“Finish him,” said the Ilkhan.
“Nay, sire,” said Aimery, “it is not our custom to slay a disabled foe.”
Houlagou nodded to one of his guards, who advanced swinging his sword. The defeated man seemed to know his fate, and stretched out his neck. With a single blow his head rolled on the earth.
“You have some skill of the sword, Frenchman,” said the Ilkhan. “Hear, now, what I have decreed concerning you. I will have none of this journey to my brother Kublai. I had purposed to slay you, for you have defied my majesty. You sought to travel to Cathay instead of bearing my commands forthwith to your little King. But I am loath to kill so stout a warrior. Swear to me allegiance, and you shall ride with me against the Caliphs.”
“And if I refuse?” Aimery asked.
“Then you die ere sundown.”
“I am an envoy, sire, from a brother majesty, and of such it is the custom to respect the persons.”
“Tush!” said the Ilkhan, “there is no brother majesty save Kublai. Between us we rule the world.”
“Hear me, then,” said Aimery. The duel had swept all cobwebs from his brain and doubts from his heart. “I am a knight of the Sire Christ and of the most noble King Louis, and I can own no other lord. Do your work, King. I am solitary among your myriads, but you cannot bend me.”
“So be it,” said Houlagou.