Authors: Conn Iggulden
Chagatai bit his lip as he thought. He shrugged. “Some of them. They are children.”
“Why would they follow you when you spend your days fighting with your brother?” she said, pressing him.
The little boy looked resentful as he struggled with ideas too big for him. He raised his chin in defiance. “They won’t follow Jochi. He thinks they should, but they never will.”
Borte felt a coldness touch her chest at the words. “Really, my son?” she said softly. “Why would they not follow your older brother?”
Chagatai turned his head away and Borte reached out and gripped him painfully by his arm. He did not cry out, though tears showed at the corners of his eyes.
“Are there secrets between us, Chagatai?” Borte asked, her voice grating. “Why would they never follow Jochi?”
“Because he is a Tartar bastard!” Chagatai shouted. This time, the slap that Borte landed on her son was not gentle. It knocked his head to one side and he sprawled on the bed, dazed. Blood trickled from his nose and he began to wail in shock.
Jochi spoke quietly behind her. “He tells them that all the time,” he said. His voice was dark with fury and despair and Borte found tears in her own eyes at the pain he was suffering. Chagatai’s crying had wakened her two youngest sons, and they too began to sob, affected by the scene in the ger without understanding it.
Borte reached out to Jochi and enfolded him in her arms. “You cannot wish it back into your brother’s foolish mouth,” she murmured into his hair. She pulled back then to look into Jochi’s eyes, wanting him to understand. “Some words can be a cruel weight on a man, unless he learns to ignore them. You will have to be better than all the others to win your father’s approval. You know it now.”
“Is it true, then?” he whispered, looking away. He felt the stiffness in her back as she considered her answer, and he began to sob gently himself.
“Your father and I began you on a winter plain, hundreds of miles from the Tartars. It is true that I was lost to him for a time and he . . . killed the men who had taken me, but you are his son and mine. His firstborn.”
“My eyes are different, though,” he said.
Borte snorted. “So were Bekter’s when they were young. He was a son of Yesugei, but his eyes were as dark as yours. No one ever
dared
to question his blood. Do not think of it, Jochi. You are a grandson of Yesugei and a son of Genghis. You will be a khan one day.”
As Chagatai snuffled and wiped blood onto his hand, Jochi grimaced, leaning back to look at his mother. Visibly he summoned his courage, taking a deep breath before speaking. His voice quavered, humiliating him in front of his brothers.
“He killed his brother,” he said, “and I have seen the way he looks at me. Does he love me at all?”
Borte pressed the little boy into her breast, her heart breaking for him.
“Of course he does. You will make him see you as his heir, my son. You will make him proud.”
CHAPTER 9
I
T TOOK FIVE THOUSAND WARRIORS
even longer to divert the canals with earth and rubble than it had to break them. Genghis had given the order when he saw the flood levels were threatening even the rising ground of the new camp. When the work was done, the water formed new lakes to the east and west, but at last the way to Yinchuan was drying in the sun. The ground was thick with greasy black plants and swarms of biting flies that irritated the tribes. Their ponies sank to the knees in sticky mud, making it hard to scout and adding to a feeling of confinement in the gers. There were many arguments and fights among the tribes each evening, and Kachiun was hard pressed to keep the peace.
The news that eight riders were toiling across the sodden plain was welcomed by all those who had grown tired of their inactivity. They had not come through the desert to remain in one place. Even the children had lost interest in the floodwaters, and many of them had become ill from drinking stagnant water.
Genghis watched the Xi Xia horsemen struggle through the mud. He had assembled five thousand of his warriors to face them on the dry ground, placing them right on the edge of the mud so that his enemy would have no place to rest. The Xi Xia horses were already blowing with the effort of pulling each leg from the clotted soil, and the riders were hard pressed to keep their dignity as they risked a fall.
To Genghis’s enormous pleasure, one of them did slip from the saddle when his mount lurched into a hole. The tribes hooted in derision as the man yanked savagely on his reins and remounted, soaked in filth. Genghis glanced at Barchuk at his side, noting the man’s expression of satisfaction. He was there as an interpreter, but Kokchu and Temuge stood with them as well to hear what the king’s messenger had to say. Both men had taken to their studies of the Chin language with what Genghis considered to be indecent enjoyment. The shaman and Genghis’s younger brother were clearly excited at the chance to test their newfound knowledge.
The riders halted as Genghis raised a flat palm. They had come just close enough for him to hear their words, and though they seemed unarmed, he was not a trusting man. If he were in the position of the Xi Xia king, an attempt at assassination would certainly be something he considered at that time. At his back, the tribes watched in silence, their double-curved bows ready in their hands.
“Are you lost?” Genghis called to them. He watched as they glanced to one of their number, a soldier in fine armor that extended to a headpiece of iron scales. Genghis nodded to himself, knowing the man would speak for them all. He was not disappointed.
“I bear a message from the king of the Xi Xia,” the soldier replied. To the disappointment of Temuge and Kokchu, the words were perfectly clear in the language of the tribes.
Genghis looked questioningly at Barchuk and the Uighur khan spoke in a murmur, barely moving his lips.
“I have seen him before, at the trading days. He is an officer of some middle rank, very proud.”
“He looks it, in that armor,” Genghis replied, before raising his voice to address the soldiers.
“Dismount if you would talk to me,” Genghis called. The riders exchanged resigned glances and Genghis masked his amusement as they stepped down into thick mud. They were held almost immobile by its grip, and their expressions raised his spirits.
“What does your king have to say?” Genghis continued, staring at the officer. The man had flushed in anger as the mud ruined his fine boots and took a moment to master his emotions before replying.
“He bids you meet him in the shadow of the walls of Yinchuan, under truce. His honor will guarantee no attack while you are there.”
“What does he have to say to me?” Genghis said again, as if there had been no reply.
The man’s flush deepened. “If I knew his mind, there would be little point in such a meeting,” he snapped. Those with him glanced nervously at the host of Mongol warriors waiting with bows. They had seen the extraordinary accuracy of those weapons and their eyes pleaded with their spokesman not to give any offense that might lead to an attack.
Genghis smiled. “What is your name, angry man?”
“Ho Sa. I am Hsiao-Wei of Yinchuan. You might call me a khan, perhaps, a senior officer.”
“I would not call you a khan,” Genghis replied. “But you are welcome in my camp, Ho Sa. Send these goats home and I will welcome you in my ger and share tea and salt with you.”
Ho Sa turned to his companions and jerked his head back at the city in the distance. One of them spoke a string of meaningless syllables that made Kokchu and Temuge crane forward to hear. Ho Sa shrugged at his companion and Genghis watched as the other seven mounted and turned back to the city.
“Those are beautiful horses,” Barchuk said at his shoulder.
Genghis looked at the Uighur khan. He nodded, catching the eye of Arslan where he stood along the line of warriors. Genghis jerked two fingers at the retreating group, like a snake striking.
An instant later, a hundred shafts flashed through the air to take the seven riders neatly from their saddles. One of the horses was killed and Genghis heard Arslan barking at an unfortunate warrior for his incompetence. As Genghis watched, Arslan took the man’s bow and cut the string with a jerk of his knife before handing it back to him. The warrior took it with his head bowed in humiliation.
Bodies lay still on the plain, facedown in the mud. On such ground, the horses could not bolt easily. Without their riders to urge them on, they stood listlessly, looking back at the tribes. Two of them nuzzled the bodies of the men they had known, whickering nervously at the smell of blood.
Ho Sa stared in thin-lipped fury as Genghis turned to face him.
“They were good horses,” Genghis said. The soldier’s expression did not change and the khan shrugged. “Words are not heavy. It does not take more than one of you to carry my reply.”
He left Ho Sa to be taken to the great ger and given salt tea. Genghis remained behind to see the horses as they were captured and brought back.
“I will have first choice,” he said to Barchuk.
The Uighur khan nodded, raising his eyes for a moment. First choice would give Genghis the best of them, but they were good mounts and still worth having.
Despite the late season, the sun was hot in the valley of the Xi Xia, and the ground had been baked into a thin crust by the time Genghis rode toward the city. The king had requested he bring only three companions, but another five thousand rode with him for the first few miles. By the time he was close enough to make out details of the pavilion erected in front of the city, Genghis’s curiosity had become overwhelming. What could the king want with him?
He left his escort behind with some reluctance, though he knew Khasar would ride to his aid if he signaled. He had considered the chances of a surprise attack on the king while they talked, but Rai Chiang was not a fool. The peach-colored awning had been erected very close to the walls of the city. Huge bows armed with iron-tipped shafts as long as a man could destroy it in moments and ensure Genghis would not survive. The king was more vulnerable outside the walls, but the balance was delicate.
Genghis sat straight in the saddle as he rode ahead with Arslan, Kachiun, and Barchuk of the Uighurs. They were well armed and carried extra blades hidden in their armor in case the king insisted on removing their swords.
Genghis tried to lighten his grim expression as he took in every detail of the peach awning. He liked the color and wondered where he could find silk of that width and quality. He ground his teeth together at the thought of the untouched city in plain sight. If he had found a way in, he would not have come to meet the king of the Xi Xia. The thought nagged at him that every city in Chin lands was said to be as well protected and he had not yet discovered a way to counter the defense.
The four riders did not speak as they passed into the cool peach shade and dismounted. The awning hid them from view of the archers on the walls, and Genghis found himself relaxing, standing in grim silence before the king’s guards.
No doubt they had been chosen to impress, he thought, staring at them. Someone had given thought to the difficulties of the meeting. The entrance to the pavilion was wide so that he could see no assassins waited to catch him as he entered. The guards were powerfully built and they did not acknowledge the man who stood before them. Instead, they stared back like statues at the line of mounted warriors he had gathered in the far distance.
Though there were chairs within, the pavilion held only one man, and Genghis nodded to him.
“Where is your king, Ho Sa? Is it too early in the morning for him?”
“He comes, my lord khan. A king does not arrive first.”
Genghis raised an eyebrow as he considered taking offense. “Perhaps I should leave. I did not ask him to come to me, after all.”
Ho Sa flushed and Genghis smiled. The man was easy to irritate, but he had found he liked him, for all his prickly honor. Before he could respond, horns sounded on the walls of the city and the four Mongols reached for their swords. Ho Sa held up a hand.
“The king guarantees the peace, my lord khan. The horns are to let me know he is leaving the city.”
“Go out and watch him come,” Genghis said to Arslan. “Tell me how many men ride with him.” He made an effort to relax his muscles where they had tightened. He had met khans before and he had killed them in their own gers. There was nothing new in this, he told himself, but still there was a touch of awe in him, an echo of Ho Sa’s manner. Genghis smiled at his own foolishness, realizing it was a part of being so far from home. Everything was new and different from the plains he remembered, but he would have chosen no other place to stand on that morning.
Arslan returned quickly.
“He comes in a litter carried by slaves. It looks much like the one Wen Chao used.”
“How many slaves?” Genghis replied, frowning. He would be outnumbered and his irritation showed on his face.
Ho Sa replied before Arslan. “They are eunuchs, my lord. Eight men of strength, but not warriors. They are no more than beasts of burden and forbidden to carry weapons.”
Genghis considered. If he left before the king arrived, those in the city would believe his nerve had failed. Perhaps his own warriors would think the same. He held himself still. Ho Sa wore a long blade at his belt and the two guards were well armored. He weighed the risks and then dismissed them. Sometimes, a man could worry too much about what might happen. He chuckled, making Ho Sa blink in surprise, then seated himself to wait for the king.
The bearer slaves held their precious burden at waist level as they approached the pavilion of silk. From inside, Genghis and his three companions watched with interest as they lowered the palanquin to the ground. Six of them stood in silence, while two unrolled a length of black silk across the mud. To Genghis’s surprise, they drew wooden pipes from the sashes at their waist and began to play a subtle melody as the curtains were pulled open. It was strangely peaceful to hear the music over the breeze, and Genghis found himself fascinated as Rai Chiang stepped out.
The king was a slightly built man, though he wore a set of armor perfectly fitted to his frame. The scales had been polished to a high sheen so that he gleamed in the sun. At his hip, he wore a sword with a jeweled hilt, and Genghis wondered if he had ever drawn it in anger. The music swelled at his appearance and Genghis found he was enjoying the performance.
The king of the Xi Xia nodded to the two guards and they stepped away from the pavilion to take positions at his side. Only then did he walk the few steps into the pavilion. Genghis and his companions rose to greet him.
“Lord khan,” Rai Chiang said, inclining his head. His accent was strange and he said the words as if he had memorized them without understanding.
“Majesty,” Genghis replied. He used the Xi Xia word that Barchuk had taught him. To his pleasure, he saw a glint of interest come into the king’s eyes. For a fleeting moment, Genghis wished his father could have lived to see him meet kings in a foreign land.
The two guards took positions opposite Kachiun and Arslan, clearly marking their men in the event of trouble. For their part, the two generals stared back impassively. They were mere spectators at the meeting, but neither man would be taken by surprise. If the king planned their deaths, he would not survive the attempt.
Arslan frowned at a sudden thought. None of them had seen the king before. If this was an impostor, the army of Yinchuan could smash the pavilion flat from the walls and lose only a few loyal men. He stared at Ho Sa to see if he was unusually tense, but the man showed no sign of expecting imminent destruction.
Rai Chiang began to speak in the language of his people. His voice was firm, as might be expected of one so used to authority. He held Genghis’s stare with his own and neither man seemed to blink. When the king had finished speaking, Ho Sa cleared his throat, his face carefully blank as he translated the king’s words.
“Why do the Uighurs ravage the land of the Xi Xia? Have we not dealt fairly with you?”
Barchuk made a sound in his throat, but the king’s gaze never left Genghis.
“I am khan of all the tribes, Majesty,” Genghis replied, “the Uighurs among them. We ride because we have the strength to rule. Why else?”
The king’s brow furrowed as he listened to Ho Sa’s translation. His reply was measured and betrayed no hint of his anger.
“Will you sit outside my city until the end of the world? It is not acceptable, lord khan. Do your people not bargain in war?”
Genghis leaned forward, his interest roused. “I will not bargain with the Chin, majesty. Your people are enemies as old as the land, and I will see your cities broken into dust. Your lands are mine and I will ride the length and breadth of them as I please.”
Genghis waited patiently as Ho Sa rendered the words for his king. All the men in the tent could see the sudden animation that sparked into Rai Chiang as he heard them. He sat up straight and his voice became clipped. Genghis tensed warily, waiting for Ho Sa to speak. Instead, it was Barchuk who took up the translation.