Vampire Khan

by Dan Davis

  Our presence was noted by enough of the men in the room that the vizier must have sensed he was losing the attention of his audience and he broke off, turning to us.

  The vizier pointed at us across the room and barked something I did not quite catch.

  Nevertheless, I cleared my throat, preparing mentally for what arguments I would make when called upon to do so. During the journey to Baghdad, Abdullah, Hassan and I had thought up different points that might sway the vizier into taking immediate action to defend the city, such as describing the astonishing swiftness of the Mongol assaults on the Ismaili castles and stressing the expertise of the siege engines, and the vastness of the forces coming for his city. We had practised for months, refining our arguments with the most emotive examples we could think of, all for this one, vital meeting with the vizier.

  So, I was quite astonished when one of the magnificently-attired Saracen lords strode across to Abdullah, seized him quite roughly, and dragged him through the audience chamber across where we stood. The vizier watched, hands on his hips, while his nephew was removed at his instruction, and then he gestured at us again.

  This time, I did understand the orders he gave.

  “Take them away. And kill them all.”

  The soldiers guarding us used their shields and weapons to herd us out of the audience chamber, following the lord who had taken Abdullah.

  I knew that I would have to take the soldiers’ weapons, kill them, and then flee. I thought it likely I could do that but escaping from the palace, and then from the centre of the biggest city in the world would be beyond me alone. If I could free Abdullah, then he could lead me and Eva out. Thomas, too, if possible. And perhaps even Stephen, seeing as he was an Englishman and all.

  As a general rule, I have always found that it is better to take action immediately rather than to wait for potentially more favourable conditions. But in the circumstances, I wondered if we might be taken to the outer city, or even outside the outermost walls to some execution field. Eva could sense my tension, and she also began eyeing the soldier’s weapons.

  After a few turns through narrow and ornate corridors, our captors directed us into a walkway that had a dead end. They stopped behind us and propelled us forward. We were trapped. Cornered.

  “Get ready,” I said, in French and then in Arabic.

  Thomas balled his fists and stepped in front of Eva as if she needed protecting. Hassan and his Assassins spread out along the wall at our backs.

  “Wait.”

  It was the Saracen lord who spoke, in a powerful voice that echoed from the arched ceiling above. He pushed his way through the soldiers and stood between us and them.

  “You will not be harmed,” the lord said. “I am Feth-ud-Din. I will not kill you.”

  Thomas whispered. “What does he say?”

  I ignored the old knight. My attention was wholly given over to the Saracen lord.

  Most men that one meets in life are hiding behind layers of dishonesty. They lie to themselves about their abilities or what their station is in life and what they think it should be. Or they are confused about who they should be, what role in life they should fulfil the most fully. Many are deluded about how they are regarded by other men. Yet, once in a while, one will come into contact with a man who is totally self-possessed. A man who knows who he is, what his purpose in life is, what his true talents are and what he contributes to his society. These men may be a country priest, or the village blacksmith, secure in their position as shepherd for their flock, or father and contributor to their community.

  As I laid eyes on the Saracen lord, I knew he was one of those. A man of robust build, with a rider’s straight back and the shrewd eyes of a soldier. The stockiness of a strong man growing thicker in early middle age while yet radiating health. There was a stillness to him, a calm centre and a hard, steady gaze.

  Though he was an enemy of mine due to his race and faith, and though he looked completely different, his presence brought to mind another man who I had known; William Marshal.

  I think I understood the Saracen immediately. Understood who he was.

  A moral man.

  “You would disobey your master?” I asked.

  He turned his eyes to me, took in my filth. If he was surprised by a Frank speaking Arabic, he gave no sign of it. Perhaps because I butchered his language so terribly.

  “I serve Caliph Al-Musta'sim Billah,” he said.

  I fixed him with my gaze. “We have come to fight the Mongols. We have come to protect this city.”

  “Who do you serve?”

  “I serve only my oath of vengeance,” I said. “Against Hulegu Khan. And his keshig bodyguard and certain men of his court.”

  He glanced at the others. “And who do these others serve?”

  “Me.”

  I caught Hassan whip his head in my direction but he had the sense not to argue. And anyway, it was not far from the truth, now.

  “Why do you bring this one with you?” he pointed at Abdullah.

  “He serves me, also,” I said. “He served me in Karakorum, and he served me in Alamut. He wants only to save his city from the Mongols. We had word of them during our journey, as their riders ranged about all across these lands. One day, soon, sooner than any of you think, Hulegu Khan will bring his vast army down on you.”

  He looked at me. “We had word today. Hulegu has left Hamadan. They approach.”

  I asked Abdullah. “How far is that from here?”

  The Saracen lord, this Feth-ud-Din, answered instead. “With so many men, with their wagons and siege weapons? We expect three or four months.”

  Hassan laughed without mirth. “Whatever you expect, you will be wrong. They will come sooner than that.”

  “Perhaps,” Feth-ud-Din said, revealing only a little distaste at addressing a heretic. “There is another Mongol and allied army coming from the north. I believe they will seek to cut off armies coming to our aid from the west.”

  “You are expecting help?” I asked. “From the Mamluks in Egypt? From Damascus?”

  “The Caliph has requested aid,” Feth-ud-Din said.

  “Will they come?”

  His face alone told the story.

  “Is that why you want us?” I asked him and glanced at Hassan. “You seek allies. Any allies, even heretics like the remaining Assassins in Syria.” I almost laughed. “You are even willing to consider asking the Kingdom of Jerusalem for aid, through us?” I gestured at Thomas, who could not understand what we were saying.

  “I will do anything, explore every path, pay any price, to save the City of Peace,” Feth-ud-Din said.

  “We will help you,” I said at once. “If you swear to help us to kill Hulegu.”

  He looked at us, one after the other. He must have seen a strange group of people. Franks, heretics, Mongols, all thin and filthy.

  Feth-ud-Din snapped his fingers at one of his men and commanded something too rapidly for me to catch. The man handed over a dagger and Feth-ud-Din held it up balanced on the fingers of one hand.

  “Your weapons were taken. My men recovered this from a guardsman who was already attempting to sell it for a considerable price. It is fine work. Armenian, is it not?”

  “It is mine,” I said.

  He pursed his lips at my impudence and his men stirred beside him but after a moment he inclined his head and held it out to me. “Indeed.”

  I took it, bowed, and thanked him, for it was truly a noble gesture. “If you return our weapons also, we shall all fight for this city, and we will cut off the head of the snake.”

  “I will keep you safe in my home,” he said, shaking his head. “And you will begin drafting letters asking for aid.”

  He was desperate indeed.

  Thomas and I knew that all Christian states would rejoice at the destruction of Baghdad and would find the notion of helping them in any way to be laughable. Indeed, the Christian kingdoms of Georgia and Armenia formed a large contingent of the army approa
ching from the north.

  But we went through the motions while we regained our strength and health in the enormous, opulent home of the powerful general Feth-ud-Din, hidden away from Vizier Ibn al-Alqami. We wrote letters that were passed to messengers who were to rush to Acre, Antioch, Tripoli, and even Constantinople. Thomas was sincere in his pleas to the Templars, writing on behalf of the Christian population of Baghdad even though they were Syrians and other peoples.

  “Will your brothers and the Master not be confused,” I said to him, “when they read both your letters and reports of your death?”

  Thomas waved it away. “Like as not William of Rubruck is still in Karakorum. And if he has returned, I doubt his first concerns will be writing to the Master of the Order of my fate. Even if he has done so, it is likely his report of my death will be disbelieved when they read my letters.”

  More likely they will consider the letters a Saracen or Assassin trick and so ignore them.

  But I said nothing and he sent off his letters to Castle Pilgrim, the White Castle, Tortosa, and further afield to Cyprus and beyond.

  And in the end, it was all too late.

  The great military minds of the caliphate confidently predicted that the Mongols would take four months to surround the city so that the siege would begin in early spring. In fact, it took less than six weeks. By late January 1258, the Mongol vanguard approached from the east.

  ***

  Living in that great lord’s home had chafed on me. The Saracens, even the soldiers and servants, considered themselves to be above me and all of us, because we were Christians, heathens or heretics, and their continued condescension for those six weeks had driven me into a tightly-woven ball of frustration. Thomas also had been driven close to mad by the continued proximity of his lifelong mortal enemies.

  So it was with some excitement that I urged our host for news of the recent expedition of his forces. For Feth-ud-Din had returned from a few days away from the city and then summoned me to his private quarters even before he had washed or changed his clothes. There had been a steady, light rain for two days and his robes were spattered in mud thrown up by the hooves of galloping horses. He first wanted to know if any of us had received word from the messengers we had sent off just six weeks earlier. It was absurd to hope for such a thing and revealed the desperation of the man. I ignored his question and asked my own.

  “You rode out to meet them?” I asked Feth-ud-Din. “What happened?”

  “We were forbidden to take forces from the city,” Feth-ud-Din said, in response to my question. He looked exhausted. His eyes wide and staring, rimmed with red and his household guards could not hide their concern for their master.

  “Was that an order from the Caliph?” I asked. “Or the Vizier?”

  He chose not to answer, which was confirmation in itself. The word in the household was that Feth-ud-Din and some other commanders had defied the order and taken a huge force out to stop the Mongols before they even reached the massive walls of Baghdad. I wondered if the man who sheltered us would now fall to internal politics before the battle itself began.

  “You have done as I asked and written to your lords in Dar al-Harb,” he said while his servants hovered around him. “Before the siege begins, you may take your people and go.”

  He turned away as if expecting me to hitch up my robes and run from the room.

  “We do not wish to go,” I said. “We want to fight. Why do your people not?”

  He turned on me, full of rage. I was sure he would draw his sword. “We did fight. At Ba’qubah. Two days ago. Our men won a victory against the Mongol vanguard. Twenty thousand of our men smashed them, drove them back.”

  I resisted scoffing at his supposed victory. I could well imagine it. The Mongols feigning retreat or simply withdrawing and the foolish Saracens calling it a triumph.

  But it was far worse.

  “Then why do you look as if you suffered a defeat, my lord?” I asked.

  He did not turn away. “We took the position that they had held and fortified our camp for the night. Ba’qubah is low ground. Somehow, in the darkness, they destroyed the levees and dams. They massed their forces on the high ground and cut off our retreat. Most drowned in the flood waters.”

  I was astonished. The Mongols had somehow baited the Saracens into a trap set on their own home ground. I had never heard the like of it.

  “How many men did you lose?”

  Finally, his strength of will failed and he turned away. “Fifteen thousand. Perhaps more. Mostly cavalry. Some of our strongest forces. Survivors are yet trailing back but they are so few.”

  A true disaster. There was nothing to be said about it.

  “What will now be the plan to defend the city?” I said.

  “The Caliph has given orders that citizens be armed and trained. Also, that the walls be repaired where they have been neglected.”

  I could barely believe it. The Mongols were a day or two away and there was no time for these orders to be enacted. It was farcical.

  There was perhaps still time to flee but Hulegu and William were close, and I could not in good conscience run away from my oath yet again.

  A city under siege was a dangerous place and that danger was not only from the enemy beyond the walls. The populous would be in the highest state of anxiety, full of well-founded fear and to be an obvious foreigner at such a time would invite attack. I knew from experience that a mob of angry citizens could be almost as deadly as a horde of Mongols.

  “If my people leave your home,” I said, “we will be set upon by the people of this city. Let my people fight for you. Equip us, as you would your own men, let us fight by their side when the assault comes.”

  General Feth-ud-Din agreed, ordered his secretary to organise our equipment, and then dismissed me. His servants led him away so that he could bathe, and he seemed already like he was broken. Every time the Mongols fought, their enemies were left stunned in this way. Disbelief, their world shattered by a foe that seemed centuries ahead of them.

  I recalled something that Thomas had said to me, a long time before, on the steppe.

  These Tartars. They are masters of war. And we are children.

  ***

  Four columns of Mongols and their allies converged on Baghdad. In every direction to the horizon, enemy forces filled the fields and villages. The city of Baghdad may have been the largest in the world, but it had been surrounded by the largest armies on Earth.

  One army occupied what had been a commercial quarter, on the west bank of the Tigris. Hulegu’s force established itself in the Shiite suburbs beyond the eastern walls, and the Sunnis inside the city spoke in bitterness of their easy capitulation.

  The rattling of their innumerable carts, the bellowing of camels and cattle, the neighing of horses, and the wild battle-cry, were so overwhelming as to render inaudible the conversation of the people inside the city. It was a sound like the continuous crashing of a vast wave against a rocky shore.

  In less than two days, the enemy dug a ditch and rampart to protect their siege engines from attack by the Saracens within the walls. No such attack was forthcoming.

  On 30th January 1258, the bombardment of the city began.

  I gathered my people together on a section of the inner eastern walls just before it all started. There was a pause, a lull from both sides as if they were both taking a deep breath before plunging onward to death.

  Thomas was remarkably unhappy. I know that he was cursing the day that he ever met me, that he ever asked me to accompany him on his quest to Batu.

  “All that is left for us is to protect the Christians of this city,” he said.

  Hassan and his men, Abdulla, Orus and Khutulun all looked at me and I felt the pull between them and us. Eva and Stephen were aware of the gulf within our company, even as Thomas remained oblivious, staring out at the mass of forces.

  “Our agreement,” I said to Thomas, “between all of us here, was to work together to bring a
bout the death of Hulegu, William my brother, and the immortals that they have made.”

  Thomas dragged his attention away from the cacophony beyond the walls. “I mean no offence when I say this. But how can we hope to carry that out, now? In the face of this.” He gestured unnecessarily at the Mongols. “There is no chance of us reaching him.”

  Stephen, keen as ever to find a solution despite his fear, spoke up. “Perhaps Hulegu will enter the city when it falls?”

  I looked to Khutulun. Her understanding of French had come on leaps and bounds. Still, she furrowed her brow as I rephrased the question.

  “Hulegu never come here,” she said, shaking her head. “Inside here? No, no.”

  Orus agreed with her, and I did, too.

  “It will be madness when it happens,” I said to Stephen. “A city of this size would take weeks to subdue.” He stared at me, nodding slowly. “Do you understand what I mean when I say subdue, Stephen? I mean that they will kill every living soul.”

  “I know that,” Stephen said, bristling.

  “The only people who may just live through it,” Thomas said, “is the Christians. We all know this. Does anyone deny it? Well, then, perhaps we should help to protect them in order to help bring that about. And, they may then even shelter our friends here who are not Christian.”

  Hassan rolled his eyes. “I will not hide amongst the Christians. Nor will my men. And neither would they protect us.”

  “I do not believe,” Abdullah said, “that the Mongols will spare the Christians.”

  Thomas was about to argue but I had heard it from both sides a dozen times already for weeks, so I cut him off before they all started again.

  “William may come into the city,” I said.

  They all looked at me.

  “He loves death. He loves chaos. He creates it, and he is drawn to it. It is no accident that he is here.” I nodded out at the masses of enemy. “He helped to make this happen, did he not? He would not be able to control himself while the blood flows within. Perhaps he will bring some of the immortals with him.”