A Hero Borm

by Jin Yong

Temujin’s men were uneasy. General Boroqul, Tolui’s mentor, was overly concerned. “The boy never sleeps late. Let me see.”

  Just as he turned his horse, he saw two children running towards him holding hands. The boy with a strip of brocade tied around his forehead was Tolui, the other was Guo Jing.

  “Father!” Tolui was excited.

  “Where have you been?” Temujin demanded.

  “Guo Jing and I swore an oath of brotherhood down by the river. Look, he gave me this,” Tolui said, waving an embroidered red handkerchief Lily Li had made for her son.

  Temujin recalled with fondness the time he and Jamuka became sworn anda, two innocent children just like those standing before him now. “And what did you give him?”

  “This!” Guo Jing said, pointing to his neck, to the gold necklace Temujin’s son usually wore.

  “From now on, you must love and look after each other,” Temujin said.

  They nodded.

  “Now, mount your horses,” Temujin said. “Guo Jing is coming with us.”

  The boys climbed into their saddles in excitement.

  After yet another hour’s waiting, the Jin Princes emerged from their gers, washed and dressed at last. Wanyan Honglie caught sight of the Mongolian soldiers waiting in formation and sent a hurried order to his men to get ready. But Wanyan Hongxi believed in making the Mongolians wait, to let them know who had the power. He ate at a leisurely pace, accompanying the snacks with a few cups of wine, and then mounted his horse. It took another hour for the ten-thousand-strong Jin army to muster before setting off.

  They marched northwards for six days until they were met with a delegation sent by Ong Khan consisting of the Khan’s son Senggum and his adopted son Jamuka. When word reached Temujin that his sworn brother was up ahead, he galloped on. The two men jumped from their horses and embraced. Temujin’s sons followed close behind to greet their uncle.

  Jamuka was tall and spindly, Wanyan Honglie observed, his upper lip decorated with the finest threads of gold. His eyes were quick. Senggum, in contrast, was pale and flabby, no doubt from having lived a life of opulence. He looked nothing like the men hewn by the harsh climate of the steppe. He was haughty and showed a noticeable disregard for the Great Khan.

  Together they rode on again for another day. Then, just as they were approaching Ong Khan’s camp, two of Temujin’s advance guards came riding back. “The Naiman are blocking the way ahead. Some thirty thousand of them.”

  “What do they want?” Wanyan Hongxi was anxious after hearing the translation.

  “To fight, it would seem.”

  “They’ve really brought thirty thousand men?” Wanyan Hongxi stuttered. “Isn’t . . . Aren’t we outnumbered—”

  Temujin did not wait for Wanyan Hongxi to finish. Turning to Muqali he said, “Find out what’s going on.”

  Muqali rode on with ten bodyguards while the rest of the entourage waited. He was back before long. “The Naiman say that since the Great Jin Empire granted a title to our Khan, the Princes should bestow one on them too. If Your Excellencies don’t, they will take you hostage until such a title is forthcoming. Not only that, they want a rank of higher status than that given to our Great Khan Temujin.”

  “Demanding a title?” Wanyan Hongxi’s cheeks had gone pale. “That’s sedition. What should we do?”

  Wanyan Honglie started organising his troops into their fighting positions as a precaution.

  “Brother,” Jamuka said, turning to Temujin, “the Naiman frequently steal our livestock and harass our people. Are we really going to let them get away with this? What do Your Excellencies want us to do?”

  Temujin had by now surveyed the terrain and concocted a plan. “Let’s show the Princes how we do things here on the steppe.” Temujin let out a cry and cracked his whip twice. Five thousand Mongolians howled in response, startling the Jin Princes.

  Up ahead, the Naiman were approaching.

  “Brother,” Wanyan Hongxi said, “order our men to charge. These Mongols don’t know how to fight.”

  “Let them go first,” Wanyan Honglie whispered.

  Realising his brother’s intentions, Wanyan Hongxi nodded. The Mongolian soldiers howled again, but still they did not move.

  “Why are they howling like animals?” Wanyan Hongxi said. “Shouting alone isn’t going to make them turn back.”

  Boroqul was positioned on the left flank. He turned to Tolui, who along with his sworn brother Guo Jing had joined his voice with the other men. “Follow me and don’t fall behind. Watch and learn.”

  Just then enemy soldiers appeared through the dust up ahead. Still the Mongols howled, still they did not move.

  Wanyan Honglie was growing more and more anxious. The Naiman were fierce and might attack at any moment.

  “Fire!”

  The first row of Jin men released several rounds of arrows, but the Naiman were still beyond reach. They were charging at speed towards them. Wanyan Hongxi began to panic, his heart thudding. “Why don’t we just give them what they want?” he said to his brother. “We can make up some title, something high ranking, it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t cost us anything.”

  With two cracks of Temujin’s whip, the Mongols fell silent and split into two flanks. Temujin and Jamuka each took one. Leaning low in their saddles, they galloped towards higher ground on either side, calling orders to their men as they rode. The riders split off into small groups as they ascended, covering all positions. Now they had the height to their advantage, they loaded their bows and held them high.

  The commander of the Naiman too looked for higher ground. But the Mongolians had erected walls made from layers of sheep’s fleece to shield them from incoming arrows. The Naiman shot up at the Mongolians, but their arrows fell short, or were caught up in the fleece barricades.

  The Mongolians returned fire, and the Naiman fell back in chaos and confusion.

  Temujin watched the tumult from his position high on the left. “Jelme, attack the rear!”

  Armed with his sabre, Jelme charged, one thousand men behind him, and blocked the Naiman retreat.

  Jebe took up his spear and pressed to the front of the charge. His target was the Naiman commander-in-chief; he would kill him as an expression of gratitude to Temujin.

  Within moments the Naiman rearguard fell apart and the foremost ranks were in chaos. The Naiman commander hesitated, giving Jamuka and Senggum time to join the charge. Facing attack on all sides, the Naiman fell into disarray. Abandoned by their commander, the remaining men threw down their bows, dismounted and surrendered.

  The Mongols had killed over a thousand Naiman men, captured two thousand more and gained almost as many horses before the rest of the army fled. They had lost no more than a hundred of their own.

  Temujin ordered the captives be stripped of their armour and split into four groups, one for the Wanyan brothers, one for his adoptive father Ong Khan, one for his sworn brother Jamuka and one for himself. Mongolians whose relatives had died in battle received compensation: five horses and five slaves.

  The battle now over, Wanyan Hongxi burst into nervous laughter. “They want a title?” he said, turning to his brother. “How about ‘Conqueror of the Northern Queller of Uprisings’?”

  For all his brother’s jokes, Wanyan Honglie was feeling decidedly nervous. The Empire would be in trouble if Temujin or Jamuka ever united the northern tribes and took command of the steppe.

  The Mongols were a genuine threat.

  He was still mulling this over when yet more dust appeared on the horizon. Another army approaching.

  Chapter Four

  A Dark Wind Blows

  1

  “TAKE UP YOUR WEAPONS, ANOTHER ARMY IS COMING!” WANYAN Hongxi cried.

  Moments later, the scouts returned. “Ong Khan is here to welcome the Princes in person.”

  Temujin, Jamuka and Senggum rode out ahead.

  From the clouds of dust an army emerged, led by Ong Khan. He drew close, rolled down from his h
orse and knelt before the Princes, flanked by his adopted sons Temujin and Jamuka. He was a heavyset man with a head of glittering silver hair. His robe was made from the finest black panther furs fastened with a gold belt.

  Wanyan Honglie too dismounted and returned the gesture of respect, but Wanyan Hongxi remained in his saddle, deigning only to cup his fists in the most perfunctory manner.

  “Your humble servant received advice of your treatment at the hands of the Naiman,” Ong Khan began. “I hope Your Excellencies were not too affronted. I sent my men as fast as I could. Thankfully, with Your Excellencies’ grace upon them, my three boys were able to prevail without my men.”

  Ong Khan then led the Wanyan brothers back to his ger. The inside walls were lined with leopard and fox furs and decorated with the most elegant furniture money could buy. Even his personal guards were better dressed than Temujin Khan himself. Horns were regularly sounded and could be heard for miles around. The Jin Princes had never witnessed such grandeur beyond the bounds of the Great Wall.

  Once Ong Khan’s new title had been bestowed, they settled down to a banquet of spectacular proportions. Female slaves danced late into the night and the celebrations became ever more raucous. Quite a contrast to the simple and somewhat rustic welcome provided by Temujin. Wanyan Hongxi in particular was enjoying the feast and had spotted two girls that took his fancy. Ideas began forming, but it did not occur to him to ask Ong Khan’s permission.

  The koumiss skins were now half empty. Wanyan Honglie turned to Ong Khan. “Your heroism is known across the steppe and even those of us from within the Great Wall have long admired your prowess. But I would like to meet some younger Mongolians of distinction.”

  “My adopted sons are the two greatest heroes we Mongols can claim,” was Ong Khan’s response. He smiled.

  Senggum, a son born of Ong Khan’s own loins, was sitting nearby and did not take kindly to this remark. He downed yet another cup of koumiss.

  “What about your own son?” Wanyan Honglie asked, noticing Senggum’s displeasure.

  “He will succeed me upon my death, of course,” Ong Khan said. “But in comparison to his adopted brothers? Jamuka is quick witted. Temujin is even more courageous. He rose to his current position with only the help of his own fortitude and valour. I ask you, who wouldn’t want to serve such a fine man?”

  “Is that to say Ong Khan’s generals are not as impressive as Temujin’s?” Wanyan Honglie continued.

  Temujin noticed the Sixth Prince was trying to stir resentment among them. He prepared himself for the response.

  Ong Khan stroked his beard and at first did not reply. He took another long swig from his koumiss skin.

  “Not so long ago the Naiman came past this way and stole several thousand of my livestock. Had it not been for Temujin and his Four Great Generals, we would never have recovered them. He may not have many men under his command, but they are without exception all of singular bravery and skill. Your Excellency must have noticed this today.”

  Senggum’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of scarlet and he slammed his golden cup down on the table.

  “My current fortune has nothing to do with skill, but is merely a reflection of my adoptive father’s generosity and attention,” Temujin added hastily.

  “Temujin’s Four Great Generals? Who are they? I would like to meet them,” Wanyan Honglie said, changing the subject.

  “Why not summon them to our party?” Ong Khan asked Temujin. Temujin clapped his hands and, within moments, four men marched into the ger.

  The first man was gentle-looking and pale in complexion, more of a scholar than a fighter. This was the master strategist Muqali. The second was of sturdy build, his eyes intense like a bird of prey. He was Temujin’s good friend, Bogurchi. The third, Tolui’s teacher Boroqul, was short but quick in movement. The last man was covered in scars from battle, his face a bloody red. This was the man who had saved Temujin’s life all those years ago, Tchila’un. These were the founding commanders of the rising Mongol Empire, Temujin’s Four Great Generals.

  Wanyan Honglie could not help but admire them and toasted each in turn.

  “Today there was a commander dressed in black who led the charge through the Naiman ranks. What is his name?” Wanyan Honglie said once the generals had finished their koumiss.

  “I just recruited him, he is our newest squad leader,” Temujin answered. “Everyone calls him Jebe.”

  “Then why not invite him to drink with us as well?”

  Temujin obliged and issued the command.

  Jebe entered the ger and performed the gestures of gratitude appropriate to his rank and invitation. But just as he was about to drink, Senggum interrupted him.

  “How dare you, a mere squad leader, drink from my golden cup?”

  Jebe held the cup against his lips, shaking with rage at such an insult. He glanced at Temujin.

  For the sake of my adoptive father, I will overlook Senggum’s rudeness, Temujin decided. “Bring it to me,” he announced. “I am thirsty, I will drink it!” He took the cup from Jebe’s hands and emptied it. Jebe gave Senggum a dirty look, turned and made for the door.

  “Come back!” Senggum said, but Jebe ignored him and left.

  “Brother Temujin may have his Four Great Generals, but I have something capable of besting them all, should I choose to use it.” Senggum was growing ever more enraged that things were not turning out as he wished. Senggum and Temujin were no anda; they were brothers only in the loosest sense.

  “Really? And what is that? What force could be so potent?” Wanyan Hongxi’s interest had been piqued.

  “Come outside and I will show you,” Senggum said.

  “We are drinking, why stir up trouble?” Ong Khan said.

  “I’m bored – let’s go and take a look.” Wanyan Hongxi stood up and walked out. He liked the idea of trouble. The others had no choice but to follow.

  The soldiers had lit hundreds of fires and were gathered around them, celebrating. Seeing the Khans emerge, those on the western flank scrambled to their feet, sending a rumble echoing around the camp. Within moments they were lined up and had settled into perfect silence. These were Temujin’s men. In contrast, Ong Khan’s troops to the east were slow and disorganised. Titters could be heard as they joked among themselves.

  Ong Khan’s men may outnumber Temujin’s, but they are far less disciplined, Wanyan Honglie concluded.

  “More drink!” Temujin cried. He had noticed Jebe’s pained expression in the glow of the fire. A large jug was brought to him. “Today’s victory over the Naiman was the result of collective bravery,” he announced.

  “Because we are led by Ong Khan, Temujin Khan and Jamuka!” the men replied.

  “But today, I saw one man whose bravery deserves special mention. He charged the enemy rear no less than three times. Dozens of men were felled by his bow. Who do I mean?”

  “Squad Leader Jebe!” the soldiers answered again.

  “No, not Squad Leader Jebe . . . Commander Jebe!”

  For a moment there was silence, then the men began to cheer.

  “Jebe is a great fighter! He deserves to be commander!”

  “Bring me my helmet,” Temujin said to Jelme. Jelme returned moments later and presented it to him.

  “This is the helmet I wear into battle. This is the helmet I wear when I slay our enemies.” Temujin lifted it high above his head for everyone to see. “Now, this warrior will drink from it.”

  He poured the jug’s contents into the helmet. Bringing it up to his lips, he drank from it and then offered it to Jebe.

  Jebe lowered his head in gratitude and knelt on one knee to receive the honour. He finished the remaining koumiss.

  “Even the world’s most precious diamond-studded golden cup could never compare to my Khan’s helmet,” he said quietly. Temujin smiled as Jebe passed it back to him and he put it back on his head.

  Cheering erupted. Everyone in the camp already knew of Jebe’s humiliation and even On
g Khan’s retinue believed Senggum to have behaved badly.

  Temujin is greatly revered, Wanyan Honglie said to himself as he watched events unfold. Jebe would gladly die a thousand times for him. Jin officials believe the north to be populated by ignorant barbarians, but it is obvious we have grossly underestimated these people.

  “And what about this thing you possess that is capable of defeating Temujin’s Four Great Generals?” Wanyan Hongxi said, leaning back in the tiger-pelt chair his servants had carried out for him.

  “Your Excellency, are you prepared to see something very special?” Senggum replied. Ha! These Generals are nothing compared to my secret weapons, Senggum said to himself with a smile. “Where are my brother Temujin’s Generals?”

  The Generals came forward and bowed before their superiors. Senggum turned and whispered something to his most trusted servant, who nodded and then ran off. Soon after, two loud roars reverberated around the camp and a pair of giant golden, spotted leopards appeared from behind the ger. They stalked towards them in the darkness, their eyes glowing like jade lanterns. Terrified, Wanyan Hongxi gripped the handle of his sabre. Only when they came closer to the fires did he see that they were, in fact, being restrained by ropes held by two burly men. These men were solely charged with caring for Senggum’s most prized possessions. The animals snarled and clawed, their muscles taut and ready. Wanyan Hongxi’s heart convulsed and he wriggled in his seat. The men hardly seemed capable of holding back two such powerful beasts.

  “Brother, if your Four Great Generals can subdue my leopards barehanded, then I will stand forever corrected,” Senggum said, turning to Temujin.

  Temujin’s Generals were incensed. First you humiliate Jebe, now you degrade us? Are we mere wolves to be prodded and played with? Is it our duty to fight leopards?

  Temujin could barely hide his displeasure. “I love these men as I love myself – why should I let them fight with leopards?”

  “Is that so?” Senggum laughed. “Then why call them your Four Great Generals, or whatever their names are? Clearly they are cowards.”

  Tchila’un was particularly short of temper and could withstand these insults no longer. He stepped forward. “My Great Khan, they may laugh at us, but we cannot allow them to humiliate you. I will fight these beasts.”