by Robert Shea
XXII
Sophia felt cooler here, in the atrium of the Palazzo Monaldeschi, thanshe had in the sala maggiore. A breeze blew through the archway that ledto the rear courtyard of the palace, but it did not blow hard enough tokeep the mosquitoes away. Nor did the essence of lemon in the waxcandles in lanterns that lit the atrium repel the whining little pests,though it scented the air pleasantly, mingling with the sachet of driedorange cuttings she wore under her gown, between her breasts.
To protect herself from the insects, Sophia wrapped her shawl around herbare shoulders and drew her gauze veil over her face. She thought itmade her look more mysteriously attractive as well. Perhaps that was thereal reason Muslim women were willing to wear veils. She wonderedwhether Daoud had a lover or a wife back in Cairo.
Probably half a dozen of each.
She glanced over at the young French count, walking solemnly beside herwith his hands clasped behind his back. The mosquitoes did not seem tobother him, or at least he did not slap at them. Well, he was a tall,thin man with sharp features, dark hair, and pale skin. She imagined theblood of such a man might taste sour and not draw mosquitoes. He wasgood to look at, surely, but there was a bitterness about him. She sawat once that he was not a happy man.
"Perhaps I should not walk alone with you like this, Madonna," he said.Actually, his Italian was not difficult for her to understand; she hadcriticized it only to throw him off balance when she first met him.Probably her French was no better than his Italian, but he had been toogallant to say so.
"Do you fear for your virtue, Your Signory?" she asked lightly.
He smiled, and even in the dim lantern light his face took on asweetness that was quite at odds with his previous solemn appearance."My virtue, such as it is, is yours to dispose, Madonna." She feltwarmed within by his words and the beauty of his smile.
They paused by a square pool in the center of the atrium. He bent anddipped his cupped hands, then held them out to her filled with water.
"The contessa has told me that the pool is fed by an undergroundspring," he said. "The water is the purest I have ever tasted. Try it."
"Do the Monaldeschi keep fish in it?" She hesitated, thinking ofCardinal Ugolini's vivarium.
"No. This is their drinking water. Taste it." She lifted her veil andlowered her mouth into his hands. The water was pure and sweet, just ashe had said. As a lover, she thought, Simon would be like thiswater--sweet, not bitter.
The water was gone and her lips touched his palm. Deliberately shepaused a moment before drawing back.
He moved toward her, holding out both hands, but she turned as if shehad not noticed and took a step away from him on the gravel, droppingthe gauze veil before her face.
"You have not explained to me why you think you should not be walkingalone with me, Your Signory."
"Ah--well--" He had to gather his thoughts, she saw. Such a _boy_. She'dhad a middle-aged emperor and a splendid young king as lovers. She nowfelt herself in love with a strange Saracen warrior, a Mameluke, who wassubtle, ruthless, kindly, mysterious, daring--so many things, it dizziedher to think about him.
But Simon's simplicity brought back memories of Alexis, the boy she hadloved when she herself was as innocent as Simon now appeared to be.
Simon said, "Because your uncle leads the faction here in Orvieto thatopposes the Tartars. And because the chief witness against them has beenthe merchant David, who dwells, as you do, in the cardinal's house."
_He hates David._ She heard it in his voice.
"What has that to do with you and me, Simon?" This was the right moment,she thought, to call him by his name. "I care nothing for affairs ofstate. In Siracusa we have better things to do with our time than worryabout alliances and wars."
"Everyone will be affected by what happens here concerning the Tartars,"he said. "Even the people of Siracusa."
She tried to look impressed. "If _you_ think it would be so good forChristians and Tartars to fight together against the Saracens, I cannotimagine why my uncle is against it."
"I do not understand that either," said Simon. "Or why he brought thisman David to Orvieto to cause so much trouble."
She shrugged. "I hardly ever see the man from Trebizond. My uncle'smansion is so big, people can come and go without ever meeting." Shehoped the suggestion would take root. It was vital for him to thinkthere was no connection between David and herself.
"This is a God-given opportunity for us to rescue the Holy Land," hesaid.
"Perhaps I can help you," she said.
"Would you?" His face brightened.
"I could try to find out why my uncle opposes your cause. If you willtell me why we Christians _should_ ally ourselves with the Tartars, Iwill repeat your reasons to him. I will not say they came from you.Hearing the arguments in private, coming from a loved niece, he mightopen his mind to them."
Simon's eyes opened wide in amazement. "You would do all that? But whyare you so willing to help me, Madonna, when your uncle is so opposed tomy cause?"
"Because I would like"--she hesitated just for a breath, then put herhand on his arm--"I would like to see more of you."
She was on dangerous ground. The tradition of courtly love, in which hehad doubtless been reared, called for the woman to be aloof and for theman to beg for meetings. But Daoud had told her she did not have thetime to allow this inexperienced young man to proceed at his own pace.
He appeared overwhelmed with happiness. Her answer had just the effectshe had hoped for.
"But you must help _me_," she said with the satisfied feeling that shewas now closing the trap. "You must teach me what to say to my uncle. AsI said, it would be easy for you to come to me without anyone knowing.Will you visit me when I send for you?"
"Oh, Madonna! Command me." His eyes were huge now, and his smile waslike a full moon shining into the atrium.
"I command you to come over here with me," she said.
She took him by the hand, and, as a light rain began to fall, led himinto a shadowy corner of the open gallery that surrounded the garden. Hepressed her back against a column. She lifted her veil and let him kissher fiercely as the rain pattered down on the lemon trees.
She became entirely Sophia Orfali and tasted his kisses hungrily, dizzywith joy at having won the love of a splendid young nobleman.
* * * * *
"Of course I fought in Russia and Poland," Ana said, speaking for JohnChagan, while the old Tartar threw out his arms in a sweeping gesture."Everyone went."
Daoud smiled and nodded, leaning back in the chair someone had broughtfor him, his right leg crossed over the left. He tried to look relaxed,though his heart was beating fast. He felt like a man climbing a cliff,whose slightest misstep might bring a disastrous fall.
He was feeling the effects of the al-koahl--a hissing sound in hisears, a numbness in his face, a difficulty focusing his eyes, an urge,difficult to suppress, to splash the contents of his wine cup in John'sugly face. But his mind was untouched, he knew, and that meant he wasunder better control than these two savages whom he had drawn intotelling stories of their wars.
"Was that your first campaign?" he asked.
John made a lengthy speech in answer to Daoud's question, striking hischest many times and reaching for more wine. Finally Ana translated. Sheseemed made of iron, this Bulgarian woman. She did not drink, she didnot get tired, she did not even sit down, and she did not seem to carewhat anyone said.
John assured David that as a young man he had participated in thedestruction of the Khwarezmian empire. Khwarezmia, Daoud remembered, aTurkish nation, was the first Muslim land to fall to the Tartars.
He glanced around and saw that Ugolini and a number of other cardinals,both French and Italian, had gathered to listen. The contessa was there,too. And even as Daoud looked, the circle parted for Pope Urban. Twoservants hurried over, carrying a chair for him, and he sat downheavily.
The Tartars had turned Khwarezmia into a desert, but this audience
wouldnot care overmuch about that. Daoud wondered if he could turn theconversation back to what they had done in Christian lands.
"What about Moscow?" he said. His voice sounded to him as if his earswere stuffed with cotton. He worried that John might realize that he wasbeing led to talk about what he had done against Christians.
"Moscow?" said John. "That was much later." Strange, how John's voiceseemed to be coming from Ana's lips. "I was in command of my own tumanthere, ten thousand men, under our great commander Subotai Baghadur. Ah,yes, we killed off all the people of Moscow."
Daoud felt like leaping from his chair. Just what he had hoped to hear.He made himself slump down still more and look sleepier.
"I never could understand how it is possible to kill off the populationof a whole city," he said, affecting a tone of cool curiosity. "It musttake days and be very tiring."
Philip Uzbek laughed when this was translated. Clearly he thought it afoolish remark. His round, flat face reminded Daoud of Kassar, and withthe thought a red mist of rage passed before Daoud's eyes.
John responded to Daoud's remark. "Not at all tiring. We had five tumansat Moscow. There were about fifty thousand people living in the city,and many had died in the siege. Subotai gave the honor of the killing tothe most valorous tuman, which happened to be mine. We just divided themup. Each of us took about five of them. You can kill five people in notime. It is not like fighting. Some we shot with arrows. Others we cuttheir heads off. The women are especially easy. You just pull their hairto stretch their necks so the sword will go through easier, and chop!"Ana, imperturbable even now, repeated the slicing gesture John made withhis hand.
"The children run away sometimes, and you have to chase them," Johnchuckled. "It is best to use arrows on them. But the adults are soterrified, they just stand there."
Daoud looked again at the circle around them. Several people looked abit sick. The mouth of the elderly contessa hung open, revealing theabsence of two or three lower front teeth. Pope Urban leaned forward inhis chair, his face expressionless.
Driven by his growing hatred for the Tartars, he pressed them to revealmore of themselves. He should be pleased, he thought, at this muchsuccess, but he wanted to destroy them utterly.
"You do not mind killing children?" he asked.
John seemed puzzled by the question. "What else could we do with them?With their parents dead they would only starve to death. Or if theylived, they would grow up hating us, and we would have to fight them."
_You could make slaves of them_, said a voice inside Daoud, and the redmist swelled into a cloud of fury billowing up inside him. He had to sitmotionless, his fist clenched on the stem of his silver goblet, waitingfor the feeling to pass. Thank God for Saadi's teaching. It was painfulto look directly with the inner eye at the disorientation of his sensesand at the anger surging through his body, but it saved him from anyfatal mistake.
Philip said, "At Baghdad I found a whole house full of babies, maybethirty or forty. I slit all of their throats. Their mothers were deadalready. I suppose they left the babies behind when they went out of thecity to be executed, hoping they would survive. But with no one tosuckle them, the babies would have starved to death. Killing them was anact of mercy."
Remembering what he had seen of Baghdad, Daoud felt his rage grow coldand towering as the mountains of the Roof of the World. Those were hisMuslim people. He wanted to draw the dagger at his belt and slash thethroats of the two gloating, drunken savages before him. He bit downhard on his lower lip to keep himself under control.
"When we shot people with arrows," said John, "we went around and pulledthe arrows out of the bodies afterward so we could use them again. We donot waste anything."
_He is trying to show how admirable they are._
Daoud watched the stout Bulgarian woman Ana speak John's words inItalian, still expressionless, still standing motionless. But to hissurprise he saw rivulets of tears on her round cheeks.
She had been in Bulgaria when the Tartars came, he thought. She had seenwhat Christians called "the fury of the Tartars." She must have beenamong the survivors who submitted to their rule, but she had notforgotten. Perhaps translating John's and Philip's words exactly as theyspoke them was her way of taking revenge.
John held out his goblet, and Ana refilled it. He laughed softly atnothing in particular and drank more.
"But why do this to city after city?" Daoud asked.
"When we invade a kingdom, the rulers and people are determined toresist us," said John. "To fight them might cost us the lives ofthousands of our warriors. But when we wipe out one or two whole cities,they become terrified. They lose their will to fight and surrenderquickly. It saves many lives on both sides."
Philip grinned broadly. "It shows that we have power like no otherpeople on earth." He shook both fists. "We can level whole cities. Thisteaches all men that Eternal Heaven has given us dominion over the wholeearth."
Daoud heard whispers from the people around him, and Pope Urban coughedsoftly.
Daoud could hardly believe his luck. Not luck, he thought. God haddelivered the Tartars into his hands.
"The whole earth?" said Daoud. "Even Europe? Even the Christian lands?"
Philip threw out his arms expansively. "The whole earth. All there is.Every corner."
Daoud's earlier rage had subsided. Instead, he felt wild triumph, and hehad to grip the seat of his chair to hold himself down.
Daoud heard Cardinal Ugolini declare, "You see? Exactly what we havebeen saying."
"You say Eternal Heaven gives you the right to rule the world?" Daoudasked. "Do you mean God?"
John shrugged. "Eternal Heaven is what our ancestors called Him. Nowthat we are Christians we call Him God."
Fra Tomasso suddenly cut in. "But surely you realize that the sky, orwhatever you worshiped before you became Christians, is not the trueGod."
After Ana translated this, John questioned her, squinting at theDominican as he did so, apparently wanting to make sure of Fra Tomasso'smeaning.
"Would God have neglected us before Christian priests found their way toour land?" John said through Ana. "Of course He has spoken to us. Has Henot made us the most powerful people on earth?"
"Perhaps He has done so in order that you might _now_ hear His word,"said Fra Tomasso.
"I am not a priest," John said with a sudden broad grin. "But we havethe highest priests of the Christian faith here tonight. Let them saywhether Eternal Heaven and God are the same." He bowed his round headand held out his hand in invitation.
A silence fell. The little band of musicians playing vielles andhautboys in one corner of the room suddenly sounded very loud. Daoudturned to look once again at the audience his dialogue with the Tartarshad drawn. The Contessa di Monaldeschi, Fra Tomasso, at least half adozen cardinals. And Pope Urban himself. Their figures swam beforeDaoud, and he knew the wine was overcoming him--bodily, at any rate. Thefaces of the Christian leaders looked very grave, though, and thegrimmer they looked, the more pleased he felt.
Fra Tomasso especially, he hoped, had heard enough to sway him.
He turned back to the Tartars. They, too, seemed aware of the uneasy,unhappy silence. The pope appeared not to feel that John's inquirydeserved an answer. The older Tartar's smile faded, and he carefully setdown his wine cup. Philip's eyes darted this way and that.
John said something to Philip in a low voice, probably a warning to sayno more. John had the look of a water buffalo beset by village curs, hiseyes smoldering, his white-wreathed head turning from side to side.Daoud sensed, because he often felt the same way himself, how alone Johnmust feel, surrounded by enemies.
_He does not have ten thousand warriors at his back now._
Daoud heard a stir behind him, and turned to see the crowd parting tolet Pope Urban leave, the broad back of Fra Tomasso following closebehind him. A priest-attendant in black was coming from a corner of theroom with a cloth-of-gold outer mantle for the pope. The contessarustled after Urban, who turned a
nd offered her his hand to kiss. As theaged hostess knelt unsteadily before Urban, Daoud rejoiced at thetroubled, abstracted expression in the pope's aged eyes.
Daoud heaved himself out of his chair and stood, swaying. For a momenthis eyes would not focus, and he thought he was going to fall. Then hesaw John Chagan giving him a look as piercing as a Tartar lance. Now,Daoud saw, John understood what he had done to him. As for Philip, hesat slumped, only half awake, his empty wine cup held loosely. Thestout, dark-haired Ana stood impassive, hands clasped in front of her,as if content to remain there all night. Her cheeks were now dry.
_We defeated your army at the Well of Goliath, Tartar, and now I havedefeated you at Orvieto._
"Monsters!" It was the voice of the contessa, and Daoud turned to seeher, losing his balance and having to put out a foot to catch himself.
He saw de Verceuil as well, coming across the hall almost at a run, justahead of the contessa, his aquamarine cloak flying. His eyes were wide,his little mouth tight with fury. The contessa, looking just as angry,was hurrying to keep up with him and tell him what she thought.
"You have brought monsters into my house. Everything bad I have heardabout them they have now admitted. In a year or two they will be at thegates of Rome. They are the Huns all over again." Her eyes were huge,and her nostrils flared with passion. Daoud suppressed an urge to laughaloud with delight.
De Verceuil checked his rush to get to his Tartar charges, and turned tothe contessa. "Your Signory, I beg you to understand. They have beendrinking. They did not know what they were saying. Old soldiers'boasting. Exaggerated tales of their exploits. The Tartars are given tothat sort of thing."
"It is not exaggerated," the old lady cried shrilly. "We have heardtales before of their massacres. Now I have heard the same from theirown lips. These very men whom I have welcomed into my house--their handsdrip with the blood of children. One of them told how he slit thethroats of forty babies. And they are proud of what they have done. Theyfeel no remorse. Old soldiers' boasting? Old soldiers boast ofovercoming strong enemies. These--these bestioni gloat over theslaughter of the helpless. Perhaps they look at my palazzo and thinkthat one day it will be theirs. And you have brought them under myroof."
"Donna Elvira," de Verceuil pleaded, "let me find out the truth aboutwhat has been happening here."
Daoud's heartbeat quickened. He should slip away now. Drunk as he was,he would be too vulnerable to de Verceuil.
The French cardinal was shouting at the Bulgarian woman. John the Tartarwas smiling as if de Verceuil's appearance were enough in itself toextricate him from the consequences of his too-free speech. Philip'sfleshy chin rested on his chest and his eyes were fast shut.
Something white moved in the corner of Daoud's eye, and he looked towardthe doorway leading to the inner galleria, where the gaming had beengoing on. Lorenzo was just sauntering out. He was all the way across theroom, and Daoud's vision was too blurred to see his expression, but hewas probably smiling. He walked closer, seeming to be looking at Daoudfor a signal, but Daoud could think of none to send.
_Well done, Lorenzo. How badly, I wonder, did you have to play atbackgammon to keep de Verceuil occupied all this time?_
"How could I stop them from speaking, Your Eminence?" Ana wasprotesting. "I am here only to translate what they say. This man came upto talk to them, and I simply repeated what they said to him and what hesaid back to them."
"What man?" de Verceuil asked the question almost in a whisper, andAna's eyes turned toward Daoud.
_Too late. Now I must face him._
"You," de Verceuil said in the same low voice.
Daoud swayed, and it came to him at once how best to respond. He wouldpretend to be too drunk to understand what was happening.
"You provoked these indiscretions," the cardinal ground out. The jeweledcross hanging on his chest winked and glittered as it rose and fell withhis deep breathing.
Daoud put out a hand to grasp the back of his chair. Smiling at thecardinal, he leaned heavily on the chair and circled it methodically. Hesat down heavily on the arm, almost tipping the chair over. Then he slidinto the seat with a thump.
He looked up at de Verceuil and said, "What?"
The cardinal's hands--they were very large, Daoud saw--clenched andunclenched.
_He wishes he could strangle me._
"Why have you tried to embarrass these ambassadors?" de Verceuildemanded. His voice was a good deal louder now.
Daoud let his head loll. He caught sight of Lorenzo again. The Sicilianwas much closer. Daoud shook his head ever so slightly and jerked hischin.
_Go away._
He let his head fall forward.
De Verceuil moved closer. Raising his eyes while keeping his headlowered, Daoud found himself staring at the cardinal's belt buckle, agold medallion displaying an angel's head with wings growing out of itscurly hair.
"I have embarrassed no one," Daoud mumbled thickly. "I know John andPhilip's people. They are our neighbors." He laughed, and let the laughgo on too long. "We talked about things everybody knows."
He felt those big hands seize the front of his tunic and jerk him to hisfeet. De Verceuil's flushed face was less than a hand's width from hisown. The cardinal's eyes were huge and dark.
Daoud felt his muscles bunch, and he forced them to relax. He felt fear.Not fear of de Verceuil, whom he could easily kill, but fear of losingcontrol of himself, of letting the Face of Steel show through the Maskof Clay. Such a revelation could put an end to his mission.
"Who the devil are you? What are you doing in Orvieto? Answer me!" DeVerceuil shook Daoud violently. Daoud's head rocked back and forth, andhe saw two faces of de Verceuil.
Had there been no wine in his blood, it would have been easier for Daoudto control his fear and his anger. He knew he must play at being amerchant who would be terrified at having provoked the wrath of a princeof the Church. But, as it was, he felt himself caught up in a whirlwindof rage, and his hands came up, going for the cardinal's throat. Just intime he changed the move into a cringing, self-protective gesture.
"I could have you killed!" de Verceuil shouted. "And I will if you donot answer me."
"Stop!" The small body of Cardinal Ugolini was beside them, almostbetween them. "David of Trebizond is my guest." Daoud glanced down atUgolini and saw that he was trembling violently.
_He thinks I might do something that would expose us all._
"Trebizond!" De Verceuil spat the word. "This man is a damned schismaticGreek who has come here to betray Christianity!"
"On the contrary," said Ugolini, "he may yet save Christendom from aterrible error. De Verceuil, I demand that you take your hands off him."
Daoud let his body go suddenly limp, so that de Verceuil was holding upall of his weight by his tunic. At the jerk on his arms, de Verceuilgave a snort of disgust and let go, pushing Daoud away from him. Daoudcollapsed into his chair.
"I am only a trader," he said plaintively to the room in general. "I amsorry I ever said a word to the damned Tartars. It has meant nothing buttrouble for me. Why did I not remain silent?" Adding a strong flavoringof drunkenness, he imitated the gestures of Greek merchants he had seenin the bazaars of El Kahira. He turned his head from side to side,surveying the onlookers. He could not see Sophia, which was good. Hewanted her, like Lorenzo, far away. Perhaps she was still in the gardenwith de Gobignon.
No. Daoud saw the young French count's head. He was pushing his waythrough the audience.
The Contessa di Monaldeschi, her hands nervously smoothing down thefront of her blue velvet gown, confronted de Verceuil.
"Eminence, leave this man alone. He is a guest in this house. As youare, which is a thing I begin to regret."
"Contessa, this is all a mistake," said de Verceuil pleadingly. Daoudsuspected he feared the ignominy of finding the ambassadors and himselfout in the street.
"It is not a mistake." Ugolini seemed to have plucked up his couragenow. "My esteemed colleague of the Sacred College is tryi
ng to punishDavid because the Tartars spoke frankly to him. David made noaccusations. The Tartars accused themselves."
The contessa seized Ugolini's arm. "Oh, Your Eminence, will God be angrywith me for harboring these demons?"
Ugolini patted her hands. "You cannot be blamed, dear Contessa. Youacted in good faith at the request of His Holiness himself. He, havingheard what the Tartars said tonight, may also regret this affair."
Ugolini looked accusingly at de Verceuil, who, purple-faced, looked asif he wished he could tear his little colleague of the Sacred Collegelimb from limb.
Now Simon de Gobignon, having broken through the circle of onlookers,declared, "This would not have happened if Friar Mathieu had been hereinterpreting for the Tartars, guarding them against indiscretions.Instead, you found this woman who is altogether ignorant of what is atstake here. You had her translate for the Tartars because you begrudgeFriar Mathieu his share of the honor of this diplomatic accomplishment.Except that there will be no accomplishment, because of your bungling."
Tall as de Verceuil was, de Gobignon was taller. Righteous anger madethe French boy's blue eyes flash.
Daoud wanted to laugh aloud at the count's fury and de Verceuil's utterembarrassment. But he decided he should be too stupidly drunk tounderstand what was going on.
"You have no right to criticize me!" de Verceuil shouted.
"Be sure that the Count d'Anjou will hear of this," Simon answered.
_De Verceuil offending Fra Tomasso would be even better than de Verceuilshouting at de Gobignon. If there were a way I could make that happen.Sophia, working through de Gobignon?_
Even though his Sufi training helped him keep his mind clear, puzzlingout this new idea was beyond his present powers after all the wine hehad drunk.
Daoud let his head fall forward, and his eyes met the penetrating blackgaze of John Chagan. John was drunk, and he did not speak the languageof these people. But Daoud saw understanding in the crinkled brown face.John could not know Daoud was a Mameluke, but he knew him for an enemy.He looked at Daoud with the same icy determination to annihilate allenemies as Daoud had seen staring at him from under the fur-and-ironhelmets of the Tartars at the Well of Goliath.
And Daoud, slumped in his chair, felt the same implacable resolution hehad felt that day, to fight back until the last invader was driven fromthe Dar al-Islam, the Abode of Islam.
* * * * *
The Tartar army appeared as a darkness across the eastern horizon,deepening as it spread. Curry-colored clouds towered above thegray-black line like mile-high djinns.
The distant thunder of hooves reached the Mameluke commanders as theyhalted in the plain between the hills of Galilee and the mountains ofGilboa near a village called Ain Jalut, the Well of Goliath. A fiercesun beat down on yellow grass and dusty tamarisks.
El Malik al-Mudhaffar Qutuz was mounted on a milk-white stallion fromHedjaz in the midst of his emirs. Baibars al-Bunduqdari rode afawn-colored half-blood mare, part Arabian and part steppe pony. Daoud,in his early twenties and risen through the ranks of Baibars's personalguard to be second in command of the orta, fifteen thousand strong, saton his sturdy Yemenite stallion before the other emirs. His red turbanshaded his face and shielded his steel helmet from the sun. His chestwas encased in the breastplate of an emir, steel inlaid with gold.
The Mameluke emirs, bashis and muqaddams wore their fortunes intobattle--gold bracelets and belts, jeweled rings, necklaces of coins.Jewels sparkled on their belt buckles and the scabbards and hilts oftheir scimitars, on their turbans, on the toes of their boots, on theirfingers. Over their mail shirts and gold-inlaid breastplates the emirswore velvet vests and long khalats of crimson or gold satin, lined withwhite silk, fastened with gold buttons, trimmed with silver thread atthe collars and cuffs and hems. Silk turbans were wound around theirhelmets, red, blue, yellow, pinned with jeweled clasps and adorned withthe plumes of rare birds. Tied tight around their waists were wideshawls printed with stars and crescents. Their boots were of softleather, crimson-dyed, with silver spurs, gold buckles, and pointedtoes.
_And all that I have_, Daoud thought, _may be torn from me in an instanttoday_.
From Daoud's neck hung the silver locket given to him by his first, andso far only, wife, Baibars's daughter Blossoming Reed. It was, she hadtold him, a magical thing.
The Mamelukes were now the last defenders of Islam. The Tartars havingconquered Baghdad and Damascus, El Kahira was the only remaining centerof Muslim strength. If the Tartars overcame the Mamelukes, all thatremained of the Dar al-Islam would lie open to the invaders, even theholiest place of all, Mecca, the house of God.
"We are a hundred thousand and they not a fourth of that," said Qutuzalmost petulantly, his eyes fixed on the oncoming Tartars. "How can theydare to turn and fight us?"
"They are Tartars," said Baibars. "They do not fear the numbers of theirenemies."
"Being a Tartar yourself, you can tell us how they think," said Qutuz.Daoud heard a faint undertone of contempt in the Kurd's voice. Baibarsmust have heard it, too; Daoud saw his lord's cheeks darken slightly.
Looking into the sultan's set face, Daoud realized that Qutuz, despitehis apparent disdain, had already given up the battle. His lips, almosthidden in his oiled black beard, were pressed tight, in an effort tokeep them from trembling.
The Mamelukes might outnumber the Tartars today, but the Tartars hadnever been defeated anywhere in the world. The sultan must have led thearmy to what he saw as certain death, for himself and all of them, onlybecause he knew his Mameluke emirs would depose and kill him if he didnot.
_How can a Mameluke fear death, or even defeat? Qutuz has been sultantoo long._
"With the help of God, my brothers," said Qutuz, his voice hollow, "letus ride forth and slay them. I will command the center, Kalawun the leftwing, and Baibars the right. When you see my green banner dip, we willadvance to surround and destroy them."
_He does not believe that God will help him_, thought Daoud. _And hedoes not believe he can help himself._
Riding over the dusty field to rejoin the men under his command, Daoudyearned for the fighting to begin. His body felt tight, as if it werebeing pressed inward from all directions, and his heart seemed to swellin his chest, trying to break out of the pressure.
_If I must die today, let me first do a great deed for God!_
By the time the oncoming Tartars were clearly visible, Daoud was backwith the right wing of the Mameluke army, at the head of his own troop.The Tartars came on at an unhurried trot, spread out in a series of longranks, one behind the other, and he could see their fur-trimmed helmets,their waving lances, their colored signal flags. He could hear theirshrill war cries and the braying of their horns. Above their front rankflew their savage standard, rows of long black tails of animals wavingfrom crossbars mounted on a tall pole.
Drawn up across the plain behind Baibars's yellow banner were darkranks of Mameluke heavy cavalrymen armed with tall spears and wearingsteel chain mail and helmets.
Daoud saw Qutuz's green flag, small and far to the west, dip, heardBaibars's cry, relayed the shout to his men.
In a moment the parched earth of the plain of the Well of Goliath wastrembling under the hooves of fifteen thousand Mameluke horses. Thekettledrums of Baibars's tablkhana, his camel-mounted band, thundered,and the trumpets blared, sending Daoud's blood racing.
Daoud drew his double-curved bow of horn and sinew out of the casehanging from his saddle and nocked an arrow as the galloping hooves ofhis horse jolted his body. He let his voice pour out of him in a longscream.
The braying of the Tartars' signal horns floated over the plain. They,too, were galloping, bent over the necks of their ponies. The Tartarhorses were short-legged, their barrel-shaped bodies encased in leatherarmor.
_Ugly little horses_, Daoud thought.
The ponies of the Tartar unit passing him all appeared to be white withblack spots. The Tartars' tunics were brown, their trousers gray, andt
heir fur-trimmed iron helmets painted red.
Ahead of him Daoud saw Baibars's yellow standard fluttering against asky gray with dust. Baibars's wing and the Tartars were riding past eachother. The emir was leading his men eastward. To Daoud's left, across anempty space of grassy plain, the Tartar army was passing them, chargingto the west. Arrows flew from the Tartars, but singly, not in volleys.Daoud loosed an arrow of his own at the passing horde. It arced over thebare strip between the two armies and fell in the Tartar mass withoutresult that he could see.
He looked back toward the center of the Mameluke host and saw smallfigures in white robes striding through the grass. They were holy men,he knew, dervishes dedicated to death. As they marched on foot andunarmed against the Tartars, they were calling on God to avenge themartyrs of Islam. Arrows flew at them from the Tartar lines, and in aninstant it seemed the dervishes vanished as they crumpled into the tallgrass.
_They are showing all of us how to die_, thought Daoud. By goingjoyfully to their deaths, the dervishes reminded the Mamelukes that eachwarrior who died here today would be a mujahid, one who fell in holy warfor Islam. Such a one was destined for paradise.
But he also realized uneasily that he had seen a demonstration of Tartarmarksmanship.
Signal flags, yellow, green, and red, fluttered among the Tartarhorsemen, and horns bellowed. Daoud heard the pounding of a greatbattery of drums. From twenty thousand Tartar throats at once there rosea long, terrifying scream. Daoud turned in the saddle to see the entireTartar army, now in a wedge formation, the beast-tail standard at thepoint of the triangle rushing upon the green banner of Sultan Qutuz.
A blue flag fluttered beside Baibars's yellow one. The signal to halt.Daoud raised his arm and shouted the order to his troop. The Mamelukeright wing rumbled to a stop and turned their horses to face thefighting that had just passed them by. Reining up his horse, Daoud puthis bow back in its case.
He blinked as bright bursts of light flashed above the distant ranks inthe center of the Mameluke army. Swiftly that part of the field wasenveloped in thick clouds of brown smoke. A moment later he heardpopping sounds like the cracking of innumerable boards. The dim shapesof horses plunged and reared in the smoke.
He heard his men muttering to one another behind him.
_They think it is sorcery._
Daoud, having seen the Tartar army in action when he visited Baghdaddisguised as a Christian trader, recognized the fiery noisemakers.
He turned and shouted, "It is not magic. I've seen this before. It islike Greek Fire, but it does not hurt. It just makes noise and smoke."
He saw smiles of relief among those who had heard him. They would passthe word to the others farther back, and the troops would settle down.
He peered anxiously into the chaos of smoke and dust and horses and men,trying to see the Tartar standard, with its long black tails, andQutuz's green banner. They had been close together when he last sawthem. Now he could not find them.
A movement near the western horizon caught his eye. He saw a bit ofgreen waving just below the blue Galilee hills that separated this plainof Esdraelon from the coast. Qutuz's banner, smaller, farther away.
Despair clutched at Daoud. But Qutuz could be feigning a retreat to lurethe Tartars into spreading themselves too thin. Then he saw the blackTartar standard, much closer, in the midst of a furious melee offighting men and falling horses half obscured by dust. Qutuz would notleave part of the center behind to fight the Tartars unless he wererunning away. Daoud remembered the tightness he had seen in Qutuz's facebefore the battle, the hopelessness in the sultan's voice.
_He is fleeing in terror. We are all dead men. Islam is lost._
Daoud looked to the east and saw that Baibars was still sittingmotionless, a small figure at this distance on his fawn half-blood, thebearer with the yellow standard sitting behind him.
Daoud turned in the saddle and swept his gaze over the long line of hisown troop. Their red turbans bobbed up and down as their horses danced.The wind was from the north, and their scarlet cloaks fluttered behindthem. The bearded faces in the front rank were grave, but there was nofear. There was no murmuring now, no questioning. Their mounts, brown,white, and black, the finest steeds in al-Islam, stood with necksstretched and ears laid back, eager for the charge.
An orange pennant beside Baibars's standard summoned the commanders toconfer with their leader.
"I go to the emir for orders," Daoud said loudly, so they would notthink he was fleeing the field.
By the time he reached Baibars, a half circle of five emirs and tenbashis had formed around their commander. Daoud could hear Baibarsmuttering to himself in his boyhood Kipchaq tongue. Curses, no doubt.
Far to the north Daoud saw horsemen riding westward, away from thebattlefield. The left wing, under Kalawun. The Tartars had come nowherenear them. They must have given way to fear when they saw the centerfall back.
Daoud saw no fear in Baibars's brown face. His wide mouth with its thinlips was formed in a half smile. The expression around his eyes, theblue one that saw so deeply and the opaque white, was calm andconfident. He pulled on his reins to turn his half-blood so that hisback was to the field of battle.
"Most of our army has fled." His voice was deep and so full ofconfidence Daoud almost thought he heard laughter in it. "The Tartarsthink they have won. Now, therefore, let us ride against them."
The commanders looked at one another in wonderment.
Buoyed up by Baibars's calm strength, Daoud felt himself despising theofficers under his and Baibars's command.
_They think Baibars is mad. To the devil with them. Even if he is mad, Iwill follow him and die with him._
The thought occurred to him that if Baibars should fall--Godforbid!--then he would have to lead these fifteen thousand men. For amoment he was seized by fear, whether of his lord's death or of havingto lead alone, he was not sure.
Baibars saw the disbelief of his officers. "You do not deserve to ridewith me," he said, and now there was scorn in his tone. "Have you notalways risked death in battle? Can the Tartars do more to you than killyou? I tell you, if we are defeated, better to die here than live asfugitives. Now go to your troops. In a moment you will see my standardmove against them. Do as you will, follow or run away as you choose, andGod will reward you accordingly. If I must, I will ride alone."
Daoud felt the blood rush to his head in dizzy excitement.
"You will not ride alone, Lord," said Daoud fiercely.
"No, Bunduqdari, no," said another emir, Bektout, a Kipchaq likeBaibars. "Let us offer our lives to God and ride out with light hearts."
The other officers shouted their eagerness to die for Islam. Daoud feltfull of gratitude. Baibars had put the spirit of war back into them. Hehad done what Qutuz could never do.
After the other emirs had ridden back to their troops, Baibars saidquietly to Daoud, "I truly believe I will win. Until the instant thatthey kill me, I will know that I am winning."
Back at the head of his own troop, Daoud watched Baibars and waited. Fora moment a silence fell over this part of the field. The drumming ofhooves, the clash of steel, and the screams of men carried clearly fromfar to the west.
Baibars on horseback sat a short distance in front of the long darkranks of Mamelukes. He turned and beckoned to his standard bearer, whotrotted forward bearing the yellow silk banner inscribed with the wordsof the Koran in black letters, "For the safety of the faith, slay theenemies of Islam."
Baibars took the banner in his right hand and held it high, then loweredit till its end rested in a leather socket beside his foot. In his lefthand, his sword hand, his long, curved saif, inlaid with gold, flashedin the sunlight. His fawn half-blood pawed the air with her fronthooves.
"Oh, God, give us victory!" he shouted. "Yah l'Allah!"
An echoing roar came back from the ranks of the right wing. Halfstanding in his copper stirrups, guiding his mare with the pressure ofhis legs, Baibars sent her into a headlong gallop. Daoud struck hissp
urs into his own horse's flanks and raced after him. He squinted intothe wind that blew his beard back against his neck.
The dark blur of struggling Tartars and Mamelukes grew rapidly larger.Qutuz's banner was nowhere to be seen, but the beast-tail Tartarstandard rose up in the west, and Kalawun's black banner was waving farto the north.
They were coming on the Tartar horsemen from the flank and rear. Daoudwas close enough to see faces turn and Tartars wheel their ponies tomeet the attack.
Daoud drew his bow out again, picked a big Tartar with a drooping blackmustache, and loosed an arrow at him. The Tartar fell back over his graypony's rump, and the pony slowed, trotted out of the Tartar formation,and stood nibbling on the tall dead grass while its dead master laynearby.
Three Tartars peeled off from their formation and charged at Daoud. Hisarrows took two of them, and an arrow from one of his men struck downthe third.
Elated, he whispered a prayer of thanks to God. Baibars's yellowstandard changed direction. Following it, Daoud pulled his horse aroundand raced away from the Tartars. He stood in the stirrups, bow and anarrow in hand with a steel-tipped armor-piercing arrow nocked. Restinghis right knee against his heavy wood and leather saddle, he turneduntil he was looking over his horse's rear and took careful aim. Tosteady his aim, he fired the arrow just after his horse's four feetstruck the ground. He saw a Tartar thrown off his pony by the force ofthe arrow, and he laughed aloud.
He saw files of Tartars pulling away from the main formation, which waspursuing Qutuz and Kalawun. Baibars's attack was pulling the Tartarsapart.
Love for Baibars surged within him. The Tartars were said to be mastersof warfare, but Baibars could out-general even them.
Following the yellow standard, Daoud rode back and forth over the field.He lost all sense of the progress of the battle. For brief moments hetook his eyes off the enemy warriors to glance up at the sun, a paledisk visible through a haze of smoke and dust, to see in which directionhe was riding.
Many times he shot his last arrow, got down from his horse and, standingin the grass with horsemen galloping all around him, refilled hisquiver from those of fallen Mamelukes and from the bodies of Tartars.
Mounted or on foot, he felt as if no arrow or sword could touch him. Heseemed, when he had ridden out to battle, to have left fear somewherebehind.
He recognized Mamelukes from other ortas riding beside him, and hishopes leapt at the sight of them. They must have come back to join thebattle from the shattered left wing and center.
Following the yellow standard, he saw that the Tartars were now alwayson his left. For the most part, he kept his eyes on them and stayedclose to the other Mamelukes. The plain was almost featureless, butglancing to his right from time to time, he noticed certain twistedtrees and black boulders he was sure he had passed before.
The sun was halfway between the zenith and the western horizon when theyellow standard halted. The Mamelukes turned to face the Tartars, whosestandard rose from their midst. Looking to either side, Daoud sawcurving lines of mounted Mamelukes stretching until they disappearedaround the edges of the packed Tartar mass.
What had happened? Baibars's refusal to abandon the field and thegreater numbers of the Mamelukes must have tipped the scales. Daoud'sheart pounded with joy as he realized that they had ground down thenumbers of the Tartars and surrounded the survivors.
Baibars, down the Mameluke line, called out, "Finish them. One by one.Hand to hand."
He still held high the banner of the orta. He raised his curved saif andpointed it at the Tartars.
He turned toward Daoud for a moment, and Daoud saw the exaltation in hisface. Baibars's face was coated with gray dust. His gold khalat wasstreaked with blood, and none of it, Daoud was sure, was his. An angelmust be riding on his shoulder.
With another wave of his saif Baibars charged into the mass of Tartars.Howling in an ecstasy of fury, the rest of the Mamelukes rushed afterhim.
Daoud reached over his shoulder and pulled his curving, double-edgedsaif from its leather-covered scabbard. He tried to ride near Baibars,but a wall of Tartars rose up between them. While he fought for his ownlife, Daoud could only pray that God would protect Baibars.
And then he was no longer fighting many Tartars, but just one. They hadchosen each other out of the struggling multitudes, like partners in adance.
Daoud saw his man as vividly as if he had been staring at him for hours.Red ribbons fluttered from the sides of his fur-trimmed iron helmet. Theends of his black mustache hung down on either side of his mouth likewhiplashes. His cheeks and chin bore the ridges of thick scars he seemedto have cut into his flesh. His nose had been crushed in some pastbattle, and it was a shapeless lump between his jutting cheekbones. Hiseyes were hard and expressionless.
Daoud rode at the Tartar eagerly, rejoicing that for now the battle wasbetween himself and this one man. For him now this Tartar was allTartars.
The scarred brown face was utterly concentrated on a single purpose, tokill Daoud. The Tartar reminded Daoud of a tale told by a storyteller ina bazaar at El Kahira of invincible bronze warriors, statues brought tolife by a magician.
Daoud's Yemenite stallion leapt at the Tartar as Daoud brought his saifdown.
The Tartar raised his round leather-covered shield and easily caught theblow of Daoud's sword while swinging his own scimitar around at Daoud'schest. The blade struck Daoud's ribs on the left side. The cunninglywoven rings of Damascene steel under Daoud's tunic stopped the edge ofthe blade, but the blow sent a shock of pain through his body.
Daoud struck downward again with his saif and chopped a deep gash in theTartar's shield. The force of the blow hurt Daoud's arm. His tallYemenite and the Tartar's piebald pony pranced in a cloud of dust astheir riders slashed at each other. The Tartar's brown tunic hung inribbons.
Daoud saw a spot of sunlight reflected from his silver locket flash inthe Tartar's eyes. The Tartar glanced at Daoud's chest, his eyes caughtby the light. In that instant Daoud thrust straight at his enemy'sthroat.
He thought he had no chance of hitting the right spot, but the point ofhis saif went in just below the Tartar's chin and above his high leathercollar. Blood poured after the sword's point as Daoud jerked it out.
_Praise God!_ Daoud thought with delight as he saw that he had won. Andhe thought with thankfulness of Blossoming Reed, for her gift of thelocket.
For the first time, an instant away from death, an expression of feelingcrossed the Tartar's face. His lips parted and the corners of his mouthpulled down in a grimace of pain and disgust.
Daoud had to parry one more blow of the scimitar before the Tartarslumped over in the saddle and slid to the ground, disappearing in thedust kicked up by the hooves of a dozen milling horses. In his lastmoment the Tartar had still been trying to kill him.
"We have destroyed them!" a voice cried near him. It was Mahmoud, naqeebof Daoud's old training troop. He now wore the plain gold belt buckle ofan emir of drums, in command of forty mounted warriors. His beard waswhiter now, but he rode easily and held his scimitar with a young man'sstrength.
Mamelukes rode forward on all sides of Daoud, their saifs stabbing theair.
The victory whoops of his fellow Mamelukes were, for Daoud, a draft ofelixir from paradise filling him with new strength.
"Great Baibars, honor to his name, has defeated those who never knewdefeat!" Mahmoud exulted.
As the last word left his lips, a Tartar arrow, long as a javelin,thudded into his chest. He gasped, and his pain-filled eyes met Daoud's.He dropped his scimitar and his hand reached out to grasp Daoud's arm.
"A good moment," he grated. "Praise God!" He slumped in the saddle, theflowing white beard fluttering in the east wind.
Grief shot through Daoud like the Tartar arrow that had pierced his oldnaqeeb.
Daoud knew what Mahmoud's last words meant. It was the best of momentsto die. A moment of triumph.
_But a moment of grief for me, Mahmoud, because I have seen you die._
Daoud rode forward over dead Tartars to the place where the enemy hadplanted their standard, on a small hill. Bunched together, the last fewTartars fought on foot.
A fierce joy swept Daoud. Victory! He had believed that God would notallow Islam's last defenders to be defeated, but the wonder of a triumphover the invincible Tartars was so overwhelming that he almost fell fromhis saddle.
In the midst of the Tartars one man dashed this way and that, shoutingorders to the few dozen men as if they were still thousands. He wore agold tablet stamped with symbols on a chain around his neck, the badgeof a high-ranking Tartar officer. Scouts had reported that this Tartararmy was commanded by one called Ket Bogha. This must be he.
Ket Bogha shot arrows into the tightening circle of Mamelukes until hehad no more arrows left. He threw javelins. Then he stood with his swordheld before him, not the usual Tartar saber, but a two-handed sword thathe swung ferociously at anyone who approached.
With a single swipe of his sword Ket Bogha cut off the foreleg of ahorse that rode at him. The horse toppled screaming to the ground, andthe rider barely managed to jump free and run away as Ket Bogha slashedat him.
The battle ended for Ket Bogha as six naqeebs clubbed the Tartar generalto the ground with the butt ends of their lances.
_He deserved better than that_, Daoud thought sadly.
But the momentary sympathy for his conquered enemy was swept away in theecstatic floodtide of triumph. Now the battle was truly over! And theMamelukes had won over the Tartars.
The naqeebs bound Ket Bogha's arms. Baibars himself dismounted and tookthe Tartar general's great sword and tied it to his own saddle, thenlifted the gold tablet from around his neck and dropped it into hissaddle pack. Smiling, he spoke to Ket Bogha in the language of theTartars and tied a rope around his neck. Then he mounted his ownfawn-colored mare and led the defeated general past heaps of Tartar andMameluke dead and clusters of rejoicing Muslim warriors. Daoud, and thenBaibars's other emirs and bashis followed.
The standard of Qutuz was back on the field, looking more black thangreen with the afternoon sun behind it.
"Can it be? Can it be that we have truly won?" Mamelukes cried, runningbeside Baibars's horse.
"Baibars! Yah, Baibars!" cried the warriors as Baibars rode slowly overthe field.
"Tell us, Baibars, that we have won!"
As an answer Baibars gestured grandly to his captive stumbling alongbehind him.
"Baibars, bringer of victory!"
The sultan's servants were already setting up his gold silk pavilion onthe edge of the battlefield. When Baibars rode before Qutuz, pulling KetBogha, a deafening roar went up from the emirs, the bashis, themuqaddams, the naqeebs, the troopers.
Daoud glanced at Qutuz and saw that his eyes were wide and his facepale. He must still be dazed by the outcome of this battle.
But the sultan stepped forward to peer at Ket Bogha as the Tartargeneral was freed from Baibars's rope. Qutuz gestured to his men tountie Ket Bogha. A circle of emirs formed around Qutuz and the Tartarcommander, to hear what they would say to each other.
Qutuz had found time at the end of the battle to have his black beardcombed and oiled and to robe himself afresh. His black and gold khalatglittered in the hazy sunlight. The Mamelukes had stripped Ket Bogha ofhis armor, and he stood before the sultan in a dirty, bloodstained tunicthat had once been a bright blue. His shaven head was round as a ball,and, like most Tartars Daoud had seen, his short legs were bowed from alifetime in the saddle.
Once again Daoud felt sorrow for the Tartar leader, who looked like alonely island in the midst of a sea of joy.
Since Baibars spoke both Tartar and Arabic, he stood between the sultanand the Tartar general to translate.
"You have overthrown kingdoms from the Jordan to the Roof of the World,"said Qutuz through Baibars. "How does it feel to be defeated yourself?"
Released from his bonds, Ket Bogha paced furiously back and forth beforeQutuz. He started to talk so rapidly the interpreter could not keep upwith him.
Daoud was amazed to see that he actually seemed to be laughing at whatQutuz had said.
_He still feels the excitement of the battle_, Daoud thought. _And bywalking and talking as he does, he keeps at bay his grief at the loss ofhis army. His words are as much for himself as for the sultan and theemirs._
"Defeat?" said Baibars, speaking Ket Bogha's words. "Oh, Sultan, do notplay the fool by claiming this skirmish as a victory. You rashly choseto overrun this handful of men, but the harm you have done to HulaguKhan is that which a gnat does to an elephant. You have not hurt him.You have angered him. The men and horses he has lost here, the wives ofhis soldiers and the mares in his paddocks will make up in a singlenight."
"You talk like some old storyteller in the marketplace who tries tofrighten children," said Qutuz in a shrill voice.
_The amazement all of us feel, that we are not only alive butvictorious, must be even stronger in Qutuz. Most of my Mamelukecomrades may think that their sultan planned for victory all along. Buthe himself knows better._
Ket Bogha stopped pacing and pointed a stubby finger at Qutuz. "SoonHulagu Khan will return from beyond the Oxus and the hooves of hishorses will trample your land all the way to the Nile and beyond. Hewill do to your Cairo what he did to Baghdad."
Qutuz laughed harshly. "Your faith in your master is touching, but Iwill have your head carried before me on a spear when I ride back toEgypt. He cannot save you from that."
"I would rather die for my khan than be like you, one who rose to powerby murdering his rightful lord!" Ket Bogha cried.
Baibars smiled wryly as he repeated the Tartar's words in Arabic.
Qutuz went white with fury. "Take him away and cut his head off," heordered. "And you, Baibars, how dare you repeat such a slander to me? Inever murdered anyone."
Qutuz's command revolted Daoud. After the poor part the sultan hadplayed in the battle, he had no right to take the head of a brave enemy.Daoud heard Baibars give a little snort of disgust, and the emir strodeto Qutuz's side.
Baibars spoke in a low voice, but Daoud heard him. "My Lord, this is notworthy of a sultan in his hour of victory. This is a brave commander,and I repeated all that he said because you wished me to."
Qutuz glared wildly at Baibars. "Be still! I will not spare your fellowTartar."
Qutuz, Daoud thought with smoldering wrath, was not worthy to be sultan.
Baibars turned his back on Qutuz. The brown face was impassive, but inthe one blue eye Daoud saw death.
