The Towers of Samarcand (39 page)

‘That is a pity. They are cowards.’

Mohammed Sultan coughed. ‘Father, it is a fabulous sum. Enough to clad the Bibi Khanum’s dome in gold. We can rest for the winter, then come back later in the year.’

Tamerlane nodded slowly. He took a lump of offal from the pocket of his deel and fed it to the bird. He grunted again. ‘Very well. Turn the army around.’

*

Tamerlane had retired his army partly because he’d apparently accepted the Mamluk agreement and partly because he didn’t want the ruse of the riderless horses to be seen by the light of day. The citizens of Damascus saw the manoeuvre very differently.

Ibn Khaldun had entered Damascus to find its people more belligerent than he’d hoped. He’d ridden straight to the citadel to meet the governor, a man of ninety who had none of the wisdom of age. With him were the leaders of the city’s garrison, merchants and clergy. The imams had just arrived from the Umayyad Mosque where they’d been seeking the guidance of Allah. The words ‘Ain Jalut’ were, in Ibn Khaldun’s opinion, on too many lips.

‘One million dinars!’ said a fat merchant, trembling with outrage. ‘It’s an extortionate sum.’

‘Extortion is what Temur does,’ said the historian calmly. ‘The alternative is worse.’

‘But we have the sultan’s army behind us,’ said the governor, ‘and Bayezid’s coming. We just have to wait.’

Ibn Khaldun shook his head. ‘Bayezid has sent only half his army with his second son who is currently sitting on the border and doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to cross it. I expect Tamerlane has made a separate agreement.’

It was late evening and they were standing in a room high in the citadel tower. Through opposite windows they could see the shapes of two armies, one much larger than the other. The sun had set and soon it would be dark. A slave had just entered with a taper to light the torches on the walls.

‘Don’t light them,’ said Ibn Khaldun to the man. ‘These gentlemen need to see the armies outside.’

‘We have our own garrison as well,’ said a general. ‘Twenty thousand at least.’ He turned to the governor. ‘We should strike now while they’re tired. They’ve had nothing but forced marches since leaving Sivas.’

Someone else agreed. ‘If we let them rest the winter in Lebanon, they’ll just return stronger in the spring.’

‘But you might have a proper army sent from Cairo by then,’ said Ibn Khaldun.

‘They have no cannon and our walls are strong.’ The governor turned to the imams. ‘What does Allah tell us to do?’

A man with a voluminous beard, eyebrows and a look of religious ferocity spoke. ‘He tells us to wait. Not pay this ransom and wait.’

This was what might have happened if, at that moment, a merchant standing by one of the windows hadn’t seen
something extraordinary. His back was to the meeting and he was looking out to the north.

‘The Mongol army is marching away,’ he said.

*

It was nearly dawn and Luke was walking with Shulen among the elephants, all of which were standing, for elephants sleep standing up. Their mahouts slept beside them, well within trampling distance of their chained feet. It was this mutual trust that had brought Luke here every night when he couldn’t sleep. In a world that had been lost to evil, it reminded him that humanity still existed somewhere, even if not within humans.

The mahouts, one to each elephant, had come with them from Delhi and were suffering from the winter cold of the desert. Shulen had found furred deels to give them.

‘Are they all boys?’ she whispered as she laid a deel over a sleeping mahout. ‘Why not girls?’

Luke shrugged. ‘The elephants are all male so I suppose their keepers have to be male.’

‘But why must the elephants be male? Are men so much fiercer?’

Luke knew the answer to this. ‘In battle, the she-elephant will run from the male. A mahout told me this.’

Shulen thought about this. It seemed strange. She looked down at the sleeping boy lying in the night-shadow of his colossal friend. ‘It’s a curious friendship,’ she murmured. ‘What’s that by his side?’

‘The bag? Inside is a chisel-blade and hammer. If the mahout gets hurt in battle, the elephant will run amok. Those will cut through its spinal cord and kill it instantly.’

Shulen shivered. She straightened up and the two of them walked beyond the elephants to look south towards the city.
They could hear the sounds of the camp followers and baggage train still coming in. It took a long time for this army to turn around. She looked across at Luke and saw the strain on his face. He’ll come tomorrow.’

Luke shook his head. ‘He said tonight. There’s been a problem.’

Shulen put her hand on his arm. ‘A million dinars is a big sum to raise,’ she said. ‘Imagine all the camels needed to carry that amount of gold.’

‘If it was taking time, he’d have sent word.’

Shulen regarded him in silence. Luke had changed so much over the past months. Ever since the Georgia campaign, he’d been subdued, lost in his thoughts. Shulen had learnt one reason for it from Matthew.

‘She can’t leave Edirne, Luke,’ she said softly. ‘She’s a prisoner.’ She looked away. ‘She’ll still be there when you arrive.’

‘She thinks we’re married.’

‘Well, she’ll learn differently. When you arrive.’

Luke turned to her. ‘And when might that be, Shulen?’ he asked, the bitterness giving edge to his voice. ‘We thought he’d go to Bayezid but he came south instead. Who’s to say he won’t come back here in the spring when he’s rested the army? He never does what we expect.’

Shulen had probably spent more time with Tamerlane than anyone else in the army. Her salves for his joints were becoming indispensable and were required daily. When she wasn’t talking to him, she was listening to Mohammed Sultan talking to him. She was as mystified by Tamerlane as she was scared of him. ‘I think he’s had his fill of blood,’ she said quietly. ‘After the winter, he’ll fight Bayezid and then go home. It’s what Mohammed Sultan is telling him to do.’

Luke looked away. There were noises in the distance: shouts and screams. They were coming from the baggage train. Then there was an explosion. ‘Oh my God,’ he whispered.

‘What’s happening?’

Luke was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘They’re attacking us. The fools are committing suicide.’ Then he was running in the direction of his tent.

*

When he got there, he found his friends awake and putting on their armour. The Varangians’ tent was among those of the
gautchin
, Tamerlane’s bodyguard, who were already armed and ready to ride, each man standing next to his horse. A general, known to Luke, was preparing to mount, his foot in the stirrup. Luke ran up to him and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Do you remember what I showed you in Georgia, Torchin? The arrowhead?’

The man nodded. He had a hideous silver face-mask angled to his helmet whose vacant eyes stared up at the sky.

‘We Varangians will be the point. You gautchin must follow us as fast as you can. Can you do that?’

The man nodded again and pulled himself into the saddle. He shouted commands to his men and lowered his mask.

Luke heard more explosions from the baggage train. He turned to Matthew. ‘We’re going to need lances.’

‘We’ve got them. They’re coming up with the horses.’ Matthew helped Luke to tighten his cuirass straps. ‘Here’s your sword.’

Then the neck of the dragon was in Luke’s hand and he felt a charge of excitement flash through him. He looked down at those ruby eyes and at Plethon’s ring on his finger. He kissed it. He heard a neigh behind him and turned to see Eskalon with
a groom. He went up and took the horse’s head in his hands. ‘Today you’ll be a destrier, old friend,’ he whispered. ‘As you were born to be.’

Luke put on his helmet, mounted and took the lance. He turned to the other three, who were already on their horses. ‘Let’s go.’

There was confusion in the direction they were riding and it became worse the closer they got to the enemy. First it was men scrambling to find their horses and weapons, then it was camp followers: old men, women and children, running to escape whatever was behind them, some hideously burnt. There were more explosions and flashes from in front. Luke kicked Eskalon, shouting at those in their way. They rode on until they could see the attackers.

The first Mamluks were mounted on small, quick ponies and carried
naft
grenades of baked clay, which they were hurling into the wagons of the baggage train. There were flames everywhere. These
jandar
s were dressed in tunics lined with fire-proof talc and had hoods to protect their heads. Some were swinging the grenades in slings above their heads.

‘Greek fire!’ yelled Luke over his shoulder. ‘Close up!’

Behind the grenade-throwers were thousands of Bedouin
ashir
auxiliaries who were firing arrows over the heads of the jandars. The ground was strewn with Mongol dead and dying: men, women, mules, dogs; it was a scene from hell.

‘Close up!’ Luke shouted again and he slowed Eskalon to allow his three friends to form up on either side of him. Arrows were landing on his helmet and shoulders. ‘Lances down!’

They hit the jandars at terrifying speed. Eskalon was twice the size of the Mamluk ponies and tore into them, butting and
biting like a huge, rabid dog. The jandar soldiers had small shields strapped to their upper arms, expecting arrows. Instead they got armoured knights at full charge. They were lifted from their saddles by the impact, grenades flying from their hands to explode amongst the ashirs behind them. Now the sounds were of the screams of men.

The Varangian arrowhead drove deep into the Mamluk ranks, cutting a swathe of destruction as it went. The four were too close for the Mamluk arrows to harm them and the lances kept their swords at bay. Jandars and ashirs fell before them by the score and the momentum of the Mamluk attack was stopped, then turned. But the Varangians couldn’t keep up their charge forever. They began to slow. They threw down their lances, lifting swords and axes instead. Now they were fighting hand to hand and the Bedouin auxiliaries were all around them, closing in. Luke glanced behind him.

Where are the gautchin?

He swung the dragon sword again and again, slashing with its blade and smashing with its pommel. He had the advantage of height and he used it to cut down on his enemy from above, fighting on one side because Matthew was protecting his other. Meanwhile, Eskalon tore chunks of flesh from the Bedouin ponies on every side.

‘Where are the gautchin?’ Matthew’s voice echoed from inside his helmet. ‘Nikolas has been hurt.’

Luke glanced to where Nikolas was fighting. He had decapitated a grenade-thrower but there was blood running down his arm. It was coming from his neck. ‘We’ll have to break out!’ shouted Luke. ‘Follow me.’

He turned Eskalon back towards the Mongol camp, dropping an enemy as he did so. From in front he heard shouts and the
clash of steel. The men before him were looking over their shoulders.

The gautchin
.

‘They’re here!’ he yelled and thrust Eskalon into the confusion. Suddenly he felt exhilaration where there’d been exhaustion. They were winning and they would survive. He lifted his dragon sword and took the bow-arm from a man with a giant swing.

He heard a cry to his left. Nikolas was on the ground and a Mamluk was lifting his sword to strike him. Luke heaved at his rein and Eskalon turned. The man was too far away. He lifted the dragon sword and threw it. It turned once in the air before embedding itself in the man’s back. Luke kicked Eskalon’s flanks and held out his arm to his friend. ‘Get on!’

Nikolas had removed his helmet. He was grey with loss of blood. He took Luke’s hand and was pulled on to the back of the horse. Luke bent low to recover his sword. He yelled: ‘Hold on!’

Matthew and Arcadius had seen what had happened and had fallen back to protect their friends. But the Mamluks were already in retreat. The shouts of the gautchin were louder now and getting nearer and behind them would come the whole army. Then the Varangians were through the last of the fleeing Mamluks and the gautchin were charging past them with their terrifying masks and howls of the hunt. The Varangians reined in their horses. Men appeared and Nikolas was taken from Eskalon’s back and Luke watched him carried away in a cloak.

Matthew said: ‘He’ll live. It wasn’t so bad.’

Arcadius had come up beside them. ‘Shall we go back to the battle?’

Luke felt his horse move beneath him. Eskalon wanted to
go back, but the battle seemed to be moving away fast, the Mamluk force in full retreat. They’d have to ride hard to catch it up. He kicked Eskalon.

The three rode towards Damascus, trampling the Mamluk dead and wounded as they went. The Mongol army was now all around them, some only half dressed, some women, all chasing the enemy in every way they could. By now, the day was almost with them and, as the walls of the city drew closer, Luke could see that its giant gates were being slowly closed. Thousands of the city’s garrison were still outside but the gates were closing.

The Mongols riding beside them could see it too and roars of anger turned to roars of joy as the prospect of new slaughter presented itself. Luke could see that some of the Mamluks had turned to fight, fitting arrows to bowstrings. Some had fallen to their knees and were tearing their hair. Others ran on.

The Varangians pulled up their horses. They’d seen the way this army did its slaughter and had no desire to get closer. They saw the Mongols fall upon the thousands stranded outside the gates and butcher them with a speed and efficiency that meant that, in less than an hour, it was all over and the vultures could begin their work. Then the Mongols swept back to their broken camp, past the three Varangians who sat in silence on their horses, looking at a field of ten thousand dead. Luke was the first to speak.

‘The fools,’ he whispered. ‘The utter, utter fools. They’ve given Tamerlane the excuse he was looking for.’

Matthew asked: ‘Is that why he pulled back, do you think?’

Luke nodded. ‘He must have known what might happen.’ He looked at his best friend. ‘After all, the gautchin were waiting.’