Again he paused. Jamuga was still silent, but a deep furrow appeared between his pale eyes.
Belgutei sighed. “Bektor sat with Bortei not censuring her for her forward ways. He was very lonely. She filled his plate and hers, from the pot. She urged him to eat. But all at once his somber sadness clutched his vitals, and only courtesy made him swallow a little. As soon as he could, he left her.”
Belgutei shrugged slightly. “He told me that there was something about the woman which revolted him, though she hath great beauty.”
He waited. But still Jamuga did not speak.
Belgutei went on quietly, all the merriment gone from his eyes.
“Bektor lay down to sleep. And then suddenly woke with a cry, clutching his belly. He called for the Shaman. When Kokchu came, he cried out that my brother had been poisoned. He mixed him a foul brew, and forced it upon him. Bektor vomited. The food he had eaten spewed through his mouth, bright red with his blood.”
Jamuga grew frigid with horror and disgust. He began to speak in a stammering voice: “But, thou didst say that Bortei ate from the same pot, sitting beside Bektor!”
Belgutei nodded gravely. “That is true. I questioned Bektor closely. The woman did go in and out of the yurt, bringing cups and kumiss and millet. At any time, she had the opportunity to mix poison separately with the food she was placing on Bektor’s plate. He recalled that it had a dimly strange flavor. Or, mayhap, she mixed the poison in his cup.”
Jamuga bent his head and stared at the fire.
“Look thee, Jamuga,” said Belgutei, reasonably. “Bortei would have no reason to poison Bektor, except by command of Temujin.”
Jamuga spoke in a low voice, not looking at him: “Doth it occur to thee that she might have been moved by loyal fervor to Temujin, and undertook this herself?”
Belgutei threw back his head and laughed. “Hah! She hath the eye of a wanton! I am amazed that she hath not heretofore attempted to poison Temujin, himself, for it is open for any one to see that she lusteth after Subodai! Nay, she poisoned Bektor by Temujin’s command—”
He stopped abruptly, for Jamuga’s eyes were filled with fire. The reserved youth seemed imbued with a frantic passion and rage, and Belgutei could do nothing but stare at him, astounded.
“It is a lie!” cried Jamuga. “In truth, she attempted to poison Bektor, but by her own desire. And in my heart, I know her motive.”
He got to his feet. He was visibly trembling. He struggled to control himself. When he spoke again, his voice was unnaturally quiet.
“Fear no more treachery against Bektor, such as this. And now, do thou leave me.”
When Belgutei had left him, Jamuga stood, rigidly trembling, for a long while. Then, pulling his hood over his head, he slipped along the rear of the yurts and made his way to that of Temujin. Bortei was sitting before her fire, with Houlun, and when they perceived Jamuga, they stared up at him, wonderingly. Houlun greeted him with reserve, but Bortei said nothing, only paling a trifle. Jamuga did not answer Houlun’s greeting, but said directly to Bortei, looking down at her with hatred and loathing:
“Thou didst attempt to poison Bektor!”
Houlun uttered a concerned exclamation, but Bortei, turning white as tallow, looked at him boldly, and answered:
“It is a lie.”
Jamuga shook his head at her with a sort of cold ferocity. “It is not a lie, and thou knowest it. Look thee, Bortei—Temujin hath a quarrel to settle with Bektor. If thou dost settle it for him, for thine own motives which I know, he will be a mockery among his people. I shall not tell Temujin, for he might kill thee for thy foul craftiness. But lift thy hand against, Bektor again, and thy husband shall know everything about thee.”
Houlun looked at him with quickening and passionate interest: “What dost thou know of Bortei, Jamuga?”
But he looked only at Bortei, whose lips had become livid, and whose eyes, enormously distended, were filled with hatred and terror. And then he turned away, and left them. Soon, he heard the acrimonious voices of the two women, upbraiding each other, accusing and counter-accusing, until a scream assured him that Houlun had smacked her daughter-in-law across the face.
He went back to his yurt. His young brothers were asleep. He lay down on his bed of furs and felt, and closed his eyes. But he could not sleep.
There was a great sickness in him, but he was not thinking about Bortei.
Over and over, he thought: Is it possible it was by Temujin’s command?
Chapter 22
But Jamuga underestimated Bortei tragically when he believed that he had frightened her, or set her aside from her purpose. He had merely shown her that she must be more careful, and proceed along a different way.
Extremely guileful and without conscience or scruple, she knew how to win the confidence of others, even of one like Houlun, who was jealous, and disliked her intensely. It was not long before she convinced Houlun that her concern with the safety and well-being of Temujin was sincere and all-engrossing. At first, Houlun was inclined to be jealously resentful. But later, she was touched.
One day Bortei said to her mother-in-law: “I have no enmity for Bektor, half-brother of my husband. But I can readily see that he is a danger.”
Houlun, surprised and taken aback by the astuteness of this young girl, agreed. But what could one do? Bortei gazed at her mother-in-law’s perplexed face very reflectively. She listened to Houlun’s honest defense of Bektor, and nodded gravely when the older woman suggested that the best course was a reconcilation between the two young men. But Houlun, later, had the uneasy sensation that the grave nod had been merely diplomatic, and Bortei had not believed this at all.
Bortei believed in herself that there are some natures which can never be reconciled nor comprehended by each other. Or, at best, the reconciliation could be only tentative. This was not a matter to cause worry, if there were not some external and dangerous circumstances to be considered, also. But in the matter of Temujin, there were external and dangerous circumstances. Moreover, Bortei believed reconciliations were very good, provided that they did not take undue time. If the reconciliations demanded a long period of finesse and delicacy, then the intelligent man ruthlessly refused to consider them. He must eliminate his enemy. Life was too short to take circuitous routes, even in the cause of mercy and sweetness. It was better to hack down a flowering tree that impeded one’s path than to go laboriously around it. Thus, coldly, she reasoned.
She knew that Temujin had no time to spare. Moreover, very shrewdly, she began to guess that he would make haste upon a plan suggested by another, if he had already decided on this plan heretofore. So, tactfully and carefully, she approached him upon the danger inherent in the very existence of Bektor. She pretended to speak reluctantly, giving him to understand that it was only her intense love and devotion to him which impelled her to speak. After all, she said, gazing at Temujin with the frozen gray of her eyes, a man must resent any innuendoes about his own brother, even if they came from his wife. The gray of her eyes became artless; she was very careful not to let Temujin suspect that she knew of the enmity between him and his brother.
Temujin listened with interest, his face gloomy and suspicious. But his eyes softened in spite of himself, as he looked at his beautiful wife, whom he loved with intense passion and lust, and yet with something stranger and deeper than these. She sat at his feet as she talked in her soft, loving and regretful voice, and she let him twine his fingers awkwardly in her red-tinged dark hair. She leaned forward a little so that he could see the modelling of her high and lovely breasts with their conical nipples. Versed in the ways of women, she had carelessly extended one leg, and the wool of her robe sculptured it, revealing the round thigh and the slenderness of dainty calf. She talked reason with him, but artfully colored that reason with an invitation to desire. She knew that the arguments of a woman are more potent if accompanied by lustful suggestion, and that even wisdom is received without resentment when it comes with the face of
youth and the odor of femaleness. Mingled with her primal knowledge was her contempt for men, whose strength and resolution become as water at the rise of a woman’s breast, and whose knowledge becomes impotent before surrendering thighs.
Temujin, who all his life was abnormally susceptible to women, looked at her restlessly, and turned aside his eyes. He distrusted his susceptibility. Yet he had to acknowledge that she was a wise and astute woman. He had already decided upon the death of Bektor. When Bortei hinted its necessity, she gave him the final thrust towards its accomplishment. Nevertheless, he would tell her nothing. To the end of his life, he never told her everything. There was only one, to whom he told all.
There was, in Jamuga, something of which Temujin was secretly afraid or, better, something which he feared and was abashed before. He, himself, was not above unscrupulous and devious things, for first of all he believed that nothing mattered but the end, and that a thing was good if it survived and was successful, however it was attained. But in Jamuga he knew there was not this exigency, not this cold ruthlessness of spirit. Kurelen might disapprove a given action and raise his right eyebrow quizzically. But if it were finally successful, he would laugh, as at some ironic jest. Chepe Noyon, who loved adventure for its own sake, would be amused, too, provided the thing had been accomplished with cleverness and color. Subodai, the stainless, saw no evil in any man. Kasar adored Temujin under any circumstances, found nothing dark in him. But Jamuga would acknowledge no good in a result if the means used to attain it were evil or treacherous or ignoble. It was this somber rigidity with which Jamuga abashed Temujin, this narrow clarity of eye, this simple and lofty certainty of right and wrong. And sometimes when Jamuga gazed sternly at Temujin with his light and inexorable eyes, accusing and faintly disdainful, Temujin felt both anger and shame.
Yet, he was not able to keep matters that concerned him deeply from Jamuga. However he vowed to accomplish what he had in mind in secret from Jamuga, until it was an unchangeable fact and not to be lamented over incontinently, he always discovered himself hinting to Jamuga, as though to ascertain beforehand the results of his acts to his anda.
Now he knew that he must kill Bektor. There must be no subtle dilly-dallying, such as Kurelen suggested, with his squeamishness. It must be a clean and ruthless kill, cleansed of enmity, dictated by necessity. So Temujin told himself. Yet, when he faced Jamuga, wishing to tell him, he would fall silent, his face the very color of rage. Each day he said to himself: Today, I shall tell Jamuga that I must kill Bektor. And each day, looking into Jamuga’s reserved remote eyes, which waited, his lips would become cold and voiceless. So, as usual, he approached the subject in a circumambient manner.
And Jamuga, guessing that Temujin had something of the most immense gravity to tell him, was afraid. But this time, he knew that Temujin would not accomplish the thing ruthlessly, telling him later, as he sometimes did. It was too important. In that he felt both comfort and fear. But he was too sensitive to precipitate the telling. He had the feeling that the longer the matter was delayed, the longer would be his own peace of mind.
Then, on a certain day when Temujin casually suggested they ride off alone together, Jamuga thought: He will tell me today. He did not know whether to be relieved or more alarmed.
They rode into the fiery red hills. They had moved away from the blue mountains deeper into the territory of Toghrul Khan, where rich but narrow green pastures could be found. Here, at least, they would not be unduly harassed.
Stopping at last near a huge volcanic boulder which offered them some shade from the monstrous heat, Temujin smiled at his anda with that simple artlessness which never failed to arouse apprehension in Jamuga. They dismounted, sat down in the sharp black shade thrown onto the fierce whiteness of the desert. Temujin urged rice wine on his friend. He was talkative today, and laughed more than customary. His laughter had a harsh and boisterous sound, as though he were uneasy beneath it. Jamuga made himself smile. Temujin had little wit, but that little was acrid and cruel. A fever seemed to burn in him. His inner turmoil betrayed itself in the bitter green sparkle of his eyes, in the very hot color of his broad-cheeked face, in the flash and glitter of his large white teeth. In the center of his large and barbarian ferocity the uneasiness glowed like a coal. It was nothing so complicated and effete as the conscience of the townsman, but simply an angry and irritated necessity for the approval of his anda.
He said at length, in a voice too careless: “Within a few days I must visit Toghrul Khan, with my suggestions and my demands. Thou shalt go with me, and Chepe Noyon and Subodai and Kasar, so that he will see I have noble paladins. There is but one thing: who shall keep order and unity among my people while I am gone? Thou knowest they are as nervous as a mountain antelope, and might scatter. This is a grave thing to consider.”
For a moment Jamuga was relieved. The matter, then, was not so grave—
He said: “Surely Kurelen, and thy mother, have experience and wisdom. And thy wife is clever and resolute. Then, there is the Shaman, who knowest his duty, or, at least, his security.”
Temujin’s face darkened, and his eyes became slits of blazing emerald. He gnawed his lip. He looked away, and said quietly: “The Shaman! That is my difficulty. I do not trust him. Who can trust a priest? When I am gone, he will plot against me, out of his hatred and ambition. I shall not be there to impress upon him mine invincibility. Priests have short memories, when their own gain is concerned.”
Jamuga said thoughtfully: “Kurelen is a match for him.” A faint trembling went along his nerves, and he felt chilled, as though with presentiment. “Or take him with us.”
Temujin suddenly got up, as though propelled by some inner force. He leaned his hand against the huge black boulder, which stood jagged and enormous against the hot blue sky. His back was turned to Jamuga, and his voice came muffled.
“Without the priest to control them, as well as Kurelen and my mother, the people cannot be trusted.” He paused. “Thou knowest Kokchu’s fondness for Bektor—”
Terror, vivid and all-seeing, clutched Jamuga. He got to his feet. He stood beside Temujin. He said, in a loud sharp voice:
“Take Bektor with us! Oh, I know thou dost hate him, but he is a harmless youth, and doth desire only loyalty to thee, if thou wouldst only see it! Thou wouldst say he hateth thee, but only because of thy hatred. Let him prove his loyalty to thee—give him a sign of brotherly reconciliation—”
Temujin broke into a loud and infuriated laugh. “Dost thou not know that there are enmities that are part of the blood and the sinew, and can never be reconciled? When I look upon Bektor, I see my natural enemy, who must be destroyed. Even Kurelen doth see that.”
In Jamuga’s throat was a lump that was like a piece of cutting rock. He swallowed. He made his voice light as he said, through lips chilled as ice:
“Kurelen is not all-wise, though thou hast always thought it. Moreover, he doth talk loosely, not knowing that a potent man never talketh except as a preliminary to action.” He smiled acidly. “That is why I, myself, am not potent. Like Kurelen, I speak as an antidote to exertion. If—any harm—came to Bektor, Kurelen would be the first to be disgusted.”
Temujin did not speak. Jamuga saw only that violent profile, as remorseless and savage as the outlines of the volcanic boulder against which he leaned.
Jamuga raised his voice. “There are no enmities that cannot be reconciled, no jealousies which cannot be satisfied, no foe who cannot be made a friend.”
Temujin turned to him with fury, and Jamuga saw that the fury was partly against himself. “I have no time!” he cried. “I cannot dally! I must do what I must do!”
Jamuga asked quietly, holding down his trembling: “And what is that?”
But Temujin did not answer him immediately. His breath was short and tumultuous. Then, in a voice strangely composed and low, he said: “Bektor must be removed.”
Jamuga kept down any agitation in his tone, when he said: “But how?” He remembered the
poison of Bortei, and closed his eyes on a sickened spasm. But when Temujin did not reply, he opened his eyes again. A mask of stone had fallen over the face of his anda, and behind it, unseen but terrible, his spirit looked out.
Jamuga forced his stiff lips into an amused smile. “Thou wouldst not kill him, Temujin?” And when Temujin still did not speak, Jamuga’s voice came out in a thin cry: “Thou wouldst not murder thy brother?”
He fell back, for the spirit of Temujin had come from behind his mask, and it was awful to the eyes of Jamuga. For a long moment the two young men gazed at each other. Jamuga was fascinated by what he saw as he would be fascinated by some overwhelming horror, which paralyzed him.
Then in a soft voice, and smiling evilly, Temujin said: “Art thou not mine anda?”
And again the two young men looked at each other. Jamuga’s face was the color of stone which had been blasted by lightning. His heart was beating with a strange disorder, which was excruciatingly painful.
He whispered: “I am thine anda. Who can take that away? Even thee?”
Temujin still smiled. And then, without another word, he turned away and deliberately mounted his horse. He rode off as though he were alone, and had always been alone, without a backward glance.
Jamuga watched him go. He was so faint and weak that he had to lean against the boulder for support. He closed his eyes. He heard Temujin’s going, until at last there was only silence.
Temujin rode back to the ordu, without haste, but only with an inexorable and unhurried purpose. He sought out Kasar, who, because of his skill, was known as the Bowman. He said to him, looking into his eyes: