the tent of some victor than look with her living eyes upon those heads which had but recently belonged to men who thought, worked and loved. How could she walk across this damnable camp of the brutal conquerors to do the smugly safe and treacherous deed!
“No, no!” she thought. “It shall not happen. I will not go a step farther. I will not be a traitress to my country! I will forsake my father if I cannot persuade him to give up his imprecatory plan.”
They stopped before the tent of the chief commander Peta, closest friend of Batiyem. Except for three ensigns fastened to its top, the tent was not distinguishable on the outside from the others around it. However, its interior was handsomely arranged in the customary Asiatic manner. But neither the boyar nor Peace-Renown entered the tent, for they found the Mongol chieftains before their tents sitting by the bonfire where the slaves were roasting two sheep. Perceiving their guests, the chieftains jumped to their feet, grasping their weapons though they made no attempt to move forward from their positions to greet them. Cognizant of the Mongolian practice regarding women, the boyar motioned his daughter to remain where she was while he removed his helmet and slipping his bow from his shoulders approached, bowing low before them and stood there silently, about three paces away from the commanding chieftain Peta, his eyes cast respectfully downward.
“From what king do you bring us your message?” asked Peta.
“I know of no king other than the great Jinghis Khan, the master of all the world!” replied the boyar. This was the usual procedure of formal humiliation in greeting.
Peta then extended his hand to the boyar with ceremonial decorum and also with a show of pleasure.
“You have come at the right time,” said Peta, “we were awaiting our ally.”
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