men would ride athwart their road and exchange greetings. On the
second morning they reached a city, populous in men but not in houses.
For miles stretched lines of skin tents, and in the heart of them by the
river's edge stood a great hall of brick, still raw from the builders.

Aimery sat erect on his weary horse with the hum of an outlandish host
about him, himself very weary and very sick at heart. For the utter
folly of it all had come on him like the waking from a dream. These men
were no allies of the West. They were children of the Blue Wolf, as
the Constable had said, a monstrous brood, swarming from the unknown
to blight the gardens of the world. A Saracen compared to such was a
courteous knight.. .. He thought of Kublai, the greater Khakan. Perhaps
in his court might dwell gentlehood and reason. But here was but a wolf
pack in the faraway guise of man.

They gave the strangers food and drink--halfcooked fish and a porridge
of rye and sour spiced milk, and left them to sleep until sundown. Then
the palace guards led them to the presence.

The hall was immense, dim and shapeless like the inside of a hill,
not built according to the proportions of mankind. Flambeaux and wicks
floating in great basins of mutton fat showed a dense concourse of
warriors, and through an aisle of them Aimery approached the throne. In
front stood a tree of silver, springing from a pedestal of four lions
whose mouths poured streams of wine, syrup, and mead into basins, which
were emptied by a host of slaves, the cup-bearers of the assembly.
There were two thrones side by side, on one of which sat a figure so
motionless that it might have been wrought of jasper. Weighted with
a massive head-dress of pearls and a robe of gold brocade, the little
grandchild of Prester John seemed like a doll on which some princess had
lavished wealth and fancy. The black eyelashes lay quiet on her olive
cheeks, and her breathing did not stir her stiff, jewelled bodice.

"I have seen death in life," thought Aimery as he shivered and looked
aside.

Houlagou, her husband, was a tall man compared with the others. His
face was hairless, and his mouth fine and cruel. His eyes were hard like
agates, with no light in them. A passionless power lurked in the low
broad forehead, and the mighty head sunk deep between the shoulders; but
the power not of a man, but of some abortion of nature, like storm or
earthquake. Again Aimery shivered. Had not the prophets for