A Hero Borm

by Jin Yong

  One day, eight of Temujin’s white horses were stolen by a rival tribe. Temujin was giving chase when he encountered a young man, milking his horse. Had he seen where the thieves had fled? This was Bogurchi. “We both know the hardships a man faces in these grasslands. Let us be friends,” he said.

  They rode together for three days before at last catching up with the thieves. They fought side by side. Their arrows slayed hundreds of men, and together they recovered the horses. Temujin offered to give Bogurchi four, but Bogurchi refused. “This I did for friendship, nothing more.”

  In one another they found a bond deeper than any other.

  Temujin now gave his bow to Bogurchi and jumped down from his steed. “Ride my horse, use my bow and arrows. It will be as if I killed him myself.”

  “As you command.” Bogurchi took the bow in his left hand, the arrows in his right, and jumped up onto Temujin’s beloved white horse.

  “Give your horse to Jebe,” Temujin said to Ogedai.

  “He is most fortunate indeed,” Ogedai said, dismounting. One of the bodyguards led the horse to Jebe.

  “I am surrounded,” Jebe said to Temujin, once seated on Ogedai’s horse. “You could have killed me easier than a sheep. I dare not ask for more favours. Just give me a bow – no arrows are necessary.”

  “No arrows?” Bogurchi said.

  “That’s right. I can kill you with just a bow.”

  Again the Mongolian soldiers guffawed.

  “How he boasts!”

  “What a braggart!”

  Temujin ordered them to give Jebe one of their best bows.

  Bogurchi knew Jebe’s shot was precise. But to fight without arrows? Bogurchi realised Jebe must be planning to send his arrows back at him. He squeezed his thighs and Temujin’s horse sprang forward.

  Jebe pulled on his reins. Bogurchi nocked an arrow, pulled back and shot. Jebe reached out. The arrow was in his hand.

  Impressive, Bogurchi said to himself.

  Another arrow.

  Jebe listened as it cut through the air. This one he couldn’t catch. He pressed his body flat against the horse’s back. The arrow passed above, ruffling the hairs on his head. He spurred, turned his horse, hauled himself upright. But Bogurchi fed his bow quickly, and two more arrows came whistling towards him. He slipped down from his saddle, his right foot still hooked into the stirrup, and held himself inches from the ground slipping by below. There he fluttered at the horse’s feet, like a trapped kite. He turned, loaded the arrow he had caught, fired it and flipped back into the saddle.

  “Amazing,” Bogurchi breathed. He shot at the approaching arrow. The arrowheads clashed, twisted and sank into the sand. Cheers rose from Temujin and his men.

  Bogurchi nocked an arrow, aimed left, waited for Jebe to react, and shot right. Jebe knocked the arrow away with his bow into the dirt. Bogurchi fired three more arrows in a rapid flurry, all of which Jebe dodged with ease. Jebe spurred his horse, leaned down, picked three arrows from the dirt, bent his bow and shot.

  Bogurchi leapt up and stood on his saddle in an extravagant display. Balancing on his left foot, he kicked the flying arrows away with his right, before pulling back his bow with all his power and letting fly. Jebe jerked to one side and shot an arrow at Bogurchi’s, splitting it along the shaft.

  Bogurchi was growing uneasy and increasingly impatient. He fired a blur of arrows. Unable to catch so many in succession, Jebe contrived to avoid them. But still the arrows kept coming, thick and fast, until he was struck in the left shoulder. The crowd cheered.

  Smiling, Bogurchi reached for another arrow, intending to kill Jebe. His hand felt into his quiver’s deepest corners. There were none left. He always took sufficient supplies with him into battle: two quivers around his waist and six on the horse. But he was not using his own mount now; he was riding the Khan’s. He pulled the horse round, stooped, and swept at the moving grass.

  Jebe knew this was his chance, and fired an arrow square into Bogurchi’s back. A gasp rose from the crowd. It was a painful blow, but despite the force of the shot, the arrow failed to penetrate Bogurchi’s clothing and fell to the ground. Bogurchi reached down and inspected the arrow. Jebe had removed the arrowhead.

  “I avenge the Great Khan! You needn’t show me any mercy!” Bogurchi cried, sitting back in the saddle.

  “Jebe shows no mercy to his enemies. I have killed you, in all but deed.”

  Temujin had been watching in distress, but his fears were allayed when he realised Bogurchi was unhurt. He would have exchanged ten thousand sheep, oxen and horses to keep his best general and friend from being killed. “Enough!” Temujin called. “You have proven your prowess. We no longer seek vengeance upon you.”

  “I am not asking the Khan to spare my life.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “It is him I wish to be spared!” Jebe answered, pointing at Guo Jing standing by the door. “All I ask is that the Khan troubles the child no more. As for myself,” he continued, “I wounded the Khan and deserve punishment. Come, Bogurchi!” He pulled the arrow from his shoulder and loaded his bow, the blood still dripping from the tip.

  “Fine! Let’s fight!”

  A deluge of arrows rushed from Bogurchi’s bow, forming a chain through the air.

  Jebe hooked his foot through the stirrup, tucked himself under his horse’s belly, and aimed. Bogurchi’s white colt pulled left without his master’s command, but Jebe had been swift, and the arrow hit the horse in the forehead, bringing it crashing to the ground.

  Bogurchi fired as he rolled, splitting the bow in Jebe’s hand. Jebe cursed, and steered his horse away from Bogurchi’s arrows. Cheers rose from the spectators.

  He’s an impressive archer, Bogurchi had to admit. He bent his bow, aimed at Jebe’s back and let go.

  The arrow hit Jebe in the back of the head. Jebe convulsed and fell from his horse, the arrow landing in the grass beside him. But Bogurchi too had removed the arrowhead. He loaded another arrow and held it aimed at Jebe. “Great Khan!” he cried, turning to Temujin. “Have mercy and let him go!”

  “Will you not surrender?” Temujin responded.

  Jebe’s stubborn defiance was overcome. He ran over to Temujin and knelt at his feet.

  Temujin smiled. “From this day forward, you fight with me!”

  Mongolians often turn to song to express their feelings. Kneeling before the Khan, Jebe began to sing:

  “The Great Khan is merciful, as befits his name,

  Which I will repay with my protection,

  With contempt of fire and water,

  And rebel against dark seas and rupturing cliffs.

  Take our enemies, gouge out their hearts!

  I will go wherever I am needed.

  For the Khan I am always willing,

  Ten thousand miles by sun or moon!”

  Temujin produced two gold ingots and gave one each to Bogurchi and Jebe.

  “Great Khan, may I give this to the boy?”

  “You may do with your gold as you please,” Temujin replied.

  Jebe approached Guo Jing and held out the ingot, but Guo Jing shook his head: “Mother says you should never expect anything in return for common kindness.”

  Temujin admired the boy’s bravery, but liked him even more after hearing this. “What an impressive young man!” Then, turning to Jebe: “Bring him to me later.” He then left, instructing a squad to mount the dead horse on the backs of two others, and to follow behind.

  Jebe was exhausted, but pleased with the outcome. He lay in the grass to rest and wait for the boy’s mother to return.

  “You’re a good boy, you did the right thing,” Lily Li said to Guo Jing after Jebe told her of her son’s fearless conduct, even if the wounds on his face did trouble her. But how would the boy avenge his father’s death if he remained a shepherd his whole life? No, it would be better to let him train with the Great Khan’s men. So mother and son agreed to go with Jebe, and join Temujin’s tribe.

&n
bsp; Jebe was put in command of a team of ten under Temujin’s third son, Ogedai. Jebe and Bogurchi held each other in great esteem, and became loyal friends. Nor did Jebe forget his debt to Guo Jing. He took good care of mother and son, and decided he would teach Guo Jing all his skills with the bow and arrow, as soon as the boy was old enough.

  5

  ONE DAY, GUO JING WAS PLAYING WITH SOME OF THE OTHER children when two riders came galloping into the encampment with urgent news for the Khan. They rushed to Temujin’s ger and within moments the horns were sounded and soldiers ran from their tents. The men were organised into squads of ten, each with its own commander. These were then organised into companies made up of ten squads, battalions of one thousand men and, finally, divisions of ten thousand, each with their own commander. Temujin kept close control of his army through this chain of command.

  Guo Jing and the other children watched as the men took up their weapons and mounted their horses. Another horn blast sounded, and the ground shook as the horses gathered into formation. By the end of the third blast, silence had descended as all fifty thousand men were lined up before the encampment’s main gate. Only the occasional horse’s snort broke the quiet; no-one spoke, no clanging of weapons was heard.

  “Of our many victories the Jin Empire knows,” Temujin cried as he walked through the main gate with his three sons. “The Jin Emperor sent his Third and Sixth Princes here today to appoint your Khan an officer of the Jin!”

  The soldiers raised their weapons and hailed their Khan. The Jin controlled all of northern China by the force of a strong and disciplined army; their influence stretched east to the seas and west to the deserts. The Mongols, in contrast, were just one of many nomadic tribes on the steppe. To be named an official of the Jin Empire was an honour for Temujin.

  The Khan ordered his eldest son Jochi to lead his ten-thousand-strong corps to welcome their guests. The remaining forty thousand men would wait in formation.

  News of the growing power of northern tribes such as Temujin’s worried the Jin Emperor Wanyan Jing, titled Ming Chang. In reality, the Princes were not here just to secure an alliance between the Mongols and the Jin Empire, but to ascertain at first hand their capabilities in case of future conflict. The Sixth Prince, Wanyan Honglie, was the very same Prince who had travelled to Lin’an, where he was wounded by Qiu Chuji, and on to Jiaxing, where he encountered the Seven Freaks of the South.

  After some wait, a blot of dust appeared on the horizon, announcing Jochi’s return with the two Princes, Wanyan Hongxi and Wanyan Honglie, and their force of ten thousand elite soldiers, dressed in the finest brocade and armour. Those on the left of the formation were armed with spears and those on the right with wolf-fang clubs. The clanking of their armour was audible for miles. Sunlight glinted on their uniforms of silk and metal, and they shone ever more resplendent as they came into view. The brothers rode side by side, while Temujin and his men stood by the road, waiting.

  As they drew near, Wanyan Hongxi caught sight of the children watching, and laughed. He puffed himself up, reached into his shirt for a handful of gold coins and threw them at them. “A gift!”

  But, to Mongolians, throwing coins like this was the height of disrespect. These children were descended from soldiers and generals. Not one of them moved to pick up the coins.

  “Come on, you little devils!” Wanyan Hongxi cried, throwing another handful of coins in frustration.

  This angered Temujin and his men even more. They may not have had the grand outward trappings of other great civilisations, but the Mongolians were a refined people. They did not swear, even against their gravest enemies or in jest. To step inside a ger was to be treated with utmost hospitality, whether friend or foe, and a guest was to return this favour with decorum. They may not have understood Wanyan Hongxi’s heavily accented Mongolian, but they understood his attitude all too well.

  Guo Jing had grown up on stories of Jin scorn, and of how they had invaded his motherland China, corrupted its officials and killed its greatest general, Yue Fei. He stepped forward now. “We don’t want your money!” he cried, picking some coins from the dirt. He ran and hurled them as hard as he could at the Third Prince.

  Wanyan Hongxi ducked, but one struck him on the cheekbone. Temujin’s men cheered.

  It did not especially hurt, but such humiliation at the hands of a six-year-old boy was too much. He swiped a spear from one of his guards. “I’ve got you, you little devil!”

  “Brother!” Wanyan Honglie said, realising the situation was getting out of control. But it was too late: the Third Prince had already thrown the weapon. Guo Jing turned, rather than stepped aside. At the last possible moment, an arrow came from the left, like a meteor shooting for the moon, and hit the spear on the head, deflecting it. Guo Jing ran back to the other children, the cheers of Temujin’s men shaking the ground beneath him.

  The arrow belonged to Jebe.

  “Third Brother, forget about him!” Wanyan Honglie hissed.

  The cheers of Temujin’s men left Wanyan Hongxi shaken. He glared at Guo Jing. “Little bastard,” he muttered.

  Temujin and his sons stepped forward and led the Princes to the Khan’s ger, where they served their guests koumiss and plates of lamb and beef. With the help of interpreters, Wanyan Hongxi read the royal decree, conferring upon Temujin the title of “Queller of Northern Uprisings”. Temujin knelt before Wanyan Hongxi and accepted the title and a golden belt, a symbol of his allegiance to the Jin Empire.

  THAT NIGHT the Mongolians honoured their guests with a lavish feast.

  “Tomorrow, my brother and I will bestow Ong Khan with a title,” Wanyan Hongxi stuttered, drunk on koumiss. “Will our Queller of Uprisings join us?”

  Temujin was delighted and agreed at once. Ong Khan, a Kerait, was recognised as leader of the northern tribes of the steppe. He was the richest, and commanded the most men, but was known to be fair and magnanimous in his treatment of others. He was universally liked and respected. Ong Khan was sworn brother of Temujin’s father. After Temujin’s father was poisoned and Temujin fled, it was Ong Khan who took him in as his own son. Not long after Temujin was married, his wife was captured by the Merkits. It was only after receiving help from Ong Khan and Jamuka, Temujin’s sworn brother, that Temujin managed to defeat the Merkits and reclaim his wife.

  “Is the Jin Empire granting titles on anyone else?” Temujin asked.

  “No,” Wanyan Hongxi said. “There are only two men of note in the northern steppe: Ong Khan and the Great Khan Temujin.”

  “No-one else would be worthy of a title,” Wanyan Honglie added.

  “I disagree. There is one man the Princes are perhaps unfamiliar with,” Temujin said.

  “Is that so? Who?” Wanyan Honglie said.

  “My sworn brother, Jamuka. He is most righteous and commands his men with a just hand. May I ask the Princes to bestow an official title on him as well?”

  Temujin and Jamuka had grown up together, cementing their friendship with a bond of brotherhood when Temujin was just eleven, a custom known among the Mongolians as anda, sealed with an exchange of gifts. Jamuka and Temujin swapped hunting stones made from deer bone. After the boys became anda, they went to the Onon River while it was still frozen over and threw them out across it. When spring came the boys swore their brotherhood again, Jamuka giving Temujin a whistling arrow he had carved himself from two ox horns, while Temujin presented his friend with a cedar arrowhead.

  When they reached manhood, they lived with Ong Khan. They would compete every day to see who could rise first and drink a cup of yoghurt from Ong Khan’s own jade cup. After Jamuka and Ong Khan helped recover Temujin’s wife, the sworn brothers exchanged gifts once more, this time gold belts and horses. By day the men drank wine from the same cup and at night slept under the same blanket.

  Their tribes, however, were eventually forced to take different directions in the search for fresh pasture, and the two men were separated. But both tribes flourished and their lo
yalty endured. It was natural that he should wish for his anda to be honoured as well.

  “We don’t have titles to give to all you Mongolians. How many do you think we have?” Wanyan Hongxi stammered, by now half drunk. Wanyan Honglie cast his brother a meaningful look, but was ignored.

  “Fine, give him my title instead.”

  “Does a title mean so little you would give it away?” Wanyan Hongxi cried.

  Temujin stood up. Without uttering another word, he downed the contents of his cup and left. Wanyan Honglie was left to diffuse the situation with some hasty and not particularly amusing jokes.

  THE NEXT morning, just as the sun was climbing above the horizon, Temujin mounted his horse and went to inspect the five thousand mounted horses already lined up in formation. The Jurchen Princes and their men were still sleeping.

  Temujin had at first been impressed by the Jurchen army; they appeared strong and well equipped. But still sleeping? Temujin snorted. Now he saw they were undisciplined and libertine. “What do you think of the Jin?” he asked Muqali.

  “A thousand of our men could defeat five thousand of theirs,” was Muqali’s reply.

  “Just what I thought,” Temujin said with a smile. “But they say the Jin has more than a million men at its command. We have only fifty thousand.”

  “But you can’t lead one million men into battle at once. If we were to fight them, we could take ten thousand today and another ten thousand tomorrow.”

  “We always agree when it comes to military strategy.” Temujin patted him on the shoulder. “A man weighing one hundred jin can eat ten oxen, each weighing ten thousand jin. He just needs time.” They laughed.

  Temujin pulled at his reins. Then he caught sight of his fourth son Tolui’s horse without its rider. “Where is Tolui?”

  Tolui was only nine years old, but Temujin treated his sons in the same way he did his troops, with an iron discipline. Anyone breaking his rules was punished.