Chapter 424: No Kinship on the Steppe

Chapter 424: Chapter 300: No Kinship on the Steppe

“I am a Count of England and Normandy. You may call me Gloucester. Our Shepherd has called upon us to save our brothers, to save the Tomb of Christ from the hands of Heretics.

We are on our way to holy Jerusalem to fight for our Lord.”

“Honorable lord, my name is Turandot. I am a servant of Sultan Suleiman of Anatolia and Antioch.” Turandot gave Eric another slight bow.

“Turandot. That name is not common among the Arabs.” Eric stroked his chin, sizing Turandot up.

“My mother was a Persian, and she gave me this name. It comes from a Persian legend about a distant, ideal kingdom—a land with no hunger, no war, no weeping, and no pain or despair.

Its inhabitants live out their days in peace and prosperity, respecting one another and forever enveloped in the light of hope.”

“A beautiful vision indeed. But you’re a long way from home.”

“I am merely carrying out my lord’s command,” Turandot answered, his eyes fixed on the Knights holding longswords behind Eric.

“You have a Turkic master,” Eric said with a smile.

“There is nothing wrong with that. He is just and merciful. It is not always easy to find such a master among one’s own people. More often than not, foreigners are more generous than one’s own kind.”

“You don’t look like a warrior.”

Turandot really didn’t look like a warrior; he looked more like an ordinary, middle-aged man.

“War relies not on brute strength, but on knowledge and wisdom. And this is even more true of negotiation,” Turandot said, bowing once more.

Eric raised his right arm, and the surrounding Knights sheathed their swords.

“I apologize if I seemed discourteous. You have proven your courage, and for that, you deserve to be called a Hero. Now, tell me, what do you need from me?”

“I humbly ask that you release the bodies of the dead to us, so that we may perform their ritual cleansing. I would be endlessly grateful.”

“And the living?” Eric said, narrowing his eyes.

“There are living men?” Turandot feigned surprise, as if he had only just learned the news.

Eric motioned to a Knight behind him. The Knight came forward, holding the lacquered helmet of Quran Mistan, and tossed it onto the ground before Turandot.

It landed heavily on the ground, but Turandot barely glanced down at it.

“My lord is just a poor officer, not a wealthy man,” Turandot said with a shrug. “His ransom won’t be very high.”

Eric shrugged as well. ‘Haggling is always the fun part at the Frank Market.’ “In that case, he’s worthless to me. I’ll throw his body into the valley.”

“No!” Turandot cried, a hint of panic in his voice. “No, my friend. Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?”

Eric shrugged again, a smile playing on his lips. “My apologies, I must have misheard. What did you have in mind?”

“I can offer ten fine warhorses in exchange for my lord.” Turandot’s gaze fell on the Gulam Cavalry warhorses being led by the Knights.

“I imagine your nameless lord would be ashamed of such an offer,” Eric said, enjoying the negotiation. “Perhaps I should put him out of his misery and just gut him.”

Turandot looked pale in the torchlight. “Friend, please, do not say such things.” He placed a hand over his heart. “My lord is very important to me. The thought of the danger he is in greatly unnerves me.”

“I am not your friend,” Eric’s voice grew cold. “To spare you any further distress, tell me your lord’s name, so I might pray for him as I send him to Heaven.”

The Arab’s hesitation was obvious.

‘His master is no poor chieftain.’

Under Eric’s stare, Turandot finally nodded.

“My lord is Turk Ben Alptekin of Ankara.”

Eric heard a Greek Attendant gasp.

‘So, the captive is quite valuable.’

“This Turk Ben Alptekin you mentioned, is he from the Seljuk Clan?” Eric waited patiently for his answer.

“He is. His grandfather was the great Kutalmish, and he is the nephew of Suleiman Shah, the current ruler of Anatolia,” Turandot said. “However, my lord refuses to accept his uncle’s patronage, hoping to earn his uncle’s favor through his own deeds.”

“We’re rich! We’re rich!” Eric clearly heard several Knights exclaiming nearby.

‘The nephew of Suleiman Shah of the Rum Sultanate. What a prize.’

“I’ve heard that Suleiman Shah’s brother, Mansur Bey, is trying to usurp his throne. Would Suleiman Shah really be so lenient with his son and allow him to fight in his name?”

“Lord Turk is the nephew of Suleiman Shah, but he is not the son of Lord Mansur. He is the son of Suleiman Shah’s eldest brother, the late Lord Alptekin,” Turandot explained. “So, my lord…”

“You will be rewarded for your honesty. Take your lord and leave…” Eric said with a faint smile, turning to Turandot.

“What?” Turandot was stunned. “Oh… thank you, my lord.”

“Not so fast,” Eric said, holding up a hand to stop him. “I intend to release your master, but I need you to do something for me first.”

“I am at your service, my lord. You have only to command,” Turandot said with another bow.

“I need you to return and report my name, and what happened here, to your Sultan,” Eric’s voice was low and firm.

An incredible feeling washed over Turandot. He had never met such a generous and decisive foe. Trembling slightly, his voice thick with gratitude and awe, he said, “I will do as you ask and convey your message to my Sultan. Thank you, great lord. I can never repay the grace you have shown to me and my clan, but I will remember it always.

Your great name will surely resound throughout the East. Though we are strangers who have met in conflict and war, I still believe we each possess qualities the other can admire.”

The surrounding Knights exchanged glances, and a few mutinous voices rose in question.

“Have I gone mad? What did I just hear?”

“If we’re not going to kill him, we should at least get something for him!”

“This is ridiculous…”

The Knights began to whisper among themselves, but none dared to voice their complaints aloud to Eric.

The Count of Pontieu and the Count of Boulogne remained silent.

Eric had two Knights bring out the Turkic Commander, Turk Ben Alptekin. After a brief “lesson” from the two Knights, he was much more compliant. When Turandot confirmed that Turk was still alive, he was moved nearly to tears.

Turandot only stopped fussing over him after Turk, annoyed by the excessive attention, let out a roar. Turandot helped him onto a horse, but Turk refused to ride with him. He couldn’t ride alone, however, as he had a deep gash in his thigh.

In the end, the Knights tied him to the saddle, deliberately facing him toward the horse’s rear.

Eric had another horse prepared for Turandot.

“Thank you, my lord.” Turandot mounted his horse and bowed to Eric from the saddle.

“Are you sure you don’t want to ask about the others?” Eric prompted.

“They are of no importance,” Turandot replied. He gave a final nod, then spurred his horse and rode off.

“Eric, was that wise?” Belem said in a low voice, moving closer to Eric. “The nephew of the Rum Sultan… We could have gotten untold riches from him. Gold, even land and cities.

And letting an enemy go free to carry a message? Won’t that just cause more trouble for us? Besides, this is the sort of thing Robert would have handled better.”

“A nephew?” Eric shook his head. “Don’t forget, the Rum Sultan is busy trying to kill one of his brothers, while that same brother is scheming to kill him. He’s probably hoping the Sultan dies on some battlefield in Syria so he can seize all of Anatolia for himself.

Don’t expect to find familial affection in the tents of the Grassland People. The rise of one of their chieftains—his fame, his glory, his wealth—is invariably built on the blood of his brothers.

What is the son of a dead brother worth?

What good is he, other than being a potential threat to the Sultan’s throne? He’s a figurehead for other ambitious men to rally behind, a tool to undermine the Sultan’s rule. Nothing more.

If this Suleiman Shah isn’t a complete fool, he knows his greatest threat comes from his own brother, the one holed up in Nicaea plotting to usurp the throne. It’s not us—a band of western Heretics marching on Jerusalem.”