Ugolini spoke in a low voice to the blond man in a language Simon
guessed was Greek, and David answered at some length.
"You must suppose now that I am David speaking directly to you," said
Ugolini in Latin to the assembly, patting the front of his red satin
robe. "I come from an old merchant family of Trebizond. Caravans from
across Turkestan bring us silks from Cathay. We are Christians according
to the Greek rite."
This provoked a hostile murmur from the audience.
Ugolini hesitated, then said, "I speak in my own person for a moment--I,
too, am inclined to treat as suspect what a so-called Catholic of the
schismatic Greek Church tells me. But I have talked long with David, and
I am convinced he is a virtuous man. After all, the Greeks, like us, are
believers in Christ. And Trebizond is at war with Constantinople, so we
can trust this man the more for that."
Again David spoke in Greek to Ugolini. Unable to understand David's
words, Simon listened to his voice. It was rich and resonant. A virtuous
man? A traveling mountebank, more likely. He felt a deep distrust of
both David and Ugolini.
"From time to time the Saracens tried to conquer us, but with the grace
of God we fought them off," said David through Ugolini. "And when we
were not at war with them we traded with them, for Trebizond lives by
trade. And now that the Tartars have conquered all of Persia, we trade
with them."
Fra Tomasso raised a broad hand and asked, "Do you find the Tartars
honest traders?"
"They would rather take what they want by looting or tribute or
taxation. Eventually they think they will not have to trade. They
believe the blue sky, which they worship, will permit them to conquer
the whole world, and then all peoples will slave for them. Just as they
use subject people, so, if you ally yourselves with them, they will use
you. You will help them destroy the Moslems, and then they will turn on
you."
_He hates the Tartars. I can hear it in his voice, see it in the glow in
his eyes. He is sincere enough about that._
A cardinal shouted out something in Latin too rapid for Simon to
understand. An archbishop bellowed an answer. Two cardinals were arguing
loudly in the pews on the other side of the room. Suddenly all the
Church leaders seemed to be talking at once. Fra Tomasso picked up a
little bell from his desk and rang it vigorously. Simon could barely
hear it, and everyone ignored it.
_The princes of the Church quarrel among themselves like ordinary men._
Pope Urban stood up and lifted his arms. "Silence!" he cried. His voice
was shrill and louder than Fra Tomasso's bell. The argument died down.
"Have you seen the Tartar army in action, Messer David?" d'Aquino asked.
David was silent a long time before answering. His face took on a
haunted look. His eyes seemed to gaze at something far away.
"I was at Baghdad a week after they took it. I came to trade with the
Tartars. There were no other people left in that country to trade with.
The Tartar camp was many leagues away from the ruins of Baghdad. They
had to move away from the city to escape the smell of the dead. I went
to Baghdad because I wanted to see. I saw nothing but ashes and corpses
for miles and miles. The stink of rotting flesh nearly killed me.
"I found people who had survived. Those who had not gone mad told me
what had happened. The Tartars commanded the caliph to surrender. He
said he would pay tribute, but he could not surrender his authority to
them because he was the spiritual head of Islam."
Simon heard murmurs of derision at this, but David ignored them and,
speaking through Ugolini, went on.
"Over a hundred thousand Tartars surrounded Baghdad, and their siege
machines began smashing its walls with great rocks brought down from the
mountains by slave caravans. Soon their standards, which are made of the
horns and hides and tails of beasts, were raised over the southeastern
wall from the Racecourse Gate to the Persian Tower. The city was lost.
The Tartars promised to spare the remaining troops if they would
surrender. The soldiers of Baghdad went out, unarmed, and the Tartars
killed them all with arrows. This is the Tartars' notion of honor."
"They will do the same to us!" shouted a cardinal. The pope slapped his
palm loudly on the arm of his chair, and silence settled again.
"Hulagu Khan, the commander of the Tartar army, now entered the city and
made the caliph serve him a splendid dinner. After dinner the khan
demanded that the caliph show him all the jewels and gold and silver and
other treasures that had been gathered by the caliphs of Baghdad over
the centuries. Hulagu promised to let the caliph live, together with a
hundred of his women."
This brought a loud cackle from under one of the red hats in the front
row.
"Only a hundred women!" a voice followed the laughter. "Poor caliph! How
many was he wont to have?"
"Seeing how ugly those Saracens' women are, I would think one wife too
many," another prelate called out.
Irritated, Simon wished he could silence them all. This was too serious
a matter for such unseemly jokes.
The ribald jests continued, to Simon's annoyance, until Fra Tomasso
rang his bell. Then David, looking grimmer than ever, spoke to Ugolini,
and Ugolini began to address the assembly.
"Next the Tartars commanded all the people of Baghdad to herd out onto
the plain outside the city, telling them that they would be made to
leave the city only while the Tartars searched it for valuables.
"When they had the people at their mercy they separated them into three
groups, men, women, and children. When families are broken up, the
members do not fight as hard to survive. The Tartars slaughtered them
with swords and arrows. Two hundred thousand men, women, and children
they killed that day, after promising them they would not be harmed."
Simon tried to imagine the butchering of those hundreds of thousands of
people. He had never seen any Saracens, and so the victims in his mind's
eye tended to resemble the people of Paris. He shuddered inwardly as he
pictured those countless murders.
"The Tartars now entered the city whose people were all dead, and sacked
and burned it. It had been such a great city that it took them seven
days to reduce it to ruins."
Simon's heart turned to ice.
_What if it were Paris? Could we fight any harder for Paris than the
Saracens did for Baghdad?_
_Ex Tartari furiosi._
"They have a superstition that it is bad luck to shed the blood of royal
personages. So they took the caliph and his three royal sons, who had
seen their city destroyed and all their people killed, tied them in
sacks, and rode their horses over them, trampling them to death."
"These deeds of the Tartars smell sweet in the nostrils of the Lord!"
shouted Cardinal de Verceuil. There were cries of approval.
Without waiting for David to say more, Ugolini replied to de Verceuil.
"Yes, Baghdad was the seat of a false religion. But it was also a city
of philosophers, mathematicians, historians, poets, of colleges,
hospitals, of wealth, of science, of art. And of two hundred thousand
souls, as David has told us. Muslim souls, but souls nevertheless. Now
_it does not exist_. And whoever thinks that the Tartars will do such
things only to Saracen cities is a fool."
Simon hated to admit it, but Ugolini's words made perfect sense to him.
"They will do it everywhere!" cried someone in the audience.
Now David said through Ugolini, "What is more, the Tartars who rule in
Russia have converted to Islam. They still dream of the conquest of
Europe and may return to the attack at any time. Perhaps while your
armies are occupied in Egypt or Syria."
Fra Tomasso raised his quill for attention. "How would you describe the
character of the Tartars, Master David? What sort of men are they?"
David answered and then looked about with his bright, compelling gaze
while Ugolini translated. "I have lived among the Tartars and traveled
with them. The Tartar is unmoved by his own pain or by that of his
fellows. The suffering of other people merely amuses him. His word given
to a foreigner means nothing to him. He thinks his own race superior to
all other peoples on earth."
Fra Tomasso said, "What you have told us has been most enlightening,
Master David, because you have seen with your own eyes. But if your
empire of Trebizond now trades with the Tartars, how is it that you come
here to denounce them?"
"I came to Orvieto as a merchant bearing samples of silk from Cathay,"
said David. "It is only, as Cardinal Ugolini has said, God's providence
that I am here when you are deciding this great question."
Fra Tomasso turned to Pope Urban. "Holy Father, is there anything else
you wish me to ask?"
Pope Urban shook his head. "I believe I have heard enough for now. We do
not want to sit here all day." Smiling, he turned to David. "Master
David, we thank you for coming all this way to bring us this warning."
"Your Holiness." David bowed, a fluid movement that made Simon grunt
with distaste.
_Curse the luck! Why is there no one here who knows the Tartars to
answer this David? How do we know he is not a liar? A Greek silk
merchant is not the sort of person I would trust. He would say anything
if he thought it would help him sell his wares._
But doubt cooled Simon's anger. He did not want to admit it, but
Cosmas's and David's tales had frightened him. He thought of the hard,
cold faces of John and Philip. He _could_ see them beheading women,
shooting children with arrows.
_Do we want to ally ourselves with such creatures?_
King Louis did. Count Charles d'Anjou, Uncle Charles, wanted the
alliance. Simon had agreed to come here. How could he face Uncle
Charles, what could he say, if he changed his mind?
A lifetime of scorn, that was what lay ahead of him if he were to turn
back now.
David sat stiffly upright, his hands resting on his knees, as Cardinal
Ugolini approached the pope, reaching out in appeal.
"Holy Father, your predecessor, Clement III of happy memory, declared a
crusade against the Tartars after the battle of Mohi. I beg you to sound
the alarm again, like that brave trumpeter of Krakow. A Christian prince
should no more make a pact with the Tartars than with the devil. Let the
nations of Christendom be warned in the sternest terms. Let us declare
excommunicate any Christian ruler who allies himself with the Tartars."
Shocked outcries burst from all parts of the hall. Simon went cold. The
thought of King Louis being excommunicated horrified him. But surely it
would not come to that. King Louis was too loyal a Catholic to defy the
pope. But that, then, meant that Simon's mission would fail.
De Verceuil jumped to his feet. "You, Ugolini! You should be
excommunicated for even suggesting such a thing!"
"Cardinal Paulus, you yourself have had much to say out of turn," Pope
Urban said testily. "I give you leave now to speak in favor of this
proposed alliance."
De Verceuil took his stand in front of the papal throne, and Ugolini
returned to his place in the pews.
_If only the pope favored us more. He is a Frenchman, after all. What
about this Manfred von Hohenstaufen? The pope needs French help there.
But what a disaster for us that he asks de Verceuil to speak. If any man
can turn friends into enemies, it is de Verceuil. We need Friar Mathieu.
In God's name, where is he? He could answer this David of Trebizond._
De Verceuil quickly dismissed the Hungarian's testimony. All that, he
said, happened a generation ago. Today the Tartars would not win such
easy victories in Europe because we know more about them, and they would
not invade Europe again because they know more about us. The Tartars
have new leaders since those days, and that is why they have chosen to
make war on the Mohammedans. Christian friars have gone among them, and
many Tartars have been baptized. The wife of Hulagu Khan is a Christian.
Wherever the khan and his wife travel, they take a Christian chapel
mounted on a cart, and mass is said for them daily.
"Yes!" Ugolini cried from his seat. "A Nestorian chapel. The khan's
wife and the other Tartars you call Christians are Nestorian heretics."
"From what I have heard of your dabblings in alchemy and astrology, it
ill behooves you to speak of heresy, Cardinal Ugolini," said de Verceuil
darkly.
Ugolini stood up and advanced on de Verceuil, who was twice his height.
"As for Christian friars going among the Tartars"--he held up a small
book--"let me read--"
De Verceuil turned to Pope Urban. "Holy Father, you have given me leave
to speak."
"True, but more than once you interrupted him," said Urban with a smile.
"Let us hear this."
"The Franciscan Friar William of Rubruk, at the command of King Louis of
France, visited the court of the Tartar emperor in Karakorum," said
Ugolini. "This is his account of his travels in that pagan capital. He
says the Tartars were so stubborn in their ways that he made not a
single convert." He opened to a page marked with a ribbon. "Here is his
conclusion, after years among the Tartars--'Were it allowed me, I would
to the utmost of my power preach war against them throughout the whole
world.'" Ugolini slapped the book shut and sat down, looking triumphant.
De Verceuil failed to respond immediately. What a poor advocate he was,
Simon thought. If only Friar Mathieu were here. He, too, was a
Franciscan like this William of Rubruk, and he might well have the
answer to Rubruk's words.
"Friar William," de Verceuil said at last, "wrote years before the
Tartars conquered Baghdad. As for me, I count myself happy to have heard
the words of this merchant from Trebizond." He pointed a long finger at
David, who stood in the crowd about twenty feet away from Simon. David
looked back at de Verceuil with a rigid face full of raw hatred that
reminded Simon of what he had read about basilisks.
"Happy, I say," de Verceuil went on, "to hear every detail of the utter
destruction of that center of the Satanic worship of Mohammed. I was
reminded of the rain of fire and brimstone that wiped out Sodom and
Gomorrah. My heart sang with joy when I heard of the caliph, successor
of that false prophet, trampled by Tartar horses. I hold that the
Tartars are God's instrument for the final downfall of His enemies. What
wonderful allies they will make as we liberate the Holy Land from the
Saracens once and for all!"
"And who will liberate the Holy Land from the Tartars?" a cardinal,
forgetting his Latin, shouted in Italian.
"Be still, you fool!" cried another cardinal in French.
The Italian advanced on the Frenchman. "Whoever says 'Thou _fool_!'"--he
gave the French cardinal a vicious shove with both hands--"shall be
liable to the _judgment_." Another shove.
Fra Tomasso rang his small bell furiously, but the furious prelates
ignored him.
Now someone had seized the Italian from behind. Simon was shocked,
having never dreamed the leaders of the Church could be so unruly. It
seemed that anything the French cardinals were for, the Italians were
against. And was the pope, though a Frenchman, likely to approve the
alliance, with nearly half the cardinals against it? And even if he did,
could it succeed in the face of that much opposition?
"Pax!" the pope cried, climbing a few steps toward his throne and
lifting his arms heavenward. "Peace!" The angry sound of his voice and
the sight of him slowly brought quiet to the hall.
Urban took them to task. The whole future of Christendom might be at
stake, and they were brawling like university students. Perhaps he
should treat them like students and have them whipped. Sheepishly the
cardinals and bishops took their seats with much rustling of red and
purple robes.
D'Aquino asked de Verceuil if he had finished. He said he had, and
Simon's heart sank.
_I promised Uncle Charles I would work to further the alliance. I want
to believe in it._
But after listening to Ugolini's two witnesses and de Verceuil's feeble
attempt to refute them, he was beset by frightening doubts.
He prayed he would not have to reverse himself. If he changed his colors
now and repudiated the alliance, Count Charles might well feel himself
betrayed and say that Simon was no better than his father.
"But did not a Franciscan named"--the stout Dominican consulted his
notes on parchment--"Mathieu d'Alcon journey from Outremer with these
Tartar ambassadors? Why is he not here to tell us what he knows about
them?"
Hope leapt up in Simon's heart. Yes! If they would only hear Friar
Mathieu, that might yet win the day for the alliance.
_And it might help me to feel I am doing the right thing._
"I assumed, before this august body, my testimony would be sufficient,"
said de Verceuil with a slight stammer. "After all, what could a mere
Franciscan friar add--"
Fra Tomasso raised his eyebrows. "I remind you, Cardinal, that His
Holiness has entrusted the conduct of this inquiry to a 'mere
friar'--myself. And William of Rubruk, whose book was quoted here today,
was a 'mere friar.' Can this Friar Mathieu be found, and quickly?"
De Verceuil spread his hands. "I have no idea where he is, Fra Tomasso.
He parted company with us after we arrived in Orvieto and neglected to
tell us his whereabouts."
_A lie!_
Friar Mathieu had told everyone he would be at the Franciscan Hospital
of Santa Clara. Simon was honor bound to speak out.
Still, it took all his courage to force words through his throat--loud
words at that, to make himself heard over the murmur of many
conversations.
"Reverend Father!" he called out, and his heart hammered in terror as
hundreds of eyes turned toward him, de Verceuil's first of all.
"Reverend Father!"
Fra Tomasso turned toward Simon.
"I know where Friar Mathieu d'Alcon is," Simon called.
D'Aquino raised his eyebrows. "Who are you, young man?" When Simon
announced himself as the Count de Gobignon, Friar Tomasso's smile was
welcoming enough to reassure Simon a bit.
"Friar Mathieu is at the hospital of the Franciscans," said Simon. "He
told me he wanted to work there until his services were needed for the
embassy."
"His services are needed now," said d'Aquino. "Not summoning him here
was an oversight." He glanced coolly at de Verceuil. "The hospital is
not far away."
"I know where it is, Reverend Father." Simon had gone to the hospital to
inquire about the man shot in the street by the Venetians, he who had
died despite Friar Mathieu's urgent efforts.
"Then have the friar fetched at once, Count, if you please," said
d'Aquino.
Simon shot a quick look at de Verceuil before he turned to leave. The
cardinal was staring at him, his long face a deep crimson and his eyes
narrowed to black slits. Their eyes met, and Simon felt almost as if
swords had clashed.
Why was de Verceuil, who wanted the alliance, so angry?
_I know. He wanted to be the authority on the Tartars. He wanted to
carry the day for the alliance all by himself._
Hard to believe, Simon thought, but it seemed de Verceuil would rather
see his cause lost than have someone else win credit for its success.
"I shall fetch him myself, Fra Tomasso," Simon said loudly.
* * * * *
To his relief, he found de Pirenne, expecting an outing in the country,
with their two horses just outside the papal palace wall. Simon
explained his errand, and together they made the short ride through the
stone-paved streets to the Franciscan hospital. There the Father
Superior hastily summoned Friar Mathieu.
De Pirenne relinquished his horse to the old Franciscan. Friar Mathieu's
bare skinny shanks, when he hiked up his robe to sit in the saddle,
looked comical to Simon.
"I knew the Holy Father had called a council today," said Friar Mathieu,
"but I assumed Cardinal de Verceuil would send for me if I were needed."
"Better to assume that he will do the opposite of what is needed," said
Simon. Friar Mathieu laughed and slapped Simon's shoulder.
The pope's servants were passing flagons of wine and trays of meat tarts
when Simon and Friar Mathieu entered the hall. The arguments among the
prelates had risen almost to a roar, but died down as men saw Simon
escorting the small figure of Mathieu d'Alcon in his threadbare brown
robe toward the papal throne.
Fra Tomasso spoke softly and respectfully to the elderly Franciscan.
While de Verceuil glowered from the pews, Friar Mathieu stood before the
pope, seeming as serene and self-possessed as if he were in a chapel by
himself.
_And why should he not?_ thought Simon. After what Simon had heard about
the Tartars today, it seemed to him that anyone who could live for years
among them could face anything.
D'Aquino quickly summarized what had been said so far. Hearing the
clarity and simplicity with which the Dominican conveyed the arguments,
Simon could see why he was thought of as a great teacher and
philosopher.
"I must warn Your Excellencies," said Friar Mathieu, "that if you sent a
thousand men to journey among the Tartars, you would get a thousand
reports, each very different. Also, you must keep in mind that the
Tartars are changing so rapidly that what was true of them a year ago
may no longer be so today.
"Italy, France, England, the Holy Roman Empire--all have existed for
hundreds of years. The Church has carried on Christ's work for over a
thousand years. This city of Orvieto is even older. But a mere hundred
years ago the Tartars were tribes of herdsmen, even simpler than the
Hebrews of Moses' day. Now they rule the largest empire the world has
ever seen."
How could such a thing happen, Simon wondered. It seemed almost
miraculous. The Tartars must have had the help of God--or the devil.
"Imagine a baby with the size and strength of a giant," Mathieu said
with a smile. "That is what we are dealing with here. Such a gigantic
infant might, in a moment of ungoverned anger, kill thousands of people,
destroy all manner of precious objects, even sweep away whole cities.
But an infant learns rapidly, and so it is with the Tartars. The new
emperor, or khakhan as they call him, Kublai, reads and writes and
converses in many languages. And he does not destroy cities, he builds
them. He is the brother of Hulagu, who sent the ambassadors here."
Simon began to feel relieved. Friar Mathieu's calm words washed over
him, easing his fear that he was doing wrong by supporting the Tartar
alliance.
Fra Tomasso raised a pudgy finger. "If the Tartars are so powerful and
are gaining in knowledge, does this not make them even more of a danger
to Christendom?"
"It could," said the old Franciscan. "Let me say, Fra Tomasso--and Holy
Father"--with a bow to the pope--"I can tell you only what I have seen,
and then with God's help you must judge what is best for Christendom."
Simon glanced over at the formidable David of Trebizond, who up to now
had been the most expert witness on the Tartars. He stood stiffly,
staring at d'Alcon.
_There is a man sore vexed._
And de Verceuil, who should have been pleased at having this help,
looked just as vexed.
_Friar Mathieu outshines the cardinal, and he is furious._
"We have been told that the Tartars plan to conquer the whole world,"
said d'Aquino.
"For a time they thought they could," Friar Mathieu nodded. "But the
world surprised them by going on and on, and now their empire is so huge
they cannot hold it together. And they are such innocents, the nations
they conquer are destroying them. They die in great numbers of the
diseases of cities. In their prairie homeland they were not familiar
with the strong wine drunk by farmers and city folk, and now many of
their leaders die untimely deaths of drink. Also, as they grow wealthier
and more powerful, they fight over the spoils they have taken. When they
invaded Europe they were still united, and they were able to throw all
their strength into that war. But now they have broken into four almost
independent nations. So divided and extended, they are much less of a
danger to Christendom."
How could they hold their empire together, thought Simon, when they had
been nothing but ignorant herdsmen a generation ago? Mathieu's discourse
made sense.
"So," said Fra Tomasso, "we are no longer dealing with a giant, but with
a creature closer to our own size."
"Yes," said Mathieu, "and the proof is that only a few years ago, for
the first time anywhere in the world, the Tartars lost a great battle.
They were defeated by the Mamelukes of Egypt at a place called the Well
of Goliath in Syria. If Hulagu's army had won that battle, the Tartars
would be in Cairo, and they might be demanding our submission instead of
offering us an alliance."
"But you think it is safe for us to ally ourselves with them now?"
Friar Mathieu looked sad and earnest. "If we and the Tartars make war on
the Mamelukes separately, we will be defeated separately. And then, as
sure as winter follows summer, the Mamelukes will take the few cities
and castles and bits of land our crusaders still hold in Outremer, and
all those generations of blood spilled for God and the Holy Sepulchre
will have been in vain."
Now Simon's relief was total. He felt like singing for joy. He was on
the right side after all.
Friar Mathieu stopped speaking and there was silence in the hall.
Gradually the prelates began talking. But there were no shrill outbursts
from those who opposed the alliance. The voices of all were subdued,
respectful.
The pope beckoned Friar Mathieu to his chair and spoke a few words to
him, holding him by the arm. The old friar slowly lowered himself to his
knees, bent and kissed Urban's ring.
Fra Tomasso called for silence, and Urban rose and blessed the assembly.
Simon fell to his knees and crossed himself, thinking, _If I stay here
very long, I shall get enough of these papal blessings to absolve me
from punishment for a lifetime of sin._
Accompanied by d'Aquino and a phalanx of priests, the Holy Father left
the hall by the side door. The arguments in the hall grew louder.
As he rose to his feet, Simon saw de Verceuil hurrying toward the front
door, his small mouth tight with anger. A protective impulse made Simon
look about for Friar Mathieu.
There he was, at the center of a small group of friars. Simon started
toward him.
A figure blocked his way.
Even though he touched nothing palpable, he stopped as suddenly as if he
had run into a wall. And the face he was looking into was hard as
granite, eyes alight with the icy glow of diamonds. And yet it was not a
cold face. There was something burning deep inside there, a fire this
man kept hidden most of the time. That fire, Simon felt, could destroy
anything in its path if allowed to blaze forth.
David of Trebizond was silent, but as clearly as if he had spoken, Simon
heard a voice say, _I know you, and you are my enemy. Beware._ Simon
realized that David had intended to meet him like this, intended Simon
to seek the unspoken threat in his eyes.
_He is trying to frighten me_, Simon thought, and was angered. He held
his arm still, but he knew that if his sword had been buckled at his
side, nothing could have stopped him from reaching for it.
Simon looked the broad-shouldered man up and down, taking his measure.
David, half a head shorter than Simon, stood relaxed but imposing, his
hands hanging at his sides. That a man could appear at once so composed
and so challenging was unique.
_This man is no trader. It is not just an accident that he has come here
to speak against the alliance._
_Who and what is he--really?_
Simon drew in a deep breath and said in gruff Italian, "Let me pass,
Messere."
Slowly, almost insolently, David drew aside. "Forgive me, Your Signory.
I was studying your face." He spoke Italian with a strange accent. "I
thought I might have seen you a long time ago. But that is not possible,
because a long time ago you would have been a child."
_What does that mean? Is he trying to remind me that I am younger than
he is?_
"I am sure we have never met, Messere," Simon said coldly.
"Quite right, Your Signory," said David. "But no doubt we will meet
again."
Simon walked past the man from Trebizond. His back felt terribly
exposed, and he held his shoulders rigidly. He felt the enmity from
behind him as sharp as a dagger's point.