At noon the next day the sheik and his men materialized out of the forest, surrounding them.
Johanna, too tired to be afraid, said, “Sheik, you are beginning to annoy me.”
“He let you go,” Shasha said. “Ogodei just—let you go?”
Félicien looked frightened and clung tight to his donkey. Hari said in a sterner voice than any of them had heard before, “Your god is named Allah, is he not? Would he approve, I wonder, of your attacking and robbing innocent travelers on the road?”
Firas said nothing and did nothing, sitting immobile on his mount.
The sheik ignored them both. “I will take the horse now.”
Johanna laughed, an edge of hysteria to her voice. “Have you learned nothing, sheik? He will not go with you!”
“And I will take the woman as well,” the sheik said, “since the horse will not go anywhere without her.”
“No, you will not!” Jaufre said, reaching for his sword.
“I am sorry,” Farhad said from beside him, and drove his sword into Jaufre’s back.
He heard Johanna scream. Heard Shasha cry out. Heard Félicien say, “No no no no no!” Heard Hari om.
Felt himself falling.
Twice in two days, he thought.
Johanna, he thought.
And then the black rose up to engulf him and he thought no more.
Sixteen
“You are a samurai, are you not?” the baron said. “More specifically, a ronin, I believe it is called? A samurai who answers to no lord?”
Gokudo, bound hand and foot but demonstrably alive, gave a curt nod. His topknot was missing, as was his quilted armor, leaving him dressed in trousers and a simple tunic.
“I thought so,” the baron said. “We tried invading Cipangu. Twice. You defeated us, both times.” He smiled. “It takes a great warrior to defeat a Mongol army.”
Gokudo, who had been shown the body of the hapless soldier who had been substituted for his own, said through dry lips, “Thank you, my lord.”
“Yes,” the baron said, “indeed, you owe me gratitude for your life. Such a bloodthirsty child she is, the daughter of the honorable Wu Li.”
Gokudo spat out a hate-filled curse and called the ancestry of Wu Li’s daughter into serious question.
The baron strolled forward and leaned down to say in Gokudo’s ear. “The honorable Wu Li of Cambaluc was my very good friend.” He stood straight again and kicked Gokudo once, very hard, between his legs. The guards standing around the inside of the ger laughed heartily.
Gokudo’s mouth opened in a silent scream and he doubled up on the baron’s carpet, scrubbed not entirely clean of blood.
“That is the last time you will insult him in my presence,” the baron said pleasantly, “is that understood?”
Gokudo managed a nod.
“Good. I have no doubt his daughter was perfectly right. Such righteous wrath! She was a torch lit from within. If she were anyone else’s daughter…” He looked down at Gokudo again. “No, you killed him, that much is certain, and your life is forfeit thereby. So is the so honorable Dai Fang’s, if it comes to that. I shall have to see what I can do about that when next I return to Cambaluc.”
The baron sighed. “There is an ineradicable stain on my own character for sparing you, and for sparing the Sheik Mohammed, who conspired with you, and indeed for sacrificing of one of my own men in your place.”
It did not appear as if that stain weighed heavily upon him.
“However.” The baron’s flagon had been refilled and he drank deep. He looked again at the bound man trying not to choke on his own vomit on the floor of the baron’s ger. “It may be that I have a use for you.”
“I cannot return to Cipangu, lord,” Gokudo said, gasping for breath. “I will be slaughtered by my enemies the instant I step foot on shore.”
Ogodei waved this comment away as inconsequential. “You have skills I believe I will find useful in many places,” he said. “Come, get up.”
A nod and Gokudo’s hands and feet were free and he was assisted roughly to his feet, where he stood, swaying. “Thank you, lord,” he said, bowing as deeply as he was able without falling over.
Ogodei nodded, accepting fear and deference as his just due, and smiled. “You are ronin no more,” he said.
“No, my lord,” Gokudo said.
To Be Continued…
Silk and Song will continue in
By the Shores of the Middle Sea
Available Fall 2014
Acknowledgments
My profound gratitude to Michael Cattagio, reference librarian, retired (not so much). No one has ever been quicker on the draw when I ask for information I need right now.
Thanks also go to freelance editor (and author, see her Amazon page here), Laura Anne Gilman, who coped womanfully with a manuscript delayed when I fell off a ladder in my garage and sprained my wrist so badly I couldn’t type for three weeks. That will interfere with the story going forward. I can’t believe I made my deadline. I wouldn’t have but for Laura Anne’s willingness to work nights and weekends. She also brags on Twitter (@LAGilman) when she gets to read a new Stabenow book before anyone else.
You know when an author realizes she has reached the ne plus ultra of her profession? When she discovers a cartographer among her fans. Dr. Cherie Northon (and I bet Thom had a hand in it, too), take a bow for the terrific map.
And didya see that magnificent cover art? Gere Donovan Press, people. S’all I’m sayin’.
Glossary
Balasaga An historical province of Iran.
Bao A personal seal. Chinese.
Beda Bedouin.
The Silk and Song Bureau of Weights and Measures No two nations back in 1322 measured anything the same way, so here for the sake of narrative clarity and my sanity time is measured in minutes, hours, days, weeks, months and years, and no notice is taken of that error in Julius Caesar’s 45 BC calendar that wouldn’t be corrected until 1582 by Pope Gregory XIII.
Travel is measured in leagues, about three miles or the distance a man could walk in an hour. Fabric is measured in ells from China to England. Smaller lengths are fingers (three-quarters of an inch) and hands (three to four inches).
Google “weights in the Middle Ages” and you get over 8 million hits. Here, I use drams, gills, cups, pints, quarts and gallons in ascending order of liquid measurement. Pounds then ranged from 300 grams to 508 grams, so the hell with it, here it’s sixteen ounces (about 453 grams). A hundredweight is a hundred pounds.
Calicut Now Kozhikode, India.
Cambaluc Built by Kublai Khan. What became the basis for what is now the Forbidden City in Beijing, China.
Chang’an Now Xi’an, China.
Cheche Pronounced “shesh.” A long scarf, usually indigo-dyed blue, worn by Tuaregs. It can be knotted many different ways to keep the sun out of the eyes and protect the neck and face from sunburn. The indigo leeched onto the face and hands of the wearer. Or, alternatively, depending on which story you believe, Tuaregs deliberately dyed their face and hands blue to protect themselves from the sun. I heard both in Morocco.
Cipangu Now Japan.
Currency Tael: China. Bezants: Byzantium. Drachma: Arabic. Florence: Florins. Venice: Accommodate all currencies but rely on gemstones.
Ell The distance from a man’s elbow to the tip of his middle finger, or about 18 inches. A standard unit of measurement for textiles in the Middle Ages, and never mind the differences between Scots, English, Flemish, Polish, German and French ells.
Gujarat Now a province in northwest India.
Ibn Battuta Berber slave trader, 1304–1369, known for writing The Rihla (“The Journey,”) an account of his extensive travels throughout the medieval world. Purely for the convenience of my plot, I have advanced his first visit to Kabul by five years.
Kabul Now the capital of Afghanistan.
Khuree The summer capital of the Mongols. Now Ulan Bator, Mongolia.
Kinsai Now Hangzhou, or Hangchow, China.
Lanchow Now Lanzhou, China.
League The distance one person could walk in an hour. Also defined as about three miles. I have rounded up and down. The Khan’s yambs were built every 25 miles, therefore in Silk and Song every eight leagues. The Khan’s imperial mailmen rode 200 miles daily, hence sixty leagues. Close enough for government work and fiction.
The Levant From Wikipedia: “A geographic and cultural region consisting of the eastern Mediterranean between Anatolia and Egypt…The Levant consists today of Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Israel, Palestine, Cyprus and parts of southern Turkey. Iraq and the Sinai Peninsula are also sometimes included.”
Middle Sea The Mediterranean, also known as the Western Sea.
Mien Now Myanmar, or Burma.
Mintan A short-waisted, long-sleeved coat. Ottoman.
Mongols and torture. Yes, they did those things. Those exact things. And more.
Mysore Then as now, a city in northwest India.
Paiza The royal Mongol passport. The Mongols called it a gerrega.
Sarik A headscarf. Ottoman.
Shang-tu The summer capital of the Mongols. Now Ulan Bator, Mongolia. Also called Khuree.
Shensi Now Shaanxi, China.
Silk Road A term that did not come into common usage until the twentieth century. Here I use the more generic Road.
Time See Bureau of Weights and Measures above. In Europe: divided into times for prayer. Matins: midnight. Lauds: 3am. Prime: Sunrise. Terce: Midmorning. Sext: Noon. None: Midafternoon. Vespers: Sunset. Compline: Bedtime.
Turgesh Turkey, or Turkish.
Zeilan On what is now the Somali-Ethiopian border.
Bibliography
MY INTENT AS A STORYTELLER is always to entertain, but this book also required a great deal of research over many years, and was influenced by the work of many scholars, without whose heavy lifting this by comparison light-hearted romp would not have been possible. Here’s a list of just a few of the books that helped Johanna and Jaufre on their way.
Bergreen, Laurence. Marco Polo, From Venice to Xanadu.
Bonavia, Judy. The Silk Road.
Boorstin, Daniel J. The Discoverers: A History of Man’s Search to Know His World and Himself.
Burman, Edward. The Assassins.
Burman, Edward. The World before Columbus, 1100–1492.
Cahill, Thomas. Mysteries of the Middle Ages: The Rise of Feminism, Science and Art from the Cults of Catholic Europe.
Collis, Louise. Memoirs of a Medieval Woman: the Life and Times of Margery Kempe.
Croutier, Alev Lytle. Harem, The World Behind the Veil.
Dalrymple, William. In Xanadu.
Dougherty, Martin. Weapons & Fighting Techniques of the Medieval Warrior.
Foltz, Richard C. Religions of the Silk Road.
Freeman, Margaret B. Herbs for the Medieval Household for Cooking, Healing and Divers Uses.
Garfield, Simon. On the Map, A Mind-Expanding Exploration of the Way the World Looks.
Gillman, Ian, and Hans-Joachim Klimkett. Christians in Asia before 1500.
Grotenhuis, Elizabeth Ten, editor. Along the Silk Road.
Hansen, Valerie. Silk Road, A New History.
Herrin, Judith. Byzantium: The Surprising Life of a Medieval Empire.
Johnson, Steven. The Ghost Map.
Lacey, Robert & Danny Danzier. The Year 1000, What Life Was Like at the Turn of the First Millennium.
Manchester, William. A World Lit Only by Fire.
Newman, Sharan. The Real History Behind the Templars.
Ohler, Norbert. The Medieval Traveller.
Polo, Marco. The Adventures of Marco Polo. Many editions.
Rowling, Marjorie. Everyday Life of Medieval Travellers.
Tooley, Ronald Vere. Maps and Map-Makers.
Tuchman, Barbara. A Distant Mirror: The Calamitous 14th Century.
Turner, Jack. Spice: The History of a Temptation.
Weatherford, Jack. Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World.
Whitfield, Susan. Life Along the Silk Road.
Wood, Frances. The Silk Road, Two Thousand Years in the Heart of Asia.
About the Author
Dana Stabenow was born in Anchorage and raised on 75-foot fish tender in the Gulf of Alaska. She knew there was a warmer, drier job out there somewhere and after having a grand old time working in the Prudhoe Bay oilfields on the North Slope of Alaska, making an obscene amount of money and going to Hawaii a lot, found it in writing.
Her first crime fiction novel, A Cold Day for Murder, won an Edgar award, her first thriller, Blindfold Game, hit the New York Times bestseller list, and her twenty-ninth novel and twentieth entry in the Kate Shugak series, Bad Blood, was released in February 2013.
Find her on the web at stabenow.com.
Also by Dana Stabenow
Kate Shugak Mysteries
A Cold Day for Murder
A Fatal Thaw
Dead in the Water
A Cold-Blooded Business
Play with Fire
Blood Will Tell
Breakup
Killing Grounds
Hunter’s Moon
Midnight Come Again
The Singing of the Dead
A Fine and Bitter Snow
A Grave Denied
A Taint in the Blood
A Deeper Sleep
Whisper to the Blood
A Night Too Dark
Though Not Dead
Restless in the Grave
Bad Blood
Liam Campbell Mysteries
Fire and Ice
So Sure of Death
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Better to Rest
Star Svensdotter
Second Star
A Handful of Stars
Red Planet Run
Others
Blindfold Game
Prepared for Rage
Copyright
This digital edition of Everything Under the Heavens (1.0) was published in 2014 by Gere Donovan Press.
If you downloaded this book from a filesharing network, either individually or as part of a larger torrent, the author has received no compensation. Please consider purchasing a legitimate copy—they are reasonably priced and available from all major outlets.
If you enjoyed it, a positive review is the best way to show your appreciation.
Your author thanks you.
© 2014, Dana Stabenow.
Excerpt
If you enjoyed Everything Under the Heavens, you might also enjoy Jane Johnson's The Sultan's Wife, another ripping work of historical fiction, coming soon from Gere Donovan Press. Here's an excerpt:
The Sultan's Wife
2nd May 1677
‘My name is Alys Swann and I am twenty-nine years of age.’
‘No, I have no children: I have never married.’
‘Yes, I am still a maid.’
I answer their questions with my head held high. I am not ashamed of my estate. So I look the foreign picaroon in the eye with all the courage I can muster and speak out clearly. Had our circumstances been different, some of those present would probably have sniggered, but since we are all in fear for our lives they have other more pressing matters to concern them than my spinsterhood and long-preserved virginity.
My captors’ scribe takes down these details for his record in a script that reads from right to left. That, in conjunction with his dark skin and cloth-wrapped head, suggests to me that we have been boarded by Turks. Behind me, I can hear Anouk and Marika, my maids, sisters hired to accompany me on the voyage from Scheveningen to England, snuffling and gulping, and feel a brief moment’s pity. They are barely more than children, and, although sullen and unbiddable, they do not deserve to meet an early death. Poor dears, they are just starting out, full of the dreams I had at their age—of young men and marriage, of babies and laughter. They have spent most of the voyage giggling and making sheep’s eyes at the crew; but now many of those handsome lads he dead on the d
eck of our ship, or in chains aboard this one.
‘Do you think they will rape us?’ Anouk asks me, her eyes huge.
‘I hope not,’ is all I can honestly say.
And yet a man grasped my breast as they took us off the other vessel. I was so surprised I did not even think to scream, but simply took hold of his hand and pushed it away. An unmistakable expression of shame crossed his face: he bobbed his head and muttered something in his strange language that I believed to be an apology, which did not correspond with the ruthless fashion in which our ship had been taken.
But it does not take us long to realize that we are merchandise, worth far more than the bolts of cloth in the hold of the ship. The two mulatto women who served the dead captain as cooks (and I am sorry to say also more than likely mistresses) roll their eyes. ‘Slaves,’ one says; and the other replies: ‘Again.’
Slavery has always seemed to me a deplorable practice. The idea of owning a person like a stick of furniture seems to me morally wrong and I have refused to buy anyone. Mother berated me for my lack of economic management: Amsterdam is the slave capital of Europe and we could buy slaves for a bargain price. But after Father’s death I kept the books and I dug my heels in, though she complained bitterly not to have a parcel of little black boys she could dress up in fancy clothes as an enhancement to her person when her frightful friends visited with their own sorry retinues. But, to my shame, I have never even considered the possibility of a white person being sold as a slave—least of all myself.
I have heard about slave-vessels, of men chained in their own filth and disease below-decks, of more corpses being thrown overboard than arrive alive at the destination; but it seems that is not to be my lot. I am taken to a small cabin, which, although cramped and dirty, affords me some degree of privacy and dignity, and I lie there in the dark contemplating what might have been had our ship reached England. Once married, I would have lived with my husband, Mr Burke, in his newly built house in London’s Golden Square - a place that sounds magical, but that I have never seen, and now probably never will see.
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