The horse was faster still—as Haven knew it would be. Her plan was simply to put a little distance between herself and the chase so that when she turned she might have a heartbeat or two in which to position herself to strike.
Haven could hear the hooves pounding nearer and, judging the moment had come, she halted and turned directly into the path of the oncoming beast. It took every scrap of nerve and all her knowledge of horses to hold her ground. At the very last moment she dodged deftly to the left of the rider, seized the bridle as the horse sped past, and held on for all she was worth.
The impact nearly tore her arm from the socket, but she refused to let go. The horse’s head slewed sideways and down. The rest of the beast followed its head. The churning legs stumbled. The horse fell. The rider was thrown wide as his mount rolled onto its side.
Quick as a blink, Haven grabbed for the empty saddle. Reins still in hand, she threw her leg over the horse’s back and urged the struggling beast to its feet once more. The animal obeyed, lifting itself and Haven along with it. She kicked its flanks and slapped the reins, urging it away.
The horse reared and, when it could not throw her, leapt away, resuming its downhill race. From his vantage point on the ground, the stunned rider saw his mount being expertly stolen and shook his head. Pushing himself to his knees, he gave out a shrill whistle.
Haven heard the whistle and so did her mount, for the animal seemed to pause in midstride, then slowed and, despite her best efforts to whip it into motion, stopped. The warrior whistled again, and the animal swung around and trotted back to where its owner waited. The well-trained horse stopped obediently in front of its master and lowered its head to crop the grass while Haven was hauled from the saddle.
By the time Haven’s feet were on the ground again, three more riders had joined the first. The newcomers must have seen what she had done, for all three stared at her as if at a feisty Goddess of the Hunt come down to earth to steal their horses.
One of the mounted warriors spoke a brief command to his fellow on the ground and then wheeled his mount and started back the way they had come.
Haven expected to be dragged back along with them, but to her surprise, she was taken up and placed in the saddle once more. The warrior whose mount she had requisitioned, albeit briefly, swung up behind her and, with his comrades close beside, returned to the valley.
By the time they reached the bank of the river, the first wave of the invading army was just emerging from the early morning mist—led by a double rank of the most incredible creatures Haven had ever seen.
CHAPTER 26
In Which a Smattering of Latin Finds a Use
Big as houses, the enormous grey beasts moved with a stately grace that belied their ungainly proportions. Startling, almost ridiculous in aspect, there was yet something tremendously attractive about them. Huge to the point of absurdity, they were also quiet, moving through the river mist as silent as ghosts—as if possessed of an other-worldly composure, a calmness and dignity commensurate to their size.
Haven recognised them from a bestiary she had pored over as a child whiling away many a rainy afternoon in her father’s library, though in the flesh she was at first sight repulsed by their outrageous appearance: vast, flapping ears on a colossal, high-domed head from which sprouted great curving scimitars of pale bone—similar to the tusks of a wild boar, but the size of tree limbs; hideous baggy skin that was naked, hairless, and the colour of the grave, skin so wrinkled and creased and folded it seemed ancient; giant pillars for legs that had no feet, but ended in flat, round pads as broad and rotund and expansive as the bulwark of a ship. Most startling of all was the snout, which, instead of tapering tastefully to a modest, rounded muzzle or even the rootling snub of a pig, instead went on and on to form a preposterously long appendage that, apparently, had the insidious self-will of a snake, coiling and questing of its own accord. Lastly, there was the mountainous hump of its back, which descended to an insignificant afterthought of a tail, a mere bare stub sprouting a paltry handful of bristles.
Though she found them repugnant, Haven could not tear her eyes from the abhorrent creatures. The longer she watched as they marched with their slow, swaying gait, the more she found herself affected by them. Within minutes revulsion had turned to fascination, and fascination to charm. By the time they had approached close enough for her to see their large, luminous, knowing eyes with their fringe of dark lashes, she thought them inexplicably endearing.
Lost in wonder, all thought of her capture and likely fate flew right out of her head.
Elephants! Who would have believed it?
It was said that King Henry III had kept one during his reign and housed it in the Tower of London, and someone in the court of Elizabeth reported seeing one in Portugal, of all places. As they passed, Haven could only gape and stare, strangely moved and enthralled by the sight.
All too soon the reality of her situation reasserted itself. The elephant phalanx passed and she saw, some little distance behind them, a spiky forest of pikes and spears and blood-red banners. The army moved slowly, inexorably, spreading across the valley like an indelible stain.
Haven’s captors halted, perching themselves up on the hillside so as not to obstruct the forward progress of the troops. They dismounted and permitted Haven to sit down; when they drank, they passed the leather flask to her.
From her place on the hillside, Haven had an excellent view of the warriors as they paraded, rank upon rank, in seemingly inexhaustible numbers. Most were foot soldiers, but there were divisions of mounted warriors too, and all advanced with the dour relentlessness of a machine in motion.
Although similar in most respects to the harried mass of people Giles and Haven had first met, these invaders were different enough in appearance to constitute a distinct race. On the whole the men were thick through the shoulders and chest, but short-legged—Haven herself was taller than anyone she saw. Yet, possessing neither lofty stature nor great bulk, they nevertheless gave the impression of being stubbornly durable in the way of tree stumps or foundation stones. Their flesh was sallow or fair; many had red hair, though most had brown. In contrast to their ruddy, black-haired, moon-faced enemy whom they pursued through the valley, the newcomers’ features were broad and open; they had large, round eyes and generous, full-lipped mouths. Most everyone was dressed in either leather or a heavy, loose-woven cloth; and all bristled with blades of every kind: swords, spears, long-shafted pikes, daggers, and broad knives. They also carried tiny round shields of leather on their backs, and some wore bows and quivers of arrows across their broad chests.
Early morning slowly gave way to midday and still they came. When the last of the soldiers had passed, then came the baggage train: lightweight vehicles constructed of wicker with large wooden wheels and pack mules in long lines, each piled high with sacks and bundles. Trailing the supply caravan were the camp followers: women for the most part, many with infants and young children whose blond curls had been bleached almost white by the sun. These were the wives and children of the soldiers, Haven decided. Scattered in amongst the women were men with horses or wagons piled high with bags, sacks, and barrels of various kinds—merchants, perhaps? Haven did not know.
As the sun reached its zenith, the final wave of invaders appeared in the form of flocks of sheep, goats, geese, and small herds of shaggy cows. The air soon reeked of fresh dung. The shepherds and herders kept their animals moving, allowing them to snatch only the barest mouthful of grass or drink of water from the river before the flick of a staff or switch urged them on.
Tired from sitting in the sun so long and exhausted by lack of sleep, Haven’s head grew heavy and she closed her eyes on the straggling remnant of the great procession. In her sleep she heard a familiar voice chiding her. “Asleep at midday? That is not like you, my lady.”
The sound snapped her awake at once. She glanced around quickly but saw only the horses grazing and their riders still reclining where they had sat all morn
ing. There was no one else around. Deciding she must have dreamed it, she closed her eyes again and nodded off . . . only to be awakened a moment later by the arrival of another group of riders. The newcomers greeted their comrades noisily and, Haven thought, with some merriment—as if sharing a jest—as they dismounted.
And then she saw the reason for their amusement: one of their number exhibited a black eye and there was blood on his face beneath his nose. He had, very obviously, come off the worse in a fistfight. And judging from the frown on the fellow’s besmeared face, he did not much appreciate the banter of his comrades.
Grumbling, the battered fellow slid from the saddle and laboriously reeled in a rope and, tied to the trailing end, his subdued opponent.
“Giles!” cried Haven, leaping to her feet. Before anyone could stop her, she had run to him.
“My lady,” he said wearily.
“You are safe.” She fumbled at the knot that bound his hands. “Are you well? Are you injured?”
The warrior shoved her aside and proceeded to untie his captive; then, coiling his rope, he pushed them both back up the hill and made them sit down together, giving them to know they were to stay put. Without any further fuss, he left them to themselves and marched off to join his comrades.
“He was bruised and bloody,” said Haven as the fellow moved away. “Did you do that?”
“I did,” admitted Giles. “I expected to be killed outright—he had weapons and I did not. As I think on it now, I do not believe he meant me any harm.”
“You could not know that,” she countered. “I am only glad you are hale and well. I thank heaven no greater ill has befallen us.”
“I think they are scouts or outriders,” Giles surmised. He glanced around at the warriors who were now reclining on the ground. “Have you been here long?”
“I have been sitting here all morning,” she said and then told him about the passing parade—elephants and all. “The most extraordinary creatures I believe I have ever seen.”
“I know,” Giles said, “I saw them too . . .” He hesitated, then admitted, “Though I did not know what manner of beast they were.”
As the long afternoon wore on, they discussed what they thought had happened during the night and who the invaders might be. Then, as the last of the herds and herdsmen passed, the lounging scouts rose from their rest. They passed waterskins around and brought one to their captives; when all had drunk, they took to their saddles once more. Giles and Haven were each tied at the hands and the ropes secured to the saddle of a rider.
The captives were led along the bank of the shallow river at a plodding pace. There seemed to be no hurry and, if not for being tied to a horse, the two walkers might have considered it a pleasant riverside stroll. This lasted until, as the glowing orange disc of the sun began its plunge behind the ridge of hills to the west, the scouting party arrived at the outskirts of a veritable city made of tents.
Having halted its march for the day, the invading army set about making camp. Everywhere, people were busy: erecting shelters, corralling livestock, carrying water from the river, lighting charcoal for fires. The early evening air rang with a lively cacophony of voices, barking dogs, lowing cattle, chattering children. The speech that bubbled all around the strangers had a sibilant, swishy sound like that of wind through the grass, and it was uttered in a rush of merging syllables—sounds only, not words at all.
The riders and their prisoners passed among the outlying tents, moving deeper into the encampment. They had not gone far before the two tall, strangely clothed strangers were observed and word began to spread. Haven and Giles heard the change in the voices as curiosity rippled around them. Interested onlookers abandoned their chores and joined the march; the ranks swelled, becoming a procession as it went along.
Upon reaching the heart of the tent city, the two captives were conducted along an avenue of sorts formed by dwellings of a more elaborate design, constructed of a dark, bulky material with high sides and roofs that peaked at a single central pole. Banners in red and yellow flew from the centre poles of a few tents; others displayed flags planted outside the entrance or draping the sides.
At the end of this avenue stood a tented dwelling much like the others, but made very much larger by the simple expedient of joining several smaller tents together to form a cluster, around which stood a ring of torches in iron stanchions. The impromptu procession marched directly to this dwelling, where the outriders dismounted and their leader ran to the entrance, where he pulled on a woven band that hung beside the heavy flap that served as the door. The light tinkling of a bell sounded and a man in a yellow satin robe appeared, took one look at the crowd assembled before him, and ducked back inside. A moment later, from the same doorway emerged a colossal warrior. Brawny, broad-shouldered, with the muscled torso of a wrestler, his robust body encased in armour made of boiled, hardened leather, he towered like a giant above his more diminutive countrymen and surveyed the crowd with a solemn, forbidding gaze.
Everyone fell silent beneath that baleful stare, and when all was quiet, the hulking Goliath pulled aside the door flap. The yellow-robed figure reappeared leading another—elegantly clothed in a robe of crimson and blue that shimmered and winked in the light of the encircling torches. This fellow, almost as tall as his enormous bodyguard, shared the same light skin as those around him, and his hair hung in long curls pale as spun gold. He wore a brimless cap with a high crown made of the same glistening material as his robe. As he stepped from the tent, the scout waiting at the door immediately flattened himself to the ground and all the rest of the assembled throng bowed low, their faces horizontal to the earth.
Giles and Haven felt heavy hands on their shoulders, forcing them down. Clearly they were in the presence of greatness and required to show their respect too. They readily complied, rising again only when the man in the crimson robe took his place before them. He appeared fascinated, studying them intently, his expression imperious but not unkind. Then, his inspection concluded, he slowly raised a hand and in a loud, clear voice addressed the captives in the airy, untethered language of the steppes.
When that failed to produce any response, he spoke again in another tongue—different from the first, but just as incomprehensible to Haven and Giles. The two merely returned his gaze with a puzzled expression. The nobleman frowned and seemed about to turn away when the man in the yellow robe approached and whispered something in his ear.
The crimson-robed one nodded and in clear, bell-like tones said, “Pax vobiscum.”
The familiar words spoken in this primitive place was such a surprise that it took Haven a moment to collect her wits. “Pax vobiscum,” she echoed.
The kingly one smiled and, with a gesture to his yellow-robed assistant, retreated to his tent. Giles cast a sideways glance at Haven. “My lady?”
“It is Latin,” she replied in a whisper. “I command a smattering—from Uncle Henry and, of course, from the Mass.”
The crimson-clad nobleman paused at the entrance to his dwelling. His giant bodyguard motioned to the leader of the scouting party that had captured the strangers; the scout hastened to his captives and, pointing to the entrance of the nobleman’s tent, indicated they were to follow. The great man’s dwelling was a veritable palace among tents, adorned with costly wall coverings in jewel-coloured silk and thick rugs on the floor with chairs of tooled leather and small octagonal tables of rosewood inlaid with ivory. The sumptuous interior was suffused with the heavy, sweet scent of frankincense that hazed the air and dimmed the warm, honeyed light from dozens of tiny golden lamps hanging from the roof struts by golden chains. Three young serving men in white tunics and voluminous white breeches stood by to receive their lord and his guests; one advanced with a chair and another with a golden cup.
As soon as the nobleman was seated on his chair, the cup was placed in his hands. Raising it to his guests, he drank and then passed the cup to the servant in the yellow robe, who offered it to Giles, indicating that
he should drink. When Giles tried to pass the cup first to Haven, the fellow shook his head gravely and wagged his finger. Giles drank, then returned the cup; only then was it offered to Lady Fayth.
She clutched the cup gratefully and swallowed down a deep draught of a sweet liquor that tasted of plums. Upon returning the cup to the servant, she tapped the cup and said, “Aqua, orare.”
The nobleman appeared surprised but clicked his fingers at an idle servant and issued a command. The youth bowed and disappeared into one of the other rooms. Giles glanced at Haven for an explanation. “I just begged him for some water,” she said, then added, “At least, I hope that is what I did.”
The white-robed youth returned with two silver chalices filled with water and gave one each to Giles and Haven. They drank in great greedy gulps under the fascinated gaze of their host. When Haven lowered the cup again, she smiled and said, “Meus gratis, dominus.” Pointing to herself and Giles, she added, “Sitis moribundus.”
The nobleman clapped his hands. He spoke a question to the scout, who offered a short reply, then bowed and hastened from the tent. Meanwhile, the white-garbed servants produced small folding stools that they placed behind the visitors, then took up stations to one side. Putting out a hand to his guests, the crimson-robed man announced—so far as Haven’s smattering of Latin could follow: “I am called Simeon. I am khan of this people. Be welcome in my home.”
There were words Haven did not understand—khan, foremost among them. She repeated the word aloud as a question.
“Ah!” he replied. “Khan is Rex.”
“I give you good greeting, Khan Simeon,” she said, dipping her head. They were in the presence of a king. He looked at her expectantly.
“I am called Lady Fayth,” she answered, “and this is . . .” She hesitated, then, with a glance at Giles, said, “my friend and protector, Giles Standfast.”
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