etold that
one day Antichrist would be reborn in Babylon?

Among the Ilkhan's scribes was a Greek who spoke a bastard French and
acted as interpreter. King Louis' letter was read, and in that hall
its devout phrases seemed a mockery. The royal gifts were produced,
the tent-chapel with its woven pictures and the sacred utensils. The
half-drunk captains fingered them curiously, but the eyes from the
throne scarcely regarded them.

"These are your priests," said the Khakan "Let them talk with my priests
and then go their own way. I have little concern with priestcraft."

Then Aimery spoke, and the Greek with many haltings translated. He
reminded Houlagou of the Tartar envoys who had sought from his King
instruction in the Christian faith and had proclaimed his baptism.

"Of that I know nothing," was the answer. "Maybe 'twas some whim of my
brother Kublai. I have all the gods I need."

With a heavy heart Aimery touched on the proposed alliance, the advance
on Bagdad, and the pinning of the Saracens between two fires. He spoke
as he had been ordered, but with a bitter sense of futility, for what
kind of ally could be looked for in this proud pagan?

The impassive face showed no flicker of interest.

"I am eating up the Caliphs," he said, "but that food is for my own
table. As for allies, I have need of none. The children of the Blue Wolf
do not make treaties."

Then he spoke aside to his captains, and fixed Aimery with his agate
eyes. It was like listening to a voice from a stone.

"The King of France has sent you to ask for peace. Peace, no doubt, is
good, and I will grant it of my favour. A tribute will be fixed in gold
and silver, and while it is duly paid your King's lands will be safe
from my warriors. Should the tribute fail, France will be ours. I have
heard that it is a pleasant place."

The Ilkhan signed that the audience was over. The fountains of liquor
ceased to play, and the drunken gathering stood up with a howling like
wild beasts to acclaim their King. Aimery went back to his hut, and sat
deep in thought far into the night.

He perceived that the shadows were closing in upon him. He must get the
friars away, and with them a message to his master. For himself there
could be no return, for he could not shame his King who had trusted him.
In the bestial twilight of this barbaric court the memory of Louis shone
like a star. He must attempt to reach Kublai, of whom men spoke well,
though the journey c