Genghis: Birth of an Empire

by Conn Iggulden

  “Wait,” he hissed. “I will not kill a sleeping man.”

  They exchanged glances, unable to comprehend the strange soldier. They stood in silence as Yuan took a breath and whispered to the sleeping khan.

  “Temujin?”

  His own name called Temujin from troubled dreams. He opened his eyes blearily, finding his head throbbing. When he turned his head, he saw Yuan standing there, and for a moment, they merely looked at each other. Temujin’s hands were hidden beneath the furs and, when he moved, Yuan saw he held his father’s sword. The young man was naked, but he sprang out of the bed and threw the scabbard to one side. Borte opened her eyes at the movement and Yuan heard her gasp in fear.

  “I could have killed you,” Yuan said quietly to the naked man before him. “A life for a life, as you once granted me mine. There is no debt between us now.”

  “Who sent you? Wen Chao? Togrul? Who?” Temujin shook his head, but the room seemed to lurch. He struggled to clear his mind.

  “My master had no part in this,” Yuan continued. “We will leave in the morning and return home.”

  “It was Togrul, then,” Temujin said. “Why does he turn on me now?”

  Yuan shrugged. “He fears you. Perhaps he is right to. Remember that your life was mine to take tonight. I have dealt honorably with you.”

  Temujin sighed, his pounding heart beginning to ease. He felt dizzy and sick and wondered if he would vomit. Sour airag churned in his stomach and, despite the few hours of sleep, he was still exhausted. He did not doubt Yuan could have killed him cleanly if he had wished. For a moment, he considered calling his warriors from their gers and dragging Togrul out. Perhaps it was simple weariness, but he had seen too much of death and Eeluk’s blood still itched on his skin.

  “Before the sun is up, you will leave,” he said. “Take Wen Chao and Togrul with you.” Temujin looked at the two men who had entered with Yuan. They stood stunned at this development, unable to meet his eye. “His guards can accompany him. I do not want them here after what they tried to do.”

  “He will want the Kerait,” Yuan said.

  Temujin shook his head. “If he wishes, I can summon them all and tell them of this act of cowardice. They will not follow a fool. The tribes are mine, Yuan, the Kerait with them.” He stood a little straighter as he spoke, and Yuan saw the wolf’s-head sword glint in the dim light of the stove.

  “Tell him I will not take his life if he leaves before dawn. If I find him here, I will challenge him in front of his warriors.” His gaze was dark and hard as he regarded the Chin soldier.

  “Every family riding on the sea of grass will acknowledge me as khan. Tell your master Wen Chao that, when you return to him. He is safe from me now, but I will see him again.”

  The Chin lands were a thousand miles away. Even the tribes gathered in Temujin’s name were a tiny part of the armies Yuan had seen. He did not fear the man’s ambition.

  “The camp will wake as we leave,” Yuan said.

  Temujin looked at him, then clambered back into bed without bothering to respond. He saw Borte was wide-eyed in fear and reached out to smooth her hair back from her face. She allowed his touch, hardly seeming to feel it.

  “Just go, Yuan,” Temujin said softly. He was about to pull the furs over his body again when he paused. “And thank you.”

  Yuan ushered the two guards back into the chill night air. When they had left the ger behind, he stopped them again and sensed them turn to him questioningly in the darkness. They did not see the knife he drew from his belt, and even if they had, they were no match for a man who had been first sword in Kaifeng. Two quick blows left them on their knees, and he waited until they had fallen and were still. He had disobeyed his orders, but he felt lighthearted and now there were no witnesses to tell Wen Chao what he had done. The camp was silent, frozen under the stars. The only sound was his own crunching footsteps as he returned to his master to tell him that Temujin had been too well guarded. Yuan glanced back only once at the khan’s ger as he walked away under the moonlight, fixing it in his mind. He had paid his debt.

  When the moon was dipping down toward the hills, Temujin woke a second time as Khasar entered the ger. Before he was fully alert, Temujin had grabbed his father’s sword and sprung up. Borte stirred, moaning in her sleep, and Temujin turned to her, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

  “It is all right, it is just my brother,” he murmured. Borte murmured something, but this time she did not come out of her sleep. Temujin sighed, looking down at her.

  “I see you have been dreaming of attractive women,” Khasar said, chuckling.

  Temujin blushed, pulling the furs around his waist as he sat down on the bed.

  “Keep your voice down before you wake her,” he whispered. “What do you want?” He saw Kachiun enter behind Khasar and wondered if he would ever have peace that night.

  “I thought you might like to know that there are two bodies outside on the ground.”

  Temujin nodded sleepily. He had expected it. Khasar frowned at his lack of reaction.

  “Togrul and Wen Chao seem to be readying themselves to ride,” Khasar said, still amused. “Their guards have gathered horses and that ridiculous box Wen Chao uses. Do you want me to stop them?”

  Temujin placed his father’s sword back on the furs, thinking.

  “How many men are they taking with them?” he asked.

  “Perhaps three dozen,” Kachiun said from the doorway, “including Togrul’s wife and daughters. With Yuan and the Chin guards, it makes a large group. Togrul has a cart for his bulk. Do you know something we don’t?”

  “Togrul sent men to kill me, but he chose Yuan,” Temujin said.

  Khasar let out a hiss of indignation. “I can get the Wolves out after him before he’s gone a mile. They’re closest and they have no allegiance to Togrul.” He watched in surprise as Temujin shook his head.

  “Let them go. We have the Kerait. I would have had to kill him anyway.”

  Kachiun whistled softly under his breath. “How many more will you bring in, brother? It was not that long ago that you were khan of a few raiders in the north.”

  Temujin did not reply for a long time. At last he raised his head, talking without looking at his brothers.

  “I will be khan of them all. We are one people and one man can lead them. How else can we take the cities of the Chin?”

  Khasar looked at his brother and a slow smile spread across his face.

  “There are tribes who took no part in the battle against the Tartars,” Kachiun reminded them both. “The Naimans, the Oirats…”

  “They cannot stand alone against us,” Temujin said. “We will take them one by one.”

  “Are we to be Wolves again, then?” Khasar asked, his eyes bright.

  Temujin thought for a time.

  “We are the silver people, the Mongols. When they ask, tell them there are no tribes. Tell them I am khan of the sea of grass, and they will know me by that name, as Genghis. Yes, tell them that. Tell them that I am Genghis and I will ride.”

  EPILOGUE

  THE FORT AT THE BORDER of Chin lands was a massive construction of wood and stone. The few men of the Kerait who had come with their khan into exile looked nervous as they approached. They had seen nothing like the huge building, with its wings and courtyards. The entrance was a great gate of wood studded with iron into which a smaller door had been set. Two guards stood there, dressed in armor very like that worn by Wen Chao’s men. They resembled statues in the morning sun, polished and perfect.

  Togrul glanced up at the high walls, seeing more armed soldiers watching them. The border itself was no more than a simple track. On the journey, Wen Chao had boasted of a great wall across thousands of miles, but that was far to the south. He had made straight for the fort as soon as they sighted it, knowing that to do otherwise was to invite a quick death. The Chin lords did not welcome men who crept into their territory. Togrul felt out of his depth and in awe of the tallest building
he had ever seen. He could not hide his excitement as Wen Chao’s litter was placed on the ground and the ambassador stepped out.

  “Wait here. I have papers I must show to them before we can pass,” Wen Chao said. He too seemed animated, with his homeland in view. It would not be long before he was back in the heart of Kaifeng, and little Zhang would have to grind his teeth in private over his success.

  Togrul stepped down from the cart, watching closely as Wen Chao approached the guards and spoke to them. They glanced back at the party of Mongols, soldiers, and slaves, but one of them bowed and opened the small door in the gate, vanishing inside. Wen Chao showed no impatience as he waited. He had survived years away from comfort, after all.

  Yuan watched in silence as the commander of the fort came out and examined Wen Chao’s papers. He could not hear what was said and he ignored the questioning glances Togrul sent his way. He too was tired of the tribesmen, and the sight of Chin lands reminded him of his family and friends.

  At last, the commander seemed satisfied. He passed back the papers and Wen spoke to him again, as to a subordinate. The authority from the first minister demanded instant obedience, and the guards stood as stiffly as if they were being inspected. Yuan saw the door open again and the commander stepped inside it, taking his soldiers with him. Wen hesitated before following and turned to the watching group. His gaze found Yuan and rested there, troubled. He spoke in the Chin dialect of the court, in the most formal style.

  “These men will not be allowed to enter, Yuan. Should I leave you with them?”

  Yuan narrowed his eyes and Togrul took a step forward.

  “What did he say? What is happening?”

  Wen Chao’s glance did not waver from Yuan.

  “You failed me, Yuan, when you failed to kill the khan in his tent. What value is your life to me now?”

  Yuan stood very still, showing no trace of fear. “Tell me to stand and I will stand. Tell me to come and I will come.”

  Wen Chao nodded slowly. “Then come to me, and live, knowing that your life was mine to take.”

  Yuan crossed the distance to the door and stepped inside. Togrul watched in growing panic.

  “When do we cross over?” his wife asked.

  Togrul turned to her and when she saw the terrible fear in his expression, her face crumpled. When the Chin ambassador spoke again, it was in the language of the tribes. He hoped it would be the last time the foul sounds crossed his lips.

  “I am sorry,” he said, turning away and passing through the door. It closed behind him.

  “What is this?” Togrul shouted desperately. “Answer me! What is happening?” He froze at a movement on the high walls of the fort. A line of men stood there and, to Togrul’s horror, he saw they were bending bows pointing down at him.

  “No! I was promised!” Togrul roared.

  Arrows spat through the air, hammering into them even as they turned in terror. Togrul fell to his knees with his arms outstretched, a dozen shafts in his flesh. His daughters screamed, the sounds cut off in thumping blows that hurt Togrul as much as his own agony. For a moment, he cursed the men who stole amongst the tribes as allies, ruling them with gold and promises. The thin grass under him was the dust of Mongol lands, filling his lungs and choking him. The anger faded and the morning was quiet once more.

  AFTERWORD

  The greatest joy a man can know is to conquer his enemies and drive them before him. To ride their horses and take away their possessions, to see the faces of those who were dear to them bedewed with tears, and to clasp their wives and daughters in his arms.

  —Genghis Khan

  The events of his youth that went to create Genghis Khan make extraordinary reading. Very few contemporary records survive and even the most famous of them, The Secret History of the Mongols, was almost lost. The version in his own language commissioned by Genghis did not survive the centuries. Fortunately, a version was rendered phonetically in Chinese, and it is from that writing that we have most of our knowledge of Temujin of the Borjigin—the Blue Wolves. A translation into English by Arthur Waley became my chief source for this work.

  Though the exact meaning of the name is disputed, Temujin-Uge was a Tartar killed by Yesugei, who then named his son after the warrior he had defeated. The name has similarities to the Mongolian word for “iron,” and that is generally accepted as its meaning, though it could just be coincidence. Temujin was born holding a clot of blood in his hand, which would have frightened those who looked for such omens.

  Temujin was tall for a Mongol, with “cat’s eyes.” Even amongst a hardy people, he was noted for his ability to endure heat and cold and was indifferent to wounds. He had complete mastery of his own body in terms of endurance. As a people, the Mongols have excellent teeth and eyesight, black hair, and reddish skin and believe themselves to be related to the Native American tribes who crossed the Bering Strait while it was frozen and so entered Alaska around fifteen thousand years ago. The similarities between the peoples are startling.

  In modern Mongolia, the majority of the population still hunt with a bow or rifle, herd sheep and goats, and revere ponies. They practice shamanism, and any high place will be marked with lengths of blue cloth to honor the sky father. “Sky burial,” that is, laying out bodies to be torn apart by wild birds in high places, is as I have described it.

  The young Temujin was taken to his mother’s old tribe, the Olkhun’ut, to find him a wife, though his mother, Hoelun, was taken in the other way of finding a woman—by Yesugei and his brothers kidnapping her from her husband. Yesugei was almost certainly poisoned by his Tartar enemies, though exact details are sketchy.

  With his father gone, the tribe chose a new khan and abandoned Hoelun and seven children, down to Temulun, a baby girl. I have not included a half brother, Belgutei, in this story, as he did not play a major part and there were too many similar names already. In the same way, I have changed names where I felt the original was too long or too complex. “Eeluk” is far simpler than “Tarkhutai-kiriltukh.” Mongolian is not an easy language to pronounce, though it is worth mentioning that they have no “k” sound, so that “Khan” would be said as “Haan.” Kublai Khan, the grandson of Genghis, would have been pronounced as “Hoop-lie Haan.” It is true that “Genghis” is perhaps better rendered as “Chinggis,” but “Genghis” is how I learned it first and the one that resonates for me.

  Hoelun and her children were not expected to survive and it is a testament to that extraordinary woman that the first winter did not kill her children. We do not know exactly how they survived starvation and temperature plunging as low as -20°, but the death of Bekter shows how close to the ragged edge they were during that period. That said, my guide in Mongolia slept in his deel in very low temperatures, so that his hair had frozen to the ground on waking. They are a hardy people and, to this day, practice the three sports of wrestling, archery, and horse-riding to the exclusion of everything else.

  Temujin killed Bekter much as I have described it, though it was Khasar, not Kachiun, who fired the second shot. After Bekter stole food, both boys ambushed him with bows. To understand this act, I think it must first be necessary to see your family starve. Mongolia is an unforgiving land. The boy Temujin was never cruel, and there is no record of him ever taking pleasure from the destruction of his enemies. He was capable, however, of utter ruthlessness.

  When the tribe sent men back to see what had become of the family they had abandoned, they met fierce resistance and arrow fire from the brothers. After a chase, Temujin hid from them deep in a thicket for nine days without food before starvation eventually forced him out. He was captured, but escaped and hid in a river. The bank of blue ice I described is not in The Secret History, though I saw such a thing on my travels in Mongolia. I changed the name of Sorkhansira to Basan for the man who saw him in the water and did not give him away. It was Sorkhansira who hid Temujin in his own ger. When the search failed, Sorkhansira gave him a licorice-colored mare with a white mo
uth, food, milk, and a bow with two arrows before sending him back to his family.

  Temujin’s wife, Borte, was stolen by the Merkit tribe rather than the Tartars as I have it. He was wounded in the attack. She was missing for some months rather than days. As a result, the paternity of the first son, Jochi, was never absolutely certain, and Temujin never fully accepted the boy. In fact, it was because his second son, Chagatai, refused to accept Jochi as their father’s successor that later Genghis named his third son, Ogedai, as heir.

  Cannibalism in the sense of eating the heart of an enemy was rare, but not unheard of amongst the tribes of Mongolia. Indeed, the best part of the marmot, the shoulder, was known as “human meat.” In this too there is a link to the practices and beliefs of Native American tribes.

  Togrul of the Kerait was indeed promised a kingdom in northern China. Though at first he was a mentor to the young raider, he came to fear Temujin’s sudden rise to power and failed in an attempt to have him killed, breaking the cardinal rule of the tribes that a khan must be successful. Togrul was forced into banishment and killed by the Naimans, apparently before they recognized him.

  To be betrayed by those he trusted seems to have ignited a spark of vengeance in Temujin, a desire for power that never left him. His childhood experiences created the man he would become, who would not bend or allow fear or weakness in any form. He cared nothing for possessions or wealth, only that his enemies fall.

  The Mongolian double-curved bow is as I have described it, with a draw strength greater than the English longbow that was so successful two centuries later against armor. The key to its strength is the laminate form, with layers of boiled horn and sinew to augment the wood. The layer of horn is on the inner face, as horn resists compression. The layer of sinew is on the outer face, as it resists expansion. These layers, as thick as a finger, add power to the weapon, until heaving back on it is the equivalent of lifting two men into the air by two fingers—at full gallop. The arrows are made of birch.