“Well, I have heard such praise of my talents more than once,” he replied boastfully.
“How would you like to govern the municipality of Otrar?”
“I don’t quite understand,” Jamsheed said, flabbergasted.
“You have earned the right to lead the people of Otrar, for they have suffered long under the brutality of Inalcheq, the governor.”
“I am a fugitive, as you may very well know, and I have but little knowledge of governance,” the desert dweller, feeling giddy, divulged information he would have ordinarily withheld from strangers.
“You will be granted advisors who will ensure the success of your mission. Administration of a municipality is not as difficult as you may think when you have counselors assigned to you from our country. The Mongolian civilization is a very powerful one, and we have proven our capabilities in managing the affairs of many lands.”
“I have no financial resources,” Jamsheed said, smiling sheepishly.
“We plan to place Otrar under siege,” the commander replied sternly. “We will then depose the governor and place the treasury of the province in your capable hands.”
Jamsheed saw no choice but to concur with the foreign commander. After all, things couldn’t get any worse than this current dismal condition, plus the idea of such a quick ascent to power didn’t sound so bad. He also feared that they might put an end to his life if he refused.
“What would I have to do in return for such a great favor?” The shrewd robber asked.
“You would serve as a guide to the Mongol army in a conquest that would change the trajectory of the world.”
Chapter Three
The Grand Bazaar of Samarkand
The newly built Grand Bazaar of Samarkand, a source of pride and pleasure for the inhabitants of the city, stretched like a dragon from the main gate of the metropolis to its very heart and center. Passersby had to tilt their heads all the way toward the sky at the entry to the bazaar to take in a measure of its lofty splendor.
Fine masonry covered vaulted ceilings with multiple pointed arches, too numerous to count. Elaborate honeycomb windows installed in the walls and ceilings allowed sunlight to penetrate the enclosure in spots which placed certain precious items in the public eye. The shade and the sun outwitted one another as they played a game of light and dark on the colorful merchandise of the bazaar. Even on a cold and snowy day, a series of small fire pits of stone provided warmth.
Massive metal containers of dried fruit and scented herbs and spices filled the enclosure with enticing aromas. Other than the copper and silver containers of all types that sparkled in the shops, jewels made with precious metals and stones twinkled in the goldsmith’s corner. The sounds of merchants and shoppers haggling over the prices rose in a cacophony, sometimes in unison. There were also bakeries and tea shops with young lads holding trays, running around to serve tired customers.
When members of the royal family planned a visit to the marketplace, the bazaar remained closed to its regular customers, and a sign stating “Ghorogh,” meaning “Special Guests Only” warded off commoners at the entrance.
Persians celebrated the longest night in winter known as the night of Yalda since time immemorial in festivities that kept most people awake until dawn. On the morning following the night of Yalda, a thin layer of snow covering the paved and unpaved roads of Samarkand had frozen over the thick layer of earlier accumulations. As pedestrians stepped on the smooth, icy surface, deep holes formed under their heavy footwear.
The dark gray winter sky indicated more snow to come. The air was crisp but mixed with a thousand tiny particles of ice. Chunks of white snow, stuck to leafless treetops like balls of cotton, imitating blossoms of spring. A few early risers roamed the streets of the sleepy city. Shoppers carried empty baskets made of ropes, in hopes of purchasing the freshest produce before the market filled with bargaining customers, and laborers trudged through the slush and snow to begin their daily toils.
Layers of grayish cloth covered everyone, replacing colorful clothing in warmer days, and making the rich indistinguishable from the poor. Among the specter-like bulges of human form that were plodding through the frozen landscape, were two men for whom remaining inconspicuous meant more than retaining body warmth. Few dared to stare anyhow, for the spears of cold air could blind their watery eyes.
Dressed as beggars, faces wrinkled and red with misery and hardship, the pair dragged their tired bodies toward the promise of warmth and kindness. They had lately shown up in the streets of Samarkand as the deaf and dumb pair who were denied the blessing of speech and hearing since birth.
Every morning, in the luminescent dawn, the two beggars made their way to the bazaar. At times, they held out their hands for coins and begged for a morsel to eat by making sounds and gestures. They would make grunting noises, gesticulating with their fingers to show both the fact that they could not speak and that they were hungry.
A branch from an old tree, overburdened by snow, broke off and fell before the feet of one of the mendicants. With a swift motion, very uncharacteristic of one who is hard of hearing, he jumped backward to avoid being struck by the broken limb. Luckily, the usual ramblers roaming the city took no notice of him.
Most passersby ignored them as droplets of snow fell upon their ragged clothes. No one knew that underneath their beggarly outfits, layers of fine fur protected their bodies from the intense weather. Yet, it was easy for them to feign shivering, for they had extensively trained for the mission in Mongolia.
The two walked at equal pace for some distance. Then they stopped abruptly before the entrance of the bazaar. As the first rays of the sun began to warm the frozen earth, the sleepy shopkeepers opened their doors to early bargain hunters. For it is a common belief in Persia, that if the first person to enter a shop purchases an item, it is a good omen and the merchant will have a successful day.
The deaf and dumb pair had become a familiar sight in the marketplace, and the shopkeepers apparently found their odd gestures amusing. They had been coming to the bazaar for several months now, and like the first purchasers of goods, they had come to be known as good omens as well. No one wondered why there were two of them, and why their features looked so unfamiliar? People attributed their odd looks to the circumstances of their birth. They would beg for enough coins to be able to eat a breakfast of cooked whole beets offered by vendors, hot upon a small stove. The pair also carried with them congealed horse blood that they sucked on inconspicuously. It was quite a treat, for the people they encountered in other civilizations did not drink blood. The pair did so when their appetite got the better of them, and they feared that they would expose their identity and mission out of sheer hunger as they stood among such large stashes of delicious food.
As they lingered—now here, now there—their sharp ears picked up information about the events in the kingdom, including among others, the price of commodities, scarcity of certain goods and occasional complaints about the local administration. Sometimes they heard discussions among the merchants that gave hints about brewing tensions between rival communities. They listened out especially for gossip from the palace guards. Rumor had it that relations between mother and son in the palace of the king had soured. They already knew of the Shah’s mother, Turkan Khatun’s extravagance and the fact that on occasion she overstepped the limits of her authority as the mother of the Shah. They knew the king was not happy with his mother’s influence peddling that at times had led to the execution of one major personality or the other. Such information gave the spies cause to smile with secret triumph.
A lone Central Asian trader who frequented the bazaar carried this information back with him to the Mongol ruler. Thus, the stage was carefully and meticulously set for an invasion that would result in the fall of Bukhara and Samarkand, the two cherished cities in the Kingdom of Khwarazm. The Khan’s horsemen, being fewer than half the numbers
of Khwarazm Empire’s army, planned to overcome their powerful foe in less than a fortnight.
With the pain of Chaka’s loss burning in his heart, Genghis Khan became more determined than ever to punish those he deemed responsible for the circumstances that led to her death. Genghis had told Baako to bury her in accordance with the rules for unwanted bodies. The poor slave had no choice but to abide by his master’s command, burying Princess Chaka in the graveyard of prisoners. In Genghis’s mind, Chaka had lost her life trying to prevent war with the Khwarazm Kingdom, and thus their happy life together was destroyed. He saw the inhabitants of Khwarazm territories not as subjects of Khwarazm Shah’s whims, but as villains who had destroyed his personal life.
On the morning of the attack, he gave a simple order to the Mongol cavalry as they stood facing their leader in a makeshift camp outside of Bukhara. His voice thundering, he addressed his army prior to the invasion. “Exterminate any town, city or village that shows resistance. They tried to outdo me with guile and used their wits to get their hands on what they had not earned. I shall use every machination on earth to unravel their plans, to make widows of their wives and to orphan their children, leaving them at the mercy of my servitude.
“We do not possess the sophisticated armies of other nations,” he continued. “Our numbers are few, but our determination is solid. We must use every means available to us and if necessary, resort to deception and trickery. We will strike terror in their hearts. We will create the illusion of being greater in number by lighting numerous torches at night to give the impression that a huge army is about to attack. We will pretend to be defeated, leave our weaponry behind, then attack from unexpected quarters. Thus, we will keep the enemy unhinged, unsure of where we are, and from which corner the next ambush will take place. We will be their worst nightmare. We will spare the cities that submit and annihilate those that resist. We will make such examples of those who defy us that our foes would think twice before attacking us.”
His men stood in silence as if taking every word he spoke to heart. Soon war would be underway the likes of which they had never experienced before. They would have to face their formidable foes, knowing that there would be no turning back because a Mongol soldier who deserted the army was a good as dead.
Chapter Four
The Year of the Dragon
As the horsemen of Genghis reached the borders of Persia, rays of a barely warm sunshine flooded the main hall in the stately palace of Khwarazm. Molten silver had given the one large dome and two smaller ones that topped the upper floors of the gigantic structure a glitter that could be seen from a distance. Gray marble covered the exterior, and intricately carved wood frames accentuated the numerous windows. Within, Sultan Alaeddin Mohammad known as Khwarazm Shah was having a bitter conversation with his mother over some equally bitter Turkish coffee, void of its ordinary sweetness as recommended by the palace physician.
Khwarazm Shah’s grandfather had wrested power from the last Seljuk King and established his own dynasty. Now during the 12th year of the Shah’s rule, the people of Persia and Transoxiana had no choice but to submit to his leadership. At times, however, they showed their dissatisfaction.
Just like his grandfather, The Shah was a thin man of medium stature with olive skin and dark hair. But that was where the resemblance ended. He had rather delicate features and a full beard that covered most of his face. His sunken eyes and downturned lips gave him a countenance that appeared gloomy rather than resolute. A tall rimless red hat embellished with a black feather covered his head. A bejeweled silver sword hung by a belt of similar quality adorned his robe-like brown attire. Thin strands of pearl were sewn onto his neckline. Although lacking in sound action, he still had intellect, and perception.
The King’s mother, Turkan Khatun, whose social gatherings and lavish parties had brought both fame and shame to the palace, had donned the most exquisite dress sewn with threads of gold and silver. Her influence over the affairs of the kingdom had become legendary, though few could claim that she possessed any wisdom. Exerting authority not vested upon her, she appointed members of her clan to positions of power. Among those appointees was a greedy nephew of hers who had become the governor of the province of Otrar. It was this very governor who had confiscated the treasures of the Mongolian convoy out of sheer avarice and had asked the Shah’s permission to arrest, prosecute and hang members of that trade mission for espionage. The Shah had granted this permission under pressure from his mother.
“My nephew, your cousin,” the Shah’s mother said, her makeup overdone as usual, “is the genius in our family. He is the most perceptive, insightful and discerning fellow that I have ever known. When he identifies somebody as a spy, you can be sure of it. He has a nose for trickery.”
“Well, based on those assumptions, mother, I allowed him to execute the entire Mongolian delegation. They were seeking trade with us for God’s sake. Now they intend to exterminate us. We don’t need barbarians at our borders.”
“You said it. They are barbarians indeed,” Turkan Khatun replied, swallowing her anger, “they are just a bunch of nomads coming from a no man’s land. We have over four hundred thousand fighting men in our kingdom, and they can slaughter those ruffians in no time. Plus, it will give our people a much-needed victory to celebrate during Nowruz festivities. That will certainly increase your popularity among the subjects.” She smiled gently as if trying to be the portrait of a loving mother without adding to the number of wrinkles on her face.
“The army? The army you keep referring to consists of a bunch of soldiers who have been trained in recent years to keep an eye on the subjects, making sure that they do not revolt against my rule. They lack the training needed to fight foreign cavalry.” He then lowered his voice a bit and added contemplatively; “Besides, wars are unpredictable. It is easy to start one, but sometimes like wildfires, they are hard to extinguish. One never knows where they will lead.”
Turkan Khatun merely stared at her numerous rings.
“It is my belief that the better path would be for us to apologize to the Mongolians,” the Shah continued pensively, realizing the danger to the territories. “What we did was a mistake. It was more than a mistake. I call it a blunder, and I am going to punish my cousin by turning him over to the Mongols.”
“You will do no such a thing,” she retorted. “He is your flesh and blood. No one kills their own kin in order to satisfy a bunch of vengeful savages. They are no match for our army.”
After a moment of silence, during which the Shah kept staring out the palace window, he went on to say, “I am brave enough to fight any force which threatens my people, and I will do so even in this case. At the same time, I am not so conceited that I would ignore the facts on the ground.”
“War is necessary. The barbarians have placed us in this situation. They are the ones who have asked for war, and we cannot show weakness. This is the seat of the Persian Empire that you are now ruling. We will fight the Mongols as we would our most vicious enemy,” Turkan Khatun stated with the conviction of an army commander. Her thin head veil adorned with a crown glittering with diamonds did not cover the tips of her dark curls that poked their heads out like serpents.
The monarch replied, “I have news from our ambassador in India that they have gone all the way to China attacking the Jin Dynasty, causing great havoc in that region. We do not need such chaos inside Khwarazm territories. I shall send an envoy to the Mongol King.”
“The Mongols did send another small delegation,” she said. “I had them beaten and humiliated and ordered that they behead the lead envoy.”
“You did what?”
“That envoy had the audacity to ask for the capitulation of my nephew again,” she replied, now shaking with anger. “Can you imagine that! The ruffian, dressed in rags and looking like the beast that he was, insulting the royal family of Khwarazm.”
“And you did not even n
otify me?” he asked flabbergasted. “Sometimes I wonder who runs this country, you or I.” The king then grabbed a tall wine-colored hookah impatiently and began inhaling the smoke out of its hose and blowing the fumes toward the ornate ceiling of the palace.
The Amir, the army commander, asked permission to brief the king about the latest news from the fronts. Sporadic attacks had already occurred to the east and west of Bukhara. The Mongol marksmen, famed for their agility on horseback, would attack then pretend to retreat. Such moves would lead to hubristic vanity in their enemies until the next bewildering surprise attack would occur. They would appear like specters, ghosts from an unholy graveyard, terrorizing civilians and soldiers alike. Thus, security, like an invisible veil, was slowly lifted off the land.
“May I sacrifice my life for thee, sire,” the commander announced as he entered. “The Mongols are defeated for sure this time. They have left their ammunition all over the battlefield in their rush to leave the arena. This is cause for celebration indeed.”
The king and his mother, both smiling now, welcomed the good news and rewarded the Amir with more gold coins than he had ever received before from His Majesty. Khwarazm Shah still had his doubts about the unfolding scenario and ordered the commander to position his well-armed troops along the southern flanks of Bukhara. “Upon my eyes, I will do it, sire,” the Amir replied, bowed and left.
During the journey toward Persia, Genghis’s high spirit and vigor gave courage to every warrior as they sang their triumphant songs of unity and fraternity. The warriors, their commander and even their horses moved like one unit, a tornado of energy and fire ready to consume the world. Battle-hardened and fearless they could almost smell victory from afar. Ambition, thirst for power and glory, and the longing for recognition mixed with vanity blinded them as their horses’ hooves trampled upon lands and souls, their shining swords splattering the blood of young and old. Indiscriminate in their fury and proud of their newfound nation, they roamed the earth, ready to take on the Khwarazm Empire.
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