Much Fall of Blood: Chapter Twenty Seven

    Erik and the Illyrian captain stood on the wall of the little fortified village, looking down on the braided river below. “That is the edge of our territory,” said the Illyrian captain. He pointed. “Over that ridge are the lands of the Golden Horde. They will have seen us by now. They keep a watch higher up. Across that mountain, are the Bulgars. There is usually someone up there too. I feel sorry for them in winter.”

    Erik nodded. “Our thanks, Captain. It occurs to me that I’ve yet to hear your name. I would like to tell my young friend, Benito Valdosta, how carefully you have watched over us. I do realize that you have dealt with two other groups of attackers, after the first incident on that pass. If we could formally introduce ourselves? I realize that it is late, but as they say, better late than never.”

    The mustachioed captain smiled. “In some cases, knowing could make you late, Ritter Hakkonsen. Benito already knows who I am. But as we part ways here, you may as well know my name. In these mountains I am called Iskander. And now, I see your men are readying themselves to ride. We will scout as far as the river bank. It is easy to ford at this time of year.”

    He turned and left the parapet. Erik went down to join the other knights. Manfred greeted him with a wave. Then frowned, seeing Erik’s expression.

    “What’s wrong?”

    “Nothing,” said Erik. “We’ve just been hoodwinked a bit. Not that it did us any harm, I suppose. But Benito might’ve told us.”

    “I so love it when you speak in riddles,” grumbled Manfred. “I suppose I should be grateful for the mental exercise.”

    “I mean that the Illyrian captain of our escort was none other than the Lord of the Mountains himself. Iskander Beg.”

    Manfred raised his eyebrows, and whistled. “No wonder his nose was out of joint when we were attacked. Eberhart is going to be sorely disappointed that he missed the opportunity to do some more politicking.” Manfred smiled. “There is a rose in every patch of thorns. I’ll save pretending that I knew until I need to irritate him about something. Still, we’ve got a day or two, surely.”

    “No. More like until Terce bell, if they have such a thing in these mountains. The river down there is the border, and our Captain Iskander has gone out scouting.”

    “Well, whatever happens we have learned a bit about him,” said Manfred. “His logistics and staff work are far too good for some tribal chieftain lost somewhere in the middle of the mountains. My uncle would love to employ him.”

    Erik nodded. “True, although that’s hardly a good thing for us to tell the overlord of these tribes. The Illyrians might be as poor as Shetlanders, but they are just as proud of their independence.”

    “I suppose so. Francesca tried to teach me the fine art of tact and sensibility, but I mostly failed at it.” Manfred mounted up, grinning. “Fortunately, from my experience, it is something that translators do for you. So how ready are you with the Mongol tongue?”

    “Far from ready to act as an official interpreter,” said Erik, tightening a cinch before mounting up. “My understanding is getting much better. But as for the speaking, I really think that I need a better teacher.”

    “But then our horse boy would have no practice in getting faster reflexes.”

    Erik jibbed his horse forward, “Knights!” He raised his voice to address all of them. “We are now on the borderline between Illyria and the lands of the Golden Horde. Our Illyrian escort will leave us at the river. From there, until we meet the Golden Horde, we will be taking full escort duty. Falkenberg, you will organize the prince’s personal guard. Von Gherens, you will take the van. Proctor Kalb will take the rearguard. Knights Von Diderik, Kirsten, Von Taub and Wellmans, Hunsen, Dader, pair off. You will be scouting ahead. Kari, you are with me.”

    He and Kari would be even further ahead, riding point.

    Two of the Mongols, the rotund Tulkun and his sharp-eyed friend Matu, came up with their ponies. “We riding, scout. Meet Horde.” He held a bunch of sky blue pennants in one arm and waved them about. “Put on, how you say, spear. Truce. Mother sun, father sky.”

    That would certainly ease any confusion arising from seeing a large party of foreign armored horsemen moving into their territory.

    David had learned a fair amount since the incident on the pass. One of the things he’d learned was to look out for signs that the knights were expecting trouble. Even with the new sky blue pennants affixed to their lances, there was a sense of heightened awareness in the column. He, along with the baggage train, rode near the back, behind Manfred and his escort. By now he’d worked out that it was no use just wishing that he was riding even further back, preferably on the way to Jerusalem. He looked and listened hard. There was entirely too much silence in these places. He was sure that any enemy could hear the passage of the knights from a good half a league away. In a nice crowded noisy city there were other noises to hide behind.

    He’d never realized just how much he appreciated Jerusalem’s Mongol overlords, until they were no longer around.

    The country was more rugged here, along the borderland with the Bulgars. Bortai knew that was a blessing more than a curse. The terrain had provided the cover that had let them avoid an arban that had plainly been out looking for someone. Now she prayed to the spirits of the land, to the tengeri, to the eternal blue sky, that they would not have to break cover to get over the next ridge. And they had to get over it and soon. She’d been scouting and spotted two arban of search parties. One to the west and the other to further east. The only way out was over the ridge.

    Otherwise — had the pursuit not been getting closer — she would have been terribly happy. Kildai had awakened. He was confused, true. But two days ago she’d been less than sure that he would ever wake again.

    Unfortunately, there was no way they could get the cart over that ridge. And she was not at all sure how he could ride. He seemed to think that she was his mother, dead five years now, rather than his older sister.

    They had tethered the ox where it could graze reasonably well, and hidden the cart. With any luck those who were following them would lose a little time searching the area for them, not knowing that they’d moved on. Now it was a question of whether Kildai could stay in the saddle. She and Ion helped him into it. Surely, someone whose balance was that bad would fall? She thought they would probably have to tie him into the saddle.

    But instincts honed by a lifetime spent riding came to Kildai’s rescue. Even just sitting there, he’d put a foot into the far stirrup without any help from them. She had planned to ride on the same horse, in front of him. Now she wondered if he could stay in the saddle by himself.

    But it was best not to take such a chance. At least Kildai was willing to let them tie his hands together, around her waist. Ion mounted clumsily — he had hardly ever been in the saddle. Leading the other horse which was laden with such supplies as it could carry, they rode out, keeping under the trees, working their way ever upward.

    As she had feared, the last section of the slope offered no cover at all. It was just bare sheetrock with scattered tufts of grass. Looking back, she could see dust that had to be a large party of riders. There might be smaller groups trailing them also.

    They simply couldn’t afford to wait for nightfall. So she rode her mount out under the trees and onto a rough trail. As she had guessed would happen, she heard a distant yell and someone sounding a horn. She urged her horse into a canter. They’d save the galloping for later. Anyway, it was very likely that Ion would fall out of the saddle when they tried.

    Coming over the ridge, she looked back again. The dust cloud had grown considerably. They were pushing those horses. And then, she heard a sound that she would have never have thought could be so sweet. It was a bell. She’d heard them before from one of the churches of the Vlachs who lived higher up in the Carpathians. No wonder they were hunting her hard. There must be a Bulgar village close by.

    Crossing into Bulgar lands wouldn’t stop the pursuit. But it did mean that someone — besides her — might just be shooting at them. If she could find some place to hide . . .

    She wished that she knew more about the Bulgars and the border area. But her clan’s holdings were far to the north. She’d never been down here and never had much interest before. The situation was complicated, if she recalled correctly. There were several conflicting peoples in the area. Bulgars, Illyrians, Hungarians. Bortai didn’t really care. She just hoped that they would be furious with a raiding party and so busy fighting them that they wouldn’t notice three riders fleeing.

    Erik had missed his guess slightly. They were ready in the woods on the far side of the river when the terce bell rang out from the little white chapel in the village in the mountain-fold.

    The Illyrians wasted no time, and engaged in no great formalities at their border. Iskander Beg simply rode up to Manfred, Eberhart and Erik. “Our mutual friend,” he said, “has asked that you send word back, if you can, as to what is happening here. Of course he also wants to know what is happening further north.”

    He grinned through his mustache. “He never asks for too much. There will be some men and good horses waiting in the village.” He pointed to the little place they had just left. “In case you or a message want to return the same way.”

    “Our mutual friend, Benito Valdosta,” said Manfred smiling. “If you knew him as well as we do, you would know that he always asks too much — and then usually gets it. Our thanks to you, Lord of the Mountains. Benito said that you took your honor very seriously here in the mountains. I take mine seriously too, and I realize that you have paid us a rare honor. The Holy Roman Empire is in your debt.”

    Iskander bowed his head slightly. “I hope that I will have no occasion to wish to collect,” he said, still smiling. “I hear a horn. It would seem that the Golden Horde are already aware of your presence. I think we will remove ourselves a little. Relations have not been of the best at times. I would prefer it if you met them somewhere close to the ridge. The land between it and the river is something of no man’s land. We’d like to keep it like that.”

    In close formation, once the scouts were across, the knights clattered across the braided gravel of the border river, and into the woods. There was a faint trail, but it was obvious that it was rarely used. Erik, Kari and Tulkun the rotund Mongol rode ahead.

    “Now, for heavens sake, Kari. Don’t shoot the first thing you see that moves.”

    “It’s best that way,” said Kari. “Really, Erik. It avoids so many problems later.” He was grinning as he said that, and Erik could only hope that he was joking. With Kari he never could tell. He always had at least four wheel-lock pistols secreted about his person. They were apparently not yet very common in Vinland and he had a fascination with the weapons.

    Bortai felt her little brother slumping against her, but there was no way they could stop now. They needed to get somewhere closer to those bells, or else where they stopped would be where they died. She could hear a second horn being sounded. Their pursuers must be over the ridge by now.

    The trail, faint though it was, did make travel faster. It zig-zagged down the slope between some large boulders, each the size of a couple of gers. It was a good place for an ambush, and she might have considered the possibility, had there only been three or four enemies in pursuit of them. But she would guess by the dust that thirty or even forty was closer to the number. Only speed could help now. Fortunately, even two up, they probably weighed less than most warriors, especially this late in summer. Summer was drinking and feasting time.

    That same speed nearly had them ride into the people coming up the trail. For a moment, seeing just the scale mail and forelock of a Mongol warrior, she snatched at her bow. But then she noticed two other things. One was the man who was riding just ahead of the Mongol, in spiky, angular armor, on a truly magnificent piece of horseflesh. His visor was open. He had a chiseled face, and fine, almost white-blond hair. Obviously he was not a Mongol. In fact, he didn’t look like he belonged to any people Bortai knew.

    The other thing that really struck home was the sky blue truce flag on the lance of the Mongol. Then she saw more subtle differences. She’d never seen scale armor quite like that worn by this Mongol, and his tack was arranged slightly differently. The silver inset on his saddle was also something that she’d never seen before, as was the device on his shield.

    But she knew what it represented. She’d heard of the Bear clan. They were part of the Red Horde. The Ilkhan. Not seen in Golden Horde lands for many years. Almost a thing out of legend.

    Her frozen moment was interrupted by Ion falling off his horse.

    Erik had heard them coming. Two or three horses, ridden hard. So, by the way he had drawn two pistols, had Kari. The Vinlander refused to wear much in the way of armor. He felt it slowed him down, which Erik had to admit was probably true. There was unfortunately nowhere to get off the trail. The path passed just between two of the huge boulders, leaving a space barely wide enough for four to ride abreast. Kari sidled up to a twisted tree that grew out of a crack and waited. Erik and Tulkun took firmer grips on their weapons, Erik dropping the point of the lance with its blue pennant to just above head height. Tulkun did the same with his spear.

    They were ready for anything . . .

    Except for a very beautiful young woman, riding tandem, with a young head lolling sideways behind her.

    A woman who managed to control her horse, and to get a bow into her hand and an arrow on the string faster than Erik would have believed possible. Then it seemed as if she saw enough to dip that arrow-point, pull her pony to a halt — and still stay on it, bow in hand. It was a superb display of horsemanship as well as quick wittedness.

    Just behind her, a second rider and a third horse came to halt. This rider, in rough homespun, showed no skill at all, unless it was in the speed with which he departed from the saddle.

    In the stress of the moment Erik grasped for words. He’d never been too good at talking to girls, and in a foreign language . . .

    Too late he realized what he’d said. That first carefully memorized sentence. He fumbled for the words to apologize, while turning puce with embarrassment.

    As the man in homespun got to his feet, she started to laugh. It looked like she might just laugh herself out of the saddle too.

    The boy up behind her needed help. Behind them, Erik heard the clink and clatter of the rest of the knights. His Mongol companion started to speak. Well, to do his best, between snorts of laughter. She replied to him.

    He bowed deeply.

    “The very people we are looking for,” he said.

    Just then another group of riders came around the bend. Also Mongols. They yelled when they saw the woman, spurred their horses, and dropped their lance-tips.

    There was a sudden double boom. In the narrow defile, the sound echoed very loudly. The riders began frantically pulling their horses around. The shots in a place for an ambush might have been the cause. Or it could have been the solid mass of armor visible less than a hundred yards further back down the trail.

    Erik reflected that there was a certain inevitability about all of this. Firstly, he’d accidentally insulted this woman. Fortunately, she did not seem to take offence. Then she turned out to be from the clan that they were looking for. Then some other Mongols came around the corner intent on murder, which Kari and his too ready pistols had stopped. Now . . .

    There were more Mongols coming around the corner. And the body of the knights was coming up, the weight of their great-horses and armor gathering momentum.

    He finally got it all together. “Lady,” he said, “can I offer you shelter?”

    Since the events of the kurultai, Bortai had at least known what to expect of events. Yes, there had been a few surprises, such as Ion and the slave’s courage and bowmanship. But here, when she thought that luck had finally run out for her and Kildai, it would seem that the spirits had taken a hand — although in a way no-one could expect.

    The foreign knight telling her that her mother was a tortoise — plainly a fumbling attempt her language — had been so incongruous and funny that in spite of the desperate circumstances she could not help but laugh.

    Now he had just proposed marriage. Offered her his ger.

    There was no doubt that the tengeri had a sense of humor. An odd sense of humor.

    But it would seem that her latest suitor had a lot of knights to prevent anyone killing her or her brother first. And in close, tight quarters like this, the greater maneuverability of the Mongol horsemen counted for little.

    In a chaotic mass the Mongol turned and rode away. That was one of the actions that they were famous for. Some foolish enemies had mistaken such retreats for cowardice and panic.

    Erik was not among them. He signaled a halt, and as the charge had not yet built full momentum, the knights slowed to a walk by the time they had reached him.

    “Did you have to start a war?” demanded Manfred, who had somehow contrived to get among the van.

    “As yet, hopefully not,” said Erik. “Usually someone has to get killed for that. And I didn’t see anyone go down when Kari loosed off those pistols of his.”

    Kari shook his head regretfully. “No. They’re not as accurate as I’d like them to be. I think I may have winged the one.”

    “Then what in the name of all the saints happened?” asked Falkenberg.

    “And just what should we do now?” added Von Gherens. “Retreat on the river?”

    “I think that would be wise,” said Erik. “There were some grounds for a misunderstanding.”

    “Like Kari shooting at them,” said Manfred.

    “To be fair, he only did that because they were heading for us full tilt with their lances out,” said Erik. “It could have been nasty, otherwise. I think we’d better do a systematic retreat now while we can. They’ll send an emissary down shortly, I should think.”

    Manfred nodded. “And who’s the wench? There you are, on a barren mountainside, which I thought had a female sheep at best, and some beautiful girl comes out of the woods to find you. Why am I not this lucky?”

    “I don’t know. But Tulkun said that she is from the clan we’re looking for.”

    “I admit that makes a pleasant change,” said Manfred, turning his horse as Falkenberg gave orders. “Mostly girls just stare besottedly at you. This one at least has the common sense to laugh at you instead, even in the middle of a cavalry charge.”

    Erik blushed a dull red. “I may have greeted her incorrectly, in the stress of the moment. And her companion appears to be injured. We’d better see what help we can give.”

    Manfred raised his eyebrows. “Just what did you say to her?”

    “I think you have enough to mock me about,” said Erik severely. “Kari, you and the horse boy get on top of that rock. Everyone else is wearing armor, which doesn’t help with climbing. Fire a shot if you see any sign of them coming back down the slope. And don’t fire at them. Fire in the air, and then mount up and get down there. And come running anyway when you see us on the far side of the river.”

    He turned to the young woman with the boy on her back, whose eyes were open now but distinctly out of focus. In his rudimentary Mongol, Erik said: “If you will come with us. It looks as if the boy needs some help. We have those among us with some skill in healing.”

    She smiled at him. She had one of those smiles that ran all the way to her eyes, and dimpled her cheeks. “Thank you. You are offering your protection to him too?”

    At least that is what Erik thought she was saying. So he nodded.

    “The clan of the Hawk is glad to accept.” She was obviously stifling a gurgle of laughter.

    He wondered quite what he’d said this time.

    “Come on, Ritter Hakkonsen. Lead out!” yelled Falkenberg. As the man who had fallen off had remounted, they all rode back to the river.

    On a field which was part of the floodplain of the little river, the knights formed up into a defensive square. The river was barely a stream now, but Bortai thought it be a raging torrent in winter. The blonde foreign knight had kept pace with her and Kildai. He had dismounted easily, something that Bortai was willing to bet was actually quite hard to do in such armor, without help. He produced a knife and she knew a moment of alarm, despite him having offered clan friendship. But it was just to cut the thong that she’d used to secure Kildai’s arms around her. He lifted her little brother down.

    Another one of the knights, a man with a scarred face and an eye patch, came up, along with the man from the Ilkhan Bear clan. She noticed there were several of the Bear clan in among the large party of Knights. The tall blonde man gently set Kildai down on a blanket that the dark eyed man with his braided hair and the pistols had ridden up and handed to him.

    She dismounted too. “What is wrong with him?” asked the man from the Ilkhan.

    “His suns soul wanders the lands of Urleg Khan. Have you a Shaman who can enter the spirit world below and call him back?”

    The Mongol shook his head. “Maybe these Franks have someone. Their medicine is not as sophisticated as ours, but in spite of that, many of them get better. What happened to get him into such a state?”

    “He was knocked off his horse during the great game at the summer kurultai. I think he landed on his head.”

    So these were Franks? She had, of course, heard of them. What were they doing here on the borderland of the Golden Horde? Was their word worth anything? Why did they accompany the people of the Ilkhan? And why did they carry truce-diplomat flags?

    The Mongol nodded sympathetically. “It has happened to me. But I just broke this bone here.” He pointed to his shoulder. “Mind you, I think that was from being kicked after I fell.”

    The one-eyed man knelt next to Kildai, opened his eyes and examined each pupil in turn. Very gently he felt at Kildai’s neck, and then the skull.

    He looked at her and asked a question.

    “He wants to know how long he has been like this,” translated the Bear clan Mongol. “And what happened to him.”

    She answered as best as she was able, feeling oddly helpless. Actually, she felt like just sitting down and starting to cry, as if she was a little girl again. It was just so good to no longer be carrying the entire weight of her little brother’s health, and the clan’s and their own survival on her shoulders.

    Her relief must have shown in her face because the tall blond knight said something to the man with pistols. He took something out of a pannier, which turned into a simple saddle stool, with three legs and a leather top. The blond knight set it up and offered it to her with a small bow and a gesture.

    He seemed to be avoiding using his few words of Mongol. She could understand that. A tremulous smile to her lips — not something she was very accustomed to bestowing on strange foreign knights. Or anyone else, really. The tremulous part worried her. She must not show such weakness.

    The one eyed knight stood up, dusting off his hands. He spoke again to the man from the Ilkhan, who translated. “He says the boy must rest quietly. He must stay still for some days. He should not ride, anyway.”

    Bortai shook her head, pointing back at the ridge. “If they catch us, they will kill us. We are far from our clan. We were,” she decided to be economical with the truth, “separated from them during the big fight at the kurultai.”

    The plump Ilkhan warrior, Tulkun, was plainly shocked by that. “They fought? At the kurultai?”

    She nodded. That had indeed been a shocking breach of tradition, but then tradition seemed to be weakening its hold on some of the clans.

    “Clan fought clan.” She pointed to Ion. If this man from the Ilkhan was going to be sympathetic, she may as well see if she could get some protection for Ion. “Our slave saw more of it than we did. He saw which clan waited in ambush for others, under the kurultai flag. They will kill him if they find him too.”

    “So, the clans have not yet selected a new khan?”

    She shook her head. “As far as I know, no. The kurultai was broken before the vote. That means that Gatu Orkhan is regent.”

    “Ah,” said the Mongol from the Ilkhan. “That is what the tarkhan Borshar has come to see to. We are not supposed to know,” he said with a small smile. “And I heard and will bear witness that the Ritter Erik Hakkonsen offered marriage and kin-shelter. The Franks are under the envoy-flag of the tarkhan.”

    “Yes, but he did not actually understand what he said.” Bortai smiled on the Ritter. That had been a generous gesture in a time when she had seen very few.

    The warrior from the Ilkhan bowed respectfully. “The honor of the Hawk clan has not diminished. There are many who would have taken advantage.”

    The blonde Ritter Hakkonsen spoke to Tulkun, who replied to him in the foreign tongue. He was speaking about them, that much Bortai was sure of. Behind him another knight rode over — the one who had shouted to him at what had almost been a cavalry clash. Now that things were not quite so fraught, she realized just how big the man was. And her first thought, incongruously, was a twinge of sympathy for the poor horse!

    Fortunately it was a very sturdy animal, much like its rider.

    “She speaks too fast for me to understand all of it,” said Erik. “What is the problem? They were hunting for her, weren’t they?”

    The Mongol nodded and replied in broken Frankish. “She was separated from her clan. Big fight at clan gathering — supposed to be peace for election of new khan. Fight start before khan elected. They very powerful clan, much honor. Old family. Clan the Ilkhan support for khanate. Family for ruler.” He smiled. “You offer clan-protection. But honorable lady know it is just foreigner who does not understand what he say. Honor for foreigners not the same for Mongol.”

    Even though it wasn’t intentional, the condescension in the statement irritated Erik. Manfred, now standing just behind them, leaned forward. “What did he say? I’m not sure I followed.”

    “The girl and — I gather the boy is her brother — come from the royal clan, if I understand it right. They got separated from their clan in a fight about the new ruler. In my misguided attempt to be polite, I offered them from what I can work out was an alliance and the protection of my clan. But our translator says that she understood that we foreigners don’t have much of sense of honor and they don’t expect us to abide by it.”

    Manfred raised his eyebrows. “And that is the core of the problem with our relationship with the Ilkhan, and probably the Golden Horde too. Erik, if I did not know you well enough to know you had already decided to do it, I’d order you to tell her that we foreigners have our own code of honor.”

    “No,” said Erik. “This is not something that can be told. It must be shown.”