The Mongoliad: Book Three tfs-3

by Neal Stephenson

  “What task is that, Father?”

  Father Rodrigo offered him a puzzled expression. “To release the power of the Grail, of course.” He patted the tattered satchel he had brought with them.

  Ferenc stuck a finger in his ear and worked it back and forth, as if he could dislodge the words he had just heard. The Grail? He remembered a cup Father Rodrigo had been holding on the ledge above the crowd. It had fallen from his hand when the soldiers had grabbed him. Was that the Grail? But how had that cup found its way back to Rodrigo?

  “What… what does it do?” Ferenc asked. He recalled the crowd’s reaction to the cup: astonishment and awe. But he hadn’t seen what had been so remarkable about the cup. It had looked like an old drinking mug, tarnished with age.

  “That is not the right question, my son. Instead, consider what it is that the Grail wants us to do,” Father Rodrigo replied with a small smile. “We are but vessels through which it operates. I must show it to the people of Italy, of Germany and France. I must show it to everyone, and the Grail will tell them what it wants from us.”

  That was not a promising, or elucidating, answer, and Ferenc eyed Father Rodrigo’s satchel with suspicion. He had packed it himself. He didn’t recall putting a cup in there, nor any opportunity when the priest might have done so. “What did it want yesterday in the marketplace?”

  “It wanted me to rouse up the people of Christendom and urge them to shake off the danger of the Mongols. It wanted me to prevent the arrival of a prophecy-to prevent the world from coming to an end.”

  Ferenc’s stomach tightened into a knot. His voice leaping up almost an octave as he demanded, “Mongols? The ones from Mohi? Father, you were there. You know what they did, what they can do. We cannot fight them. Even with everyone from the market yesterday. We will be killed!”

  “Calm yourself, my son,” Father Rodrigo said. “I am not talking about a marketplace of people descending on an army. I mean we must gather all of Christendom, every man, woman, and child, and all together, as a united front, we will confront them and drive their evil from our land.”

  “Everyone?” Ferenc repeated, saying the word with exaggerated care. “Everyone?”

  “Everyone.”

  Ferenc considered this. “How?” he asked, unable to comprehend such a mass of people.

  “God will provide,” Father Rodrigo, a serene calm descending upon his face. The priest stared into the distance, a wry smile on his face.

  Ferenc sighed, faced with the entirely reasonable conclusion: however calm and rational Father Rodrigo seemed, he had taken leave of all of his senses. The fever may have finally left him, but it had burned away too much of the priest.

  “Excuse me, Father, I need to relieve myself,” Ferenc said. He picked up the blanket and carefully draped it around Father Rodrigo’s shoulders. The priest patted Ferenc’s hand and continued to smile at nothing in particular. Unwilling to look upon the priest’s face any more, Ferenc turned his attention to the nondescript countryside of grass and occasional copses of trees. Then he purposefully began to walk to the east, looking for something in particular.

  A hundred paces off, he found it: a view out over a shallow valley, filled with the tent city of Emperor Frederick. Ferenc had suspected they were near it, and his intention the previous night had been to skirt the camp. Now, he decided, the best thing to do was march right into it.

  The English Cardinal Somercotes had sent them to the Emperor. Father Rodrigo had liked Somercotes. By association, then, Frederick was probably not a villain, peculiar as he was. Another thing to consider: Ocyrhoe had told him that Frederick cursed a lot. That meant Frederick was not pious. And that meant he was less likely to be seduced by Father Rodrigo’s story. Even if the Grail really did have special powers-which Ferenc doubted-it was probably safer in the hands of an Emperor than those of a raving churchman. It saddened him to think this, for Father Rodrigo was still by far the most beloved living human to him… but he could not ignore the obvious.

  With a sigh, he turned back to fetch the priest.

  “You’re a woman, can’t you make her speak?” Orsini demanded irritably. Lena turned her calm, subtle gaze from the Senator to the girl.

  Ocyrhoe imagined a hand pressed over a mouth, and tried to project this image to Lena. She had had so little training before her other sisters had vanished that she doubted she knew how to communicate properly in this fashion.

  “She is not going to say more,” Lena said confidently. She had not even made eye contact with Ocyrhoe. “I believe she is under an oath to somebody and part of that oath requires secrecy. If that is the case, she will never speak. She will die sooner than speak.”

  Ocyrhoe tried to keep alarm off her face. She was not under an oath, and she was not willing to die to help Father Rodrigo and Ferenc escape. Had Lena gotten her message, and was she now bluffing on her behalf? If so, it was a clever ploy; if not, then Ocyrhoe feared she was in more danger than she had originally thought.

  “Your Eminences,” Lena offered. “I understand your distress over the discovery of this girl in His Holiness’s chambers.” She glared at Fieschi as she said this, and Ocyrhoe wondered how much she had seen of the manner in which Fieschi had dragged her out of the room.

  At first she had thought the Cardinal had meant to harm her, but he had simply been trying to snare her-much like the manner in which a cat pounces on a mouse. Fieschi had been angry, ready to strike her, but the sudden appearance of Lena had given him pause.

  “Leave her with me,” Lena said. “I will find a way to give you the information you require in a manner that does not break her oath.”

  Fieschi grimaced. “I don’t care what sort of ethical justification you want to give it, just as long as we get what we need.” Ocyrhoe noticed that his distaste did not extend to his eyes. He was watching them carefully. Too carefully.

  “Fine. Leave. Now.”

  Orsini was the more startled of the two by her command, and as he huffed with indignity, she fixed him with a withering stare. Wanting to make himself larger before feeling diminished by letting a woman order him around, but when he noticed Fieschi’s lack of outrage he deflated-slowly-as he departed.

  “Speak,” Lena said sharply as soon as they were alone.

  Ocyrhoe shrugged. “The priest asked me to help him escape, and Ferenc wanted to go with him. I drew a map for them to get out of the city, and I distracted the guard at the door so they could get out. But once they were out, I was stuck inside, and Fieschi found me.”

  Lena made an aggrieved noise. “Why did he want to escape? Why did you help him? Where was he going? How could you possibly consider this appropriate behavior for a Binder?”

  Ocyrhoe held her hands up in weak protest. “I was not behaving as a Binder; I was behaving as a friend.”

  “Once you become a Binder, you are always a Binder. Especially when your friend is the Pope. Your actions will bring chaos upon the city, little one. You have interfered with matters that you had no right-”

  Desperate for justification, Ocyrhoe interrupted, “What if he had employed me as a Binder?”

  Lena blinked, surprised. “To do what, exactly?”

  “I… I was to carry the message of his departure to the Cardinals. As indeed I did, the moment Fieschi opened the door. I did not even have to tell him verbally; my presence was enough.”

  “Such flippancy is dangerous, girl,” she warned, punctuating her words with the same glare she had used on Orsini.

  “I truly have no information beyond what I’ve told you,” Ocyrhoe said, less ruffled by the look than Orsini had been. “I don’t know why he left or where he was headed. He said he was a prisoner, and that he shouldn’t be. He asked for my help. Ferenc is my friend, and I wanted to help him. And Ferenc wanted whatever Father Rodrigo wanted. So…”

  “So you decided to take matters into your own hands, regardless of how much pain and suffering that might cause others. Is that it?” Lena stared at her. “If he is tr
uly mad, then you have set him loose in the world. Do you understand the folly you’ve committed?” Her voice was softer, though no less stern.

  Ocyrhoe looked down, her cheeks flushing. “Yes,” she said in a small voice. “I’m so very sorry. But there is nothing I can do to help you find him.”

  “I know, child.” Lena placed her hands on the sides of Ocyrhoe’s head and kissed her lightly on the crown of her skull. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t know where he has gone.”

  Ocyrhoe looked up at Lena. “I don’t understand,” she said.

  Lena brushed Ocyrhoe’s hair back from her face. “Which gate did you send them to?”

  “Flamina. I thought the sooner he got out of the city, the better.”

  “Give them that much,” Lena said.

  “What will they do to him if they catch him?” Ocyrhoe asked.

  “What do you think they will do?” Lena asked. “He is Pope. Why should he fear the people who serve him?”

  Ocyrhoe shook her head. “I think Fieschi wants to kill him.”

  “Would you dare say as much to the Senator?” Lena asked. “While the Cardinal was standing next to him, in the same room?”

  Ocyrhoe froze. All of a sudden she couldn’t breathe, much less shake her head. The Bear had taken my sisters, she thought frantically. How could Lena have forgotten that?

  “You must consider your actions carefully,” Lena said softly, and the woman’s words released Ocyrhoe from the terror that had gripped her. “You must know the repercussions of what you do before you act. Regardless of your concerns about the Cardinal, is the priest not safer here than out in the wilderness where any brigand or ruffian could harm him? He only has Ferenc to watch over him. That may have been enough before, but now Father Rodrigo wants to preach to the people. Is that not dangerous for him in his state?” She stared at Ocyrhoe for a moment, waiting for her to nod in agreement. “When I call in the Cardinal and the Senator, you will tell them which gate. Yes?”

  “And then what?” Ocyrhoe asked, panic twisting in her belly. This time she got the words out. “Orsini silenced our sisters. I see how he looks at me. He wants to do the same again.”

  Her outburst gave Lena pause. “I will make sure he doesn’t hurt you.”

  “How can you do that?” Ocyrhoe demanded, trying to stall the inevitable. “He took all of them, even when we realized they were disappearing. He still got everyone except me. They were my family and they could not protect me. How can you assure me otherwise?”

  An odd look came across Lena’s face. “Trust me, little one,” she said. Her expression melted into a soft smile. “I will have a talk with the Senator soon. That’s all it will take. Just a little chat.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  To Eternal Glory

  Ogedei Khan took his morning meal late and alone in his ger. After Alchiq’s visit he had spent the remainder of the day in repose, mostly napping off the effects of the copious amounts of wine he had drunk, but some introspection had flitted across his mind during the long afternoon. It was the sort of post-drinking binge thinking he avoided as much as possible, as it was full of all manner of recriminations and self-loathing, but this time he let it run its course. When it was gone, he had fallen into a deep, dreamless slumber and had woken this morning feeling quite rested.

  Still, he did not rush into the hunt. Now that his brain was free of the fog of the wine, the importance of this hunt was that much more evident. He wouldn’t go so far as to admit that the health of the empire rested upon the death of the Great Bear, but the symbolism of the hunt was significant. He was not superstitious-the empire had left all that behind when the clans came together and formed one people-but he understood the value in giving his subjects an event they could claim as a watershed moment in their lives. A token of the empire’s strength and everlasting value. It was best to delay such rewards, to further emblazon their reception with as much gravity as possible.

  The Darkhat scouts knew where the Great Bear roamed-less than a day’s ride to the north. Master Chucai had suggested he take a jaghun with him, but Ogedei had scoffed at such an idea. What beast would not flee in terror before a hundred men? Half as many might still be too many-surely his trackers alone could find the bear’s den-but to take less would be to incite Chucai, and he was not in the mood to suffer that man’s persistent disappointment. It was his hunt, after all.

  I will take four arban, he decided. Two would be his strongest guards, including the new Torguud captain. The other group of men would mostly be trackers, including both Chagatai’s envoy and Alchiq. One cook, Master Chucai, and the shaman would make up the remainder of his hunting party.

  He would have preferred to leave Master Chucai behind. His advisor was beginning to annoy him again and, much like the previous time when their relationship had become antagonistic, Ogedei knew Chucai’s mood would only improve when the Khagan’s drinking lessened. Of course, knowing this only made him want to drink more, and it would be so easy to lay the blame for his drunkenness at Master Chucai’s feet. But it wouldn’t change anything. Chucai would still be an arrogant son of a whore, and Ogedei would still thirst for wine.

  The previous night he had dreamed that the Great Bear had eaten Chucai. He had been greatly refreshed when he had woken. Why couldn’t he have that dream every night?

  The guard, Alagh, ducked into the ger and bowed to the Khagan. “My Khan.”

  “What is it?” Ogedei asked with a sigh. He could guess. I think of him and he appears.

  “Master Chucai asked that I tell you the hunting party is ready. The day of your great hunt has finally come.”

  “He couldn’t come tell me himself?”

  “My Khan?” Alagh was flustered and mildly frightened by the question.

  Ogedei grunted and waved, dismissing the guard, who quickly fled from the ger. Ogedei picked at the leavings on his plate, dawdling a few moments longer. I should reassign that one, he thought, staring at the entrance of his ger. Alagh was one of the pair who had guarded him the night of the Chinese raid, and of the two he was the more skittish. Like a young colt, recently born. Both overly curious and easily frightened. Once, he would have enjoyed having men like that around him. They tended to be eager to please. He recalled his new Torguud captain’s dispatch of the blond-haired fighter-quick and efficient. The difference was that Namkhai expected more of him as Khagan-he could read the desire quite readily in the wrestler’s face.

  Ogedei looked at his hands. I will kill the Great Bear, he thought. I will be worthy of my father’s legacy once more.

  His hands shook only a little bit.

  Jachin could not decide on which scarf to wear. She had woken well before dawn to get ready for the momentous day. The Khagan would be leaving the camp, and Second Wife could not be happier. Soon their endless exile from Karakorum would be over. She had been giddily happy as she had ordered her servants to prepare her finest outfit.

  Of course, such delight had given way to irritation: her servants hadn’t packed the right clothes. Some of her coats were too wrinkled. Her handmaidens had forgotten that she preferred to have her hair back over her left ear, not her right. None of her scents had the right floral note-they had all gone rancid overnight.

  And finally, it was time to choose a scarf, and Lian could not suffer Jachin’s frenetic nervousness any longer. As Second Wife shrieked at her servants, threatening to tear all of her clothes off-Do you want me to stand naked before the Khagan? — Lian slipped out of Jachin’s ger.

  The morning sun had warmed the valley enough to drive off the limpid fog, though many of the banners still gleamed wetly. The ground was damp, and she could feel the chill of the approaching winter through the thin soles of her shoes. The weather had been pleasant the last few days, but the nights got very cold. She skipped lightly as she walked through the camp.

  Outside the Khagan’s wheeled ger the hunting party was gathering. The Torguud, in their finest armor, were fussing with their saddles. The Dark
hat guides stood in a clump, stoic as ever. A tiny man, covered with tassels and bells and bits of metal and bone, was hand-feeding the smallest pony she had ever seen. She spied Master Chucai moving through the ranks of the Torguud, and he caught sight of her but gave no indication of pleasure or displeasure at her presence. And, over by the fire pits, she spotted Gansukh and a gray-haired man.

  Sparing one more glance in Chucai’s direction, she hurried over to the pair. “You… you are going on the hunt?” she asked.

  “It was not my-” Gansukh said. He glanced at his companion briefly and then took her by the arm and led her a few paces away. He stood so that his body was shielding her from the company being assembled. “It was not my idea,” he apologized, “though I should have known it was going to happen. What the Khagan wants…”

  She was more flustered about this than she had expected to be, and she flushed as she realized how badly this news was affecting her. “Did you…?”

  He shook his head. “Stay with Second Wife,” he said cryptically. “I will finish that matter when I return.”

  “What matter?” she asked.

  His forehead creased. “Munokhoi,” he whispered. He stepped closer to her. “Don’t go anywhere alone, if you can help it,” he said. “Stay with Second Wife.”

  She shook her head, not wanting to hear his words. Not wanting to acknowledge what he was telling her. She was embarrassed by the fear and despair that were burning in her stomach. Like a hot coal that slowly blackened all that touched it. Slowly she realized her fear had little to do with Munokhoi and more to do with the fact that Gansukh was leaving.

  She knew that the men going with the Khagan were not going to be in any danger-their presence was mostly ceremonial, once the bear had been located-but it was the realization of loss that was eating at her. What the Khagan wants…

  Once the hunt was over, Gansukh would go away. Afterward, Gansukh’s presence at court would either be irrelevant or an irritant; either way, the Khagan would send him back to Chagatai.