Silk Road (9 page)

This was not the meeting he had anticipated. He had imagined a great pavilion, where he would be presented before Hülegü’s throne in formal court, not like this, thrust face-first into this blood-reeking street.

The sounds of the battle carried to him from the gates of the citadel, not two crossbow shots distant. A blast of trumpets signalled another attack, followed by the screams of men dying, and dying badly.

Hülegü’s general addressed him, in imperfect Arabic. ‘My captain says you are an ambassador from the Franks. You have come to make a treaty with us?’

‘My name is Josseran Sarrazini. I have been sent by Thomas Bérard, Grand Master of the Order of the Temple, from his fortress at Acre in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. We have a common enemy, namely the Saracens, and my lord ventures to send his congratulations on your many successes and extends his hand in friendship.’

The general began to laugh, even before he had finished. Hülegü listened to the general’s translation, his face impassive, and then spoke again in the strange new language.

‘Our khan is not amazed that your lord extends his hand in friendship,’ the general said, ‘otherwise he may find it cut off.’

Josseran swallowed his anger at this insulting reply. But pride is not easy to maintain when you have your face next to the ground. ‘We have no quarrel with your khan,’ he answered carefully. ‘Indeed, we may find common cause.’ Josseran thought of Rubruck’s reports that Hülegü’s wife was Christian, that the Tatars had paraded a wooden cross through the streets of Baghdad. ‘We Franks, too, are Christian.’

‘What is going on?’ William hissed.

William, of course, could not know that Josseran had just proposed the very treaty that so many of the Haute Cour opposed. It was a decision that had been reached by Thomas Bérard alone, on behalf of the Templars, before Josseran had left Acre. It would not be the first time the Templars had made a treaty independent of the other states. Yet this was the most dangerous game of any they had played. Once you took a bear about the neck, Josseran thought, you had best be sure you had a firm grip.

‘He wishes to know what we want here,’ he said to William.

‘Have you told him I have a Bull for him from the Pope himself?’

‘I doubt if this creature has even heard of the Pope, Brother William.’

‘Then you must explain to him that the Pope is the leader of the Christian world and has sent me here to bring him and the rest of these barbarians to salvation!’

Josseran turned away. He intended no such thing. The Tatars might have their heads at any moment and he had no wish to die like this, grovelling at some savage’s feet. He had promised himself that when he finally met his end it would be with a sword in his hand, in the service of Christ. It would at least make some recompense for his sins.

Hülegü was watching them, and Josseran imagined he saw uncertainty on his face.

‘My lord Hülegü wishes to know what is this common cause you speak of,’ the general asked.

‘The destruction of the Saracens.’

The general laughed again. ‘Like this, you mean?’ He waved a hand in the direction of the town. ‘As you can see we have destroyed the Saracens without the help of your Grand Master, as you call him.’

‘Now what is he saying?’ William shouted again, almost trembling with frustration.

‘I do not think he is interested in us overmuch.’

‘But he must hear the Bull from the Holy Father!’

Hülegü whispered something to his general. ‘What is that creature and what does he say?’ the general asked.

‘He is one of our holy men, my lord.’

‘Does he have magic to show us?’

Josseran was startled by the question. ‘Magic? I fear he does not.’

The general passed this information to Hülegü, who seemed disappointed. There was another long conversation between the two Tatars.

‘The great khan wishes to know if your lord will become his vassal, as the lord of Antioch has done, and pay him annual tribute.’

Josseran masked his surprise. This was not the relationship as Bohemond had described it. ‘What we seek is an alliance against the Saracen. In return for our military aid we would have Jerusalem . . .’

Hülegü did not wait to hear the rest. He murmured a few words to his general and turned his horse away.

‘The great khan says he cannot talk to you of an alliance. That is something only Möngke, the Khan of all Khans, can decide. You will be escorted into his presence. You may take your holy man with you. The rest of your party will stay here as hostage until your return.’

The general spoke rapidly to Juchi in the Tatar tongue and then he wheeled his horse away and followed the khan back to the walls of the citadel, their escort following in tight formation. The audience had been brutally swift, and was now, apparently, concluded.

They were all hauled back to their feet.

‘What is to happen?’ William shouted. ‘What has taken place?’

‘He says he does not have the authority to hear us. It seems there is a lord even higher than he. We are to be taken to him.’

‘Where is this lord? How much further must we travel?’

‘I do not know.’

He saw Gérard and Yusuf staring at him, their eyes wide. Unlike William, they had understood all that had been said.

‘So,’ Juchi laughed. ‘You are to see Qaraqorum.’

‘How many days travel is it?’

‘Days?’ The officer repeated what he had said to the rest of the Tatars and there was a howl of laughter. He turned back to Josseran. ‘If you ride hard you might be there in four moons. With that elephant you ride you will be fortunate to arrive in eight!’

Josseran stared at him. Four
months
? It might take a man on a good horse so long to travel from Toulouse to Constantinople, the very breadth of Christendom. But eight months, twice that distance, heading east through and beyond the land of the Mohammedans, was simply inconceivable! They would fall off the edge of the world!

‘And if we do not wish to go there?’

The Tatar laughed again. ‘What you wish is of no account. It is what the khan wishes. And if he wishes it, then it is done.’

William was tugging at the sleeve of his tunic. ‘What did they say? You must not make mystery of this!’

Eight months in the presence of this damnable churchman! If he survived. ‘Just get on your horse,’ he growled. ‘We are going east. To some place called Qaraqorum. That’s all I know.’

Fergana Valley

A
SKY AS
grey as a corpse, mountains hidden behind a veil of cloud, with sleet drifting across the steppe. Wooden wheels crunched on the frost-hard earth. Two carts arrived, laden with tribute from the Kazaks at Almalik: furs of ermine and sable and two young girls for the harem.

Qaidu watched their arrival astride his favourite horse, the black stripes on its hind legs singling it out as a mare not long tamed from the wild herds that still roamed free on the northern steppe. A corona of fur wreathed his head and there were droplets of ice in his beard. He looked at the stacked furs and the two girls shivering on the back of the cart, his eyes hard rather than greedy, assessing their value as tribute with the practised gaze of a conqueror.

‘Do they smell?’ he said to Khutelun, turning his gaze to the women.

‘They are sweet enough,’ she answered. ‘But although they are the prettiest of their women, they are only a little more comely than the yaks they have been herding. The Kazak are not a pretty people.’

Qaidu nodded, but she could see his mind was not on the women, but on politics.

‘Chinggis’s grandson Khubilai remains in Cathay fighting the Soong,’ he said, reading the question in her eyes. ‘Ariq Böke has called again for a
khuriltai
in Qaraqorum.’

‘You will go?’

He shook his head. His gaze focused on the grey horizon, contemplating the uncertainty of a future without their Khan of Khans. ‘I think it is better I stay here.’

She knew what he was thinking: if there was going to be bloodshed it was better to stay here and protect his own fief. ‘A rider came
from Bukhara this morning with news,’ Qaidu said. ‘There are ambassadors passing here on their way to Qaraqorum. We are asked to escort them as far as Besh Balik. I want you to lead that escort.’

Khutelun felt a surge of pride at being chosen before either of her brothers for the task. ‘You will bring them here first, until the weather is better. But you will not take them to Besh Balik. Instead I want you to take them all the way to Qaraqorum.’

‘Why?’

‘So you can give Ariq Böke my support in the
khuriltai
. I cannot be deaf and blind to everything that happens.’

‘I am honoured you trust me with this task, Father.’

‘I have always trusted you, daughter. You are the ablest of all my children.’

It was the greatest compliment he had ever given her. If only I had been a son, she thought, I could have been khan. ‘These ambassadors,’ she asked him. ‘Where are they from?’

‘They are from lands far to the west. Barbarians. It seems they wish to prostrate themselves at the feet of our Khan of Khans.’

‘But we have no Khan of Khans.’ The process of the
khuriltai
, she knew, could take perhaps two or three years.

Qaidu shrugged. ‘If we have no Khan of Khans,’ he answered, ‘then they will have to wait in Qaraqorum until there is one.’

Aleppo to Kashgar
northern spring,
in the year of Our Lord 1260

H
OW LONG HAD
they been travelling? He had lost count of the weeks. Or was it months?

They had taken the great desert route from Aleppo, mile upon mile of hard gravel, the lonely province of goats and Bedouin shepherds. The Tatars had insisted they leave behind their carts with the heavy iron chests of provisions and the suit of chain mail Josseran had brought as a gift for the Tatar khan. The other gifts Josseran packed into a waterproof leather bag and carried on his horse. He himself wore the damascened sword.

William still clutched a leather satchel that he had brought with him from Acre. Josseran wondered what treasures he had decided were indispensable to his mission. A thumbscrew and a hair shirt perhaps.

Although it was yet winter the days were warm and William, unaccustomed to the heat and fatigued by the rigours of the journey, swayed from side to side on his mount. He will not last eight more days, never mind eight months, Josseran thought. They were all tortured by the flies that clustered at the corners of their eyes and mouths whenever they stopped to rest. Eight months! Josseran thought. Impossible. Juchi must have been trying to torment them.