“Then he must have seen the same breed.”
“He must have.” The Mongol shrugged. “Is this inn crowded? We seek Chinese wine. I prefer it to our koumiss.”
“Uh, no, it’s not crowded.”
“Good.” He swung out of the saddle, and his companions did likewise. Without even looking at the hostler, he gestured for the old man to take their horses. He turned to Steve. “You will come and drink with us as my guest.”
“Well, I have ordered dinner for my friend and me,” said Steve uncertainly.
“Do what he says,” Marcia muttered quickly in English. “Keep him happy. But they know a decent woman won’t drink with them, so I’m going up to my room. Bring me something to eat when you can, okay?” She took the cloth bag from him.
“All right,” said Steve. He didn’t know what else to do. “But what’s koumiss?”
“Fermented mare’s milk.” Marcia hurried into the inn ahead of them.
Steve grimaced at the idea of that, then turned to the Mongol leader, speaking in Mongol again. “Thank you. I will be honored to join you.”
The Mongol clapped him on the shoulder. “Wine and food for all of us,” he called to the innkeeper in his accented Chinese. “Your best.”
The innkeeper bowed deeply and rushed away.
The Mongol leader led the group to the table closest to the fireplace and gestured for them all to sit down.
15
Steve sat down with the Mongols, smiling at each one with a nod of greeting. When he got the chance, he would ask the innkeeper to take Marcia’s dinner up to her. Right now, he felt it was wise not to remind the Mongols that she was up there.
“What is your name?” The Mongol pointed to himself. “I am Timur.”
“Steve.”
“Ss-teve. The sound is unusual to me. But of course, my Chinese is not so good.”
The other Mongols introduced themselves in turn, but Steve could not understand the unfamiliar names he heard. He decided not to ask that they repeat them. Instead, he simply nodded again courteously.
“So, you must be a rider,” said Timur.
“Not like you are. I saw you from the gate, riding on maneuvers. I could never ride that well.”
“I am curious about you, Steve. I never met a Chinese man who had bothered to learn our language before. Tell us more about this other breed of horse.”
“Uh, well, the Arabians were bred to the southern deserts, at low altitude, near the sea.” Steve was no expert on the history of Arabians, so he dropped that approach. “My best horse had a sharp, delicate nose and a small body. She was very hardy. I remember, she never even seemed to notice if the wind was blowing up a sandstorm or if it was raining. All weather was the same to her.”
“A sandstorm?” Timur asked. “You rode her in the desert, then?”
“Well, yes.”
“This must have been the same time when you learned our language, eh?”
“Yes, it was.” Steve hesitated, glad to see the innkeeper come hurrying out with a piece of candle and wine and wine cups. A younger man followed him with bowls of noodles and strips of meat. Steve did not want to be drawn into questions about how he had learned to speak Mongol. As soon as the innkeeper had lit the candle and poured wine for them all, Steve lifted a cup. “I toast my new friends.”
“Ah!” Timur grinned and held up his own. His friends joined in and they all drank.
Before Timur could ask more questions about Steve’s experience among Mongols in the desert, Steve turned to one of the other Mongols. “Tell me about your experiences in the battalion. Have you fought anyone recently?”
“No, I have not had the chance.” The man shook his head as he started eating.
“We are too young, all of us,” said Timur. “We missed the great wars of conquest by the khakhan, which were finished before we came of age.”
“But we are ready,” said another, “and eager for the chance. We must prove ourselves every day and hope that our battalion will be sent to a distant land someday,”
“It would be very exciting,” Steve said carefully, as he began eating his own dinner. He tried to think of another question that would keep the conversation away from his own life. “You’re off duty tonight? Why isn’t the whole battalion coming to drink? Only a few of you came through the gate.”
Timur laughed. “No, no, you don’t understand. Those of us who came through the gate all have sentry duty tonight, to begin when the torches are doused and the camp sleeps. We have some free time before then.”
“I see.”
The Mongols ate and drank eagerly, without speaking further. Steve decided he could take the time to eat his own dinner. Timur’s curiosity about him seemed satisfied.
Everyone finished eating without more comment. Steve hoped he could take some food up to Marcia soon, but that would have to wait until the Mongols had left. However, Timur leaned back with another cup of wine and looked up at Steve.
“Which tribe did you ride with?” Timur asked.
Steve froze. He thought he remembered Marcia mentioning something about Mongol tribes, but he could not recall what she had said. Maybe he was mistaken about that.
“What’s wrong?” Timur studied his face.
“I, uh, rode with friends. That’s all.”
“Friends? But you must have lived on the grasslands, didn’t you? If you rode out in the desert at times.”
“I was a loner.”
Timur shrugged. “About these Arabian horses. Can they carry a man day and night, across deserts and mountains? When we are on the march, we push our horses to the point of dropping, but they carry us where they must.”
Steve almost asked him how he would know, since he had never been to war, but he knew better. It would only anger them. “I am sure you have the finest horses in the world. Everyone knows that.”
Timur nodded, and drained his wine cup. “We must return to the camp to begin sentry duty.” He glanced at his companions. “And no mention of how much Chinese wine we have drunk, eh?” He grinned at Steve. “The punishment for falling asleep on watch is death.”
Steve wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he said nothing. When the Mongols rose from their chairs, he did, too. Timur tossed some coins to the innkeeper.
“Farewell on your travels, Steve. Show us one of those horses one day if you can-or maybe we’ll ride to Arabia and see them for ourselves!” He laughed and led his companions out of the inn.
“Farewell,” Steve called after them.
When they had gone, he drew in a deep breath and let it out. He only realized now how tense he had been throughout the dinner, concentrating on his company to avoid offending them. Now just beginning to relax, he turned to the innkeeper, who was clearing the table.
“Bring out dinner for my friend,” Steve said in Chinese, picking up the candle from the table. “I’ll go up and ask her to come down.”
“Very well. I showed her to the first two rooms on the left.” The innkeeper hustled away with an armload of dirty dishes and cups.
Steve grinned slightly as he climbed the stairs to the second floor by the flickering light of the small candle he carried. He was sure Marcia would be amused by the story of his dinner with the Mongols. Since he had managed to avoid angering them, and had somehow survived the question of how he could speak Mongol, it would make a funny anecdote.
He rapped lightly on the door of one of the two rooms they had taken.
“Marcia? Steve. The Mongols have left. You can come downstairs for dinner now.”
When he received no answer, he knocked on the door of the other room. “Marcia? You awake?” After a pause, he tried the door, expecting it to be barred. Instead, it was open. The room was empty.
He moved back to the other room and tried the door. Also unbarred, it swung open easily. The cloth bag Steve had carried on his horse with their changes of clothes lay on the bed. Marcia was not here, either.
Worried, he looked down to the far end of the corridor. To his right, another staircase led down. He walked down the hall for a better look. Down the stairs, he could see one doorway that led down the corridor on the ground floor and another that led outside. Maybe she had just gone out to the latrine and had taken the back stairs to avoid passing the Mongols.