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"I shall show you the consummating death, which shall be a spur and
promise to the living."
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
Thus Spoke Zarathustra
1883
"We are defeated," Gengar muttered as he leaned on the empty catapult,
his once robust body now weakened and diseased.
Tjimin removed a furry headdress and wiped the sweat from his rugged face.
Staggering from the combination of fatigue and fever, Tjimin stared beyond Gengar
and the vacant catapults toward the walled city of Caffa. "Italian bastards,
all safe in there even after years of siege."
Several more Tartar warriors staggered to their leader, walking with a gait
of the defeated and the ailing. Using spears as canes, these mighty men walked
as if in mud, though the Earth was dry. They all could hear the taunts from those
safely in the walled port city situated on the Black Sea. "Shall we withdraw,
Tjimin?" one of the sweat covered men asked his leader.
The husky man wiped sweat from his broad brow once again and looked into the
faces of his soldiers. Pale, damp, and sporting black splotches, Tjimin knew it
didn't matter what order he gave. The only command these men would be able to
carry out was FALL. Tjimin then scanned the battlefield behind him and
saw the piles of his men in the Crimean grass. All of them dead of the dreaded
plague, an affliction those inside Caffa seemed never to worry of. They all fell
no matter how much they fought and prayed that such interlopers would leave their
soil.
Gengar gestured at the wall and then at the catapults. "Damn, our stores
are spent or I'd give them a parting shot."
The Mongolian leader stared at the sentries on the distant walls, listened
to their laughter, and then cast his eyes to the vast field of Tartars felled
by the plague. Tjimin showed a savage smile, gripped his groin that had swelled
to the size of a fruit due to the plague, and said, "Fate has decreed that
we must lose this day. But I shall use the judgment of God to slap down fate.
We shall use what we have and send them our revenge."
After listening to their leader speak further, a dark, grim smile spread among
the men like a fresh illness. With newfound vigor, the fatigued Tartars loaded
up their catapults with dead combatants and gave them a chance to be warriors
once again. However, in death these Mongolian raiders flew to the city of Caffa
and carried the embrace of their brethren.
Thinking the Mongolians mad, those in the Genoa controlled city thought this
act a desperate show from disgusting, godless barbarians. What the Italians didn't
realize was that when they left the Black Sea they carried home the second wave
of the Black Death to all of Europe.
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