Silk and Song

by Dana Stabenow

  “Hah,” he said, she could swear softly, although how could she have heard him if he hadn’t shouted it at the top of his voice she would never know. “Wu Li’s daughter,” he said, and smiled when her white face flushed with gathering rage.

  He made an odd bow in her direction and looked around him. As she watched, he handed off the naginata to pull a woman from those being held in front of the Mongol warriors. She was more of a girl, Johanna saw, she couldn’t have been fifteen years of age. Gokudo forced her to her knees in front of him, pushed his thumbs into her cheeks to open her mouth, and used her thus, all the while his eyes never left Johanna’s. The girl struggled and choked, her hands clawing ineffectually at his. He finished, wiped himself on her hair and threw her behind him, where she was fallen on by more of his men, shouting and laughing as they held her down and fell on her one at a time. This led to an orgy of rape at the front of the force facing the city, many of the women used a dozen, two dozen times, until they died of it, or had their necks snapped and their corpses left where they lay.

  This, too, she thought dimly, was part of a deliberate plan, to instill disgust and hatred and above all terror into the defenders, to see Persian women so used and so dishonored by Mongols, to stir them to do something reckless and careless and misjudged, to allow ungoverned rage to open a breach in their own defenses through which Ogodei’s forces could then pour. They had done it before. It always worked.

  Gokudo was still watching her, oblivious to the arrows raining down all around him, none of them coming close enough even to wound, let alone kill. He seemed to be wearing an invisible cloak that protected him from all harm. She saw his lips move, and thought numbly that she could hear the words he spoke as clearly as if they were standing back in the courtyard of her father’s house in Cambaluc. “I look forward to our next meeting, Wu Li’s daughter,” he said, and bowed again, and laughed.

  “I told you to get her back to the harem!” Farhad said, and cuffed Firas across the face and was gone again. The evil spell cast by Gokudo that had held them frozen in place was broken. Without more ado Firas hustled for the stairs, Johanna’s arm clutched in his as she stumbled behind him.

  They had passed through the door into the garden when she again realized where they were. “Give me a weapon,” she said. At his look she said, “There are no weapons in the harem other than those worn by the guards. Give me a dagger, something.”

  His hand went first to the serviceable dagger at his waist, and then from somewhere produced one smaller and slimmer knife in a thin leather sheath with straps. “This can be fastened beneath your clothes.”

  She slid the blade out. It was a narrow piece of steel that looked deadly even at rest. “Firas. What happens to the harem when the sheik dies?” When the news of the sheik’s illness has reached the harem there had been rumors, of course, but Firas, a Persian man, would know.

  They had reached the door between the garden and the courtyard that led into the harem. Firas spoke rapidly, in a low voice, one eye on the door. “It depends on the sheik’s will, and on how much attention the sheik’s heirs pay to his will.”

  Farhad was his heir, Johanna thought, and he had already told her his intentions.

  “They can be provided for for life. They can be sold to other masters.” He met her eyes. “They could all be tied into sacks and thrown into the river.”

  “They could be given to Ogodei’s men for toys,” she said, the horror of the scene at the east gate heavy upon her.

  “So long as they lived,” he said, and by the expression in his eyes she knew he was thinking of it, too.

  They heard the twang of bows and the exuberant ululation of Farhad’s warriors. “The fools,” she said bitterly.

  “Soon to be dead fools,” he said. “I will be at the harem door just after twilight.”

  “I won’t leave without North Wind.”

  Firas, a dignified man, would never do anything so obvious as roll his eyes. “Of course. I will saddle him before I come for you. And—the black?”

  She shook her head. “The gray. He’s smaller but he has almost beaten North Wind a few times.” She hesitated.

  “What?” he said with foreboding.

  “If they will come, I will be bringing two others with me,” she said.

  Firas looked thoroughly exasperated. “Young miss! It will be difficult enough to get the two us safely away!”

  Johanna thought of the girl Gokudo had used before the gate. “I will not leave without them. Unless it is their will to stay.”

  “Can they ride?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not.”

  “Young miss!”

  “We’ll tie them on if we have to, Firas. Saddle two more horses.”

  Muttering imprecations, he reached for the latch on the door. She stopped him with a gesture. “What now?” he said.

  “Halim. The dyer.”

  “What of him?”

  “No. Just…warn him.” Her eyes were pleading. “He is a friend to everyone in the harem. He smuggles drugs in when they are needed. Warn him. Please, Firas?”

  He was relieved she didn’t want to bring the dyer along, too. “I will do so, young miss.”

  “Thank you, Firas.” There was another outcry beyond the walls, nearer this time, and deep enough for them to feel the vibrations in their feet.

  “At dusk, young miss.”

  “We will be there, Firas.”

  He marched her up to the harem door, every bit the efficient, impersonal guard, and exchanged nods with the two standing before it. They both looked distinctly uneasy, which proved they weren’t as stupid as Johanna had always assumed they were, and they broke protocol enough to say to Firas, “What is that sound?”

  “It’s an army, come to assault the city,” Firas said, and then added without looking at Johanna, “A very large army.”

  “The sheik?”

  “Is on the walls,” Firas said, without specifying which sheik.

  The guard brightened. “We will fight! Allahu Akbar!”

  The second guard looked less enthusiastic but echoed, “Yes, we will fight, Allahu Akbar.”

  “Allahu Akbar,” Firas said gravely in response, and nodded at the door.

  The first guard recollected his duties and restrained his martial fervor enough to hammer on the door as the second guard drew back the outside bolts.

  There was no response from inside. The guards exchanged a look, and hammered again. A third time produced the desired result. The inside bolts were drawn back and the door swung open the merest crack.

  Johanna, who had an idea as to what must have happened, pushed past the guards and stepped inside the door, closing it firmly behind her and drawing the useless filigreed bolt across.

  Hayat was standing there with an anxious look on her face.

  “Where is Kadar?” Johanna said in a low voice.

  “I don’t know,” Hayat said. “I was getting some tea when I heard the knocking. When I came out, there was no one on the door.”

  “He knows,” Johanna said.

  “Knows what?”

  “Come with me,” Johanna said, and towed Hayat through the harem rooms to the little common room in back that Hayat and Alma had made their own. The other occupants of the harem were clustered in small groups, looking frightened. The sounds of battle were softened but not stifled in here.

  “Nazirah!” one, braver than the rest, said. “What news from outside?”

  “Talikan is under attack,” Johanna said. “The sheik is preparing to fight.” Like Firas, she did not specify which sheik.

  There was an excited buzz and a few shrill screams and more questions but Johanna didn’t stop. In Hayat’s room, Alma had heard them coming and had risen to her feet. Her eyes were wide and her face was pale and she saw Hayat with relief. Hayat ran to her side and pulled her into a reassuring embrace. “It’s all right, love, it’s all right. Johanna is back, and all will be well.”

  Johanna wished she had Ha
yat’s confidence. She beckoned both women closer, and dropped her voice to the merest whisper, conscious of listening ears clustering outside the open door. “Sheik Mohammed is dead. Farhad killed him.” When they would have exclaimed she held a finger to her lips. “The city of Talikan is under attack by a force much too large for them to withstand. I know the man at the head of that force. He is a Mongol.” Both women gasped. They had heard the stories, as indeed had everyone heard them, with the possible exception of that idiot Farhad.

  She looked at the two women, her only two friends in the harem, the only two people she even marginally trusted within the walls of Talikan, and her heart sank. Alma was the daughter of a king and had been married to Sheik Mohammed as a means of ensuring a treaty. Hayat had been the daughter of a poor family who had sold her into slavery as a means of feeding the rest of their children. Neither had known anything in their adult lives but the useless luxury of the harem. “Can either of you ride?”

  Alma looked scandalized, Hayat worried. Both shook their heads. Johanna took a shaky breath. “Do I have to explain to you what will happen when the Mongols attack the city?”

  “No, Nazirah,” Hayat said soberly. “No, you don’t have to tell us.” Alma shook her head, white to the lips.

  “It may be that I can get you out,” Johanna said, and held her finger to her lips when the other women would have exclaimed. “Dress in your warmest clothes.” She surveyed the gauzy vests and pants of the two women and said, “Dress in all your clothes. Have you anything better to put on your feet than those slippers?”

  “No.”

  No help for it. “Then wear what you have, as many pairs as you can fit over your feet. We’ll try to find something better later.” If there was a later for any of them.

  “Where will we go?” Hayat said.

  “We’ll worry about that if we manage to get out of Talikan alive,” Johanna said.

  “What about—” Hayat said.

  “The others?” Johanna said, and set her jaw. “I can’t save them all. I might be able to save you. Will you come with me?”

  The two women looked at each other for a long moment, and turned to face Johanna as one. “We will,” Hayat said firmly. Alma, still pale, only nodded.

  “It is well.” Or she hoped with all her heart that it would be. “If we are caught, by either side—”

  “We will come with you, Nazirah,” Hayat said firmly.

  “All right. Say nothing, nothing, do you understand, nothing at all to anyone else. If you do they will panic and likely cause a riot and we will never get out of here.” There was a noise like a thunderbolt far off, followed a few seconds later by a crashing boom somewhere in the city. Johanna thought she could hear the screams even through the thick walls of the palace. Judging by the cries in the harem, she wasn’t the only one. “It has begun. Dress. Take nothing you have to carry, nothing that you can’t fit into your pockets. You’ll need your hands to hang on to your mounts. We will leave at dusk.”

  “What about Kadar?” Alma said. “The guards?”

  Johanna’s lip curled. “I am certain that Kadar is at present currying favor with Farhad,” she said. Only one thing would absent Kadar from his office and that was his determination to keep it for himself no matter what the change of regime. “And we have a friend on the outside. I promise you, the guards will be otherwise occupied.”

  She left them rummaging through their belongings, speaking to each other in fierce whispers, and went back to her room. The first thing she did was pull the knife Firas had given her from inside her tunic and strap it to her forearm. She practiced pulling it a dozen times. It felt good in her hand, friendly, and deadly. She immediately felt much better dressed.

  She stood still for a moment, staring hard at the walls that had been her prison for too many months now. She had the knife. She had her wits. She had Firas. She had soft boxing, which she had continued to practice each morning before the harem woke and each evening after it had gone to sleep, but it would be effective only in situations where there was ideally one enemy, two at most. Also an asset was the fact that she was a woman, a being perceived as incapable of fighting.

  It would have to be enough. She would make it be enough.

  Food, she thought, and water, and then rejected out of hand the notion of trying to find and pack anything. It would only draw attention, and they couldn’t afford that. They would have to forage on the Road.

  The stables should be deserted if everyone was fighting on the walls, and she had a fair idea of the average speed of Sheik Mohammed’s horses. Firas could be depended on to choose the best and the fastest ones. If only Hayat and Alma could manage to stay on them.

  She went through all of her belongings. She was already wearing her tunic and trousers. She stripped out of them and donned two vests scratchy with embroidery and two pairs of the gauzy harem trousers, then pulled her real clothes on over them. As always, she felt for the lumps in her hems, and wondered if she should remove two or three for bribes, just in case. She discarded that idea, too. Speed and surprise were all that would save them now.

  She rolled some slippers and tucked them into her pockets, and wound several of the long, diaphanous veils around her throat, tucking the ends inside her tunic.

  She looked around. The harem was a place singularly unsuited for preparing for long trips. A movement in the silvered mirror on the wall caught her eye and when she looked around she was astonished to find that she was smiling. Although there might be too many teeth to call it a smile. A snarl, perhaps.

  Time to go.

  It required every ounce of self control she had to wait in her room as the light faded from the sky. The sounds of battle didn’t help. Ogodei’s siege engines would now be at their destructive, deadly work. She’d only ever seen models and heard stories. It felt somehow as if she were in one of the stories now, as if she were one step removed from real life.

  Muted sobbing could be heard from frightened women in rooms all over the harem. She set her jaw. There was nothing she could do for them. There was nothing they could do for themselves. From what Firas said, even if by some miracle Farhad did manage to beat off Ogodei’s forces, with the death of Sheik Mohammed, their owner and master, their future was tenuous in the extreme.

  The afternoon crept on, minute by agonizing minute. She tried to nap, but every time she closed her eyes she saw the girl at the gate, and she couldn’t shut out the sounds of worried whispers and frightened cries at every distant boom and crash of the battle. None of them had as yet sounded so near as to cause her to fear for the disruption of her plans. Ogodei’s catapults, it seemed, had yet to get the range of the palace. Certainly it would be a prime target when they did, and yet, was it her imagination or did the crashing sounds and screams seem to be moving away?

  At long, long last, when her nerves had been stretched to the shrieking point, the shadows began to lengthen along the floor. A whisper of silk on tile, and Hayat and Alma drifted silently into the room. Johanna got to her feet and held out her hands. Hayat’s hand was dry, her grip fierce. Alma’s was damp and trembling. They held on to each other for a long moment, taking and giving courage. The two women were wearing multiple layers of clothes as she’d suggested, and, Johanna saw approvingly, had wound many scarves around their waists and throats and crossed them across their torsos.

  Johanna led the way, slipping out of her room and down the corridor, seeking the shadows. Everywhere she looked clumps of women clung together, cowered in corners, huddled together in darkening rooms. If their passage was seen, no one had the courage to say so. Johanna’s heart was wrung with pity for them, but she moved steadily forward.

  The carved wooden door loomed up out of the shadows, its bronze fittings gleaming. Kadar was still nowhere to be seen. There were no eunuch guards on this side of the door, or anywhere else in the harem that she could see. If the fighting was going badly, every man with a weapon would have been conscripted to the walls and the gates.


  Johanna laid hands on the bolt and drew it softly back. The door swung open.

  She stepped forward into the courtyard, and her heart sank.

  Farhad smiled at her. “Nazirah. How lovely to see you. Although you could be rather better dressed for the occasion.”

  He looked and sound supremely confident. He had brought only two guards with him. One held Firas’ arms behind him and a blade to his throat.

  Firas barely glanced at her. He looked less threatened than patient, and she took heart from that. Hayat and Alma had the sense to keep to the shadows behind her. “And what occasion is that?” she said, facing Farhad and trying to show no fear, although her knees had a tendency to tremble. So close, so close.

  “Listen,” Farhad said, holding a hand to his ear. They listened, and the sounds of war did seem to be diminishing. “We have beat them back, Nazirah, as I told you we would. My men are even now in pursuit.” His eyes glittered as they passed possessively over her body. “I would celebrate my victory.”

  “You pursued them?” Johanna said. “After they fell back? Your forces are outside the city walls?”

  He strolled forward and put a caressing hand beneath her chin. He raised it to look her over in an appraising manner. “Of course. They have caused much damage and many deaths. They will pay for it. All of it.”

  “You fool,” she said in a low, intense voice. “You fool, Farhad!”

  There was a large whistling sound overhead, approaching nearer and nearer and while Johanna had never experienced anything like it she knew intuitively what it was. She opened her mouth to scream at Hayat and Alma to—

  —and the projectile crashed through the roof. In the very brief moment granted to her for observation, Johanna saw that it was a large, heavy urn, stoppered with a round wood cover pierced with small holes and sealed with wax. And then it smashed into the floor and splintered into shards and slivers.

  Inside there were snakes. Many snakes, of different kinds, with, Johanna saw at a glance, only one thing in common: they were all of them deadly. Time seemed to slow down. Johanna saw a cobra rear up and extend its hood, and strike seemingly at nothing. A knot of purple snakes with pure white heads uncoiled themselves and slithered in half a dozen different directions. Smaller adders with distinctive zigzag patterns flowed over each other and seemed to pull darkness with them as they slipped away.