Much Fall of Blood: Chapter Thirty One

    Erik had noticed that the Ilkhan hunkered down on their haunches to talk. So he did the same next to the girl and her brother. Struggling to express himself in a language he barely had a handle on, he gestured quite a lot. “I have given the order. A thing to carry him on will be made for the boy. We have to travel. We look after you.”

    She stared at him, wide eyed. And responded with a high-speed chatter of which he understood only one word in three. It was not easy to string those words into anything coherent. How did he say “slow down?” The best he could manage was “do not gallop.”

    She looked at him, puzzled. And then started to laugh. That hadn’t been quite the reaction he’d been looking for, but she did have one of those infectious laughs.

    He saw that the pestilential horse boy had gotten back. “You. David. Come help to translate. And none of your silly tricks.”

    Bortai had wondered just what she would do next. There was a little church and village up the slope. But it would offer at best temporary shelter. Given the numbers that now hunted for them, such a little village could not protect them, even were its people willing. And the foreign knight had said that Kildai should not ride any further.

    She was rather puzzled when the tall blonde foreign knight came and squatted next to them as if he were from the steppes himself. His accent was as strange as his words were limited. But there was no mistaking the kindness behind the words. It made her eyelids prick with tears, tears that she was determined not to show. He gave orders. He must command these mercenaries. It was odd that Ilkhan should resort to using a mercenary escort. But she could think of no other reason for these knights to be accompanying a tarkhan’s party. Given the fact that they were coming from the west, either the Ilkhan had vastly increased their territories, or these knights had been hired to see them across lands not under Mongol control, lands where the locals were so ignorant that they would dare to attack a Mongol envoy. It was unlikely that either the Illyrians or Bulgars would have dreamed of it; they had had contact with the Golden Horde. But perhaps there were other tribes and kingdoms further west with less respect. The heyday of Mongol power, Bortai knew, had passed.

    Nevertheless, they were still a force to be reckoned with.

    Then she got the actual meaning of what he was trying to say. He had ordered a litter to be made for them to carry Kildai in. And he made no mention of consulting the tarkhan. Well, perhaps that was just his lack of skill at her language.

    She was a princess of the Hawk clan and she recognized his honorable conduct. He might be a foreigner, a sell-sword, but his behavior was far better than that manifested recently by many Mongols. Her reply, a little embarrassed, was perhaps voiced faster than it would otherwise have been.

    By his puzzled look, she realized that she must be speaking too fast. And then he told her to stop galloping. It was so earnestly said that she had to laugh. She was behaving like a hysterical girl, and part of her was embarrassed by her own reaction.

    He did smile when she laughed, though.

    David looked at the Mongol woman. He was a Jerusalem born thief. He had lived under the shadow of the Ilkhan all of his life. He was good at spotting details. Her clothing might be travel-stained, and torn, but it had been some of the finest weave. Her accent and tone reflected the same reality. This was one of their highborn, the kind that he avoided with as much care as possible. One step out of line and there would be no leniency. His first reaction was that he ought to back off and get lost. But he had learned by now that Erik’s orders were to be obeyed, so he came forward and bowed very low, no matter how much his feet wanted to run in the other direction.

    “She doesn’t seem to understand what I’m trying to say,” said Erik. “Explain to her that I’m having a stretcher made. I’ll detail a few men to carry the boy. He’ll get jolted around much less like that. We really need a well sprung cart, but that doesn’t seem possible. Tell her we’ll get her back to her clan. I daresay somebody will be pleased to see her. The two of them seem to be good, ordinary people.”

    Unholy glee stirred in David’s breast. Erik plainly did not realize that this was a high-ranking woman. Direct tricks, like the one that had nearly had him killed in the terrible criminal haven Corfu, were out. But he could certainly let the knight talk himself into a tricky position. And he would have grounds to claim complete innocence! Oh, bliss. It would serve them right for bringing him so far from Jerusalem. And it would be funny.

    He would have to be careful, though. Stay close to the exact meaning. But Erik was going to be very embarrassed when it turned out that this was a very high muckety-muck, and he’d been treating her as if she were a commoner. Mind you, David had noticed that the Ritter treated Prince Manfred in much the same fashion. He knew that Erik was no noble. He’d asked Kari. But while he was at it he could tell her that Erik was of great rank. That meant a lot among the Ilkhan Mongol.

    And then David realized that she was looking at him very strangely. Well, one of his ancestors somewhere had been one of the conquerors. He did have the eyes. In Jerusalem that was not uncommon. Looking like a Mongol had not stopped the local constabulary from watching him, unfortunately. He didn’t have the forelock. That was strictly forbidden to lesser people, at least among the Ilkhan.

    “Lady,” he said in a tone of deep respect, “my master, the noble Ritter Erik Hakkonsen, says that he has ordered them to make a litter to carry your brother.”

    “I understood that.” She looked at him strangely again. “How old are you?”

    David wondered what on earth set her off on this tangent? What did it have to do with her? He was a little small perhaps. But he would swear that he had grown a good hand since leaving Jerusalem. His breeches bore testimony to that. “I am sixteen, lady.”

    “You look to be a little younger.”

    Well, he could be. Birthdays were not as religiously observed as they might be. He simply knew that he’d been born some time around the ascension of the new Ilkhan. But it was not a comment he appreciated.

    “Sixteen,” he repeated firmly.

    “Tell your master that we appreciate his kindness. But we do not need to accept such charity.”

    “It is best for the boy,” said Erik in his best Mongol, putting a neat end to David’s plans for a flowery and mildly insulting translation. “We honor our promises.”

    Bortai had wrestled with the best. It was expected of a noble Mongol lady. Seldom, however had she been thrown as hard as this, and then as neatly pinned. First, a boy who could be Kildai’s twin brother — dressed like a peasant. Could she possibly have got things wrong? It had been a few years since there had been much contact between the Golden Horde and the Ilkhan. But there was almost no imaginable way that the Ilkhan would be subservient to these Franks. If she recalled her histories correctly, the Franks had been among the allies of Ilkhan against the Baitini. They had fallen out over one of the battles, where the Franks and their allies had failed, and the Ilkhan had been defeated. When the Ilkhan returned in force, the Franks too had been evicted from their holdings in Asia Minor. But that was all centuries ago. It still did not explain why this boy who was by all appearances as much of a son of the Hawk clan as Kildai, was doing as a serf. And, to make things even more difficult she was afraid that what this Erik said was true: she had to do what was best for Kildai.

    Then the ridiculous side of it struck her. This foreign knight had proposed marriage to her. And in the jest of it all, she had accepted. And now he was saying that he honored his promises.

    “Why does she keep laughing at me?” asked Erik plaintively.

    Just at that point, a pair of men carrying a lance with the blue truce flag emerged from the woods on the far side of the braided stream. Erik looked up. “Hell’s teeth,” he said. “I’d better mount up and see what is going on. David, find Kari. I’m going to need someone else who is not in armor to help carry. In fact you will need at least four of them, to take it in shifts. Get Falkenberg to sort it out.”

    The boy ran off. He even ran like Kildai, Bortai noticed. The armored Erik got into the saddle with graceful ease and cantered off. Bortai was left sitting next to her brother. She had spent much of her life telling others what to do. Her mother had died in childbirth when she was just eleven. Much of Kildai’s rearing had fallen on her shoulders. Yes, there had been many other older women to help with the practical day to day tasks, and her aunts had seen to her own very traditional upbringing . . . But she was still her mother’s daughter. She had the final responsibility. She was accustomed to a role in the clan decisions. Now she watched as others dealt with their fate. She really did not like it. She could see no easy way of changing the situation, but it irked her.

    Erik rode forward, escorting one of the Mongol, not Tulkun, whom he was developing something of a friendship with, but one of the others, to meet the Golden Horde envoy on a gravel bank in the middle of the braided stream. Erik could not really follow the entire discussion between the men. He did get some of the formalities, and some references to ‘Franks’. At length the Golden Horde man saluted respectfully, and turned his pony and rode away back into the woods on the opposite side of the stream. Erik wished that he knew exactly what was going to happen — but did not appear too threatening. This was something of a relief. By the way they rode, he really had a feeling they’d be tough opponents, especially on broken terrain.

    A little later a party of four reappeared, still carrying the truce lance and Erik found himself riding out again. The new party from the Golden Horde was headed by a harder-faced individual, and as was protocol, two knights and two of the Ilkhan men rode out to meet them. This time Erik’s party included Tulkun. Once again, Erik had great difficulty in following what was obviously a very polite . . . . but more insistent discussion. The one word that seemed to be being repeated quite often was ‘Bortai’ with several gestures.

    Tulkun held out his hands, pointed to Erik with a thumb, and, grinning like a cheerful bear, sounded off at great length. The hard-faced individual peered at Erik then spouted at some more length. The only word Erik understood was ‘foreigner’.

    Tulkun replied. This time the only word Erik got was envoy. At least that’s what he thought it meant.

    The four turned and rode off again. “What was all that about?” demanded Von Gherens. “Are you selling them Erik?”

    Tulkun grinned. “They want young lady from Hawk clan. I explain she under clan protection of him. Officer cross. Try to say that envoy-truce does not apply to foreigners. I have to explain to him that even our Tarkhan is not Mongol, but still under protection of Ilkhan. There is nothing they can do. But he does not like it.” That idea plainly amused the rotund Mongol. They did seem to like laughing at these sort of things, Erik noted.

    A further half hour later a plainly still more senior commander came down — amid worrying reports from the scouts that there were riders moving in the forest on the far side of the river, spreading out as if to flank them.

    This time the tarkhan himself rode forward to treat with them. Erik would have loved to know just what he said, but he told the escort to back off. It must have been pretty impressive and effective however. He rode back smiling calmly. “They will escort us to the camp of the Orkhan. Prepare to ride.”

    * * *

    Bortai found herself being carried along by the tide of events. It was not entirely a bad direction to be carried in, but it would require care and careful steering to survive. She wondered just how deep the honor of her new protector ran. She got the feeling that it might be very deep indeed, despite his being a foreigner. On the other hand the honor of Gatu Orkhan could hardly be very much shallower than it already was. She could expect treachery and they would be heading back into the heartland of his support. It would also take them closer to her own people. Somewhere, somehow, she must seize the opportune moment to rejoin their clan. If Kildai recovered enough for them to ride it might be possible. Her thoughts also turned to the possibilities of using this serf David. The sight of him in the saddle would certainly upset rumors that Kildai was dead — if she could stop Kildai being seen by any others, while he was carried on litter.

    And how was she to do that? She noticed the boy, David, hanging around as two of the foreign Knights loaded Kildai gently onto a stretcher made from two strong poles and a piece of canvas. She called him over. He was visibly nervous. Good. “I do not know how to tell you this, boy, but do you own a hood? Something to hide or change your face perhaps?”

    He looked even more alarmed. “I have a hooded cloak, great lady.” He paused. Then curiosity and fear got the better of him. “Why?”

    “You look like someone. Someone they would like to catch over there,” she pointed across the ridge.

    He looked very much as if he want to turn and run right then. “But I have never ever been there before.”

    “Yes, but you look very much like someone that the Raven clan want dead. I would wear the hooded cloak and keep out of sight as much as possible.”

    He bowed hastily and ran off. Bortai saw him rummaging in a pack a little later.

    The Ritter Erik came back from the third parlay. He too bowed, but it was an easy, friendly bow. He was plainly unaware of her status, or else so highborn himself that he made little or nothing of it. “We explain you part of my clan. Protection of Tarkhan,” he said in his awkward Mongol.

    Bortai was uncertain quite whether he meant that they were under the protection of the envoy, or that he was there to protect the envoy. But whichever one it was, it plainly extended to providing for them. “I have asked Ritter Von Stael to see that you and your man are brought some food and drink. While we find out quite what is happening. Tulkun believes it will be no problem.”

    Bortai believed that at least on the surface General Okagu of the Raven clan would have to go along with the pretense that she and Kildai were protected. She was also sure that they would make a serious attempt to murder them. Of course, it would all be done under the cover of a polite fiction — if they were killed some ‘renegade’ would be caught and executed, and humble apologies conveyed. The killing would never happen in the public eye. But they would watch like a lynx in the forest, stalking a doe with a fawn, looking for the slightest opportunity to strike. She was sure right now that several of Okagu’s officers were pointing out that at least they knew where she was now, and would be able to find a suitable opportunity somewhere. She would have to be as wary as that lynx-stalked doe. And when they got the chance, run for it.

    She was also surprised by the thoughtfulness of her accidental protector. She had seen that he was a very busy commander, and yet he had found the time to consider their needs. She’d noted that he had ordered scouts deployed both up and down stream, and on a high point behind them, as well as forming the knights up in the defensive square. For a barbarian, he was a good Orkhan.

    A little later, as she had expected, an honor guard rode down. Bortai found herself moving off at a walk, in the tail end of the column. Next to her two knights carried Kildai. His eyes were open again. He seemed, in her judgment, to be little less confused this time. He had at least called her by her own name. And while she was in sight he seemed content to lie still.

    Erik rode close to Manfred. Yes, they were all in full armor. Yes, his charge was in the midst of a body of some of the finest knights in Christendom, but they were not in Christendom. This was a wilder, wider world. Nor had Erik been entirely comforted by the behavior of the Golden Horde Mongol. True, he had snatched a piece of their prey from their jaws. But surely that had been just a piece of petty inter-clan warfare? A set piece of triumphalism to hold one of the women of another clan for ransom? Or did things go deeper than that?

    “Why are you so edgy?” asked Manfred.

    “Something is not right about this crew,” said Erik. “Yes, I know we didn’t have the most auspicious start. But I talked to Tulkun — the short plump one. He seemed to think that it was just a bit of clan rivalry. The Hawk clan claim descent from Chinngis Khan. They’re a bit holier than thou, or rather, more Mongol than thou, and it would be a big coup to capture part of the clan. But the girl seemed to think they’d kill her. She should know, surely. Tulkun thought it very funny, but he doesn’t know these people and they’re behaving more like bears with sore teeth.”

    Manfred grinned. “You spend your whole life looking for disasters, Erik. Our envoy fellows seems cheerful enough.”

    Erik grimaced. “It is always best to plan for disaster. Then when disaster happens, you can see how wrong your plans were.”

    Manfred shook his head. “In my experience you plan really well, Erik. It’s just that usually the wrong disaster strikes.”

    “Yes . . . well. But the girl worries me. There is something not quite right about all of this.”

    “Nice looker,” said Manfred. “And there is a charming novelty in seeing one of them laugh at you, instead of make calves-eyes at you. What did Falkenberg say about the boy?”

    Erik shrugged. “From what we can work out, the kid had been unconscious for nearly three days before he started coming around. There is a possibility the spine is damaged but . . . well, by the way he’s been jolted about — if it were damaged it’d be likely he’d be paralyzed. And his sister says he’s moving his arms and legs. It’s too early to tell. If a casualty stays in a coma for more than a week — things don’t look good. Falkenberg thinks he’s got a good chance of recovery. Of course keeping him still for a week or two would be best. But people with head injuries usually recover quite fast — especially youngsters — when they start to recover.”

    They had reached the ridge-top by this stage. “Well. The lands of the Golden Horde,” said Manfred. “Funny they don’t look particularly different from the other side.”

    “They do slope away to softer lands, by the looks of it,” said Erik. “Anyway, it’s the people, not the terrain, that shape a land.”

    Tulkun shouldered his horse up to them. “Lady say she have something to tell you. Stop knights sweating so much.”

    Erik looked around warily. “I better go and see what it is, Manfred.”

    “If you must,” said Manfred. “Carrying stretchers on foot is good for them. Just as long as you don’t want me to do it.”

    So Erik rode back — to where, as Tulkun had correctly put it, the knights were sweating along, carrying the boy. It was not that the lad was that heavy, but it was already bidding to be a warm day.

    Erik greeted her, his tongue almost tricking him into the ‘tortoise’ again. It was just close enough to make the accidental transposition easy. She obviously caught it, because she suppressed a laugh but not the dimpling of the cheeks. “I wanted to say I have a cart hidden down there. Maybe even an ox, still.”

    That would please the knights, even if it would probably jolt about more. Erik was sweating in his armor. Actually the only person who seemed to be feeling cold was the horse-boy. He was wearing an old hooded cloak Kari had given him. It was a good bit too large for him. Erik wondered if the boy was sickening for something.