Devil's Horseman

by Tony Roberts

  There were competing factions, each vying to put their candidate forward as the next khan, and of course, Casca mused, that would mean their advancement too. All self-serving. His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a shove in the back. “Up!” his chief captor barked, sword in hand.

  Casca muttered darkly under his breath. He was tired and stank. The Mongol guards stank. Sweating under Asia’s high summer sun, Casca climbed the wide stone steps in front of what he guessed was Samarkand’s governor’s palace. The last time he’d been here he hadn’t had much opportunity to look around. He’d been a slave then, too. There were Persian guards at the top, flanking the entrance. Typical Mongol rule, take the top positions and let the indigenous population carry on as before. There again, he knew, there weren’t enough pure Mongols to take every position that mattered.

  The interior was cooler and two more guards joined the small party as they tramped down the passageway. Casca stole a look at them. Persians again. He wondered who the governor was. Samarkand was a fairly important city, and a crossroads of trade. Whoever ran the place got rich pretty fast.

  At the end were double doors guarded by two more fierce looking men dressed in dazzling scaled armor, shiny conical helms topped by horsehair plumes and holding wicked looking spears. The doors opened inward as if by magic and the small group marched into the governor’s chamber.

  Casca was relieved to see it was a Mongol. That ought to make things easier. The guard leader stepped forward and barked out his report, saying the foreigner had been captured in the mountains close to the border with the Sultanate of Delhi, fleeing from soldiers of the Sultanate. He also said the foreigner spoke Mongol and came from Europe.

  The governor, a small, smooth skinned man with a long mustache and no beard, and spiky black hair, considered Casca for a long moment. “Down!” he barked suddenly.

  Casca looked startled, and was helped, if one could say that, by a blow to the back of the knees and he was suddenly on all fours in front of the governor’s wide marble table.

  “You’ll be castrated for that you bastard,” he muttered.

  “Silence!” the guard yelled, cuffing Casca around the head.

  The governor stood up and slowly walked around the table. He wore soft red felt boots. That was all that Casca could see from his prostrate position. “A foreigner who speaks Mongol?” the governor said slowly. “Speak!”

  “Speak what?” Casca demanded, fed up with the entire matter.

  “You disrespectful dog!” the governor’s voice rose to a shriek. “Answer me! How do you speak our tongue?”

  “I spent years assisting Temujin…” he caught himself, “….uh, I mean Genghis Khan in gathering the tribes to conquer the land of the Mongols.”

  He heard the governor suck in his breath sharply through his teeth. Then there was silence for a moment. Casca didn’t hear any command so he assumed a signal had been given, for he was hauled up, none too gently either, and held securely by the two guards in front of a red-faced governor.

  “You mock me!” the little man hissed. “You offend our great Khan.”

  “I was there,” Casca insisted. “You have heard of the Old Young One, yes?”

  The governor bared his teeth. “As have many in my position. You could have heard of the tale and decided to use it to obtain access to my palace and spy on me!”

  Casca rolled his eyes. Whoever posted this moron to this position needed their behinds kicked. “It is only seventeen years since I left. Surely there are those who know me by sight still around? The Khan Ogedei would know me.”

  “Hah! Now you plan to infiltrate the Khan’s palace and assassinate him!”

  “Oh for Jupiter’s sake, man, how long do you think your head will remain on your shoulders when the Khan learns of the treatment I’m getting?”

  The governor stared at Casca, seething. Then he made a frustrated growling noise and swung back to his side of the desk. “As a matter of fact I do have someone here who was in the Court of Genghis Khan. My garrison commander, Kaidur. I will send for him and if he does not recognize you my guards will cut off your head and mount it on the gates of this city.”

  “Kaidur…” Casca mused. “Kaidur…. hmmm….” he tried to recall a man by the name of Kaidur, but it was a common enough name. After a few moments he remembered one of the yurt guards of Genghis Khan by that name. He’d been a mere foot soldier then, but seventeen years was a long time in the army and the man must have distinguished himself. The Mongol army raised men by merit and not social rank. Yes, Kaidur had one eye lower than the other. He remembered now.

  Suddenly more confident, Casca relaxed and allowed a smile to cross his face. The governor frowned, tapping on the desk top in impatience. “You will not be smiling when Kaidur denounces you as a spy!”

  “And if he recognizes me?”

  The governor stopped tapping the desk. “You lie! You are a spy!”

  “Sure,” Casca muttered and waited, looking round the room to pass the time. The room, or to be more accurate, chamber, had obviously been built long before the Mongols had conquered the city. It had been an opulent residence of one of the Muslim rulers of the city. Casca remembered Genghis Khan had been preparing to move west on the region when he had left those seventeen years ago, and it must have been then that Mongol rule had been imposed.

  The chamber was showing signs of neglect, but it was still impressive enough. Arabesque screens remained and the ornately curved windows in the white plaster walls showed its Islamic origins. Carpets hung from the walls as well as covering much of the cool stone floor. Some were Persian in composition, but others Mongol. Both of those peoples were renowned for their carpets.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a door opening and a guard showed in a man dressed in shiny scaled armor, like that of a carp. A conical helm rested upon his head and large, green baggy trousers ended up tucked into calf length brown leather boots. A sword hung in a scabbard on his left hip and he had the typical Mongol features dominated by a long, wispy mustache and no beard.

  The governor came round and stood next to the newcomer. “Kaidur, do you know this man?”

  Kaidur took a long look at Casca, then slowly stepped forward. Casca saw he had one eye lower than the other and nodded in remembrance. Kaidur slowly looked over Casca, his eyes widening. “It cannot be!” he gasped. “Casca-Badahur!”

  Casca chuckled. “A long time since we last met, Kaidur. I see you have done well.”

  Kaidur’s face broke into a wide smile. “By Tengri! This is an honored visitor indeed!” He turned to the governor. “This is the one who the tales speak of!” Laughing now, he turned back to Casca and bowed low. “I am honored to meet you again, Old Young One!”

  The two guards to either side of Casca backed off, both faces showing awe and horror; horror they had dared to touch such a man and in less than friendly terms. The governor paled and sweat broke out over his face. “Forgive me, Casca-Badahur, I had no knowledge that you were he.”

  Casca turned round slowly and looked at the chamber again. “No matter, governor. I am in need of refreshment and a change of clothes. I am tired after a long journey and wish to reacquaint myself with the great Khan once more.”

  Kaidur looked thoughtful and stared hard at Casca. The Eternal Mercenary saw the look and nodded slightly, then turned his attention to the governor who had sat back down, his hands trembling slightly. Casca stepped up to the desk. “Please show me where I can freshen up and be attended to.”

  “Yes, yes. Kaidur, please give our honored guest everything he requires.” The governor seemed deflated and waved the garrison commander on his way. He put his head in his hands and shut his eyes tightly. Casca snorted and followed in Kaidur’s footsteps, catching up with him by the door. The Mongol jerked his head and Casca followed him out into the passageway and turned right down another long corridor. As they walked Kaidur leaned towards Casca. “Forgive me for speaking so, but things are not as they were under Genghis Khan. W
e are no longer working together under one banner. There are factions and I fear we may fall back to the old ways before you and Genghis united the tribes.”

  “So soon?” Casca was dismayed. All that hard work! “”What went wrong?”

  Kaidur stopped before a paneled door of white, adorned with a handle of tortoiseshell. “His sons are gaining rival Courts and it is these Courts who ferment trouble. One day the current Khan will die and each group will vie to have their candidate elected Khan. I fear we may fall into civil war unless a strong – and correct – leader comes forward. I’m glad you have returned, Casca-Badahur; we need your wisdom and guidance once more, but I fear some may not greet your return with the same delight as I.” He opened the door and Casca was shown into an opulent room.

  Silk drapes hung from the ceiling and delicate looking furniture stood along the walls. A massive bed stood off to one side decorated in rich red silken sheets and there was even a sunken bath in the other corner. Casca nodded in satisfaction. “Is this the governor’s room?”

  “Oh no!” Kairdur flashed his teeth briefly. They were gapped and uneven. “This is the visiting dignitaries’ room. It was formerly a prince’s chamber. The governor has a room down the corridor. I still sleep in a yurt!”

  “Good for you, Kaidur. It seems some still stay true to the old ways.”

  “I learned from the best, and I’m a traditionalist, not like these soft kids these days!” Kaidur’s voice dripped scorn. “They have no knowledge of what it was like in our days!”

  Casca laughed. “I’ve heard that many, many times, my friend. We must talk further, but I’m dirty and badly need a bath and a meal. And can you get me a new set of clothes, suitably befitting one of my rank?”

  “I shall arrange it. I shall also send in some slaves to tend your needs.” Kaidur leered for a moment. “The best Samarkand slave girls. Then I shall post some of my own elite guards at your door. The governor may try to – interfere. He and I do not agree on many things and he would like me out of his way.”

  “Who appointed you garrison commander?”

  “Chaghadai himself!” Kaidur drew himself up proudly. Casca raised an eyebrow. Chaghadai was Genghis Khan’s second son. Kaidur shrugged. “Then Chaghadai was recalled to Karakorum and two years ago this strutting fool was appointed by Buri, Ogedei’s son. Watch out for Ogedei’s sons, they oppose many of the traditionalists.”

  Kaidur then left, leaving Casca on his own in the huge chamber, pondering on what he’d been told. It wasn’t very comforting. After just one generation they were beginning to revert to their old ways. He hoped not, at least not for the moment. He wanted to rest and enjoy life for a while. Having been a slave for a decade or more, he now had the chance of relaxing as a free man and being one of the top dogs.

  He stood by one of the ornately carved windows and looked down into a courtyard where a fountain gently sprinkled water into a circular trough, surrounded by small trees. Yes, he would stay with the Mongols as long as it was comfortable and he remained one of the elite. His life had taught him that things always change; the wheel of life rotates and good changes to bad, and bad changes to good. It was just the lengths of each that varies. He’d enjoy the good times with the Mongols, just as he’d endured the bad times in India.

  The door opened and in came three girls, all dressed in long silken robes and wearing head dresses of cloth with tassels. A guard shut the door behind them, and Casca felt even more relaxed. Good men to guard him and women to enjoy! He looked at the three who were now on their knees, heads bowed.

  “Well, let me have a look at you,” he commanded in Mongol.

  Two of the girls looked at him in confusion, while the third thrust her head back and her chest forward. The fabric over her breasts bulged. Casca repeated the command in Farsi, and the two others did likewise. “Very nice,” he said almost to himself. “Well, girls, you’ve been told what your duties are?”

  “Yes, master,” the girl who’d understood Mongol replied. She spoke fluent Farsi and Casca reckoned she was Persian, judging by her appearance. None of them were Oriental. “We are to serve you as long as you are here.”

  “Excellent,” Casca sucked in his breath, “then prepare a bath for me and then you may cleanse me of this damned dust and dirt!”

  The three took to their task while Casca stood and waited. When the bath was ready and anointed with perfumes, the girls divested him of his filthy clothes that he’d worn since before he’d escaped from Delhi. It was time they were burned. Gasps greeted his nakedness, for not only was he a man in full health and vigor, but he also sported a criss-cross pattern of scars over his body, gained in the twelve centuries of his unnatural existence. Sword cuts, dagger wounds, spear thrusts, arrow injuries.

  Despite themselves, the woman ran their hands over him, marveling at the firmness of his physique and tracing some of the more vivid scars. Casca grinned and led the three into the water. “Remove your clothing too, for you are to bathe with me.”

  In no time the three were as naked as he and anointing his body with perfumes and bathing him slowly. He leaned against the edge and sighed deeply. After such a long time serving, now he was being served, and didn’t he just love it! He opened his eyes and spied the girl he took to be the senior one, the one who’d understood Mongol. “Your name, woman?”

  “Ashira, Master.”

  “Well Ashira, I desire you serve me in another way. I have not enjoyed a woman for a long time, and I now have a need for you.”

  Ashira smiled salaciously. She knew exactly what he meant. Sliding up to him she parted her legs and pressed herself against him. Casca smiled and placed his hands on her buttocks. She slid onto him and gasped as he penetrated her. Casca bit on his lower lip as he entered her, then paused for a moment to savor it. Then, releasing her buttocks, he allowed her to move, and the water aided her rhythm. The two other girls carried on anointing his arms and shoulders, carefully not looking at their fellow slave who was riding hard and causing the water to splash up and onto them as well as the scarred man who was laying there with his eyes closed.

  Eventually it got too frantic for them to work on him and they moved back to allow the two to finish, which they did shortly afterwards, she crying out and a moment or two later he grunted and grabbed her, then held her close as he came deep within her.

  Casca leaned back again and groaned softly in contentment while Ashira slid off and cleaned herself. If this was any indication of his time to come with the Mongols, then he was going to have one hell of a stay!

  CHAPTER THREE

  He was invited to dinner with the governor that evening. In the cool of a summer’s night, sitting on a balcony above the streets of Samarkand listening to the softly played bars of a melody from the governor’s musicians hidden behind a row of honeysuckle, taking in the fragrance of those bushes, Casca could be forgiven for thinking he’d died and gone to heaven. Relaxed in the post-coital mood after the attentions of Ashira and her two fellow slaves, Casca sipped on a cool if slightly sharp white wine and listened to the governor as he boasted on how under his wise and benign rule Samarkand had developed into the jewel of all Asia.

  The Eternal Mercenary listened with an amused ear. Having been to Samarkand before, he knew that it had shone even brighter before the Mongols had come. However he wasn’t in any mood for arguing that night; he just wanted to sink into the pleasures of the flesh, having been denied them for so many years. Time for less pleasant activities in the future. For now, he was content to sit, eat and drink.

  Kaidur was sat opposite Casca, looking sideways at the governor from time to time, but mostly trying to ignore the bragging and bombast. Two other people were present; the governor’s chief advisor, a weasly looking man with shifty eyes and a smile that came too easily to his face, and went just as easily. The other was the governor’s wife, a woman given to putting up with a long-suffering marriage by the looks of things. She was in her early thirties, Casca judged. Mongolian or Chinese
– he still couldn’t tell for certain – and wearing jewels and silks as befitting her status. She was quite attractive without being out and out beautiful. She kept on looking at Casca for long moments before returning her attention to her food. Casca caught her once with a legume in her hand, running her tongue along it slowly and looking at him from under her eyelashes. Casca smiled briefly and returned his attention to the governor.

  The governor was constantly praising the wisdom and other attributes of his master, Buri who had shown great understanding in sending his humble servant to this city to rule here in his name and that of his father, the great Khan, Ogedei. Never had Samarkand known such magnificence as it had under him and Buri. It would even come close to rivaling Karakorum, the glittering capital of all Mongolia and their Empire. Casca smiled behind his wine goblet. Karakorum was a collection of tents, yurts and one huge palace. He doubted this strutting peacock had ever been near it. He stole a glance at his wife, who was playing with the stem of her goblet, running her hand up and down it, looking at him intently. Casca held her glance for a moment, smiled again, then broke eye contact. Gods, she wants it badly. Is he such a poor screw she fancies it from me the moment I arrive? He sipped on his wine again and leaned back in his chair.

  He was pleased with his new outfit. Kaidur had done him proud. A silk shirt of blue with stylized chrysanthemums of white embroidered down the front hung past his waist loosely, and he had trousers of deeper blue made from horsehair, and the bottoms of these were tucked into high boots made of felt.

  The governor was still talking, not allowing anyone else to make any contribution to the conversation. Casca had the impression he liked the sound of his own voice. Certainly Kaidur and the chief advisor had said nothing so far; Kaidur because he was clearly uncomfortable and the chief advisor because he was in awe of the governor and would probably have jumped off the balcony if so commanded. The governor’s wife, whom he’d been told was called Sorghe, said little except laugh at the governor’s excruciating wit and agree with him when he sought her agreement on things he wanted agreeing with.