erik.

    “I do see the point,” admitted Manfred. “Still, in terms of value to the Empire, and the fact that the Mongols have a very strict code of honor about the treatment of diplomats, you’d think my uncle could have found someone.”

    Erik shrugged. “The problem is also one of finding the right opportunity to talk actual business. According to Eberhart, they’re experts at talking for a very long time and not saying anything.”

    “If he thinks that they’re good at that, then heaven help any ordinary prince,” said Manfred. “So will you see what you can do about our Mongols for us?”

    Benito nodded. “It might be best if I went in person,” he said nonchalantly.

    “Not all the way to the Black Sea!” Maria said sternly. “Petro Dorma himself has sent orders for you to go to Venice.”

    Benito pulled a wry face. “True enough. On the other hand, we could get such a lot out of somebody from our side going along to have a good look. It’s mostly going to be sea battles, this campaign. Except of course for Constantinople. I’ve a mind to use stealth there, if at all possible.”

    “It shouldn’t be,” said Erik.

    Manfred took a deep pull at his wine glass. “We’re talking about Emperor Alexis here,” he said. “Anybody else would take preemptive measures. Among other things, Alexis believes that he’s a military genius. He’s also still deeply in debt, and likely to stay there. It might be easier just to buy our passage to and fro.”

    Benito shook his head. “Not if we are in a bidding war with Jagiellon. Then Alexis could afford to trade the two of us off against each other. By reputation, Alexis does not stay bought.”

    “So Eberhart said,” said Erik. “You really have to give up sleeping when he talks, Manfred.”

    “I think I was half awake for that part,” said Manfred. “So tell me, Benito, are there any delightful young ladies with acrobatic skills you’d like to introduce me to here?”

    “There had better not be,” said Maria.

    Benito laughed. “I’ve gotten respectable these days.” He paused briefly. “From this I gather that Francesca went through with her plans to go to Alexandria?”

    “Unfortunately,” said Erik. “I thought that I had persuaded him out of that sort of behavior. It appears that I hadn’t, and that it was just Francesca’s influence.”

    “I wouldn’t have called it influence, myself.” Manfred crooked his arms’s. “More like affluence.”

    Everyone laughed, Erik while blushing. Benito found that quite funny. After all, Svanhild had been even more ‘affluent’ than Francesca. “I am sure,” he said, “that all the ladies of our beautiful isle, some of whom may easily be both acrobatic and even possibly well endowed, will be delighted to make your acquaintance… without Francesca.”

    “Quite a few of them were interested even when she was around,” said Maria, with a secretive little smile. “They are going to be a bit more aggressive about it this time, I think.”

    Erik groaned. “I hope we can get these Mongols heading off across Illyria as soon as possible. Then I can get him back on the ship and out to sea where the worst I have to worry about is predatory mermaids.”

    Benito drained his glass and stood up. “Drink up,” he said. “Let’s go down to the ship and meet your Mongol envoy. As acting governor, it falls within the realms of my duty to offer him and the Knights of the Holy Trinity the hospitality of the citadel.”

    “Excellent.” Manfred rubbed his hands. “That means they’ll be accommodated and drinking at your expense.”

    Erik laughed. “You know, I don’t think the Godar Hohenstauffen realized just what a great thing he was doing for Manfred’s education when he insisted to the abbot of the order that Manfred should be suitably accompanied — and then gave Manfred a fixed budget.”

    “And gave me a minder,” said Manfred sourly, “to make sure that I didn’t settle accounts in the traditional knightly fashion.”

    They went down to where the knights were disembarking their mounts off the vessels, and giving the animals some much-needed exercise. Benito was cheered by the enthusiastic greeting he got from the Knights. He was also soon being overwhelmed with advice on how to capture a vast wealthy city.

    “The biggest weakness of the Byzantine Empire is that it is heavily dependent on mercenaries. Buying the emperor Alexis is an expensive waste of time,” said Von Gherens. “Buy his army out from under him.”

    That was an idea that had not even occurred to Benito. Of course, some of the emperor’s troops would be torn from levies from within the eastern Roman empire. Very possibly, he would have a mercenary but intensely loyal personal guard. Petro would know all of these details, but it was an avenue that was still worth following up.

    The discussion centered on the weaknesses and strengths of Constantinople and the Bosphorus and Dardanelles. Siegecraft was something the Knights were expert in, and, as they had taken to Benito during the siege of Corfu, they were all to willing to teach him as much about it as they could. A number of them had been to Constantinople and had looked on it with very professional eyes.

    Eventually, Benito was able to make his escape and be introduced to the tarkhan Borshar. The man was reclining on some satin cushions under a makeshift awning on the deck, while one of his servitors fanned him. Several of the Mongols lounged about. The air was full of the scent of some form of burning herbage. Perhaps the tarkhan found the odor pleasant. To Benitoi, it smelled like a weedy field being burnt off.

    Borshar rose slowly to his feet, when one of his honor guard announced their presence. He wore his hair in the Mongol fashion — shaved except for long forelock, but that was where the similarity with the Mongol guard ended. Borshar had a bony and slightly hooked nose, a long face, and heavy eyebrows like two straight bars that sloped slightly downward towards his large ears. His eyes were deep set, brown, and, it appeared to Benito, a little out of focus.

    The tarkhan bowed, a mere inclination of the head. “Prince Manfred, how can I assist you?”

    “The boot hopefully is on the other foot, Tarkhan,” said Manfred. “Let me introduce you to his Excellency, Milor’ Benito Valdosta. He is the acting governor and military commander of this charming island. He has, we hope, a way in which you may fulfill your mission.”

    Benito bowed politely. He could see just how the man had gotten under Manfred’s skin. Still, perhaps it was just a foreign culture. The way things were done among the Mongol. “I am honored to meet you,” he said, in his best attempt at the tongue-mangle that Erik had taught him on their way down to the ship.

    This did get a reaction. It drew an incredulous smile from the Mongol warrior who had announced them, and it made the envoy’s mouth drop open for an instant. He closed it, but looked considerably more alert now. “I am afraid,” said Benito, holding up a hand to stem a flood of incomprehensibilities, “that is all of your language that I speak.”

    “Your greeting,” said the tarkhan, “is surprising. So… Why did you tell me that my mother was a tortoise?” His eyes narrowed.

    The Mongol guard seemed to find the situation utterly hilarious. He had dropped his spear and was clutching his knees, doubled up with laughter. It did not seem that the tarkhan found it quite as funny. On the other hand, neither did Erik or, right then, Benito. Several of the other Mongol had stood up, and the joke was repeated, when the Mongol guard had enough spare breath. It was apparent by the reaction of the others, that however affronted the envoy himself might be, his entourage thought it a capital joke.

    “I do apologize,” said Benito. “I was told that it meant that I was honored to meet you.” Inwardly he wondered furiously how the hell he could get out of this situation? Had he started a major diplomatic incident? Was the man going to try and kill him? Manfred was laughing as hard as the Mongols by now, and would be scant use in any defense. Erik looked ready to kill someone — which also was not what they needed right now. “It would seem that I was gravely misinformed.”

    “And your informant is going to wish that he was never born,” grated Erik.

    The tarkhan tugged his moustache. It was short, black and bristly, unlike his companions’ luxuriant affairs. Then he smiled. It did not extend to his eyes, but at least he smiled. “Perhaps we should confine ourselves to speaking in Frankish.”

    “I think so,” said Benito with relief. “Anyway, other than that… um… useful phrase, I don’t know any Mongol. It’s not a phrase that I think I will have the opportunity to use again. What I had come to say is that we have concluded an agreement with our neighbors across on the mainland. I believe we can arrange for you to travel across Illyria, to the lands of the Golden Horde. The matter must however be discussed with our contacts in Illyria. Would that however be an acceptable solution for you? You could arrive within weeks. If you wait for a sea passage, it could be many months.”

    The envoy stood impassively, not even blinking, for a few long moments. Benito decided that it would be very dangerous to gamble with this man. It was almost impossible to tell what he was thinking. Then the tarkhan said, “I will have to consider this. You will allow me time to think. You are proposing a somewhat different route and method than the one which I was instructed to follow.”

    “Certainly,” said Benito. “I will need to establish that you can be granted safe passage. That will take me a few days. We will meet again formally and officially soon, hopefully without any more such interesting incidents. In the meanwhile, can we possibly sit and have a glass of wine together? I’m sure that we have much to discuss of mutual interest to the Ilkhan Mongol and the people of Venice.” Benito gave the tarkhan the benefit of his most winning smile. “It is sometimes easier to discuss these things informally over a few glasses first and then to deal with them in the full light of protocol.”

    “I have not been given the authority to reach agreements with the Republic of Venice,” said the tarkhan disinterestedly. “And I do not drink alcohol. I will let you know what decision I reach as to the possibilities of traveling across land to the Khanate of the Golden Horde.” He waved as dismissively as any emperor, and they were left with little choice but to bow and leave.