by Ben Bova
“I am not insulted,” Agla said. “Merely afraid that Orion might not understand everything that happens in Ogotai’s court.”
“I will be there to guide him,” Liu said. “He is in enough peril, with Ahriman’s prophecy already working against him, to have him appear before the High Khan with a woman at his side, and a woman whom many in Karakorum know to be a healer — and perhaps something of a witch…” He let the thought dangle.
“I understand,” I told him. But, remembering what had happened to Aretha, I added, “I would like to have the guards protect Agla while I am away from her. Ahriman, or others, might try to strike at me through her.”
The mandarin bowed his head slightly. “It will be done. You are both under my protection, for whatever good that does. And you, Orion, still have Subotai’s recommendation to protect you.”
I smiled at him. “I value Subotai’s generosity, and I treasure your own, my lord Chutsai.”
That pleased him. But he warned, “A shield is only as strong as the arm on which it is worn. You have a powerful enemy here at Karakorum. Be careful.”
“Thank you, my lord. I will be.”
Late that afternoon, as Agla fussed nervously about our quarters and I tried to concentrate on understanding what I had learned thus far so that I could peer into the future and determine what I must say to Ogotai, a servant brought new clothes for me to wear for my appearance before the High Khan. A gift from Ye Liu Chutsai.
Agla marveled at the outfit of leather and fine cloth. “You look like a prince! A handsome, powerful prince.”
I smiled at her, although it hurt my newly shaven face. Shaving in cold water with a finely honed knife is a true test of courage. Agla beamed at me like a little girl and tried not to show how worried she was. We both knew that visitors to the High Khan’s pavilion sometimes came away with gifts of gold and slaves and even horses. But sometimes they came away with molten silver poured into their ears.
“You must be very careful,” she warned me, staring at me with somber, anxious eyes.
“I will be.”
“Let the mandarin guide you. Do not allow them to see your powers; that will frighten them, just as Hulagu was frightened.”
“Will Ahriman be there, do you think?”
Her gray eyes went even wider with fear. “I don’t know. Perhaps.”
Someone knocked at the door.
“Well, whether he is or not,” I said, “that must be the guards to escort me to the pavilion.”
Agla flung her arms around my neck. “I wish I were going with you!”
“I’ll be all right,” I said. I gave her a swift kiss and then went to the door and opened it. A quartet of warriors stood outside, their gleaming armor and burnished helmets making our two regular guards look scruffy and mangy by comparison.
I glanced over my shoulder at Agla, gave her a final smile, and closed the door. My escort marched me to the pavilion, but not before I looked back to see her standing at the door watching me, while the two guards looked back and forth from me to her.
I walked between the two bonfires and stood patiently while the guard at the entrance to the High Khan’s tent searched me for weapons. It was no perfunctory search; I have had medical examinations that were less thorough.
Finally I was allowed to enter the tent, my four escorts walking with me, two ahead and two behind. I was either an important guest or a dangerous captive; I imagined that Ogotai and his aides had not yet decided which.
The tent was much larger than Hulagu’s or any other I had seen. Carpets from China and Persia covered the ground. Silks and tapestries hung along the felt walls. To one side stood a long table of what appeared to be solid silver, laden with mare’s milk, fruit, meat and salt: a symbol of the nomad’s generosity to guests. Warriors stood at either end of the table, and more were posted at the various entrances to the wide, long tent. Up ahead of me, on a one-step-high platform, sat Ogotai, the High Khan, flanked on his left by half a dozen of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, and by twenty or more Mongols who could only be generals and other warriors, on his right. I recognized only Ye Liu Chutsai, standing in a splendid robe of sky blue and gold, to the High Khan’s immediate right and slightly behind him.
Ogotai reclined on cushions. He had no throne. He was a solid, chunky man, in his early fifties, I judged, with an open, curious expression on his round face. He was getting fat, but he did not seem to care about that. In one hand he held a wine goblet of gold, encrusted with jewels. Well behind him stood a Chinese boy, holding a gold pitcher — the Khan’s wine steward.
As I marched in step with my four escorts toward the Khan’s slightly raised dais, I scanned the big tent for a sign of Ahriman. I could not see him. That was all to the good, I thought.
The warriors brought me to a stop three paces in front of the High Khan. I bowed from the waist, then straightened up. I had no intention of falling on my face in obeisance. I was an emissary, not a slave.
“Most High Khan,” said Ye Liu Chutsai as I stood before Ogotai, “this is the man Orion, an emissary from the land far to the west, beyond the mountains and plains and even the wide sea.”
Ogotai glanced over his shoulder and the wine steward hurried forward to fill his goblet. The High Khan took a deep draft from it, then smacked his lips and gave me a long, careful study. He looked me up and down, then suddenly burst into uproarious laughter.
“Look!” he said, pointing at me. “He has no shoes!”
CHAPTER 17
The whole tent burst into shrieks of laughter, all except Ye Liu Chutsai, whose usually impassive face looked upset and embarrassed.
I was still wearing my travel-stained sandals, and they must have looked quite incongruous, in the eyes of the Mongols, with the handsome outfit that the mandarin had sent to me. Liu had included a pair of leather boots, but as usual they were too small for me. The shirt and vest were tight across my shoulders and short in the sleeve, but I had managed to get into them. The shoes had proved impossible.
Ogotai was almost hysterical with laughter, and the other Mongols joined in heartily. The High Khan might have been half drunk before I entered; I saw nothing so very funny about the condition of my footwear.
“I never saw a wizard walking around with his toes peeping out!” Ogotai gasped. And that sent him into another round of boisterous guffaws.
I felt both embarrassed and relieved. At least, it seemed to me, the High Khan was not terribly worried about me. A man does not laugh until the tears flow down his cheeks at a suspected assassin or supernatural danger.
At last Ogotai’s laughter subsided and the tent grew fairly quiet once more. The guards who had been pointing at me and doubling over with glee straightened up again and grew silent. Ye Liu Chutsai stared off into a distant nowhere. Ogotai raised his cup and the wine boy hastened to fill it.
“Baibars,” the High Khan called, after another draft of wine.
A young man rose from his pillows and bowed to Ogotai.
“Baibars, find a shoemaker and see to it that our guest gets a proper set of boots.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Now then, man from the West, come and share some wine with me. Your people do drink wine, don’t they?”
Half a dozen slaves sprang from behind the High Khan’s dais and arranged big, boldly colored pillows for me to sit at his right hand. A wine goblet appeared, almost as precious as the one Ogotai held. I sat, took the goblet, raised it in thanks to him, and sipped the deep red wine.
“The wine of Shiraz,” Ogotai said. “A country not far from where you encountered my nephew Hulagu.”
I said, “It is a rare treat. Even in my faraway land, the wine of Shirazis spoken of highly.” This was the wine, I knew from my twentieth century reading, that Omar Khayyam praised in his Rubaiyat.
Lazily, almost indifferently, the High Khan said, “I was warned against you. I was told that you are a powerful wizard — and an assassin.”
I glanced up
at Liu, who remained standing two paces behind his Khan.
“I am a man, my lord High Khan, not a wizard. I am an emissary from a far-distant land, not an assassin. I carry no weapons…”
“But you need none,” Ogotai interrupted. “You kill armed warriors with your bare hands. You catch arrows with your teeth.” He grinned. “Or so I have been told.”
“I defend myself as best I can, O High Khan. But if a warrior shot an arrow at me, the chances are I would stop it with my flesh, the same as any other man.”
“That is not what I was told.”
I took a deep breath, stalling momentarily as I wondered how far I could trust his good humor.
Finally I answered, “Most High Khan, surely you have heard more wild tales of fabulous things than any man living. You know how the truth becomes exaggerated each time it is retold.”
He laughed. “Yes, yes. My own prowess in battle grows with every day that I sit here! The armies I beat are larger with each telling, and the numbers that I slaughtered grow like a column of smoke rising to the sky.”
“My lord High Khan,” said one of the Mongols seated a few places away from us, “let us not depend on this stranger’s words alone. Let us test him.”
He had the gruff look of a policeman to him; probably he was the Mongol responsible for Ogotai’s security.
“What do you propose, Kassar?” asked Ogotai.
“Stand him up,” the Mongol waved to the open area in the middle of the tent, “and let a few of the guards fire arrows at him. Then we will see if the tales we have heard are true or false.”
Ogotai looked at me before answering, “If the tales are false, we will have killed an emissary.”
“Better a dead emissary than a live wizard,” the man called Kassar muttered.
“Or give him a sword and let him fight Chamuka!” said another Mongol. “That would be lively.”
“Or a wrestling match!” called still another.
The High Khan listened and sipped at his wine. Ye Liu Chutsai stood over us impassively, gravely, and said nothing.
I knew that if they tried to shoot me with arrows or match me against a swordsman, I would have to defend myself. That would mean showing them that the tales they heard about me were not such exaggerations, after all. Then what would happen? A wrestling match might not be so bad, but I seemed to remember that a man might have his neck snapped or his back broken in a “friendly” Mongol match.
Ogotai looked into my eyes from over the rim of his goblet. I wondered how much of his wine drinking was a masquerade, a prop he used to give himself time to study the situation and think.
He put the empty goblet down on the carpet at his side. As the Chinese lad hastened to refill it, the High Khan silenced the tent with a single uplifted hand.
“The Yassa commands us to be hospitable to strangers who enter our camp,” he said, his voice suddenly firm and clear. “This man is an emissary from a distant land. He is not to be tested like a freshly broken pony or a newly forged blade of steel.”
Kassar was not satisfied. “But Ahriman warned us…”
“I have spoken,” said the High Khan.
That ended the discussion.
Ogotai leaned back into the mound of cushions. He glanced at the brimming wine goblet by his side but did not touch it. Nodding slightly toward the women at his left, he said, “I was told that you have a woman with you, a healer. Does she please you? Would you like another? Have you enough servants to take care of you?”
“I am quite satisfied, thank you, most generous one,” I replied.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if a flash of pain had suddenly attacked him. When he opened them again, he said, “You are an emissary from the western lands. Subotai’s message said that you know much about the lands beyond the black-earth country. What is your mission here? Why have you come to me?”
Why, indeed? I knew it would be senseless to warn him against Ahriman and get into a finger-pointing contest. Ye Liu Chutsai had warned me that, when in doubt, the Mongols took the easiest way out — by chopping heads in both directions.
It was my turn to search deep into Ogotai’s eyes. I saw pain there, and understanding, and something I had not expected to find in the eyes of a barbarian emperor: friendship. This man who could direct the burning of cities and the slaughter of whole populations had decided, on the strength of my shabby footgear, that I was no threat to him. I liked him. He was willing to trust me, and he was not the drunken fool that Ye Liu Chutsai had led me to believe he would be.
What could I tell him, except the truth?
Lowering my voice, I said, “My lord High Khan, may we speak where others cannot hear? What I have to say to you is for your ears only.”
He thought in silence for several moments before nodding to me. “Later. I will send for you.” Then, raising his voice so that the others could easily hear him, he asked, “How did you make the trip across the Tien Shan in those ridiculous sandals?”
The Mongols laughed and joked among themselves as I launched into a description of riding from Persia without a pair of boots. The night wore on and they asked me about my country and the sea that separated it from Europe. I described the Atlantic Oceanas a wild and tempestuous sea, an unpassable gulf — which, for these horsemen, it truly was.
“Then how did you cross it?” Kassar suddenly asked. “By wizardry?”
The tent went absolutely silent. Even the High Khan looked at me keenly. I had talked myself into a trap.
“Not by wizardry,” I said, desperately trying to find an answer. “You have seen the sailing craft ofCathay, haven’t you?”
Some of the Mongols nodded. Kassar was among those who did not.
“Ships such as those could cross the ocean, if they were lucky enough not to be caught by storms.” I thought of the Vikings, who had made their voyages to Iceland, Greenland, and even Labrador in their open longboats.
“Then why can’t we cross in such vessels?” Kassar demanded.
“A small number of men could,” I said. “But to transport an army would take hundreds of ships. Many of them would be caught by storms or whirlpools or the monsters that come up from the deep.” I silently prayed that my words would not someday reach Spain and delay Columbus. “An entire army could never make the crossing without losing more men than it would lose in many battles.”
Ogotai frowned. “My nephew Kubilai dreams of sending an army across the water to conquer Japan. What do you prophesy about that?”
I hesitated, unwilling to step into another trap. “I make no prophecies, O High Khan. I am an emissary, not a prophet.”
He made a small, grudging grunt. He would have liked to have heard a prediction, but I had no intention of getting in the middle of court politics.
The talk went on for hours, and toward dawn, when even the unmoving Ye Liu Chutsai began to look weary, Ogotai clapped his hands and announced that he was going to his bed. The rest of us got to our feet, bowed, and drifted out of the tent. I noticed that three of the women accompanied Ogotai as he headed for his sleeping tent.
I had barely made it halfway back to my house, though, when a warrior ran up to me and told me that the High Khan wanted to see me. My escort and I made an about-face and followed the warrior to the High Khan’s private tent.
He was sitting on a high bed, his legs dangling over the edge. The tent was lit only by a few candles. The women were nowhere in sight.
The warrior stopped just inside the entrance and bowed. I did likewise.
“Man of the West,” said the High Khan, “I want you to know that there are six armed guards in this tent.”
I peered into the shadows and, sure enough, saw the glint of candlelight on steel helmets and jeweled sword hilts.
“They are my personal guards,” Ogotai went on, “and extremely loyal to me. Each of them is deaf and dumb: they cannot hear or speak. But, at the first sign of danger to me, they will fall upon you and slay you without hesitation or mercy.”
“Most High Khan, you are as wise as your position among men is lofty.”
“Spoken like a true emissary,” he replied, grinning at me. He dismissed the warrior who had accompanied me, and then, pointing to a stool next to the bed, he commanded me to sit.
“Now then, what is this message from the West that must not be heard by anyone except me?”
“My lord High Khan, the truth is that I was sent here to kill a man — the one known as Ahriman.”
“Then you are not an emissary?”
“Oh, I am an emissary. High Khan. I bring you a message from my distant land, a message that explains why I have been sent here. This message holds the key to the future of the great empire that you and your father have created.”
“And my brothers,” he murmured. “They have all done their share. More than I, truly.”
“Great Khan,” I said, “I come from a land that is not only far away in distance, but in time. I have traveled across many centuries to reach you. Seven hundred years from now, the name of the first High Khan will be known and praised throughout the world. The Mongol empire will be known as the greatest empire that ever existed.”
He took the time-travel idea without blinking an eye. “And will the empire still exist in that distant time?”
“In a way, yes. It will have given rise to new nations.Chinawill be strong because you have united the Cathayan kingdoms of the north and south.Russia will be powerful: the lands that you know as those of the Muscovites and the Cossacks, the black-earth country and much of what was once Karesm — all that will be welded together into a nation that calls itself Russia.”
“And the Mongols?” Ogotai asked. “What of the Mongols?”
How could I tell him that his descendants would be a minor satellite of the Soviet Union?
“The Mongols will live here, by the Gobi, on the grasslands that have always been their home. And they will live in peace, unthreatened by any foe.”
His head went back slightly and he made a barely audible hissing sound. I could not tell if he was in pain or if the sound meant satisfaction.
