The odd song stopped suddenly. I blinked, not realizing its hypnotic effect, like listening to the low, soothing yoga CD featuring the chanting of monks, until it was gone.
"I smell you," said the man on the stool. "You bring a woman this time." His head twisted towards us, though I doubted he could see us through the thick hood.
I inched closer to Mahmood, who appeared likewise uneasy.
"Where is my hair, imam?" the Mongol asked.
"Can you understand him?" Mahmood turned to me.
"Yes," I replied, recalling the two were speaking different languages. "He said he can smell us and knows a woman is here. He asked what happened to his hair."
"He reeked like a dog," Mahmood said with some disdain. "We shaved his head, bathed him and burned his clothing. He slaughtered twenty of our men yet howled like a bath was torture."
I started to smile, noticing for the first time how clean and neat Mahmood's clothing was. There were no stains on the white robe, and everything down to his fingernails was pristine.
Doubting I wanted to give a word for word translation of this one, I debated what to say to the warrior and finally decided not to mention anything about his hair at all.
"Ask him when they will attack," Mahmood directed me.
"Batu," I said and stepped towards the prisoner. "We came to speak to you about the warriors outside the walls."
"You speak my tribe's dialect," was the curious response. "What magic is this?"
"It's not magic. I am gifted with languages."
"Are you as beautiful as you sound?"
Startled, I barely caught the laugh that bubbled forth. He was relaxed in his spot in the middle of the room, clearly unconcerned about being a prisoner if he was flirting with me.
"I am uglier than a horse. My nose is huge, my eyes small and I have no teeth." I replied, unable to help the saucy response.
"Bah. What do you want, ugly one?"
"I want to know when your people will attack the city."
"How long have they been at your walls?"
"Three days."
"Tell me what you see outside your walls."
I hesitated and turned to Mahmood, catching him up. He frowned and nodded for me to continue.
"To the east there are tens of thousands of campfires," I said slowly.
"And the other directions?"
I asked Mahmood, who shook his head. "The river lies to the north, and there is nothing to the south. The west is protected by a moat."
Relaying the message to the prisoner, I waited for him to speak.
He nodded. "They have already begun. They will not come from the east but from two directions, likely the west and south. There will be nothing standing by dawn."