The summons came none too soon to Thierry’s thinking.
The common room was noisy, smoky and filled with Frankish knights. He had no difficulty with any of this; indeed, it had much in common with the atmosphere of a friendly yurt. However, they had been mere moments in the room before one knight nudged his companion and gestured at Kira. Thierry had bristled but set his lips grimly, determined to avoid a battle if it could be managed. They were outnumbered by far, as Nogai had already observed, so he simply glared back at the offending knight.
’Twas obvious that Kira was his, but it seemed to Thierry that no one recognized that fact. He scowled darkly and glowered to no avail as yet more admirers turned an eye on his woman. He was not in the least reassured when Nogai and Kira spread out their infernal cards, clearly oblivious to both the attention they drew and Thierry’s dislike of the same.
Kira was at ease in this place and he strove to take a lesson from that. She laughed as Nogai won a round and even his anda seemed to have lost his concern. More than one man watched the game with open curiosity. Thierry had become accustomed to that response in the common rooms of the few inns they had used.
“You must be the Mongols.” A crisp voice drew Thierry’s attention and he found another guard garbed in that same blue and gold before him.
He nodded and rose to his feet.
“The king will see you immediately,” the man said. Thierry made a summoning gesture and Nogai’s cards disappeared.
“Just when I was going to win,” Kira said in an undertone.
Nogai snorted, evidently having understood her expression and her tone, and she laughed again. Thierry did not feel so merry, but was glad she walked beside him, her hand on his elbow.
The guard turned and set a quick pace through the smoke, leaving them darting through the common room behind him and into a high vaulted hall.
As they walked silently in the guard’s wake, Thierry wondered if the others were as awestruck by the evident size of the palace. The boisterous sounds of the common room faded behind them and he heard only the whisper of footsteps mingling with their own solid footfalls. Corridors twisted off in every direction. Certainly, the one they walked through was wide enough for eight men to walk abreast and he could not see the end of it.
Thierry was agitated to be so thoroughly surrounded by stone and the makings of man. He wondered how Nogai could bear it, for that man was intolerant even of small inns and taverns. Indeed, Nogai had slept on the deck of the ship in fine weather and poor, rather than venture into the hold. Thierry did not dare look back to see the truth lest he give a hint of his own discomfort. The messenger moved quickly onward and Thierry knew he had little option other than following this man deeper into the maze.
Kira was completely at ease, a fact that left Thierry feeling that he had somehow fallen short. He knew he did not imagine her curious perusal of their surroundings. She glanced up at him and shook her head, mouthing the words “rich king” again before she surveyed their surroundings with wonder.
Were they being led into a trap? Once Thierry had the idea, his certainty of it grew within him until it was unassailable. His fingers dropped to the hilt of his blade and he watched every shadow. He distrusted this place and this path with his entire being.
They climbed two flights of stairs crafted from artfully fitted stone. The steps swept around in a spiral, the like of which Thierry had never seen before. He refused to let his impression of the craftsmanship show and kept his expression impassive. Kira gawked sufficiently for all of them. The messenger pivoted at the top of the stairs, and gestured to a pair of extremely high doors.
“The throne room,” he informed them.
At an imperious rap of his knuckles, the doors swung open to reveal two men garbed in that same blue and gold. The messenger crossed the threshold without hesitation, evidently expecting them to follow. Nogai made a barely perceptible growl of dissatisfaction in the back of his throat. Thierry took a deep breath, knowing he had to see this errand to its conclusion.
The khan’s message had to be delivered. He squared his shoulders, determined to fulfill his commission, yet stopped on the threshold to survey the room.
The throne room was large beyond his expectations. The ceiling arched impossibly high above, apparently supported by an elaborate arrangement of arches that Thierry knew better than to trust with such a burden. Any fool could see that the ceiling was of carved and fitted stone and he cast it a wary eye. All of the room was beneath the stone, though, so there was no way to enter the room and still avoid the risk.
Thierry hoped his perfectly healthy distrust of such nature-defying tricks was not misinterpreted by these Franks. There was an open floor space in the middle of the room, flanked by banks of benches that rose higher the farther they were from the center of the room. Courtiers were clustered in small groups here and there on the benches. At the far end of the room and facing Thierry was a dais. A number of men sat there, discussing matters amongst themselves. None of them seemed to be paying any attention to Thierry’s entrance.
Neither did they seem concerned about the ceiling, much to his surprise.
Instinctively and out of long habit, Thierry quickly identified the guards and the exits. The guards all wore the same colors, much as the khan’s keshik guard did. Two guards stood slightly behind the king on the dais, another pair at each end of the dais. The two who had opened the doors he would expect to be armed, as would he anticipate any number of the courtiers to be similarly prepared to meet a threat. If they fought as actively as the one who had first greeted them in the courtyard, then he and Nogai were not as outnumbered as it might appear.
There were two doors at the far end of the room. The one below the dais did not appear to lead anywhere of good repute, for ’twas barred and of poorer manufacture. The one behind the king might lead to that man’s own chambers, for ’twas finely ornamented and marked with those same golden blooms.
Thierry shook his head minutely, his sense of being lured into a trap redoubled by his observations. There was only one good exit, back the way they had come. This he did not like. The rising banks of benches to the left and right reminded him only too well of a valley set for an ambush. A valley with a single escape. Thierry distrusted that he was the one stepping willingly into the trap. Though he was but a messenger and surely had nothing to fear, he felt his pulse begin to race.
“The envoy from the Mongols,” their escort announced and Kira gave Thierry a nudge, urging him to step forward. Dozens of murmured conversations halted as one and the men in the chamber turned to stare.
The king looked up, pinning Thierry with a glance. His courtiers and advisers glanced up with curiosity. Thierry was more than fully aware that he was being scrutinized.
When the whispering began, his pride sped his steps. He had no reason to be ashamed of what he was. Thierry strode down the length of the room with purpose, summoning his most forbidding expression as he approached the dais. He was only one man, but this king would know the might of the Mongol khan.
Kira and Nogai stopped near the dais at Kira’s slight gesture, leaving Thierry to continue alone. He could see that her instinct was right. He carried the message, while they escorted him.
Thierry paused before the dais, admiring how its design made it virtually impossible to assault the king from where he stood. The leap was too high. No wonder their weapons had not been removed before they were permitted entry. The realization fed his suspicions of the situation, but he had no time to indulge such whimsies.
The sooner this matter was completed, the sooner he and Kira could continue with their lives.
“Greetings do I bring to you from his most esteemed Second Il-Khan of Persia, Abaqa, son of Hülegü, son of Tolui, son of the Great Golden Khan himself, the immortal and most divine Chinggis Khan,” he began.
The king’s brows lifted in surprise. “You speak French,” he observed before a frown flitted across his brow. “And rather well. How did thi
s come to be?”
“We possess many skills of which you know nothing,” Thierry replied, striving to keep his manner and tone consistent with the missive he had been granted. He had been told to surrender no unnecessary information to these potential allies, in case they became not allies, but foes. ’Twas the strength of the Mongols they should be given to understand and he should not make one concession.
“Indeed,” the king commented. Two of the courtiers whispered to each other and Thierry bristled when they gestured to Kira. The king smothered a smile and Thierry wondered how much of his response had been noted.
“Perhaps you would tell us your own identities before reading your message,” a courtier suggested.
“I am called Qaraq-Böke,” Thierry informed the king, not seeing any reason to discuss his own Frankish lineage. Was he not the messenger of the Mongol khan? “And the blooded warrior Nogai accompanies me on this mission.” He would not surrender Kira’s name to them.
“And from whence do you issue?”
“We come bearing the message of Abaqa, Second Il-Khan of Persia.”
“’Twas not our question.”
“But ’twas my response.”
The king held Thierry’s gaze for a long moment, as though willing him to say more. Thierry remained resolutely silent, knowing full well that he had not answered the king’s questions as that man had wished.
This prying manner was offensive in itself and Thierry knew he should not be the only one to make a concession. A frown darkened the king’s brow for a brief moment when Thierry said no more. The king made a sound that might have been exasperation before he leaned forward slightly.
“We have had envoys from the Mongols before,” he confided. “And yet nothing has ever come from these liaisons.”
“One might question on which side the fault belonged,” Thierry countered.
“One well might,” the king agreed. “Though truly that is not our point. We would but ask you for some indication that your khan sends this message in good faith.”
Thierry unfurled the scroll of parchment he carried, knowing that the text would explain Abaqa’s intent more fully than he could.
“The truth lies here, as does the sign you seek,” he said.
The king nodded. “Then we would have you read this missive now,” he ordered.
Thierry cleared his throat as he stretched the parchment out before him. The moment was upon him and truly he hoped all went well. “His most esteemed Second Il-Khan of Persia, Abaqa, son of Hülegü, son of Tolui, son of the Great Golden Khan himself, the immortal and most divine Chinggis Khan, sends greetings to the King of the Franks.”
A clatter of activity diverted Thierry’s attention from his reading at that moment. He glanced back to find a large group of armed knights entering the throne room. There were eight of them. Thierry met the concern in Nogai’s gaze. Even Kira could not hide her suspicion fully.
Who were these new arrivals and what was their intent?
Did these Frankish people regard diplomats differently than the Mongols did? Was he a fool to assume that they could leave this hall without being assaulted? Thierry had already seen the difference in their cultures, and the arrival of these knights fed his doubts. Suddenly he was not so certain that their safety was assured.
The new arrivals meant the king’s side had greater strength.
“What brings you here?” one of the courtiers asked of the new arrivals.
The older knight who led the group smiled. “We have come to see the Easterners,” he responded lightly. He was tall, his voice resoundingly deep, his step surprisingly vigorous despite the snowy whiteness of his hair. He carried his helmet beneath his elbow, and his sword hung from his hip.
At their leader’s words, the others leered at the trio before the king, then laughed amongst themselves. One might almost think they were drunk, but Thierry was not convinced. He took no reassurance in the fact that they were armed similarly to their leader. Kira’s eyes were narrowed when she glanced his way, then she looked back at the arrivals again. Nogai stared straight at Thierry, suspicion making him bristle from head to toe.
Thierry acknowledged yet another increment of dread. To what battle did these knights travel? The king gestured to the new arrivals for silence and impatiently waved them toward the benches on either side.
“Provincials,” that man muttered under his breath. His manner indicated that the explanation should have meaning to Thierry, though indeed he could divine nothing from the single word. There was shame in dwelling outside the city? He would have thought ’twould be precisely the opposite, but he had no chance to ponder the matter.
“Please continue,” the king insisted.
Thierry continued to read. “Both our kingdoms have been heavily cursed by that godless union of Mamluk dogs emanating from Egypt and the infidels from Syria, and in this slight we already stand in accord. We understand well that the loss of the city of Jerusalem and the land known as Palestine is a thorn that sticks in the side of the Frankish people, just as the loss of the surrounding plains sorely vexes our tribes.
“We propose a holy union between our armies, that we should attack these territories from opposite sides in a common operation. If by the authority of heaven, we should conquer these people, you should have Jerusalem as our gift.”
A murmur of discussion broke out on the dais and Thierry wondered if ’twas his imagination that made the response sound favorable. He did not dare look back at Kira again, for that might give the impression that he was inattentive to the king.
Perhaps the matter could be settled hastily and Nogai sent back to Tabriz with the response.
Perhaps.
Thierry cleared his throat pointedly and the courtiers fell silent as he continued.
“The divine hand is clear in this for it seems this liaison has been ordained. A sign has been sent to us in the person sent before you, for he is Mongol yet he speaks your Frankish tongue. This is a portent that our alliance will be a blessed one. As if this were not enough, there is yet another sign of heaven’s intervention, for this same messenger bears the mark of your faith emblazoned upon his flesh for all to see.”
A tense hush fell after his words, the expectation more than Thierry thought the missive demanded. He attributed that to cultural differences. As he had been instructed, he unfastened his kalat and bared his birthmark to the view of those on the dais.
To his astonishment, the king blanched.
The king then fell back in his chair, suddenly looking markedly older than he had just moments before. The courtier to his left swore, the one on his right crossed himself vigorously, and a young boy appeared to lift a cup to the king’s lips.
“He dares to appear openly amongst us,” another courtier whispered. He stared in disbelief at Thierry’s bared flesh. Another closed his eyes reverently and raised his rosary to his lips as he mouthed a silent prayer. The last man on the dais clambered to his feet and shouted.
“Guards!”
The cry echoed eerily in the silence that had fallen in the throne room and Thierry knew all had gone awry.
But why?
The room erupted in activity even as he wondered.
What had Thierry done? He needed only a glimpse of the guards on the dais drawing their swords to seize his own weapon.
“Fool!” bellowed someone far behind when nothing could make less sense.
Thierry spun on his heel to find the knights who had lately entered the hall charging closer. They were led by that same solidly set man, who had donned his helmet. Thierry had little doubt ’twas he who had bellowed, for he closed the distance between them with purpose.
“What did you do?” Nogai demanded in Mongol.
“I have no notion,” Thierry confessed, bewildered.
“Your mark,” Kira whispered in French, her gaze darting over the approaching warriors. “It was the sight of your mark that changed all.”
Thierry could not make sense of that. “�
�Tis a birthmark.”
Kira shook her head, and he knew she shared his confusion. Were these Franks just as superstitious as the Mongols?
“It seems we will have to defend ourselves before we might find out,” Nogai observed. The two men’s gazes held but for a heartbeat before they backed together out of long-standing habit. Kira was trapped between the two of them.
“A fine choice of an emissary Abaqa made in you,” Nogai muttered. He swung his blade and his assailant backed away. “We have not even been here long enough for a meal before you cause offense. It seems the khan lacks skill in assessing diplomatic talents.”
Thierry did not respond to the accusation, for two guards leaped at him. He swung and missed, then jabbed more successfully. He pivoted deliberately to keep Kira sheltered behind him as he dispatched an opponent.
He cast a dubious glance at the knights now reaching them. On whose side would they swing their blades? Indeed, their role would decide the fight, for should Thierry and Nogai stand alone, they were doomed. Nogai bellowed as he thrust at another attacker and Kira whispered to Thierry.
“Give me a knife,” she demanded, her tone urgent. Thierry bared his forearm to her as he kept an eye on the courtier stalking toward him, dagger in hand. Kira snatched the blade. He did not know if she could wield it with skill, but knew she would try.
Perhaps he should have taught her to fight instead of giving instruction in French.
Another shout and Thierry found the leader of the knights had dispatched one of the guards from the door with a telling blow. They were allies, then—though Thierry could not fathom why. His pulse pounded that they had at least a chance of surviving this day.
“Guards! Guards! Guards!” One of the courtiers had climbed onto a bench and shouted for aid. The king had disappeared into his chambers behind, and several of the courtiers had similarly vanished. The remainder pulled daggers and swords and leaped into the fray with a shout. The group of knights worked their way down the floor with methodical ease, steel clanging on steel, until their leader was alongside Thierry.
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