The Mongoliad: Book Two

He stole a glance over his shoulder. Capocci and Colonna watched him go, all humor gone from their faces. Colonna wiped his finger on his robe. Capocci gave him the slightest of nods and, like his taller cohort had moments ago, held up a warning finger.

“I do wish God had provided a different reason for us to gather in Rome, but…” de Segni said, raising his eyes Heavenward. Who am I to question God’s will? his gaze said; Father Rodrigo, remembering himself, finally, nodded and bowed his head in quiet agreement. “I was with his Eminence,” de Segni continued after a moment of contemplation, “while he was a legate in Lombardy. We are-were-related, actually. Our family is still…” He brushed aside the thought with a wave of his hand. “He is with God now and feels no more pain. That is all any of us can ever hope for.”

Rodrigo’s pain was starting to return, as if someone had removed the spike in his side only to replace it now with a fresh one and was slowly hammering it into his flesh. He had walked too far, too soon, and each step toward the door was more difficult than the last. He couldn’t help but wonder if, by dying, Pope Gregory IX had left this world at the right time. I have so far to go, Father Rodrigo fretted, and my burden is too great.

And then they reached the door and stepped into the light.

14

The Quartermaster’s Tongue

Rutger’s private chamber was austere: four bare walls, one broken by a single high window; an empty hearth, its brick darkened by a layer of soot built up from years of service; and a moldy, crumbling bench that had long since succumbed to the moisture that seeped through the stone tiles of the floor. The room did have a solid door, though, and once closed, Andreas and Rutger had a modicum of privacy.

Rutger moved with a stiffness that could easily be mistaken for formality of bearing, but Andreas knew Rutger suffered from a malady of the joints that sapped his strength. The older brother was like a moribund oak, dried and brittle, and the persistent fog that clung to the trees around Legnica made his hands and feet swell. Growing up, Andreas had seen similar afflictions take hold of craftsmen and laborers in his village. The pain could render a man unable to walk, and at its worst, would steal away his ability to work at his trade, a fate worse than death for many. Rutger, however, still walked straight-backed, with a pained dignity that made him gruff at the best of times, and at the worst, angry and quick to judge.

“What were my orders in regard to the Livonians?” he snapped. He sat down slowly, in painful stages, on the greenish bench. “Do you not recall them?”

Andreas stood before Rutger, hands clasped at his waist. He knew full well what Rutger had said; the others had heard the orders as well, and Maks had even reminded him of them just before the fight at the alehouse. Andreas had made the decision with conscious awareness of the violation. He could have avoided the fight altogether, but he knew he had made the right choice. He had to make Rutger see it as well.

“With respect,” Andreas said, lowering his head, “they had interfered with our affairs, and to let them act without consequence would have been to reveal a weakness in our spirits. We will have to contend with them sooner or later, and I thought it best to remind them now of the consequences of their arrogance.”

Rutger slapped a palm on the wooden bench. “You took this decision upon yourself without consulting me, without asking my permission. Are you an undisciplined mercenary who cannot be trusted to follow his commander’s orders? I had not thought to give much credence to the…stories I have heard about your insolence at Petraathen, but I fear I may have endangered all of us by refusing to believe these malicious-”

“Sir,” Andreas interrupted. “I…I beg your pardon, Brother Rutger. I speak out of turn, and in doing so perhaps I do give credence to this fancy that my company was so intolerable that I was no longer welcome at Petraathen, but…” He stood tall and proud as he pulled back the right sleeve of his robe to reveal the burned sigil on his forearm. “I passed the Trial of the Shield, I took the Vow, and I earned my sword. I have given myself-body, mind, and soul-to the Virgin. If you wish to doubt my devotion to my oath or my brothers, you had best do so with steel in hand, because that is how I will answer such an accusation.”

Rutger raised a hand in a gesture of submission. “Lower your guard, Andreas. I do not attack your obedience to our ideals or your zeal in executing them. Your valor in battle preceded you, and we welcomed the news of your imminent arrival with much joy. Our company is made finer by your presence; do not seek subterfuge in my words on that matter. However, this chapter house was born out of a desperate and unusual necessity. We have not been brothers-in-arms long enough to think as one unit, and until that time, it is all the more imperative that we strive to maintain discipline. There is no doubt in my mind that you are the most astute battlefield strategist we have, but for the sake of our company, I cannot be distracted by wondering if you are following my orders.”

Andreas relaxed slightly, and he stared at the floor. He started to reply but then shook his head and remained silent. No answer was necessary. He had expected such a reminder, and had steeled himself for it, but when it came, he found he had no stomach to counter it. Doing so would strengthen Rutger’s concern that he was brash and unfit to lead the others. It would be better to show some humility, to accept the charge as given, and to move on to the larger issue at stake. Pick your battles, he had reminded the Livonian Heermeister, and it was an excellent platitude for him to remember as well.

“Feronantus’s success depends on secrecy,” Rutger said, his tone softening, “and it does us no good to be under extra scrutiny by old rivals or to engage in a drawn-out pissing contest with them. What does that gain us?”

“Respect,” Andreas replied after a moment.

“Is it part of our ideals that we seek that from other orders?”

“No. But I did not do it to earn their respect.”

“Whose, then?”

“Our brothers.”

Rutger sighed and ran a hand across his short gray hair. Andreas leaped forward to press his point. “They may not have taken up the shield, but our trainees are able. Eilif reacted swiftly when I was faced with two targets. If he had not been there, I would have had to hurt one in order to best them. I told them I was going to engage the Livonians, and they were not to be drawn into the fight unless they sensed my situation was dire. I trusted them to guard me, and they did.” A big smile broke across his face. “I would wager any one of them could handle at least two Livonians on their own. They’re not children anymore.

“And even if the Livonian Heermeister suspects we are not at full strength, he cannot be sure; however, wherever he chooses to engage us, his losses will be great. He will be cautious because he has to be; with the Mongols about, he will have to conserve his own strength. He’s not going to be thinking about moving against us; he’s going to be wondering how many men he will have to take with him to the alehouse whenever he gets thirsty. When he lays down at night, sleep will elude him because he will be worried that his compound is not secure. These are not baseless fears, Rutger, because our men could accomplish any such assault, if there was need.”

“I remind you,” Rutger retorted, “that there is no such need. Our original purpose in coming here was twofold. First, we had to find a way to stop the Mongol hordes from sweeping over all the land from here to the western sea. A task that has already been undertaken by Feronantus and his team.” He frowned. “The second half of our duty was to hold the line here and keep our enemies focused on the Circus.”

“And how are we doing that by hiding in a ruined church in the woods?” Andreas asked. “We sent one man to the arena, and when he won, the Khan stole him. What has our response been to that insult? We have done nothing. What would Haakon-if he is still alive-think of us? Have we abandoned our brother?”

“No,” Rutger growled.

“Then how are we to get him back? We don’t even know where he is. Or if he is even still alive.” Andreas sighed. “We are too cautious. Yes, Feronantus took many great warriors with him, but to think of our strength as lessened because they are not here is to think of ourselves as too weak to defend our own honor. Rescuing Haakon, holding this line, showing the Livonians that it is not in their interest to prick us just to see if we respond-these are