The Saracen: Land of the Infidel Part 70

_He deserved better than that_, Daoud thought sadly.

But the momentary sympathy for his conquered enemy was swept away in the ecstatic floodtide of triumph. Now the battle was truly over! And the Mamelukes had won over the Tartars.

The naqeebs bound Ket Bogha's arms. Baibars himself dismounted and took the Tartar general's great sword and tied it to his own saddle, then lifted the gold tablet from around his neck and dropped it into his saddle pack. Smiling, he spoke to Ket Bogha in the language of the Tartars and tied a rope around his neck. Then he mounted his own fawn-colored mare and led the defeated general past heaps of Tartar and Mameluke dead and cl.u.s.ters of rejoicing Muslim warriors. Daoud, and then Baibars's other emirs and bas.h.i.+s followed.

The standard of Qutuz was back on the field, looking more black than green with the afternoon sun behind it.

"Can it be? Can it be that we have truly won?" Mamelukes cried, running beside Baibars's horse.

"Baibars! Yah, Baibars!" cried the warriors as Baibars rode slowly over the field.

"Tell us, Baibars, that we have won!"

As an answer Baibars gestured grandly to his captive stumbling along behind him.

"Baibars, bringer of victory!"

The sultan's servants were already setting up his gold silk pavilion on the edge of the battlefield. When Baibars rode before Qutuz, pulling Ket Bogha, a deafening roar went up from the emirs, the bas.h.i.+s, the muqaddams, the naqeebs, the troopers.

Daoud glanced at Qutuz and saw that his eyes were wide and his face pale. He must still be dazed by the outcome of this battle.

But the sultan stepped forward to peer at Ket Bogha as the Tartar general was freed from Baibars's rope. Qutuz gestured to his men to untie Ket Bogha. A circle of emirs formed around Qutuz and the Tartar commander, to hear what they would say to each other.

Qutuz had found time at the end of the battle to have his black beard combed and oiled and to robe himself afresh. His black and gold khalat glittered in the hazy sunlight. The Mamelukes had stripped Ket Bogha of his armor, and he stood before the sultan in a dirty, bloodstained tunic that had once been a bright blue. His shaven head was round as a ball, and, like most Tartars Daoud had seen, his short legs were bowed from a lifetime in the saddle.

Once again Daoud felt sorrow for the Tartar leader, who looked like a lonely island in the midst of a sea of joy.

Since Baibars spoke both Tartar and Arabic, he stood between the sultan and the Tartar general to translate.

"You have overthrown kingdoms from the Jordan to the Roof of the World,"

said Qutuz through Baibars. "How does it feel to be defeated yourself?"

Released from his bonds, Ket Bogha paced furiously back and forth before Qutuz. He started to talk so rapidly the interpreter could not keep up with him.

Daoud was amazed to see that he actually seemed to be laughing at what Qutuz had said.

_He still feels the excitement of the battle_, Daoud thought. _And by walking and talking as he does, he keeps at bay his grief at the loss of his army. His words are as much for himself as for the sultan and the emirs._

"Defeat?" said Baibars, speaking Ket Bogha's words. "Oh, Sultan, do not play the fool by claiming this skirmish as a victory. You rashly chose to overrun this handful of men, but the harm you have done to Hulagu Khan is that which a gnat does to an elephant. You have not hurt him.

You have angered him. The men and horses he has lost here, the wives of his soldiers and the mares in his paddocks will make up in a single night."

"You talk like some old storyteller in the marketplace who tries to frighten children," said Qutuz in a shrill voice.

_The amazement all of us feel, that we are not only alive but victorious, must be even stronger in Qutuz. Most of my Mameluke comrades may think that their sultan planned for victory all along. But he himself knows better._

Ket Bogha stopped pacing and pointed a stubby finger at Qutuz. "Soon Hulagu Khan will return from beyond the Oxus and the hooves of his horses will trample your land all the way to the Nile and beyond. He will do to your Cairo what he did to Baghdad."

Qutuz laughed harshly. "Your faith in your master is touching, but I will have your head carried before me on a spear when I ride back to Egypt. He cannot save you from that."

"I would rather die for my khan than be like you, one who rose to power by murdering his rightful lord!" Ket Bogha cried.

Baibars smiled wryly as he repeated the Tartar's words in Arabic.

Qutuz went white with fury. "Take him away and cut his head off," he ordered. "And you, Baibars, how dare you repeat such a slander to me? I never murdered anyone."

Qutuz's command revolted Daoud. After the poor part the sultan had played in the battle, he had no right to take the head of a brave enemy.

Daoud heard Baibars give a little snort of disgust, and the emir strode to Qutuz's side.

Baibars spoke in a low voice, but Daoud heard him. "My Lord, this is not worthy of a sultan in his hour of victory. This is a brave commander, and I repeated all that he said because you wished me to."

Qutuz glared wildly at Baibars. "Be still! I will not spare your fellow Tartar."

Qutuz, Daoud thought with smoldering wrath, was not worthy to be sultan.

Baibars turned his back on Qutuz. The brown face was impa.s.sive, but in the one blue eye Daoud saw death.

XXIII

The rats scavenged in the garbage and the cats hunted the rats. And cats and rats scurried out of the way of the two men who staggered beneath a waning moon through the streets of Orvieto.

"I was truly drunk," said Daoud. "But only my body was drunk. It is still drunk." He walked with one arm thrown over Lorenzo's shoulder to steady his steps. It must have rained during the evening. The streets were slippery, and the clean, vaporous scent of drying rain was stronger than the usual odor of rotting rubbish piled between the houses in the s.p.a.ces the Orvietans called quintane.

"You feign the extremity of drunkenness quite well," said Lorenzo. They had met by prearrangement on the street outside the Monaldeschi palace.

Sophia and Cardinal Ugolini left earlier and separately, carried in sedan chairs and escorted by the cardinal's guards.

"What hour is it?" Daoud asked.

"Past the third nocturn. Do you know what that means?"

"It was explained to me once, but now my memory seems to be drunk."

"Simply, dawn is not far off," said Celino. "The third nocturn is between midnight and dawn. The contessa's reception began at the first nocturn, between sunset and midnight. Tell me, did you never experience wine in Egypt?"

Daoud decided that, much as he liked Lorenzo, he did not want to confide any of Saadi's most secret teachings to an atheist.

"Many times we stayed up all night, drinking kaviyeh, talking and watching the dancers. But we do not drink wine."

"Really?" said Lorenzo, glancing at him. "Permit me to be skeptical. I know many Muslims who drink wine."

Daoud shook his head. "Most Mamelukes do not drink wine. When Baibars became sultan, he closed all the wine shops in El Kahira." He also decided not to tell Lorenzo that in private Baibars enjoyed the Tartar drink k.u.miss, made from the fermented milk of mares.

Lorenzo grunted. "Then you Mamelukes are stricter in your observance than many others who were born to Islam."

They pa.s.sed the cathedral of San Giovenale. It was lit within, and the narrow stained gla.s.s windows glowed red, yellow, blue, and white.