The oaks and maples gave way to more fields the Inglistanis had cleared and then abandoned. I smelled the salt of the ocean when we caught sight of Mongol and Mahican sentries outside a makeshift stockade. Yesuntai was camped to the east of New London, amid rows of Ganeagaono bark shelters. In the distance, behind a fog rolling in from the sea, I glimpsed the walls of the town.
Yesuntai and Aroniateka were outside one shelter, sitting at a fire with four other men. I heaved myself from my horse and walked towards them.
“Greetings, Jirandai,” Yesuntai said in Mongol. “I am pleased to see you have recovered enough to take part in our final triumph.”
I squatted by the fire and stretched out my hands. My ribs still pained me; I suspected they always would. “This is likely to be our hardest battle,” I said.
“Then our glory will be all the greater when we win it.” Yesuntai accepted a pipe from Aroniateka and drew in the smoke. “We will take New London before the leaves begin to turn.”
“You plan to take it by storm?” I asked. “That will cost us.”
“I must have it, whatever it costs. My fellow commander Aroniateka is equally impatient for this campaign to end, as I suspect you are, Bahadur.” His eyes held the same look I had seen in my son’s outside the burning farmhouse, that expression of pity mingled with contempt for an old man tired of war.
I slept uneasily that night, plagued by aching muscles strained by my ride and the pain of my wounds. The sound of intermittent thunder over the ocean woke me before dawn. I crept from my shelter to find other men outside, shadows in the mists, and then knew what we were hearing. The sound was that of cannons being fired from ships. The Inglistanis would turn the weapons of their ships against us, whatever the risk to the town. They would drive us back from the shore and force us to withdraw.
Yesuntai had left his shelter. He paced, his arms swinging as if he longed to sweep the fog away. I went to him, knowing how difficult it would be to persuade him to give up now. A man shouted in the distance, and another answered him with a whoop. Yesuntai would have to order a retreat, or see men slaughtered to no purpose. I could still hear the sound of cannons over the water, and wondered why the Inglistanis had sailed no closer to us.
A Mongol and a Ganeagaono warrior were pushing their way through knots of men. “Noyan!” the Mongol called out to Yesuntai. “From the shore, I saw three ships — they fly the blue and white banners of your father! They have turned their weapons against the Inglistanis!”
The men near us cheered. Yesuntai’s face was taut, his eyes slits. He turned to me; his hands trembled as he clasped my shoulders.
“It seems,” he said softly, “that we will have to share our triumph.”
The ships had sailed to New London from Yeke Geren. They bombarded the town as we advanced from the north and east, driving our remaining Inglistani captives before us against the outer stockade. The sight of these wretches, crying out in Inglistani to their comrades and dying under the assault of their own people’s weapons, soon brought New London’s commander to send up white flags.
Michel Bahadur left his ship to accept the surrender. We learned from him that our Khan had at last begun his war against Inglistan that spring; a ship had brought Michel the news only recently. By now, he was certain, the Khanate’s armies would be marching on London itself. Michel had quickly seen that his duty lay in aiding us, now that we were openly at war with the Inglistanis.
Michel Bahadur praised Yesuntai lavishly as they embraced in the square of the defeated town. He spoke of our courage, but in words that made it seem that only Michel could have given us this final triumph. I listened in silence, my mind filled with harsh thoughts about men who claimed the victories of others for their own.
We celebrated the fall of New London with a feast in the town hall. Several Inglistani women who had survived the ravages of Michel’s men stood behind them to fill their cups. There were few beauties among those wan and narrow-faced creatures, but Michel had claimed a pretty dark-haired girl for himself.
He sat among his men, Yesuntai at his side, drinking to our victory. He offered only a grudging tribute to the Ganeagaono and the Mahicans, and said that they would be given their share of captives with the air of a man granting a great favor. I had chosen to sit with the Ganeagaono chiefs, as did most of the Mongols who had fought with us. Michel’s men laughed when three of the Mahican chiefs slid under tables, overcome by the wine and whiskey. My son, watching them, refused to drink from his cup.
“Comrades!” Michel bellowed in Frankish. I brooded over my wine, wondering what sort of speech he would make now. “Our enemies have been crushed! I say now that in this place, where we defeated the last of the Inglistani settlers, we will make a new outpost of our Khanate! New London will become another great camp!”
I stiffened in shock. The men around Michel fell silent as they watched us. Yesuntai glanced in my direction; his fingers tightened around his cup.
“New London was to burn,” Yesuntai said at last. “It was to suffer the fate of the other settlements.”
“It will stand,” Michel said, “to serve your father our Khan. Surely you cannot object to that, Noyan.”
Yesuntai seemed about to speak, then sank back in his seat. Our Narragansett and Wampanoag allies would feel betrayed when they learned of Michel’s intentions. The Bahadur’s round, crafty face reminded me of everything I despised in Europeans, their greed, their treachery, their lies.
My son motioned to me, obviously expecting me to translate Michel’s words. I leaned towards him. “Listen to me,” I said softly in the tongue of the Flint People, “and do nothing rash when you hear what I must say now. The war chief who sailed here to aid us means to camp in this place. His people will live in this town we have won.”
His hand darted towards his tomahawk, then fell. “So this is why we fought. I should have listened to Mother when she first spoke against you.”
“I did not know what Michel Bahadur meant to do, but what happens here will not trouble the Long House.”
“Until your people choose to forget another promise.”
“I am one of you,” I said.
“You are only an old man who allowed himself to be deceived.” He looked away from me. “I know where honor lies, even if your people do not. I will not shame you before your chief by showing what I think of him. I will not break our treaty in this place.” He turned to Aroniateka and whispered to him. The chiefs near them were still; only their eyes revealed their rage.
I had fulfilled my duty to my Khan. All that remained was to keep my promise to myself, and to Dasiyu.
9
I walked along New London’s main street, searching for Yesuntai. Warriors stumbled along the cobblestones, intoxicated by drink, blind to the contemptuous stares of our Frankish and Dutch sailors. The whiskey Michel’s men had given them from the looted stores had made them forget their villages and the tasks that awaited them there.
I found Yesuntai with a party of Ganeagaono warriors and a few Inglistani captives. “These comrades are leaving us,” Yesuntai said. “You must say an eloquent farewell for me — I still lack the words to do it properly.”
One of the men pulled at his scalplock. “It is time for us to go,” he said in his language. Five Mahicans clutching bottles of whiskey staggered past us. “To see brave men in such a state sickens me.”