Massive buildings, like those in Persia and China, were erected. Beautiful gardens and lakes, in which migrating birds and waterfowl of every color from swan goose to white-naped crane sought refuge, surrounded the palatial structures. She knew, however, that the poor birds would be hunted by palace guards in their moments of leisure.
Reyhan touched the stone walls of the main palace when examining the premises for the first time and pondered how a nomadic tribe, accustomed by nature to roam the earth, would be content with living in one location. No wonder that they called the city Karakorum or “Ebony Prison” in the Mongolian language.
In the southwest corner of the city of Karakorum stood the palace quarters, in the midst of which one could see the Chinese style Amgalan Palace of Ogodei. Two rows of buildings stretched on the two sides of this black and jade-colored structure with four major roads paved in cobblestones leading to tall walls with entry gates in each of the cardinal directions. These walls separated the city from the surrounding areas.
Reyhan walked up the steps that led to the interior of the Amgalan palace. Magnificent works of art hung on its stately walls, but they were not to her taste. Despite the vastness of the structure, she found the enclosure stifling.
Ogodei’s coronation took place when the finishing touches were applied to Amgalan. Church bells rang, the Islamic slogan of Allaho Akbar was heard, and the Jews and Buddhists performed their own ceremonies in celebration. The Mongols chanted urra, their slogan of victory, and their voices echoed throughout the empire and in many corners of the world.
Silk shimmered on the back of paupers of yesterday who were once roaming nomads and now masters of the world. Rows of rings bearing precious stones could be seen on every hand. Mongolian men, women, children and even the horses of the Steppes displayed jewelry gained through shedding of foreign blood. Their equestrian way of life remained but took on a royal character. Reyhan saw how they paraded their newer and fancier weapons like whistling arrows, smoke-screen powder, ballistas, and catapults and knew they would be used for extracting the wealth of the rich in every part of the world.
As the Shamans began chanting and praying for the new leader’s health, Reyhan felt the burden of guilt upon her shoulders. She was one of them now, queen to the foes of Persia, a destiny she never desired but could not avoid. Subutai arrived late for the coronation, but Ogodei greeted him warmly. The two walked out into an adjacent chamber as soon as the ceremony ended. There, Subutai opened a map drawn on deerskin before the Mongol warlord. He pointed to two countries, namely Hungary and Poland as optimum targets for future invasions. “They have good grazing lands there for our horses and riches waiting to be plundered. Their frozen rivers allow us an easy crossing into Western Europe,” he said.
Reyhan who could hear them in the adjacent room shivered. She wondered how she could use her new position to avert further bloodshed. Ogodei would rule his empire in accordance with the civil code set by his father, the Yassa laws. More than fifty nations eventually had to follow these rules, some of which were shaped by the advice of sages. Others were clauses that Genghis had personally considered important. The Yassa laws commenced with praise for the Sole Creator of the human domain and included provisions that exempted Christian priests, Jewish rabbis, Muslim clergy and Buddhist lamas from taxation.
The Founder of the Mongol Empire had proclaimed that adultery must be outlawed and punished. So too must theft, prescribed his Yassa laws, for if thieves were punished, security would prevail to such an extent that merchants could leave their goods unattended, knowing with confidence that no one would touch them. The same laws, however, included clauses that made washing of garb in a river during a thunderstorm, a punishable offense. Thus, one could say they contained some concepts that were acceptable to the scholars of prevalent religions and others that baffled them, but every provision had to be implemented nonetheless.
Reyhan admired the fact that Mongols in general, displayed an unprecedented degree of tolerance towards people of other faiths, although they did so out of convenience rather than a conviction for religious freedom. The coexistence of people of different beliefs, like other decisions by the Mongols rulers, stemmed from a natural, simplistic conclusion, due to a realistic view of circumstances. Ogodei understood the fact that religion had a profound effect on the multitudes, and he said he would utilize that tool to his benefit. “We shall revere the clergy and the priests,” he said, “and respect their places of worship. For those who would not fight for bread, riches or honor, would do so in the name of religion. Fires thus started are not easily extinguished.”
Although some Mongols had converted to Islam, Christianity or Buddhism, the Mongol belief in Shamanism, as well as their traditions of hunting, war-making, herding, and trade, still formed the fundamental principles by which they lived.
Chapter Thirteen
Revelry
Despite Ogodei’s attempts to adhere to his father’s command and accommodate all religious and ethnic groups, he found practicing what the late Khan had preached quite difficult. Ogodei felt like a man who suddenly realized he had fathered too many children. He had to watch the wrangling between the different religious and ethnic groups and felt compelled to act as judge and jury to them all. The Chinese spoke against the Arabs; the Persians vilified the Turks; one religious group would badmouth the other and vice versa. Baseless, illogical accusations flew back and forth. When reason failed, dreams were exhibited as proof positive of the other’s wrongdoing.
On one occasion, a man came to claim that he had indeed seen Genghis Khan in his dream. “I had a dream, sire,” he said, “of the Great Khan before me in all his majesty, as if he were still alive. He instructed me to inform you, sire, that the adherents to this particular creed should be annihilated.”
Flabbergasted, Ogodei scratched his head and looked to Reyhan for advice. His savvy wife whispered, “Ask him in what language the great Mongol Khan spoke in his dream.”
Ogodei inquired whether Genghis spoke in his native tongue or another language. The man, dumbfounded, mumbled a bit and replied, “In his . . . in his eloquent native Mongolian tongue, of course.”
Ogodei asked, “And can you speak and understand the eloquent Mongolian language?”
The Turkish-speaking man began trembling and said, “I do not Your Majesty.”
“Then you have concocted a false tale,” thundered the voice of the Khaqan and with the motion of his hand, palace guards dragged the man away.
While Genghis clung to an austere life, Ogodei basked in luxury. Nonetheless, he possessed his father’s ambition to expand the Mongol Empire. He managed to quell uprisings in China and Persia, further solidifying his control over those regions. He crushed the Jin Dynasty and gained control over Korea. He also dispatched Subutai farther west into Europe on a reconnaissance mission.
When only fourteen-years-old, Subutai had joined the army of Genghis. He now led the Mongol army as its foremost military strategist. His sharp eyes would peruse a map, and in no time, he would devise an innovative plan of attack. When Subutai spoke, everyone including Ogodei listened, for few of his tactics ever failed.
Ogodei had some of his father’s charisma, but he was also an epicurean and wanted to enjoy the fruits of his labor, not just conquer territory. Those fruits included wine and women. With riches pouring in from all quarters of the world, the time had come for the Mongols to revel. He no longer had to rely on the mildly intoxicating effects of fermented milk. Foreign merchants had introduced him to a finer assortment of wines. Ogodei also enjoyed the fulsome praise he received from the envoys of faraway lands as he rested upon the golden throne of the late Shah of Khwarazm transported to Karakorum as a spoil of war.
With a new leader at the helm, Reyhan’s position was temporarily elevated, but soon she felt sidelined by the fine-looking women around Ogodei, vying for his attention. Ogodei had managed to charm his way into Reyhan
’s heart but once he had won her admiration, apparently satisfied with this conquest, he had turned his attention to other women; among them a beauty that he had married at a very young age by the name of Toregene who had lived for some time with her Naiman tribe and returned in time for Ogodei’s coronation. There was, of course, more to Toregene than her dark eyes and delicate features. Reyhan soon realized her rival’s extreme ambitions and determination. Before long, she captured all of Ogodei’s attention and became the favorite of the new warlord.
Envoys and ambassadors from far corners of the world visited the Mongol court and at times had to surrender their wealth and power to the Khaqan. Reyhan knew just what to say and how to say it, to lighten the occasion, and make the Mongols appear superior in stature, in comparison to their foreign counterparts. She added a civilized dimension and a considerable degree of sophistication to their otherwise ordinary settings. Therefore, during diplomatic sessions and in official appearances, it was Reyhan who stood at Ogodei’s side; then at midnight revelries, Toregene took precedence.
What had seemed to Reyhan as love at first sight had by this time turned into a nightmare as Ogodei’s drinking and womanizing left her alone in her chamber many hours of the day and night. There was a time when domestic tranquility, even within these surroundings and under such unimaginable circumstances, seemed probable. But with Toregene’s ascendance in the court, such hopeful aspirations began to seem as doomed as any hope for her country’s future.
Neither her beauty nor brilliant mind allowed Reyhan to keep a place in her husband’s heart. Her solemn diligence won praise from foreign dignitaries who visited the Mongol court, but Ogodei often said he found her unspoken disapproval unbearable. On the other hand, Reyhan considered Ogodei’s propensity to drink, more characteristic of the serf than a ruler.
Her husband’s neglect wounded her heart like a spear. The fact that she could not conceive made things worse. Barren, that was the word that the court physician had used. Barren. How that word in all its implications descended upon her and depleted the essence of her being. She often asked herself how it would have felt if there was another beating heart within her.
I am barren, barren like the desert, a tree without fruit, an existence without offspring. The bitterness of it! My heart feels barren too. A child would have been a source of consolation, someone to love, someone to love me back. I am left without my family, without a husband who cares for me, away from my homeland, in this place that is as barren as I am!
Chapter Fourteen
The Pleading Child
Ogodei considered himself a generous man, but he lacked the sagaciousness of his father. After all, he had inherited privilege without having to earn it. Upon ascension to power, he forfeited his right to a considerable portion of the accumulated Mongol wealth and distributed the riches among his officers and guardsmen. Extreme generosity had its demerits, however, for what Genghis had ripped out of the hands of the wealthy, soon began to dwindle.
Unlike his other three brothers, Ogodei had a rather lenient and trusting nature. He occasionally pardoned the condemned or reduced their sentences. Although the Mongols basked in luxury during Ogodei’s reign, after the news of his father’s death reached him, Ogodei developed the belief that the wealth and possessions of the world, stay in this world when one passes on. He had accepted death as an eventuality from which there was no escape. Thus, his largesse became renowned as he spent his days enjoying wine and music, inviting ambassadors, aristocrats, and nobles from all over the world to pay homage to him.
The additional cost of Karakorum’s upkeep further consumed Ogodei’s financial assets. After all, his seat of power was located far from sources of agricultural products and other material needed to sustain its economy. Transportation of goods had its own additional expenses, and economizing is always alien to the vocabulary of the neophyte among the wealthy. Therefore, within months of his rise to power, it became necessary to wage more wars, gain more territories, subjugate a greater number of people and enact the insatiable desire of the Mongols to shed blood.
Reyhan approached life with an attitude of anticipating serendipity, always looking forward to what the world would present to her next. And each day ended with utter disappointment in the surprise package fate delivered her. Now and again, communication became less bitter between Reyhan and Ogodei. During those moments she saw him more as a companion than a spouse. She used those occasions to instill in him ideas that would help her nation and the territories where Mongols ruled. In this, she had the aid of an erudite Chinese by the name of Ye Liu Chutsai, who was much respected by the late Khan and had retained his position as an advisor during the reign of Ogodei. Whenever she noticed that the Khaqan found the affairs of the kingdom disconcerting, she would encourage Chutsai to speak truth to power and make Ogodei take a more reasonable path. “Slaughtering people,” Chutsai argued, “leaves you with barren lands with no one to cultivate them. Whereas allowing the inhabitants to live, grants you a formidable workforce that enhances the financial resources of your kingdom and increases your stature among the subjects.”
The poor savant became the subject of Ogodei’s attention at times, and his wrath at others, particularly when his master was inebriated, until he complained one time when he was incarcerated that he could not perform his duties both as an obedient prisoner and a statesman charged with running the affairs of large portions of the world. On days when the pitiable mentor was in prison, Reyhan played the role of advisor.
On one such day, when a sober Ogodei contemplated the idea of turning parts of conquered lands into grazing areas for Mongol horses, Reyhan used the occasion to speak to him.
“The focus of your war efforts has been providing fodder for your animals when indeed the focus has to be installing institutions of governance.” She then added, “Many of the inhabitants of the lands you conquered were not happy with their sovereigns. Pains of the war are slowly being forgotten, and realism is giving way to hopes for a future under Mongol rule. With a little effort, you can make these peoples your allies.”
“And exactly what would that entail?” he asked, looking impatient.
“You can seek the cooperation of the locals, the learned men among them can run the very municipalities that the Mongols neither have the means nor the manpower, to administer and manage. As the conquered lands begin to prosper, Mongol riches likewise increase.”
“I have enough riches to last more than my lifetime,” he replied as he reached for a goblet of wine.
“You have frittered away the wealth that your father had accumulated. Your policy of turning a nation of nomadic tribes into a sedentary population has failed miserably. The expense of keeping up Karakorum is draining your wealth. Also, for your information, the purveyors of fine products from the Middle East are overpricing their commodities.”
“I am showing them Mongol benevolence,” he said.
“You can show benevolence by engaging in fewer wars,” she retorted.
“Mongols survive by making war,” he said in a tone to imply that the conversation had just ended. “We will continue our advance into Persia and China, and as suggested by Subutai, into Europe. Batu, son of Jochi has agreed to join forces with me in China. He is indeed a brave soul. If our campaign against the Jin Dynasty is successful, I will dispatch him to Kievan Rus and then to Poland and Hungary as suggested by Subutai.”
With the passage of time, relations between Reyhan and her husband began to visibly crumble. She kept to her chamber most of the time, and Baako visited her whenever he got a chance, helping her with the chronicles she was recording. One time, in the midst of a deep conversation about the war, they were both shocked to find Ogodei there. He had walked in unexpectedly. Blood drained from Reyhan’s face and guilt left its mark on her countenance.
“What are you up to?” Ogodei demanded, looking at her papers from a distance.
In a clea
r attempt to provide an explanation, Baako risked his life and addressed the Mongol Ruler without being asked first. “Lady Reyhan has just received news from Persia,” he exclaimed, “that a dear old friend has indeed died of consumption.”
Reyhan felt lucky that Ogodei did not pursue the matter further. He just gave them both a look of utter disgust and left the chamber. The following day, however, he dispatched Baako to the war front as an aid to Tolui’s cavalry.
During those days of sheer loneliness with Baako gone, an outwardly insignificant incident changed the course of Reyhan’s inescapable destiny. One late summer afternoon when seeking news of Baako at Amgalan Palace, Reyhan found Ogodei and Toregene ready to pass out from drinking, amidst a large group of Mongol and foreign officials.
As soon as the Khaqan’s gaze spotted her standing at the entry door, he raised his goblet of wine to her and proclaimed loudly, “Long live the Persian Empire or what is left of it.”
Reyhan knew Ogodei was too fuddled to be held accountable for his attitude toward her, but it still hurt her for more than one reason. She walked away from the doorway into the hall. Captivity in the Mongol court, her homeland ravaged by the Mongols, and a husband who had little respect for her, left a gaping hole in her heart that no amount of prayers could fill.
Reyhan felt like a purebred lamb living among wolves. As she walked the candle-lit corridor that led from the auditorium to the main entrance, she heard the wailing of a child whose cries mixed with that of a brewing thunderstorm. The cloudburst rattled the skies, dashing her hopes of venturing outdoors to seek information about Baako from the laborers. Darkness had descended full gloom on the land. She looked for the child and soon found him. He appeared inconsolable, for he had lost his wooden horse.
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