The wagon jumped sharply, and several of the Cardinals voiced their annoyance at the bumpy ride. The jar popped out of Rodrigo’s grip and bounced on the wooden floor of the cart. He got his hands on it quickly enough, but as he checked it, he realized the stopper had come loose.
He sat up hurriedly, his eyes frantically scanning the wagon bed for the narrow plug. He caught sight of it on his left, near the wall of the wagon. As he reached for it, the wagon hit another bump, and the stopper jumped out of reach. It slid across the wooden floor, bounced against the lowest slat on the side, and then slipped through the gap. Rodrigo stared, and then whipped his head around to fixate on the jar.
It was open! What had Colonna said was inside? Rodrigo tilted the jar up to see its contents, and as he did so, he saw with utter clarity what was going to happen next. When it happened, he was not surprised; he simply accepted the Hand of God as it reached down and jostled the cart one last time.
The jar spun out of his hand, scattering its contents all over him. He closed his eyes, accepting the squirming offerings that God was giving to him. Scorpions.
He remembered waking from a horrible dream while trapped underground. There had been a scorpion on him—one much smaller than the specimens that crawled all over him now—and he had wondered if it had stung him. If the return of his fever could be attributed to the poisonous sting of the tiny creature.
There were so many more of them now. They were in his hair. One crawled across his forehead, and several more had already found their way into his robe.
This is God’s Will, he thought, spreading his arms and accepting his destiny. He had not delivered his message; God would not let him die. Not until he had completed the task He had set for him.
One of the Cardinals noticed the pale shapes crawling all over him and started screaming.
CHAPTER TEN
The Khagan’s Banner
On catching sight of the Spirit Banner, the Khagan’s warriors instinctively flocked toward it, and as he strode through the camp, Master Chucai found himself acquiring an entourage of blood-stained soldiers. At first he had waved them off, shouting at them to continue hunting for Chinese rebels who might still be skulking among the tents, but as his survey of the caravan continued, the soldiers began to show up in greater numbers.
They knew he was going to end up at the Khagan’s ger eventually, and they wanted to be there when he arrived. They followed the banner, and Chucai’s practical examination of the damage and status of the caravan took on an air of a celebratory parade.
Chucai ignored the soldiers. They had been ambushed by an unknown force, and had reacted well. It was still too early to make an accurate assessment of how many had been killed or the extent of the destruction to the wagons and livestock, but as far as his eye could see, it looked like the damage was minimal. A few isolated fires still burned, but most of them were tiny patches of flame that were trying to creep off into the night and were slowly being starved of readily accessible fuel.
The Khagan’s wheeled ger had been spared, and while some of the men following him were beginning to spin tales about the Khagan’s invincibility, Chucai knew there was a more practical reason. The Khagan had not been the target of the Chinese raid. What they had wanted was the Spirit Banner.
His thumb unconsciously strayed to the rough scab on the pole.
He had fruitlessly searched the bodies of the three Chinese men who had tried to steal the banner. They hadn’t been wearing any insignia or common markings on their armor, and other than a short string of glass beads in the pocket of one man, they had been carrying nothing. Which in itself was interesting, and had he been less distracted by the mystery of the banner, Chucai might have wondered more where these men had come from. But they were dead and their corpses offered him no useful clue. As he roamed through the camp, he was also keeping an eye out for any prisoners—living men who could answer the question burning in his mind.
A cheer rose from the men surrounding the Khagan’s ger, and it was answered by the host trailing behind him. Chucai grimaced, and beat the butt of the staff against the ground a few times as he slowed his relentless pace through the maze of tents. The soldiers of the Imperial Guard who had been left to watch over the Khagan had seen the Spirit Banner. Their shout was a roar of recognition, but it held an inquisitive note: Those who return, tell us of your victory!