The Immortal Knight Chronicles Box Set

by Dan Davis

  I burst out laughing. “What utter nonsense.”

  He frowned and winced, and began to protest. But I cut him off and sent him on his way.

  Eva was displeased. “You should listen to him.”

  “He is a fool,” I said. “But I am the bigger fool for asking him. If we need to run, we will simply go west. Back into Christian lands. To the Kingdom of Hungary or the Kingdom of Poland.”

  Thomas’ voice spoke over mine. “You mean to run, do you, Richard?”

  The sneaky old bastard had crept up on me like a cat.

  “Of course not,” I said, not attempting to hide my irritation. “Yet it never hurts to make preparations for any eventuality.”

  “Unless I release you,” Thomas said, “there shall be no running anywhere, at any time. Do you understand me, Richard?”

  Eva placed a hand on my forearm.

  She was right, and I swallowed my anger.

  “I swore no oath to you, Thomas,” I said, with as much calmness as I could muster. “Nor to Friar William. Not even to the King of France. But I shall do as I have said, which is to travel with you to the court of Prince Batu and there challenge William to a trial by combat. Between now and then, I shall protect you. From the Tartars. And also from other threats.” I nodded over the Templar’s shoulder.

  We watched as Bertrand and then Hughues climbed over the side, down into the little barge which would convey all of us in turn to the busy shore while our ship awaited its berth in the harbour.

  “He means to be first ashore,” said Thomas. “Even though Friar William and Friar Bartholomew are the ones who demanded the barge so that they could arrange our onward transport without delay.”

  “Aye,” I said. “That Bertrand is a strutting bloody old cockscomb. His arrogance will make further trouble in the north.”

  “His arrogance, yes.” Thomas cleared his throat, managing to convey disapproval with the sound. “I trust that you will both remain on your finest, most courteous behaviour from now onwards.”

  I looked across the shimmering water at the city of Soldaia. It was the last outpost of civilisation before we crossed into the steppe and placed ourselves under the rule of the savages.

  “Bertrand may be a prideful brute,” I said, “yet he is a wealthy lord and a Christian. And yes, you are right that I also am arrogant, Thomas. And my sins are many. I am filled with wrath. But we stand here at the edge of the world and what lies beyond is all darkness. Bertrand is not my enemy. My enemy is out there, and he is the greatest sinner that ever walked the Earth.”

  ***

  We were not long in the small city itself. There had preceded us certain merchants of Constantinople who had said that envoys from the Holy Land were coming who wished to go to Prince Batu. This man Batu was the ruler of the Mongols' northern and western forces and was one of the most powerful and richest men in the entire world.

  “But I am no envoy,” Friar William said, to the group of Genoese merchants and prefects of the city who had prepared our way.

  All of our party sat at a long table with those merchants in a very pleasant courtyard in the richest quarter of Soldaia, eating fresh fish cooked in olive oil. It was warm, both the food and the people smelled good and clean, and I was comfortable and happy. Eva, the other two squires, and the servants were somewhere in the back. Eva had returned to pretending to be a young man and strutted around with her head down beneath an oversized hood. I concentrated on shoving as much food as I could into myself while I could, and I knew Eva would be doing the same with whatever slop she had been served. We had years of experience with travelling and we knew to make the most of fresh, hot food and sweet wine while we could.

  “You say you are no envoy?” The chief amongst the Genoese merchants was startled. “Yet, we have sent word to the Cumans that you are an envoy, Friar William.”

  William was inexplicably outraged, his cheeks quivering as he responded. “I publicly preached on Palm Sunday in Saint Sophia that I was not an envoy. Neither the King’s nor anyone's, but that I was going among the unbelievers according to the rule of my order.”

  The Genoese and the prefects all stirred, exchanging meaningful looks. The leader shifted in his seat. “If you please, Friar William, may I caution you to speak guardedly, for we have said that you are an envoy. What is more, if you now say that you are not an envoy, you will none of you be allowed to pass with safe conduct through the Mongol lands.”

  Before the Franciscans could raise further objections, Thomas spoke up. “Of course, my friends. We understand perfectly.”

  Bertrand and I nodded our sincere agreement.

  “We do not understand, sir,” William said, his big face flushing red. “You say I must deceive our hosts with regards to our intentions? How can I do such a thing?”

  “So, say nothing,” I said, speaking with my mouth full of oil, fish, and bread. “Eat your supper, Friar. Try the olives.”

  “My lords,” William of Rubruck said, heeding not a word. “It is imperative that we are not seen as envoys. For I do not wish to discuss matters of earthly power but to spread the true word of God and of the Pope in Rome. We have heard say in the Holy Land that your lord Batu may become a Christian, and greatly were the Christians of the Holy Land rejoiced thereat. And chiefly so the most Christian lord the King of the French, who has come to that land on a pilgrimage and is fighting against the Saracens to wrench the holy places from out of their hands. It is for this I wish to go to Batu, and also carry to him the letters of the lord king, in which he admonishes him of the weal of all Christendom.”

  “Letters,” I said, and slammed my palm against the table with much force and the loud bang cut William off from his babbling. “Letters from the King of France to the Prince Batu. I ask you, my lords, does that not make us envoys, after all?” I looked around at everyone while nodding my head, and focused my attention on Friar William. “Yes, indeed it does, my lords, quite right, yes.”

  Thomas picked up from me, speaking over William’s protestations. “You have our thanks, lords, for sending word ahead on our behalf, to your overlord. Our sincerest thanks. We shall say prayers for you, will we not, Friar William?”

  And when they knew that we would not cause them diplomatic difficulties, the prefects did receive us right favourably and gave the three friars lodgings in the episcopal church. The rest of us were given use of rooms in the villa of an old Genoese merchant who bowed repeatedly and told us how honoured he was to have us as his guests, even while his servants removed the valuable decorations from our rooms behind him.

  For the journey into the wilderness, they gave us the choice whether we would have carts with oxen to carry our effects or sumpter horses. The merchants of Constantinople advised William of Rubruck to take carts, and that he should buy the regular covered carts such as the Rus carry their furs in, and in these we could put such of our things as we would not wish to unload every day. They said that oxen would be the best choice.

  “Oxen are so very slow,” I said, to William and to Thomas. “With those lumbering beasts, we shall not reach Batu before the Day of Judgement.”

  Even Bertrand agreed with me, as he was eager to complete his task with as much haste as possible so he could return to his king that much sooner and so return to his favour. Ideally, Bertrand wished to get back to Acre before King Louis left the Holy Land or else he risked being forgotten by the court, and his ambition would be thwarted for years and perhaps forever.

  But William of Rubruck, the incompetent great oaf, did not wish to insult our hosts by going against their recommendations. “Should we take horses it will be necessary to unload them at each stopping place and to load other horses,” he said, “because you see my lords, horses are so much weaker than oxen.”

  We took the oxen, and so doubled the travelling time for that part of our journey. Eva cautioned patience and so I did my best to accommodate the slothfulness of that gluttonous heap of pompous dogmatism, William of Rubruck.

&
nbsp; For all his many faults, he was not a stupid man. Naive, of course, in the worst possible way. But not stupid. He had brought with him from Constantinople, on the advice of canny merchants, fruits, muscadel wine and dainty biscuits to present to the captains of the Tartars that we met so that our way might be made easier.

  “For, among these Tartars,” Friar William told me, “no man is looked upon in a proper way who comes into their land with empty hands.”

  We set out on our journey from Soldaia about the calends of June 1253 with our six covered carts in which was carried our supplies, belongings, and bedding to sleep on at night. And they gave us horses to ride, one for each of us. They gave us also two gruff men who drove the carts and looked after the oxen and horses.

  And so arrayed, we set off into the wilderness.

  The path north across the landscape was wide, and well-trod and the weather dry, and hot. Our horses were not good. They were short and sturdy enough, but they could manage only a slow pace and had to be nurtured less they tire themselves into standstill before the day was over. Bertrand had immediately seized the best horse for himself, that is to say, the largest and strongest. Thomas had taken the next best due to his status, and Friar William, arguing that he required a sizeable mount due to his own bulk, took the next best.

  Eva had given me a probing look on the first day.

  “It is not worth the conflict that would result from arguing,” I had muttered.

  “And yet, if we must flee…” she then began, indicating our tired old nags.

  I had lowered my voice. “Then we kill them and take their good horses.”

  Eva had relaxed. “Fair enough.”

  Through each day, we rode upon our horses while the six wagons—which were sturdy, four-wheeled things pulled by a pair of oxen each—trundled along behind us. Each wagon was tied to the one before it so that the two moody servants the merchants had provided simply had to drive the first pair and the others followed in turn. The wagons carried our supplies for the journey and also the many gifts that we had been strongly advised to bring for the Mongol lords, as such things were expected.

  Riding on poor horses is tiring and we spoke little as we travelled. When we stopped to make camp, we drew up the wagons all close together and used them to corral the horses and to partly shelter against the wind. We made small fires for as long as it took to boil fresh water collected in the day to make it safe for drinking, and sat to eat the food we had brought from the city. There was no reason to stay awake for longer than necessary, so we each retired to our bedrolls. It was still warm at night, so sleeping wrapped in our blankets upon the grass was perfectly comfortable. Bertrand demanded that he sleep upon the bundles of furs we had brought as gifts on the back of one of the wagons. None challenged him, yet he appeared pleased with his petty victory over us.

  Every other night, Eva would drink her fill of blood from a cut I would make across the veins of my wrist. Decades before it had felt strange, to be drunk from in such fashion but by then, our final years together, I paid it little heed. Her drinking of me gave me great thirst, for blood, water, or wine that I would need to satiate as soon as I was able. Yet, any weakness was not long lasting and she needed it.

  Together, we lay entwined, her head resting upon my shoulder, or she would sprawl her upper body across my chest so that the good weight of the woman held me down. With her in my arms, I stayed awake for as long as I could every night to be alert for assault from without or from within. When I felt myself falling asleep, I would wake my wife and she would pinch herself into alertness and take over the watch.

  What a remarkable land it was. Good land for farming but it was not defensible and yet it seemed to be peopled with groups from everywhere on the Earth. There were forty hamlets between Soldaia and the land bridge of the peninsula and nearly every one had its own language. All these places were subject to the Mongols, of course, and none of them mixed with each other. Among them were many Goths, whose language was Teutonic. I was told that there were Saxons thereabout, descended from men who had fled from the Norman conquest hundreds of years earlier. I greatly wished to meet these Saxons but no one knew where their villages were and I grew to suspect either they had all been killed or the entire story was a fabrication.

  The guides were barely willing to exchange words with me but with much cajoling and with their words translated by the slave boy Nikolas, I winkled the knowledge of the wild land out of them. They told me that from Soldaia all the way along the coast to the city of Tanais to the east there were high promontories along the sea. And beyond the mountains to the north was a most beautiful forest, in a plain full of springs and rivulets. And beyond that forest was a mighty plain which stretched out to the border of the peninsula to the north, where it narrows greatly into a land bridge, having the sea to the east and the west. Once we were beyond that border we would be on the endless steppe, the grassland that ran from Hungary in the west to the ends of the Earth in the east.

  Each time we stopped at sundown, I would ask Abdullah more about the people who populated the steppe and he would explain while some of us listened to his words, sitting upon the grass or on the backs of the wagons, while we ate what food we had in the moments before retiring for the night. The young Saracen slave grew somewhat confident when he spoke of such things, seeming almost wise at times, although we had to watch he did not get hold of the wine because he was a terrible sot.

  “In the plain beyond us used to live Cumans before the Mongols came from the east,” Abdullah said. “Once, it was the Cumans that forced the cities and villages hereabout to pay them tribute. The Cumans were once from the east, and there they were subject to the Mongols but had fled here to escape their subjugation. But when the Mongols came, the Cumans feared their retribution and they fled down into this peninsula for the first time. Such a multitude of Cumans entered this province that the people of the villages fled to the shore of the sea. But there was nowhere further to flee, and no food to be eaten, for the Cumans had taken it all. And so all these people ate one another. The living ate the dying, as was told me in Damascus by a merchant who saw it. Saw the living devouring and tearing with their teeth the raw flesh of the dead, as dogs do corpses.”

  None of us had anything to say to that. Bertrand scoffed as if he disbelieved it, but his big face showed he was as disturbed as any of us.

  “What happened to the Cumans?” I asked.

  Abdullah shrugged. “They were subjugated by the Mongols once again.” He squirted a stream of wine into his mouth from a skin. The ancient, frail Friar Bartholomew leapt to his feet, hitched up his robes as he scurried over and slapped Abdullah about the head before yanking the wineskin from him.

  Toward the end of the province were many large lakes, on whose shores were brine springs which the locals used for the making of salt. And from these brine springs, Prince Batu derived great revenues, for from all Rus they came to that place for salt, also many ships came by sea. The young Franciscan lad, Stephen, was most intrigued by the notion that a fortune could be made from salt and expressed that curiosity that evening at camp.

  “Your interest in worldly wealth is unseemly,” Friar Bartholomew said to chastise him, while Friar William nodded.

  “It is not my own personal wealth that interests me,” Stephen said, innocently, “I simply wish to cultivate a clearer understanding of the world.”

  Friar William scoffed. “Cultivate your need to practice simplicity and detach yourself from materiality instead.”

  “And not only that,” Friar Bartholomew said, in a nagging tone while Stephen hung his head. “You must become more charitable.”

  I burst out laughing. No one else laughed with me but I thought I could see a hint of a smile on Stephen’s face before he hid it behind a biscuit.

  And so, three days after leaving Soldaia, we came across the Mongols.

  When I found myself among them, they were so strange, so repulsive, and backward that it seemed to me that I had be
en transported into another century far into the past, or to another world entirely.

  How long they had been tracking us, I could not say. That country was alien to me, and I could not read the land, could not see it, in the way that I have always been able to read the land of England, France and the rest of Christendom. Even so, late on that third morning, we saw riders on the horizon. We stopped our wagons and waited where we were, as was the proper procedure. A group of ten men approached on stocky little horses the size of ponies, with a few more riderless horses following behind.

  It was early summer and the day was hot, the wind warm and full of the smell of grass, and fragrant herbs. As the sun was so high, most of our party sat beneath the wagons as it was the only shade anywhere in sight.

  I wore only a cotton tunic, hose, shoes and a wide-brimmed hat and, despite the heat, I badly wished to put on my armour. When facing an enemy, I always wanted to be wearing my long mail hauberk, with a coif for my head, neck, and throat and then an enclosed helm to protect my head. Ideally, I would wear chausses, which were mail armour for my legs. And yet we three knights; Bertrand, Thomas and I, had agreed that appearing before the Mongols while dressed for war would be provocative and may cause us more problems than it would solve. I had argued hard for wearing our gambesons at least, with a loose tabard over the top to disguise the armour. Bertrand was ready to agree but Thomas insisted that it would be just the same, or nearly so, as wearing mail and that a tabard would fool no man, not even a savage.

  “We will at least wear our swords, will we not, Thomas?” I had said.