The Lost Prophecies (15 page)

‘No. I heard the words well. He said what he said.’ I hesitate for a moment, watching Sartakh frown in annoyance. My gambler’s instinct tells me that Sartakh’s interest is piqued. Now all I have to do is make him believe he is cleverer than me. I don a look of total perplexity.

‘I just don’t understand what it all means.’

Sartakh’s eyes gleam.

‘Then you should have listened just now to what he was saying to Tetuak. You see, it’s all to do with who is really the Great Khan. When the last khan died, there remained his three brothers to succeed him, though you can forget the middle one. Hulegu is the Il-Khan of Persia, of whom we speak, and has no ambitions to be the Great Khan. Though it matters who he will support out of the other two. Arigh-Boke is the youngest brother, but he sits at the seat of power in Karakorum. And despite being the youngest, he is . . . how would you say it in your dog tongue? He carries on in the old ways.’

I know the sort from my trading days – holding everybody in their enterprise back, while those with new ideas want to forge ahead. I can think of a choice word or two to describe them – prehistoric, stick-in-the-mud, fogey – but I choose to be polite.

‘A traditionalist.’

‘A trad . . .’ Sartakh can’t quite get his tongue around the word, waves his hand to acknowledge the expression, and presses on. ‘Now, two years ago, the older brother, while still on campaign in Cathay, mind you, breaks all the rules. Without returning to our heartland, he goes and proclaims himself Great Khan. There’s a big—’

I feed him the word he seeks. ‘Rift.’

He nods. ‘Big rift. All the lesser rulers – like Alghu, the Chaghadai khan – are scrabbling around trying to decide whom to ally themselves with. I suppose the fact that Eldegai was on his way to Sarai would suggest Hulegu has decided which way to jump. And that is along with the traditionalists. Young Ulan, however, favours the older brother.’

There is the sound of a rasping throat over my shoulder, and Karakuchuk leans forward out of the dark. He spits a yellowish gob into the fire, where it sizzles briefly and is gone. I am reminded of the time he interfered in my gambling to suggest a game of Sic Bo. He is once again poking his nose in where it’s not wanted. He growls at Sartakh in their own tongue.

‘Speak a proper language, Sartakh. Not the devil’s tongue, so we know where you stand.’

I can see the fire in Sartakh’s eyes, but he keeps calm.

‘I was merely telling the traveller about Arigh-Boke and his brother.’

Karakuchuk growls again, wiping the remains of the saliva from his whiskery chin.

‘The brother you speak of is no more than an impostor. How can he be Great Khan, when he doesn’t even come to Karakorum for the kuriltai – the great gathering?’

It sounds to me as if this brother has taken a big gamble to win the crown. Not being at the traditional place to stake his claim, he breaks with the old rules and does it anyway. I am beginning to like him. Karakuchuk continues grumbling, however. ‘The boy’s gone native away there in Cathay; he’s in love with all the effete ways of the Chins. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t move the capital there next.’

Ulan hears what the old man has said, and suddenly there is tension boiling in the stove-house. ‘What’s wrong with him? Arigh-Boke is a fossil, always hanging on to the old ways. And there’s much to marvel at in Cathay.’

‘Well, as none of us here’s been there, how can you comment?’ sneers the old man.

Ulan rocks back on his haunches.

‘Well, no. But I’ve heard lots of stories.’

‘Stories,’ laughs Karakuchuk. ‘I’ve heard stories about enchanted mountains, unicorns, and ants that dig for gold. It doesn’t mean they’re true.’

Ulan butts in again.

‘I’ll tell you a story I was told by a Chin. He told me of a province to the west which, at whatever age a man enters it, then that is the age he keeps. But you have to stay there to remain alive.’

Taulubeg snorts, staring at the wide-eyed wonder shining in the visage of Ulan. Then he cackles and spits a phlegmy gob into the fire.

‘Hehe. A Chin. I bet he was a eunuch court official who sat on his arse all day. I don’t know why you believed such nonsense. I would have opened his veins for insulting me with patent lies.’

He pauses, and his final comment is directed straight at Ulan.

‘And that’s what you want. A Great Khan who listens to lying eunuchs all day long. Give me Arigh-Boke any day.’

Tetuak has also gone as pale as a pewter storm cloud over Venice, and Ulan is rendered speechless. Only Karakuchuk nods as though he agrees with Taulubeg. The room falls silent, and the only sound is the whining of the restless wind outside. And the creaking of the walls as they buckle and swell like ancient bellows with the air soughing in and out. It is as though we are all sitting inside some monster’s chest. I can see the success of my planting the idea of unnatural activity in the minds of those present. I have them scared, and uncertain. In fact, even my pragmatic Venetian brain is jangling in the heavy atmosphere. And the sense of unease that is tangible in the very air everyone sucks into their lungs. I wanted them to be unsure of each other, and they surely are now. Better that than united in their unease about me.

Besides, all has suddenly become clear to me. I now know who has murdered Eldegai. I just have to convince the others that I am right. And that I had no reason to kill him. In fact, I had every reason for him to prosper. I think back over my last meeting with Eldegai, just before his death. It is what he told me then that I now have used to figure out who the killer is. Along with a few more shrewd observations, and the prophecy of the mystery scribe. But I’m still going to have to extract a confession. And much as I might long for the dark and feverish confines of the Doge’s palace dungeons back in Venice to assist me, I know I have to rely on my own wits. And a little sleight of hand.

I peruse my companions, sitting huddled around the flickering fire at the heart of the stove-house. The brightness of the flames has faded to a cherry glow that barely illumines all our faces. The outer ring of dark walls has disappeared into the gloom, making the sound of their creaking in the rushing wind more eerie and uncanny. We might as well be sitting in the open under some dreadful, starless sky with a horde of winged beasts flapping down to pick us off like carrion. The unease engendered by the gloom and the tales of monsters lodged in everyone’s minds admirably suits my purpose. Instinctively, the Tartars have moved closer to the fire as the scope of its warmth and brightness has faded. I rise and stalk around the perimeter of the room, which is half in darkness. It is time for a bit of showmanship.

I kick Kyrill’s skinny haunches to arouse him from sleep and make my voice as sonorous as it can be.

‘Come, priest. I feel the soul of Eldegai calling me. It wishes to speak.’

There is a stirring amongst the Tartars as the import of my words penetrates their skulls. One or two are moved to protest, but Sartakh stops them with an upraised palm. His eyes twinkle with curiosity as he searches my face for the meaning of my actions. I put on my best gambling face and drag Kyrill unwillingly towards the door. When I open it, the blast of cold air hits my face like sand from the lagoon whipped up by a vicious easterly wind. We make a swift job of dragging the stiffened body of Eldegai into the stove- house once again. Sartakh slams the door closed behind us, sealing in the warmth. The body lies close to the stove, and I stand with my back to the door, preventing anyone leaving. I abruptly indicate that everyone should form a circle around the corpse. Then I push into the group and take up my position.

We are now all sat close together in a ring, with Kyrill at my shoulder. To my left sits the sour-faced Tetuak – the boastful but unproven Tetuak. To his left squats fresh-faced Ulan, like all youths, convinced of his own rightness, but untested in battle. And then beyond him I can make out the wrinkled face of old Karakuchuk, veteran warrior and canny gambler. Between him and me, to my right hand, huddles Taulubeg – believer in demons, whose nervous features betray the fact. He isn’t sure whether he is sitting with a devil even now. Sartakh is sitting slightly back from the ring, as if aloof. I try not to be worried about this. I have discounted him as the killer. He retrieved the gold paizah only as part of his duty as leader of the group, not with theft in mind. But with him sitting dangerously close to my back, I only hope my estimation of his innocence is right.

I take a deep breath and begin.

‘Some say Eldegai was a demon . . .’

Ulan looks startled and begins to protest. But I hold up my hand to silence him. He subsides back on to his haunches, still tense.

‘Some say I myself am a demon.’

I pause, but this time there is no protest. My shock of red hair, my bushy beard that has been untrimmed for months, and my green eyes no doubt enhance my dubious reputation. And I am going to use it to my advantage. I grin wolfishly, and four pairs of Tartar eyes stare nervously back at me. In one pair I can see the eyes of a murderer. Only Sartakh’s eyes are calmly indifferent. I make a large gesture with my right hand, encompassing Kyrill.

‘But the priest I travel with is a great magician.’

Now I have them. They stare goggle-eyed at the figure behind me in the darkness of the tent. I pray Kyrill is alert to his cue. ‘The priest is a fisher of souls.’

‘Take care, Venetian,’ mutters Kyrill. ‘Do not blaspheme.’

I breathe a sigh of relief. At least I now know he hasn’t fallen asleep again.

‘Just pray for Eldegai’s immortal soul, Father Kyrill,’ I intone, keeping my audience entranced. ‘And I will do the rest.’

All eyes are fixed on the black shape of the priest as he steps forward and kneels over the bundle that is the mortal remains of Eldegai. They watch as he makes the sign of the cross and says a prayer for the dead man. I myself am praying – that Kyrill has remembered what I have earlier coached him to do. And that he will do it well. The leech jar that I have picked up from the shelf above the stove stirs under my jacket. I tremble as Kyrill lays a hand on the body, then closes his fist as though he is drawing something from the mortal remains. Something like the dead man’s very soul. I suddenly have a feeling that this is going to work.

With a powerful gesture that I didn’t think he had in him, he casts the invisible contents of his fist to the mat at my feet, beside the embers of the fire. The Tartars stare through the glow, unsure if they can see anything or not. Then I make a pass over the spot, and there, wriggling on the matting, is the black and slippery form of Eldegai’s immortal soul. A communal gasp escapes the lips of the band of Tartars, and they pull back in fear.

I pick the leech up from the floor by its tail and let it blindly rear its head. I am glad my sleight of hand has not failed me, when I quickly palmed it from the jar and cast it on the floor before it could attach itself to me. I hold on now despite my horror of the slimy creature. We are close to the climax of my performance. I mutter under my breath to Sartakh.

‘Tell them Eldegai’s soul is seeking his killer.’

Sartakh speaks, and even his voice is shaky at what seems to be taking place. But he speaks with conviction. I give him my next command.

‘Tell them all to put their right hand over the fire.’

At Sartakh’s command, four shaking hands are thrust out over the heat of the dying embers. I bring the wriggling worm to the centre of the circle of fingers. Its head probes the air. Tetuak’s eyes follow the wavering form of the leech with horror, but he holds his hand firm. Karakuchuk’s fist is steady too, and his wrinkled face betrays no emotion. His eyes are dead and glassy. Taulubeg’s method of control is to close his eyes firmly, but his lips are still forming a prayer to Tengri. Ulan is the most fearful of all, and his hand trembles as the seeker of truth dips and weaves in the air.

I hoped to guide the leech towards the killer’s hand myself, but to my astonishment it suddenly goes unerringly for it. Ulan squeals, but the leech fixes firmly on another hand. That of Karakuchuk. I should have guessed the hand of our animal butcher would be irresistible to a bloodsucker. For I have already figured out that Karakuchuk’s skill has also been used on Eldegai. The butcher’s favourite method of slaughter is to cut open the animal’s chest and to still its heart by squeezing it with his powerful fist. In just such a way did he end Eldegai’s life.

Screaming, and feverishly trying to brush the harmless leech from the back of his hand, Karakuchuk staggers to the door of the stove-house and tears it open. The wind roars into the room, throwing everyone and everything into confusion. Mats and pots fly through the air in the gust, and it is some time before Ulan and Sartakh together manage to force the door closed again. Leaving Karakuchuk outside in the maelstrom.

I look into Sartakh’s eyes, questioning what should be done. He shakes his head.

‘Leave him to his fate. He will not survive out there on his own.’

After the confusion caused by the wind is rectified, an uncanny silence descends on the interior. Only Sartakh is moved to speak.

‘Tell me, Zuliani. How did you know it was Karakuchuk? Once you had realized Eldegai was an envoy from the Il-Khan coming to Sarai, you should have suspected Ulan. Karakuchuk would not have killed someone who sided with Arigh-Boke and the traditionalists.’

‘You really don’t know, do you?’

Sartakh looks a little put out at my comment, but his voice is firm and unwavering. ‘Know what?’

‘That Eldegai was not offering Hulegu’s alliance with Boke. He told me himself that he was bringing bad news. The Il-Khan was throwing in his lot with the other brother. The older brother.’

‘Why would Eldegai tell you that?’

I hesitate, not wanting to explain the little matter of a long trade scam and the opportunities suggested by Eldegai in Cathay. And how I was going to have used Eldegai. I do tell him Eldegai informed me ‘the old man’ knew his intentions. Sartakh’s face breaks into a smile of comprehension.

‘You thought he meant me. But then, when I told you Eldegai was going to Sarai to offer Hulegu’s alliance, and clearly didn’t know what his message was—’