Authors: Conn Iggulden
The sun seemed to take forever to creep above the eastern horizon. Jin An imagined it showing its face to the citizens of Hangzhou and to the lords who still disdained the threat to their culture and the emperor. They were fools. Before it set, he hoped to have broken the foreign army that had dared to enter Sung lands. With such a victory behind him, a man might rise far indeed. It was just one day, he told himself, feeling sweat break out on his skin. Just one, long day.
KUBLAI SAT HIS HORSE, WITH BAYAR AND URIANG-KHADAI
on either side of him. The other officers had formed the tumans,
though they remained ready for any orders from the three men watching the Sung positions.
“I do not understand how imperial Chin banners can be flying there,” Kublai said, frowning into the distance. “Is it mockery to present the colors of men we have defeated? If so, they are fools. We beat the Chin. They hold no fear for us.”
“My lord, it is more important that the cannon ranks reduce their ability to maneuver,” Uriang-Khadai said. He was flushed with a slow-burning indignation over Kublai’s refusal to listen to any idea of a retreat. In his frustration, he became ever more stilted in his manner, his tone lecturing. “They put too much faith in the heavy weapons, my lord, but we can still move. With respect, I must point out that I have been against engaging them from the beginning. This formation only reinforces my view. Why commit suicide against their guns?”
It irritated Kublai that Uriang-Khadai was so obviously right. Before hearing the news of his brother’s death, he knew he would have ridden around the Sung regiments, forcing them to come after him and leave their guns behind, or make such slow progress with them that they would never catch up. He could then choose the best ground to attack.
It was the merest common sense not to let an enemy have his main advantage. All Kublai’s cannon, both captured and brought from home, lay rusting on fields hundreds of miles away. The weapons were terrifyingly powerful in the right place and time, but until someone found a way to move them quickly, they were more often a hindrance to fast-moving cavalry. The Sung commander did not seem to understand that at all.
Yet under the stillness, Kublai felt a part of him clamoring and clawing its way out. It was red-mouthed in savagery, demanding that he attack just where the enemy were strong. He wanted to take all the grief and pain of his brother’s death and dash it out against those iron guns. He wanted to show Mongke that he had courage, whether his brother’s spirit knew it or not.
“Sun Tzu said there are seven conditions for victory,” Kublai said. “Shall I list them for you?”
“Sun Tzu never saw gunpowder used in war, my lord,” Uriang-Khadai said stubbornly.
“One. Which of the two sovereigns is imbued with Moral Law? Who is in the right, Orlok? It matters to the men. The Sung are defending their lands, so perhaps they must take that first point. Yet I am the grandson of Genghis Khan and all lands are mine.”
Uriang-Khadai stared at him in worried silence. He had never seen Kublai so intensely focused. The scholar had been burned out of him and Uriang-Khadai feared the effects of his grief.
“Two. Which of the generals has most ability? I give you that one, Uriang-Khadai, and you also, Bayar. These Sung have made a house that cannot move, with walls of guns. Three. With whom lie the advantages of Heaven and Earth? I call that equal, as the land is flat and the skies are clear.”
“My lord—” Uriang-Khadai tried to interrupt.
“
Four
. On which side is discipline most rigorously enforced? That would be ours, Orlok, men who live hard lives from birth, men who endure. They have not grown soft in Sung cities. Five. Which army is stronger? In numbers, perhaps the Sung, but we have beaten their armies before. I will have that one, I think.”
“Six. On which side are the officers and men more highly trained? That is ours. Every man here has fought and won many times. We are veteran soldiers, Uriang-Khadai. We are the elite tumans of the nation. The Sung have had peace for too long.” He paused. “The last is a strange one. Which army is most constant in reward and punishment? Sun Tzu valued good leadership, I think, if I have understood it correctly. Without knowing the Sung, I cannot be certain, so I will call that one equal. The balance is with us, Orlok.”
“My lord, the guns …”
“The guns must be swabbed down between shots,” Kublai snapped. “The barrels must be cleaned of burning scraps of cloth or embers. A new powder bag must be jammed down and carefully pierced by a hollow reed filled with black powder. The ball must be lifted into the barrel and shoved down. It all takes time, Orlok, and we will not give them time. They will have one shot and then we will be in range to kill the cannon teams. We can face one shot.”
He had been staring out to the Sung regiment waiting for them, but he turned to face Uriang-Khadai, his yellow eyes blazing.
“Should I treat them with respect, these Sung men who know nothing of war? Should I fear their weapons, their black powder? I do not, Orlok. I
will
not.”
“My lord, please reconsider. Let them stand and run dry for a few days without water. Let them grow hungry while we forage the land and remain strong. They cannot remain forever in one place, leaving us to ride unchecked around them. Let me burn the closest towns to us and they will be forced to answer, to come out.”
“And by then, there will be another Sung army on its way to support them,” Kublai said bitterly. “Have you not learned yet that there is no end to these people? Today, I think I will answer their arrogance with arrogance of my own. I will ride down the mouths of their guns.”
Uriang-Khadai was horror-struck.
“My lord, you must stay clear of the battle. If you are killed …”
“Then I will be killed. I have made my decision, Orlok. Stand with me, or join the ranks under the orders of others.”
Uriang-Khadai slowly bowed his head, understanding at last that he would not move the younger man from his choice. He looked again at the Sung guns, in the new light of knowing he would ride into them.
“Then, my lord, I suggest wide-spaced ranks as we go in, coming back after the first shot for massed arrow volleys and a lance charge. If I may, my lord, I would also hold back two groups of five hundred heavily armored riders to strike as gaps appear in their lines.”
Kublai grinned suddenly.
“You are an interesting man, Orlok Uriang-Khadai. I hope you live through today.”
Uriang-Khadai grimaced.
“As do I, my lord. With your permission, I will pass on those orders to the minghaans, telling them to target the cannon teams first.” When Kublai nodded, he went on. “The Sung have not placed as many cannon at their rear, my lord. General Bayar is reasonably competent. He should swing out with a tuman and attack them from behind.”
Bayar chuckled at the grudging description of him.
“Very well,” Kublai replied. He felt lighter now he had made the decision. It was done. He would ride against the guns with his men, the bones of his fate tossed high into the air.
Uriang-Khadai passed on the new orders to the minghaan officers. Through them, the news reached the jagun commanders of a hundred and the most junior officers in charge of just ten men. The sun had hardly moved before every warrior there understood what Kublai intended them to do. He made no speeches to them. Even if he had, only a small number would have heard the words. Though he watched them, they seemed unsurprised by the orders and simply readied themselves, checking their mounts and weapons one last time. Kublai sent a silent prayer to his brother’s spirit. Men would die that day who might have lived if he had made different choices.
He stopped, the moment stretching in his head. It felt as if a veil had lifted, as if the sun shone through his grief for the first time. He could almost hear Mongke’s voice speaking in anger or mockery. For just an instant, it was as if his brother were standing behind him. Kublai dug in his heels and rode to where Uriang-Khadai and Bayar were discussing the battle plan with a group of other men. Kublai did not dismount.
“I have new orders, Orlok Uriang-Khadai. We will ride around this army and head for Hangzhou. If the enemy leave their guns to chase, we will turn and tear them to pieces. If they bring them, we will attack while the cannon are still attached to oxen.”
“Thank
God
,” Uriang-Khadai said.
The men around him were grinning and Kublai could suddenly see how much strain they had been under before. Yet they had not balked at what he had asked of them. His heart filled with pride.
“We are the tumans of Mongke Khan,” Kublai said. “We move, we strike, and we move on again. Mount up. Let us leave these Sung fools behind.”
There was laughter in the ranks as the news spread and Kublai’s words were repeated hundreds of times. The tumans surged forward into a trot and the Sung regiments less than a mile away watched in
confusion as they swung clear of the battlefield, leaving only dust, manure, and cropped grass in their wake.
GENERAL SALSANAN HAD NOT EXPECTED IT TO BE SUCH A
task when he volunteered to leave the khan’s tumans and come south. Though he did not know exactly where Kublai was, he expected to track him down by following a trail of burned towns and cities. Instead, the Sung countryside seemed hardly to have been affected by the passage of armies. It was true that there were few animals grazing and the peasants ran to hide from his soldiers as they searched for anything they could eat. Even so, it was a far cry from the trail of devastation he had thought to see.
His eighty thousand had not even brought the usual supplies. Each man had only two spare mounts, and as they pushed on Salsanan’s tumans lost a few ponies each day to lameness. Unable to keep up, the mounts were quickly butchered, providing enough meat to give two hundred men a hot meal. The tumans left only bones and often split those for the rich marrow before moving on.
After a month of searching, Salsanan would spend much of each day wishing Mongke Khan were still alive. The land was wide and the endless stream of small towns tempted him to stop and loot. Only his sense of duty kept him going. His men were disciplined, but he was beginning to wonder where Kublai had gone. It seemed impossible to lose a hundred thousand men, even in the vastness of Sung territories. He questioned every village leader and town official who trembled before him, but it was not until he reached the city of Shaoyang that the prefect gave him a solid lead. As he rode, Salsanan reminded himself that the man he went to fetch home could be the next khan. He would have to tread carefully with the scholar prince.
On the road east, Salsanan’s scouts had him riding up ahead of the tumans to confirm the strange sight they reported. Hundreds of heavy cannon lay overturned in the road, their draft animals slaughtered. The carcasses had been expertly butchered, with most of the meat taken. In many cases, flies swarmed over just a head and hooves
and bloody ground. There were dead men with them, unarmed peasants with dead hands still clutching at whips and reins. Salsanan smiled to see it, recognizing the work of his own people.
Just a few miles further on, he found the first remnants of a shattered army, bodies lying in the dusty road. Over the crest of a hill, the corpses grew thicker, as if a stand had been made on that spot. Salsanan walked his mount slowly through them, then reined in as the full battle site was revealed. Dead men lay everywhere, scattered in heaps like shriveled insects.
Salsanan saw distant figures walking amongst the dead, stopping and staring in terror as his warriors came into sight. He knew some men always survive a battle. In the chaos of fighting, they are knocked unconscious, or pass out from a wound. There will always be a few to rise the following day, limping home while armies and the war move on without them. As he rode further through the field of the dead, Salsanan watched battered Sung survivors raise their hands, their faces slack as his men began to round them up.
He nodded in fascination as he read the battle that had taken place. It had been hard. There were many Mongol bodies and he could discern the pattern of their charges in the corpses and broken lances. Kublai’s tumans had been beaten back more than once, he could see, perhaps almost flanked. The Sung commander had known their tactics and answered them without panic.
Salsanan picked up a broken arrow and scratched his head with the tip. He would speak to the bruised and battered survivors, but first he walked the field, learning from the bloody script the sort of man who might one day rule the nation.
He found a place where the grass had been churned into mud, just a short way from the main battle lines. A tuman had been rallied there and sent back in. Salsanan could almost see the line of their attack in his mind’s eye. He frowned as he walked through the echoes of the battle, revising his opinion of Mongke Khan’s brother. The charge had been tight, discipline excellent. The Sung lines had bowed back and Salsanan could see the broken and bloody spears where they had tried to stand. His years of training made him look right and
left for the second charge that he would have sent in at the right moment. There. He led his horse by the reins over the corpses, moving carefully as they slid and shifted under his boots.
He found the spot where the battle had been decided. Crossbow bolts littered the ground, many of them still standing out like quills in pieces of littered armor. Kublai’s men had ridden through heavy fire to circle out and back at full gallop. Salsanan could read their confidence and he nodded, satisfied. There had been no hesitation, no doubts from the man who commanded them.
One of Salsanan’s men signaled and he mounted to ride over to another section.
“What is it?” he said as he rode up.
His man gestured to the bodies that lay all around them. The smell of spilled guts was appalling and flies buzzed into Salsanan’s face, making him wave them off. Even so, he bent to look.
“They are so
old
,” the scout said.
Salsanan stared around, him, confirming it. All the faces were lined and the dead men closest to him looked thin and wasted.