by Alan Smale
“And the other warriors and chiefs?” Po-Lin appeared to be speaking for himself now in dark amusement. “What of them?”
Pezi raised his eyes and met the Mongol Khan’s gaze, bold and fearless, and smiled. “The Mighty Khan wants blood. Can I deny him blood, I who am worthless in his sight? Can I save everyone? No, I cannot.”
Marcellinus struggled, but Keshik hands still held him secure. His head was bent so far back now that he could no longer even see Chinggis Khan, could see naught but the blue sky above him.
He was yanked up onto his feet. Bassus shouted out again in pain, and Pezi, too, was grabbed. The three of them were marched off the platform back to the line of prisoners, who were watching with alarm.
The Keshik warriors were moving the platform off the felt rugs and rolling half a dozen of them back.
The warriors came for Cha’akmogwi first. He allowed them to stand him up and walk him forward, then all of a sudden realized what was about to befall him and began to thrash in their arms.
One of the Keshik warriors struck him a heavy blow to the back of the head. He went limp and groggy, and they dragged him the rest of the way and laid him down upon the carpet.
They picked up Chochokpi, who was too weak to resist them. He turned his head and looked accusingly at Marcellinus.
“Wanageeska?” Mikasi muttered hoarsely. “What is happening? What will they…?”
From the bleak look in Marcellinus’s eyes, he guessed it. “Shit.”
When they came for Mikasi, he and Hanska erupted into violent action in the same moment. Sitting calm, quiet, and unarmed they had seemed to pose little threat, but now they simultaneously leaped up and whirled.
Hanska slammed her elbow into one Keshik’s face and grabbed the sword out of his hand. Mikasi had already felled another black-garbed warrior with his fists and was wrestling with a second for possession of his blade. At the same time he kicked out at a third Keshik, catching him in the crotch and sending him tumbling over Taianita. She kicked the warrior in the face as he passed, breaking his nose.
Hanska stabbed Mikasi’s assailant in the gut and whirled to slash another Mongol across the throat as he ran at her. Back to back, turning, she and Mikasi fended off four Keshik warriors.
One of the two men holding Marcellinus let him go and jumped forward. Marcellinus struggled and snarled, but the other man still gripped his arms in a clench of steel. He was held firmly, incapable of movement, incapable of helping Hanska and Mikasi.
Two Keshiks lunged simultaneously at Mikasi. He countered one, but the second blade caught him just below the ribs on the left side. The first Keshik swung again, low, carving a huge gash in Mikasi’s leg. As Mikasi crumpled forward, he snapped a single word: “Go!”
Hanska did. Breaking off from Mikasi, she knocked her assailant’s sword aside and sprinted straight for the Mongol Khan.
Chinggis sat unmoving, but Jebei Noyon leaped past him, saber in hand. Two Keshiks converged on Hanska from either side; she bowled over one of them with brute force, but the other slashed at her sword arm. She roared, kicked, kept moving.
Jebei Noyon was now the only man between her and the Khan, and he was unarmored, wearing only his flowing robe, but Hanska was panting now with the effort and he was fresh. Their swords met. He parried her, swung hard, pushed her back, and then the other Keshiks stormed her from behind, tripping her, kicking her to the ground.
Her sword now gone, Hanska gave her bloodcurdling battle shriek and even now crawled forward toward the Khan until the Keshiks roped her ankles and dragged her away, still thrashing.
Mikasi was down, blood pouring like a river from his thigh. It was a critical wound. He would bleed out in minutes. He must have known it, but he sat upright, his eyes only on Hanska.
Chinggis Khan nodded and pointed to the ground.
Dozens of Keshiks had come running now. Those who had failed the Khan, the six guards who had failed to stop Mikasi and Hanska, now prostrated themselves before him.
The Khan pointed at three of them with sharp jabs of his fingers. These three men stayed down. The rest kowtowed deeply, then backed away with heads still lowered, shame and humiliation etched on their faces.
Jebei Noyon handed his saber to Chinggis. The Khan stepped forward. Apparently he himself would serve as the executioner of the men who had failed him.
His expression still bleak and hard-edged, the Khan swung the saber in a great arc, slicing the head from the shoulders of the first doomed Keshik with a single blow.
Marcellinus averted his eyes. He cared little for the fates of the Khan’s guards, but the ruthless expression on Chinggis’s face was chilling him to the bone.
Beside him, Hanska looked back at Mikasi. Her face creased with deep sorrow. She held out one hand. Thirty feet away, Mikasi reached out a hand to her in return and smiled. Despite his wound he attempted to stand, but a Keshik held him down.
His grisly retribution completed, the Khan spoke. The Keshiks holding the rope tugged on it and dragged Hanska back across the ground to Mikasi. He almost fell on her, and they embraced.
Keshiks rolled the carpets back over the living but prostrate bodies of Cha’akmogwi and Chochokpi and set the wooden platform back over them. Theirs would be a death by suffocation.
The Mongol Khan looked once more at the scene before him, his expression serene once more. He met Marcellinus’s eye and nodded. Then he turned, mounted the platform, and walked into his yurt.
All was quiet. Kanuna sat, his arms around Enopay. The others sat alone in their misery. The Mongols stood unmoving.
For several agonizing minutes they waited for Mikasi to die. Finally his eyes closed. Hanska held him for a moment longer and then rolled onto her back, staring at the sky, her face bleak.
On orders from Jebei Noyon, the remaining prisoners were collected, tied, and hobbled again. Hanska did not resist when they roped her back into the chain of prisoners, met nobody’s eye, and did not respond to Taianita or Bassus when they placed their hands on her arms in a futile attempt to comfort her.
Marcellinus was numb. He could not believe that he was still alive, that Mikasi was dead, that the two shaman-chiefs of Yupkoyvi were even now dying an agonizing death by suffocation beneath layers of choking felt.
Could not believe that Hanska had fought through to within a dozen feet of laying her hands on the Mongol Khan. Or that she now stood so broken and desolate before him.
Jebei spoke one last order, and the Keshiks guided their prisoners forward. They shuffled away from the yurt of the Great Khan and, painfully slowly, out through the Mongol camp.
—
“The Khan admires valor, and your woman warrior has shown it in abundance. Was not Jebei Noyon spared after shooting an arrow into the neck of the Great Khan? Did he not then grow in the Khan’s service to become one of his mightiest generals? And so the Khan spares Hanska. You may need her strength to help you get home, for your way will be hard indeed. The Chosen-by-God gifts her back to you.”
Hanska did not react, did not even blink, merely sat still and broken. Her life seemed to have no importance to her.
“Pezi also spoke bravely and has bought the lives of Taianita and the Chitimachan. They, too, may leave with you.” Liu Po-Lin gave a small bow. “I have made the humble suggestion to the Khan that without the help of the women you will not survive the journey, wounded and frail as you are. But Pezi himself will stay to serve the Khan.” Liu Po-Lin smiled. “One never knows when an extra fluent speaker of Latin may be advantageous.”
Pezi stared aghast. He did not struggle, did not speak. He merely looked at the Jin and the Great Khan and then at Marcellinus, his eyes pleading. At the moment of being praised for valor, he seemed to have lost his strength altogether.
The Khan spoke, and Liu Po-Lin now adopted the formal voice he used when he was translating directly. “ ‘And so, Gaius Publius Marcellinus and Sextus Bassus, you will travel in shame and defeat along a mighty river, escorted by women,
children, and a broken old man.’ ”
Liu Po-Lin began to bow, but the Khan continued to speak, his eyes glinting. “Oh, but there is more,” said the Jin. “The Mongol Khan has instructed me to convey to you his next move in wresting Nova Hesperia from the Roman grasp. When first you met his general Jebei Noyon, he was returning from a mission even farther south than Yupkoyvi. In the southlands of Nova Hesperia the continent narrows to an…isthmus? Yes?…A mere one hundred and fifty li across, perhaps fifty of your Roman miles? There the great sea of the west and the gulf are separated by only two days’ march. And there we have taken the small, deadly fighting ships of the Mongol fleet. With the help of the People of the Sun, we have…portaged?…them from the sea to the gulf. On hides greased with oil, our ships can slide across the land just as they cruise the seas.” Liu Po-Lin smiled self-deprecatingly. “A minor suggestion of my own. The Khan’s general, Subodei Badahur, will make haste to join them, and under his command our fighting ships will destroy your Roman navy. Your southern legion will be crushed, and the Hesperian Market of the Mud and the southern Mizipi will fall to the Mongol Khan. He tells you this with joy, for he knows you cannot travel faster than his ships. By the time you arrive back at the Mizipi, your southern legion will be lost.
“The Chosen-by-God wishes you a speedy journey back to the Mizipi, Praetor Gaius Marcellinus. May you weep at what you find, and may your Imperator Hadrianus weep when he learns what has befallen both your expedition and his great legion of the Sixth Ironclads.
“And so the Khan bids you farewell, Gaius Marcellinus, until we all meet again, and urges you to paddle fast. Paddle fast.”
The raft was ten feet by eight, rough logs lashed together with thongs made of hide. Barely enough space for the seven of them: Marcellinus, Hanska, Kanuna, Enopay, Bassus, Taianita, and the Chitimachan.
The river was scarcely big enough to support their journey. Around two-thirds of the time it was deep enough for the raft to float, and the few able-bodied among them could pole it along. At other times they had to manhandle the raft laboriously through shallows or past meager rapids, over rocks, around low waterfalls.
Day by day, Bassus was recovering. After the battle at Yupkoyvi, Marcellinus wouldn’t have bet on Bassus even surviving the night. Yet the man whose life had appeared to be bubbling out of him as a result of his sucking chest wound was soon able to do some gentle carrying and foraging, although poling the raft taxed his muscles in a way he still could not manage.
Kanuna, in contrast, was wasting away. His physical wounds were not severe, but witnessing the Mongol slaughter at Yupkoyvi had clearly damaged his will to live. Despite Enopay’s and Marcellinus’s best efforts, Kanuna’s health was failing almost as they watched.
As for Hanska, she spoke to nobody, said nothing. She followed instructions calmly, sat where she was told on the raft, helped carry it when ordered to, but otherwise did not respond. She did not forage, rarely paddled, and never poled. Taianita, who dressed her wounds, sometimes hugged the bereft warrior for hours on end. Hanska would tolerate this from Taianita, but if anyone else touched her, even with a light finger to the arm, she shook it off. After the first few days Marcellinus gave it up and let her grieve in her own way.
Marcellinus was weak and dizzy much of the time. The blistered burn wound in his side was unbearably tender to the touch and leaked unpleasant fluids. Liu Po-Lin had been right about one thing: they certainly would have died if not for Taianita and the Chitimachan helping to pole and carry the raft; foraging for roots, berries, and wild mushrooms; and snaring occasional small mammals that Marcellinus decided not to ask too many questions about.
“And so we are free,” Enopay said quietly, lying on the bank and staring down into the river, his arm in the water up to his elbow.
“Free.” Marcellinus looked around them at the desolate terrain. They were descending from the high plateau, but food was still desperately hard to come by. Every day was a struggle, and he had never been so aware of the murderous scale of the continent of Nova Hesperia, where even a scrawny river like this could wend its way through hundreds of miles of desolate territory. “Yes, we’re free all right.”
“Free to tell our peoples how the Mongol Khan will destroy them without mercy.”
Now Marcellinus looked at Enopay. “Free to report that the Khan and his warriors deserve no quarter. Free to do whatever we must to rid Hesperia of them once and for all.”
“I think we cannot,” Enopay said. “I think we are lost. All-done. Alive for now…but dead.”
“No, we—”
“Hush, now.” Enopay’s hand closed, but the fish he was seeking had slipped from his grasp. Frustrated, the boy pulled his arm from the cold river and rubbed the feeling back into it before easing it under the water’s surface once more.
A small dam would work better, cutting off a portion of the river. Herd the fish into it and then capture them. They had done that two days before. Perhaps they would do it again tomorrow. Today Marcellinus didn’t have the energy. “Enopay? We will destroy the Mongols. I swear it.”
“Ha. Will you also swear that Mikasi will come back to life? That my grandfather will live long enough to see Cahokia again?”
Those questions, Marcellinus had no answer for. He tried again. “We have been freed to take the story of the Khan’s brutality home. He hopes that the account of their ruthlessness in Yupkoyvi will destroy Roman morale, just as the stories of their relentless massacres of the northern Song caused the rest of that empire to crumble. But that will not happen.”
“Ha.”
“Enopay, say ‘Ha’ one more time and I’ll push you into the river with your damned fish.”
Enopay gave up and rolled onto his back, wiping the water from his hand. The look he gave Marcellinus was bleak. “Do not misunderstand me, Eyanosa. I have not given up. I will do all I can to help Roma. I will urge and encourage and beg and plead Cahokia to stand strong. But no. At the end of the day, we cannot prevail against such evil men.”
Decinius Sabinus had told Marcellinus the same thing. The mere memory of standing on the first plateau of Cahokia’s Great Mound brought a lump to his throat. He swallowed. “Enopay, this defeatism is exactly what the Mongol Khan wants. It is why we are still alive. It’s the job he has given us: to spread hopelessness and fear. If we are demoralized, his battle is already won.”
“You think I am defeated? No.” Enopay stood. “You think you are the only one who can swear high and mighty oaths? Here is mine. I am Enopay of Cahokia, and I will fight the Mongols until I die.”
Marcellinus’s blood chilled. “Enopay…”
“My grandfather will pass away soon, and I will not have him anymore. Cahokia is changed forever. The Romans are here to fight and die beside us. I will work without rest to help the Romans until the Mongols cut out my guts or suffocate me under a carpet. I have spoken. And so you must teach me to fight.”
“You’re joking,” Marcellinus said. “You?”
“Yes, me.” The boy frowned. “You are about to say that my skills in counting and keeping track of people and things make me better suited to work behind the battle line than on it. But one day I might find myself on that line whether we like it or not.”
Marcellinus did not reply. Enopay persisted. “In Yupkoyvi you told me to pick up a sword. Next time I would like to know better what to do with it.”
“And had you been more of a threat to them, the Mongols might have killed you there.” It was moot anyway. “Enopay, I don’t have the strength to teach you. I can barely pole, let alone wave a gladius.”
Enopay looked at him, pain in his eyes, then stood and stalked off without a word. Marcellinus let him go, and stayed alone with the babbling brook and his thoughts.
—
When they first had been placed aboard the raft, Marcellinus had suspected a trick. Jebei Noyon himself had stood nearby on the bank, his hands behind his back and his face unreadable. Ten of the Khan’s trusted Keshik warrior
s had escorted them to the waterside, unlocked the wooden pillories from around their necks, and cut the hobbles that chained their ankles. On board the raft were a single long pole, an unstrung hunting bow of much more primitive design than the Mongol war bows, two dozen arrows, and two pugios, the weapons all tied to the boards of the raft with sinew so that they could not easily be snatched up and used.
Many of the Keshiks carried strung Mongol composite bows with quivers of arrows slung over their shoulders. Marcellinus had half expected this to be a cruel joke and figured that they would be slaughtered for sport as soon as they reached the center of the river, but it was not so. The erstwhile captives had been allowed to pole and paddle themselves clear. Jebei Noyon, the general in yellow, strode away without looking back. The Keshiks merely stood and watched them until they passed out of sight.
Soon the current had plucked the raft and swept them through a high-sided canyon. This had been one of the most dangerous moments. Still in shock, their minds slowed by grief and hunger, they had been late to react to the rocks that threatened to tear the raft apart. Marcellinus had had to shout desperate profanities at them while fending off rocks with his bare hands before Enopay and Taianita stirred themselves from their funk and helped him, the Chitimachan grabbed the pole and started ineffectually trying to steer, and Bassus, lying down, worked at the knots that held the knives and bow down. When they later passed a stand of pinyon juniper and pine, Marcellinus made them beach the raft while they cut light branches and wove them together to form crude paddles. He also gave them a stern talking to, trying to focus their minds on the ordeals ahead rather than those they had just endured. They hated him for several days afterward, but at least the voyage went a little more smoothly.
For the first few weeks the river continued its halting journey through narrow canyons interspersed with steppe grassland and short-grass prairie. In the distance they saw mesas and escarpments, none of which they recognized. Once a dust storm appeared around them as if by magic, filling their mouths with grit and peppering the surface of the raft as they floated on the river, lying prone. Then, all of a sudden, they were free of the canyonlands and into what seemed to be a vast expanse of prairie, with no tree or living creature in sight.
