The Mammoth Book of Alternate Histories (77 page)

He interested me. Perhaps there was some iron in his soul after all. “Only the Hodenosaunee, the Long House nations, can help you,” I said, “and I do not know if they will. The Inglistanis pose no threat to the power of the Long House.”

“Michel told me we have a treaty with that people.”

“We have an agreement with the Ganeagaono, who are one of their five nations. Once the Long House People fought among themselves, until their great chiefs Deganawida and Hayawatha united them. They are powerful enough now to ignore the Inglistanis.”

Yesuntai gazed at the bird that clutched his gauntleted wrist. “What if they believed the Inglistanis might move against them?”

“They might act,” I replied. “The Hodenosaunee have no treaties with that people. But they might think they have something to gain from the Inglistani presence. We have never given firearms to the people here, but the Inglistanis do so when they think it’s to their advantage. By making war on the Inglistani settlements, you might only drive them into an alliance with the Long House and its subject tribes, one that might threaten us.”

“We must strike hard and exterminate the lot,” Yesuntai muttered. “Then we must make certain that no more of the wretches ever set foot on these shores.”

“You will need the Long House People to do it.”

“I must do it, one way or another. The Khan my father has made his will known. I have his orders, marked with his seal. He will take Inglistan, and we will destroy its outposts here. There can be no peace with those who have not submitted to us - the Yasa commands it. Inglistan has not submitted, so it will be forced to bow.”

I was thinking that Sukegei Khan worried too much over that pack of island-dwellers. Surely Hispania, even with a brother Khan ruling there, was more of a threat to him than Inglistan. I had heard many tales of the splendor of Suleiman Khan’s court, of slaves and gold that streamed to Granada and Cordoba from the continent to our south, of lands taken by the Hispanic Khan’s conquistadors. The Hispanians were as fervent in spreading their faith as in seizing loot. In little more than sixty years, it was said that as many mosques stood in the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan as in Cordoba itself. Suleiman Khan, with African kings as vassals and conquests in this new world, dreamed of being the greatest of the European Khans. How easy it had been for him to allow us settlements in the north while he claimed the richer lands to the south.

But I was a Bahadur of Yeke Geren, who knew only what others told me of Europe. My Khanate was a land I barely remembered, and our ancient Mongol homeland no more than a setting for legends and tales told by travelers. The Ejens of the Altan Uruk, the descendants of Genghis Khan, still sent their tribute to Karakorum, but the bonds of our Yasa, the laws the greatest of men had given us, rested more lightly on their shoulders. They might bow to the Kha-Khan of our homeland, but many of the Khans ruled lands greater than his. A time might come when the Khans of the west would break their remaining ties to the east.

“Europe!” I cleared my throat. “Sometimes I wonder what our Khans will do when all their enemies are vanquished.”

Yesuntai shook his head. “I will say this - my ancestor Genghis Khan would have wondered at what we are now. I have known Noyans who go no farther to hunt than the parks around their dwellings, and others who prefer brocades and perfumed lace to a sheepskin coat and felt boots. Europe has weakened us. Some think as I do, that we should become what we were, but there is little chance of that there.”

Snow was sifting from the sky. I urged my horse on; Yesuntai kept near me.

* * * *

By the time we reached my circle of houses, the falling snow had become a curtain veiling all but the nearest dwellings from our sight. Courtesy required that I offer Yesuntai a meal, and a place to sleep if the snow continued to fall. He accepted my hospitality readily; I suspected there was more he wanted to ask me.

We halted at the dwelling next to mine. Except for a horse-drawn wagon carrying a wine merchant’s barrels, the winding roads were empty. I shouted to my servants; two boys hurried outside to take the peregrines and our game from us. A shadowy form stirred near the dwelling. I squinted, then recognized one of my Manhatan servants. He lay in the snow, his hands around a bottle.

Anger welled inside me. I told one of the boys to get the Manhatan to his house, then went after the wagon. The driver slowed to a stop as I reached him. I seized his collar and dragged him from his seat.

He cursed as he sprawled in the snow. “I warned you before,” I said. “You are not to bring your wine here.”

He struggled to his feet, clutching his hat. “To your Manhatans, Bahadur - that’s what you said. I was passing by, and thought others among your households might have need of some refreshment. Is it my fault if your natives entreat me for—”

I raised my whip. “You had one warning,” I said. “This is the last I shall give you.”

“You have no reason—”

“Come back to my circle, Gerard, and I will take this whip to you. If you are fortunate enough to survive that beating—”

“You cannot stop their cravings, Bahadur.” He glared up at me with his pale eyes. “You cannot keep them from seeking me out elsewhere.”

“I will not make it easier for them to poison themselves.” I flourished the whip; he backed away from me. “Leave.”

He waded through the snow to his wagon. I rode back to my dwelling. Yesuntai had tied his horse to a post; he was silent as I unsaddled my mount.

I led him inside. Elgigetei greeted us; she was alone, and my wife’s glazed eyes and slurred speech told me that she had been drinking. Yesuntai and I sat on a bench in the back of the house, just beyond the hearth fire. Elgigetei brought us wine and fish soup. I waited for her to take food for herself and to join us, but she settled on the floor near our son’s cradle to work at a hide.

Her mother had been a Manhatan woman, and Elgigetei’s brown face and thick black braids had reminded me of Dasiyu, the wife I had left among the Ganeagaono. I had thought her beautiful once, but Elgigetei had the weaknesses of the Manhatan people, the laziness, the craving for drink that had wasted so many of them. She scraped at her hide listlessly, then leaned over Ajiragha’s cradle to murmur to our son in the Manhatan tongue. I had never bothered to learn the language. It was useless to master the speech of a people who would soon not exist.

“You are welcome to stay here tonight,” I said to the Noyan.

“I am grateful for this snowstorm,” he murmured. “It will give us more time to talk. I have much to ask you still about the Hiroquois.” He leaned back against the wall. “In Khanbalik, there are scholars in the Khitan Khan’s court who believe that the forefathers of the people in these lands came here long ago from the regions north of Khitai, perhaps even from our ancestral grounds. These scholars claim that once a land bridge far to the north linked this land to Sibir. So I was told by travelers who spoke to those learned men in Khitai.”

“It is an intriguing notion, Noyan.”

“If such people carry the seed of our ancestors, there may be greatness in them.”

I sipped my wine. “But of course there can be no people as great as we Mongols.”

“Greatness may slip from our grasp. Koko Mongke Tengri meant for us to rule the world, yet we may lose the strength to hold it.”

I made a sign as he invoked the name of our ancient God, then bowed my head. Yesuntai lifted his brows. “I thought you were a Christian.”

“I was baptized,” I said. “I have prayed in other ways since then. The Long House People call God Hawenneyu, the Great Spirit, but He is Tengri by another name. It matters not how a man prays.”

“That is true, but many who follow the cross or the crescent believe otherwise.” Yesuntai sighed. “Long ago, my ancestor Genghis Khan thought of making the world our pasturage, but then learned that he could not rule it without mastering the ways of the lands he had won. Now those ways are mastering us.” He gazed at me with his restless dark eyes. “When we have slaughtered the Inglistanis here, more of our people will come to settle these lands. In time, we may have to subdue those we call our friends. More will be claimed here for our Khanate and, if all goes well, my father’s sons and grandsons will have more of the wealth this land offers. Our priests will come, itching to spread the word of Christ among the natives, and traders will bargain for what we do not take outright. Do you find this a pleasing prospect?”

“I must serve my Khan,” I replied. His eyes narrowed, and I sensed that he saw my true thoughts. There were still times when I dreamed of abandoning what I had here and vanishing into the northern forests.

He said, “An ocean lies between us and Europe. It may become easier for those who are here to forget the Khanate.”

“Perhaps.”

“I am told,” Yesuntai said then, “that you lived for some time among the Long House People.”

My throat tightened. “I dwelled with the Ganeagaono, the Owners of the Flint. Perhaps Michel Bahadur told you the story.”

“Only that you lived among them.”

“It is a long tale, but I will try to make it shorter. My father and I came to these shores soon after we found this island - we were in one of the ships that followed the first expedition. Cheren Noyan had secured Yeke Geren by then. I was nine when we arrived, my father’s youngest son. We came alone, without my mother or his second wife - he was hoping to return to Calais a richer man.” I recalled little of that journey, only that the sight of the vast white-capped sea terrified me whenever I was well enough to go up on deck to help the men watch for Inglistani pirates. Perhaps Yesuntai had also trembled at being adrift on that watery plain, but I did not wish to speak of my fear to him.

“A year after we got here,” I went on, “Cheren Noyan sent an expedition upriver. Hendrick, one of our Dutch sailors, captained the ship. He was to map the river and see how far it ran, whether it might offer us a passageway west. My father was ordered to join the expedition, and brought me along. I was grateful for the chance to be with the men.”

Yesuntai nodded. “As any boy would be.”

“We went north until we came to the region the Ganeagaono call Skanechtade - Beyond the Openings - and anchored there. We knew that the Flint People were fierce warriors. The people to the south of their lands lived in terror of them, and have given them the name of Mohawk, the Eaters of Men’s Flesh, but we had been told the Owners of the Flint would welcome strangers who came to them in peace. Hendrick thought it wise to secure a treaty with them before going farther, and having an agreement with the Ganeagaono would also give us a bond with the other four nations of the Long House.”

I swallowed more wine. Yesuntai was still, but his eyes kept searching me. He would want to know what sort of man I was before entrusting himself to me, but I still knew little about him. I felt somehow that he wanted more than allies in a campaign against the Inglistanis, but pushed that notion aside.

“Some of us,” I said, “rowed to shore in our longboats. A few Ganeagaono warriors had spied us, and we made ourselves understood with hand gestures. They took us to their village. Everyone there greeted us warmly, and opened their houses to us. All might have gone well, but after we ate their food, our men offered them wine. We should have known better, after seeing what strong drink could do to the Manhatan. The Flint People have no head for wine, and our men would have done well to stay sober.”

I stared at the earthen floor and was silent for a time. “I am not certain how it happened,” I continued at last, “but our meeting ended in violence. A few of our men died with tomahawks in their heads. Most of the others fled to the boats. You may call them cowards for that, but to see a man of the Flint People in the throes of drunkenness would terrify the bravest of soldiers. They were wild - the wine is poison to them. They were not like the Manhatan, who grow sleepy and calmly trade even their own children for strong drink.”

“Go on,” Yesuntai said.

“My father and I were among those who did not escape. The Ganeagaono had lost men during the brawl, and now saw us as enemies. They began their tortures. They assailed my father and his comrades with fire and whips - they cut pieces of flesh from them, dining on them while their captives still lived, and tore the nails from their hands with hot pincers. My father bore his torment bravely, but the others did not behave as Mongols should, and their deaths were not glorious.” I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the sound of their shrieks when the children had thrown burning coals on their staked bodies. I had not known then whom I hated more, the men for losing their courage or the children for their cruelty.