James Heneage - The Towers of Samarcand

And a plan .

Plethon’s plan, his destiny: to bring Tamerlane west to fight Bayezid. To bring one monster to kill another. He closed his eyes and there was Anna. He’d last seen her standing before him as he knelt beneath Suleyman’s sword on the bloody field of Nicopolis. A whisper.

Are you with Suleyman?

Sleep drifted in like a mist and the whisper rose to the crash of a storm at sea. He was in waves bigger than continents, waves that hid the sky. He saw a rain-lashed jetty and a giant swinging an axe until the axe fell. He saw Anna being dragged down that jetty. Away from him.

Are you with Suleyman now?

*

The next morning Luke was shaken awake by the girl Arkal. She watched him shyly through her dirt and handed him a cup of salted tea. The salt stung his blasted lips. For a long moment they looked at each other. Luke put down the cup.

‘Luke,’ he said, pointing at himself. ‘My name is Luke.’

The girl was perhaps twelve. A row of yellow teeth appeared. ‘Lug.’

There was a grunt from above. Torguk was standing there. He clapped his hands and gestured to the door. They were to leave at once and there was work to do. Immediately they set about clearing out the stove, pallets, carpets and everything else from the ger before stripping the felt from its sides and collapsing the trellised willow frame on to which it was tied. Outside were large wagons to pull the tribe’s belongings and larger ones on which tents had been erected for carrying the sick, pregnant and old, and for the tribe to sleep in at night.

Around the camp, fires smouldered, turning the snow into a steaming paste in which the children played until they saw Luke. Then they formed a circle to watch the tall, fair stranger as he worked, at first silent and awed, then nudgingly braver until one of them darted forward to touch his hair. Arkal limped over to shoo them away and when Luke smiled at her, she darkened in pleasure.

The young men of the tribe went from ger to ger helping to dismantle them but one they left alone. It was on the outskirts of the camp and smaller than the others. Outside it stood poles on which horse hides hung beneath animal skulls. Bones lay in the snow around them. As Luke watched, the tent door opened and an old man came out, leaning on a stick. He was dressed in a filthy deel and snakes of matted hair fell to his waist. A young girl emerged wearing skins but with bare arms and legs. Her hair was long and dirty but she was tall and had some grace. Luke couldn’t see her face but, as she straightened, he knew that she was looking at him. He turned away.

*

When the camp finally moved, it travelled as fast as the oxen were able to pull the wagons. On the first two days, they ground their way across the steppe and the wind blew more fiercely and the sallies of snow grew bolder. Everyone but Luke was either riding inside the gers on the wagons or on a horse. On the third day, they came across a caravan: four hundred camels making their knock-kneed way towards the warmer climes of the Levant. They stopped and talked to merchants who’d come from Bursa and had a funny tale to tell. One of the merchants opened his mouth wide to show a grey substance that filled the holes in his teeth and the gazis gasped in wonder. Then the business of trade took over and the Germiyans swapped mohair wool and bales of felt for silk and other comforts that would make life more bearable in the terrible months to come.

Luke watched it all and, for the first time in a week, smiled.

A funny tale .

It was a fortnight ago that he’d seen his friends at Bursa: Dimitri, the seller of mastic to fill men’s teeth, and Benedo Barbi, engineer to kings, popes and the Genoese signori of Chios, an island they called Scio.

That night he dreamt of Chios. He dreamt of Fiorenza, Princess of Trebizond, wife to Marchese Longo, Lord of Chios, who some said was the most beautiful woman in the world. He saw her lying beneath him, her buttercup hair splayed out across grass littered with flowers and shiny with evening dew. He saw her drawing him down.

You can, Luke. And you must .

*

The following day, Luke tried to ride. Gomil had assembled a party to hunt marmot with hawks. As it was leaving, Luke saw the chief’s son stop suddenly and turn, staring hard at the horizon, his head tilted as if listening. Then, with dizzying speed, he drew his bow and released two arrows. He looked out beneath his hand and gave a grunt of pleasure. Luke judged it a good moment and he approached Gomil’s stirrup and gestured to a horse. But Gomil spat into the snow and cantered away.

That evening they fed on lynx as well as marmot and, since the night held no snow, sat outside around a fire, and the men passed the airag and sang and the women looked at Luke and giggled. In the firelight, Luke studied the faces around him, faces creased by hard weather, chins bright with airag and bubbles of koumis on their lips. What had Omar said?

These are good people, Luke. Their movement makes them honest .

Luke looked at Gomil. Was he honest? He was certainly drunk.

At length the women and children began to drift away to find space within the tents. The chief rose and yawned and left and the rest of the men closed in around the fire and searched the cauldrons for old bones to suck on. A new sack of airag was brought, which they up-ended and splashed on to their faces. Some had passed out, some were speechless with the drink, some argued. Luke sat a little apart.

Gomil rose to his feet and fell. There was laughter and he scowled and tried again, his hand gripping a shoulder. His eyes were fixed on Luke and the fire caught their hooded malevolence. He muttered something and staggered over, lifting his feet with exaggerated care. He stopped, swayed and drew back his foot for the kick. But Luke was quick and not drunk. He rolled easily to the side and Gomil’s foot swung through air and he fell again, this time hard.

Gomil swore, got to his knees and reached over to draw a burning branch from the fire. Then he lunged. Luke rolled again, feeling the heat on his back as the wood broke against the ground, sending a shower of cinders into the night. One of the men shouted something and Gomil screamed abuse at him. Now he was standing and Luke was on his knees, looking around for a weapon. He was too far from the fire.

There was another shout. Luke looked over to see the chief standing there, clutching a skin to his shoulders. He barked something and his son sat heavily on the ground, shaking his head. Luke didn’t wait for more. He got to his feet and turned to find his tent.

She was standing behind him. Half in the shadows, her hair over her eyes like a veil. Staring at him. The girl in the skins.

Who are you?

*

The snow began to fall in earnest the following day and the horses hung their heads against its driving force and men made cowls of their furs and shrank their airag heads into their shoulders. Luke climbed aboard a wagon until pulled off by a passing rider. The wind was relentless and made his eyes stream with tears that ran down his cheeks and froze on his lips. He thought of Chios and summer evenings and the sound of cicadas and the comfort of friendship and shared language. He thought of Anna and the warmth of two naked bodies in a cave.

He looked at the ponies around him. They were tough, shaggy creatures with long hair and stubborn mouths. He’d never seen their like before. Would he be able to talk to them as he could to other horses, as he did to Eskalon? He closed his eyes and Eskalon’s big head was there before him, those intelligent eyes looking into his, understanding.

Where are you now, old friend?

*

That night the storm grew in strength and buffeted the walls of the big ger in which he lay beneath furs, barely able to move amidst the mass of people. The wagon beneath them groaned in the onslaught and men moaned in their sleep. The smoke from the single stove hung heavy above the stench of flesh. Luke lay awake and thought of the horses outside leaning against each other for protection, their coats stiff with snow, their eyes closed, their patience endless.