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A H M A D
CHAPTER 1 1232 FIRST ENCOUNTER
The summer night was still and dark. Somewhere nearby a pack of dogs foraged for any discarded scraps they could find in the shadowy alleyways of Bukhara, a Persian town in Central Asia located between the Caspian and Aral Seas. Suddenly, smelling a different, alien scent, the leader of the pack howled and all his group joined in, waking the sleeping Muslims. Cursing to Allah, the occupants of the awakened houses threw bones to silence them, but the dogs would not be silenced. They snapped and snarled and growled at the dark shapes moving silently through the night - evil-smelling men wearing leather jerkins and boots, fur hats and rough linen trousers. More and more men appeared and moved into position, the shafts of their knives and swords glinting in the starlight. Bows and arrows appeared in their hands - arrows with weighted heads. At a voice's barked command, the arrowheads were lit by naphtha fire, lit and sent on their way, through the open windows, into the dry timbers and furniture.
From inside the houses came shouts of surprise and pain from the rudely awakened Saracens. As they ran out into the street they were cut down by arcing, stabbing swords and accurately flighted arrowheads, the cries of death mingling with the cries of pain and fear from the terrified occupants.
"Here, this house, here lives the leader of the Muslim conspiracy!" a guttural Mongol voice directed. Sharif Mahmoud and his wife wakened abruptly just as three Mongol warriors forced the door in.
"No!" Mahmoud pushed his wife behind him to shield her. "Don't kill us!" but with a snarl of hatred and the words "Die, infidel!" the leader of the three drove his sword deep into Mahmoud's chest and pulled it out again. Mahmoud gasped once, blood gouting from the wound, then collapsed, dead before he fell to the floor.
"So die all traitors to the Great Khan!" The fiery light in the Mongols' eyes glittered from the light of the houses ablaze all around. Mahmoud's wife screamed in horror as the leader swung his sword high and down, decapitating her husband's body with a single blow. He lifted the head by the hair and roared his delight as he exhibited his trophy to his henchmen then, changing his attention to the terrified woman, he threw the head to one of the other men and pushed her to the ground, taking her with violence in full view of his cronies. The other two took their turn to rape her then, when they had used her to exhaustion, the leader straddled her and slit her throat. They then ransacked the house. When one of them found the three children, he let out a roar of triumph. Two boys and a young girl, cornered in the depths of the room, trembled with terror at the horrifying scene they had just witnessed. The Mongols loomed gigantically over them. The youngest two children were crying, but the elder boy ran boldly into the light, fists flailing helplessly at his parents' murderers. "Ha! This one has spunk!" laughed the leader as he fended off the child's hail of ineffective blows. "Dispose of the other two - this one I will take for myself!" Effortlessly, he lifted the boy by the waist and carried him horizontally, kicking, punching and yelling, from the house. The other two Mongols' swords swished mercilessly, and the boy's brother and sister died.
Outside, under the Mongol's arm, the boy squirmed energetically, but to no avail. The whole of the Muslim sector of Bukhara, chosen capital of Il-Khan Chaghatai, son of Chingis, was alight in a raid ordered by Chaghatai to quash a planned Islamic rebellion.
The Mongol captain threw the boy roughly across the shoulders of his Steppe pony, holding the decapitated head in one hand while guiding the nimble pony with the other. Tears of grief, anger and frustration were coursing down the boy's face as he clung desperately to the horse's mane because he knew that, should he fall off, he would be trampled underfoot.
The Mongol troop laughed and shouted their war whoops as they rode away in triumph, their mission successfully completed. As they rode through the burning streets, the boy caught sight of the horrors perpetrated by the vengeful Mongols - he saw a woman, with a baby in her arms, escaping a burning house only to be cut down in the street; another man, clothes ablaze, was screaming in agony, turning and twisting in an impossible attempt to put out the hungry flames; a boy, who had been a playmate, sat clutching his stomach, his entrails falling out as he died. The boy closed his eyes tightly to avoid seeing more, but all the images of death burned themselves into his memory - throughout his life, he would never forget ...
The Mongol captain threw the boy to the ground as the troop clattered into the forecourt of the Khan's massive citadel in the golden light of early dawn. The boy, aching all over from his perilous ride but otherwise uninjured, hurriedly got to his feet again to avoid the ponies' stamping hooves. It was then that he saw for the first time that he was not the only boy who had been abducted. He saw another four, all of whom he knew, being held by other Mongol riders. He was, however, unable to talk to any of them before they were hustled into the castle.
The Mongol captain, the severed head now tied by the hair to his belt, roughly grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck and led him and the other boys towards the soldiers' quarters across the wide yard.
"You, guard!" he shouted at a sentry. "Throw these scum into a room and lock it till I get back, but this one - keep him separate for me!"
"Aye, Lord Tegana!" the soldier saluted.
While Tegana presented the head on a plate to Chaghatai, the boy was left, alone and terrified, to await his fate. An hour later, cold, hungry and frightened, he jumped to his feet as Tegana noisily burst the wooden door of their temporary prison open. The powerful Mongol slammed the door closed then strode over to him and straddled him, placing his foot heavily on the boy's chest in the Mongol gesture of ownership and power. He was very drunk. "Now, Saracen scum, you will pay dearly for the pain your kind has caused me!" As he spoke the Mongol barbarian exposed himself and released his water profusely all over the helplessly trapped boy, who squirmed and sputtered in an attempt to avoid the stream, but the booted foot pressed hard against his chest and he was unable to evade the unspeakable act. When he was finished the barbarian pulled him, trembling, stinking and terrified, to his feet. "Now, clean it up!" he commanded, and kicked him in the backside. He found a cloth and mopped up the residue. "You are mine, boy, mine to command! You and your kind will pay dearly for killing my son!" and he undid his leather trouser belt and lashed the helpless boy mercilessly. He tried to protect himself, but large red welts showed on his hands and blood trickled down from a cut on his forehead as the blows rained brutally all over his body, making him cry in agony as the Mongol's hatred fired his strength.
The boy's cries for help did not go unheard. The door was suddenly forced open and a tall, richly dressed Saracen, followed by his armoured guards, strode in. The man took in the situation at a glance and ordered his guards to restrain the Mongol's insane attack.
Tegana stood back, gasping, as Saracen scimitars pricked his neck. The man leaned down and took the injured boy by the arm, helping him to his feet. "Come with me." he said.
Leading Tegana at swordpoint, they approached the heavy wooden doors of the citadel. The Mongol warriors who saw Tegana's plight were helpless to assist, since any violence would certainly result in Tegana's death. The Saracens' entrance was barred by armed Mongol guards, but the tall Saracen, speaking in their language, said "If you do not let us enter your Captain dies!" The guards, after a moment's hesitation while Tegana uttered a stream of invective, permitted the Saracens to enter the interior of the citadel. The Saracen obviously knew his way around, and marched directly towards the Khan's audience chamber. It was cool and dark as they stepped over the threshold, but the boy was able to see, by the light of flaming torches, golden shields, silver swords and tapestries adorning the walls and the finest Persian carpets covering the floors.
Two more Mongols guarded the heavy wooden doors of the audience chamber and they again barred the way to the armed Saracen warriors. However, the man spoke again, and was allowed to enter alone, the wooden doors slamming hollowly behind him.
In the audience chamber, Chaghatai was sitting at a table enjoying a substantial breakfast of bread, rice and koumiss, the Mongol alcoholic beverage resembling beer. "Ah, Yalavach!" he roared, "Come in, come in! To what do we owe the honour of this unexpected visit?" Yalavach strode up to the indolently seated and intoxicated Il-Khan.
"My Lord Chaghatai; My Lord Vazir." Mahmoud Yalavach, Viceregent of Transoxania under the Mongol rule, made abeyance in the Saracen way by touching his right hand to chest, lips and brow before bowing deeply, then awaiting permission to speak. Chaghatai was not alone. Also in the chamber was Chaghatai's chief scribe and adviser, Vazir, a Mongol of the Uighur tribe in Central Asia who had risen to high office by way of the Great Khan Ogodei's court.
"Well, what is it? Speak!" commanded Chaghatai.
"I have formal complaints to make, My Lord. Firstly, against the atrocities perpetrated by your band of hooligans against my people last night. You had no right ..."
"I had every right, infidel!" roared the quickly enraged warlord, who thumped his hand on the table, making everything on the table jump two inches in the air and clatter down again. "It is not for you to say what should or should not be done! I rule here, and if there is insurrection, then I will deal with it in the only way possible! Go and tell your rebellious people that! Were you not appointed as principal tax collector by the Great Khan Ogodei, I would have you killed and eaten for your impertinence, Yalavach. However ..." calming down somewhat, Chaghatai fingered his flowing moustache pensively before continuing. "You have served me well and I will overlook your - indiscretion - on this occasion. I am surprised you were not aware that your countrymen were planning an uprising to attack the citadel and oust me. That could not be tolerated, and the ringleaders were made to pay for their conspiracy with their lives. If further reprisals occur, the Great Khan Ogodei has given me strict orders to quell the insurgence in any way I deem fit. Perhaps you Saracens will realise that to revolt against the might of the Mongol Empire is pointless and will only end in bloodletting. Now, begone and let me enjoy my breakfast!"
Yalavach saw there was no point in pursuing the point further. Instead, he changed the subject and spoke out boldly. "I have a further complaint, Lord, against your Captain, the Lord Tegana."
Chaghatai scowled in annoyance at Yalavach's continued presence. "Tegana! What has he done to so annoy you?" he spluttered, mouth full of rice.
"My Lord, he has taken children as hostage during last night's atrocities. He took one boy especially and has grievously abused him. I have the boy outside as testament, My Lord, as well as the evil Tegana, who is under the restraint of my soldiers."
"What! You have Tegana under restraint! How dare you! Release him at once and bid them enter!"
Before entering the presence of the Il-Khan, Yalavach's Saracen warriors sheathed their scimitars and pushed Tegana roughly into the presence of his Lord and master. Fighting back his tears of pain, disgust and embarrassment, the frightened boy followed them in.
On entering the Il-Khan's presence, Tegana immediately prostrated himself in front of his warlord, reaching out to place Chaghatai's hand on his forehead in a gesture of subservience. Chaghatai stood and placed a booted foot on Tegana's back in a gesture of dominance. The boot stayed there as he saw the boy's bedraggled appearance.
"Explain yourself, Tegana, for the disgraceful condition of this boy." He lifted his boot, allowing Tegana to raise himself to a kneeling position before he addressed Chaghatai.
"M-my Lord Chaghatai, this is the son of the leader of the uprising. I was merely carrying out your orders!" Tegana's tone was defiant.
"Your orders were to punish the insurgents, not to take boys for your own vile pleasure! You, boy ..." the Il-Khan pointed towards the boy. "How old are you?"
"Prostrate yourself when the Il-Khan addresses you!" Yalavach whispered. Still trembling with fear, the boy briefly imitated the position Tegana had adopted. He was able to understand a few words of the guttural Mongol tongue. At first he could not find his voice but he took a deep breath as he knelt and replied haltingly in Mongol "I have known eleven summers, My Lord."
"Ah! So you can speak our language! An intelligent Saracen dog! What is your name, boy?"
"A-Ahmad, My Lord."
"A-Ahmad, My Lord." mimicked the intoxicated Mongol. "And where are you from, Ahmad, My Lord?"
"Originally, Banakath, on the River Angren, My Lord."
"Banakath! I thought my father, the Great Khan Chingis, had completely destroyed that rebel Saracen lair twelve years ago! Apparently not!" Chaghatai stood abruptly and walked struttingly all around Ahmad. Then, leaning down, he pulled Ahmad roughly to his feet and placed his face within inches of the boy's. "So! Your father escaped from Banakath to create further insurrection here!" Ahmad flinched involuntarily at the nearness of the alien features and the strong body and horse odours emanating from the unwashed Mongol. "Hah!" he turned away from Ahmad and returned to the table, sitting down heavily. "Well, he has paid dearly for his trouble-making now, Ahmad Banakati. However, Tegana had no right to procure you for his own nefarious uses. He will be flogged publicly tomorrow. Twenty-two lashes should suffice to subdue your base desires, Tegana. As for the boy ... Hmm. What shall we do with him?" The Khan looked to Vazir for advice.
"Perhaps, My Lord, the Viceregent Yalavach will find a use for an intelligent Saracen boy to train him to be of service to his Mongol masters!" Vazir counselled.
"An excellent suggestion, Vazir. He is yours, Yalavach. The subject is closed."
Mahmoud Yalavach subserviently bowed four times to Chaghatai while backing out of the audience chamber, then led Ahmad away to start his new life. As he left the chamber, Ahmad's eyes, filled with burning hatred, never left Tegana, who was still kneeling before his Khan. At that moment Ahmad made to himself an unspoken vow that some day, some way, he would revenge the outrage on his family and his people perpetrated that night ...
---oo0oo---
Ahmad and the other boys captured by the Mongols were given over to Yalavach and transferred to the Shahristan, the former ruling Shah of Khwarizm's palace located next to the citadel. The magnificent palace had been constructed in the Arabian style of architecture with rounded white domes and arches with soaring minarets. It was decorated with blue ceramic tiling depicting mythical and factual creatures which were encircled by tracts from the Koran. Mahmoud Yalavach, formerly a Caliph of the Khwarizm area of Transoxania, had been appointed by the conquering Chingis Khan to govern the Saracen population in that area. Transoxania was located in the fertile plain between the Oxus and Jaxartes rivers, which drained respectively into the Caspian and Aral Seas in Central Asia.
Yalavach had devised an elaborate tax collection system to bring in funds for the ever more demanding coffers of the Mongol conquerors. Each area had a collector, and each of the ten areas of Bukhara had an overseer who, if any problems were encountered, acted as an arbiter in any disputes or unfair burdens imposed on the people.
Yalavach, as the most influential Saracen in the area, decided it was necessary to address the Islamic citizenry in order to avoid further bloodshed so, during Friday Prayers held at the blue-domed Makh Mosque, he mounted the pulpit and spoke. "Men of Islam I beseech you! Do not continue this policy of uprising against the Mongols! Like it or not, these men are our conquerors. Too much Turkestan blood has already been pointlessly spilled. None of us can forget the massacres of the all-powerful army of Chingis. Always remember - no matter how many we kill, there are tenfold as many Mongols to take their place. We cannot prevail over them. We must accept their overlordship of us and learn to live with them. We have no other alternative other than the complete obliteration of our race. Men of Islam hear me! Go home, dispose of your swords and daggers and live in peace under Allah's blessing!"
---oo0oo---
Ahmad, who had been used to comparative freedom within his family, and had just endured the most traumatic experience of his young life in witnessing their horrific deaths, found the restrictions of life within the Shahristan difficult to accept. The five boys who had been captured by the Mongols that night were put into a small room in the basement, next to the kitchens and set to work throughout the palace, either as serving boys or attendants, while also being educated by the palace's Mullah who, as well as instructing them in the ways of Islam, taught them to read, write and count. Before the massacre Ahmad had attended the teaching Mullahs of the Makh Mosque, where Ahmad's family had worshipped.
As time went by, Ahmad formed firm friendships with his four fellow refugees, Ali, Hassan, Fu'ad and Faruk, all of whom, ever since he had had the courage to speak up to the Khan, looked to him for leadership. Their duties had been allocated according to their individual talents. Ali, who loved horses, had become a groom of the magnificent Arabian stallions; Hassan was a serving boy; Fu'ad, who showed skills in learning to write, was trained beside Ahmad as a scribe, and Faruk worked in the kitchens. Between them, they came to know every nook and cranny of the large palace.
Night-time was the worst time for Ahmad, who became haunted by nightmares and an overpowering will for vengeance over the Mongol who had killed his family. One night, some six months after his ordeal, Ahmad woke up screaming, the sweat pouring from him. The other boys, who were experiencing similar problems, understood and tried to comfort him, but his eyes were wild and terrified.
Yalavach was enjoying the pleasures of one of his concubines that night when he heard Ahmad's screams. Curiosity getting the better of him, he reluctantly extricated himself from a close embrace with a kiss and a promise to return quickly. Composing himself, he made his way down to the source of the disturbance and came in on the scene of the other boys trying to soothe the overwrought Ahmad. When they saw their master enter the boys fell away, leaving Ahmad alone and shaking.
"What is the matter, boy?" he addressed Ahmad.
"N-nothing, Bailio." Ahmad turned away, but Yalavach put a hand on his shoulder and felt the uncontrolled trembling.
"You have had a bad dream, haven't you?"
Ahmad whispered "Yes."
"Gather round me, boys. There is something which I will tell you now, in the strictest confidence. Do you understand?"
He received a chorus of "Yes, Bailio."
"Very well. You have all endured personal losses and witnessed horrifying sights at the hands of the Mongols. All of us in Transoxania have. There is, however, nothing we can do about it. The past is the past, and we must now build towards a more peaceful future. If that means being subservient to the conquerors, then so be it. There are other ways of undermining their stranglehold on our society. I have, Allah be praised, been placed in a position of power and trust by the Great Khan Ogodei. Had the Mongols never come, I would have been your next king. But they have taken that away from me and Ogodei has sent a courier to summons me to Karakorum in far Mongolia. My son, Mas'ud, will take over my position here. Allah knows, I do not want to leave Bukhara, but I must. That is something I have to accept, too. However, as I say, there are other ways of weakening their grip on us. I have plans for you boys, plans that will one day place you all in positions of power within Transoxania. Make no mistake, the Mongols are here to stay, but, if we gain their trust, we can still prosper under their rule. For the moment, however, I will have to keep you inconspicuously. In time, if you do your work well, all the rewards you deserve will be yours. What say you to that?"
The boys all made abeyance to Bailio Mahmoud Yalavach. All, that is, except Ahmad. "Bailio, may I ask you a question?"
"Go ahead, Ahmad. I expected no less from you!" Yalavach's eyes were twinkling.
"The Mongol Tegana, who killed my family - how can I avenge them?"
"Tegana has been disciplined by the Il-Khan and has been sent to fight against Berke, Khan of the Golden Horde, Ahmad. Do not let hatred consume you. If Allah allows, Berke's army might kill him. If not, you will have your chance, sometime in the future when you are more able to carry out your wishes. Be patient, Ahmad. Although it may not seem so just now, the world is at your feet and, if you do my bidding, the highest honours will be yours."
Appeased, Ahmad merely nodded curtly. "Now," continued Yalavach, "I must return to my apartments. There is someone awaiting me! Remember ..." He raised a finger to his lips, then he left.
As soon as he was gone, all the boys chattered excitedly for some time until, for the first time, they were all able to sleep soundly in their beds, assured at last of their role in the world.
---oo0oo---
The five boys formed a strong bond of friendship, but Yalavach took a special interest in Ahmad, whose natural intelligence quickly impressed his teachers. Under Yalavach's tutelage, Ahmad learned basic book-keeping, accountancy and the manipulation of figures.
---oo0oo---
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