They had been lying in wait for us. Perhaps they would not have fired at me if I had granted the man his request; perhaps they had intended an ambush all along. I cursed myself for my weakness and pity. I would have another scar to remind me of Inglistani treachery and the cost of a moment’s lack of vigilance, if I lived.
When I came to myself, the cabin was burning. A man knelt beside me, tending my wounds. Pain stabbed at me along my right side as I struggled to breathe. Two bodies in the gray clothes of Inglistani farmers lay outside the door. The Ganeagaono warriors danced as the flames leaped before them.
My son strode toward me, a scalp of long, golden hair dangling from his belt. “You cost me two men,” he said. I moved my head from side to side, unable to speak. “I am sorry, Father. I think this war will be your last.”
“I will live,” I said.
“Yes, you will live, but I do not think you will fight again.” He sighed. “Yet I must forgive you, for leading us to what your people call greatness.” He lifted his head and cried out, echoing the war whoops of his men.
8
I was carried west on a wagon, my ribs covered with healing herbs and bound tightly with Inglistani cloth. A few men remained with me while the rest moved on toward New Haven. Every morning, I woke expecting to find that they had abandoned me, only to find them seated around the fire.
A man’s pride can be good medicine, and the disdain of others a goad. I was able to walk when Yesuntai sent a Bahadur to me with news of New Haven’s surrender. Few soldiers were left in New Haven; most had fled to make a stand in New London. The young Noyan expected a fierce battle there, where the valor of the Inglistanis would be fired by desperation. He wanted me at his side as soon as possible.
The Bahadur had brought a spare horse for me. As we rode, he muttered of the difficulties Yesuntai now faced. Our Narragansett allies had remained behind in their territory, as we had expected, but the Mahicans, sated by glory, were already talking of returning to their lands. They thought they could wait until spring to continue the war; they did not understand. I wondered if the Ganeagaono had the stomach for a siege that might last the winter. They would be thinking of the coming Green Corn festival, of the need to lay in game for the colder weather and of the families that waited for them.
The oaks and maples gave way to more fields the Inglistanis had cleared and then abandoned. I smelled the salt of the ocean when we caught sight of Mongol and Mahican sentries outside a makeshift stockade. Yesuntai was camped to the east of New London, amid rows of Ganeagaono bark shelters. In the distance, behind a fog rolling in from the sea, I glimpsed the walls of the town.
Yesuntai and Aroniateka were outside one shelter, sitting at a fire with four other men. I heaved myself from my horse and walked toward them.
“Greetings, Jirandai,” Yesuntai said in Mongol. “I am pleased to see you have recovered enough to take part in our final triumph.”
I squatted by the fire and stretched out my hands. My ribs still pained me; I suspected they always would. “This is likely to be our hardest battle,” I said.
“Then our glory will be all the greater when we win it.” Yesuntai accepted a pipe from Aroniateka and drew in the smoke. “We will take New London before the leaves begin to turn.”
“You plan to take it by storm?” I asked. “That will cost us.”
“I must have it, whatever it costs. My fellow commander Aroniateka is equally impatient for this campaign to end, as I suspect you are, Bahadur.” His eyes held the same look I had seen in my son’s outside the burning farmhouse, that expression of pity mingled with contempt for an old man tired of war.
I slept uneasily that night, plagued by aching muscles strained by my ride and the pain of my wounds. The sound of intermittent thunder over the ocean woke me before dawn. I crept from my shelter to find other men outside, shadows in the mists, and then knew what we were hearing. The sound was that of cannons being fired from ships. The Inglistanis would turn the weapons of their ships against us, whatever the risk to the town. They would drive us back from the shore and force us to withdraw.
Yesuntai had left his shelter. He paced, his arms swinging as if he longed to sweep the fog away. I went to him, knowing how difficult it would be to persuade him to give up now. A man shouted in the distance, and another answered him with a whoop. Yesuntai would have to order a retreat, or see men slaughtered to no purpose. I could still hear the sound of cannons over the water, and wondered why the Inglistanis had sailed no closer to us.
A Mongol and a Ganeagaono warrior were pushing their way through knots of men. “Noyan!” the Mongol called out to Yesuntai. “From the shore, I saw three ships—they fly the blue and white banners of your father! They have turned their weapons against the Inglistanis!”
The men near us cheered. Yesuntai’s face was taut, his eyes slits. He turned to me; his hands trembled as he clasped my shoulders.
“It seems,” he said softly, “that we will have to share our triumph.”
The ships had sailed to New London from Yeke Geren. They bombarded the town as we advanced from the north and east, driving our remaining Inglistani captives before us against the outer stockade. The sight of these wretches, crying out in Inglistani to their comrades and dying under the assault of their own people’s weapons, soon brought New London’s commander to send up white flags.
Michel Bahadur left his ship to accept the surrender. We learned from him that our Khan had at last begun his war against Inglistan that spring; a ship had brought Michel the news only recently. By now, he was certain, the Khanate’s armies would be marching on London itself. Michel had quickly seen that his duty lay in aiding us, now that we were openly at war with the Inglistanis.
Michel Bahadur praised Yesuntai lavishly as they embraced in the square of the defeated town. He spoke of our courage, but in words that made it seem that only Michel could have given us this final triumph. I listened in silence, my mind filled with harsh thoughts about men who claimed the victories of others for their own.
We celebrated the fall of New London with a feast in the town hall. Several Inglistani women who had survived the ravages of Michel’s men stood behind them to fill their cups. There were few beauties among those wan and narrow-faced creatures, but Michel had claimed a pretty dark-haired girl for himself.
He sat among his men, Yesuntai at his side, drinking to our victory. He offered only a grudging tribute to the Ganeagaono and the Mahicans, and said that they would be given their share of captives with the air of a man granting a great favor. I had chosen to sit with the Ganeagaono chiefs, as did most of the Mongols who had fought with us. Michel’s men laughed when three of the Mahican chiefs slid under tables, overcome by the wine and whiskey. My son, watching them, refused to drink from his cup.
“Comrades!” Michel bellowed in Frankish. I brooded over my wine, wondering what sort of speech he would make now. “Our enemies have been crushed! I say now that in this place, where we defeated the last of the Inglistani settlers, we will make a new outpost of our Khanate! New London will become another great camp!”
I stiffened in shock. The men around Michel fell silent as they watched us. Yesuntai glanced in my direction; his fingers tightened around his cup.
“New London was to burn,” Yesuntai said at last. “It was to suffer the fate of the other settlements.”
“It will stand,” Michel said, “to serve your father our Khan. Surely you cannot object to that, Noyan.”
Yesuntai seemed about to speak, then sank back in his seat. Our Narragansett and Wampanoag allies would feel betrayed when they learned of Michel’s intentions. The Bahadur’s round, crafty face reminded me of everything I despised in Europeans: their greed, their treachery, their lies.
My son motioned to me, obviously expecting me to translate Michel’s words. I leaned toward him. “Listen to me,” I said softly in the tongue of the Flint People, “and do nothing rash when you hear what I must say now. The war chief who sailed here to aid us m
eans to camp in this place. His people will live in this town we have won.”
His hand darted toward his tomahawk, then fell. “So this is why we fought. I should have listened to Mother when she first spoke against you.”
“I did not know what Michel Bahadur meant to do, but what happens here will not trouble the Long House.”
“Until your people choose to forget another promise.”
“I am one of you,” I said.
“You are only an old man who allowed himself to be deceived.” He looked away from me. “I know where honor lies, even if your people do not. I will not shame you before your chief by showing what I think of him. I will not break our treaty in this place.” He turned to Aroniateka and whispered to him. The chiefs near them were still; only their eyes revealed their rage.
I had fulfilled my duty to my Khan. All that remained was to keep my promise to myself, and to Dasiyu.
9
I walked along New London’s main street, searching for Yesuntai. Warriors stumbled along the cobblestones, intoxicated by drink, blind to the contemptuous stares of our Frankish and Dutch sailors. The whiskey Michel’s men had given them from the looted stores had made them forget their villages and the tasks that awaited them there.
I found Yesuntai with a party of Ganeagaono warriors and a few Inglistani captives. “These comrades are leaving us,” Yesuntai said. “You must say an eloquent farewell for me—I still lack the words to do it properly.”
One of the men pulled at his scalplock. “It is time for us to go,” he said in his language. Five Mahicans clutching bottles of whiskey staggered past us. “To see brave men in such a state sickens me.”
I nodded in agreement. “My chief Yesuntai will forever remember your valor. May Grandfather Heno water your fields, the Three Sisters give you a great harvest, and the winter be filled with tales of your victories.”
The warriors led their captives away; two of the smaller children wept as they clung to their mothers’ hands. They would forget their tears and learn to love the People of the Long House, as I had.
“The rest should go home as well,” I said to Yesuntai. “There is nothing for them here now.”
“Perhaps not.”
“They will have stories to tell of this war for many generations. Perhaps the tales of their exploits can make them forget how they were treated here. I wish to speak to you, Noyan.”
“Good. I have been hoping for a chance to speak to you.”
I led him along a side street to the house where Aroniateka and my son were quartered with some of their men. All of them were inside, sitting on blankets near the fireplace. At least these men had resisted the lure of drink, and had refused the bright baubles Michel’s men had thrown to our warriors while claiming the greater share of the booty for themselves. They greeted us with restraint, and did not ask us to join them.
We seated ourselves at a table in the back of the room. “I swore an oath to you, Yesuntai Noyan,” I said, “and ask you to free me from it now.” I rested my elbows on the table. “I wish to return to Skanechtade, to my Ganeagaono brothers.”
He leaned forward. “I expected you to ask for that.”
“As for my wife Elgigetei and my son Ajiragha, I ask only that you accept them into your household. My wife will not miss me greatly, and perhaps you can see that Ajiragha does not forget his father. You were my comrade in arms, and I will not sneak away from your side in the night. You do not need me now. Even my son will tell you that I am a man who has outlived his taste for battle. You will lose nothing by letting me go.”
“And what will you do,” he said, “if my people forsake their treaties?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“You told me of the treaty’s words, that we and the Flint People would be at peace for as long as you were both their brother and the Khan’s servant. You will no longer be our servant if you go back to Skanechtade.”
“So you are ready to seize on that. If the men of Yeke Geren fail to renew their promises, that will show their true intentions. I had hoped that you—”
“Listen to me.” Yesuntai’s fingers closed around my wrist. “I have found my brothers in your son and Aroniateka, and among the brave men who fought with us. They are my brothers, not the rabble who came here under Michel’s command.”
“Those men serve your father the Khan.”
“They serve themselves,” he whispered, “and forget what we once were.”
I shook my arm free of his grasp. He was silent for a while, then said, “Koko Mongke Tengri, the Eternal Blue Sky that covers all the world, promised us dominion over Etugen, the Earth. I told you of the wise men in Khitai who believe that the ancestors of the peoples in these lands once roamed our ancient homeland. I know now that what those scholars say is true. The people here are our long-lost brothers—they are more truly Mongol than men whose blood has been thinned by the ways of Europe. For them to rule here is in keeping with our destiny. They could make an ulus here, a nation as great as any we have known, one that might someday be a match for our Khanates.”
I said, “You are speaking treason.”
“I am speaking the truth. I have had a vision, Jirandai. The spirits have spoken to me and shown me two arcs closing in a great circle, joining those who have been so long separated. When the peoples of this land are one ulus, when they achieve the unity our ancestors found under Genghis Khan, then perhaps they will be the ones to bring the rest of the world under their sway. If the Khans in our domains cannot accept them as brothers, they may be forced to bow to them as conquerors.” Yesuntai paused. “Are we to sweep the Inglistanis from these lands only so that more of those we rule can flood these shores? They will forget the Khanate, as our people are forgetting their old homeland. They will use the peoples of this land against one another in their own disputes, when they have forgotten their Khan and fall to fighting among themselves. I see what must be done to prevent that. You see it, too. We have one more battle to fight before you go back to Skanechtade.”
I knew what he wanted. “How do you plan to take Yeke Geren?” I asked.
“We must have Michel’s ships. My Mongols can man them. We also need the Ganeagaono.” He gazed past me at the men seated by the fire. “You will speak my words to your son and Aroniateka, and then we will act—and soon. Your brothers will be free of all their enemies.”
Yesuntai spoke of warring tribes on the other side of the world, tribes that had wasted themselves in battles with one another until the greatest of men had united them under his standard. He talked of a time long before that, when other tribes had left the mountains, forests, and steppes of their ancient homeland to seek new herds and territories, and of the northern land bridge they had followed to a new world. He spoke of a great people’s destiny, of how God meant them to rule the world, and of those who, in the aftermath of their glory, were forgetting their purpose. In the lands they had conquered, they would eventually fall out among themselves; the great ulus of the Mongols would fracture into warring states. God would forsake them. Their brothers in this new world could reach for the realm that rightly belonged to them.
Aroniateka was the first to speak after I translated the Noyan’s speech. “We have a treaty with your people,” he said. “Do you ask us to break it?”
“We ask that you serve the son of our Khan, who is our rightful leader here,” I replied. “Those who came here to claim our victory will take the lands we freed for themselves, and their greed will drive them north to yours. Michel Bahadur and the men of Yeke Geren have already broken the treaty in their hearts.”
“I am a sachem,” my son said, “and will take up my duties again when I am home. I know what is recorded on the belts of wampum our wise men have in their keeping. Our treaty binds us as long as my father Senadondo is our brother and the servant of his former people, as long as he is our voice among them.”
“I found that many grew deaf to my voice,” I said. “I will not go back to live
in Yeke Geren. I have told my chief Yesuntai that I will live among the Owners of the Flint until the end of my days.”
My son met Yesuntai’s gaze. How alike their eyes were, as cold and dark as those of a serpent. “My dream told me that my father would bring me a brother,” my son said. “I see my brother now, sitting before me.” I knew then that he would bring the other chiefs to agree to our plans.
We secured the ships easily. Yesuntai’s soldiers rowed out to the vessels; the few sailors left on board, suspecting nothing, were quickly overcome. Most of Michel’s men were quartered in the Inglistani commander’s house and the three nearest it; they were sleepy with drink when we struck. Michel and his officers were given an honorable death by strangulation, and some of the Dutch and Frankish sailors hastily offered their oaths to Yesuntai. The others were given to the Ganeagaono, to be tortured and then burned at the stake as we set New London ablaze.
I sailed with Yesuntai and his men. The Ganeagaono and the Mahicans who had remained with us went west on foot with their Inglistani captives. When we reached the narrow strait that separated Yeke Geren from the long island of Gawanasegeh, people gathered along the cliffs and the shore to watch us sail south toward the harbor. The ships anchored there had no chance to mount a resistance, and we lost only one of our vessels in the battle. By then, the Ganeagaono and Mahicans had crossed to the northern end of Yeke Geren in canoes, under cover of night, and secured the pastures there.
They might have withstood our assault. They might have waited us out, until our allies tired of the siege and the icy winds of winter forced us to withdraw to provision our ships. But too many in Yeke Geren had lost their fighting spirit, and others thought it better to throw in their lot with Yesuntai.
The Mountain Cage Page 5