The Immortal Knight Chronicles Box Set

by Dan Davis

  “Tell him that we have enough of our own drink so far,” William said. “But that if that should give out, we would happily drink whatever he gave us.”

  This seemed to satisfy the Mongol captain and he asked another question of us.

  “What says the letter from your king, the King of the French?” Abdullah translated.

  “Those letters are sealed,” William said, stiffly. “And meant for Prince Batu only. But he can be assured that there is naught in them but good and friendly words.”

  He then asked, through Abdullah, what we would say to Batu with our own voices when we reached him.

  William answered. “Words of the Christian faith.”

  The Mongol asked what these words were, since he was eager to hear them for himself.

  Friar William expounded to him as well as he could through Abdullah, who seemed neither over intelligent nor fluent in the creed of the faith, he being but an ignorant heathen and follower of Mohammed. When the Mongol had heard William’s pious drivel, he remained silent but wagged his head, entirely unconvinced.

  “Ask him if Prince Batu has a Christian man who serves him,” I said. “A man from France, or England. A man named William.”

  The monks grew agitated at my interjection and also Thomas hissed at Abdullah to say nothing. While the Mongols stared at us in confusion at our agitation, I grinned at everyone and nodded at those who would meet my eye.

  “Let us maintain a friendly demeanour, shall we, my friends?” I said, smiling and nodding. “And, Abdullah, you will ask the Mongol my question for if you do not, I shall hurt you very badly by breaking your thumb and forefinger on both hands the moment we leave the company of these charming people.”

  Abdullah was a coward and so he did as I had requested.

  “The Lord Scatay says that, yes, there was a man like that serving Batu Khan.”

  My heart was in my throat as I pushed for more. “And his name? Is it William? Did he look like me?”

  The Mongol captain tilted his head and looked hard at me while he babbled.

  “He says that William was the man’s name but as for you men from Christendom, he cannot tell one apart from the other.”

  Thomas scowled, even as I grinned like a madman. “If you are quite finished with disrupting our royal business for your personal quest, sir?” Thomas said.

  Then William and Thomas spoke to Scatay in the terms previously used, for it was essential that we should everywhere say the same thing. This we had been well cautioned by those who had been among them, never to change what we said.

  The Mongols were wary to the point of paranoia about enemy agents observing their numbers, positions and internal political divisions, lest any and all these things be used against them. A particular worry for them, because that was precisely how they themselves operated. No other people, not even the devious Syrians, nor the ancient and corrupt Persians, had such an extensive intelligence network. And we Christians had almost no concept of such things, certainly not in such a widespread and formal strategic fashion.

  Finally, the Mongols agreed to do as we asked, supplying us with new horses and oxen, and two men to guide us onward to Lord Batu. The servants from Soldaia who had brought us went back with their beasts.

  Before giving us all this, they kept us waiting for a long time, begging of our bread for their little ones, admiring everything they saw on our servants, knives, gloves, purses, and belts, and wanting everything. We refused, over and over, every day while we waited to be sent onward, saying to every grasping heathen that we had a long journey before us and that we could not at the start deprive ourselves of necessary things. The monks explained with words, through Abdullah, while Eva and I explained by wrenching their hands and shoving them away.

  It is true that they took nothing by force but they begged in the most importunate and impudent way for whatever they saw, and if a person gave anything to them, it was so much lost, for they were ungrateful. The Mongols considered themselves the masters of the world, and it seemed to them that there was nothing that anyone had the right to refuse. If one refused to give, and after that had need of their service, they served him badly.

  No matter how much I explained to the servants to give nothing up, they were intimidated and I could not be everywhere at once. Thomas and Bertrand were determined to keep the peace, subject as we were to the mercy of the Mongols. Even Bertrand controlled his temper, for he knew he had to complete his embassy in order to return to the favour of his king.

  While we waited with them, in their camp, they at least gave us to drink of their cow's milk, from which the butter had been taken. It was very sour. They called it aira. I did not like it but the Mongols valued it, so it was their way of offering us something, however small, as a token of acceptance.

  Finally, we left this captain, and it seemed to me that we had escaped from the clutches of demons.

  In fact, we had barely begun our descent into Hell.

  ***

  For two months, from the time we left Soldaia to when we came to Prince Batu’s ordus, we never slept in a house or tent, but always in the open air or under our carts. Travelling north and then east, we never saw a city, but only Cuman tombs in very great numbers.

  In the evenings, our guide us gave us kumis to drink. Even though it is fermented mare’s milk - an intoxicating version of the foul, sour aira - it was quite palatable. The Mongols loved that drink, indeed, they drunk it every day and took much sustenance from it. They loved alcohol in all forms, for life on those endless grasslands, exposed to constant wind and sun and rain, was dismal indeed and like the life of an animal and so they sought comfort, warmth, and distraction in their inebriation.

  “Why do the Christians here fear this drink?” I asked Stephen, as I was fairly taken with the stuff, and the young monk seemed wise beyond his years. Whereas I have always had years beyond my wisdom.

  “They are ignorant of the true tenets of the faith,” Stephen replied, shrugging beneath his dirty robe. “And their blood is inferior to ours, which makes them stupid despite being saved.” He giggled because he was drunk on kumis.

  We hopped from one Mongol camp to the next, often at intervals of five days or so, as the oxen travels. Some Mongol captains were wealthy, where others were impoverished. And when we came among one particularly destitute ordus, which was confined to a barren and diseased territory, they were such horrible looking creatures that they seemed like lepers. There were no children running about as in other camps.

  “Why in the name of God are they like this?” I asked Abdullah.

  “Their lord displeased Batu.”

  During our journey to the royal camp of Batu, the Mongols rarely gave us food, only very sour and bad-smelling cow's milk. Our own wine was quickly exhausted, and the water was so muddy from the horses that it was not drinkable even with boiling. Had it not been for the barrels of travel biscuits we had, and God's mercy, we should probably have perished.

  Not only that, the men who conducted us began robbing the monks in a most audacious manner, for they saw that the holy brothers took but little care with their belongings. Finally, after losing a number of things, vexation made the monks wise to the Mongols’ ways and all precious things they kept on their person, as the rest of us had done for some time. Not only that, we none of us went anywhere alone, even to shit, else we would be mugged by our guides.

  I was warned by Thomas and William never to hurt the Mongols who guided us, even in retribution for their uncouth, savage behaviour, because then we would likely be killed or abandoned, which amounted to the same thing. They spoke as if I was a child who had no self-control and I was greatly offended by their words of warning. Still, it was true enough that at times I found it difficult to resist murdering those arrogant bastards. I would happily have feasted on their blood, for they were miserable, thieving heathens with no honour amongst them.

  They would never leave us alone, for in their minds they were the masters and we were outside
rs. When we were seated in the shade under our carts, for the heat was intense at that season, they pushed in most importunately among us, to the point of crushing the weaker members of our party, such as Friar Bartholomew, who was frail and a poor traveller.

  Filthy creatures that they were, whenever they were seized with the need to void their bowels, they did not go away from us farther than one can throw a bean. They did their filthiness right beside us while talking together, and much more they did which was vexatious beyond measure. I grew to hate them and hold them in deep contempt and disgust.

  Still, I swallowed my disgust and even attempted to learn their hideous language. After many days, I began to understand pieces of what they said. One of my few gifts outside of the marshal traits is an affinity for languages, thanks to God, for if it were not so I would have died centuries ago.

  Bertrand and Hugues were surly but subdued. The entire time, I made sure to never turn my back on them and watched them closely, especially whenever Eva moved apart from the group for momentary privacy. She dressed always in mannish clothing, was hooded or sheltered beneath a wide-brimmed hat and she reeked as much as a man, or a boy at least. Still, the men in our party eyed her in hunger. All other than William of Rubruck who, for all his faults, was an honourable and strong-willed man and old Bartholomew who either hated women or had no interest in women, on account of his advanced years perhaps or because he was that way inclined. Young Nikolas was at her side so much that anyone would think he was her slave rather than Rubruck’s and though I am sure he sought her company from a need to feel mothered, he was also approaching an age where his thoughts may not be so innocent. On occasion, I would catch the filthy bloody Mongols discussing her while casting looks in her direction from a distance and those men, along with Bertrand, were the ones I feared attacking in the night. How she was able to withstand such ceaseless attention, I do not know, because it was enough to drive me to a state of heightened anxiety. I slept little and was ever ready to draw a dagger in defence of my wife.

  “Any woman who ever leaves her home grows used to such things,” she said one time, shrugging. “Their endless gazing means nothing. But any man who lays a finger upon me will lose his hand, his balls, and then his life.”

  “What a true English lady you are,” I said in jest but I also meant it. However, my remark did not appear to amuse her one bit.

  We crossed the great River Don, which was called the Tanais back then, ferried across on small boats. That river at that point was as broad as the Seine at Paris and the Russians had a village there, an outpost subject to the Mongols. It was the season when they were cutting the rye. Wheat thrived not there but they had great abundance of millet. The Ruthenian women arranged their heads like my own people did back in England and France, but their outside gowns they trimmed from the feet to the knee with vair or minever. The men wore capes like Germans and wore felt caps, pointed and very high.

  The country beyond the Tanais was most beautiful, with rivers and forests. To the south, we had very high mountains, inhabited, on the side facing this desert, by the Kerkis and the Alans, who are Christians and still fought to resist the Mongols. Beyond them was the Caspian Sea.

  At the end of every day, we ate quickly and retired early, sleeping beneath the wagons when it was still warm enough to do so. On the easier days, we would perhaps stay awake and talk. Once in a while, we would camp near to a lake or river and there would invariably be scrub on the banks. Enough to make small campfires for a little warmth and light either side of the long sunsets. On those nights with fires, we would drink more kumis than usual and would stay awake longer.

  “Tell us of the battle again, sir, I beg you,” the monk Stephen Gosset asked Thomas on one such night.

  “Again?” Thomas said, warily. “I have never spoken of it. Not to you, brother.”

  We sat in a rough circle on the grass. The ground was still warm after a baking hot day, and the herbaceous smells of the dry grass wafted up from beneath us. A small fire flickered in the middle of us, providing almost no warmth but plenty of light. Without it, there would have been enough light from the cascade of stars sprayed onto the blanket of night above us. I sat beside Eva and chewed on the dried goat meat. It took all evening to chew through enough to feel even half a belly full. Eva scrubbed the hints of rust from her second-best sword.

  “What battle?” I asked, speaking around my food.

  Thomas waved a hand. “Young Stephen has an interest in war.”

  “An unseemly interest,” Friar William growled from the shadows. “Most unseemly.”

  Stephen opened his palms in front of him. “Brother, I wish only to know more of the Tartars. My lord Thomas is the only man I ever met who has fought against them.”

  When a dribble of brown spit ran down my chin, I realised my mouth was hanging open.

  “You fought the bloody Tartars?” I said. “When?”

  Thomas took a deep breath. “Twelve years past.”

  “The second invasion of the Tartars,” I said. “You were there when they smashed the Hungarians?”

  “No, not there. I was in the Kingdom of Poland. There was another battle. A series of battles, in fact.” He surprised me with a question. “Where were you twelve years ago?”

  “Acre, I think?” I looked at Eva. She returned my gaze with no expression, or confirmation, while she rubbed at her blade.

  “And no doubt a mere page at the time,” Thomas said. “Bertrand?”

  “Twelve years past?” he said, pausing to take a mouthful of kumis. “Chasing the girls in my father’s castle. That was a year or two before he gave me a castle of my own, you see. By then I had already taken up my sword and won many—”

  “What happened in Poland?” I asked while Bertrand scowled at me. “What series of battles? Against the Tartars? Why was your order up there?”

  “Our order is everywhere that there are Christians. My brothers and I were stationed there to plan a crusade against the pagan Lithuanians. There was an important leader there, a great lord named Duke Henry the Pious. It was when the Tartars were attacking the Rus, once again, as they had done in 1223. Long time ago. Thirty years, almost.”

  “I remember it well,” I said. Eva stared at me. “That is, I remember hearing of it. Please, go on.”

  “This Lord Batu led them. He conquered the Rus, all their cities by 1240. Tartar riders were seen everywhere across Poland, in the Kingdom of Hungary, even into the Duchy of Austria. Sometimes in groups of dozens, even hundreds. Not fighting. Rarely even raiding. Just watching. Learning the land, prior to the invasions.”

  “Clever,” I said, for that was far from standard practice. We Christians had no tradition of that kind of preparation, as hard as it may be to believe.

  “They gathered a vast army and led it against King Bela of Hungary.”

  “The battle at the River Sajo,” I said, nodding. “King Bela led the largest Christian army ever assembled, so I heard. And they were destroyed by the Tartars.”

  Bertrand belched. “A hundred thousand Christians,” he said. “A hundred thousand fools.”

  I scoffed, for that was an absurd number.

  “Fewer than that,” Thomas said, glancing at me. “But yes, it was a great many. I was not there but I spoke to men who were. Fifty thousand, perhaps. But they were not fools. They fought well, so it is said.”

  “Who says?” Bertrand demanded. “They were all killed.”

  “Almost. Not all. Some of my order were there, supporting, observing. The Tartars were led by Prince Batu, a most cunning and brutal commander. He battered, then surrounded all the forces, other than a few here and there. Some small number of my brothers watched the battle unfold across the plain, and so escaped the encirclement and related the tale.”

  “But you were in Poland,” I said.

  “I was. With seventy brothers from my order, as well as many sergeants and five hundred bondmen from our lands there. It took us time to assemble and gather to protect t
he great cities. Krakow, in particular. Duke Henry the Pious brought his army. It was a vast force. Twenty or thirty thousand but most of them villeins armed with little more than sharp sticks and the foulness of their breath. But there were thousands of men-at-arms, also. Five thousand mounted and armoured, at least, so they said.”

  “I did not know the lands there could field so many knights,” I said.

  “They are a good people. Strong in arms. Strong in faith. Worth protecting against the heathens.”

  “I do not doubt it.”

  “The Tartars sacked a town named Sandomierz. Then, in the month of March, they defeated an army of Poles at Tursko. It was extremely bloody, for both sides, but the Tartars won the field. A fortnight later, another battle, this time at Chmielnik, where the Tartars won again. Not only that, almost the entire nobility of Lesser Poland was killed in that battle. The Tartars sacked Krakow. We advanced with Duke Henry with his thirty thousand men. We were confident, for we knew that King Wenceslaus of Bohemia was coming to join his forces to Henry’s and the Bohemians had forty thousand, so they said. Together, our armies would be sixty thousand men, perhaps more.”

  “How many were the Tartars?” I asked, before correcting myself. “The Mongols.”

  Thomas sighed. “After the battle, men were saying the enemy numbered a hundred thousand strong.” He gave a snort of derision. “I doubt it could have been much more than a tenth of that. But whatever their numbers, they were all mounted. And that was why they were able to force the Poles to battle before the Bohemians could arrive. Duke Henry should have withdrawn, should have pulled back, denied battle. Should have allowed them to do whatever they wanted to his cities and the people. But he could not. A ruler cannot do such things. His lords would never have allowed him to do so. In any case, he had ten thousand mounted men, well equipped and on good horses.”

  “So the Poles had perhaps an equal number of mounted men as the Mongols,” I asked. “Plus ten or twenty thousand on foot? Little wonder he was confident. Were the heathens mounted on these stocky little horses or did they have true war horses?”