Книга - Conqueror

Conqueror
Conn Iggulden


No.1 bestselling author Conn Iggulden takes on the story of the mighty Kublai Khan. An epic tale of a great and heroic mind; his action-packed rule; and how in conquering one-fifth of the world’s inhabited land, he changed the course of history forever.A scholar who conquered an empire larger than those of Alexander or Caesar.A warrior who would rule a fifth of the world with strength and wisdom.A man who betrayed a brother to protect a nation.From a young scholar to one of history’s most powerful warriors, Conqueror tells the story of Kublai Khan – an extraordinary man who should be remembered alongside Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great and Napoleon Bonaparte as one of the greatest conquerors the world has ever known.It should have been a golden age, with an empire to dwarf the lands won by the mighty Genghis Khan. Instead, the vast Mongol nation is slowly losing ground, swallowed whole by their most ancient enemy. A new generation has arisen, yet the long shadow of the Great Khan still hangs over them all …Kublai dreams of an empire stretching from sea to sea. But to see it built, this scholar must first learn the art of war. He must take his nation’s warriors to the ends of the known world. And when he is weary, when he is wounded, he must face his own brothers in bloody civil war.










CONQUEROR










CONN IGGULDEN










Copyright


While some of the events and characters are based on historical incidents and figures, this novel is entirely a work of fiction.

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2011

Copyright © Conn Iggulden 2011

Conn Iggulden asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Map copyright © John Gilkes 2011

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780007271153

Ebook edition © OCTOBER 2011 ISBN: 9780007285433

Version: 2017-05-20


To Clive Room


Table of Contents

Title Page (#ub8168898-6833-5b08-9abe-1a9bbcacb7b4)

Copyright (#u7ba95cc1-c3c5-5aa8-bcca-4f6332ba68db)

Dedication (#u06b22fc4-1ea8-5acf-986b-34915b40eb52)

Maps (#u95760fd6-ddc7-5336-8f81-63bbed408c8f)

Main Characters (#u6558ebc2-ccf2-5be1-8091-fcce746d1d30)

Part One (#ud151ce58-5cd0-581f-8cb5-e2857e4363aa)

Chapter One (#uaa9d17ad-e2b6-5351-bff9-042fa142c0de)

Chapter Two (#u2342531e-5d5f-5f65-a2ef-bb19f45a9c42)

Chapter Three (#ue7c878eb-5aa4-5f1b-8562-8e292c6a5fe1)

Chapter Four (#uac43b17e-5165-5bd3-98ba-893142f89c0e)

Chapter Five (#uacd47da8-411f-57be-ad04-f0e95c65188a)

Chapter Six (#u006f25ac-0ad4-57f3-9669-9590ff1bbfa8)

Chapter Seven (#ucc2c1bf6-68b9-5d86-8a24-f7692beee942)

Chapter Eight (#u318a64a1-f00d-5399-9f85-638c83f17ae3)

Chapter Nine (#u048d87e6-31a0-56e3-aebc-79ea6bc5ac5e)

Chapter Ten (#u389429a6-40bc-57ee-b9ef-85ec22b39218)

Chapter Eleven (#uf4579f86-235f-5d9f-b9ae-fe55f0a81368)

Chapter Twelve (#uc7ec62bc-3fbb-59d0-a055-9e4b8bd2355a)

Part Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

Historical Note (#litres_trial_promo)

Glossary Of Terms (#litres_trial_promo)

Index of Characters (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Conn Iggulden (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


















Main Characters










Mongke, Kublai, Hulegu and Arik-Boke


Four of the grandsons of Genghis Khan.




Guyuk


Son of Ogedai Khan and Torogene.




Batu


Son of Jochi, grandson of Genghis. Becomes Russian lord.




Tsubodai


The great general of Genghis and Ogedai Khan.




Torogene


Guyuk’s mother, who ruled as regent on the death of Ogedai Khan.




Sorhatani


Mother to four grandsons of Genghis – Mongke, Kublai, Hulegu and Arik-Boke. Wife to Tolui, the youngest son of Genghis, who gave his life to save Ogedai Khan.




Baidur


Grandson of Genghis. Son to Chagatai, father to Alghu. Ruler of the Chagatai Khanate based around the cities Samarkand and Bukhara.





PART ONE









AD 1244




CHAPTER ONE









A storm growled over Karakorum city, the streets and avenues running in streams as the rain hammered down in the darkness. Outside the thick walls, thousands of sheep huddled together in their enclosures. The oil in their fleeces protected them from the rain, but they had not been led to pasture and hunger made them bleat and yammer to each other. At intervals, one or more of them would rear up mindlessly on its fellows, forming a hillock of kicking legs and wild eyes before falling back into the squirming mass.

The khan’s palace was lit with lamps that spat and crackled on the outer walls and gates. Inside, the sound of rain was a low roar that rose and fell in intensity, pouring as solid sheets over the cloisters. Servants gazed out into the yards and gardens, lost in the mute fascination that rain can hold. They stood in groups, reeking of wet wool and silk, their duties abandoned for a time while the storm passed.

For Guyuk, the sound of the rain merely added to his irritation, much as a man humming would have interrupted his thoughts. He poured wine carefully for his guest and stayed away from the open window where the stone sill was already dark with wetness. The man who had come at his request looked nervously around at the audience room. Guyuk supposed its size would create awe in anyone more used to the low gers of the plains. He remembered his own first nights in the silent palace, oppressed by the thought that such a weight of stone and tile would surely fall and crush him. He could chuckle now at such things, but he saw his guest’s eyes flicker up to the great ceiling more than once. Guyuk smiled. His father Ogedai had dreamed a great man’s dreams when he made Karakorum.

As Guyuk put down the stone jug of wine and returned to his guest, the thought tightened his mouth into a thin line. His father had not had to court the princes of the nation, to bribe, beg and threaten merely to be given the title that was his by right.

‘Try this, Ochir,’ Guyuk said, handing his cousin one of two cups. ‘It is smoother than airag.’

He was trying to be friendly to a man he barely knew. Yet Ochir was one of a hundred nephews and grandsons to the khan, men whose support Guyuk had to have. Ochir’s father Kachiun had been a name, a general still revered in memory.

Ochir did him the courtesy of drinking without hesitating, emptying the cup in two large swallows and belching.

‘It’s like water,’ Ochir said, but he held out the cup again.

Guyuk’s smile became strained. One of his companions rose silently and brought the jug over, refilling both their cups. Guyuk settled down on a long couch across from Ochir, trying hard to relax and be pleasant.

‘I’m sure you have an idea why I asked for you this evening, Ochir,’ he said. ‘You are from a good family, with influence. I was there at your father’s funeral in the mountains.’

Ochir leaned forward where he sat, his interest showing.

‘He would have been sorry not to see the lands you went to,’ Ochir said. ‘I did not … know him well. He had many sons. But I know he wanted to be with Tsubodai on the Great Trek west. His death was a terrible loss.’

‘Of course! He was a man of honour,’ Guyuk agreed easily. He wanted to have Ochir on his side and empty compliments hurt no one. He took a deep breath. ‘It is in part because of your father that I asked you to come to me. That branch of the families follow your lead, do they not, Ochir?’

Ochir looked away, out of the window, where the rain still drummed on the sills as if it would never stop. He was dressed in a simple deel robe over a tunic and leggings. His boots were well worn and without ornament. Even his hat was unsuited to the opulence of the palace. Stained with oil from his hair, its twin could have been found on any herdsman.

With care, Ochir placed his cup on the stone floor. His face had a strength that truly reminded Guyuk of his late father.

‘I do know what you want, Guyuk. I told your mother’s men the same thing, when they came to me with gifts. When there is a gathering, I will cast my vote with the others. Not before. I will not be rushed or made to give my promise. I have tried to make that clear to anyone who asks me.’

‘Then you will not take an oath to the khan’s own son?’ Guyuk said. His voice had roughened. Red wine flushed his cheeks and Ochir hesitated at the sign. Around him, Guyuk’s companions stirred like dogs made nervous at a threat.

‘I did not say that,’ Ochir replied carefully. He felt a growing discomfort in such company and decided then to get away as soon as he could. When Guyuk did not reply, he continued to explain.

‘Your mother has ruled well as regent. No one would deny she has kept the nation together, where another might have seen it fly into fragments.’

‘A woman should not rule the nation of Genghis,’ Guyuk replied curtly.

‘Perhaps. Though she has done so, and well. The mountains have not fallen.’ Ochir smiled at his own words. ‘I agree there must be a khan in time, but he must be one who binds the loyalties of all. There must be no struggle for power, Guyuk, such as there was between your father and his brother. The nation is too young to survive a war of princes. When there is one man clearly favoured, I will cast my vote with him.’

Guyuk almost rose from his seat, barely controlling himself. To be lectured as if he understood nothing, as if he had not spent two years waiting in frustration!

Ochir was watching him and he lowered his brows at what he saw. Once again, he stole a glance at the other men in the room. Four of them. He was unarmed, made so after a careful search at the outer door. Ochir was a serious young man and he did not feel at ease among Guyuk’s companions. There was something in the way they looked at him, as a tiger might look on a tethered goat.

Guyuk stood up slowly, stepping over to where the wine jug rested on the floor. He raised it, feeling its weight.

‘You sit in my father’s city, in his home, Ochir,’ he said. ‘I am the first-born son of Ogedai Khan. I am grandson to the great khan, yet you withhold your oath, as if we were bargaining for a good mare.’

He held out the jug, but Ochir put his hand over the cup, shaking his head. The younger man was visibly nervous at having Guyuk stand over him, but he spoke firmly, refusing to be intimidated.

‘My father served yours loyally, Guyuk. Yet there are others. Baidur in the west …’

‘Who rules his own lands and has no claim here,’ Guyuk snapped.

Ochir hesitated, then went on. ‘If you had been named in your father’s will, it would have been easier, my friend. Half the princes in the nation would have given their oath by now.’

‘It was an old will,’ Guyuk said. His voice had deepened subtly and his pupils had become large, as if he saw only darkness. He breathed faster.

‘Then there is Batu,’ Ochir added, his voice growing strained, ‘the eldest of the lines, or even Mongke, the oldest son of Tolui. There are others with a claim, Guyuk. You cannot expect …’

Guyuk raised the stone jug, his knuckles white on the heavy handle. Ochir looked up at him in sudden fear.

‘I expect loyalty!’ Guyuk shouted. He brought the jug down across Ochir’s face with huge force, snapping his head sideways. Blood poured from a line of torn flesh above Ochir’s eyes as he raised his hands to fend off further blows. Guyuk stepped onto the low couch, so that he straddled the man. He brought the jug down again. With the second blow, the stone sides cracked and Ochir cried out for help.

‘Guyuk!’ one of the companions called in horror.

They were all on their feet, but they did not dare to intervene. The two men on the couch struggled. Ochir’s hand had found Guyuk’s throat. His fingers were slippery with blood and Ochir could not keep his grip as the jug came down again and again, suddenly shattering so that Guyuk held an oval of the handle, jagged and rough. He was panting wildly, exhilarated. With his free hand, he wiped blood from his cheek.

Ochir’s face was a red mash and only one of his eyes would open. His hands came up once again, but without strength. Guyuk batted them away easily, laughing.

‘I am the khan’s son,’ Guyuk said. ‘Say you will support me. Say it.’

Ochir could not speak. His throat was closed with blood and he choked violently, his body spasming. A gargling sound came from his broken lips.

‘No?’ Guyuk said. ‘You will not give me even that? That small thing? Then I am finished with you, Ochir.’ He shoved the jagged handle down as his companions watched, appalled. The noise died away and Guyuk stood up, releasing his grip on the shards of stone. He looked down at himself in disgust, suddenly aware that he was covered in blood, from spatters in his hair to a great slick down his deel robe.

His eyes focused, coming back from afar. He saw the open mouths of his companions, three of them standing like fools. Only one was thoughtful, as if he had witnessed an argument rather than a killing. Guyuk’s gaze was drawn to him. Gansukh was a tall young warrior with a claim to being the best archer in Guyuk’s command. He spoke first, his voice and expression calm.

‘My lord, he will be missed. Let me take him away from here while it is still dark. If I leave him in an alley of the city, his family will think he was attacked by some thief.’

‘Better still they do not find him at all,’ Guyuk said. He rubbed at spots of blood on his face, but without irritation. His anger had vanished and he felt completely at peace.

‘As you say, my lord. There are new sewage pits being dug in the south quarter …’

Guyuk raised his hand to stop him.

‘I do not need to know. Make him vanish, Gansukh, and you will have my gratitude.’ He looked at the other men. ‘Well? Can Gansukh manage on his own? One of you must send my servants away. When you are asked, you will say Ochir left us earlier.’ He smiled through the smeared blood. ‘Tell them he promised me his vote in the gathering, that he gave his solemn oath. Perhaps the fool can benefit me in death as he would not in life.’

His companions began to move and Guyuk walked away from them, heading to a bathing room he could reach without crossing a main corridor. For a year or more, he had not washed without servants, but the blood was itching his skin and he wanted to be clean. The troubles that had enraged him earlier that evening seemed to have fallen away and he walked with a light step. The water would be cold, but he was a man who had bathed in freezing rivers from a young age. It tightened the skin and invigorated him, reminding him he was alive.

Guyuk stood naked in an iron bath of Chin design, with writhing dragons around the rim. He did not hear the door open as he upended a wooden bucket and poured water over his head. The cold made him gasp and shudder, his penis shrivelling. As he opened his eyes, he jumped at seeing his mother standing in the room. He glanced at the pile of clothes he had thrown down. Already the blood on them had mingled with the water, so that the wooden floor ran with red-tinged lines.

Guyuk put the bucket down carefully. Torogene was a large woman and she seemed to fill the small room.

‘If you wish to see me, mother, I will be clean and dressed in a few moments.’ He saw her gaze fall to the swirl of bloody water on the floor and he looked away, picking up the bucket and refilling it from the pink water in the bath. The palace had its own drains, specially constructed in fire-hardened tile by Chin experts. When he removed the stopper, the incriminating water would vanish under the city, mingling with the night soil and filth from the kitchens until no one would ever know. A canal ran by Karakorum and Guyuk supposed the water would empty into that, or into some pit where it could soak. He didn’t know or care about such details.

‘What have you done?’ Torogene said. Her face was pale as she stopped and picked up his tunic, sodden and twisted.

‘What I had to,’ Guyuk replied. He was still shivering and in no mood to be questioned. ‘It does not concern you. I will have the clothes burnt.’ Guyuk raised the bucket again, then tired of her scrutiny. He let it fall back and stepped out of the bath.

‘I called for fresh clothes, mother. They should have been brought to the audience room by now. Unless you are going to stand and stare at me all day, perhaps you could fetch them.’

Torogene didn’t move.

‘You are my son, Guyuk. I have worked to protect you, to gather allies for you. In a night, how much of my labour have you undone? Do you think I don’t know Ochir was invited here? That he has not been seen leaving? Are you a fool, Guyuk?’

‘You have been spying on me, then,’ Guyuk replied. He tried to stand tall and unconcerned, but the shivering grew worse.

‘It is my business to know what happens in Karakorum. To know every deal and argument, every mistake, such as the one you made tonight.’

Guyuk gave up the pretence, exasperated at her lofty tone of disapproval.

‘Ochir would never have supported me, mother. He is no loss to us. His disappearance may even be a gain, in time.’

‘You think so?’ she demanded. ‘You think you have made my work easier? Did I raise a fool, then? His families, his friends, will know he came to you unarmed and that he disappeared.’

‘They have no body, mother. They will assume …’

‘They will assume the truth, Guyuk! That you are a man who cannot be trusted. That alone among the nation, your offer of guest rights cannot make a man safe. That you are a wild dog capable of killing a man who has drunk tea with you in your own home.’

Overcome with anger, she left the room. Guyuk barely had time to consider what she had said before she was back, thrusting dry clothes at him.

‘For more than two years,’ she went on, ‘I have spent every day courting those who might support you. The traditionalists who might be approached on the grounds that you are the eldest son of the khan and you should rule the nation. I have bribed men with lands, horses, gold and slaves, Guyuk. I have threatened to reveal their secrets unless I receive their votes at a gathering. I have done all this because I honour your father and everything he built. His line should inherit, not Sorhatani’s children or Batu or any of the other princes.’

Guyuk dressed quickly, pulling the deel robe roughly over a tunic and tying a belt around his waist.

‘Do you want me to thank you?’ he said. ‘Your plans and schemes have not made me khan yet, mother. Perhaps if they had, I would not have acted on my own. Did you think I would wait for ever?’

‘I didn’t think you would kill a good man in your father’s house. You have not helped me tonight, my son. I am so close. I do not know yet what damage you have done, but if this gets out …’

‘It will not.’

‘If it does, you will have strengthened the claims of every other man in line. They will say that you have no more right to this palace, this city, than Batu.’

Guyuk clenched his fists in frustration.

‘It is always him. I hear his name every day. I wish he had been here tonight. I would have removed a stone in my path then.’

‘He would never come to you unarmed, Guyuk. Whatever you said or did to him on the trip home has made it harder for me to bring you your inheritance.’

‘I did nothing. And it is not my inheritance!’ Guyuk snapped. ‘How much easier would all this have been if my father had named me in his will. There is the source of it all! Instead, he left me to scrabble around with all the others, like a pack of dogs fighting over one piece of meat. If you had not assumed the regency, I would be out there in the gers, looking at my father’s own city in envy. Yet still you honour him. I am the khan’s first-born son, mother! Yet I must bargain and bribe to gain what is mine by right. If he was half the man you seem to think, he should have considered that before his death. He had enough time to include me in his plans.’

Torogene saw the pain in her son’s face and relented, her anger vanishing. She took him into an embrace, moving to ease his distress without thought.

‘He loved you, my son. But he was obsessed with his city. He lived with death on his shoulder for a long time. Struggling against it exhausted him. I do not doubt he wished to do more for you.’

Guyuk rested his head on her shoulder, thinking sharp and unpleasant thoughts. He needed his mother still. The nation had learned to revere her over the years of her regency.

‘I am sorry I lost my temper tonight,’ he murmured. He forced a breath like a sob and she gripped him tighter. ‘I just want it all too much. I cannot bear it, mother. Every day, I see them looking at me, wondering when we will call the gathering. I see them smiling at the thought of my defeat.’

Torogene stroked his damp hair, smoothing it with her hand.

‘Shh. You are not the same as them,’ she said. ‘You have never been an ordinary man, Guyuk. Like your father, you dream of greater things. I know it. I have sworn to make you khan and it is closer than you know. You already have Sorhatani’s son, Mongke. You were so clever to take his oath in the field. His brothers will not disobey their mother. That is the heart of our position. Then in the west Baidur has received my envoys. I am confident he will declare for you in time. Do you understand now how close we are? When Baidur and Batu name their true price, we will call the nation.’

She felt him stiffen as she mentioned the name he had grown to hate. ‘Be calm, Guyuk. Batu is just one man and he has not left the lands he was granted. In time, the princes who look to him will see he is content as a Russian lord, that he has no ambitions for Karakorum. Then they will come to ask you to lead them. I promise it, my son. No other man will be khan while I live. Only you.’

He pulled away and looked down into her face. She saw his eyes were red.

‘How much longer, mother? I cannot wait for ever.’

‘I have sent messengers to Batu’s camp, once again. I have promised him you will recognise his lands and titles, for his lifetime and the generations to come.’

Guyuk’s face twisted into a snarl.

‘I do not recognise them! My father’s will is not written in heaven! Should I leave a man like Batu to roam free on my borders? To eat rich foods and ride white mares in peace? Should I leave his Golden Horde warriors to grow fat and make children of their own while I fight wars without them? No, mother. Either he is under my hand, or I will see him destroyed.’

Torogene slapped him across the face. The blow was heavy and it rocked his head to one side. As a bloom of red grew on his cheek, he looked at her in stunned shock.

‘This is why I told you not to court the princes on your own, Guyuk. I told you to trust me. Listen. And hear with your heart and head, not just your ears. Once you are khan, you will have all the power, all the armies. Your word will be law. On that day, the promises I have made for you will be dust, if you choose to ignore them. Do you understand now?’ Though they were alone, her hissing voice fell so she could not be overheard. ‘I would promise Batu immortality if I thought it would bring him to a gathering. For two years, he has sent excuses to Karakorum. He dares not refuse me outright, but he sends me tales of injuries or sickness, saying he cannot travel. All the time, he watches to see what will come out of the white city. He is a clever man, Guyuk, never forget it. Sorhatani’s sons do not have half his ambition.’

‘You are bargaining with a snake, then, mother. Be careful he does not bite you.’

Torogene smiled. ‘There is a price for all things, my son, for all men. I have merely to find his.’

‘I could have advised you,’ Guyuk said peevishly. ‘I know Batu well. You were not there when we rode into the west.’

Torogene tutted under her breath. ‘You do not need to know everything, Guyuk, only that if Batu agrees, he will come to a gathering in the summer. If he accepts the offer, we will have enough of the princes behind us to make you khan. Do you see now why you should not have acted on your own? Do you see what you put in danger? What is the life of one family head compared to this?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Guyuk replied, lowering his head. ‘You have not kept me informed and I was angry. You should have included me in your plans. Now that I know more, I can help you.’

Torogene regarded her son, with all his weaknesses and flaws. Still, she loved him more than the city around them, more than her own life.

‘Have faith in your mother,’ she said. ‘You will be khan. Promise me there will be no more bloodstained clothing to burn. No more mistakes.’

‘I promise,’ Guyuk replied, his mind already on the changes he would make when he was khan. His mother knew him too well for him to be comfortable around her. He would find her some small house far from the city to live out her last days. He smiled at the thought and she took heart from it, seeing again the young boy he had once been.




CHAPTER TWO









Batu whistled as he trotted across a green field towards the small ger in the crook of hills. As he rode, he kept his eyes moving, looking for watchers or scouts. He had not announced his visit to the homeland of the Mongol people and he could name a few who would have been very interested in his presence there. Sorhatani had inherited the birthplace of Genghis Khan from her husband years before. She had brought tumans back to the open plains, tens of thousands of families who wanted nothing more than to live as they always had, in the shadow of mountains, on the open land.

There was nothing to excite suspicion around Tsubodai’s ger. The old man had retired without any of the trappings of power, rejecting all the honours Torogene had tried to press on him. Batu was pleased just to find him, though the retired orlok did not move around as much as some. He had brought no great herd that had to find new grass every few months. As Batu drew closer, he could see just a few dozen sheep and goats, untethered and untroubled as they cropped the grass. Tsubodai had chosen a good spot by a stream bed, on what looked like an ancient flood plain, made smooth and flat by the passage of millennia. The sun was shining and Batu found himself admiring the man yet again. Tsubodai had commanded the greatest army of the nation, more than a hundred thousand warriors who had fought their way to the northern hills of Italy. If the khan had not died and brought them home, Batu thought they would have made an empire from sea to sea. He grimaced at the memories, ashamed that he had enjoyed the old man’s failure once. That was when Batu had thought his generation could put aside the petty politics and bickering that marred the world he knew.

Batu kept up his slow approach, knowing it would not be a good idea to surprise Tsubodai. They were not exactly friends, though his respect had only grown in the years since the Great Trek. Even so, Batu needed the advice of one who was no longer part of games of power, one whose word he could trust.

Still at a distance, Batu heard a dog barking. His heart sank as an enormous black hound came out from behind the ger and paused, raising its head. Batu yelled ‘Nokhoi Khor!’ for someone to hold the beast, but there was no sign of Tsubodai or his wife. The dog sniffed the air, turning its head back and forth. It was looking at him over the field, then it growled and broke into a run, skimming through the grass. Its face flopped as it charged, so that he could see white teeth and eyes. As it approached, his hand dropped to his bow, but he did not take it up. His chances of a friendly welcome would dwindle somewhat if he shot Tsubodai’s dog.

His pony skittered to one side and Batu shouted madly at the hound, trying different words of command. The enormous animal kept coming and he was forced to dig his heels in and canter around in a great circle, with the dog following him. He could see white froth on its mouth as it gnashed and howled at him, no longer silent as it saw him escaping.

Out of the corner of his eye, Batu saw a woman come out of the ger. She seemed amused at his predicament and bent double as she laughed. All he could do was ride in circles, avoiding the snapping jaws.

‘Nokhoi Khor!’ he called again to her and she stood up, looking at him with her head cocked to one side. After a while she shrugged and put her hand to her mouth to whistle two sharp blasts. The dog dropped to the grass at the sound, his dark eyes still focused on the horseman who had dared to enter his territory.

‘Stay,’ Batu said to the animal, giving it a wide berth. He had never seen a dog the size of that one and he wondered where Tsubodai had found it. It watched him all the way in and Batu was very aware of it as he dismounted slowly, with no sudden movements.

‘I am looking for Orlok Tsubodai,’ Batu said.

He could hear a low growl at his back and it was hard not to glance over his shoulder. A smile twitched at the woman’s mouth as she regarded him.

‘Perhaps he doesn’t want to see you, nameless one,’ she replied cheerfully.

Batu flushed. ‘He knows me well. I was with him in the west. My name is Batu, son to Jochi.’

A shadow passed over her face at that name, as if she had heard it many times. She looked deeply into his eyes, searching for something.

‘I wouldn’t touch a weapon if I were you. The dog will rip your throat out.’

‘I’m not here for revenge,’ Batu said. ‘I made my peace a long time ago.’

‘I’m glad one of you has,’ she said.

Her eyes flickered behind him and Batu turned, convinced the hound was creeping up on him. Instead, he saw Tsubodai leading a horse on foot, coming out of a straggling stand of trees not far away. Batu was surprised by the feeling of relief that swept over him. Once, he had hated the man, but then in those days he had hated many. In time, he had learned to respect him. Batu did not examine his own feelings in too much detail, but in many ways he thought of Tsubodai as a father. It was not something he had ever said. Simply to see Tsubodai alive and apparently well was a ray of light in his current mood. Nothing seemed as hard if you had Tsubodai on your side. If that was true, of course. Batu was still not at all certain how he would be received.

Those thoughts passed quickly through his mind as Tsubodai came closer. The old man whistled to his dog and Batu watched as the savage animal rose and ran to him, suddenly puppyish in its enthusiasm, so that it wagged its entire body rather than just its stump of a tail. Tsubodai walked with one hand loosely wrapped in a rein and the other reaching out to ruffle the dog’s great head. He was not smiling as he looked from Batu to his wife.

‘Have you offered him tea?’

‘Not yet,’ his wife said. ‘I thought I’d leave it up to you.’

‘Good. Be on your way then, Batu. I have nothing to say to you.’

Batu waited, but as far as Tsubodai was concerned, the conversation was clearly at an end. Tsubodai walked past him, clicking his tongue to keep the dog close.

‘I came a very long way to see you, orlok,’ Batu said.

‘I’ve left titles like that behind me,’ Tsubodai shot over his shoulder. ‘I am retired.’

‘I’m not here to ask you to lead, old man, just to ask for your advice.’

Tsubodai paused in the action of ducking down through his ger door. ‘Goodbye,’ he said without looking up.

Batu watched in frustration as Tsubodai vanished into the gloomy interior, taking his dog with him. Batu turned helplessly to face Tsubodai’s wife, still standing there with the same wry smile. Her child-bearing years were surely behind her, but she looked vaguely maternal as her gaze swept over the disappointed young man.

‘I don’t like to see a visitor turned away with nothing,’ she said. ‘Will you take salt tea?’

Batu heard a grunt of irritation from inside the ger. The walls were thin enough for Tsubodai to hear every word.

‘It would be an honour,’ Batu replied.

He was still there as the evening came in. Tsubodai didn’t seem too troubled by his presence. The old man had contented himself with a silent glare, repairing a bow while Batu sat making polite conversation for some hours. He had learned the name of Tsubodai’s wife, at least. Ariuna was a pleasant woman and once she had relaxed, she was fascinated by the news he brought. Even Tsubodai snorted when Batu talked of the lands he had been given in Ogedai’s will. At a stroke of an ink brush, Ogedai had awarded him a vast fiefdom in Russia. Knowing Tsubodai was listening closely, Batu told Ariuna that part of it had once been his father’s, after leaving Genghis behind him. He had felt Tsubodai’s gaze on him then, knowing the old man’s memories would still be sharp. Batu had not looked up and, after a time, Tsubodai went back to his pots of boiling water, horn and glue.

As the sun set, Tsubodai rose, stretching his back with a groan.

‘I have to check the animals,’ he said to his wife.

Batu looked at his feet, and it was not until Ariuna said ‘Go after him, then!’ that he stood up with a grin and went out. Women were sometimes vital when it came to men talking.

He found Tsubodai with the dog, which turned and bared its teeth at him until Tsubodai checked it with a word. Together, he and Batu tested the ties holding a small corral together, before going on to feel the womb of a goat very close to giving birth. The silence between them was comfortable, much better than when he had sat in Tsubodai’s home as an unwanted guest. Outside, the old man seemed to relax a little and he gestured for Batu to examine the goat. Batu nodded as he pressed his fingers around the unborn shape.

‘Not long now,’ was his verdict. ‘She seems happy enough.’

‘She is,’ Tsubodai said, straightening up. ‘And so am I. Life is hard, Batu, but it can at least be simple. It is simple here.’

Age had made him thinner than Batu remembered, but there was still a presence to him. No one would ever mistake Tsubodai for a herder, no matter where they found him. His eyes had seen empires rise and fall. They had seen Genghis as a young man.

Batu did not reply. After a time, Tsubodai sighed and rested his hands on the wooden bar of the corral.

‘So tell me what has brought you so many miles. I warn you, I know nothing of the politics in Karakorum. I have no net of spies any longer, if that’s what you’re hoping.’

‘It’s not. I just want the advice of someone I can trust.’

As Ariuna had earlier, Tsubodai searched his eyes with his own and subsided, tension drifting out of him.

‘Ask, boy. I don’t know if you will like my answer.’

Batu took a deep breath.

‘You know Guyuk as well as anyone.’ Tsubodai said nothing, so he went on. ‘Did you know the new khan has not yet been chosen?’

The old man nodded. ‘I’m not in a desert. I heard that much, at least.’

‘It has to be Guyuk, or Mongke, or Baidur … or me. We are the only four in reach, and Mongke pledged his word years ago, when he heard Ogedai had died. He will support Guyuk.’

Tsubodai scratched the side of his jaw. ‘It’s done, then. Throw in with Mongke and Guyuk. Baidur will follow along, once he knows you are together. Guyuk will be khan and I will be left alone.’

‘Is that what you would do?’ Batu asked seriously.

Tsubodai laughed, an unpleasant, bitter sound.

‘Me? No. But I am not you and all my choices have already been made, good and bad.’

‘Then why would you have me support him? In my place, what would you do?’

Tsubodai didn’t answer immediately. He stared out over the darkening fields, his gaze roaming over the stream and the distant hills. Batu waited.

‘I am not in your place,’ Tsubodai said at last. ‘I do not know what drives you. If you want to get the best bargain, then hold on as long as you can and judge the moment when his gifts are likely to become threats. Secure your own lands and perhaps you will survive long enough to enjoy them.’

‘And what if I care nothing for the best bargain?’ Batu said, offended. ‘What if I think Guyuk should not lead the nation?’

‘Then I cannot help you. If you stand in his way, you will be destroyed, without a doubt.’ The old man seemed on the verge of saying something else, but he shut his mouth firmly.

‘What is it? You speak in riddles, old man. You tell me you would not follow him, but that I will be destroyed if I don’t. What sort of a choice is that?’

‘A simple one,’ Tsubodai said with a smile. He turned to Batu properly for the first time. ‘You have not come to me for answers. You know everything you need to know. Are you troubled by those who share Guyuk’s bed? Is it that? Do his companions fill you with anger, or is it envy?’ Tsubodai laughed.

‘He could take dead goats to his bed, for all I care,’ Batu said with an expression of distaste. ‘What matters is that he is a small man, a man without dreams of any kind. He has only cunning, where the nation needs intelligence. You cannot tell me he would make a good khan.’

‘He would be a terrible khan,’ Tsubodai replied. ‘Under Guyuk, we will see the nation wither away, or broken apart. But if you will not stand against him, who will? Anyway, it is too late. You are already on your way to a gathering. You will give your oath to Guyuk and he will be khan.’

Batu blinked in surprise. His warriors waited for him in a valley more than a day’s ride away. Tsubodai could not have known, unless he was lying about having no sources of information any longer. Perhaps there were a few old men who still came to share tea and news with the orlok after all.

‘You know a few things, for a man who claims to be nothing more than a simple herder.’

‘People talk. Like you. Always talking, as if there is nothing better to do. Did you want me to say that you are making the right choice? Perhaps you are. Now leave me in peace.’

Batu stifled his irritation.

‘I came to ask you what Genghis would have done. You knew him.’

Tsubodai grinned at that, showing his teeth. Two were missing at the side of his mouth, so that his cheek was sunken there. It was easy to see the shape of his skull, the skin stretched over the bone.

‘Your grandfather was a man without compromise. Do you understand what that means? There are many who say “I believe this”, but would they hold true to those beliefs if their children were threatened? No. But Genghis would. If you told him you would kill his children, he would tell you to go ahead, but realise that the cost would be infinite, that he would tear down cities and nations and the price would never be paid. He did not lie and his enemies knew it. His word was iron. So you tell me if he would support a man like Guyuk as khan.’

‘No,’ Batu muttered.

‘Not in a thousand years, boy. Guyuk is a follower, not a leader. There was a time when even you had him trotting around in your wake. That is not a weakness in a carpenter or a man who makes tiles for a roof. The world cannot be full of lead dogs, or the pack would pull itself apart.’ He rubbed his dog behind the ears and the animal grunted and slobbered at him. ‘Wouldn’t it, Temujin?’ he said to the hound. ‘They can’t all be like you, can they?’ The dog settled onto its stomach with a grunt, its front legs outstretched.

‘You named your dog after Genghis?’ Batu asked in disbelief.

Tsubodai chuckled ‘Why not? It pleased me to do so.’ The old man looked up again. ‘A man like Guyuk cannot change. He cannot simply decide one day that he will lead and be good at it. It is not in his nature.’

Batu rested his hands on the wooden spar. The sun had begun to set while they talked, shadows thickening and merging all around them.

‘But if I resist him, I will be destroyed,’ he said softly.

Tsubodai shrugged in the darkness. ‘Perhaps. Nothing is certain. It did not stop your father taking his men out of the nation. There was no middle path with him. He was another in the same mould.’

Batu glanced at the old man, but he could barely see his features in the gloom.

‘That did not work out too well.’

‘You are too young to understand,’ Tsubodai replied.

‘Try,’ Batu said. He could feel the old man’s gaze on him.

‘People are always afraid, boy. Perhaps you must live a long time just to see it. I sometimes think I’ve lived too long. We will all die. My wife will die. I will, you, Guyuk, everyone you have ever met. Others will walk over our graves and never know we laughed or loved, or hated each other. Do you think they will care if we did? No, they will have their own blind, short lives to live.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Batu said in frustration.

‘No, because you’re too young,’ Tsubodai said with a shrug. Batu heard the old man sigh to himself. ‘There’s a good chance there are bones in this valley, men and women who once thought they were important. Do we think of them? Do we share their fears and dreams? Of course not. They are nothing to the living and we don’t even know their names. I used to think I would like to be remembered, to have people say my name in a thousand years, but I won’t care if they do, because I’ll be dust and spirit. Maybe just dust, but I’m still hoping for spirit as well. When you’re older, you will realise the only thing that matters, the only thing, is that you had courage and honour. Lose those things and you won’t die any quicker, but you’ll be less than the dirt on our boots. You’ll still be dust, but you’ll have wasted your short time in the light. Your father failed, yes, but he was strong and he tried to do right by his people. He didn’t waste his life. That’s all you can ask.’ The effort of speaking seemed to have tired the old man. He cleared his throat and spat carelessly on the ground. ‘You don’t get long in the world. These mountains will still be here after me, or you.’

Batu was silent for a long time before he spoke again.

‘I never knew him, my father. I never even met him.’

‘I am sorry I ever did,’ Tsubodai replied. ‘That’s how I understand about honour, boy. It’s only when you lose it that you realise how valuable it is, but it’s too late then.’

‘You are a man of honour, if I understand anything at all.’

‘I was once, perhaps, but I should have refused that order from your grandfather. To kill his own son? It was madness, but I was young and I was in awe of him. I should have ridden away and never sought out Jochi in the Russian plains. You wouldn’t understand. Have you killed a man?’

‘You know I have!’

‘Not in battle; up close, slow, where you can look into his eyes.’

Batu nodded slowly. Tsubodai grunted, barely able to see the movement.

‘Were you right to do it? To take all the years he would live?’

‘I thought so at the time,’ Batu replied uncomfortably.

‘You’re still too young. I thought once that I could make my mistake a good thing. That my guilt could be the force that made me better than other men. I thought in my strong years that I would learn from it, but no matter what I did, it was always there. I could not take it back, Batu. I could not undo my sin. Do you know that word? The Christians talk of a black stain on the soul. It is fitting.’

‘They also say you can remove it by confessing.’

‘No, that’s not true. What sort of a man would I be if I could just wipe out my errors with talking? A man has to live with his mistakes and go on. That is his punishment, perhaps.’ He chuckled then, recalling an old memory. ‘You know, your grandfather just forgot his bad days, as if they had never happened. I used to envy him for that. I still do, sometimes.’ He saw Batu looking at him and sighed. ‘Just keep your word, boy, that’s all I have for you.’

Tsubodai shivered as a breeze rushed past them.

‘If that’s you, Genghis, I’m not interested,’ he muttered, so low that Batu could barely hear the words. ‘The boy can look after himself.’

The old man pulled his old deel robe closer around him. ‘It’s too late now to ride back to your men,’ Tsubodai said a little louder. ‘You have guest rights here and I’ll send you on your way in the morning after breakfast. Coming?’

He didn’t wait for Batu to answer. The moon was showing over the horizon and Batu watched the old man walk back to the ger. He was pleased he had come and he thought he knew what he had to do.

The yam station was a surprising building to see in the middle of nowhere. Three hundred miles north of Karakorum, it had a single purpose: to work as a link in messenger chains that stretched as far as the lands of the Chin, west into Russia and as far south as Kabul. Supplies and equipment came along the same route, on slower carts, so that it could thrive. Where there was once a single ger with a few spare mounts, there was now a building of grey stone, roofed in red tile. Gers still surrounded it, presumably for the families of the riders and the few maimed soldiers who had retired there. Batu wondered idly if one day it would become a village in the wilderness. Yam riders could not move with the seasons as their ancestors had.

He had avoided the way stations on his journey from his new lands. Just the sight of his tuman would have sent a rider galloping down the line. No one travelled faster than the yam riders over rough ground and news of his movements would have been in Karakorum days ahead of him. Even for this message, he had left his warriors in a forest of pine and birch, too far away to be discovered. He had ridden ahead with just two of his scouts until they came to a ridge where he could tether his horse and send them on without him.

Batu lay on his stomach in the sunshine, watching their progress towards the yam station. There was smoke coming from its chimney and in the distance he could see the tiny figures of horses cropping at the grass. When he saw his scouts enter the building, he turned over on his back and stared up at the blue sky.

There had been a time when he wanted to be khan. If he had been offered it in those days, he would have grasped the thorn without hesitating. Life had been simpler then, riding west with Tsubodai. The death of Ogedai had done more than halt the Great Trek into the western nations. The khan had gone out of his way to raise Batu from poverty, forcing him through promotions until he gave orders to ten thousand picked men. It should not have been a surprise that Ogedai had included him in his will, but it had been. Batu had not expected anything. When he had ridden to his new lands, he had found traces of a Mongol camp, with gers falling in on themselves and rough wooden buildings. He had searched them all, and in one he came across a rotting saddle stamped with the mark of his father’s tuman. Ogedai had given him the lands his father had chosen when he ran from Genghis. Batu had held the saddle then and wept for a man he had never known. He knew something had changed in him from that point. As he looked up into the perfect blue, he searched himself for the itch of desire, of ambition, but there was nothing. He would not be khan. His only purpose was to be sure the best of them took command of the nation. He worked his hand into the earth he lay on and tore out a handful of grass and dirt. In the peace of a warm day, he crumbled it into dust and let the breeze carry it away.

Above him, a distant hawk wheeled and then hovered, perhaps interested in the man who lay supine on the grass of the plains. Batu raised a hand to it, knowing the bird could see every detail even from such a height.

The sun had moved in the sky by the time his scouts returned. Well trained, they gave no sign that they saw him as they reached the ridge, not until they were out of sight of anyone watching from the yam station. They walked their ponies past him and Batu followed, checking behind occasionally. He did not need to ask them if the message had gone. The yam stations were famous for their efficiency. A rider would already be galloping towards the next one, some twenty-five miles towards Karakorum. Torogene would hold his sealed letter in her hands in just three days.

Batu was thoughtful as he trotted across the rich green grass. He knew Guyuk would lose face when the gathering fell apart. Batu’s other message would reach Baidur around the same time and if he acted on the promise of support, many things would change. Baidur would be a better khan than Guyuk, Batu was certain. For an instant, Batu felt a whisper of the old voice, telling him that he would also be a good khan, the first-born of Genghis’ first-born. It would be fitting, as if the nation had been wrenched back on the right path after too long. He shook his head, crushing the voice in him. His father had wanted to find his own path, far from khans and herds. Speaking to Tsubodai had given Batu a sense of vast reaches of time, a glimpse of decades, even centuries, through the old man’s eyes. He struggled to hold on to it.

Batu tried to think of all the possible futures, then gave it up. No man could plan for everything. He wondered if his pony rode over the bones of long-dead men and shivered slightly at the thought, despite the warmth of the sun.




CHAPTER THREE









Karakorum had not seen such a gathering for many years. As far as the eye could see, the land was covered in gers and horses, the families of the nation come to see the oath-taking for the new khan. Baidur had brought two tumans of warriors from the west, twenty thousand men who made a camp by the Orkhon river and kept their boundaries secure. The camp of Sorhatani’s four sons was close by, with another thirty thousand families. The green plains were hidden by them, and gers perched high into the hills as latecomers searched for good ground.

There was no quiet to be had in such a host. Great herds of bleating sheep, goats, camels and yaks drifted around the city, moving out each morning to open land where they could graze and drink their fill. The river banks had been churned into brown mud over the previous weeks and the routines established. Already there had been fights and even murders. It was impossible to gather so many in one place and not have someone draw his sword. Still, the days passed in relative peace and they waited patiently, understanding that the world was large. Some of the nation’s senior men were coming home from as far as Koryo, east of the Chin territory. Others had ridden from new settlements in Persia, drawn by the summons from Karakorum. First to last, the quiriltai would take almost three months to form. Until the day of the oath-taking, the nation was content to live on the food that flowed out of the city to feed them.

Torogene could hardly remember when she had last slept. She had stolen a few hours the day before, or perhaps the one before that. Her thoughts were slow and her body ached in all its joints. She knew she would have to sleep soon or become useless. At times, she thought only her excitement kept her going. Years of work had gone into the gathering and yet there were still a thousand things to do. Simply feeding the nation from the vast stores took an army of servants. Grain and dried meat were allocated to each prince or family leader, more than four hundred of them.

She wiped a hand across her brow, looking fondly at Guyuk as he stared out of the open window. The walls of the city were higher than they had once been, but he could see the sea of gers stretching away into the blurred distance.

‘There are so many,’ he murmured to himself.

Torogene nodded. ‘We wait for just a few now. Chulgetei has yet to arrive, though I think he had the furthest to travel. Batu cannot be far off. Perhaps a dozen smaller names are still making their way here, my son. I have scouts out to urge them on.’

‘There were times when I thought it was never going to happen,’ he said. ‘I should not have doubted you.’

Torogene smiled, affection and indulgence lighting her face.

‘Well, you learned a little patience. It’s a good quality for a khan.’ Torogene felt a wave of dizziness and realised she had not eaten that day. She sent servants running to find something to break her fast.

‘Baidur is the key,’ Guyuk said. ‘I am sure it was his presence that changed Batu’s mind for him. Will you tell me now what you promised my dear cousins?’

Torogene thought for a moment, but then she nodded.

‘When you are khan, you will have to know it all,’ she said. ‘I offered Baidur ten thousand bars of silver.’

Guyuk turned to her, his eyes wide. Such a sum represented the entire output of all the mines they knew about, possibly for years.

‘Did you leave me with anything?’ he demanded.

Torogene shrugged. ‘What does it matter? The silver will continue to come out of the earth. It does no good sitting in locked rooms beneath the palace.’

‘But ten thousand bars! I did not know there was so much in the world.’

‘Be polite when he gives you his oath then, Guyuk,’ she replied with a tired smile. ‘He is a richer man than you are.’

‘And Batu? If the treasure rooms are empty, what did he want to buy his precious oath?’

Torogene saw the sneer on her son’s face and she frowned.

‘You will have to have dignity when you meet him as well. Let him see nothing in your eyes, my son. A khan does not show small men they mean anything to him.’

She sighed as he continued to stare at her, waiting.

‘We exchanged letters by yam riders. He could not refuse when I told him Baidur had pledged to give his oath to you. I did not have to offer him anything, I think. I did so only to save his pride.’

‘He has too much pride, but it does not matter. I will see him broken in front of all the nation.’

Torogene raised her eyes to the ceiling, suddenly frustrated. How many times would she have to explain to her son before he began to understand?

‘If you do that, you will have a subject and an enemy.’ She reached out and took him by the shoulder as he began to turn away. ‘You must understand this, unless you think I ruled Karakorum by good luck alone. When you are khan, you must court the men of power. If you break one but leave him alive, he will hate you to the end of his days. If you steal his pride from him, he will not miss a chance to take revenge when he can.’

‘Genghis cared nothing for this sort of politics,’ Guyuk replied.

‘Your father did. He understood far better than Genghis how to rule a nation. Genghis could only win an empire. He could never have been the safe hand it needed once it was formed. I have been that hand, Guyuk. Do not dismiss so easily what I tell you.’

Her son looked at her in surprise. Torogene had ruled the nation for more than five years, ever since the death of his father. For two of those, she had been almost on her own with Sorhatani, the army in distant lands. He had not given much thought to her struggle.

‘I am listening,’ he said. ‘I assume you promised again that I would respect the territory Batu was given, or was it to offer him the position of orlok in the army?’

‘I offered both, but he refused the second. I knew then that he would not be khan. He does not burn with ambition, my son, which is why he is no threat to us. I do not know whether it is from weakness or cowardice, but it does not matter. When you have his oath, you can send him back with costly gifts. We will not hear from him again.’

‘He is the only one I fear,’ Guyuk said, almost to himself. It was a moment of rare honesty and his mother gripped his shoulder.

‘He is the direct line of Genghis, first-born to first-born. You are right to fear him, but no longer, do you understand? When the last of them come in, you will summon the princes and generals to your tent on the plain, Batu among them. You will take their oath and for the following week you will visit each camp and let them all kneel to you. There are half a million people who will see you then. Too many to bring into the city. That is what I have given you, my son. That is what you have earned with your patience.’

Sorhatani let herself down carefully from the saddle behind her eldest son. Mongke stretched down his arm to help her and she smiled up at him. It was good to see Karakorum again. Her home in the Altai mountains was far from the seat of power, but that did not mean she had not followed every twist and turn as Torogene and Guyuk bargained for power. When she looked at Mongke, she could wish he had not given his oath so early, but that river had run its course. Her eldest son had seen his father Tolui keep his word, even at the point of death. Mongke could not be an oath-breaker after that; it was not in him. She watched as he dismounted with dignity, seeing again the traditional Mongol warrior in everything he did. Mongke looked the part, with his wide face and heavy shoulders. He dressed in simple armour and he was already known as a man who had no patience for Chin things. There would be no rich foods in the gers that night, Sorhatani thought ruefully. Her son made a fetish of simplicity, seeing a nobility in it that she could not understand. The irony was that there were many in the nation who would have followed such a son, especially the older generals. Some of them whispered that Guyuk was not a man amongst men, that he acted the woman in his father’s palace. Still more spoke with distaste of the way Guyuk continued his father’s practice of surrounding himself with perfumed Chin scholars and their incomprehensible scribblings. If Mongke had lifted a hand, he could have had half the nation under his banners before Guyuk even knew he was threatened. Yet her son’s word was iron and his oath had been given years before. He would not even discuss the issue with his mother any longer.

Sorhatani turned at a joyous shout and held out her arms as her other sons came riding towards her. Kublai reached her first and she laughed as he jumped down from his pony and embraced her, swinging her round. It was strange to see her boys as grown men, though Hulegu and Arik-Boke were still young warriors.

She caught a delicate scent of apples from Kublai as he put her down and stood back to let her hug his brothers. It was yet another sign of Chin influence on him and the contrast with Mongke could not have been greater. Kublai was taller and wiry of build, though his shoulders had broadened over the previous few months. He wore his hair in the Chin style, with a long queue down his back and the rest scraped tight to his scalp. It flicked back and forth as he moved, like the tail of an angry cat. He wore a simple deel robe at least, but no one looking at Kublai and Mongke would pair them as brothers.

Sorhatani stood back, pride swelling in her at the sight of the four young men, each beloved in different ways. She saw how Kublai nodded to Mongke and that her eldest barely acknowledged the gesture. Mongke did not approve of Kublai’s manners, though that was probably true for all brothers close in age. In turn, Kublai resented Mongke’s assumption that, as eldest, he had authority over the other three. She sighed to herself, her good mood evaporating in the sun.

‘There is a ger ready for you, mother,’ Mongke said, raising an arm to guide her to it.

Sorhatani grinned at him. ‘Later, Mongke. I’ve come a long way to see this oath-taking, but I’m not tired yet. Tell me how things are in the camps.’

Mongke paused before speaking, weighing his words. As he did so, Kublai replied.

‘Baidur is here, all stiffness and careful formality. The gossip is that he will give his oath to Guyuk. Most of the princes are close-mouthed about their intentions, but the feeling is that Guyuk and Torogene have done enough. When Batu and the others get here, I think we will have a new khan.’

Mongke glared at his brother for speaking first, but Kublai seemed oblivious.

‘And you, Kublai,’ his mother said. ‘You will give your oath to him?’

Kublai pursed his mouth in distaste.

‘As you have ordered, mother. Not because I feel it is right, but because I do not wish to stand alone against him. I will follow your wishes.’

‘You must,’ Sorhatani said shortly, all lightness gone from her tone. ‘A khan will not forget those who stood with him – or against him. He has your brother. If Batu and Baidur kneel to him, I will give my own oath as well, for your father’s lands. You must not be a lone voice. That would be … dangerous. If what you say is true, I suspect there will be no serious challenger. The nation will unite in its choice.’

‘What a shame Mongke swore to follow him on the Great Trek,’ Kublai said, glancing at his brother. ‘That was the first stone of a landslide.’ He saw Mongke was glowering at him. ‘Come, brother. You can’t be pleased with your man! You jumped early, as soon as you heard the old khan was dead. We all understand it. Be honest, though: is he the one you would choose, if you were free?’

‘He is the khan’s son,’ Mongke said. He looked away stiffly, as if the matter was finished.

‘A khan who did not even name his son as heir in his will,’ Kublai said instantly. ‘That says a great deal, don’t you think? I swear, Mongke, you are the one who brought us all here today. You gave your oath rashly, before any of us knew anything. Guyuk began this race a step ahead because of you. I hope you are satisfied. However Guyuk acts as khan, it will be your responsibility.’

Mongke struggled with his dignity, trying to decide if it was beneath him to argue the point. As always, Kublai could needle him into it.

‘Perhaps if you had ever commanded in battle, little brother, you would know the importance of authority and rank. Guyuk is Ogedai’s first-born son. He is the heir to the khanate. I do not need one of your Chin documents to tell me that.’

It was a sore point between them and Mongke could not resist the barbs. While he had fought alongside Tsubodai, Batu, Guyuk and the rest, Kublai had been learning diplomacy and languages in the city. They were very different men and Mongke scorned the skills of his brother.

‘And was his father also the first-born, that important position?’ Kublai responded. ‘No, Mongke, he was third in line. You will give an oath for something the rest of us do not even recognise. Why, because you are first-born in this family? Do you think that makes you a father to the rest of us?’

Mongke flushed. ‘If I must be, yes. You were not there when our father gave his life.’

They were facing each other by then, both growing in anger.

‘And did our father tell you to lead our little family, Mongke? Did he say to you: “Take your brothers in hand, my son”? You have not mentioned this before.’

‘He gave his other wives to me,’ Mongke replied stiffly. ‘I think it is clear …’

‘It is not clear, you fool,’ Kublai snapped. ‘Nothing is as simple as you are.’

Mongke might have struck him then. His hand twitched to the sword at his waist and Kublai tensed, his eyes bright with challenge. They had fought a thousand times as boys, but the years had changed both of them. If it came to blows yet again, there was a chance it would mean more than bruises.

‘Stop it, now,’ Sorhatani said. ‘Would you brawl in front of the eyes of the nation? You would shame your father, your name? Stand back! Both of you.’

There was a moment of stillness, then Mongke leapt in, raising his right arm to knock Kublai down. Kublai measured his distance and kicked his brother in the groin as hard as he could. There was no armour there and Mongke collapsed without a sound, hitting the ground hard. It had been a solid hit and silence fell around them. As Sorhatani turned to him in fury, Kublai’s eyes widened. Mongke grunted and began to rise. The pain must have been extraordinary, but his brother’s rage was roaring through him. His legs twitched in agony as he lurched to his feet. Kublai swallowed nervously as Mongke staggered a step towards him, his hand dropping to his sword hilt.

Sorhatani stepped between them, placing her bare hands on Mongke’s armoured chest. For an instant, he almost shoved her aside. His large left hand rose to her collar and gathered the cloth, but he could not fling her away from him even in his pain. Panting, Mongke glared over her head at Kublai, his eyes bloodshot and watering.

‘I said stop,’ Sorhatani said softly. ‘Will you knock me down to get at your brother? Do you not listen to your mother any longer?’

Mongke’s eyes began to clear and he looked down at her and then back at Kublai, who stood ready to be attacked. Mongke’s mouth curled in disdain as he recognised the Chin fighting stance taught to the boys by the khan’s old chancellor. His hand fell from her collar as Sorhatani put her hand to his cheek, demanding his attention.

‘You will not fight, Mongke. You are all my sons. What sort of an example will this set to Hulegu and Arik-Boke? See how they watch you now.’

Mongke’s hard gaze slid over to his brothers, standing with their mouths open. He grunted again and stood back, mastering himself.

‘Guyuk will be khan,’ Mongke said. His voice was hoarse, but it carried. ‘His father ruled well and his mother has kept the nation together. No one else can say the same. You are the fool, Kublai, at least if you think someone else should rule.’

Kublai chose not to reply. His brother was like a mad bull in his strength. He did not want to set him off again. Instead, he shrugged and walked away. As soon as he had gone, Mongke slumped, almost falling. He tried to stand straight, but the pain spread in waves from his groin into his stomach, making him want to vomit. Only the presence of his mother stopped him cupping himself like a child.

‘Sometimes I despair,’ Sorhatani said sadly. ‘Do you think I will live for ever? There will be a time when your brothers are all you have left, Mongke. They will be the only men you can trust without reservation.’

‘He acts and dresses like a Chin whore,’ Mongke spat. ‘How can I trust a man like that?’

‘Kublai is your brother, your own blood. Your father is in him, Mongke, just as he is in you.’

‘He goads me whenever he can. I am not a fool, mother, just because I do not know the twenty-seven steps of his pointless Chin rituals.’

‘Of course you’re not a fool! You know each other well enough to hurt deeply when you are angry, that is all. You and he will eat together tonight and share a cup of airag. For your mother, you will be friends again.’

Mongke winced, but he did not reply, so she went on.

‘Because it hurts me to think of my sons so angry with each other. I will think I have failed as a mother. Make it up with him, Mongke, if you care about me at all.’

‘Of course I do,’ he replied. He knew very well that she was manipulating him, but he gave way even so. ‘All right, but you can tell him …’

‘No threats or bluster, Mongke. If you love me, you will make peace with him. In a few days or weeks, you will have the khan you want. Kublai can only bow to that necessity. Be dignified in your victory.’

Mongke’s expression eased as he thought it through. He could be magnanimous.

‘He blames me for Guyuk’s rise,’ he muttered.

‘And other men will honour you. When Guyuk is khan, no doubt he will reward you as the first to come to his banners. Think of that the next time you and Kublai bicker like a couple of boys.’

Mongke smiled, shuddering slightly as the pain in his groin settled to a sick ache.

‘All right, mother. You will have your way, as always.’

‘Good. Perhaps you should show me where my ger is. I find I am tired after all.’

The yam rider was heavy with dust. As he followed a servant through the corridors of the palace, he could feel the weight of it in every crack and seam of his clothes, even his skin. He stumbled slightly as they turned a corner, his strength vanishing in weariness. He had ridden hard all day and his lower back was aching. He wondered if he would be allowed to wash himself in one of the palace bathing rooms. For a few steps, he indulged himself in the fantasy of hot water and servant girls rubbing him dry, but it would remain a fantasy. The riders from the yam lines were given entry wherever they went. If they said they had a personal message for the khan himself, they would be let through to him even in the middle of a battle. Yet the rider was certain he would be washing in the river that evening, before settling down to a spartan camp and a small fire of his own making. Yam riders carried no tents or simple gers, or any weight that might slow them. He would lie on his back under the stars and pull his arms inside the wide sleeves of his deel robe. In twenty years or so, the older riders had told him his joints would be sore on wet days. Privately he thought it would not happen to him. He was young and supremely fit, his life stretching ahead of him. In the course of his travels, he had seen enough of trade among the people to know which items they craved. In just a few years, he thought he would have saved enough to buy a load on one of the trading caravans to Bukhara. There would be no sore joints for him. He would make his fortune. He shivered slightly as he walked, glancing up at the arching ceiling over his head. He did not dream of owning a palace. Perhaps a house in the city would be to his taste, with a wife to cook for him, a few children and a stable of good horses to train his sons for the yam. It was not a bad life.

The servant drew to a halt in front of shining copper doors. Two Day Guards from the old khan’s regiment stood there impassively in their armour of red and black, like coloured insects.

‘Yam message for the regent,’ the servant announced.

One of the Guards broke his perfect stillness, turning his head to stare at the dusty young rider, still reeking of horses and old sweat. They searched him roughly, removing his tinderbox and a small knife. When they tried to take the package of papers, he jerked it away with a muttered curse. The message within was not for their eyes.

‘I want the rest back when I come out,’ he said.

The Guard only looked at him, tucking the items away as the servant knocked on the door and opened it, letting a flood of light out into the gloomy corridor.

Inside, there were rooms within rooms. The yam rider had been to the palace before, but never so deep within it. He noted that each outer room had its attendants, one of whom rose at his entry and took him on to the next. It was not long before he saw a stout woman surrounded by advisers and scribes busy writing her words. She looked up as he entered. He bowed deeply, leaving his latest guide behind to approach. To his surprise, he saw two men in the group that he recognised, yam riders like himself. They met his eyes and nodded briefly to him.

Another servant of some kind held out his hand for the package of papers.

‘This is for the regent’s own hand,’ the rider said, repeating his instruction.

The servant pursed his mouth as if he tasted something bitter, but he stood back. No one impeded a yam rider.

Torogene had resumed her conversation, but she stopped at his words and accepted the bundle from him. It was a slim package, folded in leather. She undid the ties quickly and pulled out a single folded sheet. The rider watched as her eyes darted back and forth as she read. He could have left immediately, but he was curious. It was the curse of his trade that he carried interesting news, but almost never learned what it was.

To his dismay, he saw Torogene’s face drain of colour. She looked up, suddenly irritated to see the young man standing there expectantly, as if she might share the news with him.

‘That is enough for today,’ she said to the group. ‘Leave me, all of you. Send my son to me. Wake him if you have to.’ She tapped the fingers of one hand on the other and crumpled the paper he had brought to her.




CHAPTER FOUR









The moon was out, the night cloudless, so that its light fell on the vast host before Karakorum. There was already a buzz of interest in the gers; rumours flying, voices calling and whispering like a breeze. The city gates opened in the dark, a troop of riders coming out fast down the western road. They held torches, so that they moved in a pool of light through a flickering landscape, catching glimpses of staring faces and grubby gers by the thousand as they navigated their way through. Guyuk rode at the centre in ornate armour, a shining figure with a wolf’s-head sword on his hip. More surprising to those who glimpsed them was the sight of Torogene riding at his side. She rode like a man, stiff-backed, with her long hair bound into a thick tail. The torch-lit eye of gold covered a mile at a canter before Torogene signalled to the Guards. They swung left off the main road, plunging across the grassy plain between the gers. To ride at night was always dangerous and flocks scattered in panic as they cantered through them. More than a few bleating animals were crushed beneath hooves or sent tumbling. Voices shouted in alarm and torches sprang up all over the hills around them, pinpoints of light as more and more of the nation rolled out of their beds with swords in hand.

Guyuk whistled sharply, gesturing to a shadowy enclave marked with the banners of Sorhatani and her sons. Three of his Night Guards yanked their mounts around and rode in a new direction. The rest went on, following the paths through the gers of the people, which jinked and turned to prevent exactly the sort of manoeuvre they attempted. There were no straight roads on the plain of gers. Guyuk strained his eyes for the banners he wanted. He knew the layout of the gathered nation, but in the darkness it was hard to find his way.

The riders swore as they came to an open area that no one recognised, but at the same moment, one of the Guards shouted, pointing. They wheeled round and drew to a sharp halt at the ger camp of Baidur. His banners fluttered in the night wind above their heads, lit by torches. As Guyuk helped his mother to dismount, he saw how many men had gathered to see what was happening. Row upon row waited with weapons drawn. Guyuk recalled that Baidur’s father Chagatai had attempted a coup in Karakorum years before, on just such a night. Of all men, Baidur would be suspicious of betrayal.

Guyuk saw the man he had once called friend, made distant by the tides of the nation and his own father’s murder. Baidur stood as if he expected to be attacked, his sword drawn and raised to his shoulder. His yellow eyes were cold in the torchlight and Guyuk showed him empty palms, though he would not unbuckle the wolf’s-head sword he wore, not for any man. Baidur was khan of a vast region to the west and Guyuk swallowed bitterness as he realised he had to speak first, as supplicant. It did not matter that he was the one marked to be the gur-khan, over all the lesser khanates. On that night, he was merely an heir.

‘I come with empty hands, Baidur. I still remember our friendship, when we were little more than boys with swords.’

‘I thought all the dealing was done,’ Baidur replied, his voice harsh. ‘Why have you come to disturb my sleep, to set my people in disarray?’

Guyuk blinked, revising his opinion of the man he faced. He almost turned to his mother for guidance, but he knew it would have made him look weak. He had last seen Baidur riding home with his tuman, stiff with the knowledge that his father was considered a traitor. There had been a time when Baidur could have been khan in Karakorum, if the sky father had willed a change in fortune for his family. Instead, he had inherited and lived quietly in the western khanate. Guyuk hardly thought of him as a threat, but authority had changed Baidur. He spoke as a man used to seeing others leap to do his bidding, as if there could be no possible alternative. Guyuk wondered if he too had that air. In the gloom, he grimaced to himself as doubt struck him.

‘I have asked that Mongke join us … my lord.’ Guyuk bit his lip. He saw Baidur had noticed the hesitation, but they stood before Karakorum! It was almost painful to give the man his titles when Guyuk had none of his own. He sensed his mother shift her weight at his side and remembered her words. He was not yet khan. Until then, he would be humble.

Instead of answering, Baidur also reacted to the movement. He bowed deeply to Torogene.

‘My apologies, my lady. I did not expect you to be part of a group riding at night. You are all welcome in my home. The tea is cold, but I will have new leaves boiled.’

Guyuk seethed to himself. The greeting to his mother merely highlighted his own lack of status. He wondered if Baidur had ignored him deliberately, or whether it was genuine respect for the most senior woman in the nation. He followed his mother to Baidur’s ger and watched impatiently as she ducked her head to walk in. Baidur’s soldiers were staring at him. No, not at him, but at the sword on his hip. Guyuk bristled at their attempt to intimidate him. As if he would be foolish enough to draw a blade with his own mother in the ger.

To his astonishment, one of Baidur’s guards stepped close to him and bowed deeply. Guyuk’s men pressed around him at the threat, but he waved them back.

‘What is it?’ he asked, a trace of his irritation still showing.

‘My lord, I wondered if I could touch the sword you wear, just the hilt. It would be something to tell my children one day.’

Guyuk suddenly understood the fixed gaze of Baidur’s warriors and he smiled patronisingly. The wolf’s-head sword had been carried by his father Ogedai, and also by Genghis. He had seen other men gaze on it before with reverent awe. However, he did not want it to be pawed by common warriors. The very idea made him shudder.

‘I have much to discuss with your master …’ he began.

To his anger, the warrior reached out, gazing in a trance at the hilt as if it were one of the Christian relics. Guyuk took a step back. He imagined cutting the hand off to show the man his impertinence, but he was very aware of the staring faces around him, most of them loyal to Baidur rather than himself.

‘Another time,’ he snapped, ducking into Baidur’s ger before the warrior could press him further.

In the ger, Baidur and Torogene were seated close together. It had been some time since Guyuk had seen the inside of one of the felt and wicker homes. He felt cramped and saw with fresh senses how small it was, how it reeked of damp wool blankets and mutton. A battered old kettle hissed in the middle of the space, tended by a servant girl who fussed with cups and made them clink together in her nervousness. There was little space for the trappings of wealth and power in a ger. It was easier to live simply rather than be tripping over some expensive Chin pot at every turn. Guyuk struggled with himself for a moment. It felt like an intrusion to sit on Baidur’s other side, but if he took a place next to his mother, he would be forever subordinate in the conversation. With ill-will, he lowered himself onto the bed by her.

‘It changes nothing,’ Torogene was saying in a low voice. ‘The entire nation has come to Karakorum – every man and woman of power, except for one. We have enough for an oath-taking.’

‘If you go on, it is a risk,’ Baidur replied. ‘I know Batu well, Torogene. You dare not leave him outside the nation.’

His face was thoughtful, troubled. Guyuk watched the older man closely, but he saw no sign of delight or treachery.

They all heard the sound of approaching horses and Baidur stood. He glanced at the kettle coming to the boil.

‘Stay here. Serve them salt tea, Erden.’

Baidur left them alone, though Guyuk was not so naive as to believe they could not be overheard. He kept his silence, taking a bowl of tea from the girl. She presented it in the aspect of a slave, her head down between her outstretched arms. Guyuk almost reached for it before he realised it was held out for his mother. He clenched his jaw as he waited for his own. Status, once again. Well, that would all change soon enough. He would not let Batu ruin his chance to become khan, no matter what the rest of them planned.

Baidur entered with Mongke, and Guyuk rose to his feet to greet them. Torogene stayed where she was, sipping her tea. The ger was already crowded, but Mongke’s presence made it stifling. He had a huge breadth of shoulder and had somehow found the time to dress in his armour. Guyuk wondered if the man slept in it. Nothing would surprise him on such a night.

Mongke greeted Torogene first and then Guyuk, bowing deeply and properly, as an oath-sworn man to his master. The gesture would not be wasted on Baidur, and Guyuk felt his spirits lift in response. He opened his mouth to speak and to his irritation his mother began while he was still drawing breath.

‘Batu will not be coming to this gathering, Mongke,’ she said. ‘I have had word from him.’

‘What reason did he give?’ Baidur said across Mongke’s stunned silence.

‘Does it matter? He claims a hunting wound that means he cannot travel. It changes nothing.’

‘It changes everything,’ Mongke said. His voice was slow and deliberate. Guyuk found himself leaning forward to catch every word. ‘It means this gathering is at an end. What else can we do? Batu is not some minor family head. He is a powerful voice in the nation, though he does not use his influence. If Guyuk is made khan without him, it could lead to civil war in the future. None of us wants that. I will go back to my tumans, my families. I will tell them it will not be this year.’ Mongke turned to Guyuk. ‘My oath is yours, my lord, I have not forgotten. But you will need more time to bring Batu back to the fold before we go on.’

‘I do not need more time!’ Guyuk snapped. ‘You have all promised an oath to me. Well, I call it now. Honour your word and I will deal with Batu later. One man cannot be allowed to cause chaos in the nation, no matter his bloodline or his name.’

Seeing he was on the point of ordering them to obey him, Torogene spoke quickly before he could offend either of the powerful men in the ger.

‘We have all worked hard so that the oaths would be unchallenged, to make one man khan without dissent. That is no longer possible, but I have to agree with Guyuk. The nation is ready for a new khan. It has been almost five years since the death of my husband. How much new land has been taken in those years? None. The nation waits and all the time our enemies grow strong again. We have already lost too much, in influence and power. Let the oath-taking go ahead, with just one name missing from the roll. Once there is a khan, Batu can be summoned to give his oath alone, ordered by the one true authority of the nation.’

Mongke nodded slowly, but Baidur looked away, scratching a dark sweat stain at his armpit. No one else in the ger knew that he had received a private message on the yam. If he revealed that Batu had promised to support him as khan, it would mean a death sentence for his old friend, he was almost certain. Unless Baidur threw himself into the struggle. For just that night, Guyuk, Torogene and Mongke were all at his mercy, surrounded by his warriors. He could take it all, just as Batu clearly hoped he would.

Baidur clenched his fists for an instant, then let his hands fall loose. His father Chagatai would not have hesitated, he thought. The blood of Genghis ran in them all, but Baidur had seen too much of the pain and blood brought by ruthless ambition. He shook his head, coming to a decision.

‘Very well. Call the oath-taking at the new moon, four days from now. The nation must have a khan and I will honour my promises.’

The tension in the cramped ger was almost painful as Guyuk turned to Mongke. The big man nodded, bowing his head.

Guyuk could not resist smiling in relief. Apart from those in the ger and Batu himself, there was no one else who might challenge him. After so many years of waiting, he was in reach of his father’s titles at last. His mother’s voice barely registered with him, some weak promise that Batu could be brought to the city when the nation had spoken. He wondered if they truly believed he would welcome Batu as a friend after all this. Perhaps his mother expected him to act the great lord, to show mercy to those who had tried and failed to ruin him.

The tension vanished in laughter and Baidur brought out a skin of airag and a set of cups. Mongke clapped him on the back in congratulation and Guyuk chuckled, giddy at the sudden change in his fortunes. Batu had almost destroyed years of work, but whatever he had intended, it had failed. Guyuk raised a toast with the others, enjoying the bite of the cold spirit in his throat. There would be a reckoning with Batu. That was one oath he could swear with certainty in the silence of his thoughts.

By the first light of dawn, the nation was ready. They had spent many weeks preparing for the oath-taking, from gathering vast quantities of food and drink to mending, patching and polishing every item of clothing and armour they possessed. The warriors were arrayed in perfect squares, standing in silence as the gates of Karakorum opened. There was no sign of the rush and panic from four days before. Guyuk rode out at the head of a column, sitting his mount with dignity. He wore a deel robe of grey and dark blue, deliberately choosing simplicity over anything gaudy or foreign.

There had been so few gatherings since the first one called by Genghis that there were hardly any traditions to follow. A great pavilion had been erected in front of the city, and as the sun cleared the eastern hills, Guyuk dismounted there and passed his reins to a servant. He walked to his place and stood in front of the silk tent as the first group approached him. Unless his bladder filled to bursting, he would not enter the pavilion that day, nor would he sit, no matter how hot the sun became. The nation had to see him become khan.

Baidur and Mongke were conspicuous in that first group, as well as Sorhatani, Kublai and her other sons. The first four hundred contained the heads of all the major families, for once deprived of their retainers, servants and slaves. Most of them were dressed in colourful silks, or the plainest armour, depending on their sense of occasion. Even the banners of rank were denied to them. They would approach Guyuk in simple humility, to bend the knee and give their oaths.

Even within that group there was a hierarchy. Torogene came first, then Sorhatani. The two women had ruled the nation alone, keeping it intact through the death of Ogedai Khan. Guyuk saw only satisfaction in his mother’s face as she knelt to him. He barely let her touch the ground before he raised her up and embraced her.

He was not so quick with Sorhatani. Though her oath sealed her loyalty, he had never been comfortable with the woman who controlled the homeland. In time, he thought he would grant her titles to Mongke, as his father should have done. She had survived, so she had luck, but women were too fickle, too likely to make some grievous error. Mongke would never jump without thinking, Guyuk was certain. He watched in pleasure as Mongke came next and repeated the oath he had given in a far land, the first stone falling that brought them all to that spot.

Kublai followed and Guyuk was struck by the keen intelligence in the younger man’s eyes as he knelt and spoke the words of gers, horses, salt and blood. He too would need some position of authority in time. Guyuk began to revel in such decisions, able at last to think as a khan, rather than just dream.

The day wore on, a parade of faces until he could hardly distinguish between them. Thousands came to the pavilion: heads of families, rulers of lands thousands of miles apart. Some of them already showed signs of intermarriage, so that the eldest children of Chulgetei had the features of Koryo. Guyuk formed an idea of ordering them to breed true, keeping the Mongol stock pure before it was swallowed in the flood of subject races. The mere thought of exercising such power was like airag in his blood, making his heart pound. After this day, his word would be law for a million people – and millions more under their rule. The nation had grown beyond anything Genghis might once have imagined.

As evening came, Guyuk toured the great camps. There was no single moment when he became khan to universal acclamation. Instead, he rode from place to place, allowing thousands of his people to kneel and chant their oaths. He had warriors ready to strike down anyone who refused, but nothing came of his worries as the light began to fade and torches were lit. He took food and returned to the palace for a time to change clothes and relieve his bowels and aching bladder. Before dawn, he was out again, travelling to the very least of those he would rule: the tanner families and a host of workers from many nations. They cried out in awe at their only chance to see the face of the khan, straining in the dawn light for a single glimpse they would remember for ever.

As the sun rose again, Guyuk felt suffused in its light, lifted by it and made mellow. He was khan and the nation was already settling down to the days of feasting that would follow. Even the thought of Batu in his Russian fiefdom had become a distant irritant. This was Guyuk’s day. The nation was his at last. He thought of the celebrations that would follow with growing excitement. The palace would be the centre of it: a new generation of youth, tall and beautiful, blowing away the ashes of the past.




CHAPTER FIVE









Torogene lowered herself onto the bench in the garden pavilion, feeling her husband’s spirit all around her. The summer had lasted a long time, so that the city sweltered. For months, the rare heat had built to storms, then been released into a day or two of sweet coolness before it dried out and the process began again. The air itself was heavy at such times, thick with the promise of rain. Dogs lay panting on the street corners and each dawn found a body or two to be cleared away, or a woman weeping. Torogene already missed the powers she had known. Before Guyuk was khan, she could have sent the Day Guards to beat a confession from a dozen witnesses, or to evict a family of thieves, dumping them all on the roads outside the city. Overnight, they were no longer hers to command and she could only petition her son alongside a thousand others.

As she sat among the drifts of leaves, Torogene searched for some feeling of peace, but could not find it, even in Sorhatani’s company.

‘You cannot tell me you are happy to be leaving the city,’ Sorhatani said.

Torogene patted the bench beside her, but her friend did not want to sit down.

‘No young khan should have his mother watching every move, every mistake. The old must apparently make way for the new.’ Torogene spoke the words reluctantly, echoing Guyuk’s pompous speech to her just that morning. ‘I have a fine palace, built for me by Ogedai. I will be comfortable in my retirement. And I am old. I can hardly believe how weary I feel on some days.’

‘He’s getting rid of you,’ Sorhatani said. She picked up a slender branch from the path. It must have fallen just that morning or the Chin gardeners would already have cleared it away. It flexed in her hands like a whip. ‘A son should honour what you achieved, keeping the nation together when it threatened to fly apart.’

‘Even so, he is khan. I worked years for it. Should I complain now that I have my desire? What sort of a fool would I be then?’

‘A mother,’ Sorhatani said. ‘We are all fools with our sons. We wipe them and suckle them and all we expect is for them to be grateful to the end of their days.’

She chuckled, her mood turning in an instant. Torogene smiled with her, though in truth she had been hurt by her son’s commands.

‘He has not threatened to send you away, Sorhatani,’ she said.

‘No, because he still lavishes his attention on Mongke. Orlok of the armies. It is more than my son even wanted. I swear we never planned for that, never.’

‘I know. Guyuk took my advice once, at least. Mongke has the bloodline from Genghis and the tumans will follow him. My son trusts him completely, Sorhatani. That is important.’

Sorhatani kept her silence. It was true Mongke had risen in Guyuk’s first season as khan, just as she had predicted. Kublai, though, would never lead armies under Guyuk. Something in the two men brought out the worst in each of them. Twice she had sent Kublai away on some errand before he ruined himself in Guyuk’s presence. They angered each other like two cats and neither she nor Kublai could explain it satisfactorily. There were times when she wished Guyuk would send her back to the homeland, away from the heat and smells and crowds of the city, away from the politics that ruined every peaceful day. Even in that, she had her suspicions. She did not think Guyuk valued her as an adviser and one memory of his father still troubled her. Years before, Ogedai had asked her to marry his son. The idea could still make her shudder. Ogedai had been too good a man to force her, but Guyuk would have no qualms of that sort. As things stood, the original homeland of Genghis would pass to Mongke on her death, or perhaps one of her other sons if she wrote a will and it was honoured. She could only hope that Guyuk was content to rule the separate khanates. Yet he did not seem to have that sort of vision. In fact, he struck her as exactly the sort of greedy fool who would try to take it all for himself. It was heart-breaking to see such a handsome young man with so many shadows inside him. Power brought out the best in some men, but Guyuk showed no sign of such growth.

It was one more thing she could not discuss with Torogene. The woman still mourned a husband and had set her son to rule the nation. It was not Sorhatani’s place to lay his weaknesses in front of her. Just a week before, Guyuk had refused to see a delegation of princes from Koryo, preferring instead to go hunting with his companions. Sorhatani frowned unconsciously as she recalled the tense meeting with the Koryon men. She had tried to ease the insult of his absence with words and gifts, but she could see their anger in the silent looks between them. When Guyuk had returned days later, he had sent his chancellor, Yao Shu, to hear their requests. She could have done that herself if Guyuk allowed her any authority.

The memory brought angry colour to her cheeks. For once, she had ignored his blustering servants, forcing her way into his presence. She had hoped she could make him see that his life could not be one long feast or endless hunting with his friends. A khan had to rule day by day, to make the decisions they could not make without him.

There had been no contrition in Guyuk when she told him. Instead, he had laughed at her, sending her away in a manner calculated to insult. That, too, she would not mention to Torogene, not just as the woman was leaving, her life’s work done. Sorhatani realised she would miss her friend, but there had always been subjects she dared not raise.

If Sorhatani hadn’t had Kublai, she thought she would have gone mad, surrounded by a nest of fools and lies and alliances. At least her son would listen. He drank up new information, possessing an insight that could still astonish her. Kublai seemed to know everything that went on in the city, until she suspected him of having a ring of spies as accomplished as her own. Yet even Kublai had been troubled in recent days. Guyuk was planning something and orders flowed between the palace and his tumans. His warriors were exercising on the plains each day, practising with cannon until the whole city stank of gunpowder. Sorhatani had a man willing to read the messages on the yam, but they were often sealed. He would open them if she demanded it, but it would mean his life and she would not throw him away lightly. The very fact that something was secret should have told her much, but she felt as if she wandered through fog. Kublai might have learned something, she thought, or at least be better able to guess. She resolved to speak to him that evening.

She and Torogene looked up as they heard the footsteps of Guyuk’s Day Guards. Torogene rose with a sigh, looking into the distance as if she could carry the memory of the city with her. As the Guards stood impassively, she and Sorhatani embraced. Carts, horses and servants waited to take her to the distant palace on the Orkhon river. Summer itself was passing and Sorhatani did not think her friend would be allowed to return. Guyuk had not been able to hide his pleasure at the orders, for all he couched them in fine words and compliments.

‘I will visit you,’ Sorhatani said, struggling with emotion. She could not promise to keep Torogene informed, not with men listening who would report every word said between them. Torogene smiled, though her eyes were shining with tears. She had raised her son to be khan and her reward was exile, no matter what Guyuk called it. Lies and alliances, it was all the city seemed to breed from its arid stones. Sorhatani watched Torogene walk away with the men, a frail, stooped figure against their youth and strength. Sorhatani was suddenly afraid that one of her own protectors had been removed. For all his hunts and debauchery, Guyuk was intent on consolidating his power. She could not find peace when she thought of the future. She could not even return to the homeland, unless Guyuk gave his permission. It was as if she slept with a hungry tiger in the same room, never knowing when it might leap and tear her apart.

In the distance, she heard the crack of cannons firing and she started slightly. Mongke would be out there on the field, supervising his men as they practised the skills of war. Sorhatani sent a silent prayer for her sons to be safe under this new khan.

Guyuk strode through the empty corridors. He knew he was terrifying the palace servants with his order that they stay out of his sight. Days before, he had stumbled over one young woman too slow to get out of his way. He had snapped the command without thinking. They were too used to stately progress: the pace of older men and particularly his father. He had intended to let his new orders stand for just a few days until they had learned to jump when he appeared. Instead, he had found it gave him great amusement to see men and women scurrying away at every turn, convinced their lives were at stake if he so much as glimpsed them.

He increased his pace, grinning as servants darted into side rooms far ahead, word passing quickly that the khan was on the prowl. Without pausing, he pushed open the copper doors and entered his audience room.

Sorhatani was there, as well as Yao Shu, his father’s old chancellor. A dozen others waited their turn and tried not to show that they had been in that room for half a day before the khan bothered to show himself. Guyuk ignored them all and walked across the stone floor to a gilded chair, set with stones of lapis lazuli so that it glittered in the light from the windows. At least the air was freshened by a breeze from outside. He had become accustomed to Chin habits of bathing and the stink of unwashed flesh could make him retch in close rooms.

Sorhatani studied every detail of the entrance he had made, controlling her expression carefully. She could have spoken first, but she and Yao Shu had agreed an order in the hours of waiting. Again, she felt the sting of insult, as if she had no other work than to wait on Guyuk while he played games with servants. None of that could be allowed to show. She had to remember his word was law, that he could take her lands or her life at the first sign of anger in her face. Perhaps it was better that Yao Shu should open the proceedings. The old man had perfected his court manner and it was rare that she could see the emotions beneath it.

‘My lord khan,’ Yao Shu began, approaching Guyuk and bowing deeply. He held a sheaf of parchments and Guyuk eyed them with distaste. ‘There are a great number of things that only the khan can decide.’ Guyuk looked as if he might respond, but Yao Shu went straight on before he could speak. ‘The governor of eastern Koryo requests a tuman be sent to repel the sea thieves who are raiding his coast. This is the third time he has sent emissaries to Karakorum.’ Yao Shu paused for breath, but Guyuk only settled himself more comfortably in the seat.

‘Go on, Yao Shu, what else?’ Guyuk asked pleasantly.

‘We have tumans in the Chin territories, my lord. Shall I send word on the yam that they can go to his aid?’

Guyuk waved a hand. ‘Very well, send two. What else?’

Yao Shu blinked to find Guyuk in this odd mood. He went on quickly, determined to take advantage while he could.

‘The … um, Xi Xia governor claims that taxes have been set too high for his region. There has been a plague in the countryside there and he has lost perhaps half of those who work the fields. He asks for a year without taxes to rebuild.’

‘No, he is my vassal.’

‘My lord, if we could make a gesture, he would be a stronger ally in the future.’

‘And have every small man crying at my doors as a result. I have said no, chancellor. Move on to the next.’

Yao Shu nodded, shuffling his papers quickly.

‘I have more than eighty requests for marriage here, my lord.’

‘Put them aside. I will read them in my chambers. Are there any of special note?’

‘No, my lord,’ Yao Shu replied.

‘Then go on.’

Yao Shu was growing flustered, Sorhatani could see. In the past, Guyuk had been lazy, barely able to mask his impatience while his councillors talked. Making decisions at this speed was so unlike him that she could only wonder at what he was trying to demonstrate to them. Distaste for Guyuk made her stomach clench. His father would not have ignored word of a plague in his lands so easily, as if the thousands of dead did not matter at all, as if it could not spread. She listened to Yao Shu talk of the need for shipbuilding and the sneering tone as Guyuk refused to spend the funds needed. Yet they had a coast in Chin lands and there were nations outside it that rode the waves with skills the Mongols could hardly imagine.

Yao Shu covered dozens of topics and received quick answers each time. Sorhatani groaned to herself at some of them, but at least it was better than the stagnation of previous days. The world would not stand still while Guyuk hunted with his pretty birds. The light changed outside and Guyuk had food and drink brought for himself, though he ignored the needs of those others present. At last, after hours, Yao Shu stepped back and she was free to speak.

As Sorhatani came forward, she saw Guyuk suppress a yawn.

‘I think that is enough for the day,’ he said. ‘You will be first tomorrow, Sorhatani.’

‘My lord,’ she said, aghast as a ripple of discontent spread through the crowded room. There were others there that he could not afford to ignore, important men who had travelled far to see him. She steeled herself to go on. ‘My lord, the day is still young. Can you at least say whether Batu has replied to his summons? Is he coming to Karakorum, lord, to take the oath?’

Guyuk paused in the act of leaving to turn back to her.

‘That is not the business of my councillors, Sorhatani,’ he said in a reproving tone. ‘I have that in hand.’ His smile was unpleasant and Sorhatani wondered for the first time if he had sent the order to Batu at all.

‘Go on with your work,’ Guyuk called over his shoulder as he reached the doors. ‘The nation does not sleep.’

At dawn the following morning, Sorhatani was woken by her servants. She still had her suite of rooms in the palace, given to her when she aided Torogene through the crisis years that followed Ogedai’s death. Guyuk had not yet had the nerve to take those from her, though she thought it would come in time as he consolidated his power. She sat up straight in bed as her chamberlain knocked at the door, his head bowed low so that he would not catch a glimpse of his mistress. No one in the nation slept naked, but Sorhatani had fallen into the Chin habit of wearing just the lightest of silk robes to bed and there had been embarrassing scenes before her servants learned her ways.

She knew something was wrong as soon as she saw the man standing there rather than one of the young women who helped her to bathe and dress each morning.

‘What is it?’ she said sleepily.

‘Your son Kublai, mistress. He says he must speak with you. I told him to come back when you are dressed, but he would not leave.’

Sorhatani stifled a smile at the man’s poorly concealed irritation. Kublai could have that effect on people. Only the presence of her personal guards could have prevented him from storming in.

She pulled on a heavier robe, tying it around her waist as she padded out into a room lit by the soft grey of dawn. Sorhatani shivered as she saw Kublai there, dressed in dark blue silk. He looked up as she entered and glanced out of the window at the rising sun.

‘At last, mother!’ he said, though he smiled to see her tousled and still sleepy. ‘The khan is taking the tumans away from the city.’

He gestured to the window and Sorhatani followed him, staring out over the plains. Her rooms were high enough to see far and she could make out the dark masses of horsemen riding in formation. She thought of the way cloud shadows slipped across the land in summer, but her mouth tightened and her thoughts cleared suddenly.

‘Did Guyuk tell you he was taking them out?’ Kublai asked.

His mother shook her head, though it hurt to admit she had not been taken into his confidence.

‘That is … odd,’ Kublai said, his voice soft.

Sorhatani met his eyes and, with a gesture, sent her servants away to make fresh tea. Together, they watched them leave and Kublai relaxed subtly when they were alone.

‘If he is making some display of power, or even just training them, I think you would have been told,’ Kublai went on. ‘He knows half the city will be tumbling out of warm beds to watch them go. There is no way to move the army in secret. Guyuk knows that.’

‘Tell me then, what is he doing?’

‘The word is he will head west to test the new men, to bind them to him in the mountains with hard marches and endurance. The market traders have all heard the same thing, which makes me suspicious. It feels like a story someone has planted, a good one.’

Sorhatani held back her impatience as her son thought through all the possibilities before fixing on one. She knew him well enough to be sure of his judgement.

‘Batu,’ he said at last. ‘It has to be him. A quick strike to remove the one man who has not taken the oath to the khan.’

Sorhatani closed her eyes for a moment. They were still alone, but there were always ears to hear and she stepped very close to her son, dropping her voice to just a breath.

‘I could warn him,’ she whispered.

Kublai drew back from her, searching her eyes.

‘You would risk all our lives,’ he said, dropping his head to hers as if he comforted his mother. Even a secret watcher could not have been sure they spoke together as he muttered into her hair, breathing its scent.

‘Shall I do nothing and see your cousin killed?’ she replied.

‘If it is the khan’s will, what choice do you have?’

‘I cannot stand by and watch without giving him a chance to run. The yam riders can outpace the army.’

Kublai shook his head. ‘That would be dangerous. The riders would remember carrying the message. If Batu escapes, Guyuk would hunt back down the chain until he reached you. I cannot allow you to do that, mother.’

‘I can have some servant take the message to the stables in the city.’

‘Who would you trust when the khan comes in fury, looking for the source? Servants can be bought or broken until they talk.’ He paused for a time, his eyes far away. ‘It could be done, by a rider willing to use yam horses who is yet not one of them. Nothing else would have the speed to warn Batu in time. If you are sure that is what you want to do.’

‘He should have been khan, Kublai,’ she said.

He gripped her arms, almost painfully. ‘Mother, you must not say that, even to me. The palace is no longer a safe place.’

‘Exactly, Kublai. There are spies everywhere now. Just a year ago, I did not have to watch my words in case some perfumed courtier ran to his master to whisper in his ear. The khan sent Torogene away. I will not last long now, with his eye on me. Let me thwart him in this, my son. Make it happen.’

‘I will take the message,’ he said. ‘Then there will be no papers, no record.’

He had expected her to argue, but she understood there was no one else and nodded, stepping back from him. Her eyes were full of pride as she raised her voice to a normal level.

‘Very well, Kublai. Go out to the plain and watch them go. Tell me everything when you come back this evening. I want to hear it all.’ A listener would have heard nothing to alarm him, though both of them knew he would not return.

‘Mongke will be with the khan,’ he said. ‘How I envy him.’

‘He is the khan’s orlok, his most loyal follower,’ she replied. The warning did not have to be spoken. Mongke could never know they had moved to save Batu. The older brother could not be trusted with such a secret.




CHAPTER SIX









Guyuk knew he cut a fine figure on his horse, a white stallion from the khanate herd he had inherited. Despite the nightly feasts of wine and rich foods, his youth kept him slim, burning off his excesses. He had not brought the vast panoply of carts and materials his army required for a long campaign, keeping the myth of an exercise in the mountains as long as he could. Even so, each of his warriors had two or three spare mounts. Between them, Guyuk had supplies and comforts enough to make the trip a pleasure rather than a chore.

It was easy to imagine his grandfather riding the same lands, with scouts ahead and an army behind him. Guyuk had his own memories of the Great Trek into the west with Tsubodai and it was almost nostalgic to be with an army once again. It was true that they set off mid-morning rather than at dawn, as it took time for Guyuk’s head to cease pounding and his stomach to settle. He rode with bloodshot eyes, but the exertion cleared his head and he was soon hungry again. He touched his waist as he rode, dreading the first feeling of thickness there. Surely riding two thousand miles would keep him trim and strengthen the muscles in his stomach.

Guyuk’s mood grew bitter as he dragged his gaze back to the plains ahead of him. He had to be discreet, though at times he thought all his generals knew his secrets. Yet he held back from complete honesty, for all he desired it. Mongke was not far behind him in the tumans, and in that serious, unsmiling face, Guyuk saw all the others who would condemn him for his appetites. He thought again of Mongke’s mother, the smiling vixen who had twisted his father to her will. Guyuk wanted her gone, but he could hardly banish the mother of such a senior man. His mind worked as he rode, sinking into fantasies in which he would whisper his needs to some trusted warrior and Sorhatani would simply vanish. There were those who would not question the khan’s word, though it cost them their own lives. It was a heady power, but he was still wary of it. He guarded his tongue as best he could, until the strain became impossible.

Guyuk jerked from his reverie as he heard battle horns sound on his left. He looked up to see two tumans charging with lances, as they had already done a dozen times that morning. They rode hard for two or three miles, then allowed their mounts to graze as the others caught up. It was the public face of his manoeuvres and he could not complain that he found the crashing and shouting irritating. Whenever they stopped, thousands of warriors would set up targets and practise shots at full gallop, loosing and collecting thousands of shafts. They were impressive and at first he had thrilled to see such power under his command. It had begun to pall for him after the first week, though he idled time away imagining Batu strapped to a target.

Even the thought of that brought a flush to Guyuk’s cheeks. He had built a network of spies to dwarf anything his father had ever controlled. In the city, a thousand conversations were reported along a chain of men, collected at the end of each day by his spymaster, then brought to Guyuk. Even in the tumans, men who were foolish enough to criticise their khan found themselves dragged before him to answer for their foolish words. Yet there had been no criticism of Batu. He had been Tsubodai’s favourite, they said, a grandson of Genghis who had not sullied his hands with politics and deals. Guyuk seethed at the details he recalled. The common warriors had learned to guard their speech, even among friends. The information coming in had died to a trickle after the first examples had been made, but Guyuk still listened. He had ordered men bound to a post and beaten bloody. He had ordered two killed on the grounds that they spoke of insurrection and disloyalty to the khan. Guyuk had watched one man’s tongue being torn out with iron pincers before he was killed. He smiled slightly at the memory. There would be no more of that sort of talk.

He was sure such events could not damage his authority. If anything, he thought the examples he made increased it. It hurt nothing for the men to know their khan would enforce his rule just as ruthlessly as Genghis ever had. The warriors went in fear of him and that was only right. They would not run from an enemy with Guyuk watching them.

He rode west with his army for a hundred miles or more, stopping for two days to practise formations and charges. On the third morning, Guyuk swung the army to the north, riding towards the Russian lands his father had so foolishly granted to an enemy. It was a tainted line, he had realised. Batu’s father had been a traitor and his faults had bred true. There could never be trust between them, even if he had summoned Batu to Karakorum and taken his oath. Such a line would poison the new nation and could only be cut down and burnt to the root. He thought of his mother and Sorhatani, sisters in their manipulation of him. Neither would understand the need to remove his enemies. Leaving Batu in peace was not the act of a great khan, but of a weak one, too frightened to engage. Guyuk smiled to himself. He would make an example that would light the way forward, a demonstration to all those others who sought to test the new khan’s strength. Let them all see! From the princes of Koryo to the Arabs and the nations of the west. Let them hear of Batu’s death and hesitate as they considered resisting the Mongol nation. Batu’s fate would be public and terrible. It would move from mouth to ear across the deserts, the mountains and green plains. Batu could be Guyuk’s bonfire on the mountaintop, his message to all his vassal states. In that, Batu would serve his khan well.

From two miles away, Kublai watched the army passing, a vast, dusty column of men and horses. It was dangerous to come within sight of them, but he knew the scouting patterns as well as anyone alive and he worked around them, shadowing the khan’s force as they rode. It helped that he was not the only man alive on the plains. The movement of so many warriors and horses drove goatherders and poor families from their homes, so that they could often be seen on the outskirts, moving swiftly out of the khan’s path. Kublai himself was dressed in a dirty old deel, his face and hands almost black with grime. He hoped he could pass for one of them if he was discovered.

As he lay in long grass, he ran his hand down the dark muzzle and lips of his horse. It lay completely flat, its cheek touching the ground as it had been trained. Even so, the animal needed his touch to remain in such an unnatural position. The liquid brown eyes watched him and he could not prevent the tail whisking at flies and disturbing the cover. Nothing was completely safe within sight of the tumans and their scouts, but he had to know. The message he had memorised would earn death for many if it ever became known to the khan. Kublai knew he had to be certain it was even needed. If the khan marched his army away from Batu’s lands, Kublai could simply slip away to Karakorum. It would never be mentioned again.

The tumans had swung north that morning. Karakorum was long behind them and Kublai had watched with growing anger, certain that he saw the khan’s true purpose at last. Even then, he had waited, watching to be certain they did not turn back or stop at some lake to water the animals. He had dried milk and meat in his saddlebags and he could cover almost twice the distance they did each day if he had to. At best, the khan’s army made forty miles, hardly starting before noon and riding without haste. Kublai kept his eyes on them, wanting to be wrong until he could not deny the truth any longer. When the last ranks had gone, he tapped his horse on the muzzle, making it jump up. He had rested all day, but he could not race madly through the night. If his horse broke a leg on unseen ground, he would not catch them again and Batu would never get the warning.

The following dawn found him barely sixteen miles north of the army, approaching a small village that lay by a stream in the crook of small hills. Kublai’s water was running low and he made the decision to stop and buy supplies from them. The hills around were clear and he knew he would be riding hard all day.

He brought his horse in slowly, making sure the herdsmen could see he was alone. There were only four small gers, rebuilt with wood to something more permanent. He passed a reeking toilet pit and nodded to himself, seeing that the families there were poor but clean.

His presence made a herd of goats scatter before him, their nervous bleating as good as any watchdog for rousing the inhabitants. It was only moments before two men faced him with drawn bows.

‘I will pay for food and fill a skin with water from your stream,’ he said loudly.

The men glanced at each other and one of them nodded reluctantly. Kublai tapped a small bag of silver coins on his hip, drawing their gaze to the sword he wore there. Both men stared at the weapon and he wondered if they had ever seen a long blade before. Their greed showed in their eyes and he read the looks they gave each other with a sinking feeling. It was likely such men earned a little coin by robbing anyone foolish enough to pass by on the road and they still held the bows while his own remained on his back. He decided not to dismount, where they might rush him.

‘Bring enough for a few days and I will leave you,’ he said.

He reached into the purse and withdrew two silver coins. Both men lowered their bows and one came forward to take the coins while the other watched closely, still suspicious.

Kublai took his feet out of the stirrups as he sat and reached down with the coins. He had half expected it, but it was still a shock when the man grabbed at his long sleeve and tried to pull him out of the saddle. He kicked out sharply, catching the man under the jaw with his boot and sending him reeling, his mouth suddenly bloody from a bitten tongue. The other one gaped and raised his bow, but Kublai kicked his mount forward, drawing the sword and lowering the tip to the man’s throat.

At that moment, Kublai heard a new voice, snapping a question. He dared to glance up from the terrified man he held at sword-point and his heart sank. Two of Guyuk’s scouts had approached the small collection of houses from the other side, walking their horses in while he had been distracted.

Kublai sheathed the sword and dismounted immediately on the far side of his mount, his mind racing. He could not outrun such men. They were more used to long distances than he could ever be and they would run him down before the day was over. He cursed himself for his mistake, then put it aside, finding a perfect calm he had learned at the feet of the khan’s chancellor years before. There was no profit in panic and he made quick decisions as he stood and waited for them to come closer.

The scouts were wary, but they saw only three men in a scuffle, one with blood leaking from his mouth. They trotted their mounts closer and Kublai dropped his shoulders lightly, disguising his height with a stoop as he fussed at his horse. He was as filthy as the other two, his robe as ragged as theirs. Only his sword marked him out and he hoped the scouts would not look too closely at it. The two thieves bowed deeply to the khan’s scouts and he copied them, his manner awed at meeting such important men.

‘Stand still,’ one of the scouts said sharply.

His companion stayed back a few paces, but the first one came among them. Kublai guessed he was the senior of the two, long used to the authority of being the khan’s man.

‘What’s this then?’ the scout asked. He was older than Kublai would have expected, but whip-thin despite his age.

Kublai spoke quickly. ‘Just a disagreement, lord,’ he said, dipping his head. ‘A discussion over some goats I was buying.’

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the injured herder gape at him. A scout might be tempted to make an example of a thief on the road, even to take them all to the khan for justice. He would have no interest in settling some local dispute. Kublai only hoped the men would keep their mouths shut and let him talk his way out of it.

‘I clip the left ears of my animals, two clips, as you can see there,’ Kublai went on, pointing. The scout didn’t look round, too old a hand to be distracted. ‘My cousins do the same, which I have told them would lead to … um … disagreements like this one, lord. The animals are mine, I’d know them anywhere. You are a khan’s man, lord. If you could rule on this, I’d be grateful.’ He rambled on and the scout relaxed, turning to grin at his companion.

The herder with the bloody mouth tried to speak and Kublai whirled on him.

‘Shut your mouth, Hakhan, this is all your doing. I know that brown one like it was my own child.’

Both herders stared in amazement at the madman who addressed them in such a way, but the scouts were already losing interest. He kept his gaze down and spoke on, playing the role with everything he had.

‘My lord, if you could just stay while I gather up the ones that are mine, I will send a hundred prayers to the sky father for you. My wife is pregnant again. We don’t have much and I can’t afford to lose some of my best breeders now.’

‘Come on,’ the older scout said to his companion. He had lost interest in the three grubby men who stood and argued in the road. Kublai kept pleading with them as they turned to ride away, but relief washed over him. At last, he was alone once again with the two herders. Both stared at him as they might have at a mad dog. The one with the bloody mouth spat red onto the ground and spoke, though the effort cost him dearly.

‘Who are you?’ he managed.

‘Just a traveller,’ Kublai replied. His muscles had been tensed to attack for too long and his hands shook as he unclenched. ‘In need of food and water, as I said. Now, if you still have an idea of robbing me, I will not be merciful the second time. One shout will bring them back.’

The herders looked instinctively to where the scouts had ridden away and both of them seemed to dislike that thought. There was little justice on the plains. Even the distant presence of the khan’s men was enough to send terror into their hearts.

Rather than turn his back on the pair, Kublai mounted again and trotted the horse behind them as they filled his waterskin and gathered a small package of fresh-cooked lamb and stone-ground bread. It smelled delicious, but he would not break his fast until the khan’s army was far behind him. Batu’s land lay more than a thousand miles to the north, but it was not enough to reach him barely ahead of the khan’s armies. Kublai was grim as he set out again, alert for any sign of the scouts in the distance. To run, Batu would need all the time Kublai could give him.




CHAPTER SEVEN









Over three days of hard riding, Kublai ran his horse to complete exhaustion. The animal cropped grass in its sleep, but there was never enough time for it to recover before he had to mount again. He was in pain as he climbed into the saddle on the fourth day. He did not have the calluses of the scouts and great patches of skin had rubbed away on his buttocks and lower back. Each morning was an agony until the scabs broke and settled to a numb ache that would last all day. He did not know exactly how far he had come, only that the khan’s army were far behind him. Batu had kept an entire tuman of warriors and their families when he travelled to his new lands. They would have grown in number and so many could not be hidden easily. Kublai expected to find signs of them, though that was a challenge for another day.

His immediate problem was that his horse had lost weight alarmingly and was sweating and chewing yellow spit at its mouth. It was time to test the yam lines in a plan that had seemed simple back in Karakorum. From his saddlebags, Kublai drew out a set of small bells sewn into cloth. He draped them over his saddle and took his bearings once again, from the hills around him. There was no one in sight, but he had seen a yam station some twenty miles back and aligned himself to the path worn by its riders. He took stock of himself for the last time and winced at his own weariness. No yam rider rode with packs on his mount. Weight was everything. With a grimace, he wrenched the buckles open and let his supplies tumble out. His bow followed and he held his sword for a long moment before placing it on top of the small pile of leather and cloth. In hostile territory, he felt as helpless as a newborn child without it, but there was no alternative. He kept only a small leather bag he could strap to his back, exactly the sort of thing yam riders carried. He had even written an innocuous letter to a false name, ready to be shown if he were stopped and searched, though that was not likely. No one interfered with a yam rider.

On a whim, he sliced the bags into strips, then wrapped the scabbarded sword securely, making a package that he could hide. The blade was valuable and though he doubted he would ever see it again, he could not just leave it in the dust for scavengers or, worse, the khan’s scouts when they came riding behind him.

Kublai drew his horse into some trees and settled down to wait for dusk. There could only be a few miles to go and he wanted to arrive at the yam station at sunset, or even night. It had been Genghis himself who set the distance between yam stations at twenty-five miles. Some of them had been in operation for so long that wide roads stretched between them and families had built homes of brick and clay. He lay back against a tree trunk with the reins looped around his fist.

He awoke to find the trees were dark around him. He had no idea how much time had passed and cursed as he stood up and reached for his saddle. His horse whinnied, stepping away, so that he had to slap its face to get it to stand still.

In moments, he was back on the road, trotting and listening for signs of life. The moon had barely risen and he was thankful the night was still with him. It was not long before he saw lights ahead and forced his mount into a gallop once more. The bells on his saddle jingled at every step, loud in the darkness.

The yam station was a small one, built of flint and limestone in the wilderness, with little more than a few outbuildings and a cobbled yard. Torches had been lit as they heard him approach and Kublai rode in confidently, seeing two men waiting. One carried a fat waterskin and the other a platter of steaming meat scraps, still dripping water from the boil-pot inside. Another horse was already being led out of the stables, made ready as he dismounted.

‘Who are you?’ the man with the platter asked suddenly.

‘I’ve come from Karakorum, with urgent messages,’ Kublai snapped. ‘Who are you?’

‘Sorry,’ the man replied. He still looked suspicious and Kublai saw his gaze fall on the horse he had brought in. Kublai was not the first to think of stealing a yam pony in such a way, but the quality of the mounts they brought in usually gave thieves away. Kublai saw the man nod grudgingly to himself. Even so, he spoke again as Kublai took a double handful of moist lamb shreds and chewed them.

‘If you’re from Karakorum, you’ll know the yam master there.’

‘Teriden?’ Kublai said around his mouthful. ‘Big Christian with a red beard? I know him well.’

It was an easy test for a young man who’d grown up in the city, though his heart thumped in his chest at the thought of being found out. Trying to hide the stiffness of his saddle sores, he mounted the fresh horse, adjusting his small pack on his shoulders as he accepted the skin and knocked back a draught of airag mixed with water. It was cheap and sour, but it warmed him and he gasped as he tossed it back. From that point on, his only sustenance would come from yam stations.

‘I’ll tell him you keep a good house here,’ he said as he took up the reins and trotted the horse to the stone gate. The yam staff were already busy unsaddling his last horse and rubbing it down. The animal steamed in the torchlight and no one bothered to reply. Kublai smiled and dug in his heels, clattering out onto the road north. It had worked and it would work again. It had to if he were to stay ahead of the khan’s army. No message could move faster than those riders. Until he spoke to Batu himself, the man would be completely unaware of the threat against him.

As Kublai left, the yam servant stared thoughtfully after him. He’d never seen yellow eyes like those before. Genghis was said to have had such eyes. The man scratched a flea bite on his cheek, lost in thought. After a time, he shrugged and went back to work.

The four men had watched the trail for three days, hunting in pairs, so that there were always rabbits for the stew each night. There was a huge warren nearby and it was easy enough to set strangling snares over the holes. They had a good view of the road through the mountains and so they spent their time talking, or gambling with knucklebones, or just repairing old kit. They knew they could expect to be relieved in another two days and they were approaching the end of their time. There had been little excitement. Just one family of peddlers had passed through and the men were not interested in the cheap goods they had in their little cart, drawn by an ancient pony with one white eye. With rough laughter and a kick, they had sent them on their way.

‘Someone coming,’ said Parikh, the youngest of them.

The other three shuffled over to the edge of their small camp, looking down at the trail below while being careful not to show their heads. Their bows were well wrapped against damp, lying unsprung so the strings didn’t stretch. Nonetheless, each man had the weapons in easy reach. They could have an arrow ready to fly in moments. They peered down, cursing the morning haze that blurred the air, seeming to come from the rocks themselves before it burned off.

Despite the mist, they could see a single man walking slowly, leading a lame horse. His head was bowed and he looked like any poor warrior, stumbling home after many nights hunting, or searching for a lost animal. Even so, the watchers had been placed on that road as the first line of defence and they were wary of anyone. The oldest, Tarrial, had seen more than his share of ambushes and battles. He alone had scars on his forearms and they looked to him for decisions. Sound carried far in the mountains, and with a silent gesture Tarrial sent Parikh off on his own along the ridge. The lad would scout for anyone else creeping up on them, as well as providing a second shot from hiding if something went wrong. The others waited until Parikh reached a place where he could see half a mile along the back trail. The young man raised a flat palm to them, visible at a distance. Clear.

Tarrial relaxed.

‘Just one man. Stay here and don’t steal my food. I’ll go down to him.’

He made no attempt to hide his progress as he scrambled down the rocky scree. In fact, he made as much noise as possible, rather than make the stranger nervous. Years before, Tarrial had seen his jagun officer killed on patrol in Samarkand. The officer had kept to the shadows while thieves robbed a store. As one of them passed him, he had stepped out and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, hoping to scare the thief half to death. His ploy had worked, but the man jammed a dagger into his ribs in panicked reflex. Tarrial smiled fondly at the memory of the officer’s face.

By the time he reached the trail, the stranger was close enough for Tarrial to make out his features. He was tall, unusually so. The stranger looked exhausted, his feet barely lifting with each stride. The pony was as dust-covered as he was and favoured its right foreleg.

Kublai sensed Tarrial’s gaze and jerked his head up. His hand dropped to his hip, but there was no sword there and, with a grimace, he raised his free hand to show he was unarmed.

‘Yam rider?’ Tarrial called.

‘Yes,’ Kublai replied. He was furious with himself for walking so blindly into the hills. He had lost track of the days, even of the horses he’d exchanged at yam stations along the way. Now, everything he had achieved could be undone by a few thieves. Not for the first time, he regretted leaving his weapons behind.

‘Who is the message for?’ Tarrial asked. There was something about the man that had his instincts twitching, though he couldn’t say what it was. Through all the grime that layered him, pale yellow eyes glared at Tarrial and more than once the rider’s hand dropped to his hip, as if he was used to carrying a sword. Odd, for a simple yam rider who always went unarmed.

‘No one stops the yam,’ Kublai said sternly. ‘The message isn’t for you, whoever you are.’

Tarrial grinned. The man couldn’t be much older than Parikh, but he spoke like one used to authority. Again, that was a strange thing for a yam rider. He couldn’t resist prodding a little further, just to get a reaction.

‘Seems to me a spy would say the same thing, though,’ Tarrial said.

Kublai raised his eyes to the sky for a moment. ‘A spy on a yam horse, with a leather bag? With nothing at all of value on him, I might add.’

‘Oh, we’re not thieves, lad. We’re soldiers. There’s a difference. Not always, I admit, but usually.’

To his surprise, Kublai straightened subtly, his gaze sharpening.

‘Who is your minghaan officer?’ he said curtly.

‘He’s about a hundred miles away, lad, so I don’t think I’ll be bothering him with you, not today.’

‘His name,’ Kublai snapped. There were only ten minghaans to every tuman. He knew the name of almost every man who held that rank in the nation.

Tarrial bristled at the tone, even as he wondered at it. Alone, unarmed, hundreds of miles from anywhere and the man still had an air about him that made Tarrial reconsider his first words.

‘You’re not like the yam riders I’ve seen before,’ he said warily.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ Kublai replied, losing patience. ‘Tell me his name, or get out of my way.’ Before Tarrial could reply, he tugged on his reins and began walking again, taking a path straight at the warrior.

Tarrial hesitated. He was tempted to knock the rider on his backside. No one would blame him, but some instinct for survival stayed his fists. Everything had been wrong about the meeting from the first words.

‘His name is Khuyildar,’ he said. If the rider tried to barge past him, Tarrial was confident he could put him down. Instead, the man stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, nodding.

‘Then the message is for his master, Batu of the Borjigin. For his ears alone and urgent. You had better take me to him.’

‘You only had to say, lad,’ Tarrial replied, still frowning.

‘Now.’




CHAPTER EIGHT









There wasn’t much conversation as Tarrial and Parikh led Kublai through the mountains. They had left only one man behind to watch the road, while the last of the four rode back to inform their officer. Kublai’s lame horse rested with the other mounts, while he had been given the smallest of the scouts’ ponies, an irritable animal that tried to bite whenever it saw a finger.

Parikh shared his waterskin with the strange yam rider, but neither Kublai nor Tarrial seemed to be in a mood to talk and his first efforts were ignored. With Tarrial in the lead, they followed a wide path that wound its way upwards into the hills. Kublai could see mountains in the distance, but he had only the vaguest idea where he was, even with the maps he had in his head. The air was clean and cold and he could see for miles as they walked or trotted their mounts.

‘I’ve already lost a day with that lame horse,’ Kublai said after a time. ‘We need to go faster.’

‘Why’s that, then?’ Tarrial asked immediately. He glowered at the mysterious rider who ordered men about as if they were his personal servants. Tarrial could hardly believe the way Parikh almost came to attention every time the stranger looked at him. No yam rider was that used to authority. Tarrial knew he had to be some sort of officer, perhaps on his own business and using the yam lines without permission. He thought Kublai wasn’t going to reply – until he did, grudgingly.

‘There is an army behind me. A week, maybe ten days, and they’ll be here. Your lord will want every moment of warning I can give him.’

Parikh gaped and Tarrial lost his frown, suddenly worried.

‘How big an army?’ he said.

In answer, Kublai dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, kicking it on.

‘Find out when I give my message to your lord,’ he called over his shoulder.

Tarrial and Parikh looked at each other for a moment, then both men broke into a canter to reach and overtake him.

As Kublai rode, he tried to assess the defensive qualities of the land around him. It looked as if Batu had made himself a camp in the valleys of the range of hills, unless the scouts were lying to him about distances. He thought back to the accounts he had read in the library of Karakorum. Under Genghis, the tumans had once destroyed an Assassin fortress, taking it down, stone by stone. No stronghold Batu could have built would stand for longer than that one. Kublai brought the worst possible news, that Batu had to move his people away. With the khan’s army coming, Batu had to run and keep running, with only a small chance he would not be caught and slaughtered.

At a better pace, the scouts led him over a series of ridges and the valleys beyond. Most of them were thick with trees. There were small animal paths and they followed those, but the forests would slow Guyuk’s army and force them into single file. They would expect ambushes and traps and lose days as a result. Kublai shook his head as he trotted his mount through the gloom, the canopy of branches blocking the sun. He lost track of time and distance, but the sun was setting as they reached an inner ring of scout camps and Tarrial halted to refill his waterskin, empty his bladder and change horses. Kublai dismounted to do the same, his bones creaking. He could feel the hostile stares of Batu’s warriors as they nodded to Tarrial and Parikh. Perhaps a dozen or so men lived in that damp place, rotated on constant watch. Kublai doubted anyone could approach Batu without him hearing of it, but it would not help him.

Wearily, Kublai mounted his new pony and followed Tarrial and Parikh, leaving the inner scout camp behind. Darkness came quickly after that and he was completely lost. If Tarrial hadn’t been leading, Kublai knew he’d never have been able to find his way through. The forest seemed endless and he became suspicious that Tarrial was deliberately leading him in a twisting path, so he could not find his way back, or lead anyone else in.

They rode all night, until Kublai was dozing as his horse walked, his head nodding in time to its steps. He had never been so tired. The last paths had vanished and Kublai began to wonder if Tarrial was as lost as he was. They could not see the stars to guide them and it seemed a walking dream as their horses clambered over unseen obstacles and pushed their way through bushes with sharp commands from the three men to drive them on. Branches and thorns scratched them as they forced their way in deeper.

Dawn came slowly, the grey light returning the forest to reality. Kublai was drenched in sour sweat and he could hardly raise his head. His back ached terribly and he straightened and slumped at intervals, trying to ease the stabs of pain. Tarrial watched him with barely hidden scorn, but then the scout had not ridden hard for a month before that, burning through his reserves and eating little until the bones of his skull showed. Kublai had reached a point where he resented Batu bitterly, without reason. He knew the man would never appreciate what he had gone through to bring him the news ahead of Guyuk’s army and his temper grew with the light. At times, it was all that sustained him.

As the sun rose, Kublai had a sense that the trees were thinning from the impossible tangle of the night before. Already that was becoming a strange memory, in incoherent flashes. He raised his face to the sun when it grew warmer, opening his bloodshot eyes to see they had passed out of the trees at last.

A gentle valley lay beyond the forest. Kublai strained his eyes into the distance and saw the wall of trees begin again. It was not a natural meadow, but the work of years and thousands of men, clearing land where Batu’s families could settle in peace. Around them, the forest stretched for many miles in all directions. For the first time, Kublai wondered how Guyuk would find such a place. Among the oaks and beeches, Kublai had not even smelled the smoke of their fires.

Their arrival had not gone unmarked. No sooner had the three men walked their mounts out of the trees than there were shouts and cries, echoing far. From among the clustered homes and gers, warriors gathered and rode towards them. Kublai shook the weariness away, knowing he had to remain alert for the meeting to come. He took his waterskin and squeezed a jet of warm water onto his face, rubbing hard at the bristles on his lip and chin. He could only imagine how bedraggled and dirty he looked. His disguise as a poor yam rider had become the reality.

The warriors cantered in on fresh mounts, looking disgustingly alert. Kublai massaged his eye sockets as they approached, easing a headache. He knew he would need food soon, or he’d be likely to pass out some time that afternoon.

As the jagun officer opened his mouth, Kublai raised his hand.

‘My name is Kublai of the Borjigin, cousin to Batu and prince of the nation.’ He was aware of Tarrial and Parikh jerking round in their saddles. He had not told them his name.

‘Take me to your master immediately. He will want to hear what I have to say.’

The officer shut his mouth with a click of teeth, trying to reconcile the idea of a prince with the filthy beggar he saw before him. The yellow eyes glared through the dirt and the officer recalled the descriptions of Genghis he had heard. He nodded.

‘Come with me,’ he said, wheeling his mount.

‘And food,’ Kublai muttered, too late. ‘I would like food and perhaps a little airag or wine.’

The warriors didn’t answer and he rode after them. Tarrial and Parikh watched him go with wide eyes. They felt responsible for the man and they were reluctant to leave and go back to their lonely post in the hills.

After a time, Tarrial sighed irritably. ‘Might be an idea to stay here and find out what’s happening. We should wet our throats before reporting in, at least.’

As Kublai entered the encampment proper, he saw there were wide dirt roads running past the homes. Some of them were gers in the style he knew, but many more had been built of wood, perhaps even from the great trunks they had cut to make the clearing in the first place. There were thousands of them. Batu’s original ten thousand families had raised children in the years in the wilderness. He had expected a lonely camp, but what he saw was a fledgling nation. Lumber was plentiful and the buildings were tall and strong. He looked with interest at the ones with two storeys and wondered how the occupants would escape in a fire. Stone was rare there and the whole camp smelled of pine and oak. He realised his weary thoughts had been drifting as the officer halted before a large home somewhere near the centre of the camp. With shattering relief, Kublai saw Batu standing in front of the oak door, leaning against a wooden post with his arms crossed lightly over his chest. Two big dogs poked their heads out to see the stranger and one of them growled before Batu reached down and fondled his ears.

‘You were barely a boy when I last saw you, Kublai,’ Batu said, his eyes crinkling with a smile. ‘You are welcome in my home. I grant you guest rights here.’

Kublai almost fell as he dismounted, his legs buckling. Strong arms held him up and he mumbled thanks to some stranger.

‘Bring him in before he drops,’ he heard Batu say.

Batu’s home was larger than it looked from the outside, perhaps because there were very few partitions. Most of it was an open space, with a wooden ladder leading to a sleeping platform at one end, almost like a hayloft above their heads. The floor was cluttered with couches, tables and chairs, all haphazard. Kublai entered in front of two of the warriors, pausing on the threshold to let the dogs smell his hand. They seemed to accept his presence, though one of them watched him as closely as the two men at his back. He stood patiently while they searched him for weapons, knowing they would find nothing. As he waited, he saw the heads of children peeping down at him from the second level. He smiled up at them and they vanished.

‘You look exhausted,’ Batu said, when the warriors were satisfied.

He wore a long knife on his hip and Kublai noted how he had been ready to draw the blade at the first sign of a struggle. Batu had never been a fool and there was a legend in the nation that Genghis had once killed a man with a sharp scale of armour, when everyone thought him disarmed. There wasn’t much threat in a deel robe that stank of old urine and sweat.

‘It’s not important,’ Kublai said. ‘I have brought a message from Karakorum. From my mother to you.’ It was a relief to be able to say the words he had hidden for so long. ‘May I sit?’ he said.

Batu flushed slightly. ‘Of course. Over here.’

He gave orders for tea and food and one of the warriors went running to fetch them. The other was a small, wiry man with Chin features and a blind white eye. He took a place at the door and Kublai saw how the man winked his dead eye at the children above them before he stared ahead.

‘Thank you,’ Kublai said. ‘It has been a long trip. I only wish the news was better. My mother told me to warn you that Guyuk is coming. He has taken the army away from the city. I followed them for some days until I was sure they were coming north. I’ve stayed ahead of them, but they can’t be more than a week behind me, if that. I’m sorry.’

‘How many tumans does he have?’ Batu said.

‘Ten, with two or three spare mounts to a man.’

‘Catapults? Cannon?’

‘No. They rode like raiders on a grand scale. All the supplies were on the spare horses, at least those I saw. Cousin, my mother has risked a great deal in sending me. If it became known …’

‘It won’t come from me, you have my oath,’ Batu replied. His eyes were distant, as he thought through what he had been told. Under the silent pressure of Kublai’s gaze, he came back and focused.

‘Thank you, Kublai. I will not forget it. I can wish for more than a week to prepare, but it will have to be enough.’

Kublai blinked. ‘He has a hundred thousand warriors. You’re not thinking of fighting?’

Batu smiled. ‘I don’t think I should discuss that with you, cousin. Rest here for a few days, eat and grow strong, before you ride back to the city. If I live, I will show my gratitude – give my regards to your mother.’

‘My brother Mongke is with the khan,’ Kublai went on. ‘He is the orlok of Guyuk’s armies and you know he is no fool. See sense, Batu! I brought you the warning so you could run.’

Batu looked at him, seeing the terrible weariness in the way Kublai slumped at the table.

‘If I discuss this with you, I cannot let you go, do you understand? If Guyuk’s scouts capture you, you already have too much information.’

‘They would not dare torture me,’ Kublai said.

Batu only shook his head.

‘If Guyuk ordered it? You think too highly of yourself, my friend. I would imagine that your mother survives because Mongke has supported Guyuk so loyally. And there is only room for one on that particular tail.’

Kublai made his decision, in part because he could hardly imagine getting on a horse ever again, the way he felt at that moment.

‘I will stay until it is safe to go. Now tell me you are not thinking of attacking the khan’s army – the army that took Yenking, broke the Assassin fortress and humbled the Afghan tribes! What do you have, twelve thousand warriors at most, some of them still untried boys? It would be a massacre.’

The food and tea arrived and Kublai fell to with a will, his hunger banishing all other concerns. Batu sipped at a cup, watching him closely. Kublai was known for his intelligence. Even Genghis had remarked on the prodigy and told his brothers to look to Kublai for solutions. Batu could not ignore Kublai’s opinion when it was so completely against him.

‘If I run, I run for ever,’ he said. ‘I was there in Hungary, Kublai, five thousand miles from home. There aren’t many alive who understand as well as I do that the khan cannot be outrun. Guyuk would chase me to the end of the world and think nothing of it.’

‘Then have your people scatter in a hundred directions. Have them ride deep into the Russian steppes as herders. Tell them to bury their armour and their swords, that they might at least survive. You cannot stand, Batu.’

‘The forest is vast …’ Batu began.

Kublai had revived with the draught of salt tea and he thumped his fist on the table as he interrupted.

‘The forest will only slow them down, not stop them. Genghis climbed mountains around the Chin wall with men just like these. You say you know the army. Think, then. It is time to run. I have bought you a few days, enough to stay ahead of them. Even that is not … Well, it is all you have.’

‘And I am grateful, Kublai. I have said it. But if I run, how many of the people in this valley will still be alive a year from now? A few thousand? A few hundred even? Their lives are dedicated to me. These lands are mine, given by Ogedai Khan. No one has the right to take them from me.’

‘Why didn’t you come to Karakorum? If you had bent the knee then, if you had given your oath, there wouldn’t be an army on the way here.’

Batu sighed and rubbed his face. For a moment, he looked almost as weary as Kublai.

‘I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want my warriors taken for some pointless war under Guyuk. I supported Baidur, Chagatai’s son, but in the end he chose not to fight for the khanate. I can’t say I blame him. I didn’t expect the gathering to go ahead without me, but there it is. Call it vanity, perhaps, or just a mistake. It could have gone another way.’

‘But after that? When Guyuk was made khan you could still have come.’

Batu’s face grew cold. ‘To save my people, I would have done even that. I would have knelt in front of that perfumed toad and sworn my honour away.’

‘But you did not,’ Kublai said, disturbed by the extent of the man’s simmering anger.

‘He did not ask me, Kublai. You are the first person from Karakorum I have seen since Guyuk was made khan. For a time, I even thought you had come to call me to oath. I was ready for that.’ He waved an arm to encompass the whole camp around them, as well as the dogs and children, the families. ‘This is all I want. The old khan chose well when he granted me these lands. Did you know that?’

Kublai shook his head silently.

‘When I came here,’ Batu continued, ‘I found a few rotting gers and homes of wood, deep in the forest. I was amazed. What were those things of the nation doing so far from home? Then I found a broken saddle, still marked with my father’s symbol. These are the lands Jochi settled when he ran from Genghis, Kublai. The lands chosen by the first-born of the great khan. My father’s spirit is here, and though Guyuk may never understand it, this is my home. If he just stayed away, I would never be a threat to him.’

‘But he comes. He will burn this camp to the ground,’ Kublai said softly.

‘That is why I must face him.’ Batu nodded to himself. ‘Perhaps he will accept a personal challenge, between two grandsons of Genghis. I think he might enjoy the drama of such a thing.’

‘He would have you cut down with arrows before you could speak,’ Kublai said. ‘I do not enjoy saying these things, Batu. But you have to know the man would never risk his own life. Put aside these mad plans. You speak in desperation, I understand! But you have no choices …’

Kublai broke off, a thought occurring to him as he spoke. Batu saw his attention fix on some inner place and reached out suddenly to take him by the arm.

‘What is it? What came into your mind just then?’

‘No, it is nothing,’ Kublai said, shaking off the grip.

‘Let me judge,’ Batu said.

Kublai rose suddenly, making one of the dogs growl at him.

‘No. I will not be rushed into it. Give me time to think it through.’

He began to pace the room. The idea that had come to him was monstrous. He knew he was too used to solving problems in the safe confines of the city, without having to consider the consequences. If he spoke it aloud, the world would change. He guarded his mouth, refusing to say another word until he was ready.

Batu watched him pace, hardly daring to hope. As a young boy, Kublai had been the favourite student of the khan’s chancellor. When he spoke, even great men paused and listened. Batu waited in silence, only frowning at one of his sons when the boy crept under the table and curled himself around his leg. The little boy looked up with trusting eyes, convinced his father was the strongest and bravest man in the world. Batu could only wish it were true.

Finding it hard to think with Batu’s hopes and needs pressing on him, Kublai walked outside without a word. The warrior with the white eye came out after him and stood close by, watching. Kublai ignored the stare and went into the road, standing in the centre and letting the people bustle around him. The camp was laid out like a town, with winding roads running through it in all directions. He smiled to himself as he realised none of them ran straight, where an enemy could use them to charge. As with a camp of gers, the tracks twisted and doubled back on themselves to confuse an attacker. There was an energy about the place, from raised voices calling their wares to sounds of construction. As Kublai stood there, he saw two men carrying a log of wood to some unknown destination, shuffling along with a weight almost too much for them. Young children ran around him, grubby urchins still blissfully unaware of the adult world.

If he did nothing, Batu would either attack and be destroyed, or run and be hunted down. Had he truly come so many hundreds of miles only to watch the annihilation of Batu’s families? Yet Kublai had given his oath to the khan. He had sworn to serve him with gers, horses, salt and blood. His word was iron and he was caught between his oath and his need.

Suddenly furious, he kicked a stone in the road and sent it skipping. One of the children yelped in surprise, glaring at him as he rubbed a spot on his leg. Kublai didn’t even see the boy. He had already skirted his oath in warning Batu, but he could live with that. What he contemplated was far worse.

When he turned back at last, he saw Batu standing with the white-eyed warrior in the doorway, the dogs lying at their feet. Kublai nodded.

‘Very well, Batu. I have something more to say.’




CHAPTER NINE









Guyuk loved the long summer evenings, where the world hung for an age, suspended in grey light. The air was clear and warm and he felt at peace as he watched the sun begin to ease towards the west, turning the sky a thousand shades of red, orange and purple. He stood at the small door of a ger, looking out at the encampment of his tumans. It was always the same, as they made a town, a city rise in the wilderness. Everything they needed was carried on the backs of the spare horses. He could smell meat and spices on the air and he breathed deeply, feeling strong. The light would last a long time yet and the hunger was strong in him. He tried to sneer at his own caution. He was khan; the laws of Genghis would not bind him.

Guyuk jumped onto the pony’s back, enjoying his own energy and youth. His face was flushed. Two of his minghaan officers were nearby, doing their best to look in any direction but his. He gestured to his waiting servant and Anar came forward with his hunting eagle, the bird and the man quiet with tension. Guyuk raised his right forearm, where he wore a long leather sheath from his fingers to above his elbow. He accepted the weight of the bird and tied the jesses. Unlike his falcons, the eagle had always fought the hood. She was bare-headed, her eyes sharp with excitement. For a moment, the bird flapped furiously, revealing the white under-feathers of her wings as they spread and beat. Guyuk looked away from the furious wind until she began to settle, trembling. He stroked her head, wary of the great curved beak that could rip the throat out of a wolf.

When the bird was calm, Guyuk gave a low whistle and one of the minghaan officers approached with his head down. It was as if the man wished to see nothing, to know nothing of what went on. Guyuk smiled at his caution, understanding it. The man’s life was in his hands at a single glance or poorly chosen word.

‘I will hunt to the east this evening,’ Guyuk said. ‘You have brought the scouts in?’ His heart was hammering and his voice sounded choked to him, but the minghaan merely nodded in response, saying nothing. Seven times in a month of riding, Guyuk had done the same thing, swept up in passions he never felt with his young wife in Karakorum.

‘If I am needed, send men directly east.’

The minghaan bowed without raising his eyes. Guyuk approved of his discretion. Without another word, the khan nodded to Anar and the two men began trotting their mounts out of the camp. Guyuk held the eagle lightly, the bird looking forward.

Whenever they passed warriors, he saw bowed heads. Guyuk rode with his head high, passing out into the long grasslands. Spare mounts grazed there by the tens of thousands, a herd so vast it covered the land like a shadow and grazed the long plains grass down to nothing each night. There were warriors there too, spending the night on watch with the animals. One or two of them saw him from a distance and trotted closer until they saw it was the khan. At that point they became blind and deaf, turning away as if they had seen nothing.

The evening light was beginning to fade in soft shades by the time Guyuk passed the herds. With every mile, he felt some of his burden lift and sat taller in the saddle. He saw the shadows lengthen before him and as his mood cleared, he was tempted to chase them, like a boy. It was good to be able to put aside the seriousness of his life, just for a time. That too was something he missed when he returned to the camps. When he came back, he could always feel responsibilities closing in on him like a heavy cloak. The days would be filled with tactical discussions, reports and punishments. Guyuk sighed to himself at the thought. He lived for the golden moments away from it all, where he could be his own man, at least for a time.

Some half a dozen miles to the east of the camp, he and Anar found a stream trickling through the plains, running almost dry in its course. There were a few trees by the banks and Guyuk chose a spot where the shadows were gathering, enjoying the utter peace and isolation. Such things were precious to a khan. Guyuk was always surrounded by men and women, from the first moments of waking, to the last torch-lit meetings before he went to bed. Just to stand and listen to the stream and the breeze was a simple joy.

He untied the jesses that snared the eagle’s legs and waited until the bird was ready before he raised his arm and threw her into the air. She rose quickly on powerful wings, circling hundreds of feet above him. It was too late in the day to hunt and he thought she would not go far from him. Guyuk untied his lure and spun out the cord, watching her with pride. Her dark feathers were tinged with red and she was of a bloodline as fine as his own, descended from a bird caught by Genghis himself as a boy.

He began to whirl the lure around him, the cord invisible as he swung the weight in faster and faster circles. Above his head, he saw her wheel and drop, vanishing for a moment behind a hill. He smiled, knowing the bird’s tactics. Even then, she surprised him, coming from his side rather than where he was staring. He had time to see a blur that braked with outstretched wings as she plunged into the lure and bore it to the ground with a shriek. He cried out, complimenting the bird as she held it down. He fed her a scrap of fresh meat from his leather-bound hand and she gulped it hungrily as he retied the jesses and raised her up. If there had been more light, he might have ridden with her to take a fox or hare, but the evening was closing in. He left her tied to his saddle horn, silent and watchful.

While he exercised the bird, Anar had laid thick horse blankets on the soft turf. The young man was nervous, as he had learned to be. Guyuk removed his stiff leather glove and stood for a time, watching him. When the khan showed his teeth, it was the slow smile of a predator.

The expression was wiped from his face at the sound of distant hooves and faintly jingling bells. Guyuk looked up, furious that anyone dared to approach. Even a yam rider should have been told not to interrupt him that evening. With clenched fists, he stood self-consciously, awaiting the newcomer. Whatever it was about, he would send the man back to camp to wait for the morning. For a heartbeat, he wondered if some fool had enjoyed the thought of the khan being disturbed. It was the sort of simple malice that appealed to the common men and he vowed to get the name from the yam rider. He would enjoy administering punishment for the jest.

He did not recognise Batu at first in the darkening twilight. Guyuk had not seen him since they had returned from the Great Trek into the west, and the rider approached with his head down, barely trotting. When Batu raised his head, Guyuk’s eyes widened. In that instant, he knew he was more alone than he had been for years. His precious army was out of reach, too far to call. He saw Batu smile grimly and dismount. Anar called some question, but Guyuk did not hear as he raced to his own horse and drew his sword from where it lay strapped to the saddle. His eagle was fussing, disturbed by the stranger. On impulse, Guyuk tugged loose the cord that held her legs before he walked clear, giving himself space.

‘There is no need to rush, my lord,’ Batu called. He waited until he saw Guyuk was not going to try and ride away, then dismounted. ‘This has been a long time coming. A few moments more won’t hurt.’

With dismay, Guyuk saw Batu wore a sword belted to his hip. As he stared, Batu drew the blade and examined its edge.

Guyuk held the wolf’s-head sword he had inherited, a blade of blued steel with a carved hilt. It had been in his family for generations, khan to khan. He took strength from the feel of it in his hand as he threw the scabbard aside into the grass.

Batu approached slowly, perfectly balanced and every pace sure on the ground. The light was poor and darkness was coming swiftly, but Guyuk could see his eyes gleam. He snarled, throwing off his fear. He was younger than Batu and he had been trained by masters of the sword. He rolled his shoulders lightly, feeling the first light perspiration break on his brow as his heart rate increased. He was no lamb to be cut down without a fight. Batu seemed to sense his confidence and paused, his eyes flickering to Anar. Guyuk’s companion stood in shock a dozen paces away, his mouth open like a thirsty bird. Guyuk realised with a pang that he too would be killed if Batu succeeded in his madness. He set his jaw and raised his blade.

‘You would attack the khan of the nation? Your own cousin?’

‘Not my khan,’ Batu said, taking another step. ‘You’ve had no oath from me.’

‘I was coming to you to accept that oath, Batu,’ Guyuk said.

Batu paused again and Guyuk was pleased to see he had worried him. Any small advantage would matter. For unarmoured men, both of them knew a fight might last only a few heartbeats. Perhaps two masters could hold each other off for a time, but for normal warriors, the lengths of razor steel they held were too deadly. A single gash could bite to the bone or remove a limb.

Batu stalked past Guyuk’s pony and Guyuk barked a command.

‘Strike!’

Batu lurched away from the animal, expecting it to kick out. They had both seen the warhorses of the Christian cavalry, trained to be weapons in battle. Guyuk’s pony did nothing and instead the eagle on its back launched with a huge spread of wings. Guyuk leapt forward at the same time, roaring at the top of his lungs.

In fear, Batu struck out at the bird, his sword coming down and across the eagle before its claws could reach him. The wings hid the wound from Guyuk’s sight, but it screeched and fell almost at Guyuk’s feet. He lunged for Batu’s chest and knew a moment of exultation as he saw Batu’s blade was too low to block.

Batu sidestepped, pulling his sword free from the crippled bird. It had landed on its back, its talons still raking the air and its head straining to reach him. For an instant, his arm was away from his body, outstretched. Guyuk had put everything into the lunge and could barely recover his balance, but he jerked his blade up and caught Batu along the ribs with the edge as he pulled back for another blow. The light deel opened in a gash and blood showed beneath it. Batu cursed and kept moving out of range, away from the bird and its master.

Guyuk smiled, though inwardly he was raging at the damage done to his eagle. He dared not glance down at it, but its cries were already weakening.

‘Did you think this would be easy?’ he taunted Batu. ‘I am the khan of the nation, cousin. I carry the spirit and the sword of Genghis. He will not let me fall to some dog-meat traitor.’

Without taking his eyes from Batu, Guyuk called over his shoulder: ‘Anar! Take your horse and ride back to camp. Bring my bondsmen. I will finish this scavenger while I wait.’

If he had hoped to provoke Batu into an attack, he got his wish. As Anar moved to his white mare, Batu surged forward, his sword alive in his hand. Guyuk brought his own blade across to block and grunted as he felt the man’s strength behind the blow. His confidence was jolted and he stepped back a pace before holding his ground. A memory flashed from his earliest lessons, that once you have started to retreat, it is hard to stop.

Batu’s blade was too quick to see and only his childhood training saved Guyuk as he parried twice more from instinct alone. The blades rang together and he felt a sharp sting on his forearm. To his disgust, he was already breathing hard, while Batu worked with his mouth closed, chopping blows at him without a pause. Guyuk stopped another attack that would have opened him like a goat, but his lungs were aching and Batu seemed tireless, growing faster and faster. Guyuk felt another sting on his leg as the tip of Batu’s blade caught him and opened a deep cut into the muscle. He took another step backwards and almost fell as the leg buckled. He could not turn to look for Anar and he could hear nothing beyond his own breathing and the clash of swords. He hoped his servant had run. Guyuk had begun to think he could not win against this man who used a sword with all the casual strength of a woodsman cutting trees. He continued to defend desperately, feeling warm blood course down his leg as he looked for just one chance.

He didn’t see Anar come from the side in a rush. Guyuk’s response across a lunge had put his blade right over, leaving him vulnerable. At that moment, Anar crashed into Batu and sent them both rolling on the grass. Guyuk could hear his own heartbeat thump, as if the world had grown still.

Anar was unarmed, but he tried to hold Batu as the man sprang to his feet, giving Guyuk his chance. Batu punched his sword twice into Anar’s side, two hard blows that drew the air and life out of him. Even then, Anar’s hands gripped Batu’s deel robe, dragging him off balance. Guyuk stepped forward in a wild rage. His first blow was spoiled as Batu jerked Anar around as a shield, then let him drop. Guyuk lunged for his heart, but he moved too slowly. Batu’s sword ripped into him before he could land the blow. He was aware of every sliding inch of metal as it passed into his chest between his ribs. Guyuk turned with it, his rage allowing him strength to try and trap the blade. He gasped as it tore him inside, but Batu could not pull it free. They hung almost in an embrace, too close for Guyuk to bring his own sword to bear. Instead, he hammered his hilt into Batu’s face, breaking his nose and smashing his lips. Guyuk could feel his strength vanishing like water pouring out of him and his blows grew weak until he was barely able to raise his hands.

His sword fell from his fingers and he sat suddenly, his legs useless. Batu’s sword came with him, still deep in his chest. Anar was lying on the ground, choking and gasping bloody air. Their eyes met and Guyuk looked away, caring nothing for the fate of a servant.

Darkness swelled across his vision. He felt Batu tugging at the sword hilt as a distant pressure, almost without pain. When it came free at last, Guyuk felt his bowels and bladder release. It was not a quick end and he hung on, panting mindlessly for a time before his lungs emptied.

Batu stood, looking down through swelling eyes at his dead cousin. The man’s companion lasted a long time and Batu said nothing as he waited for the choking sounds to stop, the desperate eyes to grow still. When they were both gone, he sank to one knee, placing his sword on the ground at his side and raising a hand to his face to feel the damage. Blood flowed in a sticky stream from his nose and he spat on the grass as it dribbled into his throat. His gaze fell to Guyuk’s sword, with the hilt in the shape of a wolf’s snarling jaws. He shook his head at his own greed and looked around for the scabbard in the grass. Moving stiffly, he cleaned the blade before re-sheathing it and placing it on Guyuk’s chest. The khan’s robe was already heavy by then, sopping wet with cooling blood. The sword was Batu’s to take, but he could not.

‘My enemy the khan is dead,’ Batu muttered to himself, looking on Guyuk’s still face. With Kublai’s information, he had known Guyuk would leave his guards and the safety of his camp. He had waited for three precious days, risking discovery by the scouts while he lay and watched. Doubts had assailed him the whole time, worse than thirst. What if Kublai had been wrong? What if he was throwing away the days he needed to take his people to safety? Batu had been close to despair when he saw Guyuk ride out at last.

Batu stood, still looking down. The summer darkness had come, though he was sure they had fought for just a short time. He glanced at the dead eagle and felt a pang of regret, knowing the bird’s bloodline came from Genghis himself. He stretched his back and stood taller, breathing clean air and beginning to feel the aches and wounds he had taken. They were not serious and he felt strong. He could feel life in his veins and he breathed deeply, enjoying the sensation. He did not regret his decision to face the khan with a sword. He had a bow and he could have taken both men before they even knew they were under attack. Instead, he had killed them with honour. Batu suddenly laughed aloud, taking joy in being alive after the fight. He did not know how the nation would fare without Guyuk. It did not matter to Batu. His own people would survive. Still chuckling, Batu wiped his sword on a clean part of the servant’s tunic and sheathed it before walking back to his horse.

The warriors stood around the body of their khan, stunned and silent as Mongke rode in. Crows called in the trees around them as the sun rose. The lower branches seemed to be full of the black birds and more than one hopped on the ground, flaring its wings and eyeing the dead flesh. As Mongke dismounted, one of the warriors kicked out at a crow in irritation, though it took flight before he could connect.

Guyuk lay where he had fallen, his father’s sword placed on his chest. Mongke strode through his men and loomed over the khan’s body, his emotions hidden behind the cold face every warrior had to learn. He stood there for a long time and no one dared speak.

‘Thieves would have taken the sword,’ he said at last. His deep voice grated with anger and he reached down and picked up the blade, pulling out a length of the steel and seeing it had been cleaned. His gaze searched the bodies, settling on the smears that marked the tunic of the khan’s servant.

‘You saw no one?’ Mongke said suddenly, whirling on the closest scout. The man trembled as he replied.

‘No one, lord,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘When the khan did not return I went out to look for him … then I came to find you.’

Mongke’s eyes burned into him and the scout looked away, terrified.

‘It was your task to scout the land to the east,’ Mongke said softly.

‘My lord, the khan gave orders to bring the scouts in,’ the man said without daring to look up. He was sweating visibly, a trail like a tear working its way down his cheek. He flinched as Mongke drew the wolf’s-head sword, but he did not back away and simply stood with his head down.

Mongke’s face was calm as he moved. He brought the sword edge down on the man’s neck with all his strength, cutting the head free. The body fell forward, suddenly limp as Mongke turned back to the bodies. He wished Kublai were there. For all his distaste for his brother’s Chin clothes and manners, Mongke knew Kublai would have offered good counsel. He felt lost. Killing the scout had not even begun to quench the rage and frustration he felt. The khan was dead. As orlok of the army, the responsibility could only be Mongke’s. He stayed silent for a long time, then took a deep, slow breath. His father Tolui had given his life to save Ogedai Khan. Mongke had been with him at the end. Better than any other, he understood the honour and the requirements of his position. He could not do less than his father.

‘I have failed to protect my oath-bound lord,’ he muttered. ‘My life is forfeit.’

One of his generals had come close while he stood over the body of the khan. Ilugei was an old campaigner, a veteran of Tsubodai’s Great Trek into the west. He had known Mongke for many years and he shook his head immediately at the words.

‘Your death would not bring him back,’ he said.

Mongke turned to him, anger flushing his skin. ‘The responsibility is mine,’ he snapped.

Ilugei bowed his head rather than meet those eyes. He saw the sword shift in Mongke’s hand and straightened, stepping closer with no sign of fear.

‘Will you take my head as well? My lord, you must put aside your anger. Choosing death is not possible for you, not today. The army has only you to lead them. We are far from home, my lord. If you fall, who will lead us? Where will we go? Onwards? To challenge a grandson of Genghis? Home? You must lead us, orlok. The khan is dead, the nation is without a leader. It lies undefended, with wild dogs all around. Will there be chaos, civil war?’

Grudgingly, Mongke forced himself to think beyond the still bodies in the glade. Guyuk had not lived long enough to produce an heir. There was a wife back in Karakorum, he knew. Mongke vaguely recalled meeting the young woman, but he could not bring her name to mind. It no longer mattered, he realised. He thought of his mother, Sorhatani, and it was as if he heard her voice in his ear. Neither Batu nor Baidur had the support of the army. As orlok, Mongke was perfectly placed to take over the nation. His heart beat faster in his chest at the thought and his face flushed as if those around could hear him. He had not dreamed of it, but the reality had been thrust upon him by the bodies lying sprawled at his feet. He looked down at Guyuk’s face, so slack and pale with his blood run out of him.

‘I have been loyal,’ Mongke whispered to the corpse. He thought of Guyuk’s wild parties in the city and how they had sickened him. Knowing the man’s tastes, Mongke had never been truly comfortable with Guyuk, but all that was behind. He struggled with a vision of the future, trying to picture it. Once more, he wished Kublai were there, instead of a thousand miles away in Karakorum. Kublai would know what to do, what to say to the men.

‘I will think on it,’ Mongke said to Ilugei. ‘Have the khan’s body wrapped and made ready for travel.’ He looked at the wretched body of Guyuk’s servant, noting the slick of dry blood that had poured out of his mouth. Inspiration struck him and he spoke again.

‘The khan died bravely, fighting off his murderer. Let the men know.’

‘Shall I leave the body of the killer?’ Ilugei said, his eyes gleaming. No one loved a lie like a Mongol warrior. It might even have been true, though he wondered how Guyuk’s sword could have been cleaned and laid down so carefully by a dying man.

Mongke thought for a time, before shaking his head.

‘No. Have him quartered and the pieces thrown into one of the night pits. Let the flies and the sun feast.’

Ilugei bowed solemnly at the order. He thought he had seen the light of ambition kindle in Mongke’s eyes. He was certain the man would not turn down the right to be khan, no matter how it had come about. Ilugei had despised Guyuk and it was with relief that he thought of Mongke leading the nation. He had no time for the insidious Chin influences that had become so much a part of the nation’s culture. Mongke would rule as Genghis had, a traditional Mongol khan. Ilugei struggled not to smile, though his heart rejoiced.

‘Your will, my lord,’ he said, his voice steady.




CHAPTER TEN









It took a month to bring the army home to Karakorum, almost half the time it had taken to ride out. Freed of Guyuk’s command, Mongke had the men up before dawn each morning, moving on at a hard pace and begrudging every stop to snatch food or sleep.

When they sighted the pale city walls, the mood amongst the men was hard to define. They carried the body of the khan and there were many who felt the shame of failing in their duties to Guyuk. Yet Mongke rode tall, already certain in his authority. Guyuk had not been a popular khan. Many of the warriors took their manner from Mongke and did not hang their heads.

The news had gone before them, by way of the yam riders. As a result, Sorhatani had been given time to prepare the city for days of mourning. Braziers filled with chips of cedar and black aloes wood had been set alight that dawn, with the approach of the army. A grey smoke rose into the air across Karakorum, wreathing the city in mist and rich scents. For once, the stink of blocked sewers was masked.

With Day Guards in their best armour, Sorhatani waited by the city gate, looking out over the road to her son’s army coming home. Kublai had barely made it back before his brother and then only by resuming his guise as a yam rider. Sorhatani felt her age as she stood in the breeze, staring at the dust raised by tens of thousands of horses and men. One of the Guards cleared his throat and then began a spasm of coughing that he could not control. Sorhatani glanced at him, her eyes warning him to be silent. Mongke was still some way off and she took a step towards the warrior, placing her hand on his forehead. It was burning and she frowned. The red-faced warrior was unable to reply to her questions. As she spoke, he raised a hand helplessly and in irritation she waved him out of line.

Sorhatani felt an itch begin in her own throat and swallowed hard to control it before she embarrassed herself. Two of her servants were in bed with the same fever, but she could not think of that now, with Mongke coming home.

Her thoughts strayed to her husband, dead so many years before. He had given his life for Ogedai Khan and he would never have dared to dream that one of his own sons would rise. Yet who else could be khan now that Guyuk was dead? Batu owed everything to her, not just his life. Kublai was certain he would not be an obstacle to her family. She sent a silent prayer to her husband’s spirit, thanking him for the original sacrifice that had made it all possible.

The army came to a halt and settled in around the city, unburdening the horses and letting them run free to crop grass that had grown lush in their absence. It would not be long before the plains of Karakorum were bare dirt again, Sorhatani thought. She watched as Mongke came riding in with his minghaan officers, wondering if she could ever tell him the part she had played in Guyuk’s death. It had not worked out as she and Kublai had planned. All she had intended was for Batu to be saved. Yet she could feel no regret for the loss of the khan. She had already seen some of his favourites reduced to trembling horror as they heard their protector had gone. It had been hard for her not to enjoy their distress, having so long endured their petty dominance. She had dismissed the guards Guyuk had set to watch her. She had no real authority to do so, but they had been able to feel the wind changing as well. They had left her apartments at undignified speed.

Mongke rode up and dismounted, embracing her with awkward formality. She noted he wore the wolf’s-head sword on his left hip, a potent symbol. She gave no sign she had seen it. Mongke was not yet khan and he had to tread a difficult path in the days ahead, until Guyuk was buried or burnt.

‘I wish I could have come back with better news, mother.’ The words still had to be said. ‘The khan has been killed by his servant, murdered while he was out hunting.’

‘It is a dark day for the nation,’ Sorhatani replied formally, bowing her head. Her chest tightened as a cough threatened and she swallowed spit in quick gulps. ‘There will have to be another quiriltai, another gathering of the princes. I will send out the yam riders to have them come to the city next spring. The nation must have a khan, my son.’

Mongke looked sharply at her. Perhaps only he could have heard the subtle emphasis of the last words, but her eyes gleamed. He nodded just a fraction in answer. Among the generals, it was already accepted that Mongke would be khan. He had only to declare himself. He took a deep breath, looking around him at the honour guard Sorhatani had assembled. When he spoke, it was with quiet certainty.

‘Not to the city, mother, not to this place of cold stone. I am the khan elect, grandson to Genghis Khan. The decision is mine. I will summon the nation to the plain of Avraga, where Genghis first gathered the nation.’

Unbidden, tears of pride came to Sorhatani’s eyes. She bowed her head, mute.

‘The nation has drifted far from the principles of my grandfather,’ Mongke said, raising his voice to carry to his officers and the Guards. ‘I will drag it back to the right path.’

He looked through the open gate to the city beyond, where tens of thousands worked to administer the empire, from the lowliest taxes to the incomes and palaces of kings. His face showed his disdain, and for the first time since she had heard of Guyuk’s death, Sorhatani felt a whisper of concern. She had thought Mongke would need her guidance as he took control of the city. Instead, he seemed to look through Karakorum to some inner vision, as if he did not see it at all.

When he spoke again, it was to confirm her fears.

‘You should retire to your rooms, mother. At least for a few days. I have brought a burning branch back to Karakorum. I will see this filthy city made clean before I am khan.’

Sorhatani fell back a step as he remounted and rode through the gate towards the palace. His men were all armed and she saw their grim faces in a new light as they followed their lord into Karakorum. She began to cough in the dust of their passing, until there were fresh tears in her eyes.

By the afternoon, the scented braziers had burnt low and the city was beginning the formal period of mourning for Guyuk Khan. His body lay in the cool basement of the palace, ready to be cleaned and dressed for his cremation pyre.

Mongke strode into the audience room through polished copper doors. The senior staff in Karakorum had gathered at his order and they knelt as he entered, touching their heads to the wooden floor. Guyuk had been comfortable with such things, but it was a mistake.

‘Get up,’ Mongke snapped as he passed them. ‘Bow if you must, but I will not suffer this Chin grovelling in my presence.’

He seated himself on Guyuk’s ornate throne with an expression of disgust. They rose hesitantly and Mongke frowned as he looked closely at them. There was not a true Mongol in the room, the legacy of Guyuk’s few years as khan as well as his father before him. What good had it done to conquer a nation if the khanate was taken over from within? Blood came first, though that simple truth had been lost to men like Guyuk and Ogedai. The men in the room ran the empire, set taxes and made themselves rich, while their conquerors still lived in simple poverty. Mongke showed his teeth at the thought, frightening them all further. His gaze fell on Yao Shu, the khan’s chancellor. Mongke studied him for a time, remembering old lessons with the Chin monk. From Yao Shu he had learned Buddhism, Arabic and Mandarin. Though Mongke disdained much of what he had been taught, he still admired the old man and Yao Shu probably was indispensable. Mongke rose from the throne and walked along their lines, marking senior men with a brief hand on their shoulders.

‘Stand by the throne,’ he told them, moving on as they scurried to obey. In the end, he chose six, then stopped at Yao Shu. The chancellor still stood straight, though he was by far the oldest man in the room. He had known Genghis in his youth and Mongke could honour him for that at least.

‘You may have these as your staff, chancellor. The rest will come from the nation, from those of Mongol blood only. Train them to take over from you. I will not have my city run by foreigners.’

Yao Shu looked ashen, but he could only bow in response.

Mongke smiled. He was wearing full armour, a signal to them that the days of silk were at an end. The nation had been raised in war, then run by Chin courtiers. It would not do. Mongke walked to one of his guards and murmured an order into his ear. The man departed at a run and the scribes and courtiers waited nervously as Mongke stood before them, still smiling slightly as he gazed out of the open window to the city beyond.

When the warrior returned, he carried a slender staff with a strip of leather at the end. Mongke took it and rolled his shoulders.

‘You have grown fat on a city that does not need you,’ he told the men, swishing the air with the whip. ‘No longer. Get out of my house.’

For an instant, the assembled men stood in shock at his words. It was all the hesitation he needed.

‘And you have grown slow under Guyuk and Ogedai. When a man, any man, of the nation gives you an order, you move!’

He brought the whip across the face of the nearest scribe, making sure that he struck with the wooden pole. The man fell backwards with a yelp and Mongke began laying about him in great sweeps. Cries of panic went up as they struggled to get away from him. Mongke grinned as he struck and struck again, sometimes drawing blood. They streamed out of the room and he pursued them in a frenzy, whipping their legs and faces, whatever he could reach.

He drove them down the cloisters and out into the marshalling yard of the palace, where the silver tree stood shining in the sun. Some of them fell and Mongke laughingly kicked them to their feet so that they stumbled on with aching ribs. He was a warrior among sheep and he used the whip to snap them back into a group as he might have herded lambs. They stumbled ahead until the city gate loomed, with Guards looking down in amusement from the towers on either side. Mongke did not pause in his efforts, though he was running with sweat. He kicked and shoved and tore at them until the last man was outside the walls. Only then did he pause, panting, with the shadow of the gate falling across him.

‘You have had enough from the nation,’ he called to them. ‘It is time to work for your food like honest men, or starve. Enter my city again and I will take your heads.’

A great wail of distress and anger went up from the group and for a moment Mongke even thought they might rush him. Many had wives and children still in the city, but he cared nothing for that. The lust to punish was strong in him and he almost wished they would dare to attack, so he could draw his sword. He did not fear scholars and scribes. They were Chin men and, for all their fury and cleverness, they could do nothing.

When the group had subsided into impotent muttering, Mongke looked up at the Guards above his head.

‘Close the gate,’ he ordered. ‘Note their faces. If you see a single one again inside the walls, you have my permission to put an arrow in them.’

He laughed then at the spite and horror he saw in the crowd of battered and bruised courtiers. Not one had the courage to challenge his orders. He waited as the gates were pushed closed, the line of sight to the plains shrinking to a crack and then nothing. Outside, they wailed and wept as Mongke nodded to the Day Guards and threw down the bloody whip at last, walking back alone to the palace. As he went, he saw thousands of Chin faces peering out from houses at the man who would be khan in spring. He grimaced, reminded once again that the city had fallen far from its origins. Well, he was no Guyuk to be baulked for years in his ambition. The nation was his.

The smell of aloes wood had faded since the morning. The city reeked again, reminding Mongke of a healing tent after a battle. He thought sourly of festering wounds he had seen, fat and shiny with pus. It took courage and a steady hand to drain such a wound: a gash and a sharp pain to let the healing begin. He smiled as he walked. He would be that hand.

The entire city was in uproar by the time darkness came. On Mongke’s orders, warriors had entered Karakorum in force, groups of ten or twenty walking every street and examining the possessions of thousands of families. At the first hint of resistance, they dragged owners into the street and beat them publicly, leaving them on the cobbles until their relatives dared to come out and take them back. Some lay where they had been thrown all night.

Even sickbeds were searched for hidden gold or silver, with the occupants tossed out with their sheets and made to stand in the cold until the warriors were satisfied. There were many of those, coughing listlessly and still feverish as they stood with blank eyes. Chin families suffered more than other groups, though the Moslem jewellers lost all their stock in a single night, from raw materials to finished items ready for sale. In theory, all things would be accounted, but the reality was that anything of value disappeared into the deels the warriors wore over their armour.

Dawn brought no respite and only revealed the destruction. There was at least one sprawled body in every street and the weeping of women and children could be heard across Karakorum.

The palace was the centre of it, beginning with a search of the sumptuous rooms that had belonged to the khan’s staff and favourites. Wives were either claimed by Mongke’s officers or put outside the walls to join their husbands. The trappings of status were ripped down, from tapestries to Buddhist statuary. There at least, Mongke’s eye could be felt and what treasures they found were dutifully collected and piled in the storerooms below. More were burnt in great fires on the streets.

As evening came on his second day back in the city, Mongke summoned his two most trusted generals to the audience room in the palace. Ilugei and Noyan were Mongols in his mould, strong men who had grown up with a bow in their hands. Neither man affected any sign of Chin culture and already those who had done so were shaving their heads and ridding themselves of the artefacts of that nation. The orlok’s will had been made clear enough when he whipped the Chin scribes from the city.

Simply meeting his officers without Chin scribes to record was a break with Guyuk’s court. Mongke knew Yao Shu was outside, but he would let the old man wait until the real business was concluded. He was not filled with excitement at the need to meet Guyuk’s debts. The sky father alone knew how the khan had managed to borrow so much against a treasury that stood empty. Already there had been nervous delegations of merchants coming to the palace to collect gold for their paper. Mongke grimaced at the thought. With the wealth he had wrenched out of the foreigners in Karakorum, he could meet most of Guyuk’s paper promises, though it would leave him without funds for months. His honour demanded he do so, as well as the practical consideration that he needed the merchants’ goodwill and their trade. It seemed the role of a khan involved more than winning battles.

Mongke was not yet sure if he had acted correctly in removing the palace staff from their soft positions. Part of him suspected Yao Shu brought every small problem to him as a way of criticising what he had done. Even so, the memory of whipping them from the city was immensely satisfying. He had needed to show he was no Guyuk, that the city would be run on Mongol lines.

‘You have sent men to Torogene?’ Mongke asked Noyan.

The general stood proudly before him in a traditional deel, his skin greasy with fresh mutton fat. He wore no armour, though Mongke had allowed him to keep his sword for the meeting. He would not fear his own men, as Guyuk and Ogedai had.

‘I have, my lord. They will report directly to me when it is done.’

‘And Guyuk’s wife, Oghul Khaimish?’ Mongke said, his eyes passing on to Ilugei.

He tightened his mouth before replying. ‘That is not … settled yet, my lord. I had men go to her rooms, but they were barred and I thought you would want it handled quietly. She will have to come out tomorrow.’

Mongke grew very still and Ilugei began to sweat under the yellow gaze. At last the orlok nodded.

‘How you carry out my orders is your concern, Ilugei. Bring me the news when you have it.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Ilugei said, breathing out in relief. As Mongke looked away, Ilugei spoke again. ‘She is … popular in the city, my lord. The news of her pregnancy is everywhere. There could be unrest.’

Mongke glared at the sweating man.

‘Then take her by night. Make her vanish, Ilugei. You have your orders.’

‘Yes, lord.’ Ilugei chewed his lip as he thought. ‘She is never without her two companions, lord. I have heard rumours that the old one knows herbs and ancient rites. I wonder if she has infected Oghul Khaimish with her spells and words?’

‘I have heard nothing …’ Mongke broke off. ‘Yes, Ilugei. That will serve. Find out the truth of it.’ To be accused of witchcraft carried a terrible penalty. There would be no one willing to stand up for Oghul Khaimish once that was suspected.

Mongke found himself weary as he dismissed his officers and let Yao Shu in. The days were long for one who would be khan, but he had found his purpose. The wound would be cut and it would bleed itself clean. In just a few months, he would rule a Mongol empire without the corruption of the Chin at its heart. It was a fine dream and his eyes were bright with satisfaction as Yao Shu bowed before him.




CHAPTER ELEVEN









In her husband’s summer palace, Torogene sat in a silent hall, lit by a single, gently hissing lamp. She was dressed neatly in a white deel and new shoes of stitched white linen. Her grey hair was tied back tightly, so that not even a wisp escaped the twin clasps. She wore no jewels, as she had given them all away. At such a time, it was hard to look back on her life, but she could not focus on the present. Though her eyes were still swollen with weeping for Guyuk, she had found something resembling calm. Her servants were all gone. When the first one had reported soldiers coming along the road from Karakorum, she had felt her heart skip in her chest. There had been twelve servants, some of whom had been with her for decades. With tears, she had given them whatever silver and gold she could find and sent them away. They would only have been killed when the soldiers arrived, she was sure of that. News of Mongke’s death lists had already reached her, with a few details of the executions in the city. Mongke was clearing away anyone who had supported Guyuk as khan and she was not surprised he had sent soldiers to her, only weary.

When the last of her servants had gone, Torogene had found herself a quiet place in the summer palace to watch the sun set. She was too old to run, even if she thought she could have lost her pursuers. It was strange to see death as finally inevitable, but she found she could put aside all her fear and anger in the face of it. The grief for her beloved son was still fresh, perhaps too great to allow any sorrow for herself. She was worn down, as one who has survived a storm and lay sprawled on rocks, too dazed to do more than breathe and stare.

In the darkness outside, she heard voices as Mongke’s men rode in and dismounted. She could hear every whisper of sound, from the crunch of their feet on the stones, to the jingle of their harness and armour. Torogene raised her head, thinking back over better years. Her husband Ogedai had been a fine man, a fine khan, struck down too early by a vengeful fate. If he had lived … She sighed. If he had lived, she would not be alone and waiting for death in a palace that had once been a happy home. She thought suddenly of the roses Ogedai had given her. They would run wild in the gardens without someone to tend them. Her mind flitted from one thing to another, always listening for the steps coming closer.

She did not know if Ogedai would have been proud of Guyuk in the end. Her son had not been a great man. With all her future stripped away, she saw the past more clearly and there were many regrets, many paths she wished she had not taken. It was a foolish thing to look back and wish things had been different, but she could not help it.

When she heard a boot scrape at the outer door of the hall, her thoughts tore into rags and she looked up, suddenly afraid. Her hands twisted together in her lap as the warriors slid into the room, one after the other. They walked lightly, ready with weapons in case they were attacked. She could almost laugh at their caution. Slowly, she stood, feeling her knees and back protest.

The officer came to her, looking into her eyes with a puzzled expression.

‘You are alone, mistress?’ he asked.

For a moment, her eyes shone.

‘I am not alone. Do you not see them? My husband, Ogedai Khan, stands on my right hand. My son, Guyuk Khan, stands on my left. Do you not see those men watching what you do?’

The officer paled slightly, his eyes sliding right and left as if he could see the spirits watching over her. He grimaced, aware that his companions would be listening and every word reported to Mongke.

‘I have my orders, mistress,’ he said, almost apologetically.

Torogene raised her head further, standing as straight as she could.

‘I am brought down by dogs,’ she muttered, contempt banishing her fear. Her voice was strong as she spoke again. ‘There is a price for all things, soldier.’ She looked up, as if she could see through the stone roof above their heads. ‘Mongke Khan will fall. His eyes will fill with blood and he will not know rest or sleep or peace. He will live in pain and sickness and at the end …’

The officer drew his sword and brought it across her throat in one swift movement. She fell with a groan, suddenly limp as blood poured out of her and spattered on his boots. The watching men said nothing as they waited for her to die. When it was finished, they left quietly, unnerved in the silence. They did not look at each other as they mounted their horses and rode away.

As he faced Mongke, General Ilugei found himself strangely troubled, an unusual emotion for him. He knew it was a sound tactic for a new leader to sweep away all those who had supported his predecessor. Beyond that, it was the merest common sense to remove anyone with a blood tie to the previous regime. There would be no rebellions in the future, as forgotten children grew to manhood and learned to hate. The lessons of Genghis’ own life had been learned by his descendants.

Ilugei had taken particular pleasure in putting his own enemies on the lists he prepared for Mongke, a level of power he had never enjoyed before. He simply spoke a name to a scribe and within a day the khan’s loyal guards tracked them down and carried out the execution. There was no appeal against the lists.

Yet what Ilugei had seen that morning had unnerved him, ruining his usual composure. He had known still-born children before. His own wives had given birth to four of them over the years. Perhaps because of that, the sight of the tiny flopping body had sickened him. He suspected Mongke would think it a weakness in him, so he kept his voice calm, sounding utterly indifferent as he reported.

‘I think Guyuk’s wife may have lost her mind, my lord,’ he said to Mongke. ‘She talked and wept like a child herself. All the time she cradled the dead infant as if it was still alive.’

Mongke bit his lower lip in thought, irritated that such a simple thing should become so complicated. The heir had been the threat. Without one, he might have sent Oghul Khaimish back to her family. He was khan in all but name, he reminded himself. Yet his new authority stretched only so far. Silently, he cursed Ilugei’s man for going into such detail of her crimes. A public accusation of witchcraft could not be ignored. He clenched his fist, thinking of a thousand other things he had to do that day. Forty-three of Guyuk’s closest followers had been executed in just a few days, their blood still wet on the training ground of the city. More would follow in the days to come as he lanced the boil in Karakorum.

‘Let it stand,’ he said at last. ‘Add her name to the list and let there be an ending.’

Ilugei bowed his head, hiding his own obscure disappointment.

‘Your will, my lord.’




CHAPTER TWELVE









Oghul Khaimish stood on the banks of the Orkhon river, watching the dark waters flowing. Her hands were bound behind her, grown fat and numb in the bonds. Two men stood at her sides to prevent her throwing herself in before it was time. In the dawn cold, she shivered slightly, trying to control the terror that threatened to steal away her dignity.

Mongke was there, standing with some of his favourites. She saw him smile at something one of his officers said. Gone were the days when they would have made a bright and lively scene. To a man, his warriors and senior men were dressed in simple deels, without decoration beyond a little stitching. Most wore the traditional Mongol hairstyles, with a shaven scalp and topknot. Their faces shone with fresh mutton fat. Only Yao Shu and his few remaining Chin scribes were unarmed. The rest wore long swords that reached almost to their ankles, heavy cavalry blades designed for cutting down. Karakorum had its own foundry, where armourers sweated all day at their fires. It was no secret that Mongke was preparing for war once he had butchered the last of Guyuk’s supporters and friends.

Her husband’s supporters and friends. Oghul could not feel anything on that day, as if she had grown a protective sheath over her heart. She had lost too much in too short a time and she still reeled from all that had happened. She could not bear to look at her old servant Bayarmaa, trussed with a dozen others as they waited in sullen silence for Mongke to order their deaths.

The orlok seemed in no hurry. He was a solid figure at the centre of them, almost half as wide again as the largest warrior in his retinue. Despite his bulk, he moved easily, a man secure in his strength and still young enough to enjoy it. Oghul stood and dreamed of him being struck dead in front of them all, but it was just a fantasy. Mongke was oblivious to the misery in the huddled rank of prisoners. Even as she watched, he accepted a cup of airag from a servant, laughing with his friends. Somehow, that burned worse than anything, that he should care so little for their fate even as they stood on their last day. Oghul saw one of the bound men had lost control of his bladder, so that a thin stream of urine darkened his leggings and pooled at his feet. He did not seem to notice, his eyes already blank. She looked away, trying to find her own courage. All that man had to fear was a knife. For her, it would be slow.

It was no blessing that Mongke had agreed the wife of a khan was one of royal blood. She looked at the dark canal Ogedai had built and shivered again. She could feel the urge to empty her own bladder, though she had been careful not to drink that morning. Her face and hands felt cold as the blood was leached away and her heartbeat increased. Even so, she was sweating and the cloth at her armpits was already wet. She focused on the small changes in her body as she waited, trying desperately to distract herself.

Mongke finished his airag and tossed the cup back to the servant. He nodded to one of his officers and the man bellowed a command to come to order. All the men there straightened, even some of the prisoners, standing as tall as they could in their bonds. Oghul shook her head at the poor fools. Did they expect to impress their tormentors and gain mercy? There was none to be had.

Yao Shu was present and Oghul thought she could see the signs of great strain on the old man. She had heard the chancellor had been absent for the first executions, claiming illness. With a delicate feel for cruelty, Mongke had sensed his discomfort. Now Yao Shu played a part in all the deaths. Oghul listened to the list of names, watching sadly as each prisoner lifted his head slightly as he heard his own.

After the endless wait, the procedure suddenly started to go quickly. The prisoners were kicked to their knees and a very young warrior stepped from Mongke’s group, drawing a long sword. Oghul knew he would have earned the duty as a reward for some service to Mongke. Many of the warriors desired the task if they had not yet been blooded in battle. Oghul recalled that Genghis had killed tens of thousands in one foreign city for no other purpose than to train his men in the reality of killing.

She did not listen to Yao Shu’s shaking voice as he called out the charges, reading from the page in front of him. The executioner braced himself over the first kneeling figure, determined to make a good show in front of Mongke.

Oghul looked over the river as the killing began, ignoring the shouts of approval and laughter from among Mongke’s group. Bayarmaa was fourth in line and Oghul had to force herself to look as the old woman’s turn came. Her crime had only been by association with Oghul Khaimish, named as the one who corrupted the khan’s wife to dark magic.

Bayarmaa had not bowed her head or stretched her neck and the swordsman spoke harshly to her. She ignored him, looking over to where Oghul stood. They shared a glance and Bayarmaa smiled before she was killed in two hacking blows.

Oghul looked back again to the dark waters until it was over. When the last of them was dead, she turned to see the young warrior examining his blade with a stricken expression. No doubt it had chipped on bone. Mongke came forward and clapped him on the back, pressing a fresh cup of airag into his hands while Oghul watched in sullen hatred. When Mongke looked over at her, she felt her heart constrict in panic and her numb hands twisted in the rope.

Yao Shu spoke her name. This time there was definitely a quaver in his voice and even Mongke frowned at him. Genghis had decreed that royal blood would never be shed by his people, but the alternative filled Oghul with terror.

‘Oghul Khaimish, who has brought infamy to the name of the khan with witchcraft and foul practices, even unto … the killing of her own child.’

Oghul’s hands curled into fists at the last, reaching into the coldness within to keep her on her feet.

When Yao Shu had finished reading the charges, he asked if anyone would step forward and speak in her defence. The smell of blood was strong on the air and no one moved. Mongke nodded to the warriors standing with her.

Oghul stood shaking as she was lifted off her feet and laid on a thick mat of felt. She sensed muscles twitching in her legs, beyond her control. Her body wanted to run and could not. Yao Shu suddenly began to chant a prayer for her, his voice breaking. Mongke glared at him, but the old man spoke on.

The warriors rolled her over in the felt, so that the musty material pressed against her face and filled her lungs with dust. Panic swelled in her and she cried out, her gasping breath muffled in the cloth. She felt the tugging movement as they bound the roll of felt in reins of leather, yanking the buckles tight. She would not cry for help with Mongke listening, but she could not hold back a moan of fear, dragged from her like an animal in a trap. The stillness seemed to go on for ever. She could hear her heart thud in her chest and ears, a drum pulsing. Suddenly she was moving, turning over slowly as they rolled her towards the canal.

Freezing water flooded in and she struggled wildly then, seeing silver bubbles erupt all around her. The roll of felt sank quickly. She held her breath as long as she could.

Sorhatani lay with just a sheet over her, though the night was cold. Kublai knelt at her side and when he took her hand he almost recoiled at the heat from it. The fever had burnt its path through Karakorum and there were fewer new cases reported each day. Every summer it was the same. A few dozen or a few hundred would succumb to some pestilence. Very often it was those who had survived the last one, still weak and thin.

Kublai felt tears prick his eyes as his mother coughed, the sound building until she was choking, her back arched and her muscles standing out in narrow lines. He waited until she could draw a shuddering breath. She looked embarrassed that he had seen her so racked and she smiled weakly at him, her eyes glassy with fever.

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘Yao Shu has locked himself in his rooms. I’ve never seen him so distraught. It was not a good death.’

‘No such thing,’ Sorhatani said, wheezing. ‘It is never kind, Kublai. All we can do is ignore it until the time comes.’ The effort of speaking was enormous and he tried to stop her, but she waved his objections aside. ‘People do that so well, Kublai. They live knowing they will die, but no matter how many times they say the words, they don’t truly believe it. They think somehow that they will be the one death passes by, that they will live and live and never grow old.’ She coughed again and Kublai winced at the sound, waiting patiently until she could breathe once more.

‘Even now, I expect to … live, Kublai. I am a foolish old woman.’

‘Not foolish, or old,’ he said softly. ‘And I need you still. What would I do without you to talk to?’ He saw her smile again, but her skin wrinkled like old cloth.

‘I don’t plan … on joining your father tonight. I’d like to tell Mongke what I think of his death lists.’

Kublai’s expression grew sour.

‘From what I’ve heard, he has impressed the princes and generals. They are the sort of men who admire butchery. They are saying he is a new Genghis, mother.’

‘Perhaps … he is,’ she said, choking. Kublai passed a cup of apple juice into her hands and she sipped it with her eyes closed.

‘He could have banished Oghul Khaimish and her old servant,’ Kublai said. He had studied the life of his grandfather Genghis and he suspected his mother was right, but that did not remove the bitter taste. His brother had achieved a reputation for ruthlessness with fewer than a hundred deaths. It had certainly not hurt him with the nation. They looked to him as one who would bring a new era of conquest and expansion. For all his misgivings and personal dislike, Kublai felt they were probably right.

‘He will be khan, Kublai. You must not question what he does. He is no Guyuk – remember that. Mongke is strong.’

‘And stupid,’ he muttered.

His mother laughed and the coughing fit that followed was the worst he had seen. It went on and on and when she dabbed at her mouth with the sheet, he saw a spot of blood on the cloth. He could not drag his eyes away from it.

When the coughing fit passed, she shook her head, her voice barely a whisper.

‘He is no fool, Kublai. He understands far better than you realise. The khan’s vast armies cannot return to being herdsmen, not any more. He is riding the tiger now, my son. He dare not climb down.’

Kublai frowned, irritated that his mother seemed to be supporting Mongke in everything. He had wanted to share his anger with her, not have her excuse his brother’s acts. Before he spoke again, understanding came to him. Sorhatani had been his friend as well as his mother, but she would never see clearly with her sons. It was a blind spot in her. With sadness, he knew all he could achieve would be to hurt her. He closed his mouth on all the arguments he might have made and remained silent.

‘I will think on it,’ he said. ‘Now get well, mother. You will want to be there, to see Mongke made khan.’

She nodded weakly at his words and he dried the sweat from her face before he left her.

Guyuk’s body was burnt in a funeral pyre outside Karakorum and the days of mourning came to a climax. Even in the cool basements of the palace, the body had begun to rot and the pyre was thick with the smell of perfumed oils. Mongke watched as the edifice collapsed on itself in a gust of flame. Half the nation was drunk, of course, needing little excuse as they held a vigil to see the khan’s spirit into the next world. In their thousands they came drunkenly to the great fire, spattering drops of airag from their fingers or blowing them from their mouths. More than one ventured too close and fell back with shrieks as their clothing caught and had to be thumped out. In the darkness, moths and biting insects crackled in the flames, drawn from the city and the gers by the light. They died in their millions, black specks that wove trails over the pyre and fell into the flames. Mongke thought of the young women, servants and warriors who had been buried with Genghis. He smiled at the thought that Guyuk had only flies to attend him in death.

When the great pyre was reduced to a glowing heap, still higher than a man, Mongke sent for his brothers. Kublai, Hulegu and Arik-Boke fell into step beside him at his order and the small group walked back through the quiet city, leaving the nation to continue their revels. Children would be born as a result of the night. Men and women would be killed in drunken brawls, but that was the way of things: life and death intertwined for ever. It was fitting.

The city seemed empty as they walked together. Almost unconsciously, Mongke and Kublai led the group, opposites in physique and outlook. At their backs, Hulegu had the same broad forehead and heavy frame as Mongke, while Arik-Boke was the shortest, with eyes that flickered from man to man as he walked. An old scar disfigured the youngest brother, a thick line across Arik-Boke’s face that varied in colour from dark pink to the yellow of callus. An accident years before had left him with no bridge to his nose, so he could be heard breathing through his mouth as they walked. Any stranger would have known they were brothers, but there was more tension than friendship in that small group. They kept their silence, waiting to see what Mongke planned for them.

Kublai felt the strain more than the others. Only he had refused to give up his Chin style, from the cut of his hair to the fine silk weave of his robes. It was a small rebellion, but as yet, Mongke had chosen not to force the issue.

There were Night Guards at the palace, holding their own silent vigil as they stood to attention under the light of lamps. At Mongke’s approach, they held themselves like statues. Mongke did not seem to notice, so deep was he in thought. He swept across the outer yard and Arik-Boke had to trot to keep up with the others as they passed through the cloisters and on to the main audience room.

More of the khan’s Guards waited there, by doors of polished copper. No sign of green appeared on the shining sheets and there was a smell of floor wax and polish strong in the air. Mongke may not yet have been khan, but his orders were law in the city and he worked them all hard.

Kublai watched in hidden irritation as Mongke entered and crossed the chamber, pulling off the cloth from a jug of wine and pouring himself a cup that he knocked back in quick swallows. There was nowhere to sit. The room was almost bare, except for a long table covered with carelessly strewn scrolls and maps, some of them bound in bright-coloured thread. The glittering throne of Guyuk and Ogedai had disappeared, no doubt to languish in some storeroom for the next century.

‘Drink if you wish,’ Mongke said.

Hulegu and Arik-Boke moved to the table with him, leaving only Kublai standing alone and waiting to be told why they were there.





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