Genghis: Birth of an Empire (49 page)

Temujin had sent Kachiun ahead to warn Togrul, but the Kerait had still armed themselves and mounted, forming a defensive position around the center of their camp. Horns sounded their doleful note over and over on the still air. Temujin brought his mother’s people closer until both groups could see each other, just half a mile away. He halted them then, riding out to a central point with Khasar, Arslan, and ten of Sansar’s bondsmen. He left his own men with the carts, watching for a surprise attack from any direction. The tension was palpable and he did not need to warn them to stay alert. Even with the Kerait’s retreat south, the Tartars could not have been more than two weeks’ ride away and he was not yet ready for them.

He dismounted on the green grass, letting his pony’s head drop to munch at it. In the distance, he could see Togrul and wondered vaguely how the man was going to find a horse to carry him. It was with a wry smile that he saw Togrul mount a cart drawn by two black geldings and whip the reins toward Temujin’s party. Wen Chao came with him and the Kerait bondsmen formed a tight square around their lord, carrying bows and swords.

Temujin raised his hands as they came within shouting distance, showing they were empty. It was a pointless gesture considering he was surrounded by armed men, but he did not want to worry Togrul any more than he already had. He needed the support of the fat khan.

“You are welcome in my camp, Togrul of the Kerait,” Temujin called. “I grant you guest rights in honor.”

Togrul dismounted with elaborate care, his fleshy face set as if made of stone. When he came within arm’s reach of Temujin, he looked past him to the ranks of warriors and the mass of the Olkhun’ut drawn up in formation. The assembly of warriors was almost as great as his own, and he gnawed his bottom lip before speaking.

“I accept, Temujin,” he replied. Something in Temujin’s eyes made him continue. “Are you now khan of the Olkhun’ut? I do not understand it.”

Temujin chose his words carefully.

“I have claimed them, by right of my mother and my wife. Sansar is dead and they have come with me to fight the Tartars.”

Knowing his man, Temujin had arranged for the cooking fires to be started as soon as the Olkhun’ut stopped on the green plain. As he spoke, enormous platters of roasted mutton and goat were brought forward and great white cloths of felt laid on the ground. As host, Temujin would normally have sat last, but he wanted to put Togrul at his ease. He seated himself on the felt, pulling his legs up under him. The khan of the Kerait had no choice after such a gesture and took a place opposite, gesturing to Wen Chao to join him. Temujin began to relax and did not look round as Khasar and Arslan took their positions with the others. Each of them was matched by a warrior from the Kerait until they were equal in strength. At Temujin’s back, the people of the Olkhun’ut waited and watched their new khan in silence.

Yuan too was there and he bowed his head rather than look at Temujin as he lowered himself to the thick mat of felt. Wen Chao glanced at his first soldier and frowned to himself.

“If no one else will ask, Temujin,” Togrul began, “how is it that you rode away with only a dozen men and returned with one of the great tribes at your bidding?”

Temujin gestured to the food before he replied, and Togrul began to eat almost automatically, his hands working independently of his sharp eyes.

“The sky father watches over me,” Temujin said. “He rewards those of our people who respond to the threat to our land.” He did not want to speak of how he had killed Sansar in his own ger, not in front of a man he needed as an ally. It would be too easy for Togrul to fear his war leader.

Togrul was clearly not satisfied with the answer and opened his mouth to speak again, revealing a mush of meat and sauce. Before he could continue, Temujin went on quickly.

“I have a claim on them through blood, Togrul, and they did not refuse me. What matters is that we have enough men to break the Tartars when they come.”

“How many have you brought?” Togrul said, chewing busily.

“Three hundred riders, well armed,” Temujin replied. “You can match those numbers.”

“The Tartars have more than a thousand, you told us,” Wen Chao said suddenly.

Temujin turned his yellow eyes on the Chin ambassador without reply. He sensed Yuan watching him and wondered how much Wen Chao knew, how much Yuan had told him.

“It will not be easy,” Temujin said to Togrul, as if Wen Chao had not spoken. “We will need many sets of the Chin armor. The Olkhun’ut have two men with forges and the skill for swords and plate. I have given them their orders. We will also need to armor our horses, with leather and iron on the neck and chest.” He paused, watching as Togrul wrestled with a chewy piece of meat.

“I have shown the success of our tactics against the smaller groups,” Temujin went on, “though we were outnumbered even then. The Tartars do not use our charging line, nor the horns formation to flank them.” He flickered a glance at Wen Chao. “I do not fear their numbers.”

“Still, you would have me risk everything,” Togrul said, shaking his head.

It was Wen Chao who interrupted the silent communication between them.

“This army of Tartars must be broken, my lord khan,” he said softly to Togrul. “My masters will remember your service in this. There are lands marked out for your people when the battle is over. You will be king there and never know hunger or war again.”

Once more, Temujin saw the proof that Wen Chao had a peculiar hold over the fat khan, and his dislike for the Chin ambassador increased sharply. As much as their needs were the same, he did not enjoy seeing one of his own people in the thrall of the foreign diplomat.

To cover his irritation, Temujin began to eat, enjoying the taste of Olkhun’ut herbs. He noticed that it was only then that Wen Chao matched him and reached for the platters. The man was too used to intrigue, Temujin thought. It made him dangerous.

Togrul too had noticed the movement, considering the meat in his hand for a moment before popping it into his mouth with a shrug.

“You wish to lead the Kerait?” Togrul said.

“For this one battle, yes, as I have done before,” Temujin replied. This was the heart of it and he could not blame Togrul for his fears. “I have my own tribe now, Togrul. Many look to me for safety and leadership. When the Tartars are crushed, I will go south into warmer lands for a year or so. I have had enough of the cold north. My father’s death has been avenged and perhaps I will know peace and raise sons and daughters.”

“Why else do we fight?” Togrul murmured. “Very well, Temujin. You will have the men you need. You will have my Kerait, but when we are done, they will come east with me to a new land. Do not expect them to remain where no enemy threatens us.”

Temujin nodded and put out his hand. Togrul’s greasy fingers closed over his and their eyes met, neither man trusting the other.

“Now I am sure my wife and mother would like to be reunited with their people,” Temujin said, gripping the hand tightly.

Togrul nodded. “I will have them sent to you,” he said, and Temujin felt the last of his tension ease within him.

* * *

H
oelun walked through the camp of her childhood with Borte and Eluin. The three women were accompanied by Khasar and Kachiun, as well as Arslan. Temujin had warned them not to relax. The Olkhun’ut had apparently accepted him, carried along by the irresistible tide of events. It did not mean they were safe to stroll anywhere amongst the gers.

Borte’s pregnancy was growing heavy, altering her gait so that she could barely keep up with Hoelun. She had leapt at the chance to visit the families of the Olkhun’ut. She had left them as the woman of a raider. To return as the wife of their khan was an exquisite pleasure. She strode with her head high, calling out to those she recognized. Eluin craned her neck in excitement, searching for a glimpse of her family. When she saw them, she darted past two sleeping dogs to embrace her mother. She had grown in confidence since coming to the camp. Khasar and Kachiun were both courting her and Temujin seemed content to let them settle it between themselves. Eluin had bloomed under the attention. Hoelun watched as she broke the news of her sister’s death, her voice too low to be heard. Her father sat down heavily on a log by the door of their ger, bowing his head.

For herself, Hoelun felt only sadness as she looked around the camp. Everyone she knew had grown, or passed on to the birds and spirits. It was a strangely uncomfortable experience to see the gers and decorated deels of families she had known as a girl. In her mind, it had remained the same, but the reality was a place of unknown faces.

“Will you see your brother, Hoelun? Your nephew?” Borte murmured. She stood almost entranced as they watched Eluin’s reunion. Hoelun could see a yearning in the young wife of her son. She had not mentioned a visit to her own home.

In the distance, they heard the pounding of hooves as Temujin and his officers drilled the Olkhun’ut and Kerait in their tactics for war. They had been out since dawn and Hoelun knew her son would run them to exhaustion in the first few days. His new status did not affect the resentment many of the Kerait felt at having to fight alongside lesser families. Almost before the first evening was over, there had been two fights and one Kerait man had been gashed with a knife. Temujin had killed the victor without giving him a chance to speak. Hoelun shuddered as she pictured her son’s face. Would Yesugei ever have been so ruthless? She thought he would, if he had ever had the chance to command so many. If the shamans spoke truly about one soul being left for the land as well as one to join the sky, he would be proud of his son’s accomplishments.

Hoelun and Borte watched as Eluin kissed her father’s face again and again, her own tears mingling with his. At last she stood to leave them and her mother took her head in the cradle of her shoulder, pressing her there. Borte looked away from the moment of affection, her expression unreadable.

Hoelun had not needed to ask what had happened with the Tartars who had borne her away from her husband. It was all too clear in the way she resisted any touch, jerking back even as Hoelun reached for her arm. Hoelun’s heart went out to her for what she had suffered, but she knew better than anyone that time would dull the blade of grief. Even the memories of Bekter seemed distant, somehow; no less vivid, but robbed of their pain.

The sun seemed chill on her skin and Hoelun found she was not enjoying the return to the Olkhun’ut as she had hoped. It was too different. She was no longer the little girl who had ridden out with her brothers and come across Yesugei. She remembered him on that day, handsome and fearless as he charged them. Enq had yelled as he took Yesugei’s arrow in the hip, putting his heels to his horse and galloping away. She had hated the strange warrior then, but how could she have known Yesugei would be a man to love? How could she have known she would stand amongst her people again as the mother of a khan?

Through the gers, she saw an old man walking stiffly, leaning his weight on a stick. Borte gasped as she glanced at him and Hoelun guessed who he was from the way his daughter stood painfully straight, summoning her pride.

Sholoi hobbled to them, taking in every detail of the warriors for their protection. His eyes passed over Hoelun, then snapped back in sudden recognition.

“I remember you, girl,” he said, “though it’s a long time ago.”

Hoelun narrowed her eyes, trying to recall him as he might have been when she was young. A vague memory came back to her, a man who had taught her to braid harness from rope and leather. He had been ancient then, at least to her young eyes. To her surprise, she felt tears brimming.

“I remember,” she said, and he grinned at her, revealing brown gums. Borte had not spoken and he nodded to his daughter, his toothless smile widening.

“I hadn’t thought to see you again in these gers,” he said.

Borte seemed to stiffen and Hoelun wondered if she could hear the affection in her father’s gruff tone. He laughed suddenly.

“Two wives to khans, two mothers to more. Yet only two women stand before me. I will win a skin or two of airag with such a fine riddle.”

He reached out and touched the hem of Borte’s deel, rubbing two fingers together to judge the cloth.

“You made the right choice, girl. I can see that. I thought there was something about that Wolf. Didn’t I tell you that?”

“You said he was probably dead,” Borte replied, her voice as cold as Hoelun had ever heard.

Sholoi shrugged. “Maybe I did,” he said sadly.

The silence ached between them and Hoelun sighed.

“You adore her, old man,” she said. “Why don’t you tell her that?”

Sholoi colored, though whether with anger or embarrassment, they could not tell.

“She knows it,” he muttered.

Borte paled as she stood there. She shook her head. “I did not,” she replied. “How could I have known if you never said?”

“I thought I must have done,” Sholoi replied, looking out across the camp. The maneuvers on the plain of massed warriors seemed to hold his attention, and he could not look at his daughter.

“I am proud of you, girl, you should know that,” he said suddenly. “I would treat you more kindly if I could raise you again.”

Borte shook her head. “You can’t,” she said. “And I have nothing to say to you now.”

The old man seemed to shrivel under the words, and when Borte turned to Hoelun, there were tears in her eyes. Sholoi did not see them and he continued to stare out across the plains and gers.

“Let us go back,” Borte said, her eyes pleading. “It was a mistake to come here.”

Hoelun thought of leaving her there for a few hours with her father. Temujin had been firm, however. Borte carried his heir and could not be risked. Hoelun suppressed her irritation. Perhaps it was part of being a mother, but the complexities between the pair seemed foolish. If they left then, she knew Borte would never see her father again and would spend her later years regretting the loss. Temujin would simply have to wait.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Hoelun snapped to her sons and Arslan. At least Khasar and Kachiun were used to her authority. “We will stay here while Borte visits her father in his ger.”