The Mongoliad Book Three

Ferenc shook his head. “What does that mean, guests of the empire?”

 

 

Helmuth’s grin faded. “It means they are prisoners,” he said.

 

The young hunter would have given anything at that moment to turn back time, and to prevent Father Rodrigo from coming to Rome. This was a land of madness. “So all of the church’s Cardinals are being held prisoner somewhere,” he said. “Either in the Septizodium or in Tivoli. Then doesn’t your Emperor sin as much as whoever holds the Cardinals hostage in Rome?”

 

“It’s not that simple,” said Helmuth impatiently. “Anyhow, the Emperor is now releasing a Cardinal, who will go into Rome with you.”

 

“There are already plenty of Cardinals in Rome,” protested Ferenc. “What good will another Cardinal do us?”

 

“The Cardinals in Rome are being held hostage until they vote for a new Pope. They cannot make a choice. His Majesty hopes that if a Cardinal is allowed to join them now, that Cardinal might swing the vote one way or another.”

 

“And then they will be released?”

 

“And then they will be released.”

 

Ferenc mused on this. As a hunter he appreciated the use of strategy over brute force, but he had been very pleased with the notion of leading an army into the city to liberate Father Rodrigo.

 

“Where is Tivoli?” he asked at last.

 

“It is half a day’s march away,” said the soldier. “It is a well-traveled road and a carriage was sent for the Cardinal overnight, so I imagine he will arrive here soon. In the meantime, you may bathe and have fresh clothes.”

 

What a strange offer. “Is there something wrong with my clothes?” Ferenc asked.

 

Helmuth smiled condescendingly. “You are filthy, and so are your clothes. We make the offer to be hospitable and considerate. I have no time to educate you about basic human decency, so either take the offer or leave it—it is all one to me.”

 

Ferenc wanted to speak to Ocyrhoe, but then realized she would be even less educated on these issues than himself. It was exhausting, being the eternally ignorant outsider. “I appreciate your hospitality,” he said, restraining his true emotions, “and humbly accept your offer.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

 

 

Picking Flowers

 

 

 

It was customary for Tegusgal—as captain of Onghwe Khan’s guards—to attend the fights in the Circus. Many of the guards went as well, both to attend to the safety of the Khan but also to participate in the furious betting. Without Tegusgal around, the guards who remained at the Mongol compound had a tendency to let their displeasure at being left behind turn to laziness, which presented an opportunity for Kim and Zug to plan somewhat openly. The Mongols were typically loath to allow any group of fighters to enjoy true seclusion in numbers greater than two, but this afternoon they—and some of the men who they had approached previously—were allowed to gather in the training yard, where the relative absence of supervision permitted them to stand about and speak. So long as they periodically made a show of moving through patterns or drills, the bored guards would not be overly suspicious.

 

They made for a strange assortment of mismatched and dangerous individuals, a patchwork of potential violence that would alarm Tegusgal if he were ever to see them assembled. Will it be enough? That was the worry that gnawed at Kim as he surveyed his motley band.

 

Madhukar’s shoulders rippled as he uttered a sound of dissatisfaction. The wrestler’s grasp of the Mongol tongue was not exceptional, but Siyavash, a Persian with a face that looked like it had been carved from marble, understood some of the big man’s native tongue. Enough to offer better translations.

 

“Too much waiting, Madhukar says,” Siyavash murmured. “And standing around talking like this is dangerous.”

 

“A little longer,” Zug murmured where he stood, leaning against a stave of white wood. The bushi was already sharper than Kim had ever seen him, his focus honed like the edge of his skull-maker and set inexorably upon the task at hand. And yet, he exuded such patience. “Unless the Rose Knight has been killed by Lakshaman.” The cheers from the arena had occasionally reached them, and judging by the ebb and flow of the noise, the fight was finished.

 

“We don’t know to which of the fighting orders Lakshaman’s opponent belonged,” Kim said. “’Tis better to concern ourselves with what we know, and what we can accomplish.”

 

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