by Dan Davis
It was so close that I felt that my task was already done. I could taste the victory on my lips.
But God is cruel.
He had given me that taste, had brought me and William together on that road from across a city of a million people as though it was fated that I would finally fulfil the destiny that He had set out for me.
Only to snatch it away.
Just behind William, a group of Mongol warriors streamed out of a row of archways in the side of the road on their horses. They came out quickly, a half dozen, then quickly more followed behind. They spilled out to fill the road from one wall to the other. They were not looting, they were a zuut of close to a hundred sober soldiers, mounted and armoured, clutching their lances and bows.
William was lost from view beyond them.
I wanted to push my way through but there was a wall of horse and metal in my way. Behind me, my companions drew to a stop and looked to me.
Eva, Thomas, Hassan, Orus, Khutulun, Jalal. Stephen and Abdullah.
We were outnumbered more than ten to one.
“Are they here for us?” Thomas said, his voice tight and anguished.
The enemy were indeed taking an interest in us, and many rode toward our position. We must have looked incredibly suspicious. A few of them already had their hands on their weapons.
Every moment we delayed, William was getting further from my grasp.
“It does not matter,” I said, drawing my sword. “I am cutting my way through.”
Would my people follow me? Eva would, and Thomas too. Would Stephen flee for his life? Would the Saracens and my Mongols turn tail and decide that Hulegu was their only target after all?
There was no time to discuss it or to force them into obedience.
One of the dozens of Mongols just ahead saw me for what I was. A foreign enemy with a drawn sword. He pointed with his spear and raised his voice to his fellows riding at his side and they were not the sort to hesitate.
Then again, neither was I.
So I charged them first.
The sturdy horses were mostly unarmoured and so I slashed my blade into the animals’ faces and eyes and sent many reeling. I moved into the mass of enemies, laying about me at man or beast who ventured near. Some riders fought to hold on to their injured animals, but a few slid off their horses and came at me on foot. Spear thrusts and sword blades flashed, clanged against me. Something smacked into my helm, and I was struck hard on the shoulder. My armour held but my anger built. I cut at whatever flesh I could see, and punched and shoved, always moving forward.
Sounds of battle grew behind me, and I knew that at least some of my men were fighting.
But the enemy were too many. The horses were like mountains of flesh and the air grew close and the shouting loud. I could not find my way through and clear. Their number appeared endless. It was difficult to see in any direction but for a moment I had a glimpse through the chaos.
Behind me, my company was surrounded and attacked on all sides. Eva was swarmed by furious Mongols, their lances thrusting at her all from all directions as she twisted and danced in an ever-smaller space. Thomas thrashed at the spears that jabbed down at him. A blade flashed at Abdullah, who screamed as he fell, blood gushing from his neck, before an axe crashed into the top of his head.
My people needed me. And yet, with every moment, William’s escape grew ever more certain.
Marshalling my strength, I threw down the men around me and climbed up onto a horse. It tried to throw me but the others were crowded so tight around it that the beast could not even turn. There was a half dozen mounted between me and the nearest wall. I struck down the men in my path, avoiding or turning their blows. A weak spear thrust from an overextended Mongol hit me on the chest, checking my progress. I seized the weapon and heaved. The foolish man attempted to hold on to the shaft of his spear and he fell from his horse amongst the stamping hooves. As he fell, I jumped over him to the back of the next horse. Those Mongols had never faced an enemy as strong and fast as me and as brave as they were, they were also afraid. I powered through them all the way to the wall and leapt up to the jutting stonework over the archway. My sword blade scraped against the plaster but I dragged myself up onto the top of the wall. It was flat and level and wider than shoulder width. On the other side, the street leading into the city was also packed with Mongol horsemen. I was wrong about it being a single zuut of a hundred men. It was two zuut at least, crowding the streets and ready to kill us when they got clear.
Glancing behind me, I saw my company engaged with the Mongols down on the road, making little headway. They were surrounded. Orus and Khutulun fought back to back. Thomas stabbed into the horses with a fury I had never seen in him before. Stephen crouched behind Eva, who ducked and slipped from the blows while striking back at the Mongols who tried to kill her. Hassan, Jalal, Radi and Raka fought together and cut a swathe into the enemy at an oblique angle away from the others. But all four Assassins looked wounded already, Radi with a great gash across his crown, and Raka being supported by Jalal. The air reeked of blood. Writhing Mongol bodies littered the path and more fell with every moment. The shouts and screams echoed between the walls as they died. But there were so many. How long could my people survive against such odds?
Glancing the other way, I saw William still hurrying away, now almost at the massive gatehouse. Almost free. He seemed to half turn at that moment but I did not know if he saw me or not.
I had to kill him. It was my last chance.
But it meant sacrificing my people.
Losing Eva.
An arrow struck the wall at my feet and snapped, just as another slashed the air by my head.
I ran.
Along the wall, heading for William.
My leather shoes slapped on the stones that capped the top of the wall, and I raced along it faster than any mortal man. A Mongol archer can hit a bird on the wing but none of the arrows shot at me brought me down. In no time at all, I left the roaring mass of men behind me and the gatehouse loomed ahead. It was the size of a squat castle keep but was a simple structure. I considered climbing from the wall up onto the top of the gatehouse, running across the roof and then dropping down the other side to cut him off.
If only I had made that choice. I may have ended William’s life there and then and so saved the people of the world from centuries of his evil.
However, I saw men up there on the top of the gatehouse. Mongols or their allies had seized the building and I would have to avoid them or fight them. I was afraid that any delay on the roof would mean William escaping beneath me and so decided on the direct approach. Nearing the gatehouse entrance, I stepped down the stonework over the last archway in the sidewall and then dropped to the road, landing heavily in my Saracen armour. Ahead of me, the road became a dark tunnel. Inside the gatehouse, William fled.
Shouts behind me. It was the Mongol zuut. Of course, they were chasing me. Of course, they would never have simply watched me run away in full view and done nothing to follow. There were at least a dozen riders, perhaps many more.
I felt dread descending. A sense that, on that day and in all the years since I left Constantinople, I had always been making the worst choice in every moment.
But what could I do? I had to fight on along the path before me.
So I ran for William, ran into the chill darkness beneath the mass of the gatehouse.
“William!” I roared, in my battlefield voice. His name echoed from the black walls and the low ceiling above.
Ahead, halfway along and silhouetted against the square of light at the end of the tunnel, he stopped. He turned.
Despite the darkness, and his Mongol garb, I could see it was certainly my brother. His build, his stance and the outline of his features in the gloom. And he would have been in no doubt who it was that challenged him. Finally, after so many years in pursuit, we would face each other in combat, one man against the other, with God alone as our judge.
And William
ran.
The coward turned back and ran away from me toward the outer city and freedom.
Even though I should have known, I was outraged by his cowardice. My anger gave my feet wings and I gained on him while I outpaced my mounted pursuers. William grew so close that I could hear his shoes slapping on the stone, could hear his breath heaving. He was in front of me, so close that I could almost reach him with the point of my sword.
And then there was a sound. At first, I thought it was the thundering of hooves closing on me. But it was instead a great clanging sound that came from all around and especially from above me. Instinct slowed me as I searched for the source of the danger. A metallic clashing of chains running and a rumbling sound that grew in volume and pitch as if some mighty armoured monster descended from the sky.
It came from above.
At the last moment, I looked up and saw something massive rushing toward me and so I checked my run and fell backwards. I scrambled away, terrified and confused by what it could be.
The huge portcullis crashed down with an almighty bang, closing off the tunnel. It had missed my outstretched feet by a few inches. For a long moment, the only sound was my panting breath and the blood pounding in my ears. Then, behind me, dozens of hooves echoed and I rolled and jumped to my feet.
On the other side, William rose and turned. He looked up at the thick timber and iron portcullis that divided us.
He laughed.
William looked through one of the square gaps at me and he laughed.
“Do you doubt that God is with me, brother?” he asked, smiling like the devil.
I was struck dumb. Stood there, breathing heavily, shaking with rage. After a moment, I dropped my sword, grabbed the portcullis and heaved upward. I was ready to jump back from him in case he attacked me through the square spaces but William simply watched me, an amused expression on his face.
Of course, I could not move it. Not even an inch. Not even with my great strength. I may as well have tried to lift a castle wall.
“Are they friends of yours, Richard?” he asked, pointing behind me. “Or should you be concerned?”
I snatched up my sword.
Mongol soldiers from the zuut filled the entrance of the tunnel from wall to wall. Gathering in a mass of horses and men and approaching slowly, cautiously. No doubt unsure about what was happening, and frozen in indecision by their race’s unwillingness to be trapped in an enclosed space. Yet they still approached, and when they decided to attack, they would have me cornered and outnumbered at least twenty to one.
“Friends of mine?” I said. “Friends of yours, you heathen bastard.”
He made a sound like a snort. “I do not know those barbarian filth. And they do not know me.”
A mad, faint hope that he would be able to call them off died into nothing.
I looked back at him, keeping an eye on the Mongols. “Ah yes. You have fallen into conflict with Hulegu, your lord and master.”
His grin fell from his face. “I have no master. Lords and princes serve me.”
It was my turn to laugh. “You are a damned fool. You gave the gift of your blood to these barbarians and you expected them to stay subservient. You were always mad but now you have betrayed your people.”
He scoffed. “My people are whoever I chose them to be. You cannot understand, Richard. You lack the wits to see it. You lack the courage of thought. My plans are beyond you.”
“Your plans?” I said. “Like granting your gift to certain lords in France? Who are they, William? Who did you turn into an immortal?”
The Mongols argued with each other behind me.
William tilted his head, a frown creasing his forehead. “You have been speaking to Bertrand, I take it? How is our friend? Is he with you?”
“I cut off his head. As I will do to you.”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Richard, that is the difference between us. You had him in your power. A knight, a lord. Immensely rich. Known to the King of France. You could have turned him into a follower, an acolyte, and strengthened yourself immensely. Instead, you destroyed him. You are a fool.”
“Is that what you were doing in France, then?” I said. “Who there did you turn into a follower?”
His eyes flicked to the Mongols and back to me. “Are you not concerned that you are about to be murdered, Richard? I hope you have a plan to escape? I would hate to witness your death.”
“Save your jests. And do not tell me, then. It matters not. I will undo your plans, wherever you have laid them in France.”
He waved a hand, casually. “I gave the Gift to many people, great and small, and not only in France but all over.” William grinned at my shock. “But you should not be concerned about them. If you do return to Christendom, you should seek our grandfather. The Ancient One.”
The Mongols edged closer. A small group dismounted and strutted toward me, spreading out as they approached. At least two clutched bows but they did not shoot at me.
“What are you blathering about?” I said over my shoulder. I assumed he meant our father’s father. “The old lord de Ferrers was long dead when we were sired.”
“The old Lord de Ferrers was not our father’s true father.” William laughed. “Our true grandfather lives, and he is thousands of years old, Richard. Thousands! The things he has seen. The power that he has. You would learn a lot from him, brother, if you would but go to him.”
Before I could respond, eight of the Mongols moved quickly to surround and then attack me. Spear thrusts to keep me pinned against the portcullis, while others darted in with their swords.
I was too angry to fight intelligently. I cut down two of them and wounded three more before they retreated. But I took a hard blow on the helm, which hurt terribly and I had irrevocably bent my sword blade so I picked up one dropped by an attacker. The Mongols did not retreat far, and many more of them pushed their way closer inside the tunnel. Behind them, more still seemed to come from the road to block out the light and fill the tunnel with their stench. I wondered whether any of my company had survived. I wondered if I had sacrificed the life of Eva for nothing. William was so close but he may as well have been on the other side of the Earth for all the good it did me.
And I was growing ever more certain that I could not fight my way clear of so many. Dozens of Mongols now, many mounted, many with bows, spread themselves around me and prepared to attack once again.
I was going to die in that tunnel, and I would die alone, and without honour. Dishonoured and unremembered.
“Here they come again, brother,” William said.
“Waiting to see me die?” I said over my shoulder, bitterly.
“I would prefer it if you lived,” he said.
The Mongols rushed me again, coming in a group of ten. A full arban, ten men who lived and fought together as one. They fought well, but they had never trained to fight just one man all at the same time, and they had never faced any man like me. When one grappled me, I threw him into another. I grabbed a spear swung at my head, ripped it from the wielder’s grasp, flipped it and stabbed it through the bones of his face before he had time to flinch. Again, they fled from me before I could bring them all down.
“You are rather good, Richard,” William said, pointing at his own cheek. “Though, you took a wound there.”
I felt my face and my fingers slipped into a gash beneath my left eye. As is often the way with wounds, I could not recall any specific blow that might have caused it.
“It is nothing,” I said, as the hot blood welled down to my neck.
“Perhaps you might try drinking the blood of these next fellows?” William said. “You may find it helps, you know?”
And more came at me. I pushed out into them and kept moving along the portcullis, keeping my back to it so that they could not fully surround me.
I was tired. My arms seemed to move slowly and I missed a spear strike and it punched me high on the chest, causing me to miss a cut aimed at a M
ongol neck. The interruption of my timing caused my defence to fall apart and I was struck on the head and arms and then a rain of blows knocked me hard against the portcullis. Mongol soldiers fought mostly in silence but they were now shouting and the roar of voices filled the tunnel, filled my head as the pain of their attacks thundered in my head. With horror, I realised I had fallen to one knee, and the fear drove me up to my feet again and I threw them off from me, lying about me with a sword in one hand and a broken spear in the other.
When they retreated, I fell against the portcullis, sucking air into my lungs and shaking all over.
Blood ran into my eyes and I felt the sharp-cold pain of a cut on my forehead somewhere.
I dropped the spear and raised my left hand to my face but there was something wrong with my trembling arm. A gash on my wrist pumped blood over my hand and down to the floor in a thick stream. The mail at my left shoulder was torn open and a wound beneath gaped, shining black in the darkness.
A fallen Mongol at my feet groaned and crawled away. I took a step to him and stamped down on his neck to immobilise him, then stabbed my blade through the side of his neck. I had to be quick while the others argued about who would attack me next. No doubt they were enjoying the fight, otherwise they would have finished me with a storm of arrows. The injured man groaned as I dropped my sword and pulled the man up by his filthy coat with one hand and held him while I sunk my teeth into the wound on his neck where his blood spurted.
The warm blood filled my mouth and my belly
It made me strong, and my wounds felt hot as they began to heal.
A hail of arrows crashed into me.
The Mongols had perhaps been horrified by blood drinking, or they were simply done with testing themselves against me and repeatedly failing. All I knew was the storm of a score of arrows, and then a dozen more, hitting my helm, my leg, the portcullis behind me, and many hit the body of the dying man in my hands. I retreated to the portcullis and used the body as a shield, ducked behind it. Arrows stuck in his clothing, others hit his flesh with a wet smack. The force of the arrows pushed me back into the portcullis while I held on to the body, though it shook with the impacts. An arrow stuck in my lower leg, and another hit me in the shoulder, slipping deep into the wound beneath the ripped mail. The pain was exquisite and I wailed and hugged the body to me as my legs failed and I went down. The archers had spread out to either side and peppered me from angles that my meat shield could not defend. My helm was hit again and my skull rang with the pain, my vision clouded with silver-white snow.