Much Fall of Blood-ARC Read Free

said Eberhart, dryly. "And one of these would go south, and the other north. It would seem that being flanked by the same enemy would be unwise for anyone, let alone a master of tactics like the Mongol."
    "You speak soothly," said Ahmbien with equal dryness. "Except . . . Gatu, we believe, has no intention of being flanked . . . by enemies."
    It took a moment for this to sink in. "I think I need to go and prepare certain messages, Your Excellency," said Eberhart. He struggled to stand up, his knees complaining about the long time spent sitting on the cushions.
    The Bashar Ahmbien waved him down. "Sit, my guest. I have more to tell you, and a proposal to make. I wish to introduce you to the tarkhan Borshar." He clapped his hands. A servant appeared, bowed. "Summon the tarkhan Borshar of Dishmaq," said the old man.
    Borshar, when he arrived a few minutes later, was a tall shaven-headed man with the customary Mongol forelock. He showed not a trace of expression on his broad face. He bowed perfunctorily. Eberhart had met many functionaries in his long and varied life as an official of the States General. He was good at reading men. Borshar just came across as inscrutable. Eberhart did not like that.
    Ahmbien coughed delicately. "The Ilkhan would take it kindly if you could prevail on your Venetian allies for us. Relations," he smiled wryly, "are better between yourselves and them than between us and them. We need the good tarkhan taken to the lands of Golden Horde. We believe that his presence can influence matters in a mutually beneficial fashion."
    Eberhart raised his eyebrows. "One man?"
    Ahmbien shrugged. "And his escort, naturally. We have found one man in the right place can make a large difference. Of course it would help if that one man carries the word of the legitimacy of a marriage and the support of the Ilkhan."
    "Legitimacy?"
    "The marriage of the elder sister of Batu Khan. It happened in times of war, and without the formality it should perhaps have been accorded. The claim of Gatu to the Khanate rests partially on the shoulders of that uncertainty, and partly on the youth of Kildai."
    It sounded good. That was enough to make Eberhart suspicious.
    "Letters of safe conduct according those who accompany the tarkhan the status of escorts to an envoy, will of course be provided, under the seal of the Ilkhan."
    Eberhart did not raise his eyebrows in surprise. But he wanted to. That was a signal privilege. The Mongols were legendary for the degree of safe-conduct accorded to such emissaries and their escorts.
    * * *
    It was as luxurious a boudoir as Manfred had been able to contrive. She had taught him a great deal, reflected Francesca, and not just about sex or politics. Whether the knowledge of fabrics and cushions was really essential to a man who might one day yet rule the Holy Roman Empire, and definitely would rule the rough Celtic halls of Brittany, could be debated. But Francesca de Chevreuse had no doubts about it being of value. Both politics and sex were enhanced by such things. How many pointless wars were born, accidentally, out of a poor night's sleep or an uncomfortable seat? While dukes, kings and emperors might claim to rule by divine right, that did not appear to protect them from occasional peevishness. She'd gotten to meet several of the great men, first as a courtesan and later as Manfred's leman.
    She bit her lip. Being Manfred's leman had been a comfortable life and an interesting one. She had a great deal of power and influence, even with the emperor himself. It would take very little effort and feminine wile to maintain the status quo. But in a way, this life was a gamble. And she was an intelligent gambler. It was time get out of this particular game, while she was still winning. The emperor might have looked indulgently on his nephew's mistress, even used her as his agent, while she was a transient feature of Manfred's life. But she knew, too well, that the throne would not tolerate her