by Dan Davis
Some of their tents, called gers, were disassembled for transport and rebuilt at the new location. And that was how I saw the manner of their construction. The centre of the roof was a wooden ring, held up at a height of eight or ten feet or even higher by two posts. The circular wall was a lattice of wood, with long poles joining the centre ring with the wall. Over the top was pulled great sheets of whitened felt. And each building had a surprisingly strong wooden door. When complete, they were remarkably sturdy structures.
I was also astonished at the size of the herds of oxen and horses and flocks of sheep, though we saw but few men to manage them.
“Who is this captain?” I asked the Mongols, through Abdullah. “Is he some great lord?”
They were amused by my ignorance.
“Scatay has nothing,” they said. “He has only five hundred men. There are ten thousand Mongol lords greater than he.”
I felt the first inkling of the potential might of these terrible people. Still, I could never have imagined the true scale of their power until I saw it for myself, months and years later.
It seemed that there were many more than that, for each man had his own tent, and each tent had its own great wagon, with oxen to pull it. And each man had dozens or hundreds of horses. And some of the men had more than one wife, and she had her own tent, and her own horses and servants, and stocky children working as hard as a slave. So, five hundred men meant over a thousand people and more animals than I could count, roaming out of sight over miles and beyond the horizon.
We followed that mass of oxen and wagons and tents all day, moving through them at the edges toward the head of the procession where their leader’s tents were. Late in the afternoon, the Mongols set down their dwellings near a muddy, wide lake. Their and Scatay's men came to us, and as soon as they learnt that we had never been among them before they begged of our provisions. Abdullah said to us that we must give something to Scatay.
The Mongols poked and prodded at us, asking for clothing and other items. I insisted that nothing be handed over to these heathens. Our dragoman explained again that we could in no way go to the captain, Scatay, without gifts and so we got a flagon of wine and filled a small basket with biscuits and a plate with apples and other fruit.
The Mongols were angry with our meagre gifts. Again, they demanded some costly cloth. We went with this in fear that they would take offense and turn us back, or worse but we could not give up all our presents to some lowly provincial captain or we would have nothing left for Lord Batu.
While the servants waited with the wagons, the monks, with Thomas, Bertrand and I, were invited into the chief Mongol’s tent.
This was the largest ger in the camp, and it was located right in the centre of the others. We were warned to not step on the threshold when we entered, as this was a terrible taboo, and after I ducked inside I was impressed by the comfort within. Rugs covered the floor, other than a large hearth in the centre. On the far side, opposite the door, was a low couch where the chief man and lord of the ger sat. We were directed to one side and bade to sit. Opposite us were a gaggle of Mongol women and girls who were rather subdued but who also pottered about in a relaxed, domestic manner.
The captain, Scatay, was seated on his couch, with a little musical instrument in his hand, and his chief wife was beside him. What a hideous creature she was. In truth, it seemed to me that her whole nose had been cut off, for she was so snub-nosed that she seemed to have no nose at all. What is more, she had greased this part of her face with some black unguent, and also her eyebrows, so that she appeared most vile.
Then William begged him to accept the trifling gifts, explaining how he was not allowed by his order to own gold or silver or costly robes. That was why we had no riches to give him, only food to offer for a blessing. Scatay made a show of being displeased and yet he immediately distributed our gifts among his men who had gathered there to drink.
He asked us if we would drink kumis or mare's milk; for the Christians, Ruthenians, Greeks, and Alans who live among them, and who wish to follow strictly their religion, drink it not. They consider themselves to be no longer Christians if they drink it, and the priests have to bring them back into the fold as if they had denied the faith of Christ.
“Abdullah,” William said. “You must have translated that incorrectly.”
Stephen interrupted. “What he says is true, brother. I have read such a thing in the records of the Church of Santa Anna. The Christians of these lands have many unorthodox beliefs, due to the corrupting influence of the heathens and from not being one with the true Church.”
William glanced between Thomas and Stephen before lowering his voice to answer. “You will explain to me later what you were doing in the records of a Templar church but in the meantime, you shall hold your tongue, do you hear me?”
A chastened Stephen lowered his head, cheeks flushing red.
“Tell him that we have enough of our own drink so far,” William said. “But that if that should give out, we would happily drink whatever he gave us.”
This seemed to satisfy the Mongol captain and he asked another question of us.
“What says the letter from your king, the King of the French?” Abdullah translated.
“Those letters are sealed,” William said, stiffly. “And meant for Prince Batu only. But he can be assured that there is naught in them but good and friendly words.”
He then asked, through Abdullah, what we would say to Batu with our own voices when we reached him.
William answered. “Words of the Christian faith.”
The Mongol asked what these words were, since he was eager to hear them for himself.
Friar William expounded to him as well as he could through Abdullah, who seemed neither over intelligent nor fluent in the creed of the faith, he being but an ignorant heathen and follower of Mohammed. When the Mongol had heard William’s pious drivel, he remained silent but wagged his head, entirely unconvinced.
“Ask him if Prince Batu has a Christian man who serves him,” I said. “A man from France, or England. A man named William.”
The monks grew agitated at my interjection and also Thomas hissed at Abdullah to say nothing. While the Mongols stared at us in confusion at our agitation, I grinned at everyone and nodded at those who would meet my eye.
“Let us maintain a friendly demeanour, shall we, my friends?” I said, smiling and nodding. “And, Abdullah, you will ask the Mongol my question for if you do not, I shall hurt you very badly by breaking your thumb and forefinger on both hands the moment we leave the company of these charming people.”
Abdullah was a coward and so he did as I had requested.
“The Lord Scatay says that, yes, there was a man like that serving Batu Khan.”
My heart was in my throat as I pushed for more. “And his name? Is it William? Did he look like me?”
The Mongol captain tilted his head and looked hard at me while he babbled.
“He says that William was the man’s name but as for you men from Christendom, he cannot tell one apart from the other.”
Thomas scowled, even as I grinned like a madman. “If you are quite finished with disrupting our royal business for your personal quest, sir?” Thomas said.
Then William and Thomas spoke to Scatay in the terms previously used, for it was essential that we should everywhere say the same thing. This we had been well cautioned by those who had been among them, never to change what we said.
The Mongols were wary to the point of paranoia about enemy agents observing their numbers, positions and internal political divisions, lest any and all these things be used against them. A particular worry for them, because that was precisely how they themselves operated. No other people, not even the devious Syrians, nor the ancient and corrupt Persians, had such an extensive intelligence network. And we Christians had almost no concept of such things, certainly not in such a widespread and formal strategic fashion.
Finally, the Mongols agreed to do as we
asked, supplying us with new horses and oxen, and two men to guide us onward to Lord Batu. The servants from Soldaia who had brought us went back with their beasts.
Before giving us all this, they kept us waiting for a long time, begging of our bread for their little ones, admiring everything they saw on our servants, knives, gloves, purses, and belts, and wanting everything. We refused, over and over, every day while we waited to be sent onward, saying to every grasping heathen that we had a long journey before us and that we could not at the start deprive ourselves of necessary things. The monks explained with words, through Abdullah, while Eva and I explained by wrenching their hands and shoving them away.
It is true that they took nothing by force but they begged in the most importunate and impudent way for whatever they saw, and if a person gave anything to them, it was so much lost, for they were ungrateful. The Mongols considered themselves the masters of the world, and it seemed to them that there was nothing that anyone had the right to refuse. If one refused to give, and after that had need of their service, they served him badly.
No matter how much I explained to the servants to give nothing up, they were intimidated and I could not be everywhere at once. Thomas and Bertrand were determined to keep the peace, subject as we were to the mercy of the Mongols. Even Bertrand controlled his temper, for he knew he had to complete his embassy in order to return to the favour of his king.
While we waited with them, in their camp, they at least gave us to drink of their cow's milk, from which the butter had been taken. It was very sour. They called it aira. I did not like it but the Mongols valued it, so it was their way of offering us something, however small, as a token of acceptance.
Finally, we left this captain, and it seemed to me that we had escaped from the clutches of demons.
In fact, we had barely begun our descent into Hell.
***
For two months, from the time we left Soldaia to when we came to Prince Batu’s ordus, we never slept in a house or tent, but always in the open air or under our carts. Travelling north and then east, we never saw a city, but only Cuman tombs in very great numbers.
In the evenings, our guide us gave us kumis to drink. Even though it is fermented mare’s milk - an intoxicating version of the foul, sour aira - it was quite palatable. The Mongols loved that drink, indeed, they drunk it every day and took much sustenance from it. They loved alcohol in all forms, for life on those endless grasslands, exposed to constant wind and sun and rain, was dismal indeed and like the life of an animal and so they sought comfort, warmth, and distraction in their inebriation.
“Why do the Christians here fear this drink?” I asked Stephen, as I was fairly taken with the stuff, and the young monk seemed wise beyond his years. Whereas I have always had years beyond my wisdom.
“They are ignorant of the true tenets of the faith,” Stephen replied, shrugging beneath his dirty robe. “And their blood is inferior to ours, which makes them stupid despite being saved.” He giggled because he was drunk on kumis.
We hopped from one Mongol camp to the next, often at intervals of five days or so, as the oxen travels. Some Mongol captains were wealthy, where others were impoverished. And when we came among one particularly destitute ordus, which was confined to a barren and diseased territory, they were such horrible looking creatures that they seemed like lepers. There were no children running about as in other camps.
“Why in the name of God are they like this?” I asked Abdullah.
“Their lord displeased Batu.”
During our journey to the royal camp of Batu, the Mongols rarely gave us food, only very sour and bad-smelling cow's milk. Our own wine was quickly exhausted, and the water was so muddy from the horses that it was not drinkable even with boiling. Had it not been for the barrels of travel biscuits we had, and God's mercy, we should probably have perished.
Not only that, the men who conducted us began robbing the monks in a most audacious manner, for they saw that the holy brothers took but little care with their belongings. Finally, after losing a number of things, vexation made the monks wise to the Mongols’ ways and all precious things they kept on their person, as the rest of us had done for some time. Not only that, we none of us went anywhere alone, even to shit, else we would be mugged by our guides.
I was warned by Thomas and William never to hurt the Mongols who guided us, even in retribution for their uncouth, savage behaviour, because then we would likely be killed or abandoned, which amounted to the same thing. They spoke as if I was a child who had no self-control and I was greatly offended by their words of warning. Still, it was true enough that at times I found it difficult to resist murdering those arrogant bastards. I would happily have feasted on their blood, for they were miserable, thieving heathens with no honour amongst them.
They would never leave us alone, for in their minds they were the masters and we were outsiders. When we were seated in the shade under our carts, for the heat was intense at that season, they pushed in most importunately among us, to the point of crushing the weaker members of our party, such as Friar Bartholomew, who was frail and a poor traveller.
Filthy creatures that they were, whenever they were seized with the need to void their bowels, they did not go away from us farther than one can throw a bean. They did their filthiness right beside us while talking together, and much more they did which was vexatious beyond measure. I grew to hate them and hold them in deep contempt and disgust.
Still, I swallowed my disgust and even attempted to learn their hideous language. After many days, I began to understand pieces of what they said. One of my few gifts outside of the marshal traits is an affinity for languages, thanks to God, for if it were not so I would have died centuries ago.
Bertrand and Hugues were surly but subdued. The entire time, I made sure to never turn my back on them and watched them closely, especially whenever Eva moved apart from the group for momentary privacy. She dressed always in mannish clothing, was hooded or sheltered beneath a wide-brimmed hat and she reeked as much as a man, or a boy at least. Still, the men in our party eyed her in hunger. All other than William of Rubruck who, for all his faults, was an honourable and strong-willed man and old Bartholomew who either hated women or had no interest in women, on account of his advanced years perhaps or because he was that way inclined. Young Nikolas was at her side so much that anyone would think he was her slave rather than Rubruck’s and though I am sure he sought her company from a need to feel mothered, he was also approaching an age where his thoughts may not be so innocent. On occasion, I would catch the filthy bloody Mongols discussing her while casting looks in her direction from a distance and those men, along with Bertrand, were the ones I feared attacking in the night. How she was able to withstand such ceaseless attention, I do not know, because it was enough to drive me to a state of heightened anxiety. I slept little and was ever ready to draw a dagger in defence of my wife.
“Any woman who ever leaves her home grows used to such things,” she said one time, shrugging. “Their endless gazing means nothing. But any man who lays a finger upon me will lose his hand, his balls, and then his life.”
“What a true English lady you are,” I said in jest but I also meant it. However, my remark did not appear to amuse her one bit.
We crossed the great River Don, which was called the Tanais back then, ferried across on small boats. That river at that point was as broad as the Seine at Paris and the Russians had a village there, an outpost subject to the Mongols. It was the season when they were cutting the rye. Wheat thrived not there but they had great abundance of millet. The Ruthenian women arranged their heads like my own people did back in England and France, but their outside gowns they trimmed from the feet to the knee with vair or minever. The men wore capes like Germans and wore felt caps, pointed and very high.
The country beyond the Tanais was most beautiful, with rivers and forests. To the south, we had very high mountains, inhabited, on the side facing this desert, by the Kerkis and the Al
ans, who are Christians and still fought to resist the Mongols. Beyond them was the Caspian Sea.
At the end of every day, we ate quickly and retired early, sleeping beneath the wagons when it was still warm enough to do so. On the easier days, we would perhaps stay awake and talk. Once in a while, we would camp near to a lake or river and there would invariably be scrub on the banks. Enough to make small campfires for a little warmth and light either side of the long sunsets. On those nights with fires, we would drink more kumis than usual and would stay awake longer.
“Tell us of the battle again, sir, I beg you,” the monk Stephen Gosset asked Thomas on one such night.
“Again?” Thomas said, warily. “I have never spoken of it. Not to you, brother.”
We sat in a rough circle on the grass. The ground was still warm after a baking hot day, and the herbaceous smells of the dry grass wafted up from beneath us. A small fire flickered in the middle of us, providing almost no warmth but plenty of light. Without it, there would have been enough light from the cascade of stars sprayed onto the blanket of night above us. I sat beside Eva and chewed on the dried goat meat. It took all evening to chew through enough to feel even half a belly full. Eva scrubbed the hints of rust from her second-best sword.
“What battle?” I asked, speaking around my food.
Thomas waved a hand. “Young Stephen has an interest in war.”
“An unseemly interest,” Friar William growled from the shadows. “Most unseemly.”
Stephen opened his palms in front of him. “Brother, I wish only to know more of the Tartars. My lord Thomas is the only man I ever met who has fought against them.”
