Authors: Conn Iggulden
T
olui stroked his wife’s damp hair idly as he lay back and watched his four sons whoop and splash in the waters of the Orkhon. The sun was warm as they lay there, and only the presence of his guards nearby prevented complete relaxation. Tolui grimaced at the thought. There was no peace to be had in the camp, with every man wondering whether he was a supporter of Chagatai or Ogedai or the generals—or perhaps one who would inform for any of them. At times, he wished his two older brothers would settle it somewhere quiet, so that he could enjoy being alive on such a day, with a beautiful woman in his arms and four healthy sons pleading to be allowed to swim over a waterfall. He had forbidden it once, but he saw that Kublai had dared Mongke once again and the two of them were creeping closer and closer to the bank, where a goat path led up to the source of the roaring river. Tolui watched from under half-closed lids as the two older boys glanced guiltily at their parents, hoping they were asleep in the warm sun. Arik-Boke and Hulegu were in on it, of course, their bony boys’ frames almost shaking with excitement.
“Do you see them?” Sorhatani murmured.
Tolui smiled. “I am half tempted to let them try it. They swim like otters, both of them.”
It was still a new skill to tribes raised on grassy plains. For those who learned to ride before they could speak, the rivers were the
source of life for the herds, or an obstacle when they were swollen in floods. Only recently had they become a source of pleasure to the children of the tribe.
“You won’t be the one who has to soothe their wounds when they take the skin off their backs,” Sorhatani said, relaxing into him, “or splint their bones.”
Yet she said nothing as Mongke suddenly darted for the track, his naked body gleaming. Kublai shot a last, sharp look at his parents, but neither moved, and in an instant, he was off as well.
Tolui and Sorhatani both sat up as soon as the boys were out of sight. They exchanged a private look of amusement as Arik-Boke and Hulegu craned to see the top of the plunging falls above.
“I don’t know who is worse, Mongke or Kublai,” Sorhatani said, pulling a grass stalk and chewing the end.
He chuckled and they both said “Kublai” together.
“Mongke reminds me of my father,” Tolui said a little wistfully. “He fears nothing.”
Sorhatani snorted softly. “Then you will remember what your father once said when he had to choose between two men to lead a thousand.”
“I was there, woman,” Tolui said, his mind leaping to her point. “He said Ussutai feared nothing and felt no hunger or thirst. That was why he was unfit to command.”
“Your father was wise. A man needs to feel a little fear, Tolui, if only to have the pride of conquering it.”
A wild shout made them both look up as Mongke came over the falls, yelling in excitement as he managed a crude dive and plunged into the pool at its foot. The drop was little more than ten feet, but to a boy of eleven, it must have been terrifying. Tolui relaxed and chuckled as he saw his oldest son surface, blowing and gasping, his teeth very white against his sun-browned skin. Arik-Boke and Hulegu cheered, their voices high as they looked up again for Kublai.
He came over backwards in a tumble of limbs, moving so fast that he left the torrent of water and fell through empty air. Tolui winced at the flat smack that carried clearly across the water. He watched as the other three looked for him, calling and pointing to
one another. Sorhatani felt her husband’s arms tense as he prepared to leap up, but then Kublai surfaced, roaring. His entire body was flushed red on one side, and he limped as he climbed out, but they could see he was panting with exhilaration.
“I’ll have to beat some sense into them,” Tolui said.
His wife shrugged. “I’ll get them dressed and send them to you.”
He nodded, only half aware that he had waited for her approval to punish the boys. Sorhatani smiled at him as he walked away. He was a good man, she thought. Not perhaps the strongest of the brothers, nor the most ruthless, but in all other ways, the best of the sons of Genghis.
As she stood and gathered the clothes her sons had left on every bush around them, she recalled the one man who had made her afraid in her life. She cherished the memory of the time when Genghis had looked on her as a woman, rather than just the wife of one of his sons. It had been on the shore of a lake, thousands of miles away in a different land. She had seen the khan’s eyes brighten at her youth and beauty, just for an instant. She had smiled at him then, terrified and awed.
“Now, there was a man,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head with a smile.
Khasar stood on the wooden base of the cart, leaning back against the white felt of the khan’s ger. It was twice as wide and half as high again as the homes of their people, and Genghis had used it for meeting his generals. Ogedai had never claimed the enormous construction, so heavy that the cart had to be pulled by six oxen. After the death of the great khan, it had sat empty for months before Khasar made it his own. As yet, no one had dared to dispute his right to it.
Khasar smelled the fried marmot meat Kachiun had brought for the midday meal.
“Let’s eat outside. It’s too fine a day to sit in the gloom,” he said.
As well as the steaming platter, Kachiun carried a fat skin of airag, which he tossed to his brother.
“Where are the others?” he said, placing the platter on the edge of the boards and sitting with his legs swinging.
Khasar shrugged. “Jebe said he would be here. I sent a messenger to Jelme and Tsubodai. They’ll come or they won’t; it’s up to them.”
Kachiun blew air from his lips in irritation. He should have passed on the messages himself, to be sure his brother didn’t forget or use the wrong words. There was no point in berating the man who was digging his fingers into the pile of steaming scraps. Khasar didn’t change and it was both infuriating and comforting at times.
“He’s nearly finished that city of his,” Khasar said, chewing. “Strange-looking place, with those low walls. I could ride right over them.”
“I think that is his point,” Kachiun replied. He took a pouch of unleavened bread from another pot, waving his hand to clear the steam as he filled it with meat. Khasar looked baffled and Kachiun sighed.
“We are the walls, brother. He wants people to see that he does not have to hide behind stones like the Chin. Do you understand? The tumans of our army are the walls.”
“Clever,” Khasar said, munching. “But he’ll build walls eventually, you watch. Give him a year or two and he’ll be adding stones. Cities make you afraid.”
Kachiun stared at his brother, wondering if he had managed a bit of real wisdom. Khasar noticed his sudden interest and grinned.
“You’ve seen it. If a man has gold, he lives with the terror that someone will take it away from him, so he builds walls around it. Then everyone knows where the gold is, so they come and take it. That’s the way it always goes, brother. Fools and gold, together.”
“I never know if you think like a child or a very wise man,” Kachiun said, filling another pouch and chewing.
Khasar tried to say “wise man” around a large mouthful and choked, so that Kachiun had to pound him on his back. They had been friends for a very long time.
Khasar wiped tears from his eyes and took a deep breath and then a swig of airag from the bulging skin.
“He’ll need walls at the new moon, I should think.”
Automatically, Kachiun looked to see if anyone could overhear them. They were surrounded by empty grass, with just their two ponies grazing nearby. Beyond them, warriors were busy in the sun, preparing for the great competition Ogedai had promised. There would be prizes of gray horses and armor for wrestlers and archers, even for those who won footraces across the plains. Everywhere they looked, men were training in groups, but there was no one loitering too close. Kachiun relaxed.
“You have heard something?”
“Nothing, but only a fool would expect the oath-taking to go without a hitch. Ogedai’s not a fool and he’s not a coward. He faced me when I was running wild after …” He hesitated and his eyes grew distant and cold for a moment. “After Genghis died.” He took another swig of the harsh spirit. “If he’d taken the oaths immediately, not a man in the tribes would have dared raise a hand to him; but now?”
Kachiun nodded grimly. “Now Chagatai has come into his strength, and half the nation wonders why he isn’t going to be khan.”
“There will be blood, brother. One way or another,” Khasar replied. “I just hope Ogedai knows when to be forgiving and when to cut throats.”
“He has us,” Kachiun said. “That is why I wanted to meet here, to discuss our plans for seeing him safe as khan.”
“I haven’t been summoned to his white city for my advice, Kachiun, have you? You don’t know whether he trusts us more than anyone else. Why should he? You could be khan if you wanted. You were Genghis’s heir while his sons grew.” Khasar saw his brother’s irritation. The camp was full of such talk and both men were tired of it, but Khasar just shrugged. “Better you than Chagatai, anyway. Have you seen him out running, with his bondsmen? So young, so
virile.
” He leaned over the edge of the cart and spat deliberately on the ground.
Kachiun smiled. “Jealous, brother?”
“Not of him, though I do miss being young sometimes. Now some part of me is always aching. Old wounds, old knees, that
time when you completely failed to stop me getting speared in my shoulder—it all hurts.”
“It is better than the alternative,” Kachiun said.
Khasar snorted.
They looked round as Jebe approached, with Tsubodai. Both of Genghis’s generals were in their prime, and Kachiun and Khasar shared a glance of private humor at the way they came striding confidently across the summer grass.
“Tea in the pot, meat in the bowl,” Khasar said without ceremony as they climbed the steps up to the old khan’s ger. “We are discussing how to keep Ogedai alive long enough for him to carry the white tails.”
The symbol of the united tribes still fluttered above his head, horse tails that had once been a riot of tribal colors, until Genghis had bleached them pale and made them one. No one had dared to remove the symbol of power, any more than they had queried Khasar’s use of the cart.
Tsubodai made himself comfortable on the wooden edge, his feet dangling as he dug into the meat and bread. He was aware that both Kachiun and Khasar were waiting for what he would say. He did not enjoy the attention and he ate slowly and cleared his throat with airag.
In the silence, Jebe leaned back against the felt wall and looked at the city in the distance, a white haze in the warm air. He could see the golden dome of Ogedai’s palace, and it struck him that it resembled a yellow eye staring out of the city.
“I have been approached,” Jebe said. Tsubodai stopped chewing and Khasar put down the skin of airag as he was about to drink. Jebe shrugged. “We knew one of us would be, sooner or later. It was a stranger to me, wearing no marks of rank.”
“Sent by Chagatai?” Kachiun said.
Jebe nodded. “Who else? But no names were mentioned. They do not trust me. It was just a light touch, to see which way I would jump.”
Tsubodai grimaced. “You jumped here, in full view of the tribes. No doubt they are watching you now.”
“What of it?” Jebe said, bridling. “I was loyal to Genghis. Do I demand to be known by my birth name, as Zurgadai? I carry the name Genghis gave me, and I am loyal to the son he named as heir. What do I care who sees me talking with his generals?”
Tsubodai sighed and put aside the final piece of his meal. “We know who is most likely to disrupt the oath-taking. We do not know how they will do it, or how many men will support them. If you had come to me quietly, Jebe, I would have told you to agree to anything they say and learn their plans.”
“Who wants to go creeping about in the dark, Tsubodai?” Khasar said scornfully. He looked to his brother for support, but Kachiun shook his head.
“Tsubodai is right, brother. This isn’t just a matter of showing we support Ogedai and all right-thinking men following us. I wish it was. There was never a khan of the nation before Genghis, so there are no laws for how he passes on his power.”
“The khan makes the laws,” Khasar replied. “I didn’t see anyone complaining when he made us all take an oath to Ogedai as heir. Even Chagatai got down on his knees for that.”
“Because his choice was to fall flat or die,” Tsubodai said. “Now Genghis is gone and the men around Chagatai are whispering in his ear. They are saying the only reason he was not heir was his struggle with his brother, Jochi, but Jochi is dead.”
He paused for a moment, thinking of the blood that had splashed on snow. His face was utterly blank and they could not read him.
“There are no traditions to tell us how to act,” Tsubodai went on wearily. “Yes, Genghis chose his heir, but his mind was clouded with anger over Jochi. It was not so many years ago that he favored Chagatai over all his brothers. The nation talks of nothing else. At times, I think Chagatai could press his claim
openly
and become khan. He could walk right up to Ogedai with a sword and fully half the army would not stop him.”
“The other half would tear him to shreds,” Khasar said.
“And in a stroke, we would have a civil war that would break the nation in two. Everything Genghis built, all our strength, wasted on
an internal struggle. How long would it be then before the Chin rose against us, or the Arabs? If that is the future, I would rather see Chagatai take the horse-tail banner today.” Tsubodai held up his hand as they began to protest. “That is not a traitor speaking, do not think it. Have I not shown that I followed Genghis, even when everything in me cried out that he was wrong? I will not fail his memory. I will see Ogedai as khan, on my word.”
Once again he thought of a young man who had believed his promise of safe passage. Tsubodai knew his word was worthless, where it had once been iron. It was an old grief, but on some days he bled as if he had just been cut.
“You had me worried,” Khasar said.
Tsubodai did not smile. He was younger than both the brothers, but they waited patiently for him to speak. He was the great general, the master who could plan any attack on any terrain and somehow snatch victory. With Tsubodai, they knew Ogedai had a chance. Kachiun frowned at the thought.