respect?’
‘I serve you better when I know your mind, my lord. And I find your observations on Orlok Uriang-Khadai most interesting.’
Kublai snorted at the old monk’s placid expression.
‘You see too much, old friend. Get some rest yourself. Have you considered the Mandarin word for “bank”? It means “silver movement”. We will find where they get it from.’
Hulegu enjoyed the sense of power over the caliph of Baghdad. The older man’s pretensions were torn away during the hours of the morning. Hulegu watched patiently as al-Mustasim spoke to advisers and checked endless tally sheets of fine vellum, making offers and counter-offers, most of which Hulegu simply ignored until the man understood the reality. As the morning wore on, Hulegu had his cannon and catapult teams run through their drills nearby, making the scribes nervous. The caliph stared in distaste at the moving ranks of warriors, at the gers that clustered for miles in all directions. The vast army held his city in a tight grip and he had no force to break the siege, no hope to give him peace. No one was coming to relieve Baghdad. The knowledge showed in his face and the way he sat, his shoulders slumped into the rolls of flesh.
It was intoxicating for Hulegu to have a proud leader reduced to hopelessness, to watch as the caliph slowly realised that everything he valued was in the hands of men who cared nothing for his people or his culture. Hulegu waved away the latest offer. He knew the people of the region loved to bargain, but it was no more than the twitching of a corpse. Everything they could possibly offer was in Baghdad and the city would open its gates to the Mongols. The treasure rooms and temples would be his to plunder. Still he waited for al-Mustasim to give up all hope.
They paused at noon for the caliph’s party to roll out prayer mats and bow their heads, chanting together. Hulegu used the time to stroll across to his senior generals, making sure they were still alert. There could be no surprises, he was certain. If another army moved closer than sixty miles, he would know far faster than hope could rise in the caliph. The man who ruled Baghdad would be killed if such news came, Hulegu had decided. Al-Mustasim was more than a lord to his people, with his spiritual status. He could be a symbol, or even a martyr. Hulegu smiled at the thought. The Moslems and Christians put great stock in their martyrs.
Hearing their droning chant, Hulegu shook his head in amusement. For him the sky father was always above his head, the earth mother at his feet. If they watched at all, they did not interfere with a man’s life. It was true the spirits of the land could be malevolent. Hulegu could not forget his own father’s fate, chosen to replace the life demanded from Ogedai Khan. In the sunshine, he shuddered at the thought of millions of spirits watching him in this place.
He raised his head, refusing to be afraid. They had not troubled Genghis and he had done more than his share of destruction, torn more than most from the sunlit world. If the angry spirits had not dared to touch Genghis, they could have no terrors for his grandson.
The moment he had been waiting for came deep into the afternoon, when even Hulegu had allowed his servants to drape his sunburnt neck in a damp cloth. The caliph’s fine robes were stained in great dark patches and he looked exhausted, though he had only sat and sweated through the long day.
‘I have offered you the riches of Croesus,’ Caliph al-Mustasim said. ‘More than any one man has ever seen. You asked me to value my people, my city, and I have done so. Yet you refuse again? What more would you have from me? Why am I even here, if you will take nothing in exchange?’
His eyes were weak and Hulegu took his seat once more, laying his sword across his thighs and settling himself.
‘I will not be made to look a fool, caliph. I will not take a few cartloads of pretty things and have men say I never knew what else lay within the ancient city. No, you will not laugh when we are gone.’
The caliph looked at him in sheer confusion.
‘You have seen the lists, the official records of the treasury!’
‘Lists your scribes could well have written in the weeks before you came out armed with them. I will choose the tribute from Baghdad. You will not grant it to me.’
‘What …’ The caliph paused and shook his head. Once more he looked at the army around him, stretching into the distance so that they became a shimmering blur. He did not doubt they could destroy the city if he gave them the opportunity. His heart beat painfully in his chest and he could smell his own sweat strongly.
‘I am trying to negotiate a peaceful end to the siege. Tell me what you want and I will begin again.’
Hulegu nodded as if the man had made a good point. He scratched his chin, feeling the bristles growing there.
‘Have your people disarm. Have them throw every sword, every knife, every axe out of the city, so that my men can collect them. You and I will walk together into Baghdad then, with just an honour guard to keep the mob at bay. When that is done, we will talk again.’
Wearily, the caliph heaved himself to his feet. His legs had gone numb and he staggered a step before catching himself.
‘You ask me to leave my people defenceless.’
‘They are
The men around him chuckled and the caliph stared in impotent fury.
‘I have your word there will be no violence?’
Hulegu shrugged.
‘Unless you force my hand. I have told you the terms, caliph.’
‘Then I will return to the city,’ al-Mustasim said.
Hulegu thought for a moment.
‘You are my guest. Send a man back with the order. You will stay in a ger tonight, to learn our ways. We have Moslems in the camp. Perhaps they will appreciate your guidance.’
They locked gazes and the caliph looked away first. He felt completely without choices, a fish on a line that Hulegu was happy to pull in at his own pace. He could only grasp at the slightest chance to turn the Mongol from Baghdad without blood in the streets. He nodded.
‘I would be honoured,’ he said softly.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was no simple task to disarm the city of Baghdad. It started well enough, with a populace who could see the vast Mongol army around their walls. The caliph’s heralds read his orders from every street corner and it was not long before the first weapons were being dragged out onto the street for collection. It was common for families to have a sword or spear in their home, relics of an old war, or just to protect the house. Many of them did not want to give up a weapon their father or grandfather had used. It was no easier to make butchers, carpenters and builders give up their precious tools. By the end of the first morning, the mood of the city had become resentful and some weapons were even taken back in before they could be collected. Before sunset, the caliph’s city guards had to face down angry mobs and at one point were almost engulfed in them. Across the city, three thousand guards faced the simmering anger of the citizens, always vastly outnumbered. Groups of the caliph’s men went street by street, trying to bring massive force to bear on a single point and then moving on. As a result, the collection slowed even further. It was not a promising start and the troubles grew as night fell.
The guards had to keep their own weapons to enforce the caliph’s rule, but the sight of them inflamed already dangerous passions. Every father and son feared armed men when they had given up their own weapons. The guards were pelted with roof tiles and rotting vegetables as they checked each street, thrown from above or by darting little boys yelling curses at them.
As the hot days passed, shouting crowds dogged their steps. The guards grew tight-lipped with fury as they continued their work and tried to ignore the sight of people running out of each street with swords and knives as they entered.
On the fourth day, one of the caliph’s men was hit by something foul that slithered wetly down the back of his
