The girl was already showing her second pregnancy, though her family had tried their best to conceal it with voluminous robes. No doubt her mother was looking after the first-born boy, Genghis mused as he walked. Tolui and the girl, Sorhatani, seemed besotted with each other, if careless with the laws of the tribes. It was not uncommon for young girls to get themselves pregnant, though Sorhatani showed unusual spirit in binding Tolui to her without her father’s consent. She had even come to Borte to ask that Genghis name the first son. The khan had always admired that sort of brazen courage and he was pleased with Tolui’s choice. He had called the boy Mongke, meaning ‘eternal’, a fitting name for one who would carry his blood. As Genghis walked, he considered declaring all children legitimate, whether they were born after marriage or not. It would save trouble in the future, he was certain.
‘When I was a boy,’ Genghis said a little wistfully, ‘a young man might have travelled for days to reach his bride’s tribe.’
Khasar snorted at the idea.
‘I have four wives, brother. If I had to do that each time I wanted a new one, I’d never get anything done.’
‘I am amazed any of them put up with you,’ Borte said, smiling sweetly. She made a gesture with her little finger to Chakahai, causing her to giggle.
Genghis grinned at his first wife. It lifted his spirits to see her smile, standing tall and strong, her bare arms tanned from the sun. Even Chakahai’s pale skin had taken a golden hue in the hot months and both women glowed with health. He was pleased to catch Borte’s wink as she noticed him looking her over. She and Chakahai seemed to have reached an understanding after the shah’s attack on the families. At least he did not have to watch them too closely when they were together, in case they erupted like cats in a bag. It was peace of a sort.
‘The nation does need children, Borte,’ he replied.
Khasar chuckled lasciviously in response, making Borte and Chakahai roll their eyes at each other. Khasar had fathered seventeen children that he knew of and was justly proud of having fourteen of them live. With the exception of Temuge, Genghis’ brothers had done their part in swelling the nation with squalling brats to run wild among the gers. Temuge too had married, but the union had produced no children as yet. Instead, his youngest brother filled his days with the administration of tribal disputes. Genghis glanced at him, but Temuge was ignoring Khasar and watching Tolui step down from the cart. For once, Genghis felt mellow towards his youngest brother. Temuge had created his own little empire within the nation, with a staff of eighty men and women working for him. Genghis had heard he even taught them reading and writing. It seemed to work and Genghis was pleased his brother did not come to him with the problems he faced each day. In contrast to the long strides of his warrior brothers, Temuge walked in short, fussy steps and wore his long hair tied in a Chin style. He washed far too often and Genghis could detect a scent of perfumed oil about him as the breeze blew. There had been a time when Genghis had been ashamed for him, but Temuge seemed content and the tribes had slowly accepted his authority.
The bride’s family had made their small camp to the west of Nur, setting out their gers in the traditional style. Genghis saw Tolui hesitate as armed men came racing out to intercept him. The blue robe and gold tunic his son wore were unmistakable even at a distance.
Genghis smiled as the men of the family put on their show. They seemed unaware of the thousands who had come to witness the union and waved their swords as if genuinely affronted. Tolui bowed deeply to Sorhatani’s father. Genghis could not help but wince. Tolui was the son of the great khan, after all. With Sorhatani already a mother, her father would hardly have sent Tolui away for not showing enough respect.
Genghis sighed to Borte, knowing she understood. Tolui was a good son, though he seemed to lack the fire of his father and uncles. Perhaps it was growing up in the shadow of Jochi and Chagatai. Genghis slid a glance to his right, where those two young men walked with Ogedai. His two oldest sons had not put aside their differences, but that was a problem for another day.
The bride’s father relented at last, letting Tolui into his gers to greet his wife-to-be. Genghis and his wives walked closer to the family gathering as Kokchu blessed the land and threw drops of black airag into the air for the watching spirits.
‘He is a fine son,’ Kachiun said, clapping both his brother and Borte on the back. ‘You must be proud of him.’
‘I am,’ Genghis replied. ‘Though I doubt he could lead. He is too soft to hold men’s lives in his hands.’
‘He is young yet,’ Borte said immediately, shaking her head in reproof. ‘And he has not had your life.’
‘Perhaps he should have. If I had left the boys to survive in the winters of home instead of bringing them here, perhaps they would all be khans.’ He could sense both Jochi and Chagatai listening, though they pretended not to.
‘They will be yet, brother,’ Khasar said. ‘You’ll see. The lands we have taken need men to rule them. Give him a few years and set him up as shah of one of these desert kingdoms. Leave a tuman to support him and he’ll make you proud, I do not doubt it.’
Genghis nodded, pleased at the compliment to his boy. He saw Temuge turn with sudden interest at Khasar’s words.
‘That is a good thought,’ Temuge said. ‘In the Chin lands, we often had to take the same city more than once. Some resisted even after a second raid and had to be destroyed. We cannot just ride over them and expect them to remain defeated.’
Genghis grimaced slightly at that ‘we’. He did not recall Temuge riding against cities, but on such a day he let it pass. His youngest brother went on blithely.
‘Give me the word and I will have good men left behind in every city we take from this absent shah, to rule in your name. In ten years or twenty, you will have an empire to match the Chin and Sung combined.’
Genghis recalled an old conversation with a tong leader in the Chin city of Baotou. The man had suggested something similar then, all those years ago. It was a difficult concept for him. Why would a man want to rule a city when the plains were open and empty? Yet the idea intrigued him and he did not scorn his brother’s words.
The bride’s family could not possibly have fed so many, but Temuge had ordered every stove in the camps lit for the wedding feast. Vast mats of felt were unrolled on the dusty ground and Genghis sat with his brothers, accepting a skin of airag and a steaming bowl with a dip of his head. Around them, the mood was light and songs began to issue from throats as they celebrated the union of his youngest son. In that place, with the town of Nur having surrendered only two days before, Genghis felt more relaxed than he had for many months of war. The destruction of Otrar had not lanced the corruption from his rage. Instead, it had grown. He had pushed them all hard, but with the shah still alive, Genghis felt driven to wreak devastation on the man’s lands. A line had been crossed in the attack on the women and children and, in the absence of the shah himself, Genghis had punished his people in the only way he knew.
‘I do not like the idea, Temuge,’ he said at last. His brother’s face fell before Genghis went on. ‘But I do not forbid it. I do not want these Arabs to come creeping back when we have passed by. If they live, it will be as slaves.’ He struggled not to let anger surface as he went on. ‘Ruling a city would be a good reward for old warriors, perhaps. A man like Arslan might be renewed by the challenge.’
‘I will send scouts to find him,’ Temuge replied instantly.
Genghis frowned. He had not meant Arslan himself. Yet he still missed the old man and he could not find a reason to object.
‘Very well, brother. But send for Chen Yi in Baotou as well, if he is still alive.’
‘That little criminal!’ Temuge said, spluttering. ‘I did not mean to give power to just anyone. He has the city of Baotou already, brother. I can name a dozen men more suited to the work I have in mind.’
Genghis waved a hand impatiently. He had not wanted to begin the discussion and now it threatened to
overwhelm him and spoil the day.
‘He understood the sort of thing you mean, Temuge, which makes him valuable. Offer him gold and power. He may still refuse, I do not know. Do I have to repeat myself?’
‘Of course not,’ Temuge said. ‘We have spent so long at war, it is hard to think of what must come after, but…’
‘You haven’t spent much time at war,’ Khasar said, poking him with an elbow. ‘You have spent your time with sheaves of paper, or playing the khan with your servant girls.’
Temuge coloured instantly and would have replied, but Genghis held up a hand for peace.
‘Not today,’ he said and both men subsided, glowering at each other.
Near the city, Genghis saw a group of his warriors surge to their feet. He rose instantly, suddenly wary as three of them trotted through the lively crowd towards him. Whatever disturbed their meal had not yet spread to the rest and more than one family cursed aloud as the warriors jumped over or darted around them. Many had brought dogs to the feast and those animals barked excitedly.
‘What is it?’ Genghis demanded. If one of the young idiots had started a fight on his son’s wedding day, he would have his thumbs.
‘There are people coming out of the town, lord,’ the warrior replied, bowing low.
Without another word, Genghis, Kachiun and Khasar strode through the crowd to the edge facing the city. Though they were on foot, they were all well armed in the habit of men who always had a blade or a bow in easy reach.
The men and women coming out of Nur did not look dangerous. Genghis watched curiously as perhaps sixty men and women walked across the ground between the wedding ceremony and Nur. They were dressed in bright colours that were the match of Tolui’s marriage robe and they did not seem to be carrying weapons.
The wedding crowd had fallen silent and many more men had begun to drift towards their khan, ready to kill if the need arose. By the time the group drew close, they faced a line of fierce veterans, men Genghis had honoured with the invitation. The sight of such warriors made them falter in their steps, but one of them called to the others in their strange language, clearly steadying their nerves.
When they were close enough to speak, Genghis recognised some of the town elders who had surrendered to him. He brought Temuge forward to interpret.
His brother listened to the leader from Nur, then nodded to himself before speaking.
‘They have brought gifts to the khan’s son, on his wedding day,’ Temuge said.
Genghis grunted, half tempted to send them back to their homes. Perhaps because of the conversation he had just had, he relented. Enemies were to be destroyed, of course, but these had declared for him and done nothing to make him suspicious. He was aware that having an army encamped around a town made peace talks run surprisingly smoothly, but in the end he nodded.
‘Tell them they are welcome, just for today,’ he told Temuge. ‘They can give the gifts to Tolui when the feast is over.’
His brother spoke a guttural stream and the group relaxed visibly as they joined the Mongols on the felt mats and accepted tea and airag.
Genghis forgot about them as he saw little Tolui come out of his father-in-law’s ger and grin at the crowd. He had taken tea with the family and been formally accepted by them. He led Sorhatani by the hand and, though her robe showed a bulge at the front, no one commented on it with Genghis watching. Kokchu was ready to dedicate the union to the sky father and earth mother, bringing blessings on their new family and asking for fat, strong children to fill their gers.
As the shaman began to chant, Chakahai shivered and looked away from the man. Borte seemed to understand and laid a hand on her arm.
‘I cannot look at him without thinking of poor Temulun,’ Chakahai murmured.
At the name, Genghis’ mood soured on the instant. He had lived with death all his life, but the loss of his sister had been hard. His mother had not even left her self-imposed seclusion for the wedding of her grandson. For that alone, the Arab cities would rue the day they had ever scorned his men and forced him to come to their lands.
‘This is a day for new beginnings,’ Genghis said wearily. ‘We will not speak of death here.’
Kokchu danced and spun as he chanted, his voice carrying far on the breeze that dried their sweat. The bride and her family remained still, with their heads bowed. Only little Tolui moved as he set about his first task as a husband. Genghis watched coldly as Tolui began to erect a ger from the piles of wicker lattice and thick felt. It was hard work for one who was barely a man, but his son was quick-fingered and the dwelling began to take shape.
‘I will avenge Temulun and all the rest,’ Genghis said suddenly in a low voice.
Chakahai looked at him and nodded.
‘It will not make her live again,’ she said.
Genghis shrugged.
‘It is not for her. The suffering of my enemies will be a feast to the spirits. When I am old, I will remember the tears they have shed and it will ease my bones.’
The light mood of the wedding had vanished and Genghis watched impatiently as the bride’s father stepped in to help little Tolui raise the central pole of the ger, white and new. When it was complete, his son opened the painted door to usher Sorhatani into her new home. In theory they would seal the marriage that evening, though it was clear that particular task was already accomplished. Genghis wondered idly how his son would procure a bloody rag to show her virginity had been taken. He hoped the boy would have the sense not to bother.
Genghis put aside a skin of airag and stood, brushing crumbs from his deel. He could have cursed Chakahai for spoiling the day, but it had been a short break from the bloody work he faced. He felt his mind begin to fill with the plans and stratagems he needed, settling into the cold rhythms that would take cities and scour the sands clean of all who resisted them.
Those with him seemed to sense the change. He was no longer the devoted father. The great khan stood before them once more and not one of them met his calm gaze.
Genghis looked around the camp, at those who still lay and ate or drank, enjoying the warmth and the occasion. For some reason, their indolence annoyed him.
‘Get the warriors back to the camp, Kachiun,’ he ordered. ‘Have them work off the winter fat with a long ride and archery practice.’ His brother bowed briefly, striding away and scattering men and women with barked orders.
Genghis breathed deeply and stretched his shoulders. After Otrar, the shah’s city of Bukhara had fallen almost without a blow being exchanged. Its entire garrison of ten thousand had deserted and still lurked somewhere in the hills, terrified of him.
Genghis clicked his tongue to make Jochi look up.
‘Take your tuman to the hills, Jochi. Find that garrison and destroy them.’
When Jochi had gone, Genghis felt a slight relief. The shah was held in the far west by Tsubodai and Jebe. Even if he evaded them and returned, his empire would be reduced to ashes and rubble.
‘Temuge? Have your scouts ride to Samarkand and bring back every detail they can learn of the defences. I will lead the attack, with Chagatai and Jochi when he returns. We will make dust of their precious cities.’
Jelaudin stood with his back to the door of the rooms they had rented in the town of Khuday, shutting out the noise and stench of the souk. He hated the grubby little place on the edge of a great expanse of sand where nothing but lizards and scorpions lived. He shuddered. He had known beggars before, of course. In the great cities of Samarkand and Bukhara they bred like rats, but he had never had to walk among them, or suffer their diseased hands tugging at his robe. He had not stopped to press coins into their palms and he still seethed at their curses. In other days, he would have ordered the town burned for the insult, but for the first time in his life, Jelaudin was alone, stripped of the power and influence he had barely noticed before it vanished.
Jelaudin jumped when a knock sounded right by his head. He cast a desperate glance around the tiny room, but his father
was lying down in the other and his brothers were out buying food for the evening meal. Jelaudin wiped sweat from his face with a sharp gesture, then opened the door wide.
The owner of the house stood there, peering suspiciously inside as if Jelaudin might have sneaked half a dozen others into the tiny hovel he had rented. Jelaudin dipped with the owner, blocking his view.
‘What is it?’ he snapped.
The man frowned up at the arrogant young tenant, his breath pungent with spices.
‘It is noon, sir. I have come for the rent.’
Jelaudin nodded irritably. It seemed a mark of distrust to pay each day rather than by the month. He supposed the town did not see too many strangers, especially since the Mongols had come to the area. Still, it rankled for a prince to be treated like a man who might run from his debts in the night.
Jelaudin found no coins in his pouch and had to cross the room to a rickety wooden table. He found a small pile there, counted the night before. It would not keep them for more than another week and his father was still too ill to be moved. Jelaudin took five copper coins, but he was not quick enough to prevent the owner from coming inside.
‘There,’ Jelaudin said, pressing the money into his hand. He would have ordered him out, but the man seemed in no hurry to leave and Jelaudin was aware that his own manner was wrong for one reduced to such poor lodgings. He tried to look humble, but the owner remained where he was, passing the greasy coins from one hand to another.
‘Is your father still unwell, sir?’ the man said suddenly. Jelaudin took a step to stop him seeing into the other room as he went on. ‘I know a very good physician. He is expensive, but he was trained in Bukhara before he returned to his family here. If you can pay?’
Jelaudin looked again at the small pile of coins. In his hidden pouch, he had a ruby the size of his thumb joint. It would buy the house he stood in, but above all else, he did not want to bring attention on his family. Their safety lay in anonymity.
In the back room, he could hear his father’s wheeze and he nodded, giving in.