Much Fall of Blood-ARC (15 page)

"Eberhart commented on that also," said Erik dryly. "It's true enough that there is no shortage of princes. However, can you think of any one of them that you would trust to buy a horse for you without them coming home with a three-legged donkey? That is, assuming that they didn't drink away the money before they even got to the horse fair. Most of them are not impoverished for no reason."

Manfred grinned. "Prince Heinrich of Swabia. The perfect choice. He could be guaranteed to come home from the horse fair with a fine pair of dead ducks and a price on his head. As a diplomatic envoy, he would make a very fine hat stand."

"Curiously, the very example that Eberhart mentioned," said Erik.

"I do see the point," admitted Manfred. "Still, in terms of value to the Empire, and the fact that the Mongols have a very strict code of honor about the treatment of diplomats, you'd think my uncle could have found someone."

Erik shrugged. "The problem is also one of finding the right opportunity to talk actual business. According to Eberhart, they're experts at talking for a very long time and not saying anything."

"If
he
thinks that they're good at that, then heaven help any ordinary prince," said Manfred. "So will you see what you can do about our Mongols for us?"

Benito nodded. "It might be best if I went in person," he said nonchalantly.

"Not all the way to the Black Sea!" Maria said sternly. "Petro Dorma himself has sent orders for you to go to Venice."

Benito pulled a wry face. "True enough. On the other hand, we could get such a lot out of somebody from our side going along to have a good look. It's mostly going to be sea battles, this campaign. Except of course for Constantinople. I've a mind to use stealth there, if at all possible."

"It shouldn't be," said Erik.

Manfred took a deep pull at his wine glass. "We're talking about Emperor Alexis here," he said. "Anybody else would take preemptive measures. Among other things, Alexis believes that he's a military genius. He's also still deeply in debt, and likely to stay there. It might be easier just to buy our passage to and fro."

Benito shook his head. "Not if we are in a bidding war with Jagiellon. Then Alexis could afford to trade the two of us off against each other. By reputation, Alexis does not stay bought."

"So Eberhart said," said Erik. "You really have to give up sleeping when he talks, Manfred."

"I think I was half awake for that part," said Manfred. "So tell me, Benito, are there any delightful young ladies with acrobatic skills you'd like to introduce me to here?"

"There had better not be," said Maria.

Benito laughed. "I've gotten respectable these days." He paused briefly. "From this I gather that Francesca went through with her plans to go to Alexandria?"

"Unfortunately," said Erik. "I thought that I had persuaded him out of that sort of behavior. It appears that I hadn't, and that it was just Francesca's influence."

"I wouldn't have called it influence, myself," Manfred said. "More like affluence."

Everyone laughed, Erik while blushing. Benito found that quite funny. After all, Svanhild had been even more "affluent" than Francesca. "I am sure," he said, "that all the ladies of our beautiful isle, some of whom may easily be both acrobatic and even possibly well endowed, will be delighted to make your acquaintance, now that Francesca's gone."

"Quite a few of them were interested even when she was around," said Maria, with a secretive little smile. "They are going to be a bit more aggressive about it this time, I think."

Erik groaned. "I hope we can get these Mongols heading off across Illyria as soon as possible. Then I can get him back on the ship and out to sea where the worst I have to worry about is predatory mermaids."

Benito drained his glass and stood up. "Drink up," he said. "Let's go down to the ship and meet your Mongol envoy. As acting governor, it falls within the realms of my duty to offer him and the knights of the Holy Trinity the hospitality of the citadel."

"Excellent." Manfred rubbed his hands. "That means they'll be accommodated and drinking at your expense."

Erik laughed. "You know, I don't think the Godar Hohenstauffen realized just what a great thing he was doing for Manfred's education when he insisted to the abbot of the order that Manfred should be suitably accompanied—and then gave Manfred a fixed budget."

"And gave me a minder," said Manfred sourly, "to make sure that I didn't settle accounts in the traditional knightly fashion."

They went down to where the knights were disembarking their mounts off the vessels, and giving the animals some much-needed exercise. Benito was cheered by the enthusiastic greeting he got from the knights. He was also soon being overwhelmed with advice on how to capture a vast wealthy city.

"The biggest weakness of the Byzantine Empire is that it is heavily dependent on mercenaries. Buying the emperor Alexis is an expensive waste of time," said Von Gherens. "Buy his army out from under him."

That was an idea that had not even occurred to Benito. Of course, some of the emperor's troops would be torn from levies from within the eastern Roman empire. Very possibly, he would have a mercenary but intensely loyal personal guard. Petro would know all of these details, but it was an avenue that was still worth following up.

The discussion centered on the weaknesses and strengths of Constantinople and the Bosphorus and Dardanelles. Siegecraft was something the knights were expert in, and, as they had taken to Benito during the siege of Corfu, they were all to willing to teach him as much about it as they could. A number of them had been to Constantinople and had looked on it with very professional eyes.

Eventually, Benito was able to make his escape and be introduced to the tarkhan Borshar. The man was reclining on some satin cushions under a makeshift awning on the deck, while one of his servitors fanned him. Several of the Mongols lounged about. The air was full of the scent of some form of burning herbage. Perhaps the tarkhan found the odor pleasant. To Benito, it smelled like a weedy field being burnt off.

Borshar rose slowly to his feet, when one of his honor guard announced their presence. He wore his hair in the Mongol fashion, shaved except for long forelock, but that was where the similarity with the Mongol guard ended. Borshar had a bony and slightly hooked nose, a long face, and heavy eyebrows like two straight bars that sloped slightly downward towards his large ears. His eyes were deep set, brown, and, it appeared to Benito, a little out of focus.

The tarkhan bowed, a mere inclination of the head. "Prince Manfred, how can I assist you?"

"The boot hopefully is on the other foot, Tarkhan," said Manfred. "Let me introduce you to his Excellency, Milor' Benito Valdosta. He is the acting governor and military commander of this charming island. He has, we hope, a way in which you may fulfill your mission."

Benito bowed politely. He could see how the man had gotten under Manfred's skin. Still, perhaps it was just a foreign culture. The way things were done among the Mongol. "I am honored to meet you," he said, in his best attempt at the tongue-mangle that Erik had taught him on their way down to the ship.

This did get a reaction. It drew an incredulous smile from the Mongol warrior who had announced them, and it made the envoy's mouth drop open for an instant. He closed it, but looked considerably more alert now. "I am afraid," said Benito, holding up a hand to stem a flood of incomprehensibilities, "that is all of your language that I speak."

"Your greeting," said the tarkhan, "is surprising. So . . . Why did you tell me that my mother was a tortoise?" His eyes narrowed.

The Mongol guard seemed to find the situation utterly hilarious. He had dropped his spear and was clutching his knees, doubled up with laughter. It did not seem that the tarkhan found it quite as funny. On the other hand, neither did Erik or, right then, Benito. Several of the other Mongols had stood up, and the joke was repeated when the Mongol guard had enough spare breath. It was apparent by the reaction of the others, that however affronted the envoy himself might be, his entourage thought it a capital joke.

"I do apologize," said Benito. "I was told that it meant that I was honored to meet you." Inwardly he wondered furiously how the hell he could get out of this situation. Had he started a major diplomatic incident? Was the man going to try and kill him? Manfred was laughing as hard as the Mongols by now, and would be scant use in any defense. Erik looked ready to kill someone—which also was not what they needed right now. "It would seem that I was gravely misinformed."

"And your informant is going to wish that he was never born," grated Erik.

The tarkhan tugged his moustache. It was short, black and bristly, unlike his companions' luxuriant affairs. Then he smiled. It did not extend to his eyes, but at least he smiled. "Perhaps we should confine ourselves to speaking in Frankish."

"I think so," said Benito with relief. "Anyway, other than that . . . um . . . useful phrase, I don't know any Mongol. It's not a phrase that I think I will have the opportunity to use again. What I had come to say is that we have concluded an agreement with our neighbors across on the mainland. I believe we can arrange for you to travel across Illyria, to the lands of the Golden Horde. Would that be an acceptable solution for you? You could arrive within weeks. If you wait for a sea passage, it could be many months."

The envoy stood impassively, not even blinking, for a few long moments. Benito decided that it would be very dangerous to gamble with this man. It was almost impossible to tell what he was thinking. Then the tarkhan said, "I will have to consider this. You will allow me time to think. You are proposing a somewhat different route and method than the one which I was instructed to follow."

"Certainly," said Benito. "I will need to establish that you can be granted safe passage. That will take me a few days. We will meet again formally and officially soon, hopefully without any more such interesting incidents. In the meanwhile, can we possibly sit and have a glass of wine together? I'm sure that we have much to discuss of mutual interest to the Ilkhan Mongol and the people of Venice." Benito gave the tarkhan the benefit of his most winning smile. "It is sometimes easier to discuss these things informally over a few glasses than to deal with them in the full light of protocol."

"I have not been given the authority to reach agreements with the Republic of Venice," said the tarkhan disinterestedly. "And I do not drink alcohol. I will let you know what decision I reach as to the possibilities of traveling across land to the Khanate of the Golden Horde." He waved as dismissively as any emperor, and they were left with little choice but to bow and leave.

"In the 58th year since the Khagan Temujin, the Princess Khutulun wrestled with Khan Ulaghchi. As was the custom, one hundred horses were bet upon the outcome," sang Bortai, softly, as she gathered berries. "But the great khan bet a thousand horses."

She faltered briefly. A thousand horses! She traced her lineage directly to Khan Ulaghchi, the greatest and most powerful of the khans of the Golden Horde, whose dominion had extended across all the Cuman Khanates, the Volga Bulgars, the Bashkir lands—from the Carpathians in the west to the Alatau Mountains in the east, and across the limitless steppe between. He had drawn tribute from the Kievan Rus princes and been visited by delegations from across the world. He had had a thousand horses to gamble. But he too had barely survived fleeing his uncle Berke, with no one but his warrior bride beside him.

Ulaghchi had survived. Had then conquered. But had he ever had only one horse? There was no doubt that that period of hardship had shaped Ulaghchi and his loyal Khutulun. That was what had made him determined to keep the Mongol people true to their traditions, no matter what other tribes they assimilated. Ulaghchi's rule had lasted for over half a century, and his influence was still felt now, hundreds of years later. He had set out the rules of conduct that still governed the noble houses, enforcing Chinggis's rules on drunkenness, drawing back to the shamanistic roots of their faith. Taoism, Buddhism, Christianity and Islam were tolerated, but they were for non-Mongols. The Mongols were above these things, true only to the everlasting blue sky, guided by the spirits.

Ulaghchi's was a great dream to follow. But with only one horse, and an unconscious brother, the clan scattered and possibly destroyed, it also seemed a very far-off dream. As much of a dream as getting Kildai to Kaltegg Shaman, whom Parki Shaman had recommended before he was killed.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a movement in the shrubbery on the far side of the little stream. She tensed, staying absolutely still herself. Then, after waiting far too many heartbeats, she slowly turned her head, making no sudden movements. There was a roe-deer doe there, barely thirty paces away. A big step from any other game she'd seen so far. There had been a rabbit that she'd bagged yesterday. She had chopped it finely, cooked it into a broth with some millet and salt and herbs. But that deer would be enough food for days . . . If she could get a clear shot at it. What an idiot she was. A few moments ago she'd been singing, quietly, it was true, but still behaving as if she were safe in clan-lands and not on the run from their enemies.

She strung the bow and selected an arrow, being careful not to make any sudden movements. She took careful aim. She was not as good a shot as her little brother was, or even as her older brother had been. And missing was not an option. That was enough food to see that they could stay hidden all day for a while, and only move at night.

She gave thanks both to the spirits of the wood and the deer. And then swore, as the deer crashed forward. She shot anyway, and fought her way forward through the blackberries, knowing that she was tearing her deel, but too angry to care. Now she might lose an arrow as well. And then she stopped dead.

For there, not forty paces away was someone else, doing exactly the same thing. He had caught sight of her and froze, just like a deer that hopes you have not seen it. Just as she was doing.