by Tony Roberts
“This is no place to be” she said, wrinkling her nose, as they reached a street that allowed two horses abreast. Smells of spices drifted past as did the less pleasant odor of horse dung, and as they passed the occasional alley, urine.
Casca seemed not to notice however, and to be sure, he’d experienced such smells many times before in his long existence. “I am seeking the home of Kayim the Jeweler. Do you know of him?”
She shook her head. “My home was in the richer quarter nearer the citadel.”
“Of course. The Barlas would not allow one of their high born ladies to visit this area.”
Adil swung her head at the mocking tone in his voice. “And this is where you prefer to be” she stated, “with your kind!”
Casca laughed. His kind! All his kind, Romans, were long dead. Rome was now a city of intrigue dominated by the Popes.
They rode on and soon entered the Street of Gems. Jeweler’s shops lined the sides and it wasn’t long before they came across Kayim’s. Curious eyes followed the two as they dismounted and studied the wide front of the jewelers. Small tables stood outside with chairs on each side and hanging in front of these were signs denoting that this was the abode of the foremost gem expert in the entire city, Kayim. The language was Farsi, known commonly as Persian.
“Welcome, welcome” a small, dark man appeared from the dark interior of the shop. “You honor my humble establishment with your presence. Would you like to savor some tea whilst you peruse my wares? Do you seek anything in particular? I have a wide range of precious stones for the esteemed master. I am Kayim, perhaps you have heard of me?”
“Of course,” Casca replied, “but not as a jeweler.” He looked round carefully but nobody was within earshot. “Yayik the merchant sent us. He told me you would be able to put me in touch with Timur, emir of the Barlas clan.”
Kayim’s face underwent a radical change. Gone was the smile, to be replaced by a wary and perhaps hunted look. “It is not wise to mention his name aloud in the streets. The Moghuls have spies everywhere. Since they killed Hajji Beg they have become bold and have demanded Timur’s head. Come, come, enter my humble abode. My boys will take care of the horses.” He clicked his fingers and two small boys, no older than ten or twelve, ran out and seized the reins and led the beasts off around the back. The two travelers followed Kayim into the cooler interior.
“You are welcome but I must ask you to remain out of sight. Food and drink will be brought. May I inquire as to your names?”
“My name will not be known to Timur. I am Casca, a mercenary. This, however, is Adil, of the Barlas tribe. I purchased her north of the Black Sea.”
Kayim bowed. “Any member of the Barlas is welcome here. I shall send word to Timur at once. He has been gone for some time to the south, taking many of his warriors with him. Although he is supposed to be working for the king of Sistan, I believe he is training his warriors for war.”
Casca sat down on some cushions indicated. “Against the Moghuls?”
Kayim nodded. “They are not popular and have brought much misfortune upon us all. Many are eager to see them gone but only the Barlas and the Kara-Unas tribes oppose them openly. The key is the Suldus tribe, located between these two, around Balkh, and they side with the Moghuls, mostly because they are traditional enemies of Amir Hussain of the Kara-Unas.”
Casca pondered this silently. This was senseless, and reminded him very much of the Mongols before Temujin united them all and became Genghis Khan. The Mongol tribal unity had only lasted as long as they had strong leaders to unite them, but once this was gone they returned to their little lives of internal rivalries and squabbling amongst themselves. Small wonder the Moghuls were able to dominate the tribes of Transoxiana.
Kayim drank from the tea that had been brought. “Ah, my friend, the tribes see only the small world and they will remain small so long as they do. They need a leader, one born with destiny to rule.”
“One like Genghis Khan,” Casca said, almost to himself, remembering the story Temujin often told of how he’d been born under a celestial sign.
“Or Timur” Adil said.
“Timur?” Casca stared at the woman. “He had a celestial birth?”
“So the tribe says, and Timur maintains the story. Indeed, I remember him as a forceful man even before I was enslaved.”
Casca sipped his tea, deep in thought. Perhaps he could guide this man as he had Genghis a century and a half ago..... perhaps. He knew now he must meet this Timur, no matter what!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Life in Bukhara was full of tension. The locals lived in fear of the Moghuls and expected at any moment their city to be ransacked. Fortunately nothing of the sort happened. The main energies of the invaders were directed at trying to round up the Barlas rebels holding out in the hills and exacting a high tribute from each city. The Barlas representative in Bukhara had little choice but to pay over the extortionate amount or his head would be removed. Besides, the Moghuls reckoned they had broken the will of the Barlas following their killing of Hajji Beg and the exile of Timur.
The quarters Casca and Adil had were adequate but cramped and the mercenary wished more than once he could get out and flex his muscles, yet Kayim insisted he remain indoors until the Moghuls were less vigilant. Adil was more relaxed, partly as she was now amongst her own people and partly because her own position as slave was shortly to cease. Casca had promised he would release her once Timur appeared. She spent her days usually seeing to the frustrated man, pleasing him to the point that he half cared not about being confined. Casca made a comment to the effect that she was acting more like a proper slave now she was due to be emancipated. Adil merely smiled and continued her duties.
It was a few weeks later that a commotion was heard and suddenly the doors burst in and three very large men, armed to the teeth, took up guard by the entrance. Casca grabbed his sword and sprang to his feet, ready to fight to the end, but then a large shape blocked the light in the doorway and stood there, examining the scene. “So, Kayim, you harbor brigands now, do you?”
The speaker was confidant and authoritative. He stepped into the house and peered at the guarded Casca. “Are you a brigand or a Moghul dog?”
“Neither. I am the servant of no-one.”
The man snorted, his brown moustache shifting as his face muscles twitched. He slowly took in the posture and size of the mercenary, noting he was bigger than most. “A warrior. An assassin perhaps?”
“Assassin!” Casca was outraged, although a swift fleeting memory of Hasan al-Sabah crossed his mind. “I am a mercenary, out of work. I am here to wait for Timur, Emir of the Barlas clan.”
The man raised an eyebrow in surprise at the name. “And when you meet this Emir, what are you to do?”
“Present him with a gift. Yayik sent me.”
“Yayik! That blood sucker.” The man stepped closer and for the first time Casca noted he limped, his right leg being slightly lame. He was thickset, possessed clear brown eyes and had a hard, grim face. “Well, mercenary, I am Timur. What gift do you have for me?”
Casca looked sideways at the nervous figure of Kayim who nodded to confirm Timur’s proclamation. “I have two, in fact. First, a member of your tribe, returned from slavery. Adil!”
The woman stepped out from a curtained alcove where, of course, she had been listening. Timur eyed the woman, dressed in red silken garments, with interest. “Adil Agha?”
“Master” she bowed low, her hands in front of her.
“I remember you from many years ago. You have the look of your mother.” He turned to look at the mercenary once more. “So, mercenary, you own one of my tribe?” Timur’s voice was threatening.
Casca shook his head. “I release her from her servitude to you. I bought her from a fat Turkish merchant in the lands of the Kipchaks.”
Timur scowled, then relaxed as Adil sidled up to him. “It is wise you gave her to me, or your head would have been rolling at my feet by now.”
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br /> Casca grinned. “Yayik mentioned something like that.”
“Then you owe him your life, mercenary. So now you have given me this beautiful woman, what is the second gift?”
Casca turned and picked up the box Yayik had given him. He’d kept it close to him ever since and although Adil had asked about it Casca refused to say anything. “This, a present from Yayik.”
Timur snapped his fingers and one of his men took the small ornate box and brought it to the Emir. Timur smiled and produced a small key from a pouch and slipped it into the keyhole set in the box lid, and to nobody’s surprise it fitted. Flipping it open Timur revealed gems of all colors, eliciting gasps from some of the onlookers. Timur laughed harshly. “Funds to pay for an army! Now I can take on these diseased jackals of Moghuls!” Grinning he passed the box to an aide and faced Casca again. “So, bearer of gifts, what are your plans now you have fulfilled your mission?”
“I have none, save perhaps to join your army and help drive out the Moghuls.”
Timur snorted, slapping his gauntlets against his left thigh. “The Moghuls! They rob our people, slaughter our flocks, steal our women. May Allah bring sores to their genitals. My army is battle hardened and well trained. Do you know how to fight? I mean, really fight?”
Casca folded his arms. “I am more than a match for any of your soldiers, but I may be of use to you other than with my sword arm. I know tactics, the land, how the enemy think. I have more experience than any of your army put together.” A boast, but an accurate one.
The Emir of the Barlas stared at the mercenary, then looked around at the small gathering, a smile beginning at the corners of his mouth. “Oh! This man is more than a match for my men, you hear that? One should tremble before him, yet I have not heard of his name before.”
Adil was the only one not laughing with Timur, for she had seen this man’s unusual abilities first hand. Casca smirked, then raised a hand. “Yes, a vain thing to say, but I am known by another name in Mongol, that of the Unchanging One. Casca-Badahur.” The title had been given him by Temujin way before becoming Genghis Khan, and his sons and grandsons had known him by that description, too. Timur, a Turkish Mongol, was tenuously descended from that family, and had heard of the story which he assumed was a legend, a good yarn told by old warriors at night to impress the young men.
“Hah! You call yourself that? A Greek mercenary?” Timur glared at the solemn Casca.
The mercenary looked at Adil. “She believes me, look at her.” Adil’s face had gone white, for she had learned of the legend when a small girl and had always wondered if the tale be true or not. Casca’s strange healing abilities had eaten away at her mind all the time she had been in Bukhara and the myriad pattern of scars across his body had fascinated her. The link between the Unchanging One and Casca had, however, never occurred to her until now.
“You don’t seriously think this charlatan is Genghis’ immortal warrior?” Timur seemed totally unwilling to accept what had been said.
Just then another shape detached itself from the shadows and appeared at Timur’s shoulder. It was a wizened man dressed in a dull brown rough spun cloth and in his right hand he gripped a straight wooden staff, from which hung two small leather bags. Casca recognized what he was at once; a shaman.
“It is told that there is a test which only the Unchanging One can pass” the shaman said in a deep, strong voice.
Timur swung his head, his plaited hair swinging round in an arc. “Jaibut, what do you know of this?”
Jaibut smiled, showing many gaps in his cracked mouth. “Any wound will heal within a few heartbeats. Only the Unchanging One has this ability.”
Timur grunted. “So, if I cut his arm it will repair itself by the time I return my sword to its sheath? Very well. If you speak truly, then you have nothing to fear.” He grinned suddenly. “However, if you fail the test, I shall continue with the cut until your head rolls across the floor.”
Casca pulled a face. This character didn’t piss about. He seemed to like cutting heads off. He wondered what he did for kicks when he was a kid. “Go ahead” he said, thrusting out his left arm. Timur stared the westerner in the eye but, seeing no flinching there, looked away and grasped his wrist. He ran his sword slowly along Casca’s arm, noting the blood begin to flow down as the blade passed.
He pulled the weapon away and stared at the arm. Blood dripped, then incredibly, stopped and began to coagulate even as they watched. The sliced arm knitted together and the wound closed so that there was only a red line where the metal had bitten into the flesh.
Timur stepped back, disbelief in his eyes. “I do not acknowledge what my eyes tell me.”
“You saw the truth, Khan of the Barlas,” Jaibut said, “this is indeed the Unchanging One.”
Adil clapped her hands together and sank to her knees. To her, he was a childhood hero, someone who had been there to witness the Mongols great years, when half of the known world bowed down before the Khans and paid homage. Her feelings for him now were very confused, for she loved him, yet feared him, worshipped him, yet was in awe of him. Timur slowly wiped his blade and returned the sword to its sheath. “So, Unchanging One, you have returned to the lands of the Mongols. Why?”
Casca rubbed his arm. It always hurt no matter how much he steeled himself. “I last served in the court of Kubilai in the land of China. After his death I saw only a decline in the fortunes of the Mongols, and vowed never to return until another great leader rose on the stage of the world, one with a sign of greatness.” Utter garbage, he thought to himself, but they all love a shitload of flannel. “I see in you greatness, and want to be with you as the Mongols build a new empire on the ruins of the old.” Not bad, even if I say it myself.
Timur looked thoughtfully at the mercenary who then bowed low as a sign of respect. Adil looked up at her emir with hope and awe. The others stood straighter and looked at their leader in a new light. Even the shaman was speechless for a moment.
“A new empire” Timur chewed on those words. Like the other tribal leaders in Transoxiana his ambitions had been to lead his tribe and to maintain that position, making sure his tribe enjoyed a superior position in the balance of power. Now he began to look beyond.... perhaps the strange one had something of truth in what he said.
“Of course, the first thing to do would be to drive the Moghuls out of Transoxiana” Casca said calmly. “And it would be better if the campaign was conducted in the territory of the Suldus tribe around Balkh.”
Timur planted his fists on his hips and glared at the other. “You have good reason for this?”
“Of course. Firstly, it would impress the tribesmen of your rivals and it would also restrict devastation any war brings to that land. Your home territory would be unscathed. Further, control of Balkh and Samarkand is vital to this land. Without these you would never unite the tribes.”
Timur nodded. Such things had occurred to him already. It seemed the Unchanging One had a use as an advisor. But what was he like with the sword? He determined to find out first hand. When they attacked the Moghuls, he would ensure Casca got stuck in, whether he liked it or not!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Timur moved fast. With the confidence of what the Unchanging One had said about him being another great Khan, and the fact it had spread through his tribe like the plague, he allied himself once more with Amir Hussayn, leader of the tribe occupying the land directly to the east of Balkh. Other lesser tribal leaders threw their lot in with the two emirs, hoping to return to a more relaxed form of government than under the Moghuls. However, those tribes around Balkh remained loyal to the invaders, and it was against these that Amir and Timur decided to strike first.
Adil was taken on by Timur as one of his wives, while Casca was given the title Yaz-Bashi and given command of a hundred men, a Koshun, attached to Timur’s personal guard unit. Timur obviously wanted to keep a firm eye on his newest officer apart from wanting him close for further words of wisdom. After all, this man
supposedly was with the great Khans of the last century and he wanted him close and not with another potential leader.
Timur though was a skilled tactician himself and knew how to use his forces. He supplemented his Barlas tribe with the nomadic Tajik people of the region even though he admitted to his inner council members he hated them. His own tribe alone was not enough to take on the Suldus and their allies. As with Genghis and subsequent Mongol leaders he arranged his army into decimal units, each army being made up of ten units of a thousand and each thousand being divided into ten units of a hundred and so on. Along with the regulars came the irregulars, mostly mounted nomads ranging far and wide, scouting ahead and to the flanks, bringing to Timur intelligence reports.
The other tribes loosely attached themselves to the army, led personally by their own Emirs, and although they were nominally subordinate they made it clear they were only there in order to defeat the Moghuls and their allies. Once that had been done they would drift away and return to their own home areas. Casca thought to himself that uniting these people would be just as hard as it had been uniting the Merkits, Oirats, Tartars and so on under Temujin.
They travelled along the mighty Oxus south eastwards, passing through barren land devastated by successive invasions and campaigns and left bare by depopulation after the Plague. Timur’s plan, in concert with Amir Hussayn, was to approach Balkh from two directions, Timur from the west and Amir from the north, and capture the strategic city that way. Intelligence reports stated that the locals had raised two armies to fight them under Mengli Bugha of the Suldus, the man who controlled Balkh, who had with him two other local leaders.