Chien removed his brocaded coat of red silk and called Nagasi to him. The warrior shrugged out of his breastplate and pulled on the garment, then bowed to Chien.
‘I will see that Oshi arranges your hair in a more regal fashion,’ Chien told Nagasi, then walked away to where Sukai stood close to the wagon. The warrior was staring up at the storm-threatened sky.
‘How many will they send against us, lord?’
‘I do not know. Why does it concern you?’
‘If it is less than one hundred we might win, and that would not be in keeping with the plan you have so carefully considered.’
‘That is true,’ said Chien gravely, ‘but I would imagine – following your exhibition at the banquet – that they will want to be certain of the outcome. One hundred would be the barest minimum Jungir Khan would send.’
‘And what if we win?’ Sukai asked.
‘Then you win – and we will think again,’ said Chien. ‘Now would you be so kind as to cut my hair?’
‘The men will see you,’ protested Sukai. ‘It is not fitting.’
Chien shrugged. ‘It is important that I pass for a Nadir nomad. A gentleman of the Kiatze has no hope of survival in this barbarous land. Come now, Sukai,’ and he sat on the ground. Sukai took a long pair of brass scissors and began to cut away at the heavily lacquered hair, leaving only a top-knot on the crown. Chien stood and removed his shirt and trousers of blue silk, and his high boots. He lifted the canvas from the back of the wagon and pulled out a Nadir jerkin of goatskin, leather breeches and an ugly pair of high riding moccasins.
‘This has been cleaned, I take it?’ he asked, holding the goatskin at arm’s length.
Sukai smiled. ‘Three times, lord. Not a louse nor a single flea remains alive in it.’
‘It stinks of woodsmoke,’ muttered Chien, shrugging his arms into the garment. He clambered into the pair of ill-fitting breeches and tied the rawhide belt. Lastly he tugged on the moccasins.
‘How do I look?’ he enquired.
‘Please do not ask,’ said Sukai.
The warrior summoned Oshi, who brought two horses which were unsaddled and re-equipped with Nadir saddles of rough cut leather. There were no stirrups. ‘Bury the other saddles,’ instructed Chien.
The warrior nodded. ‘Also,’ Chien added, ‘it would be better if Nagasi died having suffered facial injuries.’
‘I have already explained that to him,’ said Sukai.
‘Then it is time for farewells, my friend.’
‘Indeed. May your paths be straight, and your days long.’
Chien bowed. ‘Look down on me from Heaven, Sukai.’
The warlord took hold of his horse’s mane and vaulted into the saddle. Oshi scrambled to the back of his own mare and the two riders galloped from the camp-site.
*
Chien and Oshi rode high into the hills, hiding the horses in a thick stand of poplar. Then they sat in silence for an hour, Chien praying, Oshi – looking ludicrous in the clothes of a Nadir warrior – wrestling with the problem of how to look after his lord in the midst of this barren, uncivilised land.
His prayers concluded, Chien rose and moved to a rocky outcrop overlooking the valley below. As ordered Sukai had cook-fires burning, the men relaxing around them. Chien allowed anger to wash over his emotions. It was intolerable that a warrior like Sukai should be sacrificed in such a manner; there was no honour here, in this land of treachery and barbarism. With good fortune his secret messages to the Emperor, carried by his most trusted concubine, would mean no further gifts to the Khan. Perhaps also the news would encourage the Emperor to build up his army.
Oshi crept alongside Chien. ‘Should we not put distance between ourselves and the action, lord?’ asked the old servant.
Chien shook his head. ‘It would be most unbecoming to allow them to die unobserved. If there is a small risk to us, then so be it.’
The sun began its slow descent and Chien saw the dust-cloud to the south-west. His heartbeat quickened and he fought for calm. He wanted to see, with a cool eye, the last moments of Sukai’s life. It was his hope – albeit a faint one – that one day he could write a poem about it, and deliver it in person to Sukai’s widow.