by Alan Smale
If Marcellinus had had his freedom, he would right now have willingly renewed his pledge to do all in his power to help the bands, tribes, and nations of Hesperia against these giant, befouling monstrosities. He would have vowed it until his dying breath.
Unfortunately, his dying breath might not be long in coming.
They were halted, given water and a handful of corn each, and made to wait. When Pezi tried to ask questions, he was quieted, and Marcellinus’s gestured requests that they be allowed to sit received frowns and curt refusals.
On a signal that Marcellinus didn’t see they were moved on again, ushered into the nucleus of the camp. Here sat the largest and gaudiest of the yurts, with a wooden platform in front of it resting on a pile of carpets. Arranged symmetrically around the central yurt were four others covered in black cloth, with tents around them. Sitting or walking in this area were hundreds of warriors in predominantly black shirts and breeches. Even the horses that stood nearby and futilely attempted to graze on the stripped ground were black.
These men were strong, clear-eyed, and serious. None drank airag. None looked like men who enjoyed a tale around the campfire. Their slaves were all subdued, all kneeling, tethered by ropes to stakes driven deep into the ground. The Mongols who escorted Marcellinus and the others kept their backs straight and their eyes downcast, on their best submissive behavior. The warriors in black were the Khan’s personal Keshik guard, and even the regular Mongol warriors were daunted by them.
The small procession of prisoners was halted. Once again, Marcellinus realized, he was going to be hauled into the presence of a great leader as a captive, with no chance to prepare himself and little hope of survival. He shook his head, dizzy again.
And at that moment, with no fanfare or warning at all, Chinggis Khan stepped out of his yurt and walked into the mass of his personal guard, ignoring Marcellinus and the other prisoners completely.
The Mongol Khan, the terror of the eastern and now the western world, wore a simple blue robe with golden trim, a leather belt studded with silver, and heavy leather boots decorated with embroidered patterns in silver and gold. He was heavyset, broad-shouldered, and muscular. As with all Mongol warriors, the top of his head was shaved, but he wore small pigtails at the back of his head and over his brow. His hair was graying and his face was lined, but to a much lesser extent than many other men Marcellinus knew of sixty or more winters. He stood solid and firm, with not a hint of weakness.
He reappeared from greeting his guards, smiled as he spoke to Jebei Noyon, nodded with respect to the Tlingit chieftain. Even without being able to understand the Khan’s words, Marcellinus unwillingly recognized a charisma in Chinggis that was lacking in the Imperator Hadrianus. It was, in fact, a higher degree of charisma than Marcellinus had seen in any other leader, be he Rus prince, Arabian sultan, or previous Roman Imperator. Chinggis Khan was a man who led a large and vicious army, who was responsible for the slaughter of millions and untold suffering among the survivors of his depredations, yet there was a measure of humanity and humor in his eyes that was missing from Jebei Noyon’s.
Chinggis Khan was no mere killing machine. He was a leader, used to binding men to his side and bringing them along with him by the sheer strength of his will, the clarity of his vision, the certainty of his purpose.
Beside him was a man who could only be the Khan’s other general, Subodei Badahur. Subodei looked ten years younger than the Khan and wore a long beard, but his most distinctive feature was a bandage that passed diagonally across his face to cover his right eye. He appeared stolid and competent. Behind them came a third man, shorter and less muscular than the Mongols, with the more pronounced facial features of a Jin. He wore a pale red silken shirt, and unlike the Mongols he had a full head of hair to go along with his pigtails.
These three men now approached Marcellinus and the other captives.
Chinggis Khan studied Marcellinus without speaking, taking in every detail of his face, clothing, and wounds, even down to his tattered boots. Marcellinus stared back until he was done.
The Khan moved along to Pezi. He gave each of the other prisoners the same searching study, and then he spoke. His voice was higher-toned than Marcellinus had instinctively expected. Thanks to Great Sun Man, Avenaka, Son of the Sun, and then the Imperator, Marcellinus had grown accustomed to his supreme leaders having rich baritone voices. Out of the corner of his eye he noted Pezi’s lips moving, following the syllables and rhythm of the Khan’s words even though he could have understood nothing of what the man was saying.
The Jin stepped forward and in flawless Latin said, “Chinggis Khan, the Gur-Khan, the Chosen-by-God, mighty ruler of the world, welcomes you to his camp. Who leads among you? Let him speak now.”
Marcellinus could not stop the look of surprise that crossed his face at the fluency of the Jin’s speech. He coughed; the water he had drunk just minutes ago seemed to have been immediately absorbed into his body, leaving his mouth just as dry as it had been before. Keenly aware of the probable death sentences that hung over them all, he said, “Mighty Khan, many of us lead, and others among us may have great value to you. I am Gaius Publius Marcellinus, once Praetor of the 33rd Hesperian Legion. I introduce to you Sextus Bassus, a ranking officer of the Third Parthian Legion and the leader of this expedition. I introduce to you Cha’akmogwi and Chochokpi, leaders of the Yupkoyvi, central city of the People of the Hand.”
He waited while the Jin translated. The Khan spoke again, pointing to his men. “Subodei Badahur. Liu Po-Lin.”
Smoothly, Po-Lin continued. “The Great Khan introduces you to the mighty general and terror of his enemies, Subodei Badahur. I myself am Liu Po-Lin; I am Jin and played some small role in the Mighty Khan’s conquest of our mutual enemy, the Song Empire. Awaiting us are the fearless general Jebei Noyon and our honored vassal, the chief of the Tlingit tribe far to the north in our new territory, whom you have already met. You will come and sit?”
Warriors in black were removing the pillory boards from the necks of the prisoners and freeing them from the ropes and hobbles. Marcellinus rubbed the raw and cracked skin around his neck, and his hands came away bloody. A hobbled slave woman shuffled up to him with a bowl of water. Resisting the urge to snatch it from her and drain it in a series of gulps, Marcellinus rinsed the worst of the blood and grime from his face and neck. At the other end of the line of prisoners, Bassus was doing likewise. Nobody moved to free Cha’akmogwi and Chochokpi; it seemed that as rulers of none but the dead, their participation was not required.
“Would you bring a companion or word slave with you, one whom you trust?” the Jin asked politely.
Marcellinus looked down the line but, gallingly, knew he must choose the one with the most Latin, the one who was the fastest learner. “Pezi, here beside me, knows many tongues and is my leading speaker of words.”
As Pezi was freed and washed, an even greater feeling of incredulity swept through Marcellinus. The youth who once had betrayed Cahokia and taunted Marcellinus in Iroqua captivity was now to be his right-hand man in a meeting with Roma’s greatest enemy. Suddenly, he found himself unable to even look at the Iroqua boy.
The Khan and Subodei turned and walked back to the platform outside the large, lavishly decorated yurt. Marcellinus got to his feet, trying to work the knots out of his neck. Sextus Bassus limped up to them, and Pezi took his arm. “I can manage,” Bassus said curtly.
The tunic and patch around Bassus’s chest wound looked dry. Better, in fact, than the gash in Marcellinus’s leg, which he could now see for the first time that day. It was encrusted with blood, the skin around it white and strained.
Nothing he could do about that now. “Gentlemen, shall we proceed?” he murmured.
“Lead on,” Bassus said, matching his ironical tone, and escorted by Liu Po-Lin and two Keshik warriors in black, they walked unsteadily across the gravel desert floor to take tea with the despotic and bloody conqueror of half of Asia.
—
They sat cross-legged on rugs, the Great Khan flanked by Subodei and Liu Po-Lin on one side and Jebei Noyon and the Tlingit chieftain on the other. Marcellinus faced them with Bassus to his left and Pezi to his right.
The tea was terrible, a strong black brew with a yellow, oily substance floating in it. It burned Marcellinus’s lips and tongue, but he needed the liquid and considered it tactful to show honor to his hosts. The yellow mess was a kind of butter, half rancid, and as the whole mixture smelled like damp horse, he was in little doubt about what he was drinking. Mongols favored mares and geldings for their mounts, unlike the Romans, who largely rode stallions. Clearly the mares provided nutrition as well as transport.
The Khan waited for them to drink and wipe their mouths. Now he spoke. Liu Po-Lin translated. “ ‘Tell me, great Roman leaders, does your Imperator truly believe he can defeat me in the battle for this land?’ ”
Marcellinus smiled and tried to mimic Po-Lin’s style of speech. “Mighty Khan, Roma and the many peoples of Nova Hesperia who have allied with her will prove to be a formidable opponent to you on the fields of war. This I promise.”
“ ‘I regret that Roma will fail.’ ”
“I regret that the war must take place at all.”
“ ‘If Roma leaves this continent, which your Imperator has so arrogantly cursed with a Roman name, no war need occur.’ ”
“Roma does not plan to abandon this continent to your tender mercies. And the eastern nations of Nova Hesperia, too, are united against you. Roma will fight you. Hesperia will fight you. Attack the combined forces of Roma and Hesperia, great Khan, and you will fail.”
This last statement earned Marcellinus sharp looks from both Jebei Noyon and Subodei Badahur. Chinggis Khan merely smiled.
A Keshik warrior refilled their cups with tea. Distracted earlier, Marcellinus now noted that his cup was porcelain, presumably originating from the Jin or Song Empire. He waited for the Khan to drink again and then sipped the hot brew. He needed all the strength he could get, regardless of how revolting the beverage was.
“ ‘We have no need of you,’ ” Liu Po-Lin said. “ ‘From my scouts and spies, I know the numbers of legionaries of Roma that face me. I know of their native allies of the Mizipi and the lakes. I know all things.’ ”
Marcellinus tried to keep his face straight, his wits about him. If the Khan truly wanted nothing from him, he would be dead already. Marcellinus was no diplomat and hardly the man who should be in this delicate position. But Sextus Bassus sat silent, his expression surly, and clearly would be no help in this conversation.
Marcellinus cleared his throat. “I congratulate Chinggis Khan on his skill with military intelligence. He will therefore also be aware that the many legions that face him across the Plains are strong, determined, remorseless, and dedicated to his utter destruction.”
The Khan smiled. “ ‘Three legions only and a few extra horsemen. But tell me of your companions now.’ ”
Marcellinus saw no reason not to tell him and every reason to elevate the importance of his companions in the Khan’s eyes. “Sextus Bassus is a decurion of the Third Legion and master of our expedition. Pezi here is Iroqua and knows many languages. Kanuna is an elder of Cahokia, and Enopay is his grandson, wise beyond his years. Hanska and Mikasi are warrior chiefs of Cahokia and also have the ear of its paramount chieftain, Tahtay. My apologies for my terseness. My throat is dry.”
Marcellinus was running out of words, even in Latin. He wished he’d been able to sleep for the last several nights. He took another gulp of the burning salty tea and decided some embellishment might be in order. “Of the others, Taianita and the Chitimachan are great speakers of words, like Pezi, and much respected from Shappa Ta’atan to the Market of the Mud. Chack…Cha’akmogwi and Chochokpi you know to be leaders of the People of the Hand.” He had a moment of panic. Had he forgotten anyone?
“As for Praetor Gaius Publius Marcellinus, he is a great general of Roma,” Pezi continued in Latin. “Victor of countless battles in Europa, he has lived in Cahokia for many winters. He is a close friend to Cahokia’s chiefs and elders and is a confidant of the Imperator of Roma. That is the total of our company.”
Marcellinus dipped his head, wondering if Pezi had just signed his death warrant. He felt himself begin to sweat.
Liu Po-Lin finished his translation. The Great Khan nodded respectfully, sipped his tea, and appeared lost in thought.
While Marcellinus waited, he noticed for the first time the bloody sacks of ears tossed carelessly on the ground at the side of the platform. His gorge rose, and he swallowed with difficulty.
The Mongol Khan looked left, out to where the other prisoners still stood, seeming to inspect them all again from afar.
Finally he spoke, and Liu Po-Lin hurried to speak his chilling words. “ ‘Cha’akmogwi and Chochokpi are leaders of a destroyed race, and thus they are no leaders at all. They are useless relics of a dead culture and so will die with it.’ ”
Marcellinus struggled to breathe.
“ ‘The Cahokian warriors are likewise useless to me, and they will also die.’ ”
“No,” said Marcellinus. “No, Mighty Khan, they will not.”
Chinggis Khan’s eyes slowly turned to gaze upon Marcellinus. All trace of humanity had left them, replaced with a cold, almost reptilian look. Liu Po-Lin blanched. Jebei Noyon smiled faintly. The Tlingit chief and Subodei Badahur watched with interest.
A Mongol sword blade appeared at Marcellinus’s throat. A Keshik warrior had arrived so silently that he had not noticed the man’s approach.
“Please,” Liu Po-Lin said. “You will not disagree.”
Marcellinus swallowed. Panic bubbled up within him. What to do?
The Khan continued his judgment. “ ‘Kanuna, as an elder of Cahokia, may live to tell Cahokia of what he has seen. He will speak of my glory and of our ruthlessness, and Cahokia will tremble. The boy, Enopay…’ ” The Khan looked at Marcellinus appraisingly. Marcellinus tried to match the coldness of the man’s gaze, though he was seething inside. Chinggis continued: “ ‘The boy is less tall than a wagon wheel and is Kanuna’s kin, and so I make no war upon him. In your weakness and frailty, you will need assistance on your journey home. So for that I will allow you to keep the boy.’ ”
“Home?” said Bassus, the first word he had spoken. He did not have a blade at his throat.
The Khan was again looking out across the camp. “ ‘The word slaves, Pezi, Taianita, and the Chitimachan, I will keep. They may be of use to me.’ ”
Pezi gave a strangled gasp.
“ ‘You four shall leave my camp. Kanuna and Enopay and you, the commanders Marcellinus and Bassus. You will live with your shame, knowing yourself bested and broken in battle by the forces of the Chosen-by-God. You will report to your Imperator how you have brought about the deaths and enslavement of those you so recklessly brought to war.’ ”
Marcellinus raised his hand and pushed the naked blade away from his neck. “No, Mighty Khan. Kill my warriors? Enslave my speakers of words? No. We shall all live and leave together or we will all die together.”
Now it was Bassus’s turn to give Marcellinus a look of cold consternation.
Chinggis Khan smiled slightly. Po-Lin shook his head in warning and continued. “ ‘You four will take back to Roma and Cahokia the facts of Mongol strength and invincibility. Of how easily the cream of Roman cavalry was destroyed under the hoof and heel of the Mongol Khan.
“ ‘You will take back the knowledge of how the People of the Hand are no more. Of how the Mongols killed the men, women, and children of Yupkoyvi, and the parrots and the goats, and even the rats and mice, and left no living thing behind.
“ ‘You will take back this warning, of how Cahokia will become as Yupkoyvi, dead and without form. Cahokia and all the other cities and towns along the Mizipi, along the Oyo, among the Lakes. The peoples of the Mizipi and the Iroqua, all will be no m
ore if they oppose me.
“ ‘Any nations that do not immediately bend the knee will die. I, Chinggis Khan, will own this land. Tell Hadrianus I will crush him under my boots as I crush your friends now. Tell him that the Mizipi will run red with Roman blood from Cahokia to the sea. It will be blocked, dammed with the legs and the arms and the heads of dead Romans, dead Cahokians, dead Iroqua.
“ ‘My Mongol army cannot be stopped. Roma will retreat or be destroyed. Cahokia and the other nations of this land will bow to us or be annihilated. This is the message that you will carry.’ ”
“No,” said Marcellinus. “We—”
A Keshik warrior seized Marcellinus’s hair from behind, pulling his head back. Sharp steel was again at his throat. Again Marcellinus tried to reach for the saber, but his arms were grabbed, his wrists forced behind his back. A few feet away Bassus roared in pain as he was similarly restrained.
“I will not stay,” Pezi said. He made no move, kept his eyes lowered in respect, but spoke firmly. “Mighty Khan, I cannot serve you. I am pledged with my life to serve Gaius Marcellinus. If I am taken from him, I will not drink and I will not eat, and I will slay myself at the first opportunity. Know this.”
Marcellinus would have gaped at the boy in astonishment if he’d been capable of moving his head.
“Let me go, Mighty Khan. Free me and I will run to tell my people, the Iroqua, of your greatness. Of how they must kneel and lay down their weapons or perish. And the other speakers of words also: Taianita is from Shappa Ta’atan, and the Chitimachan is from the Market of the Mud. Let them go and they, too, will flee to those other cities of the Mizipi in fear and terror and similarly tell their people of your invincibility.”
