The Mongoliad: Book Three

Benjamin smiled, and dropped his finger to the closest line on the map. “We are north of the Silk Roads, and as you can see, they tend to run much farther south. There are two, primarily. One runs north along the Tien Shan Mountains, through Urumqui and Turfan, and the other runs much farther south, beyond the Taklamakan Desert. Both take you to the heart of China, which is not where you want to go.” His finger had been moving across the map as he spoke, highlighting each of the places as he mentioned them, and when he finished, he moved his finger up into a large blank spot where, seemingly at random, he spotted and tapped the map. “Karakorum, the imperial palace of Ogedei Khan, Khagan of the Mongol Empire, is here.”

The members of the company examined the map for a few minutes, silently considering the information that Benjamin had given them.

Percival cleared his throat and leaned forward, his finger gliding across the map to a point that almost seemed to summon his finger, an X that was the result of two mountain ranges coming together. “What of this place?” he asked.

Benjamin glanced at Feronantus and Cnan briefly before he answered. “It is a pass called the Zuungar Gap,” he said.

“What do you know of this gap?” Feronantus asked.

“It’s a high pass,” Benjamin said. “A long and narrow course through the mountains. If there is, indeed, not much snow, it will be an easy route.” He traced a finger along the map. “You stay on the western side of the Tien Shan until here, cut over through the gap, and you will find yourself on the edge of a place known as the Gurbantunggut. As deserts go, it is not as bad as some, and travel across it will be fairly easy until you reach the Altai Mountains, which are not as imposing as the Tien Shan-the Celestial Mountains-but they have other dangers.” He paused to draw breath, and he glanced at Cnan, a flicker of a smile touching his lips. “Once you have crossed those mountains, you will be on the Mongolian Plateau. From there, it is only a week or so hard ride to Karakorum.”

“Is that all?” Yasper asked.

“It is a dangerous route,” Benjamin continued, “and one I would not attempt if I was not certain about the weather.”

Feronantus looked carefully at Raphael, Percival, and then Cnan, and then spoke for all of them. “I think we are,” he said.

Percival beamed, and Raphael wanted to run away from the firelight, out in the darkness around the rock, where he could berate God and no one would hear his blasphemy.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Tenebras in Lucem

Ferenc was intrigued by this Cardinal Oddone de Monferrato. His eyes seemed to be in a permanent state of gaping. Helmuth had explained to him how much this man had been through, what he had seen and survived, especially far away from here in the little island nation of England. But to Ferenc, he looked like a deer startled by everything happening to him and around him.

They were a motley little group, returning to the city: Lena, the Cardinal, and the soldier named Helmuth; Ocyrhoe and Ferenc, in clothes much too big for them-like children dragged along on a family outing. Helmuth was there as the eyes of the Emperor, to keep Monferrato in line and in view. Lena had requested permission to go with the party, and her reasons had not been made clear to the others, but Ocyrhoe suspected she wanted to ascertain for herself what had happened to the other Binders in Rome.

Ocyrhoe looked so happy to have her company that Ferenc was actually a little jealous. His primary sense of purpose since arriving in the city was to be of use to her; now he had to share that purpose with somebody else. He noticed Ocyrhoe going out of her way to pay attention to him, to let him know that she was still glad of his company, but that struck him as condescending. He had drained his face of expression as they began their journey back toward the city walls; he stopped signing to her or even speaking to Helmuth.

He decided he did not respect Helmuth. The Holy Roman soldier had an arrogance that Ferenc did not think was justified. Not that arrogance was ever justified, but he could abide it in people who were clearly in some way superior. Helmuth was ugly and large, and seemed preoccupied with appearing as subservient as possible to Emperor Frederick. This, perversely, seemed to be the root source of his arrogance, which made no sense to Ferenc.

Lena-to Ferenc’s mind-was similarly suspect. She was standoffish, and Ocyrhoe seemed so desperate to make a good impression on her, to demonstrate that she was not foolish or inadequate. He did not like to see his friend embarrass herself this way. Even before they had departed, he had tried to warn her about Lena.

She is going to Rome to replace you, Ferenc had signed to her. You will be useless in Rome if Lena is also there.

She had given him an impatient look and waved him off. But then, about an hour later, as they approached the gates of the city, Ocyrhoe slowed down to let Helmuth and Monferrato pass her, joining Ferenc as he brought up the rear.

Hello, she signed on his arm, smiling.

Hello, he signed back, fingers lax.

Soon we will save Father Rodrigo, she signed again, heavily tapping his forearm, as if to focus his attention.

He made a doubtful face.

This Cardinal will vote and break the tie, and then they will all be released, and Father Rodrigo will be with you, she signed.

He shrugged in grudging acknowledgment.

And then what will you do? Tell me please, she signed, with an intense look.

Ferenc withheld his answering fingers. He had never stopped to think about this, not once since Mohi. Everything had been an unwelcome quest for him, from the moment of his mother’s death at the hand of the Mongols. First with Father Rodrigo to get to Rome; then with Ocyrhoe to free Father Rodrigo. The priest had never wanted anything but to get close to the Pope; surely, after all this time sequestered with the high-up Church authorities, that would be easy for him now, whoever the Pope was.

So what would Father Rodrigo do next? That would determine Ferenc’s course. Months ago he had stopped thinking about wanting anything for himself. Everyone and everything he knew and loved had died or been destroyed. He had no reason to go back, and nothing to go toward. The more he thought about this, the more it felt as if the hard dirt road beneath his feet was giving way like quicksand.

He felt tapping on his forearm and realized Ocyrhoe was trying to communicate with him. Are you all right all right all right? she kept asking.

All I know is useless, he signed back.

Ocyrhoe nodded solemnly, and he was sure she understood exactly what he meant. They ran forward to catch up with the others, but at that moment, the others stopped.

“We approach the gates,” Lena announced from the front, turning to face them. “From here we need our tracker and our native to get us to the Septizodium.”

Our turn to be in charge, Ocyrhoe signed with a small smile, and then grabbed his sleeve and pulled him forward.

Rodrigo had had no difficulty convincing his new chaperone, Brother Lucio, that there had been some mistake-he was merely supposed to be treated well and made comfortable, but not actually guarded. And so, when he explained that he dearly missed his native city and wanted the liberty to explore his old haunts, especially around the basilica, he was allowed to go, with only a young page boy, Timoteo, shadowing him.

Rodrigo remembered the city so clearly, although he was not used to approaching it from this side of the