Tatars

Jocelyn, the young knight from Outremer, would never forget his first sight of the Satanic invaders from God and Magog. They did not line up in formation like Christian knights, but drifted across the plain called the Wahlstadt in small groups and made no sound.

The fearsome reputation of the creatures had preceded them from Poland, where they had swept all before them. The Poles called them Tatars. Some said they were Satan’s minions that Alexander the Great had driven beyond the Eastern mountains. Others said that they won by Satanic enchantments. That must be right, Jocelyn thought, because they were scrawny, wore what looked like fish scales instead of armor, and rode short-legged horses.

Jocelyn felt no fear. Astride the powerful German warhorse that Prince Henry had given him, protected by hauberk, coif and helm, he paid little heed to the occasional arrows the Tatars launched at a distance before they darted away. The French Templar knights surrounding him were his own kind – stolid, experienced men from Outremer. Soon Prince Henry of Bohemia would give the order to charge. Then Jocelyn would level his lance along with the Templars to ride down these despicable invaders.

Enchantment? That could not happen on this beautiful April day while his senses were delighted by sunshine, the green, well-tended fields of the Wahlstadt, and the fresh scents of spring. But the wait was becoming irksome. The warhorses turned restless, stomping their feet, pulling at the reins, mirroring Jocelyn’s impatience. The sun started to become oppressive as it beat on Jocelyn’s mail armor and raised sweat that tickled his armpits and his brow.

Jocelyn turned to the Templar on his right. "What is Prince Henry waiting for?" The Templar grunted. "Honor – for the Poles. To give them another chance." He pointed ahead with a gauntleted hand. "But look . . ."

Jocelyn, leaving Prince Henry to join the Templars, had missed the charge of the Polish knights. Now he saw what must be a sprinkling of them fleeing under showers of arrows. Cowards! He thought. How could they . . . ? Trumpets sounded and shots of "Allez de l’avant!" sounded among the Templars. Jocelyn took a deep breath, couched his lance, and gripped his reins. The next moment he launched his horse and himself forward, conscious that Templars, Hospitallers, Teutonic Knights, and the brilliant feudal chivalry of Eastern Christendom were moving with him. Certainly the Tatars could not stand up to such a charge.

The Tatars did not stand up. What they did would baffle Jocelyn as a painful recollection. They simply vanished. The knights plowed ahead across an almost empty plain. Yet the arrows of the Tatars darkened the sky. They bounced off armor, but rained down to strike the unprotected flesh of the horses. Horses began to stumble. Some collapsed, pinioning their riders.

Tatars suddenly reappeared ahead, an indistinct mass of horsemen under a huge standard. Jocelyn focused on the standard. He saw first a giant X, then an ugly black head with a chin covered with hair. The sight sent shivers dancing up his spine. A moment later the standard began to shake, pouring forth a dense black cloud that settled over the charging knights in seconds. Jocelyn’s vision turned dark. His horse bucked, threatening to unseat him. He dropped his lance and gripped the reins with both hands.

"Retraite!" Templars around Jocelyn shouted. Still blind, he turned his horse and fled. By sound he could tell that other knights were fleeing with him. He assumed that they hoped to find shelter behind the massed ranks of Prince Henry’s horseless men-at-arms until they could regain their bearings and their courage. But the black cloud seemed to have no end. Perhaps it would lead them to Hell. Jocelyn dug in the spurs, urging the great warhorse to run faster, not knowing where it would take him. He lost track of the passage of time. Finally the black cloud thinned and vanished. He found himself alone on the Wahlstadt. The black cloud hung to his right, shutting off view of the men-at-arms and the village of Koskowice behind them. But, thank the Lord, no Tatars were in sight.

Disoriented, Jocelyn continued to flee until he reached a river that he recognized as the Biafa Struga. He dismounted on shaky legs, removed his helm and drank from the river. When his horse neighed, he found that two arrows had pierced its back. The wounds did not appear deep, but he removed the arrows with care. The sound of hooves pounding the ground made Jocelyn pull his sword. But when he looked up he saw only a single knight nearby.

The knight raised his helm. Feverish eyes stared out of the stranger’s young but strained face. He spoke in German, which Jocelyn understood from contacts with German crusaders. "I am Baron Wilhelm of Eggenberg – Austrian. And you?"

"Jocelyn d’Hautemont from Acre," Jocelyn said, sheathing his sword.

"A crusader." Baron Wilhelm seemed relieved. "What brings you here?" Jocelyn hesitated. Could this be an apparition foisted upon him by the Tatars? He gripped his sword hilt. "A mission to obtain help from the king of France. I was going home with the Templars. And you?"

"A call for help from Prince Henry. We are distantly related."

Reassured by the stranger’s manners, Jocelyn released his sword. "Where are the prince and his men?" "I brought twenty of my knights," Baron Wilhelm said. "They are all dead. I saw Prince Henry flee."

"What killed your knights?"

"The smoke separated us from the men on foot. The arrows brought down our horses. While we were on the ground, the Tatars came at us with long lances. I found a horse still standing and escaped into the last of the smoke."

"Did Tatars follow you?"

Baron Wilhelm turned, squinted toward the distant, now small black cloud, and pointed. "See them? Can your horse carry you?"

Jocelyn peered down at the two dark-skinned creatures wearing filthy sheepskin coats covered with overlapping iron plates like fish scales. They knelt, arms bound behind them, small, mute and blank-eyed, on the rocky soil of the Baroness’s courtyard. They terrified Jocelyn.

Several of Baron Otto’s knights, on the prowl for vulnerable peasant girls, had stumbled upon them asleep on the edge of the village of Eggenberg. The knights abandoned their quest, beat and bound their captives, then dragged them at the end of ropes to the widowed baroness’s castle between the rivers Schnide and Danube northwest of Vienna.

The giant Otto swaggered into the courtyard with Father Rudolph, the Baroness Clotilda’s confessor, to view the prisoners. He sniffed. "They smell of dung. What are they?"

"Tatars," Jocelyn told him.

"How do you know?" Otto demanded.

"I fought them."

Father Rudolph crossed himself, muttered in Latin and said aloud, "Spawn of the Evil One."

The baron grunted. "You two are frightened. Of these dwarves?"

Jocelyn addressed Otto. "They are men. Scouts, I think. Many more may soon be upon us."

Otto laughed. "Let them come. Father Rudolph, do you want to douse these ugly little beasts with holy water before I have them hanged?"

"Baron, with all respect," Jocelyn said. "It is up to the baroness to decide what to do with them."

Otto colored. "It is not for you to tell me –"

"Please, Baron, the crusader is right," Father Rudolph said. "Remember you are a guest of the baroness and the crusader is her seneschal."

Otto scowled. "I will indulge you in this, Father."

"Where are their horses?" Jocelyn asked.

"We turned them loose," one of Otto’s knights said. "They were not worth taking. Too short legged."

Jocelyn sighed. Tatars had pursued Baron Wilhelm and him for many hours after the battle on the Wahlstadt. Their horses had amazed him with their speed and endurance. He wanted a close look at some.

One of Otto’s knights pointed to a bulging leather bag lying behind the Tatars. "We took this from one of their horses. Shall we bring it?"

Jocelyn grabbed the neck of the bag. "With your leave, Baron." He hoped to find something – exotic weapons, idols, or magical devices perhaps – that would provide clues to the terrible power of the Tatars.

The Baroness Clotilda came down to the great hall on the narrow, wooden staircase from her private quarters. Sunlight streaming through the tall, rectangular, recessed windows cast a golden glow over her long blond hair and fine features as she positioned herself in front of the stone mantelpiece of the fireplace.

A true beauty. Wilhelm had good taste, Jocelyn told himself. Much too precious for this middle-aged lout of an Austrian baron.

Otto bowed in the stilted manner that betrayed his lack of social grace. "My men brought in these prisoners, Baroness. Jocelyn calls them Tatars. They frighten him."

Otto’s knights had bound the Tatars to square stone pillars that supported the high, vaulted ceiling of the great hall. Clotilda blanched as she looked at them. Such creatures had mortally wounded her beloved Wilhelm.

"I fear many more Tatars will follow them, Baroness," Jocelyn said. "I suggest you bring inside the castle the women and children from Eggenberg and prepare for a siege."

"Listen to the crusader," Father Rudolph said. "One of my brothers brought word from the monastery yesterday. The fiends through enchantment destroyed the chivalry of Prince Henry and the King of Hungary. They are even threatening Vienna. They kill, rape and rob. Prayer is our best defense."

Clotilda stepped to Jocelyn’s side. "What strange shaped eyes they have. Can they speak?"

"Let me find out." Jocelyn spoke a few words to the Tatars in the Eastern languages he knew. One of the prisoners jabbered back. His words were incomprehensible, but the tone and manner showed defiance. Jocelyn shrugged. "They cannot or will not help us. A flash of white caught his eye. He put a hand inside the sheepskin coat of the Tatar who had spoken and touched smooth white material that covered the man’s upper body like a short shroud.

"Feel this."

Clotilda gingerly obeyed. "So fine. What is it?"

"Silk from Cathay," Jocelyn told her. "When an arrow drives silk into a man’s body, the silk allows you to pull out the arrowhead without causing great bleeding. I have seen it in the Holy Land."

Otto moved to stand on Clotilda’s other side. "Baroness, with your leave, I can summon more of my knights. With their power added to yours, we would have nothing to fear from any number of these creatures."

Clotilda colored a little, but did not answer. Jocelyn understood her dilemma. Otto had come courting soon after Wilhelm’s death, eager no doubt for Clotilda’s lands as well as her hand. He had made himself and a dozen of his knights at home in the castle. Clotilda had given his courtship no encouragement. But she could hardly refuse his offer of reinforcement at such a time.

"Baron, arms cannot help," Father Rudolph protested in his reedy voice. "We can only place ourselves under Our Lord’s protection."

"Thank you, Father, but . . ." Clotilda faced Otto. "Send for your knights if you wish. But you must understand that Jocelyn is my seneschal. I made him so as Wilhelm instructed before he died. You will have to accept Jocelyn’s guidance."

Otto’s face flushed a furious red. His shoulders barely moved as he attempted a semblance of a bow. Then he stomped out of the great hall without even a word to his knights guarding the Tatars. Clotilda smiled wanly at Jocelyn and spoke to Father Randolph. "Please go after the baron and try to calm him."

"As you please," Father Rudolph said and departed.

Clotilda frowned at the Tatars. "What should we do with these?"

"Try to learn from them," Jocelyn said. He turned to Otto’s knights. "Take the prisoners to the guard room. Tell the warders to give them water and a little food on my instructions."

Otto’s knights exchanged glances as if uncertain, then began to untie the prisoners.

Clotilda sank into one of the two intricately carved wooden chairs with red upholstery, the great hall’s only furniture except for a small table. She looked suddenly weary. "So much to do. Please sit with me, seneschal." Jocelyn sat in the other carved wooden chair. "We should bring inside only the women and children from the village. The men should be warned to hide in the woods. We can only feed so many." He went on to explain what must be done to prepare for a siege.

Clotilda listened in silence, then asked, "But does it matter? Father Rudolph says the Tatars are not men, but demons sent to destroy Christendom as prophesied in Revelations."

Jocelyn licked dry lips before he said, "They are men. Remember, Wilhelm and I killed two who pursued us."

"And I remember you refused to leave Wilhelm after he was wounded," Clotilda said. "You risked so much, travelled so far to bring him home to me. How can I ever reward you?"

When Jocelyn did not answer, Clotilda said, "I am very weary. Excuse me."

Jocelyn sat on the narrow cot in his small, bare sleeping chamber and untied the heavy leather bag Otto’s knights had taken from one of the Tatar horses. He crossed himself and plunged his hand inside. The first few object were commonplace: an upper helmet part of metal with leather extensions to cover the neck and ears;;: a sharpening stone for blades a kit with awl, needle and thread.

Jocelyn reached deeper into the bag and pulled out . . . Yes, a bow! But such a bow! It appeared to be made of layers of horn and a tough material he could not identify. The shape puzzled him. The center bent inward and the two ears bent away from him. Fascinated, he took the time to string the bow. Then he tried to pull the bowstring taut with his fingers. Using all his strength he could not. How the Tatars managed he could not imagine. But at least he knew how they could bring down warhorses at long range.

A harsh voice interrupted him. "Seneschal, the baron asks that you join him in the courtyard."

"Tell the baron I am coming," Jocelyn said.

Shouts and raucous laughter greeted Jocelyn as he emerged into the courtyard. Some of Clotilda’s men-at-arms were drawn up in a tight circle. Jocelyn pushed through them and came face to face with Otto. The baron wore a hauberk but no helmet. He pointed toward the two Tatar captives. They were unbound, but some of the men-at-arms held them. "I will break the spell the dwarves cast over you," he told Jocelyn. Then he said

"Release and arm the dwarves."

The Tatars reacted at once, flailing about awkwardly with the huge, unfamiliar broadswords thrust into their hands. The men-at-arms moved away and laughed.

Otto drew his sword and advanced upon the Tatars. Hemmed in by enemies, they had little room to sidestep or retreat. Otto towered over them, parried their lunges and sliced off their heads with two expert, powerful strokes. Hand claps and cheers hailed his victory.

Jocelyn glanced with aversion at the two crumpled, headless bodies on the ground. A man-at-arms picked up one of the bloody head and tossed it from hand to hand, drawing laughter.

"Stop that!" Jocelyn ordered.

Otto grinned at him. "See, crusader. Father Rudolph is wrong. What just happened will keep you from spreading fear."

Jocelyn ignored the implied insult. "That was unwisely done, Baron. We could have learned from them." The baron held his bloodied sword by his side. "A man of honor does not need to learn how to fight." A plain challenge. But Jocelyn dared not draw. He could probably kill the baron, but that would enrage Otto’s knights enough to turn on him. The castle would become indefensible. Snickers followed him into the keep.

Jocelyn met with Clotilda in the great hall at dusk three days after Otto butchered the Tatars. They sat opposite in the carved wooden chairs with red upholstery in the flickering light from torches on the damp walls. "I have grim tidings," Jocelyn said. "The scouts I sent out reported Tatars within a day’s ride. Clotilda winced, but spoke firmly. "I was in the village again today. I persuaded more of the women to come with their children into the castle. Some would not for fear of their men." Jocelyn nodded. "Well done. Otto now has twenty-five knights in the castle. Adding them to our six and the men-at-arms, we can man the castle walls. We have food and water for –"

Clotilda waved a dismissive hand. "Enough, Seneschal. I trust your leadership. But Baron Otto does not. How do you plan to deal with him?"

‘I must deal carefully with the baron. He is a proud man."

"It is more than pride. He sees you as a rival."

"A rival?"

"Wilhelm’s sister, who detests me, and her husband will come before long. If I do not remarry, they will probably seize the castle and send me to a nunnery. My father cannot help. He is a simple knight and far away." Jocelyn could not avoid her eyes.

"I do not want to be a nun. And I cannot accept Otto. Father Rudolph says he abused his first wife to death." Jocelyn’s cheeks burned. He hoped the flickering torchlight would not betray him. "Wilhelm spoke very highly of you, Jocelyn."

Jocelyn started to sat, "Baroness, if I were not betrothed . . ." But the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he said, "All of our lives are in great danger. For now we must think only of that."

Clotilda let out a long breath. Shadows crossed her face so that Jocelyn could not read her expression. She sank against the upholstered back of her chair. "What do you plan to do, Seneschal?"

"Call an assembly of all fighting men except for a few sentries tomorrow morning."

"That is well," Clotilda said, "Excuse me."

Jocelyn remained in his armchair, vexed by the personal dilemma that complicated his task as seneschal. Could he love Clotilda? Of course, he already did. But he had sworn oaths to his liege lord in Acre and to his betrothed Renée. And he was a son of Outremer, dedicated from birth to help recover the Holy Places.

One of Clotilda’s knights woke Jocelyn shortly after daybreak. Sentries on the walls had sighted strange horsemen. "Call a general assembly of the fighting men except the sentries," Jocelyn ordered. He dressed in hauberk and mailed leggings, strapped on his sword, and ran up the stairs to the highest tower in the keep. The sound of loud commands told him that Clotilda’s knight had obeyed.

A chill ran up Jocelyn’s spine the moment he looked down the scrubby slope below the castle. Tatars were close enough so that he could distinguish their iron and leather helmets and their short-legged horses. Scores, not enough to threaten the castle, but probably the vanguard of an army.

Jocelyn lingered, taking time to study the enemy as he could not on the Wahlstadt. They gathered in small groups, always under a black flag. A black flag flapped and the Tatars around it advanced to within bowshot of the castle. They pranced about as if trying to draw a response from the walls. When none came, they retreated and a group in another area advanced. A large, long-tailed standard appeared to the rear of the Tatars. Jocelyn was not surprised when a black cloud – smoke as Wilhelm had said –poured from the standard. It blocked Jocelyn’s view so that he could not tell if more Tatars were coming to reinforce the vanguard.

Jocelyn began to understand how the Tatars fought. They used the black flags to signal orders and the smoke to cover their movements and confuse their enemies. Jocelyn sensed that they were under perfect control as Christian fighting men could never be. He turned and ran down the stairs as fast as he could. He must keep the castle’s defenders under his control. Most occupants of the castle had gathered in the courtyard. Clotilda and Father Rudolph stood by the entrance to the keep as Jocelyn emerged. Her knights and men-at-arms mingled with women and children in a noisy mass. Otto’s knights, the baron at their head, advanced on foot from the stables. Each knight led a horse by his bridle.

Otto stepped away from his knights, leading his horse, and approached Clotilda. "Have no fear, Baroness. We will drive away the dwarves."

"Take care, Baron," Father Rudolph said. "They are from the deepest reach of Hell."

Otto smiled. "Then give me your blessing, Father." He mounted his horse.

Jocelyn ran forward and gripped the bridle of Otto’s horse with both hands. "No, Baron! Do not take your knights out! That is what the Tatars want! It is a trap!"

Otto peered down at Jocelyn and curled his lip. "Let go of my bridle. We do not fear the dwarves."

"Listen to him, Baron!" Clotilda shouted. "He knows their way of war as you do not."

"Baroness, to hide behind walls is not our way," Otto said. "It is a matter of honor."

Jocelyn released the bridle. "If you must go out, do not pursue the Tatars if they flee. I beg you." Otto did not deign to answer. Instead, he galloped toward the gatehouse. The knights who had followed him did the same in a disorderly rush. Jocelyn saw with dismay that two of them were Clotilda’s. He could do nothing to stop their exodus. Fighting down his despair, he approached Clotilda’s remaining fighting men and ordered them to man the walls but do nothing to reply to the Tatars’ sallies.

Jocelyn hurried to the tower on top of the keep. The last of the Tatars were vanishing into their smoke. Otto was trying to form his followers on the uneven, scrub-covered slope below the castle. While Jocelyn watched in anguish, the Austrian knights, proud and shining in their fine armor, moved down the slope in a ragged column. Clotilda joined him. "Otto is chasing the Tatars?"

"Yes, the fool!" Jocelyn told her.

"If he does not bring his knights back, can we hold the castle?"

Jocelyn knew he could not hold the castle with its skimpy garrison if the Tatars brought up siege engines and pressed an attack. But he said, "We may discourage the Tatars by appearing stronger than we are?"

"How?"

"Collect at least twenty of the women, the strongest, and bring them to the guard room. We may have enough spare helmets and shields for them and a few of your servitors. I will post them on the walls. This is a trick we use in the Holy Land."

#

Clotilda provided twenty-five sturdy women. Jocelyn chose five of the most able bodied servitors. Flattered by the attention of the baroness and the seneschal, they eagerly agreed to play their roles. Jocelyn found enough spare helmets, shields, swords and crossbows to equip fifteen of the women and the servitors with items that might make them all appear as fighting men from a distance inside embrasures. He left them on standby inside empty chambers in the keep and returned to the tower on top.

Nothing moved for hours on the slopes around the castle. The sun had passed zenith when a single rider crept over the horizon and moved up the western slope. The glitter of sunlight on his armor identified him as a knight. He moved slowly as if his horse was lame or very weary.

Jocelyn watched until the drawbridge began to lower. Then he ran down the stairs of the keep, across the courtyard, and into the gatehouse.

The knight was one of Clotilda’s. He had dismounted and stood, supported by two men-at-arms. He wore neither helmet nor hauberk. A blood clot stood in place of his left ear and red marks as from a rope encircled his throat. He seemed dazed and unable to speak.

Jocelyn put an arm around the knight’s shoulder. "Frederick, sit down and drink a little wine." He had men-at-arms bring a stool and a small goblet half full of wine. Only after Frederick had taken a few swallows did he ask,

"Where is Baron Otto?"

"Dead," Frederick said without looking up.

"How do you know?"

"I saw them cut off his head. The devils tied me up and made me watch."

"Did you fight?"

"I could not. My horse went down and pinned me. He is hurt from arrows. Will you take care of him?"

"Of course." Jocelyn knelt beside Frederick. "The Tatars let you go?"

"Yes. But first they beat me, cut off my ear, and put a rope around my neck. I thought they would hang me. But they put me on my horse and told me to go." Jocelyn did not have to ask why. The Tatars expected that Frederick’s arrival in the castle bearing his tidings would discourage the defenders. He asked, "Are all the other knights dead?"

"Yes."

Jocelyn wanted to question Frederick more, but he dared not stay away longer from his watch on top of the keep. "I will ask Friar Benjamin to look to your ear," he said. "Then rest. We will need you."

Afternoon shadows had begun to creep up the sides of the keep when the Tatars reappeared. Even at a distance Jocelyn could see that there were many more this time, hundreds certainly. He rousted his volunteers from where they had made themselves comfortable in chambers inside the keep and led them to the parapets. He positioned them at the embrasures that Clotilda’s fighting men lacked the numbers to cover with instructions to make themselves visible, brandishing a weapon or shield from time to time. Clotilda appeared and joined him when he had finished.

"Father Rudolph says this is all useless because the Tatars are demons and use enchantment," Clotilda said.

"He wants us all to join him in the courtyard for prayer."

"Father Rudolph is wrong," Jocelyn told her. "The Tatars are men. And they do not use enchantment, but very advanced ways of making war. We must keep all the embrasures covered. I do not see any siege engines. The Tatars may decide we are too strong to attack."

"Can you tell what the Tatars are doing now?" Clotilda asked.

"Watching the walls," Jocelyn said. He gently dislodged a woman from the nearest embrasure and peered down the slope. What he saw astonished and then elated him. The Tatars behind a thin screen of scouts were dismounting. Gray conical shapes were sprouting among them that must be tents of a sort. Jocelyn returned to Clotilda. "I believe our trick succeeded. They are making camp."

"And tomorrow?"

Jocelyn did not answer. The Tatars might attempt to creep up and overrun the walls in the dark, so he would have to place torches in the embrasures. Or they might receive reinforcements and siege engines the next day.

"Jocelyn, I do not want to fall into their hands alive," Clotilda said. "Promise you will not let that happen."

Jocelyn looked at the baroness. She stood near his shoulder, so tempting. They might be dead within a day. He yearned to draw Clotilda close. The thumping of his heart and a warmth in his groin warned him of his peril. He could so easily betray Renée and fall into mortal sin.

"I will see that does not happen," Jocelyn said.

Clotilda moved closer and smiled, tilting up her head. "Wilhelm was right. I can always depend upon you."

"So lovely . . . such a lovely smile . . ." Jocelyn stiffened, not daring to move away. "You remind me of my betrothed. Her name is Renée."

Clotilda’s shoulders slumped, but she turned her head away so Jocelyn could not read her expression. "It is cold, Seneschal. I am going in."