Conn Iggulden - Conqueror (2011)

At first, he did not realise Hulegu had come. Rukn-al-Din was used to the grandeur of caliphs and expected at least some sort of retinue, some fanfare. Instead, one dusty warrior among many dismounted. Rukn watched him idly, noting the extraordinary breadth of the man’s shoulders as he stopped to talk to two or three others around him. The Mongols loved to wrestle, one of the few civilised things about them. Rukn-al-Din was wondering if he could interest the khan’s brother in a challenge from one of his own when he saw the man striding towards the tent. He rose, putting down his drink.

‘Salaam Alaikum. You are most welcome. I assume you are Prince Hulegu, brother to Mongke Khan. I am Rukn-al-Din, son to Suleiman-al-Din.’

His interpreter translated the Arabic into the general’s coarse tongue, making Hulegu glance at him. Rukn chose that moment to bow deeply. His father had ordered it, though Rukn resented even the idea. The warrior stared coldly at him and Rukn watched as his eyes flickered around the inside of the tent, taking in every detail. Hulegu had yet to enter the shaded awning. He stood on the threshold glaring in, while his ten thousand continued to make an appalling racket all around them. Dust drifted in wisps through the air, visible in the light of the setting sun. Rukn struggled to remain calm.

‘You must be thirsty, my lord,’ Rukn went on, hoping he was not overdoing the titles and honours. ‘Please sit in the shade. My men have brought ice to keep us cool.’

Hulegu grunted. He did not trust the weak-faced man standing before him, even to the point of revealing his understanding of the language. He thought of Ilugei’s offer to go to the meeting in his place and wondered if the stranger was who he claimed to be. Under the pressure of Rukn’s open-palm gesture, Hulegu unbent enough to enter. He frowned at the sight of a chair with its back to Rukn’s servants and snapped an order to his own men. One of the Mongol officers sauntered into the tent behind him, radiating danger with every movement. Rukn remained still as the chair was dragged across the carpeted floor against the silk wall. At last, Hulegu sat, waving away his own man and the servant with a tray of tall glasses.

‘I told you to destroy your fortresses,’ Hulegu said. He placed his hands on his knees, sitting straight and ready to leap up. ‘Has that been done?’

Rukn cleared his throat and sipped his drink as the interpreter spoke. He was not used to business being discussed so quickly and it unnerved him. He had hoped to begin a negotiation that would last all night and perhaps most of the next day, but under that cruel stare, he found himself babbling part of his promises in one rush, his father’s warnings melting away like the ice in his drink.

‘I have been told, lord, that we will begin the work on Shirat castle next spring. By the end of next year, it will be gone and you may tell your khan that we have obeyed you.’

He paused for translation, but at the end, Hulegu did not speak. Rukn struggled to find words to go on. His father had told him to make the Mongols understand it took months to bring down thousands of tons of cut stone. If they accepted the offer, the work would be delayed over and over again. There would be great energy and effort, but the castle would take years to demolish. Perhaps by then, the distant khan would have broken his neck, or Hulegu’s great army would have moved on to other targets for their bile.

‘Shirat is high in the mountains, lord. It is no easy task to bring down something that has stood for millennia. Yet we understand that you will want to report success to the khan, your brother. We have prepared gifts for him, gold and jewels to fill a city.’ For the first time, he saw a spark of interest in Hulegu’s eyes and was partly reassured.

‘Show me,’ Hulegu said, his words translated in a single sound from the interpreter.

‘My lord, they are not here. You and I answer to more powerful men. I am merely an emissary for my father, as you speak for your khan. Yet I have been told to offer you four thousand finger bars of gold as well as dinar coins to fill two chests.’ Even saying the words made fresh sweat break out for Rukn-al-Din. The amounts were vast, enough to found a small city. The Mongol merely stared at him as the interpreter droned on.

‘You do accept tribute from your allies?’ Rukn said, pressing him. Hulegu waited patiently for the translation to finish.

‘No. We accept tribute from those who serve us,’ Hulegu replied. ‘You have spoken, Rukn-al-Din. You have said what you have been told to say. Now listen to me.’ He paused while the interpreter caught up, watching Rukn closely all the time. ‘My concern is the centre of Islam, the city of Baghdad. I will take that place, do you understand?’

Rukn nodded uncomfortably as he heard the words.

‘In comparison to that, your father and your sect mean little to me. For the honour of my grandfather, I would have been content to see them made into ashes, but you have offered me gold and friendship. Very well, I will accept twice the sum in gold and the destruction of two of your fortresses. I will accept an oath of allegiance to me and to my family.’ He let the translator reach the end, so that he could watch Rukn-al-Din’s reaction. ‘But I will not give you my word. As you say, we both have those to whom we must answer. When I return to my brother, he will ask if I spoke to this Suleiman. Nothing else will do, do you understand? There can be peace between our families, but only when I have spoken to Suleiman. Take me to Alamut, that I may meet with him.’

Rukn struggled not to show his delight. He had been afraid the Mongol would refuse everything he offered, perhaps even to the point of killing him in his tent. In his pleasure, a tendril of suspicion entered. The Mongol leader might see an advantage in getting his army close to the ancient stronghold. Rukn did not know if the man’s guides could even find it on their own. He thought of the impregnable fortress, with its single path across the sheer rock face. Let them come and stare up at it. Their catapults and cannon would not reach such a height. They could roar and bluster for a hundred years at the foot of the peak and never get in.

‘I will do as you say, my lord. I will send word ahead of us and you will be welcomed as a friend and ally.’ His eyes grew cunning and he shook his head ruefully. ‘As for the gold, I do not think there is that much in all the world. If you will accept the first part as a gift, I’m certain the rest could be brought to you each year in tribute.’

Hulegu smiled for the first time. He did not think the young man had realised yet that his life was in Hulegu’s hands.

Suleiman breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of sheep droppings in the high, clear air. The tiny meadow on the far side of Alamut was a miracle of rare device, a testament to the skill and foresight of his ancestors. Small trees gave shade to the herd and Suleiman often came there when he needed to think in peace. The meadow was barely two acres in all, enough to support only a dozen sheep and six goats. They were fat and glossy in the sunshine, their constant bleating a balm to his soul. Some of them came close at the sight of him, standing without fear as they hoped for food. He smiled, showing them empty hands. At heart, he had always thought of himself as a shepherd, to men as well as animals.

He strolled across the thick turf until he reached the sheer rock on one side and ran his fingers along it. There was a small hut there, with bags of feed for the winter and grey blocks of salt for the animals to lick. He checked the bags carefully, wary of the mould that could be poisonous to his precious flock. For a time he lost himself carrying the sacks into the light and checking the contents. In such a place, it was difficult to believe he faced the utter annihilation of his clan.