The Mammoth Book of Alternate Histories

1

Yesuntai Noyan arrived in Yeke Geren in early winter, stumbling from his ship with the unsteady gait and the pallor of a man who had recently crossed the ocean. Because Yesuntai was a son of our Khan, our commander Michel Bahadur welcomed the young prince with speeches and feasts. Words of gratitude for our hospitality fell from Yesuntai’s lips during these ceremonies, but his restless gaze betrayed his impatience. Yesuntai’s mother, I had heard, was Frankish, and he had a Frank’s height, but his sharp-boned face, dark slits of eyes, and sturdy frame were a Mongol’s.

At the last of the feasts, Michel Bahadur seated me next to the Khan’s son, an honor I had not expected. The commander, I supposed, had told Yesuntai a little about me, and would expect me to divert the young man with tales of my earlier life in the northern woods. As the men around us sang and shouted to servants for more wine, Yesuntai leaned towards me.

“I hear,” he murmured, “that I can learn much from you, Jirandai Bahadur. Michel tells me that no man knows this land better than you.”

“I am flattered by such praise.” I made the sign of the cross over my wine, as I had grown used to doing in Yeke Geren.

Yesuntai dipped his fingers into his cup, then sprinkled a blessing to the spirits. Apparently he followed our old faith, and not the cross; I found myself thinking a little more of him.

“I am also told,” Yesuntai went on, “that you can tell many tales of a northern people called the Hiroquois.”

“That is only the name our Franks use for all the nations of the Long House.” I gulped down more wine. “Once, I saw my knowledge of that people as something that might guide us in our dealings with them. Now it is only fodder on which men seeking a night’s entertainment feed.”

The Noyan lifted his brows. “I will not ask you to share your stories with me here.”

I nodded, relieved. “Perhaps we might hunt together sometime, Noyan. Two peregrines I have trained need testing, and you might enjoy a day with them.”

He smiled. “Tomorrow,” he said, “and preferably by ourselves, Bahadur. There is much I wish to ask you.”

Yesuntai was soon speaking more freely with the other men, and even joined them in their songs. Michel would be pleased that I had lifted the Noyan’s spirits, but by then I cared little for what that Bahadur thought. I drank and thought of other feasts shared inside long houses with my brothers in the northern forests.

Yesuntai came to my dwelling before dawn. I had expected an entourage, despite his words about hunting by ourselves, but the Khan’s son was alone. He gulped down the broth my wife Elgigetei offered, clearly impatient to ride out from the settlement.

We saddled our horses quickly. The sky was almost as grey as the slate-colored wings of the falcons we carried on our wrists, but the clouds told me that snow would not fall before dusk. I could forget Yeke Geren and the life I had chosen for one day, until the shadows of evening fell.

We rode east, skirting the horses grazing in the land our settlers had cleared, then moved north. A small bird was flying towards a grove of trees; Yesuntai loosed his falcon. The peregrine soared, a streak against the grey sky, her dark wings scimitars, then suddenly plummeted towards her prey. The Noyan laughed as her yellow talons caught the bird.

Yesuntai galloped after the peregrine. I spied a rabbit darting across the frost-covered ground, and slipped the tether from my falcon; he streaked towards his game. I followed, pondering what I knew about Yesuntai. He had grown up in the ordus and great cities of our Frankish Khanate, been tutored by the learned men of Paris, and would have passed the rest of his time in drinking, dicing, card-playing, and claiming those women who struck his fancy. His father, Sukegei Khan, numbered two grandsons of Genghis Khan among his ancestors, but I did not expect Yesuntai to show the vigor of those great forefathers. He was the Khan’s son by one of his minor wives, and I had seen such men before in Yeke Geren, minor sons of Ejens or generals who came to this new land for loot and glory, but who settled for hunting along the great river to the north, trading with the nearer tribes, and occasionally raiding an Inglistani farm. Yesuntai would be no different; so I thought then.

He was intent on his sport that day. By afternoon, the carcasses of several birds and rabbits hung from our saddles. He had said little to me, and was silent as we tethered our birds, but I had felt him watching me. Perhaps he would ask me to guide him and some of his men on a hunt beyond this small island, before the worst of the winter weather came. The people living in the regions nearby would not trouble hunters. Our treaty with the Ganeagaono, the Eastern Gatekeepers of the Long House, protected us, and they had long since subdued the tribes to the south of their lands.

We trotted south. Some of the men watching the horse herds were squatting around fires near their shelters of tree branches and hides. They greeted us as we passed, and congratulated us on our game. In the distance, the rounded bark houses of Yeke Geren were visible in the evening light, wooden bowls crowned by plumes of smoke rising from their roofs.

The Great Camp — the first of our people who had come to this land had given Yeke Geren its name. “We will build a great camp,” Cheren Noyan had said when he stepped from his ship, and now circles of round wooden houses covered the southern part of the island the Long House people called Ganono, while our horses had pasturage in the north. Our dwellings were much like those of the Manhatan people who had lived here, who had greeted our ships, fed us, sheltered us, and then lost their island to us.

Yesuntai reined in his horse as we neared Yeke Geren; he seemed reluctant to return to the Great Camp. “This has been the most pleasant day I have passed here,” he said.

“I have also enjoyed myself, Noyan.” My horse halted at his side. “You would of course find better hunting away from this island. Perhaps—”

“I did not come here only to hunt, Bahadur. I have another purpose in mind. When I told Michel Bahadur of what I wish to do, he said that you were the man to advise me.” He paused. “My father the Khan grows even more displeased with his enemies the Inglistanis. He fears that, weak as they are, they may grow stronger here. His spies in Inglistan tell him that more of them intend to cross the water and settle here.”

I glanced at him. All of the Inglistani settlements, except for the port they called Plymouth, sat along the coast north of the long island that lay to the east of Yeke Geren. A few small towns, and some outlying farms — I could not see why our Khan would be so concerned with them. It was unfortunate that they were there, but our raids on their westernmost farms had kept them from encroaching on our territory, and if they tried to settle farther north, they would have to contend with the native peoples there.

“If more come,” I said, “then more of the wretches will die during the winter. They would not have survived this long without the aid of the tribes around them.” Some of those people had paid dearly for aiding the settlers, succumbing to the pestilences the Inglistanis had brought with them.

“They will come with more soldiers and muskets. They will pollute this land with their presence. The Khan my father will conquer their wretched island, and the people of Eire will aid us to rid themselves of the Inglistani yoke. My father’s victory will be tarnished if too many of the island dogs find refuge here. They must be rooted out.”

“So you wish to be rid of the Inglistani settlements.” I fingered the tether hanging from my falcon. “We do not have the men for such a task.”

“We do not,” he admitted, “but the peoples of these lands do.”

He interested me. Perhaps there was some iron in his soul after all. “Only the Hodenosaunee, the Long House nations, can help you,” I said, “and I do not know if they will. The Inglistanis pose no threat to the power of the Long House.”

“Michel told me we have a treaty with that people.”

“We have an agreement with the Ganeagaono, who are one of their five nations. Once the Long House People fought among themselves, until their great chiefs Deganawida and Hayawatha united them. They are powerful enough now to ignore the Inglistanis.”

Yesuntai gazed at the bird that clutched his gauntleted wrist. “What if they believed the Inglistanis might move against them?”

“They might act,” I replied. “The Hodenosaunee have no treaties with that people. But they might think they have something to gain from the Inglistani presence. We have never given firearms to the people here, but the Inglistanis do so when they think it’s to their advantage. By making war on the Inglistani settlements, you might only drive them into an alliance with the Long House and its subject tribes, one that might threaten us.”

“We must strike hard and exterminate the lot,” Yesuntai muttered. “Then we must make certain that no more of the wretches ever set foot on these shores.”

“You will need the Long House People to do it.”

“I must do it, one way or another. The Khan my father has made his will known. I have his orders, marked with his seal. He will take Inglistan, and we will destroy its outposts here. There can be no peace with those who have not submitted to us — the Yasa commands it. Inglistan has not submitted, so it will be forced to bow.”

I was thinking that Sukegei Khan worried too much over that pack of island-dwellers. Surely Hispania, even with a brother Khan ruling there, was more of a threat to him than Inglistan. I had heard many tales of the splendor of Suleiman Khan’s court, of slaves and gold that streamed to Granada and Cordoba from the continent to our south, of lands taken by the Hispanic Khan’s conquistadors. The Hispanians were as fervent in spreading their faith as in seizing loot. In little more than sixty years, it was said that as many mosques stood in the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan as in Cordoba itself. Suleiman Khan, with African kings as vassals and conquests in this new world, dreamed of being the greatest of the European Khans. How easy it had been for him to allow us settlements in the north while he claimed the richer lands to the south.

But I was a Bahadur of Yeke Geren, who knew only what others told me of Europe. My Khanate was a land I barely remembered, and our ancient Mongol homeland no more than a setting for legends and tales told by travelers. The Ejens of the Altan Uruk, the descendants of Genghis Khan, still sent their tribute to Karakorum, but the bonds of our Yasa, the laws the greatest of men had given us, rested more lightly on their shoulders. They might bow to the Kha-Khan of our homeland, but many of the Khans ruled lands greater than his. A time might come when the Khans of the west would break their remaining ties to the east.

“Europe!” I cleared my throat. “Sometimes I wonder what our Khans will do when all their enemies are vanquished.”

Yesuntai shook his head. “I will say this — my ancestor Genghis Khan would have wondered at what we are now. I have known Noyans who go no farther to hunt than the parks around their dwellings, and others who prefer brocades and perfumed lace to a sheepskin coat and felt boots. Europe has weakened us. Some think as I do, that we should become what we were, but there is little chance of that there.”

Snow was sifting from the sky. I urged my horse on; Yesuntai kept near me.

By the time we reached my circle of houses, the falling snow had become a curtain veiling all but the nearest dwellings from our sight. Courtesy required that I offer Yesuntai a meal, and a place to sleep if the snow continued to fall. He accepted my hospitality readily; I suspected there was more he wanted to ask me.

We halted at the dwelling next to mine. Except for a horse-drawn wagon carrying a wine merchant’s barrels, the winding roads were empty. I shouted to my servants; two boys hurried outside to take the peregrines and our game from us. A shadowy form stirred near the dwelling. I squinted, then recognized one of my Manhatan servants. He lay in the snow, his hands around a bottle.

Anger welled inside me. I told one of the boys to get the Manhatan to his house, then went after the wagon. The driver slowed to a stop as I reached him. I seized his collar and dragged him from his seat.

He cursed as he sprawled in the snow. “I warned you before,” I said. “You are not to bring your wine here.”

He struggled to his feet, clutching his hat. “To your Manhatans, Bahadur — that’s what you said. I was passing by, and thought others among your households might have need of some refreshment. Is it my fault if your natives entreat me for—”

I raised my whip. “You had one warning,” I said. “This is the last I shall give you.”

“You have no reason—”

“Come back to my circle, Gerard, and I will take this whip to you. If you are fortunate enough to survive that beating—”

“You cannot stop their cravings, Bahadur.” He glared up at me with his pale eyes. “You cannot keep them from seeking me out elsewhere.”

“I will not make it easier for them to poison themselves.” I flourished the whip; he backed away from me. “Leave.”

He waded through the snow to his wagon. I rode back to my dwelling. Yesuntai had tied his horse to a post; he was silent as I unsaddled my mount.

I led him inside. Elgigetei greeted us; she was alone, and my wife’s glazed eyes and slurred speech told me that she had been drinking. Yesuntai and I sat on a bench in the back of the house, just beyond the hearth fire. Elgigetei brought us wine and fish soup. I waited for her to take food for herself and to join us, but she settled on the floor near our son’s cradle to work at a hide.

Her mother had been a Manhatan woman, and Elgigetei’s brown face and thick black braids had reminded me of Dasiyu, the wife I had left among the Ganeagaono. I had thought her beautiful once, but Elgigetei had the weaknesses of the Manhatan people, the laziness, the craving for drink that had wasted so many of them. She scraped at her hide listlessly, then leaned over Ajiragha’s cradle to murmur to our son in the Manhatan tongue. I had never bothered to learn the language. It was useless to master the speech of a people who would soon not exist.

“You are welcome to stay here tonight,” I said to the Noyan.

“I am grateful for this snowstorm,” he murmured. “It will give us more time to talk. I have much to ask you still about the Hiroquois.” He leaned back against the wall. “In Khanbalik, there are scholars in the Khitan Khan’s court who believe that the forefathers of the people in these lands came here long ago from the regions north of Khitai, perhaps even from our ancestral grounds. These scholars claim that once a land bridge far to the north linked this land to Sibir. So I was told by travelers who spoke to those learned men in Khitai.”

“It is an intriguing notion, Noyan.”

“If such people carry the seed of our ancestors, there may be greatness in them.”

I sipped my wine. “But of course there can be no people as great as we Mongols.”

“Greatness may slip from our grasp. Koko Mongke Tengri meant for us to rule the world, yet we may lose the strength to hold it.”

I made a sign as he invoked the name of our ancient God, then bowed my head. Yesuntai lifted his brows. “I thought you were a Christian.”

“I was baptized,” I said. “I have prayed in other ways since then. The Long House People call God Hawenneyu, the Great Spirit, but He is Tengri by another name. It matters not how a man prays.”

“That is true, but many who follow the cross or the crescent believe otherwise.” Yesuntai sighed. “Long ago, my ancestor Genghis Khan thought of making the world our pasturage, but then learned that he could not rule it without mastering the ways of the lands he had won. Now those ways are mastering us.” He gazed at me with his restless dark eyes. “When we have slaughtered the Inglistanis here, more of our people will come to settle these lands. In time, we may have to subdue those we call our friends. More will be claimed here for our Khanate and, if all goes well, my father’s sons and grandsons will have more of the wealth this land offers. Our priests will come, itching to spread the word of Christ among the natives, and traders will bargain for what we do not take outright. Do you find this a pleasing prospect?”

“I must serve my Khan,” I replied. His eyes narrowed, and I sensed that he saw my true thoughts. There were still times when I dreamed of abandoning what I had here and vanishing into the northern forests.

He said, “An ocean lies between us and Europe. It may become easier for those who are here to forget the Khanate.”

“Perhaps.”

“I am told,” Yesuntai said then, “that you lived for some time among the Long House People.”

My throat tightened. “I dwelled with the Ganeagaono, the Owners of the Flint. Perhaps Michel Bahadur told you the story.”

“Only that you lived among them.”

“It is a long tale, but I will try to make it shorter. My father and I came to these shores soon after we found this island — we were in one of the ships that followed the first expedition. Cheren Noyan had secured Yeke Geren by then. I was nine when we arrived, my father’s youngest son. We came alone, without my mother or his second wife — he was hoping to return to Calais a richer man.” I recalled little of that journey, only that the sight of the vast white-capped sea terrified me whenever I was well enough to go up on deck to help the men watch for Inglistani pirates. Perhaps Yesuntai had also trembled at being adrift on that watery plain, but I did not wish to speak of my fear to him.

“A year after we got here,” I went on, “Cheren Noyan sent an expedition upriver. Hendrick, one of our Dutch sailors, captained the ship. He was to map the river and see how far it ran, whether it might offer us a passageway west. My father was ordered to join the expedition, and brought me along. I was grateful for the chance to be with the men.”

Yesuntai nodded. “As any boy would be.”

“We went north until we came to the region the Ganeagaono call Skanechtade — Beyond the Openings — and anchored there. We knew that the Flint People were fierce warriors. The people to the south of their lands lived in terror of them, and have given them the name of Mohawk, the Eaters of Men’s Flesh, but we had been told the Owners of the Flint would welcome strangers who came to them in peace. Hendrick thought it wise to secure a treaty with them before going farther, and having an agreement with the Ganeagaono would also give us a bond with the other four nations of the Long House.”

I swallowed more wine. Yesuntai was still, but his eyes kept searching me. He would want to know what sort of man I was before entrusting himself to me, but I still knew little about him. I felt somehow that he wanted more than allies in a campaign against the Inglistanis, but pushed that notion aside.

“Some of us,” I said, “rowed to shore in our longboats. A few Ganeagaono warriors had spied us, and we made ourselves understood with hand gestures. They took us to their village. Everyone there greeted us warmly, and opened their houses to us. All might have gone well, but after we ate their food, our men offered them wine. We should have known better, after seeing what strong drink could do to the Manhatan. The Flint People have no head for wine, and our men would have done well to stay sober.”

I stared at the earthen floor and was silent for a time. “I am not certain how it happened,” I continued at last, “but our meeting ended in violence. A few of our men died with tomahawks in their heads. Most of the others fled to the boats. You may call them cowards for that, but to see a man of the Flint People in the throes of drunkenness would terrify the bravest of soldiers. They were wild — the wine is poison to them. They were not like the Manhatan, who grow sleepy and calmly trade even their own children for strong drink.”

“Go on,” Yesuntai said.

“My father and I were among those who did not escape. The Ganeagaono had lost men during the brawl, and now saw us as enemies. They began their tortures. They assailed my father and his comrades with fire and whips — they cut pieces of flesh from them, dining on them while their captives still lived, and tore the nails from their hands with hot pincers. My father bore his torment bravely, but the others did not behave as Mongols should, and their deaths were not glorious.” I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the sound of their shrieks when the children had thrown burning coals on their staked bodies. I had not known then whom I hated more, the men for losing their courage or the children for their cruelty.

“I am sorry to hear it,” Yesuntai said.

“Only my father and I were left alive. They forced us to run through the village while rows of people struck at us with whips and heavy sticks. The men went at us first, then the women, and after them the children. I did not understand then that they were honoring us by doing this. My father’s wounds robbed him of life, but I survived the beatings, and it was then that the Ganeagaono made me one of them. I was taken to a house, given to a woman who admired the courage my father had shown during the torture, and was made a member of their Deer Clan. My foster mother gave me the name of Senadondo.”

“And after that?” he asked.

“Another ship came upriver not long after. We expected a war party, but Cheren Noyan was wise enough to send envoys out from the ship to seek peace. Because I knew the Ganeagaono tongue by then, I was useful as an interpreter. The envoys begged forgiveness, saying that their men were to blame for violating the hospitality of the Flint People, so all went well. In the years to follow, I often dealt with the traders who came to us offering cloth and iron for furs and beaver pelts — they did not make the mistake of bringing wine again. After a time, I saw that I might be of more use to both my own people and my adoptive brothers if I returned to Yeke Geren. The Ganeagaono said farewell to me and sent me back with many gifts.”

Speaking of the past made me long for the northern woods, for the spirits that sang in the mountain pines, for the sight of long houses and fields of corn, for Dasiyu, who had refused to come with me or to let our son depart with me. The boy belonged to her Wolf Clan, not to mine; his destiny was linked to hers. It had always been that way among the Long House People. I had promised to return, and she had called my promise a lie. Her last words to me were a curse.

“I might almost think,” Yesuntai said, “that you wish you were among those people now.”

“Is that so strange, Noyan?”

“They killed your father, and brought you much suffering.”

“We brought that fate upon ourselves. If my father’s spirit had not flown from him, they would have let him live, and honored him as one of their own. I lost everything I knew, but from the time the Ganeagaono adopted me, they treated me only with kindness and respect. Do you understand?”

“I think I do. The children of many who fought against us now serve us. Yet you chose to return here, Jirandai.”

“We had a treaty. The Flint People do not forget their treaties — they are marked with the strings of beads they call wampum, which their wise men always have in their keeping.” Even as I spoke, I wondered if, in the end, my exile would prove useless.

How full of pride and hope I had been, thinking that my efforts would preserve the peace between this outpost of the Khanate and the people I had come to love. I would be, so I believed, the voice of the Ganeagaono in the Mongol councils. But my voice was often ignored, and I had finally seen what lay behind Cheren Noyan’s offer of peace. A treaty would give his men time to learn more about the Long House, and any weaknesses that could later be exploited. Eventually, more soldiers would come to wrest more of these lands from the natives. Our Khan’s minions might eventually settle the lands to the north, and make the Long House People as wretched as the Manhatans.

“I came back,” I continued, “so that our Noyans and Bahadurs would remember the promises recorded on the belts we exchanged with the Owners of the Flint. We swore peace, and I am the pledge of that peace, for the Ganeagaono promised that they would be bound to us in friendship for as long as I remained both their brother and the Khan’s servant. That promise lives here.” I struck my chest. “But some of our people are not so mindful of our promises.”

Yesuntai nodded. “It is the European influence, Bahadur. Our ancestors kept the oaths they swore, and despised liars, but the Europeans twist words and often call lies the truth.” He took a breath. “I will speak freely to you, Jirandai Bahadur. I have not come here only to rid this land of Inglistanis. Europe is filled with people who bow to the Khans and yet dream of escaping our yoke. I would hate to see them slip from their bonds on these shores. Destroying the Inglistani settlements will show others that they will find no refuge here.”

“I can agree with such a mission,” I said.

“And your forest brothers will be rid of a potential enemy.”

“Yes.”

“Will you lead me to them? Will you speak my words to them and ask them to join us in this war?”

“You may command me to do so, Noyan,” I said.

He shifted his weight on the bench. “I would rather have your assent. I have always found that those who freely offer me their oaths serve me better than those pressed into service, and I imagine you have your own reasons for wishing to go north.”

“I shall go with you, and willingly. You will need other men, Noyan. Some in Yeke Geren have lost their discipline and might not do well in the northern forests. They wallow in the few pleasures this place offers, and mutter that their Khan has forgotten them.”

“Then I will leave it to you to find good men who lust for battle. I can trust those whom I brought with me.”

I took out my pipe, tapped tobacco into it from my pouch, lit it, and held it out to Yesuntai. “Will you smoke a pipe with me? We should mark our coming expedition with some ceremony.”

He accepted the pipe, drew in some smoke, then choked and gasped for air before composing himself. Outside, I heard a man, a sailor perhaps, and drunk from the sound of him, call out to another man in Frankish. What purpose could a man find here, waiting for yet another ship to arrive with news from the

Khanate and baubles to trade with the natives for the pelts, birds, animals, and plants the Khan’s court craved? I was not the only man who thought of deserting Yeke Geren.

“I look forward to our journey,” Yesuntai said, “and to seeing what lies beyond this encampment.” He smiled as he passed the pipe to me.

That spring, with forty of Yesuntai’s soldiers and twenty more men I had chosen, we sailed upriver.

2

The Ganeagaono of Skanechtade welcomed us with food. They crowded around us as we went from house to house, never leaving us alone even when we went to relieve ourselves. Several men of my Deer Clan came to meet me, urging more of the game and dried fish their women had prepared upon me and my comrades. By the time we finished our feast, more people had arrived from the outlying houses of the village to listen to our words.

Yesuntai left it to me to urge the war we wanted. After I was empty of eloquence, we waited in the long house set aside for our men. If the men of Skanechtade chose the warpath, they would gather war parties and send runners to the other villages of the Ganeagaono to persuade more warriors to join us.

I had spoken the truth to the people of Skanechtade. Deceit was not possible with the Ganeagaono, and especially not for me. I was still their brother, even after all the years I thought of as my exile. The Ganeagaono would know I could not lie to them; this war would serve them as well as us. Whoever was not at peace with them was their enemy. In that, they were much like us. A people who might threaten their domain as well as ours would be banished from the shores of this land.

Yet my doubts had grown, not about our mission, but of what might come afterwards. More of our people would cross the ocean, and the Bahadurs who followed us to Yeke Geren might dream of subduing the nations we now called our friends. There could be no peace with those who did not submit to us in the end, and I did not believe the Ganeagaono and the other nations of the Long House would ever swear an oath to our Khan.

I had dwelled on such thoughts as we sailed north, following the great river that led to Skanechtade. By the time we rowed away from the ship in our longboats, I had made my decision. I would do what I could to aid Yesuntai, but whatever the outcome of our mission, I would not return to Yeke Geren. My place was with the Ganeagaono who had granted me my life.

“Jirandai,” Yesuntai Noyan said softly. He sat in the back of the long house, his back against the wall, his face hidden in shadows; I had thought he was asleep. “What do you think they will do?”

“A few of the young chiefs want to join us. That I saw when I finished my speech.” Some of our men glanced towards me; most were sleeping on the benches that lined the walls. “We will have a few bands, at least.”

“A few bands are useless to me,” Yesuntai muttered. “A raid would only provoke our enemies. I must have enough men to destroy them.”

“I have done what I can,” I replied. “We can only hope my words have moved them.”

Among the Ganeagaono, those who wanted war had to convince others to follow them. The sachems who ruled their councils had no power to lead in war; I had explained that to Yesuntai. It was up to the chiefs and other warriors seeking glory to assemble war parties, but a sign that a sachem favored our enterprise might persuade many to join us. I had watched the sachems during my speech; my son was among them. His dark eyes had not betrayed any of his thoughts.

“I saw how you spoke, Jirandai,” Yesuntai said, “and felt the power in your words, even if I did not understand them. I do not believe we will fail.”

“May it be so, Noyan.” I thought then of the time I had traveled west with my adoptive father along the great trail that runs to the lands of the Nundawaono. There, among the Western Gatekeepers of the Long House nations, I had first heard the tale of the great serpent brought down by the thunderbolts of Heno, spirit of storms and rain. In his death throes, the serpent had torn the land asunder and created the mighty falls into which the rapids of the Neahga River flowed. My foster father had doubts about the story’s ending, although he did not say so to our hosts. He had stood on a cliff near the falls and seen a rainbow arching above the tumultuous waters; he had heard the steady sound of the torrent and felt the force of the wind that never died. He believed that the serpent was not dead, but only sleeping, and might rise to ravage the land again.

Something in Yesuntai made me think of that serpent. When he was still, his eyes darted restlessly, and when he slept, his body was tense, ready to rouse itself at the slightest disturbance. Something was coiled inside him, sleeping but ready to wake.

Voices murmured beyond the doorway to my right. Some of the Ganeagaono were still outside. A young man in a deerskin kilt and beaded belt entered, then gestured at me.

“You,” he said, “he who is called Senadondo.” I lifted my head at the sound of the name his people had given to me. “I ask you to come with me,” he continued in his own tongue.

I got to my feet and turned to Yesuntai. “It seems someone wishes to speak to me.”

He waved a hand. “Then you must go.”

“Perhaps some of the men want to hear more of our plans.”

“Or perhaps a family you left behind wishes to welcome you home.”

I narrowed my eyes as I left. The Noyan had heard nothing from me about my wife and son, but he knew I had returned to Yeke Geren as a man. He might have guessed I had left a woman here.

The man who had come for me led me past clusters of houses. Although it was nearly midnight, with only a sliver of moon to light our way, people were still awake; I heard them murmuring beyond the open doors. A band of children trailed us. Whenever I slowed, they crowded around me to touch my long coat or to pull at my silk tunic.

We halted in front of a long house large enough for three families. The sign of the Wolf Clan was painted on the door. The man motioned to me to go inside, then led the children away.

At first, I thought the house was empty, then heard a whisper near the back. Three banked fires glowed in the central space between the house’s bark partitions. I called out a greeting; as I passed the last partition, I turned to my right and saw who was waiting for me.

My son wore his headdress, a woven cap from which a single large eagle feather jutted from a cluster of smaller feathers. Braided bands with beads adorned his bare arms; rattles hung from his belt. My wife wore a deerskin cloak over a dress decorated with beads. Even in the shadows beyond the fire, I saw the strands of silver in her dark hair.

“Dasiyu,” I whispered, then turned to my son. “Teyendanaga.”

He shook his head slightly. “You forget — I am the sachem Sohaewahah now.” He gestured at one of the blankets that covered the floor; I sat down.

“I hoped you would come back,” Dasiyu said. “I wished for it, yet prayed that you would not.”

“Mother,” our son murmured. She pushed a bowl of hommony towards me, then sat back on her heels.

“I wanted to come to you right away,” I said. “I did not know if you were here. When the men of my own clan greeted me, I feared what they might say if I asked about you, so kept silent. I searched the crowd for you when I was speaking.”

“I was there,” Dasiyu said, “sitting behind the sachems among the women. Your eyes are failing you.”

I suspected that she had concealed herself behind others. “I thought you might have another husband by now.”

“I have never divorced you.” Her face was much the same, only lightly marked with lines. I thought of how I must look to her, leather-faced and broader in the belly, softened by the years in Yeke Geren. “I have never placed the few belongings you left with me outside my door. You are still my husband, Senadondo, but it is Sohaewahah who asked you to come to this house, not I.”

My son held up his hand. “I knew you would return to us, my father. I saw it in my vision. It is of that vision that I wish to speak now.”

That a vision might have come to him, I did not doubt. Many spirits lived in these lands, and the Ganeagaono, as do all wise men, trust their dreams. But evil spirits can deceive men, and even the wise can fail to understand what the spirits tell them.

“I would hear of your vision,” I said.

“Two summers past, not long after I became Sohaewahah, I fell ill with a fever. My body fought it, but even after it passed, I could not rise from my bed. It was then, after the fever was gone, that I had my vision and knew it to be truth.” He gazed directly at me, his eyes steady. “Beyond my doorway, I saw a great light, and then three men entered my dwelling. One carried a branch, another a red tomahawk, and the third bore the shorter bow and the firestick that are your people’s weapons. The man holding the branch spoke, and I knew that Hawenneyu was speaking to me through him. He told me of a storm gathering in the east, over the Ojikhadagega, the great ocean your people crossed, and said that it threatened all the nations of the Long House. He told me that some of those who might offer us peace would bring only the peace of death. Yet his words did not frighten me, for he went on to say that my father would return to me, and bring a brother to my side.”

He glanced at his mother, then looked back at me. “My father and the brother he brought to me,” he continued, “would help us stand against the coming storm — this was the Great Spirit’s promise. When my vision passed, I was able to rise. I left my house and went through the village, telling everyone of what I had been shown. Now you are here, and the people remember what my vision foretold, and yet I see no brother.”

“You have a brother,” I said, thinking of Ajiragha. “I left him in Yeke Geren.”

“But he is not here at my side, as my vision promised.”

“He is only an infant, and the Inglistanis are the storm that threatens you. More of them will cross the Great Salt Water.”

“A war against them would cost us many men. We might trade with them, as we do with you. Peace is what we have always desired — war is only our way to prove our courage and to bring that peace about. You should know that, having been one of us.”

“The Inglistanis will make false promises, and when more of them come, even the Long House may fall before their soldiers. You have no treaties with the Inglistanis, so you are in a state of war with them now. Two of the spirits who came to you bore weapons — the Great Spirit means for you to make war.”

“But against whom?” Dasiyu asked. She leaned forward and shook her fist. “Perhaps those who are on your island of Ganono are the storm that will come upon us, after we are weakened by battle with the pale-faced people you hate.”

“Foolish woman,” I muttered, “I am one of you. Would I come here to betray you?” Despite my words, she reminded me of my own doubts.

“You should not have come back,” she said. “Whenever I dreamed of your return, I saw you alone, not with others seeking to use us for their own purposes. Look at you — there is nothing of the Ganeagaono left in you. You speak our words, but your garments and your companions show where your true loyalty lies.”

“You are wrong.” I stared at her; she did not look away. “I have never forgotten my brothers here.”

“You come to spy on us. When you have fought with our warriors in this battle, you will see our weaknesses more clearly, the ways in which we might be defeated, and we will not be able to use your pale-faced enemies against you.”

“Is this what you have been saying to the other women? Have you gone before the men to speak against this war?”

Dasiyu drew in her breath; our son clutched her wrist. “You have said enough, Mother,” he whispered. “I believe what he says. My vision told me he would come, and the spirits held the weapons of war. Perhaps my brother is meant to join me later.” He got to his feet. “I go now to add my voice to the councils. It may be that I can persuade those who waver. If we are to follow the warpath now, I will set aside my office to fight with you.”

He left us before I could speak. “You will have your war,” Dasiyu said. “The other sachems will listen to my son, and ask him to speak for them to the people. The wise old women will heed his words, because they chose him for his position.”

“This war will serve you.”

She scowled, then pushed the bowl of hommony towards me. “You insult me by leaving my food untouched.”

I ate some of the dried corn, then set the bowl down. “Dasiyu, I did not come here only to speak of war. I swore an oath to myself that, when this campaign ends, I will live among you again.”

“And am I to rejoice over that?”

“Cursed woman, anything I do would stoke your rage. I went back to speak for the Long House in our councils. I asked you to come with me, and you refused.”

“I would have had to abandon my clan. My son would never have been chosen as a sachem then. You would not be promising to stay with us unless you believed you have failed as our voice.”

Even after the years apart, she saw what lay inside me. “Whatever comes,” I said, “my place is here.”

She said nothing for a long time. The warmth inside the long house was growing oppressive. I opened my coat, then took off my headband to mop my brow.

“Look at you,” she said, leaning towards me to touch the braids coiled behind my ears. Her hand brushed the top of my shaven head lightly. “You had such a fine scalplock — how could you have given it up?” She poked at my mustache. “I do not understand why a man would want hair over his lip.” She fingered the fabric of my tunic. “And this — a woman might wear such a garment. I used to admire you so when I watched you dance. You were the shortest of the men, but no man here had such strong arms and broad shoulders, and now you hide them under these clothes.”

I drew her to me. She was not as she had been, nor was I; once, every moment in her arms had only fed the flames inside me. Our fires were banked now, the fever gone, but her welcoming warmth remained.

“You have changed in another way, Senadondo,” she said afterwards. “You are not so hasty as you were.”

“I am no longer a young man, Dasiyu. I must make the most of what moments I am given.”

She pulled a blanket over us. I held her until she was asleep; she nestled against me as she once had, her cheek against my shoulder, a leg looped around mine. I did not know how to keep my promise to stay with her. Yesuntai might want a spy among the Flint People when this campaign was concluded; he might believe I was his man for the task.

I slept uneasily. A war whoop awakened me at dawn. I slipped away from my wife, pulled on my trousers, and went to the door.

A young chief was running through the village. Rattles were bound to his knees with leather bands, and he held a red tomahawk; beads of black wampum dangled from his weapon. He halted in front of the war post, lifted his arm, and embedded the tomahawk in the painted wood. He began to dance, and other men raced towards him, until it seemed most of the village’s warriors had enlisted in the war.

They danced, bodies bent from the waist, arms lifting as if to strike enemies, hands out to ward off attack. Their feet beat against the ground as drums throbbed. I saw Yesuntai then; he walked towards them, his head thrown back, a bow in one hand. I stepped from the doorway, felt my heels drumming against the earth, and joined the dancers.

3

Yesuntai, a Khan’s son, was used to absolute obedience. The Ganeagaono, following the custom of all the Long House people, would obey any war chiefs in whom they had confidence. I had warned Yesuntai that no chief could command the Flint People to join in this war, and that even the women were free to offer their opinions of the venture.

“So be it,” the young Noyan had said to that. “Our own women were fierce and brave before they were softened by other ways, and my ancestor Bortai Khatun often advised her husband Genghis Khan, although even that great lady would not have dared to address a war kuriltai. If these women are as formidable as you say, then they must have bred brave sons.” I was grateful for his tolerance.

But the people of Skanechtade had agreed to join us, and soon their messengers returned from other villages with word that chiefs in every Ganeagaono settlement had agreed to go on the warpath. My son had advised us to follow the custom of the Hodenosaunee when all of their nations fought in a common war, and to choose two supreme commanders so that there would be unanimity in all decisions. Yesuntai, it was agreed, would command, since he had proposed this war, and Aroniateka, a cousin of my son’s, would be Yesuntai’s equal. Aroniateka, happily, was a man avid to learn a new way of warfare.

This was essential to our purpose, since to have any chance against the Inglistanis, the Ganeagaono could not fight in their usual fashion. The Long House people were still new to organized campaigns with many warriors, and most of their battles had been little more than raids by small parties. Their men were used to war, which, along with the hunt, was their favorite pursuit, but this war would be more than a ritual test of valor.

The Flint People had acquired horses from us in trade, but had never used them in warfare. Their warriors moved so rapidly on foot through the forests that mounts would only slow their progress. We would have to travel on foot, and take any horses we might need later from the Inglistanis. The men I had chosen in Yeke Geren had hunted and traded with the Hodenosaunee, and were used to their ways. Those Yesuntai had brought were veterans of European campaigns, but willing to adapt.

The whoops of Skanechtade’s warriors echoed through the village as they danced. The women busied themselves making moccasins and preparing provisions for their men. Runners moved between villages with the orders of our two commanders and returned with promises that the other war parties would follow them. Yesuntai would have preferred more time for planning, to send out more scouts before we left Ganeagaono territory, but we had little time. War had been declared, and our allies were impatient to fight. We needed a swift victory over our enemy. If we did not defeat the Inglistanis by late autumn, the Ganeagaono, their honor satisfied by whatever they had won by then, might abandon us.

A chill remained in the early spring air, but most of the Ganeagaono men had shed the cloaks and blankets that covered their upper bodies in winter. Our Mongols followed their example and stripped to the waist, and I advised Yesuntai’s men to trade their felt boots for moccasins. Dasiyu gave me a kilt and a pair of deerskin moccasins; I easily gave up my Mongol tunic and trousers for the garb I had once worn.

Eight days after we had come to Skanechtade, the warriors performed their last war dance. Men streamed from the village towards the river; Dasiyu followed me to the high wall that surrounded the long houses and handed me dried meat and a pouch of corn flour mixed with maple sugar.

“I will come back,” I said, “when this war is over.”

“If you have victory, I shall welcome you.” She gripped my arms for a moment, then let go. “If you suffer defeat, if you and your chief lead our men only to ruin, your belongings will be outside my door.”

“We will win,” I said.

The lines around her lids deepened as she narrowed her eyes. “See that you do, Senadondo.”

We crossed to the eastern side of the great river, then moved south. Some of our scouts had explored these oak-covered hills, and Yesuntai had planned his campaign with the aid of Inglistani maps our soldiers had taken during a raid the year before. We would travel south, then move east through the Mahican lands, keeping to the north of the enemy settlements. Our forces would remain divided during the journey, so as not to alert the Inglistanis. Plymouth, the easternmost enemy settlement, overlooked an ocean bay. When Plymouth was taken, we would move south towards another great bay and the town called Newport. This settlement lay on an island at the mouth of the bay, and we would advance on it from the east. Any who escaped us would be forced to flee west towards Charlestown.

A wise commander always allows his enemy a retreat, since desperate defenders can cost a general many men, while a sweep by one wing of his force can pick off retreating soldiers. We would drive the Inglistanis west. When Charlestown fell, the survivors would have to run to the settlement they called New Haven. When New Haven was crushed, only New London, their westernmost town, would remain, and from there the Inglistanis could flee only to territory controlled by us.

At some point, the enemy was likely to sue for peace, but there could be no peace with the Inglistanis. Our allies and we were agreed; this would be a war of extermination.

These were our plans, but obstacles lay ahead. The Mahicans would present no problem; as payers of tribute to the Long House, they would allow us safe passage through their lands. But the Wampanoag people dwelled in the east, and the Pequots controlled the trails that would lead us south to Newport. Both groups feared the Flint People and had treaties with the Inglistanis. Our men would be more than a match for theirs if the Wampanoags and Pequots fought in defense of their pale-faced friends. But such a battle would cost us warriors, and a prolonged battle for Plymouth would endanger our entire strategy.

Our forces remained divided as we moved. Speed is one of a soldier’s greatest allies, so we satisfied our hunger with our meager provisions and did not stop to hunt. At night, when we rested, Ganeagaono warriors marked the trees with a record of our numbers and movements, and we halted along the way to read the markings others had left for us. Yesuntai kept me at his side. I was teaching him the Ganeagaono tongue, but he still needed me to speak his words to his fellow commander Aroniateka.

In three days, we came to a Mahican settlement, and alerted the people there with war cries. Their chiefs welcomed us outside their stockade, met with us, and complained bitterly about the Inglistanis, who they believed had designs on their lands. They had refrained from raids, not wanting to provoke the settlers, but younger Mahicans had chided the chiefs for their caution. After we spoke of our intentions, several of their men offered to join us. We had expected safe passage, but to have warriors from among them lifted our spirits even higher.

We turned east, and markings on tree trunks told us of other Mahicans that had joined our forces. Yesuntai, with his bowcase, quiver, and sword hanging from his belt, and his musket over his shoulder, moved as easily through the woods as my son in his kilt and moccasins. A bond was forming between them, and often they communicated silently with looks and gestures, not needing my words. Wampanoag territory lay ahead, yet Yesuntai’s confidence was not dampened, nor was my son’s. The Great Spirit our Ganeagaono brethren called Hawenneyu, and that Yesuntai knew under the name of Tengri, would guide them; I saw their faith in their dark eyes when they lifted their heads to gaze through the arching tree limbs at the sky. God would give them victory.

4

God was with us. Our scouts went out, and returned with a Wampanoag boy, a wretched creature with a pinched face and tattered kilt. A Mahican with us knew the boy’s tongue, and we soon heard of the grief that had come to his village. Inglistani soldiers had attacked without warning only a few days ago, striking in the night while his people slept. The boy guessed that nearly two hundred of his Wampanoag people had died, cut down by swords and firesticks. He did not know how many others had managed to escape.

We mourned with him. Inwardly, I rejoiced. Perhaps the Inglistanis would not have raided their allies if they had known we were coming against them, but their rash act served our purpose. The deed was proof of their evil intentions; they would slaughter even their friends to claim what they wanted. Wampanoags who might have fought against us now welcomed us as their deliverers. Yesuntai consulted with Aroniateka, then gave his orders. The left wing of our force would strike at Plymouth, using the Wampanoags as a shield as they advanced.

The Wampanoags had acquired muskets from the Inglistanis, and now turned those weapons against their false friends. By the time my companions and I heard the cries of gulls above Plymouth’s rocky shore, the flames of the dying town lighted our way. Charred hulls and blackened masts were sinking beneath the grey waters; warriors had struck at the harbor first, approaching it during the night in canoes to burn the ships and cut off any escape to the sea. Women leaped from rocks and were swallowed by waves; other Inglistanis fled from the town’s burning walls, only to be cut down by our forces. There was no need to issue a command to take no prisoners, for the betrayed Wampanoags were in no mood to show mercy. They drove their captives into houses, and set the dwellings ablaze; children became targets for their arrows.

The Flint People do not leave the spirits of their dead to wander. We painted the bodies of our dead comrades, then buried them with their weapons and the food they would need for the long journey ahead. Above the burial mound, the Ganeagaono freed birds they had captured to help bear the spirits of the fallen to Heaven, and set a fire to light their way.

From the ruins of Plymouth, we salvaged provisions, bolts of cloth, and cannons. Much of the booty was given to the Wampanoags, since they had suffered most of the casualties. Having achieved the swift victory we needed, we loaded the cannons onto ox-drawn wagons, then moved south.

5

The center and left wings of our forces came together as we entered Pequot territory. The right wing would move towards Charlestown while we struck at Newport.

Parties of warriors fanned out to strike at the farms that lay in our path. We met little resistance from the Pequots, and they soon understood that our battle was with the Inglistanis, not with them. After hearing of how Inglistani soldiers had massacred helpless Wampanoags, many of their warriors joined us, and led us to the farms of those they had once called friends. The night was brightened by the fires of burning houses and crops, and the silence shattered by the screams of the dying. We took what we needed, and burned the rest.

A few farmers escaped us. The tracks of their horses ran south; Newport would be warned. The enemy was likely to think that only enraged Wampanoags and Pequots were moving against them, but would surely send a force to meet us. We were still four days’ distance from the lowlands that surrounded Newport’s great bay when we caught sight of Inglistani soldiers.

They were massed together along the trail that led through the forest, marching stiffly in rows, their muskets ready. The Wampanoags fired upon them from the trees, then swept towards them as the air was filled with the sharp cracks of muskets and the whistling of arrows. Volleys of our metal-tipped arrows and the flint-headed arrows of the Ganeagaono flew towards the Inglistanis; enemy soldiers fell, opening up breaks in their line. Men knelt to load their weapons as others fired at us from behind them, and soon the ground was covered with the bodies of Wampanoag and Pequot warriors.

The people of these lands had never faced such carnage in battle, but their courage did not fail them. They climbed over the bodies of dead and wounded comrades to fight the enemy hand to hand. The soldiers, unable to fire at such close range, used their muskets as clubs and slashed at our allies with swords; men drenched in blood shrieked as they swung their tomahawks. I expected the Inglistanis to retreat, but they held their ground until the last of their men had fallen.

We mourned our dead. The Wampanoags and the Pequots, who had lost so many men, might have withdrawn and let us fight on alone. Aroniateka consulted with their war chiefs, then gave us their answer. They would march with us against Newport, and share in that victory.

6

Swift, early successes hearten any warrior for the efforts that lie ahead. We advanced on Newport fueled by the victories we had already won. Summer was upon us as we approached the southeast end of the great bay. The island on which Newport stood lay to the west, across a narrow channel; the enemy had retreated behind the wooden walls of the town’s stockade.

By day, we concealed ourselves amid the trees bordering the shore’s wetlands. At night, the Ganeagaono cut down trees and collected rope we had gathered from Inglistani farms. Several of Yesuntai’s older officers had experience in siege warfare; under their guidance, our allies quickly erected five catapults. In the early days of our greatness, we had possessed as little knowledge of sieges as the Flint People, but they seemed more than willing to master this new art. We did not want a long siege, but would be prepared for one if necessary. If Newport held out, we would leave a force behind and move on to our next objective.

When the moon showed her dark side to the earth, we brought out our catapults under cover of darkness and launched cannonballs at the five ships anchored in Newport’s harbor, following them with missiles of rock packed with burning dried grass. The sails of the ships became torches, and more missiles caught enemy sailors as they leaped from the decks. The ships were sinking by the time we turned the catapults against the town’s walls. The Inglistanis would have no escape by sea, and had lost the ships they might have used to bombard us.

We assaulted Newport for three days, until the Inglistani cannons fell silent. From the western side of the island, Inglistanis were soon fleeing in longboats towards Charlestown. There were many breaches in the stockade’s walls, and few defenders left in the doomed town when we began to cross the channel in our canoes, but those who remained fought to the last man. Even after our men were inside the walls, Inglistanis shot at us from windows and roofs, and for every enemy we took there, two or three of our warriors were lost. We stripped enemy bodies, looted the buildings, then burned the town. Those hiding on the western side of the bay in Charlestown would see the great bonfire that would warn them of their fate.

The Wampanoags returned to their lands in the north. We left the Pequots to guard the bay and to see that no more Inglistani ships landed there. Our right wing would be advancing on Charlestown. We returned to the bay’s eastern shore and went north, then turned west. A party of men bearing the weapons of war met us along one woodland trail, and led us to their chiefs. By then, the Narragansett people of the region had decided to throw in their lot with us.

7

Terror has always been a powerful weapon against enemies. Put enough fear into an enemy’s heart, and victories can be won even before one meets him in the field. Thus it was during that summer of war. Charlestown fell, ten days after Newport. In spite of the surrender, we expected some of the survivors to hide in their houses and take their revenge when we entered the town. Instead, they gave up their weapons and waited passively for execution. Those I beheaded whispered prayers as they knelt and stretched their necks, unable to rouse themselves even to curse me. A few gathered enough courage to beg for their children’s lives.

Yesuntai was merciful. He spared some women and children, those who looked most fearful, led them and a few old men to a longboat, and gave them a message in Frankish to deliver to those in New Haven. The message was much like the traditional one sent by Mongol Khans to their enemies: God has annihilated many of you for daring to stand against us. Submit to us, and serve us. When you see us massed against you, surrender and open your gates to us, for if you do not, God alone knows what will happen to you.

It was easy to imagine the effect this message would have on New Haven’s defenders, if the Inglistanis we had spared survived their journey along the coast to deliver it. I did not believe that the Inglistanis would surrender immediately, but some among them would want to submit, and dissension would sap their spirit.

Most of our forces moved west, towards New Haven, followed by Inglistanis we had spared to carry canoes and haul cannons. Yesuntai had mastered enough of the Flint People’s language to speak with Aroniateka, and left me with the rear guard. We would travel to the north of the main force, paralleling its path, and take the outlying farms.

Most of the farms we found were abandoned. We salvaged what we could and burned the rest. Days of searching empty farmhouses gave me time to reflect on how this campaign would affect my Ganeagaono brothers.

Their past battles had been for glory, to show their courage, to bring enemies to submission and to capture prisoners who might, in the end, become brothers of the Long House. They had seen that unity among their Five Nations would make them stronger. Now we were teaching them that a victory over certain enemies was not enough, that sometimes only the extermination of that enemy would end the conflict, that total war might be necessary. Perhaps they would have learned that lesson without us, but their knowledge of this new art would change them, as surely as the serpent who beguiled the first man and woman changed man’s nature. They might turn what they had learned against us.

Victories can hearten any soldier, but a respite from battle can also cause him to let down his guard. With a small party led by my son, I followed a rutted road towards one farm. From the trees beyond the field, where the corn was still only tall enough to reach to a man’s waist, we spied a log dwelling, with smoke rising from its chimney. A white flag attached to a stick stood outside the door.

“They wish to surrender,” I murmured to my son.

He shook his head. “The corn will hide us. We can get close enough to—”

“They are willing to give themselves up. Your men will have captives when they return to their homes. The Inglistanis have lost. Yesuntai will not object if we spare people willing to surrender without a fight.”

My son said, “You are only weary of killing. My people say that a man weary of war is also weary of life.”

“The people whose seed I carry have the same saying.” He had spoken the truth. I was tiring of the war I had helped to bring about, thinking of what might follow it. “I shall speak to them.”

“And we will guard your back,” my son replied.

I left the trees and circled the field as the others crept through the corn. When I was several paces from the door, I held out my hands, palms up. “Come outside,” I shouted in Frankish, hoping my words would be understood. “Show yourselves.” I tensed, ready to fling myself to the ground if my son and his men suddenly attacked.

The door opened. A man with a greying beard left the house, followed by a young girl. A white cap hid her hair, but bright golden strands curled over her forehead. She gazed at me steadily with her blue eyes; I saw sorrow in her look, but no fear. A brave spirit, I thought, and felt a heaviness over my heart that might have been pity.

The man’s Frankish was broken, but I was able to grasp his words. Whatever his people had done, he had always dealt fairly with the natives. He asked only to be left on his farm, to have his life and his family’s spared.

“It cannot be,” I told him. “You must leave this place. My brothers will decide your fate. That is all I can offer you, a chance for life away from here.”

The man threw up an arm. The girl was darting towards the doorway when I saw a glint of metal beyond a window. A blow knocked the wind from me and threw me onto my back. I clutched at my ribs and felt blood seep from me as the air was filled with the sound of war whoops.

They had been lying in wait for us. Perhaps they would not have fired at me if I had granted the man his request; perhaps they had intended an ambush all along. I cursed myself for my weakness and pity. I would have another scar to remind me of Inglistani treachery and the cost of a moment’s lack of vigilance, if I lived.

When I came to myself, the cabin was burning. A man knelt beside me, tending my wounds. Pain stabbed at me along my right side as I struggled to breathe. Two bodies in the grey clothes of Inglistani farmers lay outside the door. The Ganeagaono warriors danced as the flames leaped before them.

My son strode towards me, a scalp of long, golden hair dangling from his belt. “You cost me two men,” he said. I moved my head from side to side, unable to speak. “I am sorry, Father. I think this war will be your last.”

“I will live,” I said.

“Yes, you will live, but I do not think you will fight again.” He sighed. “Yet I must forgive you, for leading us to what your people call greatness.” He lifted his head and cried out, echoing the war whoops of his men.

8

I was carried west on a wagon, my ribs covered with healing herbs and bound tightly with Inglistani cloth. A few men remained with me while the rest moved on towards New Haven. Every morning, I woke expecting to find that they had abandoned me, only to find them seated around the fire.

A man’s pride can be good medicine, and the disdain of others a goad. I was able to walk when Yesuntai sent a Bahadur to me with news of New Haven’s surrender. Few soldiers were left in New Haven; most had fled to make a stand in New London. The young Noyan expected a fierce battle there, where the valor of the Inglistanis would be fired by desperation. He wanted me at his side as soon as possible.

The Bahadur had brought a spare horse for me. As we rode, he muttered of the difficulties Yesuntai now faced. Our Narragansett allies had remained behind in their territory, as we had expected, but the Mahicans, sated by glory, were already talking of returning to their lands. They thought they could wait until spring to continue the war; they did not understand. I wondered if the Ganeagaono had the stomach for a siege that might last the winter. They would be thinking of the coming Green Corn festival, of the need to lay in game for the colder weather and of the families that waited for them.

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.”

I nodded in agreement. “My chief Yesuntai will forever remember your valor. May Grandfather Heno water your fields, the Three Sisters give you a great harvest, and the winter be filled with tales of your victories.”

The warriors led their captives away; two of the smaller children wept as they clung to their mothers’ hands. They would forget their tears and learn to love the People of the Long House, as I had.

“The rest should go home as well,” I said to Yesuntai. “There is nothing for them here now.”

“Perhaps not.”

“They will have stories to tell of this war for many generations. Perhaps the tales of their exploits can make them forget how they were treated here. I wish to speak to you, Noyan.”

“Good. I have been hoping for a chance to speak to you.”

I led him along a side street to the house where Aroniateka and my son were quartered with some of their men. All of them were inside, sitting on blankets near the fireplace. At least these men had resisted the lure of drink, and had refused the bright baubles Michel’s men had thrown to our warriors while claiming the greater share of the booty for themselves. They greeted us with restraint, and did not ask us to join them.

We seated ourselves at a table in the back of the room. “I swore an oath to you, Yesuntai Noyan,” I said, “and ask you to free me from it now.” I rested my elbows on the table. “I wish to return to Skanechtade, to my Ganeagaono brothers.”

He leaned forward. “I expected you to ask for that.”

“As for my wife Elgigetei and my son Ajiragha, I ask only that you accept them into your household. My wife will not miss me greatly, and perhaps you can see that Ajiragha does not forget his father. You were my comrade-in-arms, and I will not sneak away from your side in the night. You do not need me now. Even my son will tell you that I am a man who has outlived his taste for battle. You will lose nothing by letting me go.”

“And what will you do,” he said, “if my people forsake their treaties?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“You told me of the treaty’s words, that we and the Flint People would be at peace for as long as you were both their brother and the Khan’s servant. You will no longer be our servant if you go back to Skanechtade.”

“So you are ready to seize on that. If the men of Yeke Geren fail to renew their promises, that will show their true intentions. I had hoped that you—”

“Listen to me.” Yesuntai’s fingers closed around my wrist. “I have found my brothers in your son and Aroniateka, and among the brave men who fought with us. They are my brothers, not the rabble who came here under Michel’s command.”

“Those men serve your father the Khan.”

“They serve themselves,” he whispered, “and forget what we once were.”

I shook my arm free of his grasp. He was silent for a while, then said, “Koko Mongke Tengri, the Eternal Blue Sky that covers all the world, promised us dominion over Etugen, the Earth. I told you of the wise men in Khitai who believe that the ancestors of the peoples in these lands once roamed our ancient homeland. I know now that what those scholars say is true. The people here are our long-lost brothers — they are more truly Mongol than men whose blood has been thinned by the ways of Europe. For them to rule here is in keeping with our destiny. They could make an ulus here, a nation as great as any we have known, one that might someday be a match for our Khanates.”

I said, “You are speaking treason.”

“I am speaking the truth. I have had a vision, Jirandai. The spirits have spoken to me and shown me two arcs closing in a great circle, joining those who have been so long separated. When the peoples of this land are one ulus, when they achieve the unity our ancestors found under Genghis Khan, then perhaps they will be the ones to bring the rest of the world under their sway. If the Khans in our domains cannot accept them as brothers, they may be forced to bow to them as conquerors.” Yesuntai paused. “Are we to sweep the Inglistanis from these lands only so that more of those we rule can flood these shores? They will forget the Khanate, as our people are forgetting their old homeland. They will use the peoples of this land against one another in their own disputes, when they have forgotten their Khan and fall to fighting among themselves. I see what must be done to prevent that. You see it, too. We have one more battle to fight before you go back to Skanechtade.”

I knew what he wanted. “How do you plan to take Yeke Geren?” I asked.

“We must have Michel’s ships. My Mongols can man them. We also need the Ganeagaono.” He gazed past me at the men seated by the fire. “You will speak my words to your son and Aroniateka, and then we will act — and soon. Your brothers will be free of all their enemies.”

Yesuntai spoke of warring tribes on the other side of the world, tribes that had wasted themselves in battles with one another until the greatest of men had united them under his standard. He talked of a time long before that, when other tribes had left the mountains, forests, and steppes of their ancient homeland to seek new herds and territories, and of the northern land bridge they had followed to a new world. He spoke of a great people’s destiny, of how God meant them to rule the world, and of those who, in the aftermath of their glory, were forgetting their purpose. In the lands they had conquered, they would eventually fall out among themselves; the great ulus of the Mongols would fracture into warring states. God would forsake them. Their brothers in this new world could reach for the realm that rightly belonged to them.

Aroniateka was the first to speak after I translated the Noyan’s speech. “We have a treaty with your people,” he said. “Do you ask us to break it?”

“We ask that you serve the son of our Khan, who is our rightful leader here,” I replied. “Those who came here to claim our victory will take the lands we freed for themselves, and their greed will drive them north to yours. Michel Bahadur and the men of Yeke Geren have already broken the treaty in their hearts.”

“I am a sachem,” my son said, “and will take up my duties again when I am home. I know what is recorded on the belts of wampum our wise men have in their keeping. Our treaty binds us as long as my father Senadondo is our brother and the servant of his former people, as long as he is our voice among them.”

“I found that many grew deaf to my voice,” I said. “I will not go back to live in Yeke Geren. I have told my chief Yesuntai that I will live among the Owners of the Flint until the end of my days.”

My son met Yesuntai’s gaze. How alike their eyes were, as cold and dark as those of a serpent. “My dream told me that my father would bring me a brother,” my son said. “I see my brother now, sitting before me.” I knew then that he would bring the other chiefs to agree to our plans.

We secured the ships easily. Yesuntai’s soldiers rowed out to the vessels; the few sailors left on board, suspecting nothing, were quickly overcome. Most of Michel’s men were quartered in the Inglistani commander’s house and the three nearest it; they were sleepy with drink when we struck. Michel and his officers were given an honorable death by strangulation, and some of the Dutch and Frankish sailors hastily offered their oaths to Yesuntai. The others were given to the Ganeagaono, to be tortured and then burned at the stake as we set New London ablaze.

I sailed with Yesuntai and his men. The Ganeagaono and the Mahicans who had remained with us went west on foot with their Inglistani captives. When we reached the narrow strait that separated Yeke Geren from the long island of Gawanasegeh, people gathered along the cliffs and the shore to watch us sail south towards the harbor. The ships anchored there had no chance to mount a resistance, and we lost only one of our vessels in the battle. By then, the Ganeagaono and Mahicans had crossed to the northern end of Yeke Geren in canoes, under cover of night, and secured the pastures there.

They might have withstood our assault. They might have waited us out, until our allies tired of the siege and the icy winds of winter forced us to withdraw to provision our ships. But too many in Yeke Geren had lost their fighting spirit, and others thought it better to throw in their lot with Yesuntai. They surrendered fourteen days later.

About half of the Mongol officers offered their oaths to Yesuntai; the rest were beheaded. Some of the Mahicans would remain in what was left of Yeke Geren, secure treaties with the tribes of Gawanasegeh and the smaller island to our southwest, and see that no more ships landed there. The people of the settlement were herded into roped enclosures. They would be distributed among the Ganeagaono and taken north, where the Flint People would decide which of them were worthy of adoption.

I searched among the captives for Elgigetei and Ajiragha. At last an old man told me that they had been taken by a fever only a few days before we attacked the harbor. I mourned for them, but perhaps it was just as well. My son might not have survived the journey north, and Dasiyu would never have accepted a second wife. I had the consolation of knowing that my deeds had not carried their deaths to them.

Clouds of migrating birds were darkening the skies when I went with Yesuntai to our two remaining ships. A mound of heads, those of the officers we had executed, sat on the slope leading down to the harbor, a monument to our victory and a warning to any who tried to land there.

The Noyan’s men were waiting by the shore with the surviving Frankish and Dutch sailors. The ships were provisioned with what we could spare, the sailors ready to board. Men of the sea would be useless in the northern forests, and men of uncertain loyalties who scorned the ways of the Flint People would not be welcome there.

Yesuntai beckoned to a grey-haired captain. “This is my decree,” he said. “You will sail east, and carry this message to my father.” He gestured with a scroll. “I shall recite the message for you now. I will make a Khanate of this land, but it will not be sullied by those who would bring the sins of Europe to its shores. When an ulus has risen here, it will be the mighty nation of our long-lost brothers. Only then will the circle close, and all our brothers be joined, and only if all the Khans accept the men of this land as their equals. It is then that we will truly rule the world, and if my brother Khans do not join this ulus of the world to come willingly, only God knows what will befall them.”

“We cannot go back with such a message,” the captain said. “Those words will cost us our heads.”

“You dishonor my father by saying that. You are my emissaries, and no Khan would stain his hands with the blood of ambassadors.” Yesuntai handed the scroll to the old man. “These are my words, marked with my seal. My father the Khan will know that I have carried out his orders, that the people of Inglistan will not set foot here again. He will also know that there is no need for his men to come here, since it is I who will secure this new Khanate.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you do not wish to claim the Khan’s reward for this message, then sail where you will and find what refuge you can. The Khan my father, and those who follow him to his throne, will learn of my destiny in time.”

We watched as the sailors boarded the longboats and rowed towards the ships. Yesuntai threw an arm over my shoulders as we turned away from the sea and climbed towards Yeke Geren. “Jirandai,” he murmured, “or perhaps I should call you Senadondo now, as your Long House brothers do. You must guide me in my new life. You will show me what I must do to become a Khan among these people.”

He would not be my Khan. I had served him for the sake of the Flint People, not to make him a Khan, but would allow him his dream for a little while. Part of his vision would come to pass; the Long House People would have a great realm, and Yesuntai might inspire them to even greater valor. But I did not believe that the Hodenosaunee, a people who allowed all to raise their voices in their councils, would ever bow to a Khan and offer him total obedience. My son would honor Yesuntai as a brother, but would never kneel to him. Yesuntai’s sons would be Ganeagaono warriors, bound to their mother’s clan, not a Mongol prince’s heirs.

I did not say this to Yesuntai. He would learn it in time, or be forced to surrender his dream to other leaders who would make it their own. The serpent that had wakened to disturb the lands of the Long House would grow, and slip westward to meet his tail.