The Mongoliad: Book Three tfs-3 Page 4

  Ocyrhoe and Ferenc exchanged looks. Ferenc, probably intending to show her that he trusted her, smiled again and shrugged. She wished he would not do that; it made him look doltish in front of the soldiers.

  His smile faded suddenly and his head moved slightly toward the open tent flap. He held up three fingers, and then he imitated the stance of the young man guarding them. Reflexively, Ocyrhoe did likewise.

  A moment later, three silhouettes appeared at the tent flap. Ocyrhoe tried to look at them with respectful casual confidence-but then she saw one of them was a slender dark-haired woman with familiar knots tied into one lock of her hair. Ocyrhoe felt her eyes open wide and her jaw drop, despite herself. Stop that, she ordered her facial muscles, refusing to let them break out into a smile of relief.

  A Binder.

  The woman was older than any of the kin-sisters Ocyrhoe knew, maybe older, even, than Auntie. She was with two men-the second youth who had led them here, and a man who must be the commander of the soldiers’ unit. The commander’s face looked chiseled out of marble; his eyes were so pale Ocyrhoe wondered how he could bear the Roman sunlight. He stared at her unblinkingly. “Yes?” he said, expectantly.

  The woman made a subtle noise, which immediately commanded his attention. She had a stateliness to her that suggested a noble upbringing, but she was dressed almost like a servant, and she was barefoot. “We understand you are bound to us with a message,” she said, directing the words at the man as much as to Ocyrhoe. She spoke Italian with a lilting accent, as if her own tongue was much more fluid. She looked concerned, though, and almost as humorless as the commander.

  Of course: most people in power, or who served power, knew about the Binders, but few ever had occasion to interact with them directly; they were not common messengers for hire. It made sense that the Emperor would have Binders in his service, but of course not all of his military commanders would know what to do with them.

  “We understand… you are bound to us with a message,” she repeated, more forcefully.

  Ocyrhoe gaped at the woman, then not knowing what else to do, put her fist over her heart. “I am bound to you with a message,” she echoed hurriedly. “From Robert of Somercotes, Cardinal of the Church, to His Imperial Majesty Frederick.”

  The Binder gave her a strange, perhaps even an accusing look, and Ocyrhoe felt her face flushing. “I am the only sister left in the city,” she added. “This message would have come sooner, and… more correctly, if there were anyone else… more experienced… to bring it.”

  The woman’s dark eyes opened wide, briefly, like a cat just before it pounces. Then they narrowed, and the woman turned with barely hidden disdain to the commander, then back to Ocyrhoe. Her expression softened. “Our mother receives one of her children most gladly. You may give your message to this man, and he will carry it to its final destination. Then, relieved of your burden, you and I may talk.”

  Ocyrhoe felt her entire body sag with relief. “Thank you,” she said, her throat tight.

  She turned her attention back to the man. The words tumbled out: “Robert of Somercotes, Catholic Cardinal, greets His Imperial Majesty Frederick and summons him or his men to the Septizodium within the walls of Rome, where all of the Cardinals are being held against their will by Senator Orsini until they have selected the new Pope. I will lead your men to the Septizodium.”

  She glanced nervously at the woman. There was a pause.

  The woman closed her right hand and moved it slightly toward her heart. Ocyrhoe picked up on the hint and slammed her fist against her sternum, eyes still on the Binder.

  “Thus delivered of your message, you are as the fox, unbound and unencumbered,” the woman said. Ocyrhoe sucked in a breath and almost recited the confirming phrase after her, then realized this would only make her look more foolish. Instead she nodded, once.

  During this exchange, the commander and both soldiers had exchanged concerned looks, and now the commander spoke rapidly to the woman in that same dialect spoken by the ruddy-faced soldier. She could not quite follow what was being said, and she could sense Ferenc’s frustration as well.

  The woman replied briefly, and Ocyrhoe heard the Cardinal’s name and a reference to the Emperor; the commander responded with a brusque nod and left, the two young guards following him.

  Left alone with the newcomers, the Binder cast a questioning eye at Ferenc-who returned her look just as quizzically as before.

  “He is with me,” Ocyrhoe said quickly. “He knows Rankalba.”

  The woman blinked and pursed her lips. “You have taught him?” she demanded accusingly.

  “No,” Ocyrhoe said quickly. She tried to think how best to explain their strange fellowship, but the Binder had already turned her attention to Ferenc. She moved to him swiftly, took his arm, and signed something onto it. He glanced, startled, at Ocyrhoe, then made the sign for Mother on the woman’s arm.

  The woman shook her head angrily and pushed his fingers from her arm.

  “He is from Buda. I think his mother was a Binder,” Ocyrhoe interjected, trying to mediate between the woman’s anger and Ferenc’s confusion. “He does not sign quickly and we have not had time for long explanations. He must be completely confused by what is happening.”

  The woman searched Ferenc’s face for a long moment before answering. “There may be men in this camp who speak his language. I will have someone explain everything to him,” she said.

  Ocyrhoe let slip a tired laugh. “Everything? You do not know how long that will take,” she said. The woman turned her attention to Ocyrhoe, and under the brunt of that gaze, Ocyrhoe wondered how much the woman actually knew.

  “I am Lena,” the Binder said as she gestured toward the camp stools at the other end of the tent. “Please, let us sit and talk.”

  Her name alone revealed nothing of who she might be or from where she may have come. Were they not kin-sisters? Ocyrhoe wondered. Why did she not share more of her identity? The delight she had been relishing at meeting another Binder threatened to slip away, and she hid her panic beneath the stoic mask she had worn when they had first reached the camp. “I am Ocyrhoe,” she replied guardedly, and with a gesture toward her companion, “He is Ferenc.”

  “Tell me what is happening in Rome,” Lena directed as they sat down on the stools.

  “Did you send the dove?” Ocyrhoe asked.

  “What dove?”

  “The dove on the statue of Minerva,” Ocyrhoe said, and as the panic threatened to overwhelm her, she let her tongue go. “Are you the Bind-Mother?”

  Lena gave her another long, questioning stare. “I see,” she sighed at last. “You are an orba matre.”

  Ocyrhoe didn’t know what to do with her hands, and so she clutched the rim of the stool. Holding tight. “I am… I don’t understand.”

  “A child, born of a Binder mother”-Lena glanced at Ferenc-“a girl child, would know more than you do, for your age.”

  “I was chosen,” Ocyrhoe said, a little hotly.

  Lena smiled reassuringly. “Do not be insulted by my words, child. I am trying to determine what you are. We both know you are not a Binder, not fully.”

  With nothing but their expressions and body language to read, Ferenc had stiffened when Ocyrhoe got defensive, and now he reached out a protective hand toward her. She took a deep breath and stroked his forearm without looking at him. In this tent, in this company, she realized she was treating the boy like a dog… a faithful dog. He did not seem to notice, or to care.

  “About three months ago, a messenger came from Rome with word that Senator Orsini was moving against our sisters,” Lena explained. “Since then, we have had no other news from the city. And then, with the death of the Pope, and this sede vacante, it has been a most troubling-”

  “The Emperor is here, in this camp?” Ocyrhoe interrupted.

  Lena inclined her head and stared over her long nose at Ocyrhoe. “No, I did not say-”

  “He is,” Ocyrhoe offered a tiny s
mile. Lena’s explanation and Ferenc’s reassurance had calmed her, dispelling the desire for flight, and in its wake, her awareness was coming back. It wasn’t the same as the way the city spoke to her, but other subtle suggestions were there, if she simply took the time to read them. “A Binder’s duty is to deliver her message,” she said. “If the commander had to leave this camp in order to relay my message, then I would not have truly delivered it and you would not have released me from that duty. If you are discharging your duty properly, then wherever you are, he must be as well.”

  Lena looked strangely satisfied at Ocyrhoe’s response. “Your arrival is timely, child; he has stayed overlong away from his court in Palermo and had planned to return soon. Your message will, I suspect, change his mind. There is more afoot, however. Why have our kin-sisters been taken? It would be helpful if you could tell me everything you can about what has transpired in Rome.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Seeking Revenge

  The change that came over Luo Xi was as dramatic as if a mask had been removed, revealing a face pitted and harsh beneath a delicately painted facade. Lines appeared in his face, deep striations etched in his forehead and cheeks. Such lines were not unusual-every Chinese person who had suffered under the yoke of Mongolian oppression was similarly burdened-but he secretly cultivated his suffering. His grip on Lian’s arm was tight, his fingers digging into her flesh as if he would squeeze down to her bones.

  “These dogs ravage our homeland,” he snarled at her, all pretense of geniality gone. “They loot our cities. Kill our children.” He shoved her again, driving her ahead of him. “They rape our women.”

  She wanted to run, wanted to flee the lash of his words. Moments ago, she had wanted his eyes on her, wanted him to be distracted from his surroundings, but now she didn’t want his attention.

  One of the soldiers slapped Gansukh on the legs with the shaft of his spear, and the Mongol warrior rolled away from the blow, getting his legs under him. Even though Gansukh didn’t understand a word of what was being said, the message was clear. Clenching his teeth, Gansukh wobbled to his feet, and as he stood upright, one of the other soldiers whacked him across the back, causing him to stumble and nearly fall.

  She couldn’t help herself, and she darted toward Gansukh. A Chinese soldier reached for her, and she slowed, pulling her arm out of his reach. He grinned, revealing a wide gap between his upper front teeth; lowering his spear so that the point hovered near her breast, he shook his head.

  Beyond him, Gansukh stared at her. One of his eyes was swollen partially shut, dark shadows already discoloring his flesh. Dirt and ash and blood streaked his face, and a chill ran across her arms as she met his one-eyed gaze.

  The Chinese soldier clucked his tongue, flicking the tip of his spear toward the unruly mass of her unbound hair that fell across her breasts. She looked away from Gansukh, met the Chinese man’s eyes for a second, and then demurely dropped her gaze toward the ground.

  She caught sight of a dagger shoved negligently through the man’s belt, and she sucked in her breath. Her dagger!

  A man staggered toward the group, and Luo Xi drew his sword. It wasn’t a Mongol, and Luo Xi relaxed his guard enough to slam his helmet back on his head as the wounded man came closer.

  Lian recognized him as the other commander, the one who had argued with Luo earlier. The one who had argued against taking hostages. He had worn a helmet too, but it was gone now, and his head was covered with blood, some of it still wet.

  “We have failed,” he gasped to Luo. “We had the banner-” He caught sight of Lian, and stared owlishly at her. Slowly, as if he was having a great deal of trouble remembering something of vital import, he looked at the four men surrounding Gansukh. “My men are dead,” he said, and he swung his gaze back to Luo. “We are all dead.”

  Luo’s face was ashen. “Idiot,” he hissed. “We only needed the sprout. Why didn’t you take it?”

  “It wasn’t there.” Seeing Luo’s expression, he shook his head. “It had been harvested already,” he explained. “We had no choice but to take the banner. Otherwise-”

  Luo cut him off with a wordless hiss. “Do not think you know what is best. The banner is too old to sustain life. What we need-”

  “Commander,” one of the soldiers interrupted Luo. He pointed toward the rise that blocked the caravan from view. The light was softer now, no longer the harsh radiance of hungry fires. White plumes of smoke hung in the night air. “The Mongols are putting out the fires,” he said.

  Luo’s companion swayed unsteadily. “If they know why we are here, they will not negotiate.” He pointed toward Gansukh. “Your hostage will not save you.”

  The soldiers guarding Gansukh shuffled uneasily.

  “I cannot run,” the man said softly, indicating the dried blood on his head. “I can barely walk…”

  Luo lowered his head briefly in acknowledgment; then, with a swift jab, he ran his sword into the belly of the wounded Chinese man. The look of confusion on the other man’s face faded, and the tension in his face eased. His gaze remained locked on Luo, and he grunted lightly as Luo pulled the sword free. Something akin to a smile came to his lips.

  All the air had fled from Lian’s lungs. She couldn’t move; she couldn’t scream. She could only stare in horror as the dying Chinese man tried to speak, failed, and crumpled to the ground.

  Luo whirled, his face twisted into a demonic mask. “Kill them both,” he snarled. “And then run. Run as fast as you can, for the Mongol dogs will be at your heels.”

  His sword was red with blood, and as he strode toward them, the paralysis that had held Lian vanished. “Wait,” she cried.

  Luo didn’t slow down. He raised his sword.

  “Let me do it.” Lian was as surprised as Luo to hear the words come out of her mouth.

  Luo hesitated. “What?”

  “If I kill him,” she said, letting the words run out of her mouth of their own accord. She didn’t think about where they were coming from or what they meant. All she knew was that if she wavered, if she showed any fear or hesitation, this sudden resolve would vanish. “If I kill him, will you take me with you?”

  Luo’s mouth twisted, finally shaping itself into a nasty leer. “You want revenge on this dog?”

  Lian stood firm, pushing her chin out and throwing her shoulders back. “This one. All of them.”

  Luo examined her, letting his eyes roam over her body. His sword dipped slightly, but his body was still rigid.

  “Commander,” one of the guards interrupted.

  “Go,” Luo shouted, the muscles in his neck standing out. “Run, you cowards!” His eyes remained locked on Lian.

  Two of the four guards took him at his word, dropping their spears and sprinting away into the darkness. One of the remaining pair lingered, unwilling to turn his back on Gansukh or leave his weapon. The gap-toothed one stayed, and Lian’s gaze fell on the dagger in his belt again.

  “Let me do it,” she said again, and pointed at the dagger. “That’s his dagger. I want to kill him with it.”

  Luo laughed, and Lian tried to not flinch at the sound, though it made her skin crawl. He nodded to his man, who pulled the blade free of his belt and tossed it to the ground. “Go,” Luo said to the remaining pair. “I…we,” he amended with a curt nod at Lian, “will meet you at the second camp.”

  The soldiers needed no other prompting, and they too fled.

  “Pick it up,” Luo said, indicating the knife as he walked toward the captive Mongol.

  Gansukh hadn’t understood any of their conversation, but the look on Luo’s face was plain enough, as was the bloody sword. As the Chinese commander approached him, Gansukh strained at his bonds while moving slowly backward, giving himself some room to maneuver. He wouldn’t be able to dodge Luo’s attack, but his expression said he wasn’t going to make it easy for the Chinese man.

  Lian crouched, and with a shaking hand, reached for her dagger. Was she going to go through with this
? Could she actually kill a man? In his own way, Gansukh had tried to warn her at the feast. He had said she would be punished if she were caught with the weapon, which was true, but there was another message behind his admonition. Why carry it, he had implied, if you aren’t willing to use it? She slipped the blade from its sheath, and wrapped her fingers tightly about the handle.

  She had no choice.

  Luo feinted with his sword, and when Gansukh dodged away, the Chinese man leaped forward with a savage side kick that connected with Gansukh’s stomach. Gansukh doubled over, gasping and retching, and Luo brought a knee up sharply to Gansukh’s lowered face. Gansukh’s head snapped back and he toppled over. His hands, bound behind his back, prevented him from lying prone, and he flopped onto his side. He curled forward, retching and shaking. Trying to protect the parts of his body that had been traumatized.

  Luo looked over at Lian, and nodded at the sight of the dagger in her hands. “Do it quickly,” he sneered, “and I won’t leave your corpse with his.”

  “Pull the dog’s head back,” she instructed with more confidence than she felt. She couldn’t dwell on what was going to happen after the next few moments. She couldn’t let herself wonder if she was doing the right thing. She had to focus on what had to be done, on what was required in order for her to survive.

  Luo put his sword down, and crouched next to Gansukh’s supine body. He hauled the semi-conscious man upright, and positioning himself behind Gansukh, he grabbed the Mongol’s hair. “Do it,” he hissed at Lian, exposing Gansukh’s throat.

  Gansukh shuddered, his one eye rolling in its socket. Luo’s strike had bloodied his nose, and his lower face was smeared with blood and dirt. His mouth hung open. He was unrecognizable to Lian, just another Mongolian warrior-indistinguishable from the men who had taken her from her family years ago. They were all alike. It was as Luo had said: the Mongols destroyed everything; they burned countless villages; they had raped generations of Chinese women; they had plundered the great cities. So much had been lost to Mongolian rapaciousness, wiped from existence.