Hope of Earth

  Only as he subsided did he realize the full implication of what had happened. “I was potent!”

  She laughed. “I hoped you wouldn’t notice, until too late.”

  “It is definitely too late,” he said, half ruefully. “I have creased and soiled your wedding gown.” Actually it was her dancing costume, but that didn’t matter.

  “Then take it off me and do it again more cleanly.”

  “I think I shall.”

  They disentangled and got their clothing off. He realized that she still wore her little crown. Naked, they looked at each other. Ned’s member had lowered, but now it rose again. “I asked Sahara for a potion to make me potent,” he said.

  “You what?” she demanded with a sudden regal flash of anger.

  “But I forgot to take it.”

  She considered that. Then she burst out laughing, her whole body shaking. “You didn’t need it!”

  “I thought I would, and I wanted to please you. But the moment I saw you, there was nothing in my world but you. I love you, Wildflower.”

  “You must, because you converted to the Moslem faith for me.”

  “Yes.”

  Then she seemed to think of something. “I was going to ask you to, but I wasn’t sure you would. My cousin said he would persuade you.”

  “He did.”

  She turned sober. “How did he persuade you?”

  “That doesn’t matter. I am glad to be with you in this.”

  “I made him promise not to hurt you or threaten you.”

  “He didn’t.”

  But she was suspicious. “How did he persuade you?” she asked again.

  Ned saw that she was determined to have the truth. “He said he would execute you for betraying your faith.”

  “He wouldn’t do that!”

  “Oh, Wildflower, I couldn’t take the chance. He told me how you protected me by threatening to die the hour after I did. Even though I had been no kind of a husband to you. I couldn’t let you die!”

  “You were all the husband I wanted.”

  “How could I be the beneficiary of such love, and not return it?”

  She flung herself upon him, bearing him back on the bed. He felt her breasts and thighs against him, and this time they were mounds and columns of ecstasy. “I love you, Ned! I always loved you! But you saw me as a little sister.”

  “You are not my sister!” he said with mock seriousness as he cupped her tight, soft bottom with his hands. “You never were. I know that now.” He tickled her buttocks, making her squiggle. Then they dissolved into further laughter.

  Somewhere in the middle of it, they coupled again. “So strong a passion,” she said. “Are you sure you didn’t take that potion?”

  “Absolutely. Do you want me to?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to take it yourself?” he asked mischievously.

  “No! I want only you, with me like this, forever.”

  “You can have me like this, forever.”

  Her own face turned mischievous. “Was it like this with Wona?”

  “No. It’s much better with you.”

  “Really, Ned?” Suddenly she was the wondering child again, wanting reassurance.

  “Really. With her it was guilty and forced. With you it’s fulfillment. My only guilt with you is waiting so long to take what you offered. I really was a fool, and I thank you for bearing with me so long. You truly are all that I ever needed. Ever really wanted. I know it now.”

  She sighed, loving the news. They fell somewhat apart, but she snuggled up against him, within kissing range. “What changed?”

  Ned tried to analyze it. “I think it was a combination of things. The separation—I saw myself as such a fool for not—I mean, you are a lovely girl, Wildflower—”

  “Thank you.” She kissed him. “Go on.”

  “Then there was Sahara. She tried to seduce me—”

  She stiffened. “What?”

  “But didn’t succeed.” She relaxed. “But she did get me, you know, excited.”

  “I know.” She stroked him where he was excitable.

  “And I thought, how can I be so—so ready to do this with her, and not with you? It didn’t make any sense.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the khan told me how you risked your life for me. That frightened me. If you had died—oh, Wildflower!” The horror of it burgeoned anew.

  “I love you,” she explained. “I did what I had to do.”

  “And the khan admired that.” He paused. “Did you tell him about—?”

  “Oh, Ned, I didn’t want to! But I had to. He asked for my deepest secret, and I had to give it to him. It’s part of our protocol. But he shouldn’t have told anyone else.”

  “I don’t think he did. But that’s why he sent Sahara. To see if I was potent. She reported that I was. And that I was loyal to you. And I knew that I had to be with you again. Then when I saw you—you were nothing like my sisters. You were so regal, so beautiful, so wonderful! The way you danced—I never knew you could do that!”

  “I practiced. Sahara helped me.”

  “It was as if I had never seen you before, and yet I had. In that moment I really desired you.”

  She kissed him again. “As I desired you.”

  “Yes. You truly are a princess.”

  “I truly am.”

  “And I truly love you.”

  “And now we are truly married.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you won’t need Sahara in your bedroom any more.”

  “I never needed her there. Now stop being jealous and kiss me some more.”

  “I’ll do better than that.” And she did.

  There were many discussions, and Toqtamish heeded them, and soon developed a force to be reckoned with. Timur supplied advice and help, but now the khan was becoming increasingly independent. Good commanders were being promoted, and good men recruited and trained. The khan called in levies to raise a considerable army.

  It was not long before his leadership was tested. Malik had been defeated and driven out, but he was not dead. The Mongol prince of Serai had refused to ally with Malik against Toqtamish, so Malik had killed him and claimed his lands. Now, using Serai as a base, Malik raised an army to attack Toqtamish. By his side was his companion Balinjak, whose prowess and honor were famous, lending strength where Malik alone would have been weak.

  But Malik faced a far more disciplined and powerful force than he had reckoned with. In just a few months the White Horde had become not only strong but savvy. Toqtamish had a number of advisers, and he consulted them all—and chose the course that most resembled Ned’s private advice. He met Malik in the spring of 1378 and destroyed his army. Malik was killed, and Balinjak was captured and brought before the conqueror’s throne.

  “How should I deal with such a hero?” Toqtamish asked Ned before the meeting.

  “Spare him, if he will make his oath of fealty to you,” Ned said. “You could have no better defender by your side, and he can really help rouse the troops and compel the loyalty of those who once served Malik.”

  Toqtamish nodded, then led the way to the audience chamber. Ned followed, carrying the khan’s cloak. By this time Ned’s true place was widely known, but because he was newly converted from the Christian faith it remained unofficial. He was satisfied, because the lowliest position, with the khan’s favor, was more exalted than the highest with the khan’s disfavor. He had married the khan’s cousin, which was a root of favor, but now he had that favor on his own merit.

  Balinjak was a fine figure of a man, and he walked with his head upright despite his bonds. He seemed hardly daunted by his circumstance. He ignored the people in the court, and met the khan’s gaze without flinching.

  “What do you expect of me?” Toqtamish asked the prisoner.

  “A swift death.” He did not grant the khan a title.

  Toqtamish made a show of considering. “I am told you are a man of honor.”

&n
bsp; Ned remembered a similar remark, when the khan had first interviewed him. The subject did not come up unless Toqtamish was already prepared to deal.

  “I am, and I serve my master loyally, or his heir.”

  “I am Malik’s heir.”

  “You are not his heir. You are his conqueror, because of the support of Tamerlane.”

  There was an angry murmur in the court. “We do not call Timur by such a name,” Toqtamish said.

  “I do.”

  The man was in effect daring the khan to kill him out-right. Toqtamish glanced at Ned, then back to Balinjak. “Will you make your oath of fealty to me?”

  “No.”

  Toqtamish shook his head. “You are a good man. I would like to have you in my service. But if you will not serve me, I will still spare your life and set you free, if you will swear never to conspire against me.”

  Balinjak looked surprised. “You would spare me?”

  “Men of honor are rare,” Toqtamish said, glancing again at Ned.

  Balinjak shook his head. “I have spent the best years of my life in the service of Malik. I cannot bear to see another on his throne. May his eyes be torn out, who wishes to see you on Malik’s seat.” Then, surprisingly, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “Lord Toqtamish, if you would be gracious to me, cut off my head and put it under that of Malik, and let his corpse recline on mine, so that his delicate body may not be begrimed with dust.”

  Toqtamish glanced a third time at Ned. Ned shrugged. The prisoner was honorable, but would not yield. He had used an honorific title only when pleading for a special death.

  “So let it be,” the khan said with regret. The gallant prisoner was escorted away, to be honorably executed.

  Ned regretted it too. He would have liked to come to know Balinjak, who was a much better man than the master he had served. But if he would not give his oath, he was too dangerous to spare. Ned realized that he himself could readily have suffered a similar fate, had he made a similar demand. As a result, he was one of the few men the khan truly trusted. As Malik had surely trusted Balinjak, with good reason.

  Later, with Wildflower, Ned confided his deep regret at the outcome of that encounter. “That’s the trouble with honorable men,” Wildflower said. “You won’t bend at all.” Then she kissed him passionately. “It is one of the thousand reasons I love you.”

  “You have reasons?” he inquired with mock surprise. She struck him with three more kisses.

  Toqtamish’s second campaign of that year was much grander in scale and purpose. He moved against the Golden Horde. Timur’s emissaries were surprised; they had expected Toqtamish to be a relatively unambitious ruler, once he had secured his kingdom. Instead he was acting much the way Timur himself would have. They did not object, though they evidently feared that the khan would misplay his hand and soon come to grief, as he had so often before.

  But it was Ned’s job to see that Toqtamish did not do that. There was nothing haphazard about this campaign. Toqtamish did not seek open battle with the unified forces of the Golden Horde, but rather campaigned against the weaker local khans and princes who had aspirations for the top position. The strongest of these was Mamai, the leading claimant for the throne of the Blue Horde, the major faction. Mamai was too strong to meet openly, and Toqtamish had to suffer a number of taunts about his supposed cowardice, but he stayed with Ned’s program and avoided a definitive battle. There were times when Ned feared the khan would listen to his more violent advisers and seek one glorious but ultimately disastrous battle, but as long as Ned’s way won, Toqtamish remained with it.

  Thus it went for two years. Ned spent a lot of time in the field, surveying situations, because the key to victory was in timely, accurate information. He also spent much time with the khan, and was often home in Sabrán with Wild-flower. She did not like the frequent separations, but she remained with the family, and was especially close to Lin. The fortunes of the family prospered in this period, by no coincidence. Sam had good work building siege engines, and Jes and Ittai had a good ship and trade route on the Caspian Sea.

  Toqtamish’s chance came late in 1380. Mamai was in firm possession of the western tribes, including the Kipchaks, but now he faced a united uprising of the Russian princes to the north. The Russians were commanded by Dmitri, Grand Prince of Moscow. They had never been very orderly vassals, and constantly desired independence. Marnai found it necessary to petition for Lithuania’s aid against the rebels. But Dmitri, acting to prevent that, marched out quickly to force a confrontation with Mamai in the region of Kulikuvo. This was hilly country south of Moscow, by the headwaters of the Don, the river that flowed south into the Sea of Azov and thus connected to the Black Sea.

  But Toqtamish did not strike. He waited, letting the Russians make their move. He had spies out to watch the action and keep him current on it. As Ned had advised him, it was best to let the two other sides bleed each other dry without distraction. Then the pieces would be easier to pick up.

  The Russians, as it turned out, were not stupid about war. Their men had spent a century serving as conscripts in Mongol armies, and they had learned how to fight the Mongol way. They anchored their lines in positions that could not be flanked, extending from the bank of the river to a steep forested slope.

  The Mongols were stuck with a battle site chosen by their adversaries. “Idiocy!” Ned remarked, smiling. “Genghis Khan would never have tolerated that.” But of course this was not the day of Genghis, or of his genius generals.

  The Mongols had little choice but to try to pierce the Russian front. After fierce fighting and heavy losses, they finally buckled one wing of the Russian lines. But Dmitri, with cunning worthy of a Mongol, had a cavalry troop hidden in ambush in the forest. The Russian cavalry caught the charging Mongols in the flank, decimating their ranks. He had used their own tactics against them, employing a ruse of weakness to lure them into a trap. Marnai’s army was routed, and he had to retreat to the lands between the Don and the Volga to gather a new army and exact his vengeance.

  Ned nodded. He had predicted something like that. A straightforward attack at a site chosen by the enemy was stupid. Once again he had shown Toqtamish the wisdom of caution.

  The Russians, victorious but exhausted, lacked the strength or supplies to press their victory, and returned home. They had accomplished their purpose, defending their independence.

  “Now!” Ned said.

  Toqtamish made his move. He pounced on Mamai while the khan’s forces were weakened, at Kalka, near the Sea of Azov. It was hardly a fair situation, and the remnant of the Golden Horde was routed. Mamai fled to the Genoese colony nearby, but the Genoese, who had suffered from his arrogance, slew him. Toqtamish became khan of the Golden Horde, which now encompassed all the territory of its ancient days.

  “But you can’t afford to leave the rebellious Russians on your flank,” Ned warned him. “Should they ally with the Lithuanians, they could become too strong to handle.”

  “But we lack the strength to properly subdue them now,” the khan protested.

  “True. So you must maintain relations with them. But don’t relax. They are potentially more dangerous to you than Mamai was.”

  Toqtamish nodded. But for once it seemed that Ned’s caution was wrong, for the Russians immediately sent sword-bearers with their homage. They recognized the fact that their princes held their positions only at the khan’s pleasure. The advisers who had opposed Ned’s strategies claimed that he had led the khan into foolish concern about an enemy too weak to cause him any mischief.

  However, when Toqtamish summoned the Russian princes themselves to come in person to his court, and to pay tribute, the Russians sent excuses.

  “You were right, as always,” Toqtamish told Ned. “They proffer only lip service, not substance. They think that because they beat Mamai, they can beat me. We shall have to teach them a lesson.”

  But it was necessary to recover and prepare. So for a year the khan left the Russi
ans alone, while he mustered and prepared his army. Then in the summer of 1392 he moved against them. His army was massive and well trained; the only thing it lacked was siege equipment, because that would slow down progress. Ned rode with the khan, and this time his sister Jes came too, garbed as a man, to protect Ned in the field. She loved her husband, just as Ned loved his wife, but her hunger for travel and action remained. The khan knew her nature, but pretended not to; he enjoyed this incidental secret.

  The Mongols seized Russian boats and used them to ferry troops across the Volga River. They enlisted Russian guides to lead them along the best route to Moscow. The Mongol army was overwhelming, and some Russians lost hope. They sought to curry Toqtamish’s favor with gifts. Prince Dmitri’s godfather in Novgorod sent his two sons with presents. And spies reported that Prince Dmitri himself abandoned Moscow and went northeast to Kostroma to raise a larger defensive force.

  Toqtamish continued his march on Moscow. Flames and smoke from burning villages and fields marked his advance, visible by day and night. He was making his point. Ned did not enjoy this aspect of campaigning, but Jes did. “The Russians showed their contempt of us,” she said. “Now they are learning respect. In the future they will consider more carefully before holding back on tribute. This is what war is all about.”

  “I prefer peace.”

  “Then you will have to find some other khan to advise, because Toqtamish is out to conquer the world.”

  “All except Timur’s domain.”

  She glanced sidelong at him. “Oh?” But she did not comment further.

  The news of the scouts continued. Many people were fleeing Moscow, but those who remained were organizing a defense. Prince Dmitri sent a young Lithuanian named Ostei to take charge, and his competence instilled confidence in the people. The Lithuanians were formidable because they understood the significance of the campaign. Peasants from the countryside poured into the city for shelter. The walls were manned by brave but largely untrained militia. Even monks were bearing arms in the defense of their city. But, the spies said, there was a feeling of doom.