Eric Flint: Much Fall Of Blood

Despite the relief that he felt now that he saw his path clearly, he was also a bit saddened. He would not have thought it possible that he would miss Manfred of Brittany, a few years before.

In another part of the great holy city, in a shady courtyard scented with orange blossom, Eberhart of Brunswick, representative of the States General, emissary of the emperor Charles Fredrik, thought of his time among the Celts. The advantage of dealing with the Celts had been that they used chairs. When one dealt with the Ilkhan, one lounged on cushions or sat cross legged on them. Yes, Jerusalem was considerably warmer, and much less damp than Ireland, but he missed having a back-rest, especially as it would seem the Mongol officials were just as long-winded as the Celts. Admittedly the wine he was being served was better than the beer in Duhblinn.

The platitudes were… platitudes. But the undercurrents were disturbing. The Ilkhan Hotai the Ineffable, to judge by his emissaries, wanted something. And when the master of all the lands between here and Hind wanted something, he usually didn't need to pussy-foot around about asking for it, even if politics here were conducted in a more subtle fashion than among the Celts or the Norse. Despite his wizened body, he was a man of immense influence. The Ilkhan's slightest word could mean death and destruction to thousands. This had to mean that Hotai thought that the Holy Roman Empire wasn't going to like the request much.

"As you know," said Bashar Ahmbien, "we are not a great maritime people."

What he said was true enough. It was the mastery of the horse that made the Mongols the dominant force of the east. Light, fast cavalry, great bowmen and superb tactics.

But of course Eberhart politely demurred. "You are a developing maritime force, rather."

"Perhaps-but the vessels of more powerful forces are reluctant to allow us to develop further."

This was dangerous talk. The Mediterranean needed yet another sea-power about as badly as the Holy Roman Empire needed Jagiellon as the grand duke of Lithuania.

"Ah," said Eberhart.

Ahmbien cocked his head, obviously weighing that non-committal "Ah" for any possible information. It didn't tell him very much. "Yes. We have found this irksome in the Black Sea."

That was somewhat better, Eberhart felt, although far from anything to relax about. But Ahmbien plainly understood this too. "It is not, you understand, our desire to control the seas. We've found ships very poor places to maneuver our horses. But we would like to talk and trade with our kin."

"The Golden Horde," said Eberhart, cutting to the chase. This was both dangerous and yet potentially advantageous. The Golden Horde had become isolated on the lowlands to the east of the Carpathian Mountains after the death of Batu Khan. To the south, the Bulgars, Thracians, other mountains tribes and Emperor Alexius in Constantinople cut them off from their fellow Mongols in Egypt and the Levant under the Ilkhan. Hungary and Slavic tribes and Vlachs vassals of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania blocked their movement to the north and west.

The Holy Roman Empire truly did not mind if they blunted their swords on the Prince Jagiellon's minions to the north. Even if they won, well, that would-at least in the short term-be no bad thing. The Mongols had proved to be excellent rulers, once the initial wave of conquest had passed with its atrocities and barbarities. Often less greedy in taxation than former rulers, and happy to allow freedom of religion and trade. Even their justice was frequently an improvement.

Local satraps were varied, of course, and some were oppressive and greedy. But the shadow of the Great Ilkhan rested on them. They did not dare go too far. Eberhart knew that a Mongol war with King Emeric of Hungary would be a desirable thing, although it would be better if that merely resulted in the death of King Emeric, and not the destruction of the buffer-zone that was his kingdom. But, weak reed and traitor though Alexius was, giving aid to cause the downfall of Byzantine Emperor Alexius was not desirable. Besides… the Black Sea… the Venetians were good allies, and they relied on the trade out of the Black Sea to some extent.

"You are too astute for us, noble lord," said Ahmbien, a hint of a smile peering out from behind his moustache, a moustache that would have done the hind end of a wild Irish moorland pony proud. "The Golden Horde. The descendants of Batu Khan. It would appear that some months ago the issue of succession became paramount. We believe this is of interest to you. The leadership is divided among the clans. Since the death of Batu Khan the Horde have increased their numbers and look for fresh lands. Part of the Horde favors expansion to the south."

Eberhart tried not to tense, like a terrier at the mention of rats. And failed.

His host inclined his head at him, just slightly. "And the faction we feel has a just claim, would break out through the lowlands to the north and east. Our support would carry weight among the clans."

Eberhart exhaled. Of course, there was no way of telling if Ahmbien spoke the truth or not. But at least the Ilkhan were presenting the information that there were two factions, which they had no need to do. "Of course," he said.

"We understand each other, then. An agreement of mutual convenience as it were," said Ahmbien, tugging his moustache.

"Indeed. But I fail to see what this has to do with us. Or with maritime prowess?"

"We have always been able to send messengers across the Black Sea. Not easily, but by indirect routes-Trebizond, by sea northwards to Kerch, across the Krym and then on into the lands of the Horde. We receive news the same way. Our last five messengers have failed to return. So have the ships they sailed on. We believe a great fleet is being assembled in the Dniepr gulf. We have word of at least three hundred round ships, and many galleys."

There could only be one destination for such a fleet.

Byzantium.

And whatever else the Holy Roman Empire might disagree with Ilkhan about, this they had in common. The Ilkhan did not want the allies of Prince Jagiellon to take Constantinople. Neither did any other Mediterranean or even European power. "How long has this been underway?" asked Eberhart.

"Perhaps three years," said Ahmbien.

The reasons behind Jagiellon's adventures against Venice suddenly became much clearer. The Mediterranean without Venice's galleys would present a large soft underbelly. Smaller powers-the Genoese and others-could be picked off piecemeal. Jagiellon had been moving pawns on a board so vast that others had not been able to see them all. When he had failed in Venice, he just gone on building ships. But by now… they should have sailed.

"The tribesmen of the Golden Horde raided deep into the north. They captured and burned a fleet of barges. Barges full of flaxen sailcloth and rope," said Ahmbien, as if reading his mind.

"Ah!" said Eberhart. "The fleet would have sailed after the failure of the attack on Corfu, but couldn't?"

Ahmbien nodded. "By next spring they will sail, unless the ships are destroyed."

"Can they be?" asked Eberhart.

Ahmbien shrugged. "The raid cost Prince Jagiellon's allies dearly. But it cost the Horde still more. Baku Khan was killed. Thus the Horde did not take and keep but returned to their grazing-lands to hold a convocation of the tribes, to choose a new leader, as is our tradition. Ghutir, the son of Baku, was named as the new Khan. But he died. Magic and poison were both blamed. Now, the succession is clouded. There is Gatu, the son of Baku's younger sister, the grandchild of the orkhan Berke. And there is a cousin, one Kildai, who is the great-grandson of Batu Khan's older sister, and is descended from Ulaghchi Khan on his mother's side. It is complex."