A Hero Borm

by Jin Yong

  Temujin and a few of his men sat astride their horses, watching the battle below. Presently they were joined by the young man dressed in the red cape, who called to the Khan.

  “Father, we are outnumbered. Should we retreat?”

  “Yes, take your men to the east.”

  He turned back to the battlefield. “Muqali, accompany the Second Prince and his men back to the west. Bogurchi, you and Tchila’un go north. Kublai, you and Subotai, south. When my banner is raised and the bugle sounds, turn back and attack.”

  The men rode down the hill and within moments the Mongolian army was on the retreat.

  “Capture Temujin, capture Temujin!” The enemy forces, meanwhile, were trying to fight their way up the hill.

  Temujin stood firm at the top, protected from coming arrows by a wall of shields. Three thousand men, led by Temujin’s brother-in-arms Kutuku and his bravest general Jelme, were mounting a valiant defence at the foot of the hill.

  The ground shook with the clash of swords and roar of battle. Guo Jing watched, now just as excited as he was frightened.

  The fighting continued for an hour or so, as thousands of enemy soldiers mounted charge after charge. Temujin’s elite guard lost some four hundred men, but killed at least ten thousand. And yet arrow-fire remained intense. Combat was especially savage on the north-eastern side, where the Khan’s ranks looked as if they might collapse at any moment.

  “Father, isn’t it time to raise the banner?” Ogedai, Temujin’s third son, implored.

  Temujin’s eyes were sharply focused like an eagle’s, never moving from the battlefield. “But their men are not yet spent,” he answered gruffly.

  The enemy soldiers mounted a renewed attack on the northeastern side under the command of three of their best generals, each with his own black banner. The Mongol forces were steadily losing ground. Jelme came riding up the hill.

  “Khan, our men can’t hold on much longer!”

  “Can’t hold on? Call yourself a man fit to lead men?”

  Jelme’s cheeks flushed. He grabbed a sword from one of Temujin’s guard, turned and howled as he charged forward, hacking a bloody path through the enemy, right up to the black banners. The generals pulled back hard. Jelme stabbed all three bannermen in quick succession, then threw down his weapon, grabbed the flags and returned to Temujin, planting them upside down at the Khan’s feet.

  Fighting continued. An enemy commander dressed in black appeared from the south-west. Within seconds, he had shot a quiver’s worth of arrows, each taking one Mongol soldier. Two Mongol commanders charged at him with their spears. Both commanders were shot from their horses.

  “Lovely!” Temujin said, just as an arrow lodged in his neck. Another followed close behind, heading straight for his stomach.

  Temujin reared his horse. The arrow sank deep into the steed’s chest, so only the feathers remained visible. The horse fell to the ground. Temujin’s men watched in shock. The enemy were pouring up the hill, howling as loudly as their lungs would allow. Ogedai pulled the arrow from his father’s neck, tore the shirt from his back and began bandaging the wound.

  “Don’t worry about me, son,” Temujin said. “Defend the pass!”

  Ogedai turned and shot down two enemy soldiers.

  Kutuku had been leading an attack from the west, but his men were forced to retreat after using up all of their arrows.

  “Kutuku,” Jelme said, his eyes red. “You run like a scared rabbit?”

  “Run?” Kutuku replied. “We have no more arrows.”

  Temujin threw Kutuku a handful of arrows from where he lay in the mud. Kutuku loaded his bow and shot the closest general, then ran down the hill and retrieved his horse.

  “Excellent, my brother!” Temujin said as Kutuku returned.

  “Why not raise the banner and sound the horns?” Kutuku suggested, his cheeks smeared with blood.

  Temujin pressed against the wound in his neck. Blood pulsed through his fingers and down his wrist. “Not yet. The enemy still have life left in them.”

  “We are not afraid to die here on the field,” Kutuku said, dropping to his knees, “but the Khan is in grave danger.”

  Temujin took the reins and struggled up onto the saddle. “We must defend the pass!” he said as he spurred his horse. Raising his sabre, he sliced through three enemy soldiers charging up the hill towards them.

  Temuji’s reappearance took the enemy by surprise. Now was the time.

  “Raise the banners! Sound the horns!”

  A howl went up. One of the guardsmen stood on his horse and raised the white horsehair banner. The horns sounded. The deafening blast was instantly drowned out by the roar of battle, as line after line of soldiers thundered forward.

  The enemy outnumbered the Mongols, but they were now facing an attack from all sides. The outer forces broke within moments, and the fighting engulfed the central guard. The general in black was barking orders, but morale was crumbling.

  It took the Mongol army less than an hour to obliterate their opponents. Those left alive fled, including the general in black, who galloped off towards the horizon.

  “Three jin of gold to whoever catches him!” Temujin called.

  A dozen of Temujin’s best men sped after the fleeing general.

  The general turned and fired back at his pursuers, knocking man after man from his horse, until they dropped back and let him go.

  Temujin’s men had claimed a resolute victory over their longstanding enemy, the Tayichi’ud. Temujin was flooded with memories of his capture at their hands, their beatings and insults, the torture and the yoke. Today’s victory had gone some way to redressing that humiliation. His heart quickened, and a laugh bubbled up from within. The earth shook with the shouts of his men as they withdrew from the bloody field.

  4

  GUO JING WAITED UNTIL DARKNESS HAD FALLEN AND THE soldiers charged with clearing the battlefield had left, before emerging from his bush and starting back.

  It was well past midnight by the time he arrived home, where Lily Li had been waiting with ever increasing alarm. Guo Jing was met by a relieved mother’s arms. He described to her all he had seen. Lily Li listened to her son’s stammering, clumsy account, and was reminded of her late husband – his twitching caterpillar eyebrows, his fascination with battle – and it felt like the thrust of a blade to her heart.

  A few days later, Lily Li left for the nearest market, some thirty li hence, with two wool blankets. Guo Jing, meanwhile, took the sheep out to pasture as usual. Out in the grassland, his mind galloped back to the fight. He spurred his horse, raised his whip and shouted, herding his flock, imagining himself to be a general leading his men.

  Just then the beating of hooves could be heard in the east. A horse was approaching. At first it appeared to be riderless, but Guo Jing realised as it drew close that its master was resting his head on the mane. It stopped and the rider looked up.

  It was the black general from the battle, his face soiled with blood and dirt. In his left hand he held what remained of his sabre, not more than a hilt – it, too, covered in blood. This was his only weapon. His left cheek had been slashed, with blood pouring from the wound, as had his horse’s legs. The man shuddered, locking his bloodshot eyes on Guo Jing.

  “Water . . . Some water please?” the man managed to gasp.

  Guo Jing ran the short distance back home and emerged with a bowl of water. The man grabbed it and drank it all down at once. “Another bowl!”

  Guo Jing fetched another. Blood turned the water red as he drank. The man laughed, then his face twitched and he fell from his horse.

  Guo Jing did not know what to do. But before long the man regained consciousness. “Some water for my horse. And how about something to eat?” he said.

  Guo Jing re-emerged with some chunks of cooked lamb and more water.

  Food seemed to energise the man, and once finished he struggled to his feet. “Thank you, brother!” He then slipped a thick gold bracelet from his w
rist and handed it to Guo Jing. “Here – for you.”

  Guo Jing shook his head. “Mother says you should never expect anything in return for common kindness.”

  “You’re a good boy!” the man said, replacing the bracelet. He then tore a section from his sleeve and began bandaging the horse’s wounds as well as his own.

  Then, from the east, came the sound of more horses.

  “Won’t they let me go?” the man growled.

  On the horizon, rolling waves of dust were already visible. They were coming this way.

  “Boy, do you keep a bow and arrows in the house?”

  “Yes!” Guo Jing replied, and ran back inside.

  The man was visibly relieved, but relief quickly turned to disappointment when he saw Guo Jing reappear with the small bow and arrow he used for playing. “I meant the kind for fighting – a big one!”

  Guo Jing shook his head.

  The riders were getting closer, their banners now visible in the distance. The black general realised he would not be able to outrun them on an injured horse.

  “I can’t fight them by myself, so I’m going to hide,” he said to Guo Jing. But there was nowhere suitable in or around the small thatched cottage. He was desperate. The only place he could think of was the large pile of drying hay nearby.

  “I’m going to hide in there,” he said, pointing. “Chase my horse away as far as you can. Then find somewhere to hide and don’t let them see you.” With that, he scrambled into the haystack.

  Guo Jing whipped the man’s horse and it cantered far into the distance before stopping to munch on some fresh grass. Guo Jing mounted his colt and took off in the opposite direction.

  The riders had spotted people ahead, and sent two men on before them. They soon caught up.

  “Boy, have you seen a man on a black horse come past this way?”

  Guo Jing was no good at lying, so he did not answer. The men asked again, and again, but still the boy refused to speak.

  “Let’s take him to see the Prince,” one of the men suggested. They took hold of Guo Jing’s reins and rode with him back to the cottage.

  I won’t tell them anything, Guo Jing decided as they approached his home.

  There stood a tall, thin man draped in a red cape, encircled by a crowd of soldiers. Guo Jing recognised the man: he had taken part in the battle on the hill only two days before.

  “What did the boy say?” the Prince barked.

  “He’s frightened and won’t speak.”

  The Prince cast his eyes around him until they fell upon a black horse grazing in the distance. “Is that his horse? Bring it here,” he said.

  Ten soldiers split into pairs, surrounded the horse and led it back.

  “This is Jebe’s horse, is it not?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The Prince approached Guo Jing and struck him lightly across the head with his whip. “Where is he? Tell me. You can’t fool me.”

  Jebe gripped his broken sabre even tighter, his heart thudding. He knew this was Temujin’s eldest son, Jochi, famed for his brutality. The boy was going to give him away; he had to be prepared to fight.

  Guo Jing was in pain but fought back his tears. “Why did you hit me?” he asked, holding his head high. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

  “You’re a stubborn boy,” Jochi growled as he whipped Guo Jing once more. This time tears gathered in Guo Jing’s eyes.

  Jochi’s soldiers had been searching the house, and two men even poked at the haystack with their spears, but as luck would have it, they did not hit Jebe.

  “He can’t have got far without his horse. Boy, are you going to tell me where he is?” Jochi struck Guo Jing across the head three more times, each time a little harder. Guo Jing made a vain attempt to grab the Prince’s whip.

  Then came the sound of horns in the distance.

  “The Great Khan is coming!”

  Jochi lowered his whip. The soldiers rushed to gather around the Khan as he stopped in front of them. “Father!”

  Temujin’s injuries were grave. The Khan had summoned his last reserves of energy to fight out the battle, but fainted several times after Jebe fled. His general Jelme and third son Ogedai took turns sucking the blood clots from his wounds, and together his four sons and best generals waited by his bed through the night until he was out of danger. Early the next morning, the Khan’s men rode in search of Jebe, swearing they would catch and quarter him. One small group found him around dawn that morning and a fight ensued, but the black general had prevailed.

  “Father, we found his horse!” Jochi announced, pointing it out for the Khan.

  “The horse is no good to me. I want the man!” Temujin replied.

  “Of course, Father, we’ll find him,” Jochi said. He went back to Guo Jing, unsheathed his sabre and swung it menacingly above the boy’s head. “Well? Are you going to tell me now?”

  The earlier beating had emboldened the boy. “No!”

  Temujin noted the boy did not claim ignorance. “Trick it out of him,” Temujin whispered to his third son.

  Ogedai approached Guo Jing with a smile and plucked two resplendent peacock feathers from his helmet. “These are yours if you tell me.”

  “No!” Guo Jing insisted.

  “Release the dogs!” An order from Temujin’s second son, Chagatai. The soldiers brought forth six of Chagatai’s beloved mastiffs, led them to where Jelme’s horse was grazing to catch Jebe’s scent, and then let them loose. They ran straight for the cottage and out again, roaring and barking.

  Guo Jing was no friend to Jebe, but he had admired the general’s bravery on the battlefield, and Jochi’s whipping had only strengthened his resolve. Guo Jing whistled to his sheepdog. Chagatai’s mastiffs were circling in on the haystack, but Guo Jing commanded his dog to block them. Chagatai shouted and the mastiffs pounced. Howls, barks, teeth clashing. Though outnumbered, Guo Jing’s sheepdog fought back bravely, but within moments he was covered in large gashes. Guo Jing cheered between his tears.

  Temujin, Ogedai and the rest of their men knew Jebe must be in the haystack, but as there was no escape for the black general they decided to enjoy the dogfight first.

  But Jochi could not wait and took his whip to Guo Jing. The boy rolled on the grass in pain, close to where Jochi was standing. Then suddenly he jumped up and grabbed hold of Jochi’s right leg. Jochi tried to shake him off, but Guo Jing was surprisingly strong. Jochi’s brothers started laughing and even the Great Khan had to hide a smile. Jochi’s cheeks flashed scarlet. He pulled out his sabre and swung at Guo Jing’s head. Just as the blade was about to slice the boy’s head clean from his neck, out from the haystack popped a broken sabre to block his swing. Jochi felt his fingers shake and he nearly dropped his weapon.

  Jebe scrambled out from under the hay and pulled Guo Jing behind him. “Taken to bullying children now? Have you no shame?”

  The soldiers surrounded Jebe, spears at the ready. He had nowhere to go. Jebe threw down his broken sabre. Jochi made to punch Jebe in the chest.

  “Go on, kill me!” the black general shouted back, instead of defending himself. “Shame I won’t be granted the honour of dying at the hands of a true hero.”

  “What did you say?” Temujin cried.

  “Were I to die on the battlefield, defeated by a hero, I would have no regrets. But today an eagle has fallen and is about to be eaten by ants.”

  Jebe then howled. Chagatai’s hunting dogs had pinned Guo Jing’s sheepdog to the ground and were chomping and snarling at it, but Jebe’s call stopped them, and they retreated, tails between their legs.

  “Great Khan, such arrogance is not to be tolerated,” one of Temujin’s men cried, stepping out from the crowd. “Let me fight him!”

  “Fine! You show him,” Temujin replied. It was one of his best generals, Bogurchi. “If there’s one thing we have plenty of, it’s heroes.”

  “I’ll kill you. So you may die with no regrets,” Bogurchi cried, as he stepped forward.r />
  “And who are you?” Jebe replied, eyeing the sturdy man opposing him.

  “My name is Bogurchi! Maybe you’ve heard of me?”

  Jebe felt a shiver go through him. So this is the famous Bogurchi? Jebe said to himself. His fame precedes him; he is a hero among the Mongols. But he rolled his eyes and snorted, feigning indifference.

  “You are named for your great skills with the bow and arrow,” Temujin said to Jebe. “Why not see who is more skilled: you, or my sworn brother here?”

  “You are a sworn brother to the Great Khan?” Jebe turned to Bogurchi. “In that case, I’ll take pleasure in killing you first.”

  The Mongol soldiers burst into laughter. Bogurchi’s unparalleled fighting skills had made him famous across the steppe. Jebe may well be a talented archer, but was he a match for the great Bogurchi?

  As a boy, Temujin had been taken prisoner by his father’s former allies, the Tayichi’ud, and taken to the banks of the Onon River, where they thrust his head through the flat wooden panel of a cangue. There they drank, and lashed him with their whips. Temujin waited until his captors were incapacitated with drink before knocking the guard over the head with the cangue, still locked around his neck, and escaping into the forest.

  The Tayichi’uds called a search across the steppe. A young man by the name of Tchila’un took pity on Temujin, and, risking the wrath of the Tayichi’ud, broke the cangue from Temujin’s neck, burned it, and sheltered the fugitive in a cart of fleeces. Presently the Tayichi’ud men came and searched Tchila’un’s home. The men spotted the cart and began removing the fleeces, one layer at a time. Just as they were about to uncover the future Khan, Tchila’un’s father interrupted the soldiers.

  “The weather is so hot, how could he be hiding in the fleeces? He would be dead by now.”

  The summer solstice was upon them, and sweat poured from their bodies like storm rains. The old man spoke sense, so the soldiers left.

  Temujin had fled home, and now, along with his mother and younger brother, was forced to keep moving across the steppe, surviving on wild rats and his horsemanship to keep them ahead of their pursuers.