Authors: Conn Iggulden
The wedding crowd had fallen silent and many more men had begun to drift toward their khan, ready to kill if the need arose. By the time the group drew close, they faced a line of fierce veterans, men Genghis had honored with the invitation. The sight of such warriors made them falter in their steps, but one of them called to the others in their strange language, clearly steadying their nerves.
When they were close enough to speak, Genghis recognized some of the town elders who had surrendered to him. He brought Temuge forward to interpret.
His brother listened to the leader from Nur, then nodded to himself before speaking.
“They have brought gifts to the khan’s son, on his wedding day,” Temuge said.
Genghis grunted, half tempted to send them back to their homes to leave him alone. Perhaps because of the conversation he had just had, he relented. Enemies were to be destroyed, of course, but these had declared for him and done nothing to make him suspicious. He was aware that having an army encamped around a town made peace talks run surprisingly smoothly, but in the end he nodded.
“Tell them they are welcome, just for today,” he told Temuge. “They can give the gifts to Tolui when the feast is over.” His brother spoke a guttural stream and the group relaxed visibly as they joined the Mongols on the felt mats and accepted tea and airag.
Genghis forgot about them as he saw little Tolui come out of his father-in-law’s ger and grin at the crowd. He had taken tea with the family and been formally accepted by them. He led Sorhatani by the hand, and though her robe showed a bulge at the front, no one commented on it with Genghis watching. Kokchu was ready to dedicate the union to the sky father and earth mother, bringing blessings on their new family and asking for fat, strong children to fill their gers.
As the shaman began to chant, Chakahai shivered and looked away from the man. Borte seemed to understand and laid a hand on her arm.
“I cannot look at him without thinking of poor Temulun,” Chakahai murmured. At the name, Genghis’s mood soured on the instant. He had lived with death all his life, but the loss of his sister had been hard. His mother had not even left her self-imposed seclusion for the wedding of her grandson. For that alone, the Arab cities would rue the day they had ever scorned his men and forced him to come to their lands.
“This is a day for new beginnings,” Genghis said wearily. “We will not speak of death here.”
Kokchu danced and spun as he chanted, his voice carrying far on the breeze that dried their sweat. The bride and her family remained still, with their heads bowed. Only little Tolui moved as he set about his first task as a husband. Genghis watched coldly as Tolui began to
erect a ger from the piles of wicker lattice and thick felt. It was hard work for one who was barely a man, but his son was quick-fingered and the dwelling began to take shape.
“I will avenge Temulun and all the rest,” Genghis said suddenly in a low voice.
Chakahai looked at him and nodded. “It will not make her live again,” she said.
Genghis shrugged. “It is not for her. The suffering of my enemies will be a feast to the spirits. When I am old, I will remember the tears they have shed and it will ease my bones.”
The light mood of the wedding had vanished and Genghis watched impatiently as the bride’s father stepped in to help little Tolui raise the central pole of the ger, white and new. When it was complete, his son opened the painted door to usher Sorhatani into her new home. In theory they would seal the marriage that evening, though it was clear that particular task was already accomplished. Genghis wondered idly how his son would procure a bloody rag to show her virginity had been taken. He hoped the boy would have the sense not to bother.
Genghis put aside a skin of airag and stood, brushing crumbs from his deel. He could have cursed Chakahai for spoiling the day, but it had been a short break in the bloody work he faced. He felt his mind begin to fill with the plans and stratagems he needed, settling into the cold rhythms that would take cities and scour the sands clean of all who resisted them.
Those with him seemed to sense the change. He was no longer the devoted father. The Great Khan stood before them once more, and not one of them met his calm gaze.
Genghis looked around the camp, at those who still lay and ate or drank, enjoying the warmth and the occasion. For some reason, their indolence annoyed him.
“Get the warriors back to the camp, Kachiun,” he ordered. “Have them work off the winter fat with a long ride and archery practice.”
His brother bowed briefly, striding away and scattering men and women with barked orders.
Genghis breathed deeply and stretched his shoulders. After Otrar, the Shah’s city of Bukhara had fallen almost without a blow being exchanged. Its entire garrison of ten thousand had deserted and still lurked somewhere in the hills, terrified of him.
Genghis clicked his tongue to make Jochi look up.
“Take your tuman to the hills, Jochi. Find that garrison and destroy them.”
When Jochi had gone, Genghis felt a slight relief. The Shah was held in the far west by Tsubodai and Jebe. Even if he evaded them and returned, his empire would be reduced to ashes and rubble.
“Temuge? Have your scouts ride to Samarkand and bring back every detail they can learn of the defenses. I will lead the attack, with Chagatai and Jochi when he returns. We will make dust of their precious cities.”
Jelaudin stood with his back to the door of the rooms they had rented in the town of Khuday, shutting out the noise and stench of the souk. He hated the grubby little place on the edge of a great expanse of sand where nothing but lizards and scorpions lived. He shuddered. He had known beggars before, of course. In the great cities of Samarkand and Bukhara, they bred like rats, but he had never had to walk among them, or suffer their diseased hands tugging at his robe. He had not stopped to press coins into their palms, and he still seethed at their curses. In other days, he would have ordered the town burned for the insult, but for the first time in his life, Jelaudin was alone, stripped of power and influence that he had barely noticed before it vanished.
Jelaudin jumped when a knock sounded right by his head. He cast a desperate glance around the tiny room, but his father was lying down in the other and his brothers were out buying food for the evening meal. Jelaudin wiped sweat from his face with a sharp gesture, then opened the door wide.
The owner of the house stood there, peering suspiciously inside as if Jelaudin might have sneaked half a dozen others into the tiny hovel he had rented. Jelaudin dipped with the owner, blocking his view.
“What is it?” he snapped.
The man frowned up at the arrogant young tenant, his breath pungent with spices. “It is noon, sir. I have come for the rent.”
Jelaudin nodded irritably. It seemed a mark of distrust to pay each day rather than by the month. He supposed the town did not see too many strangers, especially since the Mongols had come to the area. Still, it rankled for a prince to be treated like a man who might run from his debts in the night.
Jelaudin found no coins in his pouch and had to cross the room to a
rickety wooden table. He found a small pile there, placed and counted the night before. It would not keep them for more than another week, and his father was still too ill to be moved. Jelaudin took five copper coins, but he was not quick enough to prevent the owner from coming inside.
“There,” Jelaudin said, pressing the money into his hand. He would have ordered him out, but the man seemed in no hurry to leave and Jelaudin was aware that his manner was wrong for one reduced to such poor lodgings. He tried to look humble, but the owner remained where he was, passing the greasy coins from one hand to another.
“Is your father still unwell, sir?” the man said suddenly. Jelaudin took a step to stop him seeing into the other room as he went on. “I know a very good physician. He is expensive, but he was trained in Bukhara before he returned to his family here. If you can pay?”
Jelaudin looked again at the small pile of coins. In his hidden pouch, he had a ruby the size of his thumb joint. It would buy the house he stood in, but above all else, he did not want to bring attention on his family. Their safety lay in anonymity.
In the back room, he could hear his father’s wheeze and he nodded, giving in.
“I can pay. I will need to find a jeweler first, one who will buy.”
“There are many such men, sir. May I ask if there are other claims on the jewel you wish to sell?”
For a moment, Jelaudin did not understand what was being asked. When he did, he flushed in outrage.
“It is not stolen! I… inherited it from my mother. I want an honest man who will give me a good price for it.”
The owner dipped his head, embarrassed at the insult he had given. “My apologies, sir. I have suffered through hard times myself. I recommend Abbud, who has the red stall in the souk. He deals in gold and valuable items of all kinds. If you say his brother-in-law sent you, he will give you a fair price.”
“And then a doctor?” Jelaudin continued. “Have him come this evening.”
“I will try, sir, but there are few men as educated in Khuday. He is very busy.”
Jelaudin was not used to bargaining, or paying bribes. A long moment went by and the owner of the house had to glance deliberately at the pile of coins before understanding dawned. The young prince swept the pile off the table into a hand and gave it to the man, trying not to recoil as their hands touched.
“I will tell him it is a favor to me, sir,” the man replied, beaming. “He will come at sunset.”
“Good. Now get out,” Jelaudin replied, his patience dissolving. This was not his world. He had hardly even seen coins before manhood and then only to use for gambling with his father’s officers. He felt tainted by the trade, as if he had indulged in some intimacy. As the door closed again, he sighed to himself, despairing.
THE JEWELER ABBUD
weighed the man before him almost as carefully as he had the ruby he had brought. Both of them made him suspicious, though his brother-in-law had a nose for profit that equaled Abbud’s own.
The man who claimed to be a merchant’s son had no experience of trade, that much was obvious. The way he had gawked and stared at the stallholders as he made his way to Abbud’s place of business was very odd indeed. What sort of man had never before visited a souk? Then his arrogance brought the hairs on Abbud’s neck standing upright, every instinct warning of danger. He had survived forty years of trading in three cities, and he trusted his senses. The man had sword-hardened hands for a start. He looked more like a soldier than a merchant and strode through the market as if he expected others to get out of his way. Abbud had watched in amusement as they failed to do so and the young man had stumbled over two market bullies selling chickens. If not for the sword on his hip, they might have followed their jeering with blows.
The sword too was very fine. Abbud itched to hold the blade and could only wonder at the stupidity of a man carrying such a thing in the souk. Judging by the worked silver of the scabbard, it was worth even more than the ruby he had laid on the stall’s outer bench for all to see.
Abbud had covered the gem with his hand and beckoned him inside before the fool got them both killed, but the sword might achieve that anyway. Lives were cheap in Khuday and such a blade would be worth the risk to a few young devils with knives. It would feed their families for a year if they sold it to the right man. Abbud sighed to himself, wondering if he should warn his customer. The chances were that he would be offered the sword himself before the day was over, perhaps with blood still on it.
None of his thoughts showed as he brought Jelaudin to the rear of his little stall. He had a table there, away from the prying glances of the market. He tapped a chair for Jelaudin as he sat himself and held up the gem to a candle, looking for flaws before weighing it with great delicacy on a tiny pair of brass scales.
Was it stolen? He did not think so. A thief would not have tumbled it onto the cloth so openly. The man owned it, certainly, but still the itch of worry would not leave Abbud. He knew the reason he was successful lay in his ability to read desperation in those who came to him. He had already been told about the man’s need for a doctor. He suspected he could have the gem for a fraction of its worth, but laid it down as if it scorched him. There were too many things wrong about the man and his ruby. Abbud told himself he should send him away. He would have if the gem had been less perfect.
“I cannot sell such a jewel in Khuday,” he said reluctantly. “I am sorry.”
Jelaudin blinked. Was the old man turning him down? “I don’t understand,” he said.
Abbud spread his hands. “My business is in taking a cut on fine items of gold. Khuday is a poor place and no one here is likely to give me more than I could give you. I would have to send the jewel with a caravan to Bukhara or Samarkand, or perhaps Ashgabad or Mashhad in the south.” He rolled the gem with a finger as if it were just a bauble. “Perhaps Kabul would have a buyer, but the cost of taking it so far would equal the profit I could make. As I say, I am sorry, but I cannot buy it.”
Jelaudin was at a loss. In his entire life, he had never bargained for anything. He was not a fool and he recognized the man was probably toying with him, but he had no idea what to offer. In a sudden flush of anger, he thought of snatching it up and leaving. Only the thought of his father’s physician arriving at sunset held him in his seat. Abbud watched him closely, hiding his own delight at the young man’s transparent
emotions. He could not resist twisting the knife and he pushed the jewel across the table as if ending the meeting.
“May I have tea brought?” Abbud suggested. “I do not like to turn a man away without even refreshment.”
“I must sell this,” Jelaudin said. “Can you not recommend someone else who will take it tonight and give me a good price?”
“I will send for tea,” Abbud replied as if the question had not been asked. He ignored the warning voices that had troubled him at the beginning.
I must sell this?
Let Allah bring him a queue of fools like this one, and he would retire to a palace blessed with cool breezes.