The Tiger Queens (45 page)

At the opposite end of the room, two sets of stairs formed an inverted V, and atop them sat the Horse Throne. Gilded chairs set along the stair’s wooden platforms awaited the members of the royal family.

The hum of conversation quieted and I felt a surge of pride as Toregene lifted the hem of her
deel
and mounted the stairs. She didn’t hesitate when she reached the pinnacle, but ignored the Great Khatun’s stool to take her place on the Horse Throne.

“My dear Khatun,” a councilor shouted. It was Korguz, Ogodei’s ape-like scribe, recently recalled from Persia at my behest, although he didn’t realize that. “We offer our condolences for the loss of your husband.” Yet his face showed no sadness as he separated himself from the crowd, daring to stand on the bottom step of the dais unbidden. “We assume you’ve come here today to share with us the name of the Khan’s chosen successor.”

“Did Ogodei name Güyük as his heir?” another yelled.

And still another, “Or perhaps Möngke or Batu?”

Toregene held up her hands. “My husband neglected to name an heir, as he neglected many things in this life.” She sat straighter and I feared she might be seized with a coughing fit, but she only rested her forearms on the wide armrests of the throne. “For now, I shall sit upon the Horse Throne.”

“But that is impossible,” sputtered Korguz. “A woman cannot—”

Toregene leaned forward. “The great Genghis Khan often left Borte Khatun to administer his empire in his absence. Do you believe our great ancestor was mistaken to do so?”

“That was a time of war. Surely now we must have a new Khan—”

His words hung in the air as Sorkhokhtani picked herself up and mounted the stairs, trailed by her sons Möngke and Kublai. They took their seats beneath the throne, gazing out impassively at the lower ministers in challenge. To my consternation, Güyük emerged next from the crowd, followed by his younger brothers by Ogodei’s lesser wives.

A heavy and uncomfortable silence fell. It seemed none of the whitebeards wished to challenge the Golden Family, yet they weren’t quite finished with Toregene.

“Why was the Khan not better protected when he was in Wien?” yelled another of Ogodei’s ministers, an elderly Buddhist dressed in an orange
deel
.

“The Khan was protected, but Al-Altun poisoned her own wine and gave it to our husband,” Toregene said calmly. “She paid for that decision with her life.”

More shouting broke out until Kublai stood up, craning his neck to better see the Horse Throne. “Great Khatun,” he said. “The mandate of Genghis Khan forbade the execution of any member of the Golden Family. Yet Al-Altun was still put to the sword. Why?”

Sorkhokhtani stood abruptly, leveling a scathing glare at her son. “My apologies for my son, Great Khatun,” she said. “He is still young and has yet to learn when his opinion is warranted.”

But Toregene smiled down upon them both. “Young Kublai’s question is a good one. The Great Khan did decree that those who carried his blood were beyond the reach of the law. Yet I determined that Al-Altun’s crime was so great that her death was the only proper penalty.”

“A prescient move,” Güyük agreed, one hand over his heart as he inclined his turbaned head in Toregene’s direction. “I commend my mother for her decisive action against so treacherous a woman.”

There were grunts of approval at that and many nodding heads. Still, Sorkhokhtani pressed her son into his seat while Toregene surveyed the pillared hall. “My husband’s bones shall be laid to rest in the mountains before the sun sets tomorrow. As Ogodei’s Great Khatun, I shall rule as regent until an appropriate time can be determined to call a
khurlatai
. I thank my husband’s advisers for their service and hope they may now enjoy their retirement. Going forward, Shigi, adopted brother of Genghis Khan, and Fatima of Nishapur shall serve as my eyes and ears in Karakorum.”

The dismissed advisers stared in shock, some openly gaping. Korguz leapt to his feet, his hairy fists clenched at his sides. “But, Khatun—”

Güyük crossed his arms before his chest. “Do you wish to contradict the Great Khatun?” he interrupted. “If so, perhaps you’d wish to follow in Al-Altun’s footsteps?”

“There is no need for threats,” Toregene said calmly. “It is the simple
truth that my husband spent extravagantly, and I can no longer afford to pay the extensive list of advisers and artisans he employed.”

I’d seen the palace accounts myself; it was true that Ogodei had squandered every gold coin he came across, but with the impressive tax revenues from the trade routes and the tribute sent every year from the empire’s vassal states, Toregene could afford as large a retinue as she liked.

Korguz stormed to the door of the colossal tent. “I shall not suffer this humiliation,” he said. “This empire shall crumble while you or your brood sit upon that throne.”

Toregene ignored him to address the remaining advisers. “I thank you for your service to my husband, gentlemen. You have served your empire well.”

At her nod, the advisers filed reluctantly from the Golden Ordu. I’d ensure that each—including miserable Korguz—was sent a sizable gift to soothe any ruffled feathers.

Shigi’s brush flicked over the book in his lap, recording all this for his history of the Golden Family, and my fingers itched for my own pen and ink. Of everyone left in the tent, Toregene’s lover and I were the only people without either the blood of Genghis Khan running in our veins or the ability to claim one of his descendants as a child of our bodies. Everyone else was a member of the Golden Family, either by blood or by marriage. “Borte Khatun, the Mother of the Thirteen Tribes, foretold that this empire would fracture after Genghis Khan’s spirit fled for the sacred mountains,” Toregene said. “I am not prepared to watch that happen. I ask for your support as I keep watch over the Horse Throne and guide the empire until we are ready to proclaim the next Khan.”

Sorkhokhtani stood. “You have the support of the Toluids,” she said. “But my sons and I would ask your permission to return to our lands.”

Toregene gave a terse nod, and I wondered if she’d expected this from Tolui’s widow. “You may go,” she said. “And I thank you for administering Karakorum in our absence.”

Sorkhokhtani bowed over her hands. Möngke
opened his mouth to protest but closed it at his mother’s sharp glare. The sons of the Princess of
the Hearth would either be well equipped to withstand this family’s travails or they would be weak-willed men cowed by any woman they met. The royal family began discussing plans for Ogodei’s funeral, a mix of pagan and Christian traditions that made my skin crawl. Ogodei’s body had been wrapped in scented felts on the night he died, but then he’d been dragged from one end of the empire to the other. Now his spoiled corpse would be blessed and hidden on some mountaintop, yet even the vultures would forgo such a desiccated feast.

I followed Sorkhokhtani and her sons into the corridor, catching her in the midst of berating Kublai for speaking out of turn.

“Fatima,” she said when she saw me. “How may I assist you?”

“Can’t you see that you should stay?” I asked her. “Toregene needs your help now more than ever.”

Sorkhokhtani waved her sons away. “It is true that Toregene navigates uncharted lands,” she said to me. “Dangerous even.”

“Yet you abandon her.” My accusation was tinged with anger, but she appeared not to notice. Sorkhokhtani might have made a fine Khatun, for not even the most skilled courtier could discern her true feelings.

She tucked her hands in her sleeves. “Toregene’s every move will be scrutinized from this moment forward and her every decision endlessly debated. I, on the other hand, shall fade away as I’ve always done, disappearing into the shadows.” She leaned toward me, as if taking me into her confidence. “The interesting thing about shadows is that while they are ever present, few notice them.”

I didn’t have time for nuances and hidden meanings. “Toregene plans to give the throne to Güyük one day.”

“Then Batu was right in not coming.” Her fingers fluttered at my questioning glance. “Jochi’s son feared that Toregene might call a
khurlatai
for Güyük today.”

“She thinks Güyük may be able to one day replace her. Not even Ogodei supported Güyük,” I muttered.

Sorkhokhtani gave a delicate sniff. “Then Ogodei and I agreed on one thing in this life.”

It was the closest I’d ever heard to Sorkhokhtani declaring her opinion on something. “Is there nothing I can do to persuade you to stay?”

She gave a sad shake of her head. “Toregene must make her own way. And I will do as I’ve always done: protect my sons and ensure they always have their father’s lands to rule.”

I gave a wan smile. “Go in peace then, Sorkhokhtani Beki,” I said. “May Allah watch over you and your sons.”

She pressed her forehead to mine. “And may he watch over you as well. I fear you’ll need the gift of his divine guidance in the days to come.”

*   *   *

Toregene’s breathing grew easier in that spring and summer, but fall’s dampness and winter’s cold made the air crackle in her lungs, and her constant cough battered her ever-frail body. The scent of honey clung to her, for she swallowed a spoonful of the golden nectar with each meal and drank infusions of columbine tea to soothe her raw throat, but neither had any effect on the miasma that had settled in her lungs.

Shigi and I shivered with our backs to the hearth fire in her Great White Tent one afternoon, chuckling with Toregene over the proposition sent to the Golden Family by the Christian pope in faraway Rome. Innocent IV had sent a Franciscan monk to ask that the Mongols be baptized and to insist on their submission to the Holy Father’s authority. I found it easy to be with Shigi these days, united as we were in assisting Toregene, and imagined that the calm affection I now felt for him was what I might have felt for an older brother, had Allah chosen to bless me with one.

“Heap honors upon this monk,” Toregene said, a faint smile hovering on her lips. “But this pope knows little if he thinks I would force one religion on my people.”

“He knows you are Christian. And he seeks to”—I cleared my throat—“‘admonish, beg, and earnestly beseech you’ to desist from your assaults of Christian people. Thus, you can unite with him to defeat the Saracens in the Holy Lands.”

“Which we shall not do, of course,” Toregene said, smiling at me over her bowl of tea.

“I do like the part where he mentions how we ‘rage indiscriminately against all with the sword of chastisement,’” Shigi remarked. “Very well said.” He smiled, but his worried gaze lingered on Toregene as she coughed at her latest herbal infusion, a mix of nettle, garlic, and something that smelled strongly of urine.

“The pope may rest assured that we shall not invade Wien again,” Toregene wheezed. “Güyük has his eyes set upon Goryeo again, and I would rather expend my energies on my monasteries. Inform Innocent that we can’t fathom what he means about the recent destruction and massacre of Europe, tell him to submit to us, and then give it to Güyük to sign.”

I grimaced at the mention of Güyük. I’d write the letter later, but for now I set aside the pope’s missive with its colossal red wax seal and took up the plans for Toregene’s latest project, a Taoist monastery in Cathay. Despite her favoring the crucified prophet Isa Ibn Maryam, Toregene had encouraged the growth of a variety of religious houses in Karakorum and beyond the capital. Most Mongols had a queer belief that the majority of religions had an equal chance of being effective, and both Genghis Khan and Ogodei had asked Christians, Taoists, Saracens, and Buddhists to pray for them. I saw Toregene’s building projects as a friendly competition among her and her sisters, for Alaqai often sent word of her latest monastery funding and Sorkhokhtani had recently founded on her sons’ lands a school based in the teachings of Muhammad, prompting me to send a letter of gratitude to the Princess of the Hearth.

One of my slaves—a daughter of Goryeo’s noble houses, sent as a hostage after Ogodei’s last campaign there—entered and hurried to my side, her whisper in my ear making me frown. My scowl deepened as I read the letter she pressed into my hands.

“What is it?” Toregene asked.

“Korguz is causing trouble again,” I answered. “This message from him to the governor of Otrar was just intercepted. He encourages the governor to revolt against your rule and to withdraw support from anyone you would nominate as the future Khan. He also speaks against Güyük’s plans for a third invasion of Goryeo.”

While once the idea of the Persians rising against the Mongol horsemen
and Güyük’s long absence while he subdued the Goryeo peninsula would have pleased me, I found I no longer had the stomach for bloodshed. Al-Altun’s execution had cured me of that.

“Korguz has spoken against you and Güyük since the day you claimed the regency,” Shigi said to Toregene, scanning the letter. “This is the first time he’s put such ideas into writing.”

“Thus he’d never broken the law,” I said. “Until now.”

Toregene sighed and rubbed her eyes. Lines had lodged themselves there and around her lips, too, etched deeper by the thinness of her skin and her sunken eyes. “I grow weary of hearing Korguz’s name and his challenges to my rule.” She gestured to the paper and brush at my elbow. I’d long since worn out the bristles from Mansoor’s old brush and kept it in a wooden box inlaid with pearls and jade, a gift from Toregene. The box also contained Alaqai’s tiger comb, a scrap of silk now black with my husband’s blood, and my silver slave medallion. They, along with the narcissus I continued to plant outside my window box and around Toregene’s Great White Tent, were the only surviving reminders of my past. Next to the chest was the book I’d kept since I’d first come to the steppes, each page covered with my meticulous recordings of the life of the Golden Family, from Nishapur to this place. My past and my future, forever intertwined.

Toregene cleared her throat with a rattle of phlegm, and I dipped the brush into the inkpot so I might take down her words.

“I, Toregene Khatun, Great Khatun of the Thirteen Tribes, do hereby order the execution of Korguz, former scribe of Ogodei Khan, for his treason against the People of the Felts.”