quickly.
‘With three rafts, say eighteen hundred sheepskins, we should be able to carry … twelve hundred warriors across the river at a time. In half a day, we could put some twenty thousand men on the opposite side. I will assume another half day to swim horses across, using the rafts to guide them. Yes, with ropes around their necks to help them swim against the current. A day in all, if there are no mishaps. How long will you need to put the rafts together?’
Bayar’s eyes widened as he saw the prince had lost his internal gaze and was once again focused on him.
‘Two days, my lord,’ he said with false confidence. He needed to impress the man who commanded him and Uriang-Khadai had already lost face. Bayar did not want to join him in incurring the displeasure of the khan’s own brother.
Kublai inclined his head as he thought.
‘Very well. This is your only task until it is complete. I will hold you to two days, general. Now, give the order to halt the column. Get scouts back into the area where the enemy wait. I want to know every detail of the river: the current, the banks, the terrain. Nothing is too trivial to bring to me. Have them report after the evening meal.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Bayar swallowed nervously as he was dismissed. He had never heard of sheepskins being used in such a way. He was going to need help and he guessed that Uriang-Khadai was not the man to ask. As the horns sounded the halt and the tumans began to dismount and tend their horses, Bayar saw the cart that carried Kublai’s chief adviser, Yao Shu. The old Chin monk would know of such strange things as floating rafts, Bayar was almost certain.
As the sun came up the following day, Bayar had lost himself in the challenge of the task. The first bulbous hides had been prepared by the previous evening and carried by horse to the nearby river. With great ceremony the bobbing things had been placed on the waters, with volunteers to ride them over. Both men had sunk before they reached halfway and had to be dragged out by ropes attached to their waists. It seemed impossible, but according to Yao Shu it had certainly been done on a smaller scale. They tried rubbing oil into the skins as soon as the wool had been shaved off, then blowing and sealing them quickly, before leaving them to dry. As Bayar returned to the banks, he sent a silent prayer to the earth mother. He had gambled on the oil working and so had thousands of families preparing them. If the latest batch failed as well, he would not make the limit he had set himself. Standing in the morning gloom, Bayar looked across at Yao Shu, taking confidence from his calm. They stood together as two warriors tied ropes to themselves and lay across the floating skins, pushing off from the bank. Neither man could swim and they looked deeply uncomfortable as they paddled across the dark water.
At halfway, the current was strong and those holding the ropes on the bank found themselves shuffling downstream with the floating warriors. Even so, they splashed on and Bayar let out a whoop as he saw one of them stand and raise his arm from the opposite shallows, before clambering back on for the return trip. That went much faster, with the ropes pulled by many willing hands.
Bayar clapped Yao Shu on the back, feeling the bones beneath his colourful robe.
‘That will do,’ the general said, trying to conceal his relief. Uriang-Khadai was not there. The orlok had decided not to notice the sudden and massive labour that had overtaken the camp. While families worked the skins, oiling and sewing for all they were worth, the orlok had his men practising their archery and the cannon teams sweating to improve their speed with the guns. Bayar didn’t care. He found the work fascinating and on the evening of the second day he strode up to the ger erected for Kublai, hardly able to restrain his grin as he was allowed to enter.
‘It’s done, my lord,’ he said proudly.
To his relief, Kublai smiled, responding to the man’s evident satisfaction.
‘I never doubted it would be, general.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hulegu was hot and thirsty as he rode north. The bulk of his army had gone on without him, ready to lay a siege around Baghdad. The centre of Islam was a powerful city on the Tigris river and he knew it would not fall quickly. The decision had been difficult, but he had thought his detour to the stronghold of Alamut would be a quick strike, no more onerous than crushing the head of a snake under his heel before going on with the real work. Instead, he suffered through hundreds of miles of the most hostile country he had ever seen. The sun fed a simmering anger that seemed to have been with him for weeks. He shaded his eyes as he stared up into the mountains, seeing snow on the peak of the one known as Solomon’s Seat. Somewhere in those remote crags was the most powerful fortress of the Ismaili Assassins.
The last towns and villages were long behind. His warriors rode across a burning plain, over a surface of loose rocks and scree that made many of the horses go lame. There was no grazing in such a place and Hulegu had lost time securing grain and water for the men and animals. Three tumans had originally come north with him, but he had sent one back to Baghdad and another to act as a relay for water when he saw the desolation of the terrain. He had no wish to see his best mounts die of thirst. Yet Hulegu was not deterred by the difficulties. If anything, they reassured him. No worthy goal should come easily, he told himself. Suffering created value.
In another age, Genghis had vowed to annihilate the Assassin cult. The great khan may even have thought he had done so, but they had survived like weeds in the rocks. As Hulegu looked over the single tuman, he sat straighter in the saddle, his pride obvious to them all. He had grown up with stories of Genghis. To meet one of the old enemies in the field was more than satisfying. He would give orders for their precious fortresses to be taken down and left in the valleys as fire-blackened blocks of stone. Only snakes and lizards would creep where the Assassins had walked, he vowed to himself. Mongke would not begrudge him the time he lost, Hulegu was sure. Baghdad would not fall in the next season. He had time to finish the personal matter between his family and the Moslems who inhabited Alamut.
Three guides led the tuman across the plain, recruited at knife-point from the last town they had passed. Hulegu had scouts and spies across the country feeding him information, but none of them had been able to give him the exact location of the fortress. Even the letters he had exchanged with the Assassins had gone to prominent merchants in cities, passed on by their own riders. His best information gave him only the range of mountains and nothing more. Even that had cost him a fortune in silver and a day spent torturing a man given up by his friends. It did not matter. Hulegu had always known he would have to come to the area to hunt them down. He questioned the guides constantly, but they only argued with each other in Arabic and shrugged, pointing always into the mountains. He had not seen another living soul for a long time when his scouts came riding in, their horses lathered in soapy sweat.
Hulegu frowned when he saw them making for him across the face of the ranks. From a distance, he could see the urgency in the way they sat their horses and he forced himself to keep the cold face as a matter of habit.
‘My lord, there are men ahead,’ the first scout said. He touched his right hand to his forehead, lips and heart in a gesture of respect. ‘Twelve miles, or a little more. I saw only eight horses and a silk awning, so I went closer, while my companion stayed out of range, ready to ride back to you.’
‘You spoke to them?’ Hulegu asked. Sweat was trickling down his back under his armour and his mood improved at the thought that he must be close if there were strangers gathered in the foothills to wait for him. The scout nodded.
‘The leader said he was Rukn-al-Din, lord. He claimed to have authority to speak for the Ismailis. He told me to say he has prepared a cool tent and drinks for you, my lord.’
Hulegu thought, wrinkling his brow. He had no particular desire to sit down with men who dealt in death. He could certainly not eat or drink with them. Equally, he could not let his warriors see he was afraid of so few.
‘Tell him I will come,’ he said. The scout cantered off across the lines to get a fresh horse and Hulegu summoned General Ilugei, nodding to the man as he approached.
‘They have made a meeting place, general. I want to surround it, so that they understand the consequences of treachery. I will walk in, but if I do not walk out, I want you to visit destruction on them. If I fall, Ilugei, you are to leave a mark in their histories to show their error. Do you understand? Not for me, but for those who come after
