“Tell me, Sir Godric,” said Yulita, “whence come you and why have you ridden so far with so few men?”
“It’s a long tale,” he answered. “It had its birth in a land halfway across the world. I was a boy and full of high ideals of chivalry and knighthood — and I hated that Saxon-French pig, King John. A wine-bibber named Fulk of Neuilly began ranting and screaming death and damnation because the Holy Land was still in the possession of the Paynim. He howled until he stirred the blood of such young fools as myself, and the barons began recruiting men — forgetting how the other Crusades had ended.
“Walter de Brienne and that black-faced cut-throat Simon de Montfort fired us young Normans with promises of salvation and Turkish loot, and we set forth. Boniface and Baldwin were our leaders and they plotted against each other all the way to Venice.
“There the mercenary Venetians refused us ships and it sickened my very entrails to see our chiefs go down on their knees to those merchant swine. They promised us ships at last but they set such a high price we could not pay. None of us had any money, else we had never started on that mad venture. We wrenched the jewels from our hilts and the gold from our buckles and raised part of the money, bargaining to take various cities from the Greeks and give them over to Venice for the rest of the price. The Pope — Innocent III — raged, but we went our ways and quenched our swords in Christian blood instead of Paynim.
“Spalato we took, and Ragusa, Sebenico and Zara. The Venetians got the cities and we got the glory.” Here Godric laughed harshly. A quick glance told him the girl was sitting spellbound, eyes aglow. Somehow he felt ashamed.
“Well,” he continued, “young Alexius who had been driven from Constantinople persuaded us that it would be doing God’s work to put old Angelus back on the throne, so we fared forth.
“We took Constantinople with no great difficulty, but only a scant time had elapsed before the maddened people strangled old Angelus and we were forced to take the city again. This time we sacked it and split the empire up. De Montfort had long returned to England and I fought under Boniface of Montferrat, who was made King of Macedonia. One day he called me to him, and said he: ‘Godric, the Turkomans harry the caravans and the trade of the East dries up because of constant war. Take a hundred men-at-arms and find me this kingdom of Prester John. He too is a Christian and we may establish a route of trade between us, guarded by both of us, and thus safeguard the caravans.’
“Thus he spoke, being a natural-born liar and unable to tell the truth on a wager. I saw through his design and understood his wish for me to conquer this fabulous kingdom for him.
“‘Only a hundred men?’ quoth I.
“‘I can not spare you more,’ said he, ‘lest Baldwin and Dandolo and the Count of Blois come in and cut my throat. These are enow. Gain ye to Prester John and abide with him awhile — aid him in his wars for a space, then send riders to report your progress to me. Mayhap then I can send you more men.’ And his eyelids drooped in a way I knew.
“‘But where lies this kingdom?’ said I.
“‘Easy enough,’ said he; ‘to the east — any fool can find it if he fares far enough.’
“So,” Godric’s face darkened, “I rode east with a hundred heavily armed horsemen — the pick of the Norman warriors. By Satan, we hacked our way through! Once past Trebizond we had to fight almost every mile. We were assailed by Turks, Persians and Kirghiz, as well as by our natural foes of heat, thirst and hunger. A hundred men — there were less than a score with me when I heard your screams and rode out of the defiles. Their bodies lie scattered from the hills of Black Cathay to the shores of the Black Sea. Arrows, spears, swords, all took their toll, but still I forged eastward.”
“And all for your liege lord!” cried Yulita, her eyes sparkling, as she clasped her hands. “Oh, it is like the tales of honor and chivalry; of Iran and those You-tai has told me of the heroes of ancient Cathay. It makes my blood burn! You too are a hero such as all men were once in the days of our ancestors, with your courage and loyalty!”
The sting of his healing wounds bit into Godric.
“Loyalty?” he snarled. “To that devious-minded assassin, Montferrat? Bah! Do you think I intended giving up my life to carve out a kingdom for him? He had naught to lose and all to gain. He gave me a handful of men, expecting to receive the rewards of what I did. If I failed, he was still winner, for he would be rid of a turbulent vassal. The kingdom of Prester John is a dream and a fantasy. I have followed a will-o’-the-wisp for a thousand miles. A dream that receded farther and farther into the mazes of the East, leading me to my doom.”
“And had you found it, what then?” asked the girl, grown suddenly quiet.
Godric shrugged his shoulders. It was not the Norman way to flaunt secret ambitions to any chance-met man or woman, but after all, he owed his life to this girl. She had paid her debt to him and there was something in her eyes....
“Had I found Prester John’s kingdom,” said Godric, “I had made shift to conquer it for myself.”
“Look,” Yulita took Godric’s arm and pointed out a gold-barred window, whose sheer silken curtains, blowing inward, disclosed the rugged peaks of distant mountains, shouldering against the blazing blue of the skies.
“Beyond those mountains lies the kingdom of him you call Prester John.”
Godric’s eyes gleamed suddenly with the conquering spirit of the true Norman - - the born empire-maker, whose race had carved out kingdoms with their swords in every land of the West and Near East.
“And does he dwell in purple-domed palaces of gold and glittering gems?” he asked eagerly. “Do, as I have heard, learned philosophers and magi sit at either hand, doing wonders with stars and suns and ghosts of the mighty dead? Does his city loom among the clouds with golden spires thrusting among the stars? And does the deathless monarch, who learned at the feet of our fair Lord Christ, sit on an ivory throne in a room whose walls are carved of one great sapphire dispensing justice?”
She shook her head.
“Prester John — Wang Khan we name him — is very old, but he is not deathless nor has he ever been beyond the confines of his own kingdom. His people are the Keraits — Krits — Christians; they dwell in cities, true, but the houses are mud huts and goatskin tents, and the palace of Wang Khan is as a hut itself compared to this palace.”
Godric fell back and his eyes went dull.
“My dream is vanished,” he muttered. “You should have let me die.”
“Dream again, man,” she answered; “only dream something more attainable.”
Shaking his head, he looked into her eyes.
“Dreams of empire have haunted my life,” said he, “yet even now the shadow of a dream lingers in my soul, ten times less attainable than the kingdom of Prester John.”
* * *
CHAPTER 2
“Scrawled screens and secret gardens
And insect-laden skies —
Where fiery plains stretch on and on
To the purple country of Prester John
And the walls of Paradise.”
— Chesterton
THE DAYS passed and slowly the giant frame of the Norman knight regained its accustomed vigor. In those days he sat in the chamber with the lapis lazuli dome, or walked in the outer courts where fountains tinkled musically beneath the shade of cherry trees, and soft petals fell in a colorful rain about him. The battle- scarred warrior felt strangely out of place in this setting of exotic luxury but was inclined to rest there and lull the restlessness of his nature for a time. He saw nothing of the city, Jahadur, for the walls about the courts were high, and he presently understood that he was practically a prisoner. He saw only Yulita, the slaves and You-tai. With the thin yellow man he talked much. You-tai was a Cathayan — a member of the race who lived in Greater Cathay, some distance to the south. This empire, Godric soon realized, had given rise to many of the tales of Prester John; it was an ancient, mighty but now loosely knit empire, divided into three king
doms — the Khitai, the Chin and the Sung. You-tai was learned beyond any man Godric had ever known and he spoke freely.
“The emperor inquires often after your health,” said he, “but I tell you frankly, it were best that you not be presented to him for a time at least. Since your great battle with the Hian bandits, you have captured the fancy of the soldiers, especially old Roogla, the general who loves the princess like his own since he bore her as a babe on his saddle-bow from the ruins of Than when the Naimans raided over the border. Chamu Khan fears anyone the army loves. He fears you might be a spy. He fears most things, does the emperor, even his niece, the princess Yulita.”
“She does not took like the Black Cathayan girls I have seen” commented Godric; “her face is not flat, nor do her eyes slant as much.”
“She has Iranian blood,” answered You-tai. “She is the daughter of a royal Black Cathayan and a Persian woman.”
“I see sadness in her eyes, at times,” said Godric.
“She remembers that she is soon to leave her mountain home,” answered You- tai, eyeing Godric closely. “She is to marry prince Wang Yin of the Chin emperors. Chamu Khan has promised her to him, for he is anxious to gain favor with Cathay. The emperor fears Genghis Khan.”
“Who is Genghis Khan?” Godric asked idly.
“A chief of the Yakka Mongols. He has grown greatly in power for the last decade. His people are nomads — fierce fighters who have so little to live for in their barren deserts that they do not mind dying. Long ago their ancestors, the Hiong-nu, were driven into the Gobi by my ancestors, the Cathayans. They are divided into many tribes and fight against one another, but Genghis Khan seems to be uniting them by conquest. I even hear wild tales that he plans to shake off the liege-ship of Cathay and even make war on his masters. But that is foolish. This small kingdom is different. Though Hia and the Keraits lie between Chamu Khan and the Yakkas, Genghis Khan is a real threat to this mountain empire.
“Black Cathay has grown to be a kingdom apart, pent in the fastness where no strong foe has come against them for ages. They are neither Turks nor Chinese any longer, but constitute a separate nation of their own, with separate traditions. They have never needed any alliances for protection, but now since they have grown soft and degenerate from long years of peace, even Chamu realizes their weaknesses and seeks to ally his house with that of the Chins of Cathay.”
Godric mused a space. “It would seem Jahadur is the key to Black Cathay. These Mongols must first take this city to make sure of their conquests. No doubt the walls throng with archers and spearmen?”
You-tai spread his hands helplessly. “No man knows the mind of Chamu Khan. There are scarce fifteen hundred warriors in the city. Chamu has even sent our strongest detachment — a troop of hard-riding western Turks — to another part of the empire. Why, no one knows. I beg you, stir not from the court until I tell you. Chamu Khan deems you a spy of Genghis Khan, I fear, and it were best if he did not send for you.”
But Chamu Khan did call for Godric before many days had drifted by. The emperor gave him audience, not in the great throne room, but in a small chamber where Chamu Khan squatted like a great fat toad on a silken divan attended by a huge black mute with a two-handed scimitar. Godric veiled the contempt in his eyes and answered Chamu Khan’s questions regarding his people and his country with patience. He wondered at the absurdity of most of these questions, and at the emperor’s evident ignorance and stupidity. Old Roogla, the general, a fiercely mustached, barrel-chested savage, was present and he said nothing. But his eyes strayed in comparison from the fat, helpless mass of flesh and arrogance on the cushions to the erect, broad-shouldered figure and hard, scarred face of the Frank. From the corner of his eye Chamu Khan observed this but he was not altogether a fool. He spoke pleasantly to Godric, but the wary Norman, used to dealing with rulers, sensed that dislike was mixed with the khan’s feeling of obligation, and that this dislike was mingled with fear. Chamu asked him suddenly of Genghis Khan and watched him narrowly. The sincerity of the knight’s reply evidently convinced Chamu, for a shadow of relief passed over his fat face. After all, decided Godric, it was but natural that an emperor should be suspicious of a stranger in his realm, especially one of such war-like aspects as the Norman knew himself to be.
At the end of the interview, Chamu fastened a heavy golden chain about Godric’s neck with his own pudgy hands. Then Godric went back to his chamber with the lapis lazuli dome, to the cherry blossoms drifting in gay-colored clouds from the breeze-shaken trees, and to lazy strolls and talks with Yulita.
“It seems strange,” said he abruptly one day, “that you are to leave this land and go to another. Somehow I can not think of you save as a slim girl forever under these blossom-heavy trees, with the dreamy fountains singing and the mountains of Black Cathay rising against the skies.”
She caught her breath and turned away her face as if from an inner hurt.
“There are cherry trees in Cathay,” said she, without looking at him, “and fountains too — and finer palaces than I have ever seen.”
“But there are no such mountains,” returned the knight.
“No,” her voice was low, “there are no such mountains — nor—”
“Nor what?”
“No Frankish knight to save me from bandits,” she laughed suddenly and gayly.
“Nor will there be here, long,” he said somberly. “The time approaches when I must take the trail again. I come of a restless breed and I have dallied here overlong.”
“Whither will you go, oh Godric?” Did she catch her breath suddenly as she spoke?
“Who knows?” In his voice was the ancient bitterness that his heathen Viking ancestors knew. “The world is before me — but not all the world with its shining leagues of sea or sand can quench the hunger that is in me. I must ride — that is all I know. I must ride till the ravens pluck my bones. Perchance I will ride back to tell Montferrat that his dream of an Eastern empire is a bubble that has burst. Perhaps I will ride east again.”
“Not east,” she shook her head. “The ravens are gathering in the east and there is a red flame there that pales the night. Wang Khan and his Keraits have fallen before the riders of Genghis Khan and Hia reels before his onslaught. Black Cathay too, I fear, is doomed, unless the Chins send them aid.”
“Would you care if I fell?” he asked curiously.
Her clear eyes surveyed him.
“Would I care? I would care if a dog died. Surely then I would care if a man who saved my life, fell.”
He shrugged his mighty shoulders. “You are kind. Today I ride. My wounds are long healed. I can lift my sword again. Thanks to your care I am strong as I ever was. This has been paradise — but I come of a restless breed. My dream of a kingdom is shattered and I must ride — somewhere. I have heard much from the slaves and You-tai of this Genghis Khan and his chiefs. Aye, of Subotai and Chepe Noyon. I will lend my sword to him—”
“And fight against my people?” she asked.
His gaze fell before her clear eyes. “‘Twere the deed of a dog,” he muttered. “But what would you have? I am a soldier — I have fought for and against the same men since I rode east. A warrior must pick the winning side. And Genghis Khan, from all accounts, is a born conqueror.”
Her eyes flashed. “The Cathayans will send out an army and crush him. He can not take Jahadur — what do his skinclad herders know of walled cities?”
“We were but a naked horde before Constantinople,” muttered Godric, “but we had hunger to drive us on and the city fell. Genghis and his men are hungry. I have seen men of the same breed. Your people are fat and indolent. Genghis Khan will ride them down like sheep.”
“And you will aid him,” she blazed.
“War is a man’s game,” he said roughly; shame hardened his tone; this slim, clear-eyed girl, so ignorant and innocent of the world’s ways, stirred old dreams of idealistic chivalry in his soul — dreams he thought long lost in the fierce necessity of lif
e. “What do you know of war and men’s perfidy? A warrior must better himself as he may. I am weary of fighting for lost causes and getting only hard blows in return.”
“What if I asked you — begged you?” she breathed, leaning forward.
A sudden surge of madness swept him off his feet.
“For you,” he roared suddenly, like a wounded lion, “I would ride down on the Mongol yurts alone and crush them into the red earth and bring back the heads of Genghis and his khans in a cluster at my saddle-bow!”
She recoiled, gasping before the sudden loosing of his passion, but he caught her in an unconsciously rough embrace. His race loved as they hated, fiercely and violently. He would not have bruised her tender skin for all the gold in Cathay, but his own savagery swept him out of himself.
Then a sudden voice brought him to himself and he released the girl and whirled, ready to battle the whole Black Cathayan army. Old Roogla stood before them, panting.
“My princess,” he gasped; “the courtiers from Greater Cathay — they have just arrived—”
She went white and cold as a statue.
“I am ready, oh Roogla,” she whispered.
“Ready the devil!” roared the old soldier. “Only three of them got through to the gates of Jahadur and they’re bleeding to death! You are not going to Cathay to marry Wang Yin. Not now, at least. And you’ll be lucky if you’re not dragged by the hair to Subotai’s yurt. The hills are swarming with Mongols. They cut the throats of the watchers in the passes, and ambushed the courtiers from Cathay. An hour will bring them — the whole horde of howling devils — to the very gates of Jahadur. Chamu Khan is capering about like a devil with a hornet in his khalat. We can’t send you out now — Genghis holds all the outer passes. The western Turks might give you sanctuary — but we can not reach them. There’s only one thing to do — and that’s hold the city! But with these fat, perfume-scented, wine- bibbing dogs that call themselves soldiery we’ll be lucky if we get to strike a single blow in our defense—”
Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four) Page 332