Vampire Khan

by Dan Davis

  The guides were barely willing to exchange words with me but with much cajoling and with their words translated by the slave boy Nikolas, I winkled the knowledge of the wild land out of them. They told me that from Soldaia all the way along the coast to the city of Tanais to the east there were high promontories along the sea. And beyond the mountains to the north was a most beautiful forest, in a plain full of springs and rivulets. And beyond that forest was a mighty plain which stretched out to the border of the peninsula to the north, where it narrows greatly into a land bridge, having the sea to the east and the west. Once we were beyond that border we would be on the endless steppe, the grassland that ran from Hungary in the west to the ends of the Earth in the east.

  Each time we stopped at sundown, I would ask Abdullah more about the people who populated the steppe and he would explain while some of us listened to his words, sitting upon the grass or on the backs of the wagons, while we ate what food we had in the moments before retiring for the night. The young Saracen slave grew somewhat confident when he spoke of such things, seeming almost wise at times, although we had to watch he did not get hold of the wine because he was a terrible sot.

  “In the plain beyond us used to live Cumans before the Mongols came from the east,” Abdullah said. “Once, it was the Cumans that forced the cities and villages hereabout to pay them tribute. The Cumans were once from the east, and there they were subject to the Mongols but had fled here to escape their subjugation. But when the Mongols came, the Cumans feared their retribution and they fled down into this peninsula for the first time. Such a multitude of Cumans entered this province that the people of the villages fled to the shore of the sea. But there was nowhere further to flee, and no food to be eaten, for the Cumans had taken it all. And so all these people ate one another. The living ate the dying, as was told me in Damascus by a merchant who saw it. Saw the living devouring and tearing with their teeth the raw flesh of the dead, as dogs do corpses.”

  None of us had anything to say to that. Bertrand scoffed as if he disbelieved it, but his big face showed he was as disturbed as any of us.

  “What happened to the Cumans?” I asked.

  Abdullah shrugged. “They were subjugated by the Mongols once again.” He squirted a stream of wine into his mouth from a skin. The ancient, frail Friar Bartholomew leapt to his feet, hitched up his robes as he scurried over and slapped Abdullah about the head before yanking the wineskin from him.

  Toward the end of the province were many large lakes, on whose shores were brine springs which the locals used for the making of salt. And from these brine springs, Prince Batu derived great revenues, for from all Rus they came to that place for salt, also many ships came by sea. The young Franciscan lad, Stephen, was most intrigued by the notion that a fortune could be made from salt and expressed that curiosity that evening at camp.

  “Your interest in worldly wealth is unseemly,” Friar Bartholomew said to chastise him, while Friar William nodded.

  “It is not my own personal wealth that interests me,” Stephen said, innocently, “I simply wish to cultivate a clearer understanding of the world.”

  Friar William scoffed. “Cultivate your need to practice simplicity and detach yourself from materiality instead.”

  “And not only that,” Friar Bartholomew said, in a nagging tone while Stephen hung his head. “You must become more charitable.”

  I burst out laughing. No one else laughed with me but I thought I could see a hint of a smile on Stephen’s face before he hid it behind a biscuit.

  And so, three days after leaving Soldaia, we came across the Mongols.

  When I found myself among them, they were so strange, so repulsive, and backward that it seemed to me that I had been transported into another century far into the past, or to another world entirely.

  How long they had been tracking us, I could not say. That country was alien to me, and I could not read the land, could not see it, in the way that I have always been able to read the land of England, France and the rest of Christendom. Even so, late on that third morning, we saw riders on the horizon. We stopped our wagons and waited where we were, as was the proper procedure. A group of ten men approached on stocky little horses the size of ponies, with a few more riderless horses following behind.

  It was early summer and the day was hot, the wind warm and full of the smell of grass, and fragrant herbs. As the sun was so high, most of our party sat beneath the wagons as it was the only shade anywhere in sight.

  I wore only a cotton tunic, hose, shoes and a wide-brimmed hat and, despite the heat, I badly wished to put on my armour. When facing an enemy, I always wanted to be wearing my long mail hauberk, with a coif for my head, neck, and throat and then an enclosed helm to protect my head. Ideally, I would wear chausses, which were mail armour for my legs. And yet we three knights; Bertrand, Thomas and I, had agreed that appearing before the Mongols while dressed for war would be provocative and may cause us more problems than it would solve. I had argued hard for wearing our gambesons at least, with a loose tabard over the top to disguise the armour. Bertrand was ready to agree but Thomas insisted that it would be just the same, or nearly so, as wearing mail and that a tabard would fool no man, not even a savage.

  “We will at least wear our swords, will we not, Thomas?” I had said.

  “Even that may provoke them into some evil action,” Thomas had countered.

  “We cannot be defenceless,” Bertrand had blustered.

  “Put your faith in God, sir,” Thomas had said, with a certainty that brooked no argument.

  Bertrand had nodded his monstrous great head, scowling. “I do, Thomas,” he said, a sound that was more growl than words. “I shall. But a knight should have his sword at his hip.”

  Even though I agreed with Bertrand, I was honour bound to side with Thomas and so we stood, wearing no more than light clothing, waiting for a group of brutal savages whose intentions were unknown. If I had been wearing my gambeson, the thick layers of linen would have made me sweat profusely under such a sun, but that was the price we paid for protection against sword and arrow. Without it, I was vulnerable to the arrows that I knew all Tartars carried.

  While they were still some way off, I strolled as if I had not a care in the world to the side of the wagon where I had stashed my gear, and I leaned against the side. Eva strutted over and leaned by me, pulling her own hat down over her face. She hated the bright sunlight and kept her skin covered when out of doors, even if not attempting to pass as a man.

  Nodding to her, I climbed up and reached over the side boards into the wagon and pulled my stashed sword up slightly so that I would be able to draw it swiftly, should I need to. Getting down again, I leaned my arm on the side of the wagon, ready to move. I watched the riders approach.

  All of us were quiet.

  “Remember to breathe,” Eva muttered.

  I let out a huge sigh. “I was not holding my breath,” I said.

  We had all been apprehensive about our first meeting with the Mongols since we had set out from the city. Even the brash Bertrand had grown ever quieter the further north we had gone. The friars especially so. The elderly Bartholomew was so terrified that I could see him shaking beneath his robes from twenty-feet away.

  The servants clustered together behind us, beneath two of the wagons farthest from the riders’ approach.

  “Do nothing to anger them,” Friar William called to us all from beside the foremost wagon as the riders approached. “I shall speak for us. Do not overrule me or we will appear divided to them.”

  Before even leaving the city of Soldaia, we had agreed exactly that. In fact, it was my recommendation that we maintain a united front. The friar was doing no more than betraying his nervousness by speaking so to us, which was understandable. The Tartars were conquering devils.

  I had seen many strange peoples from far off lands during my travels in Iberia and Outremer over the decades. I had seen tall, dark men from the highlands of Ethiopia, who worshippe
d Christ with as much reverence as any priest. I had seen even darker men from beyond Ethiopia, brought to the Holy Land as slaves by the Saracens, who despised the black men and whipped them most brutally.

  But no people I had ever seen were as hideous and vile as the Mongols. Their stink greeted us, even when they were a long bow-shot away and the smell grew overwhelming as they approached. A sour, foul smell such as a man gets when he has not washed his body for a year or more. A cloying, oppressive stench as foul as brewed piss, like a tanner’s yard, but with an animal breadth and depth that filled one’s nose like a poison.

  They were all clothed in thick, long, light brown overcoats. The belts wrapped about their middles were decorated in brass, with slightly curved swords suspended from them, bouncing as they rode. Each man also had a short, curved bow and a huge quiver absolutely packed with arrows. Even in that summer heat, they wore trousers and thick, long boots. Most wore a sort of quilted hood with fur on the inside. A couple of them were bare-headed and they had the most bizarre hair. The entire scalp was shaved to stubble, other than the front and back, where the jet-black hair was tightly braided into thin, ratty strands longer than their faces.

  All ten of them rode with a swagger the like of which I had rarely seen from the most arrogant of Christian lords. They spread themselves in a wide arc as they ambled up to us. Their other horses, twenty or more, trailed behind without ropes tying them together. The ten men spread out and those in front pulled to a stop a few paces from our wagons, while the others kept their horses walking.

  Friar William stood and went to greet them, and young Stephen went at his shoulder. Old Bartholomew hung farther back but shuffled after them, as did Abdullah, like one of the Mongol remounts.

  The riders on the flanks continued to ride slowly, surrounding us on their horses, staring at us with sneering contempt upon their faces.

  And what faces they were. Wide, round faces, as though they had been stretched by a mighty hand. Eyes narrow and filled with animal cunning, and thin black moustaches twitching beneath squashed noses. Their complexion was swarthy from the sun and yet wind-ravaged about the cheeks. Each man wore an expression of the haughtiest contempt and scathing viciousness. These were men who had done evil things, and who had suffered evil things done to them in turn.

  One of them spoke, suddenly. Barking his barbaric language in a harsh, throaty voice like a broken trumpet.

  Abdullah bowed and turned to Friar William. “He demands to know whether we have ever been among them before.”

  William half-turned to Abdullah. “Tell him that we have not ever been amongst them. Tell them that this is indeed our first time here in these lands, yes. Tell him so.”

  Abdullah babbled his response back to the four Mongols who had reign in right before us.

  I watched as the savages rode slowly by me, three on my side. On the other side of our group, three more rode around. Bertrand and Hughues were on the other side. Bertrand had one meaty hand clamped down on his squire’s shoulder. That was good.

  In the centre, Thomas and his squire stood straight and tall, as if he had done such a thing a thousand times. Such is the strength that faith can give to a man.

  Eva looked down, hiding her face with the brim of her hat. I stared at the riders, half-willing them to attack me. The one nearest to me sneered and muttered something to the fellow behind him, and they both laughed. A savage, hacking noise.

  My heart’s desire was to leap at the man, run him down and smash his hideous face into pulp.

  Instead, I stayed still and watched them position themselves around us. We were badly outnumbered, for there were six fighters on our side and ten on theirs. Also, they were mounted and had bows and swords ready, while we stood unarmoured and unarmed.

  On the other hand, we had the wagons drawn up somewhat together, which would impede their charge or provide cover from arrows. Our horses were saddled and ready to ride, but I would not fight from the back of a horse who was not trained to it. You may as well save yourself the trouble of climbing on and instead throw yourself onto your spine and smash your face with a hammer.

  “What is he saying, Abdullah?” William said, as the lead Mongol babbled on and on, whilst gesticulating wildly.

  “He is asking for some of our provisions, lord,” Abdullah said, his voice shaking.

  “That seems fair,” William said, turning to us. “A small gift, a token from us. That we might share bread. Yes, yes, that is perfectly right and proper enough. Stephen? Would you mind gathering together a piece of biscuit for each man, and I think one of the skins of wine. Yes, a whole skin, why not, let us be generous.”

  Stephen called over the boy Nikolas and together they rooted out a basket with ten or fifteen of the small biscuits, which were wheat breads baked twice so that they were as hard as rock and had to be soaked in water or wine or milk before they were edible. The large skin of wine sloshed loudly as Stephen manhandled it back to the Mongols. They took the wine very roughly, with no manners nor sign of gratitude at all, and drank with gusto, passing the skin between them. The biscuits they crunched with their teeth, biting pieces off and chewing with their mouths hanging open. After only a few moments, one of the men tossed the wineskin to the grass, empty.

  The Mongols before William began gesturing wildly again while they babbled at William, jutting their outstretched hands to the wagons behind us.

  “What is he saying?” William said, backing up against the onslaught of heathenish language.

  “He insists that we give them more,” Abdullah said. “Apologies, lord, he says we must give them more wine. Another skin.”

  “I am not sure that we have enough,” William said. “Tell them we do not have enough.”

  The Mongols did not like what Abdullah said, and the lead man rode his horse slowly, right at William. As he rode, he spoke in a low voice.

  “He says, lord,” Abdullah said, “that a man enters a house not with one foot only.”

  “Well, he can keep both feet out of my house, if that is his attitude,” William said, puffing up his big belly. “The impudence of the man.”

  Abdullah began to jabber away but William cut him off.

  “Wait, wait,” William said, holding up his palms as the Mongol bore down on him. “Stephen, please would you find another skin of wine for our guests.”

  I was already moving before I made the decision to do so. I covered the distance quickly but walked with as casual an air as was possible. I was unarmed and had no wish to alarm the heathens.

  Clapping my palm down on Stephen’s shoulder as he turned, I stopped him from moving away. Stephen tried to shake me off but I held him firm then pushed him back to where William stood gaping at me.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed at me, eyes wide.

  I planted my other hand on William’s big shoulder and squeezed it, so I stood between and slightly behind the two monks, making a wall out of our bodies. I grinned up at the Mongol rider.

  He scowled down at me and babbled some of his disgusting language.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head and still grinning like an idiot while the monks shook.

  Our interpreter began to explain but I cut him off.

  “I understand him, Abdullah,” I said, looking up at the agitated Mongol. From the corner of my eye, I watched as others moved their horses closer. “And you understand me, don’t you, you heathen bastard.” I dropped my smile and raised my voice. “No more wine. No more food. Take us to your master.”

  He rode right up to us and turned his horse sideways with no instruction that I could see. With excellent horsemanship, he somehow got the creature to sidle into us so that its flanks were pressing against the monks. The beast was short but well-muscled, with a round belly. The stinking Mongol grimaced while he harangued us, and the monks quivered and tried to step back.

  “Abdullah,” I said without looking away. “Tell him to take us to his master so that we may give our gifts to him.”

  T
he interpreter jabbered away and I saw the Mongol’s resolve fade. The heathen did not dwell upon his decision, but instead moved away, barking commands at his fellows.

  When I turned around, I saw how Bertrand, Thomas, and their squires had taken positions between the wagons, a few paces behind me, ready to take action. That was a good thing to see. Friar William was angry at me for a while but the man had the intelligence and the humility to let it fade. Young Stephen, I fear, looked upon me with open wonder and admiration. I felt pity for him, for it is a small thing to stand your ground against those that you hold in contempt, but he was still naive, even then. Innocent to the darkness of the world.

  He would not be for very much longer.

  ***

  The Mongols asked whence we came and where we wanted to go. Friar William told them that we had heard that their lord Prince Batu was considering becoming a Christian and that we wanted to go to him. Also, that we had letters from the King of the French to deliver to him.

  Then they asked what was in the carts, whether it was gold or silver or costly clothing that we were taking to Batu. I answered that Batu would see for himself what we were bringing to him when we reached him and that it was none of their business to ask. They made a big show of being offended but it seemed to me to be almost mere convention, and they accepted easily enough.

  In the morning we came across the carts of a captain of the Mongols who was called Scatay. His carts were carrying the dwellings, and it seemed that a city was coming towards me across the wide plain.

  Huge wagons, pulled by teams of oxen, rumbled over the grassland. More astonishing, however, was that every other wagon had a large, round tent on the back of it. It took me quite some time to come to terms with the fact that they dragged their empty homes up onto the flat backs of these enormous wagons and pulled them down to the ground again when they reached their new destination. The Mongols would move to new pastures for their herds, move from a river to a woodland, or from the plain to the hills, as the need takes them. Each lord had his own domain, however, these domains were so large that they could move regularly throughout a year and not camp in the same place more than once. They would usually spend winter in a single, sheltered place, near a woodland if they could, but would move with ease throughout the rest of the year. When the camp—which was called an ordus—was assembled, they would also erect pens and tethers for special animals and poles and lines for drying clothes, meat, and skins.