“Nor what?”
“No Frankish knight to save me from bandits,” she laughed suddenly and gayly.
“Nor will there be here, long,” he said somberly. “The time approaches when I must take the trail again. I come of a restless breed and I have dallied here overlong.”
“Whither will you go, oh Godric?” Did she catch her breath suddenly as she spoke?
“Who knows?” In his voice was the ancient bitterness that his heathen Viking ancestors knew. “The world is before me – but not all the world with its shining leagues of sea or sand can quench the hunger that is in me. I must ride – that is all I know. I must ride till the ravens pluck my bones. Perchance I will ride back to tell Montferrat that his dream of an Eastern empire is a bubble that has burst. Perhaps I will ride east again.”
“Not east,” she shook her head. “The ravens are gathering in the east and there is a red flame there that pales the night. Wang Khan and his Keraits have fallen before the riders of Genghis Khan and Hia reels before his onslaught. Black Cathay too, I fear, is doomed, unless the Chins send them aid.”
“Would you care if I fell?” he asked curiously.
Her clear eyes surveyed him.
“Would I care? I would care if a dog died. Surely then I would care if a man who saved my life, fell.”
He shrugged his mighty shoulders. “You are kind. Today I ride. My wounds are long healed. I can lift my sword again. Thanks to your care I am strong as I ever was. This has been paradise – but I come of a restless breed. My dream of a kingdom is shattered and I must ride – somewhere. I have heard much from the slaves and You-tai of this Genghis Khan and his chiefs. Aye, of Subotai and Chepe Noyon. I will lend my sword to him – ”
“And fight against my people?” she asked.
His gaze fell before her clear eyes. “ ’Twere the deed of a dog,” he muttered. “But what would you have? I am a soldier – I have fought for and against the same men since I rode east. A warrior must pick the winning side. And Genghis Khan, from all accounts, is a born conqueror.”
Her eyes flashed. “The Cathayans will send out an army and crush him. He can not take Jahadur – what do his skin-clad herders know of walled cities?”
“We were but a naked horde before Constantinople,” muttered Godric, “but we had hunger to drive us on and the city fell. Genghis and his men are hungry. I have seen men of the same breed. Your people are fat and indolent. Genghis Khan will ride them down like sheep.”
“And you will aid him,” she blazed.
“War is a man’s game,” he said roughly; shame hardened his tone; this slim, clear-eyed girl, so ignorant and innocent of the world’s ways, stirred old dreams of idealistic chivalry in his soul – dreams he thought long lost in the fierce necessity of life. “What do you know of war and men’s perfidy? A warrior must better himself as he may. I am weary of fighting for lost causes and getting only hard blows in return.”
“What if I asked you – begged you?” she breathed, leaning forward.
A sudden surge of madness swept him off his feet.
“For you,” he roared suddenly, like a wounded lion, “I would ride down on the Mongol yurts alone and crush them into the red earth and bring back the heads of Genghis and his khans in a cluster at my saddle-bow!”
She recoiled, gasping before the sudden loosing of his passion, but he caught her in an unconsciously rough embrace. His race loved as they hated, fiercely and violently. He would not have bruised her tender skin for all the gold in Cathay, but his own savagery swept him out of himself.
Then a sudden voice brought him to himself and he released the girl and whirled, ready to battle the whole Black Cathayan army. Old Roogla stood before them, panting.
“My princess,” he gasped; “the courtiers from Greater Cathay – they have just arrived – ”
She went white and cold as a statue.
“I am ready, oh Roogla,” she whispered.
“Ready the devil!” roared the old soldier. “Only three of them got through to the gates of Jahadur and they’re bleeding to death! You are not going to Cathay to marry Wang Yin. Not now, at least. And you’ll be lucky if you’re not dragged by the hair to Subotai’s yurt. The hills are swarming with Mongols. They cut the throats of the watchers in the passes, and ambushed the courtiers from Cathay. An hour will bring them – the whole horde of howling devils – to the very gates of Jahadur. Chamu Khan is capering about like a devil with a hornet in his khalat. We can’t send you out now – Genghis holds all the outer passes. The western Turks might give you sanctuary – but we can not reach them. There’s only one thing to do – and that’s hold the city! But with these fat, perfume-scented, wine- bibbing dogs that call themselves soldiery we’ll be lucky if we get to strike a single blow in our defense – ”
Yulita turned to Godric with level eyes.
“Genghis Khan is at our gates,” said she. “Go to him.” And turning she walked swiftly into a nearby doorway.
“What did she mean?” asked old Roogla wonderingly.
Godric growled deep in his throat. “Bring my armor and my sword. I go to seek Genghis Khan – but not as she thought.”
Roogla grinned and his beard bristled. He smote Godric a blow that had rendered a lesser man senseless.
“Hai, wolf-brother!” he roared; “we’ll give Genghis a fight yet! We’ll send him back to the desert to lick his wounds if we can only keep three men in the army from fleeing! They can stand behind us and hand us weapons when we break our swords and axes, while we pile up Mongol dead so high that the women on the battlements will look up at them!”
Godric smiled thinly.
III
To grow old cowed in a conquered land, With the sun itself discrowned, To see trees crouch and cattle slink – Death is a better ale to drink, And by high Death on the fell brink, That flagon shall go round.– Chesterton
Godric’s armor had been mended cleverly, he found, the rents in hauberk and helmet fused with such skill that no sign of a gash showed. The knight’s armor was unusually strong, anyway, and of a weight few men could have borne. The blades that had wounded him in the battle of the defiles had hacked through old dents. Now that these were mended, the armor was like new. The heavy mail was reinforced with solid plates of steel on breast, back and shoulders and the sword belt was of joined steel plates a hand’s breadth wide. The helmet, instead of being merely a steel cap with a long nasal, worn over a mail hood, as was the case of most Crusaders, was made with a vizor and fitted firmly into the steel shoulder-pieces. The whole armor showed the trend of the times – chain and scale mail giving way gradually to plate armor.
Godric experienced a fierce resurge of power as he felt the familiar weight of his mail and fingered the worn hilt of his long, two-handed sword. The languorous illusive dreaminess of the past weeks vanished; again he was a conqueror of a race of conquerors. With old Roogla he rode to the main gates, seeing on all hands the terror that had seized the people. Men and women ran distractedly through the streets, crying that the Mongols were upon them; they tied their belongings into bundles, loaded them on donkeys and jerked them off again, shouting reproaches at the soldiers on the walls, who seemed as frightened as the people.
“Cowards!” Old Roogla’s beard bristled. “What they need is war to stiffen their thews. Well, they’ve got war now and they’ll have to fight.”
“A man can always run,” answered Godric sardonically.
They came to the outer gates and found a band of soldiery there, handling their pikes and bows nervously. They brightened slightly as Roogla and Godric rode up. The tale of the Norman’s battle with the Hian bandits had lost nothing in the telling. But Godric was surprized to note their fewness.
“Are these all your soldiers?”
Roogla shook his head.
“Most of them are at the Pass of Skulls,” he growled. “It’s the only way a large force of men can approach Jahadur. In the past we’ve held it easily against all comers – but these Mongols are devils. I left enough men here
