by Tony Roberts
“Even Bukhara cannot compare with this,” Adil muttered.
“The golden city of the Golden Horde” Casca said, almost to himself. The Golden Horde was well-named for its collection of treasures from the lands it subjected, from Kiev, Russia and lands east to the Aral Sea. It ruled absolutely, with subjects required to kiss the stirrup of the Khan himself or lose their head. No one refused a request for a valuable item. Casca surveyed the city slowly. The riches of the Khan would have paid well for such an opulent looking city, but who would have thought Mongols would have been capable of building something like this?
The road to the city was paved here, an indication of how rich it was, and they rode on, well ahead of the caravan which they had waved farewell to earlier that day. Casca did not wish to arrive at the same time as the Turkish merchant.
Two guards armed with pikes stood at the gates, inspecting all arrivals, and Casca dismounted, lifting Adil off also, before walking up to them. He informed them he was a messenger from Constantinople with an important message from the Emperor to the Khan, and they were shown to a small room just inside the gates within the gatehouse. It was cool here, another indication of the approaching winter, and from his time on the Steppes he remembered winters in this part of the world were long, hard and nasty. It may well be not until spring that they would quit Berke-Sarai.
After a while a captain arrived and demanded to see the message. Casca showed the sealed letter and informed the officer, in fluent Mongolian, that only the Khan was permitted to read its contents.
The captain insisted he take the letter and it was handed over. Casca cared little, for he was sure not many in the entire lands of the Golden Horde could speak Greek, let alone read it. The captain curtly waved at the two to follow him and they strode after the man, now flanked by two close-faced guards dressed in conical fur-rimmed hats and knee-length mail coats. Kipchaks.
They walked past newly arriving visitors and through narrow streets, all paved, to a large building made of smooth stone and contained arched windows and doorways. “Your slave will be taken to the female quarters” the captain said curtly, “but you will follow me.”
Casca nodded at Adil who was reluctant to leave her master, for she had become attached to him these last two weeks. She was led through a door which slammed shut behind her. Casca was marched up a short flight of stone steps which turned right, through a door and along a marble corridor flanked by square columns and square doorways. He was shown into one room and the two guards took up post outside. The captain indicated to the mercenary to make himself comfortable. “You will be sent for when the Khan had read this letter.”
Casca could do little to argue, so he walked slowly round the chamber, spying the one window opposite which opened to a courtyard dominated by a fountain. Covered walkways lined each side and guards patrolled slowly at odd intervals. He surmised this was a barracks-cum-civic building.
The room was comfortably furnished, although it lacked a bath. Casca threw off his robes and wiped himself down with a cloth he found after soaking it in a drinking bowl. His clothing smelled a bit after living in them all this time. A polished metal mirror stood in one corner and he examined himself. While outdoors he had allowed his beard to grow and he looked more like a Greek than a Cuman, so he rummaged round and found scissors. He snipped the facial growth away until his moustache looked more like an Asiatic nomad’s. All he needed now was a sharp blade to scrape off the beard that remained. He kept his hair the length it had grown to for Cumans grew their hair long.
Once he had rearranged his looks the way he wished, he sat back and waited. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he was granted an audience with the Khan; his letter was a guarantee of that.
CHAPTER SIX
As far as Mongol leaders went, the Khan of Berke-Sarai – and of one third of the Golden Horde – was unimpressive. That he was cruel and merciless was not in dispute, but he lacked the presence and charisma of other Mongols Casca had met. Also, he was not a descendant of the House of Batu which had founded the Golden Horde. That dynasty had come to an end three years previously and had resulted in a power struggle which had split the Khanate into three mutually hostile factions.
Casca had been summoned to meet the Khan and had been escorted to the throne room by four well-armed guards and a courtier of Persian extraction. He had been instructed by the courtier to bow to the floor when summoned to the throne room and not to rise until commanded. Casca could have told him that he’d been in similar situations on dozens of previous occasions but thought better of it.
Together with a Court Official he entered the chamber and was commanded to prostrate himself in front of the man Casca had come all this way to see. He did as ordered, lying on the floor, arms outspread, face against the cool marble.
“Rise” came a deep, masculine voice.
Casca climbed to his feet, making sure he kept his eyes averted as per protocol, lest he lose his head. Not an appealing thought for an immortal; how would he survive that? “You may now look upon the Khan,” the Official intoned stiffly. Casca looked forward again, noting the line of people standing above him on the raised platform of the throne room center. Sat in the middle was the Khan, a swarthy, mustachioed man with hard eyes and cruel mouth. To each side were officials and courtiers and behind the trusted guards of the Khan himself. All had bared blades, ready to strike off the head of anyone the Khan wished.
The Khan began talking and a Greek translator repeated. Casca understood the Khan perfectly and noted that the translator watered down the words so as not to offend. “The Khan thanks you for your message and for the kind words of your Emperor. He regrets he will not be able to launch any kind of military campaign against the Turks as he is currently engaged in dealing with traitorous factions within our realm. Of course, once the Khan has dealt with these traitors he will again consider the request. He also thanks you for the kind gift you have brought him.”
Casca smiled inwardly at the different way this message was given. The Khan had been less than flattered and had torn up the Christian icon, being a devout Muslim. To a Muslim, any kind of religious picture was an insult. The Khan had also intimated that any military action on his part would be directed against the Empire rather than the Ottomans.
The mercenary bowed low and in his best Mongol tongue thanked the Khan. The Khanate court registered surprise, particularly the translator, who shot the mercenary a very hurt look.
The Khan stood up, interest in his face. “How is it a man in the service of the degenerate Greeks can speak fluent Mongol?”
“My lord, I have a gift of tongues and learn quickly. I was fortunate many years ago to serve in an army with some Mongols and learned their language. My understanding of your tongue was one reason why I was chosen to take this mission.”
The Khan sat back down, pulling on his moustache. “So you have served in other armies than the Greeks. Are you for hire?”
Casca thought deeply. His mission on behalf of the emperor had been completed and was a failure. He was therefore technically out of a job. “My lord, I am at the moment without an employer. My mission is complete. I fear my return to Constantinople would not be viewed favorably.”
The Khan acknowledged that. “You may lose your head. At least, that is what I would do to a messenger who failed. Very well, I require the services of experienced men in my army, and you have the look of a warrior. I am told by my spies that you acquitted yourself well on your journey here.”
Casca looked at the Khan with surprise. The man was well informed.
“Little passes my notice in my domain, Cuman, or Greek, or whatever you are.”
“I dress as a Cuman at the moment, so Cuman will do, my lord. I accept your offer. My sword is yours.”
The Khan smiled briefly. “I also understand you brought a woman to my palace. Is she your woman?”
“My slave, lord. Payment for saving the merchant’s life.”
The Khan nodded. He understood
the cost of slaves very well. “I will find quarters for you and your slave. My personal slaves will see to you.” With that he clapped his hands and two large male slaves appeared, their hair cut short but wearing huge moustaches. They indicated for Casca to follow them out of the throne room.
Casca was led to another chamber, a large room with red carpets and dark red and yellow curtains and drapes. To his surprise Adil was already there, waiting for him. She looked relieved at seeing him, and waited until the two male slaves left before speaking. “How long are we to stay here? You have said we will return to my homeland.”
Casca threw his tunic onto the large bed. He was relieved at having found a job instead of the executioner’s sword. “Woman, be thankful you still have your head. It is soon to be winter and I for one do not plan on being out on the open when the winds and snow arrive. We will winter here where we have shelter, food and comfort. Now be silent and find me clean clothes.”
Adil brought her lips together in anger, but stormed off without a word. Casca grinned and sank back onto the comfortable bed. Ahhh! To be able to rest in such a place after months out in the open was beyond description. He wondered what status he had within the Khan’s army. He was certainly some sort of officer. He would find out soon enough.
Adil’s quarters were off to one side of the main quarters, the two linked by a small anteroom. Casca was delighted to discover a small bath in a side room and soon was wallowing in warm water, Adil silently rubbing oils into his muscled body, staring at the numerous scars that adorned his skin. Casca was not saying where he got them and Adil decided she wasn’t going to ask, for one or two looked as though they had been bad enough to kill.
It wasn’t long before he was summoned by an officer to be fitted out in the manner of the Khan’s army. There were hundreds of items to pick from and Casca eventually chose a black plumed helm with cheek guards and a face ridge to protect the face from sword blows. He grinned as he hefted the iron item in his hand. It reminded him of the old Roman helmets he had worn during his time with the legions. How long ago was that? Over a thousand years. He liked the look of the knee length clothes currently in vogue and chose two of yellow and one of light green. His armor was of the ‘lamellar’ type, oblong pieces of iron fixed together so that it overlapped the piece below. This was of elbow length along the arms and thigh length down the body. He was also given a chain mail hauberk cut away at the rear to allow easy riding. For boots he chose two pairs of leather knee length ones. He studied his reflection in the polished metal mirror and decided he’d do. Now he looked the part of an officer in the Golden Horde.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As far as jobs went, he decided it wasn’t the most satisfying he’d ever had. He soon discovered that the Khan was hopeless with military tactics and had placed his forces in the wrong places. Three weeks had passed before Casca realized the greatest danger lay to the east where the forces of Urus, leader of the Blue Horde, were already pressing westwards. To the south was Khorezm which had the previous year declared independence from the Golden Horde and the Khan seemed unable, or unwilling, to return this land to Mongol rule.
The two rival factions within the chaos of the Golden Horde held smaller territories but seemed to have a better idea on how to fight a campaign and were slowly extending their territories at the Khan’s expense. Casca shook his head. Genghis would have smashed the rival Khans first, then turned on Khorezm and terrorized it into submission, before turning his united forces against Urus, driving them back. This Khan was too insecure and timid to venture such an undertaking.
Other officers muttered their disapproval, but in the wake of the confusion over the succession to the Jochid Khans, they didn’t want another power struggle brought about by doing away with their Khan. Their position was only guaranteed as long as the Khan remained in power, and defeat of the Khan would be followed by their fall. Casca had no intention of being around when that happened, and his intention to travel to Transoxiana was reinforced.
Winter came and the campaigns came to a halt. Adil spent most of her time being taught how to be a slave by the women in the harem or serving Casca. Although she resented being a slave she found the mercenary a strange but interesting man. He seemed very educated and knew much about the world, and spoke to her often of the various peoples and their customs. She was overawed at the extent of knowledge he knew, as though he had been there himself. But surely a man of his age had not had the time to visit even a third of the places he talked about.
Despite her intentions she found his presence appealing and found herself drawn to him during the long cold nights. She discovered a deep sadness within him, as though he had lost people he’d loved greatly in his life, although he never showed it on the surface. In a way, he seemed a tragic figure, plagued by mishaps. This brought her closer to him and often she’d fall asleep with her head in his lap as he talked of India, China or a land called Greenland, a frozen wilderness far to the north. Casca would carry the dark haired woman to her bed and make sure she was tucked in comfortably before returning to the fire which he would spend hours staring into, seeing visions no other man alive had seen. He saw Vikings pillaging helpless villages, hordes of Mongols sweeping down on packed infantry deserted by their cavalry and skies filled with arrows as they plunged down onto massed ranks of French horsemen, sending scores screaming into the mud of Crecy.
He would retire to bed wishing that he could sink down forever into the blackness of death, knowing only too well that he would wake the following morning to face another day. He was tired, tired of unending wars, struggles and conflicts. He wished with all his heart that he could live a normal life, to fall in love and grow old with a woman, not to see them wither away while he remained unchanged. It had happened too many times before and he shied away from feeling too deeply about any woman. However, his close proximity to Adil had awakened deep feelings he had hoped had gone forever and try as he might, he knew he was falling in love with her.
With spring the snows receded, the winds took on a gentler strength and became warmer, and armies prepared to resume hostilities. The Khan looked to the west and south to launch his campaigns of that year, ignoring the east. Casca voiced his reservations but was slapped down by his superior, an old warrior who had learned it was better to keep quiet and thus retain one’s post, rather than speak out and have one’s head mounted on the palace gates.
Casca stamped into his quarters after a difficult meeting and threw his equipment all over the chamber. Adil stared with wide open eyes and mouth as he raged about, criticizing the Khan, his court and the hierarchy. “These fools hang onto power like children, keeping what they’ve got and not looking to see where the danger comes from! Old Batu would turn in his grave if he saw how far his domain has sunk. This Khan is not fit to be Batu’s dog! He had no idea on tactics and the weak imbeciles he’s appointed go into battle like meek cattle to the slaughter! Mark my words, within five years this Khan will be Khan of this city and little else! To think I was sent to this asshole by the Emperor for help! Ha!”
Adil put her hands to her mouth. She’d never seen him like this before and feared for her safety. Casca glared in her direction, then realized how he must appear to her. “Fear not, woman, I am not going to beat my slave when I am angry. That is not the way I work. Besides, you mean too much to me for that.”
Adil stared in surprise, then flushed, lowering her eyes. She felt a rush of pleasure at his words. She had wondered if he felt something for her during the winter for he had been gentle and caring, things men did when they had feelings for someone.
The mercenary stood watching her, realizing he had just said some of what he felt for her. Shit, I’ve said it now. I can’t damn well deny what I’ve just said to her. “You are beautiful, Adil, there’s no denying it. I thought as such when I saw you in that fat merchant’s caravan. That’s why I asked him for you, partly because you’re one heck of a good looking woman, partly because it would piss the hell out of him
, losing such a potential profit. The prettiest ones always fetch the highest price in the markets.”
The woman blushed deeper. She didn’t know what to say.
“Come here.”
With beating heart she stepped forward hesitatingly. What would he do now? She reached him and looked up into his face, into his light blue eyes and tanned face. He smiled and put his arms around her back. “I have heard that women of the Chaghadai Khanate are very passionate. I would like to see if this is correct.”
Adil smiled and looked to the bed. It looked as though things would get very interesting from now on.
____
The Khan’s army set out to subdue one rival Khan’s territory based around Astrakhan, on the shores of the Caspian Sea to the south east. Casca was assigned to command a unit of one hundred, a Qoshun, one of the old Mongol type formations, with the rank of Yuz-bashi. As such, he was permitted to bring along his personal slave and Adil accompanied him amongst the camp followers. Casca had no intention of serving in such an incompetently led army and was firmly committed to making his way out of the Golden Horde as soon as possible. He still had designs on helping out the Byzantine Empire and perhaps there was someone around close by who could, with some help, rise up and become powerful enough to stay the Ottoman’s growing might. One thing was certain though; the Golden Horde was not capable of coming to Byzantium’s help.
The route to Astrakhan took them along the old Central Asiatic trade route, close to the Volga as it rippled its way towards the Caspian Sea. Bones of camels, horses and men littered the roadside, testimony to the still chaotic way of life that ruled here. Scythians, Huns, Khazars and Mongols had all rampaged through here, all nomadic Steppe people who hated settling down in walled cities and who preferred to live out in the open under the stars in yurts. Small wonder that a settled, organized state had never formed here.