Path of the Eclipse (21 page)

You may be interested to learn that there are new laws against alchemists, particularly the making of gold, for it is reasoned that if the alchemist fails in this endeavor, he will be tempted to steal in order to make up for what he did not produce. The officers of the Tribunal have come to the university once or twice and have spoken most forcefully on the matter, and we all nod and argee and work more circumspectly.

Let me assure you that when this crisis has passed and the Mongols have been driven back into the desert where they belong, it will give me the greatest pleasure to receive you here in Lo-Yang and see that you are restored to your full dignities at the university. For the moment, I would be less than a friend to you if I did not reiterate the need for you to stay away. The danger is most grave, and will continue to be so until the Imperial army has cut this menace down to proper size. In a few years, we will laugh about this, most certainly, and think back to these perilous days as one remembers an incident in childhood.

The Magisterial Tribunal has ordered your name removed from the university roles, but I have taken the liberty of placing all your records in the archives so that when you return, you will have your notes and other papers available to you. The Provost does not know of this, at least not officially, but he has tacitly sanctioned such actions before, and I have assumed he will extend such approval to my decision, if it is required.

When you are able, send me word of your activities there, and I will attempt to keep you informed of the movements of the Mongols and the successes of the Imperial army, so that you will be prepared. You must surely know by my lamentable lack of literary style that this comes by my own hand to you, and that it bears my sincerest greetings as well as my continuing friendship. I have made no copy, and request that you do not keep this.

Kuan Sun-Sze

University of Lo-Yang

his chop

11

From his vantage point on the ramparts of the Mao-T’ou stronghold, Saint-Germain watched the battle below. The air, which in the morning had been sweet with the harvest scents of early autumn, was now scorched with smoking buildings and charred fields.

T’en Chih-Yü had deployed her men in the Geese Winging Amid the Clouds formation at the point where So-Dui valley narrowed and cut through the gap to the smaller, higher Oa-Du valley. Three farmsteads had provided some cover, disguising their numbers—fifty-four mounted fighters and another thirty-nine men on foot. Many of the farmers had agreed to work with the militiamen, carrying supplies, water, bandages, weapons as they might be needed. Chih-Yü, mounted on her sorrel, had taken up the apex of the long V, with her two most experienced militiamen on either side of her.

It was midmorning before the Mongols came through the low pass into the So-Dui valley. There were more than two hundred of them—rough-looking men with bows, swords and thin lances, wearing light armor and curiously pointed helmets. They were mounted on small, scruffy horses, more like ponies, which proved to be fast, tough and indefatigable. They had begun by setting fire to the inn, as Chih-Yü thought they would, and five or six of them were burned when the barrels of pitch inside the old building exploded.

They were canny men, those Mongol warriors. They had been on a long, destructive campaign. They had been ambushed, booby-trapped and decoyed so often that now this latest outrage neither frightened nor angered them—it was exciting. With eerie, triumphant cries, they had turned their shaggy mounts into the valley and taken up a loose variation of the Propriety of the Six Domestic Animals formation, and rushed in a series of crossing search patterns across the fields. Not quite a dozen of the Mongols were victims of the deadfall traps, and five more were caught by various trip-lines, but their comrades paid such minor misfortunes little heed.

As the Mongols approached, Chih-Yü could see that her militiamen were growing restive with fear. It had been one thing to plan to face these calamitous fighters, but to wait for them, facing them, was another matter entirely. From their concealed positions, they watched Temujin’s warriors approach, and terror ran over them with the harvest wind. Chih-Yü bit her lip, her eyes narrowing. The Mongols had not come far enough into her lines for the militiamen to affect the most damage on the invaders, but if she delayed much longer many of her men would bolt, and though each of them knew that to fly from battle brought the most ignominious fame and unredeemable death, the sight of the Mongols would drive this from their minds. Knowing it was disastrous, she raised her lance and signaled the attack.

“No!” Saint-Germain shouted aloud as he watched the militiamen move to close the open ends of their formation. “It’s too early!” There was no one to hear him. Twenty women remained at the Mao-T’ou stronghold, along with a half-blind gatekeeper and two ancient grooms. The rest of the servants and slaves had been sent into the hills. Chih-Yü had offered to send Saint-Germain and his servant Rogerio to Bei-Wah or some other town, but he had refused, and when the others had left in the wake of the militiamen, he had hoped that his decision had been wise.

The militiamen spurred forward, their unmounted companions taking up positions with powerful standing bows which were set up horizontally on a tripod, being too long for a tall man to hold and fire. There was a flurry of activity as the remaining farmers rushed forward with the extra arrows for these huge bows, then the loading of the weapons began.

Chih-Yü leaned over her sorrel’s neck, holding him firmly so that he would not bolt to join the other horses now racing toward the fierce men rushing down on them. She had to hold the apex or the other men would be endangered by the gap in the line.

One of the Mongol leaders shouted an order and reached for his lance. He was grinning with delight as he spurred straight toward the nearest militiaman, pulling up only when he had to tug his lance from the militiaman’s body.

The line of militiamen held for a brief time, then sagged, bent and scattered as the third and fourth ranks of Mongols rode round behind it and attacked the defenders from the rear.

Shouts, groans, cries filled the air as the men of Mao-T’ou stronghold were spitted and hacked by the now-battle-frenzied Mongols. Horses squealed and screamed as they were cut down with their riders.

Saint-Germain could no longer make out the progress of the battle, and for that he was grateful. His hands were white as they gripped the rough planks of the stockade. The fighting was more than a li distant, and he could still smell the carnage on the air.

“Master,” said a voice at his shoulder, and he turned to see his servant beside him. “I have taken the liberty of preparing your cases. It might be wise not to remain too long.” There was almost no expression in his middle-aged face, but as he looked down, his eyes widened.

“They won’t hold out another hour,” Saint-Germain said quietly, with dreadful certainty.

“And then?” Rogerio asked.

“Probably the next valley. I don’t think they’ll take this place until the last. What is there to gain here?” He stood back from the wall, letting his hands drop to his sides. “There are men to be killed in the valleys, and farms to be burned. That’s much greater sport than ransacking this place.”

Rogerio glanced down to the confusion and slaughter at the foot of the promontory. He blanched, and Saint-Germain saw that his hands were shaking. “How long can that go on?”

“Perhaps an hour, two at the most. And then the Mongols will get into the next valley.” He steeled himself to stare down the slope again. The line of militiamen was in complete disorder. There were horses running in panic, men screaming. Two of the Mongols had caught one of the militiamen, had tied him between their horses and were trying to pull him apart.

One small knot of militiamen had gathered at the entrance to the gap to Oa-Du valley and were fending off the invaders with lances and swords. Even as Saint-Germain watched, one of that valiant band went down as a Mongol sword sliced through him and his mount.

“I have a goat cart, Master,” Rogerio said thickly. “I will load it at once.”

“It might be wise,” Saint-Germain said slowly. He felt the uselessness of it, the waste of the land and the lives. The folly of it sickened him, and he turned away.

Rogerio was glad to leave the ramparts. “I don’t think I could bear to see much more of that.”

“No,” Saint-Germain agreed. “But we don’t have to. Think of the men down there with Chih-Yü. What a vision to have at the end of life.” He put his hand to his forehead, then straightened up. “About this goat cart…”

“I had it from the gatekeeper. There is room enough in the cart for three cases of earth and your Roman case. The rest will have to be left behind.” He walked beside his master, talking quickly in order to block out the sounds that rode with the stink of burning on the wind.

“Left behind,” Saint-Germain repeated dully. “Perhaps I should be grateful to that pirate of a Magistrate who took the Byzantine mosaics. At least they have a chance of surviving this invasion.” His acerbity faded as soon as he had spoken. “Yes, I should consider that. Something will be salvaged, though it’s only a few pieces of colored stone on wood.”

Rogerio said nothing. He opened the door and allowed Saint-Germain to pass into his quarters. Here the noise did not penetrate, and except for the three large cases and the Roman chest in the center of the room, there was little to indicate that the stronghold was in the throes of defeat.

“Where did you put the yellow bottle?” Saint-Germain inquired after he had opened the Roman case and found only the barest equipment.

“It’s in the laboratory,” Rogerio answered after a pause.

“Get it.” He would brook no opposition.

Rogerio started to protest, then caught the lambent glow of Saint-Germain’s dark eyes, and wisely fell silent. He went to the laboratory, and with great care removed the large yellow bottle from its protected niche in the biggest cabinet. Gingerly he carried this back to the receiving room and with great care set it on the floor.

“How full is the bottle?” Saint-Germain asked as he tugged off his black dalmatica and rummaged in a lacquered pigskin box for his metal-studded long-sleeved cote of close-fitting black leather.

“I would say three-quarters,” Rogerio answered, his tone full of disapproval.

“Have we got a supply of ceramic containers for it?” He flung the silken garments away and pulled the leather over his head.

“There are a dozen or so in the laboratory.” Rogerio could not contain himself any longer. “My master, I have never wished to oppose you, but…”

Saint-Germain chuckled unpleasantly.” … but you are worried about using Greek fire. If it’s any consolation, I share your concern.” He had kicked off his thick-soled felt boots, and pulled calf-high Byzantine ones from a shelf under his Persian wardrobe. “Have you put earth in the soles and heels recently?” He lifted the boots so that Rogerio could see them.

“Not lately,” was the cool response.

“Would you attend to that now, while I finish dressing?” His tone was matter-of-fact, and he tossed the boots to his servant, not looking to see whether he caught them. “Then, when you’re through with that, you can help me prepare an amusement for those demons in the valley.”

There was a subtle alteration of expression in Rogerio’s faded eyes. “What are you going to do?”

Saint-Germain paused in the middle of pulling on leather leggings. “They have killed Chih-Yü.” He did not have to explain to Rogerio how he knew this. “They have killed her, and they will be made to pay dearly for that.”

“But Greek fire…” Involuntarily he glanced at the yellow glass bottle.

“What else can I do?” he asked coolly. “You and I alone cannot stop them. Chih-Yü would not allow me to ride beside her, though she was grateful enough for my horse. At the most, there are thirty Mongols dead down there. How else would you propose we stop them? Would our deaths, our true deaths, avenge her, if the Mongols triumphed in the end?” He stood up and drew on a long belt. “They will triumph, but not now, and not here.”

“I’ll get proper aprons,” Rogerio said with curious distaste. “How shall we arrange this? Throw the containers down on them, and then flee before the fires can spread?”

“No. I promised Chih-Yü this morning I would see her properly interred.” He paid no attention to Rogerio’s sudden protest. “I will do that. After Oa-Du valley is burning.”

Rogerio started toward the laboratory, distress filling him. He stopped in the door. “And how do you know that she did not fall in Oa-Du valley?”

“I know,” Saint-Germain said quietly, and began to arm himself.

By the time he emerged from his quarters, it was nearing sunset. As he stepped into the courtyard, he knew that Mao-T’ou stronghold was deserted. The men and women who had been there when the battle began in the valley below had left. He turned to Rogerio. “The goat cart?”

“I will bring it to the fork in the road near the spring.” His face was expressionless. “I will wait until dawn, and then, if you have not come, I will set out toward the west.”

A faint smile came into Saint-Germain’s eyes. “Thank you, my old friend.”

Rogerio made a quick, brusque sound. “Don’t thank me. You know I think you are mad to do this. But after so many years…” He broke off. “The cart is ready. I loaded it while you were preparing your weapons.”

“Excellent. Go carefully. Those highwaymen may be in the woods, hoping to pick off stragglers.” He had heard little of the band of robbers in the last few months, but Chin-Yü had assured him that they were known to be in the area still.

“Highwaymen are minor difficulties.” He looked up and through the smokey haze the sky was red.

“But you are armed,” Saint-Germain said, almost amused.

“Certainly.” Rogerio hesitated, then said in a great hurry, “I realize that you will not change your mind, but don’t expose yourself to any more than you must.” Before he could say anything else, he turned away from his master and stalked across the empty courtyard.