Kitabı oku: «Conqueror»

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.