There had been no contrition in Guyuk when she told him. Instead, he had laughed at her, sending her away in a manner calculated to insult. That, too, she would not mention to Torogene, not just as the woman was leaving, her life’s work done. Sorhatani realised she would miss her friend, but there had always been subjects she dared not raise.
If Sorhatani hadn’t had Kublai, she thought she would have gone mad, surrounded by a nest of fools and lies and alliances. At least her son would listen. He drank up new information, possessing an insight that could still astonish her. Kublai seemed to know everything that went on in the city, until she suspected him of having a ring of spies as accomplished as her own. Yet even Kublai had been troubled in recent days. Guyuk was planning something and orders flowed between the palace and his tumans. His warriors were exercising on the plains each day, practising with cannon until the whole city stank of gunpowder. Sorhatani had a man willing to read the messages on the yam, but they were often sealed. He would open them if she demanded it, but it would mean his life and she would not throw him away lightly. The very fact that something was secret should have told her much, but she felt as if she wandered through fog. Kublai might have learned something, she thought, or at least be better able to guess. She resolved to speak to him that evening.
She and Torogene looked up as they heard the footsteps of Guyuk’s Day Guards. Torogene rose with a sigh, looking into the distance as if she could carry the memory of the city with her. As the Guards stood impassively, she and Sorhatani embraced. Carts, horses and servants waited to take her to the distant palace on the Orkhon river. Summer itself was passing and Sorhatani did not think her friend would be allowed to return. Guyuk had not been able to hide his pleasure at the orders, for all he couched them in fine words and compliments.
‘I will visit you,’ Sorhatani said, struggling with emotion. She could not promise to keep Torogene informed, not with men listening who would report every word said between them. Torogene smiled, though her eyes were shining with tears. She had raised her son to be khan and her reward was exile, no matter what Guyuk called it. Lies and alliances, it was all the city seemed to breed from its arid stones. Sorhatani watched Torogene walk away with the men, a frail, stooped figure against their youth and strength. Sorhatani was suddenly afraid that one of her own protectors had been removed. For all his hunts and debauchery, Guyuk was intent on consolidating his power. She could not find peace when she thought of the future. She could not even return to the homeland, unless Guyuk gave his permission. It was as if she slept with a hungry tiger in the same room, never knowing when it might leap and tear her apart.
In the distance, she heard the crack of cannons firing and she started slightly. Mongke would be out there on the field, supervising his men as they practised the skills of war. Sorhatani sent a silent prayer for her sons to be safe under this new khan.
Guyuk strode through the empty corridors. He knew he was terrifying the palace servants with his order that they stay out of his sight. Days before, he had stumbled over one young woman too slow to get out of his way. He had snapped the command without thinking. They were too used to stately progress: the pace of older men and particularly his father. He had intended to let his new orders stand for just a few days until they had learned to jump when he appeared. Instead, he had found it gave him great amusement to see men and women scurrying away at every turn, convinced their lives were at stake if he so much as glimpsed them.
He increased his pace, grinning as servants darted into side rooms far ahead, word passing quickly that the khan was on the prowl. Without pausing, he pushed open the copper doors and entered his audience room.
Sorhatani was there, as well as Yao Shu, his father’s old chancellor. A dozen others waited their turn and tried not to show that they had been in that room for half a day before the khan bothered to show himself. Guyuk ignored them all and walked across the stone floor to a gilded chair, set with stones of lapis lazuli so that it glittered in the light from the windows. At least the air was freshened by a breeze from outside. He had become accustomed to Chin habits of bathing and the stink of unwashed flesh could make him retch in close rooms.
Sorhatani studied every detail of the entrance he had made, controlling her expression carefully. She could have spoken first, but she and Yao Shu had agreed an order in the hours of waiting. Again, she felt the sting of insult, as if she had no other work than to wait on Guyuk while he played games with servants. None of that could be allowed to show. She had to remember his word was law, that he could take her lands or her life at the first sign of anger in her face. Perhaps it was better that Yao Shu should open the proceedings. The old man had perfected his court manner and it was rare that she could see the emotions beneath it.
‘My lord khan,’ Yao Shu began, approaching Guyuk and bowing deeply. He held a sheaf of parchments and Guyuk eyed them with distaste. ‘There are a great number of things that only the khan can decide.’ Guyuk looked as if he might respond, but Yao Shu went straight on before he could speak. ‘The governor of eastern Koryo requests a tuman be sent to repel the sea thieves who are raiding his coast. This is the third time he has sent emissaries to Karakorum.’ Yao Shu paused for breath, but Guyuk only settled himself more comfortably in the seat.
‘Go on, Yao Shu, what else?’ Guyuk asked pleasantly.
‘We have tumans in the Chin territories, my lord. Shall I send word on the yam that they can go to his aid?’
Guyuk waved a hand. ‘Very well, send two. What else?’
Yao Shu blinked to find Guyuk in this odd mood. He went on quickly, determined to take advantage while he could.
‘The … um, Xi Xia governor claims that taxes have been set too high for his region. There has been a plague in the countryside there and he has lost perhaps half of those who work the fields. He asks for a year without taxes to rebuild.’
‘No, he is my vassal.’
‘My lord, if we could make a gesture, he would be a stronger ally in the future.’
‘And have every small man crying at my doors as a result. I have said no, chancellor. Move on to the next.’
Yao Shu nodded, shuffling his papers quickly.
‘I have more than eighty requests for marriage here, my lord.’
‘Put them aside. I will read them in my chambers. Are there any of special note?’
‘No, my lord,’ Yao Shu replied.
‘Then go on.’
Yao Shu was growing flustered, Sorhatani could see. In the past, Guyuk had been lazy, barely able to mask his impatience while his councillors talked. Making decisions at this speed was so unlike him that she could only wonder at what he was trying to demonstrate to them. Distaste for Guyuk made her stomach clench. His father would not have ignored word of a plague in his lands so easily, as if the thousands of dead did not matter at all, as if it could not spread. She listened to Yao Shu talk of the need for shipbuilding and the sneering tone as Guyuk refused to spend the funds needed. Yet they had a coast in Chin lands and there were nations outside it that rode the waves with skills the Mongols could hardly imagine.
Yao Shu covered dozens of topics and received quick answers each time. Sorhatani groaned to herself at some of them, but at least it was better than the stagnation of previous days. The world would not stand still while Guyuk hunted with his pretty birds. The light changed outside and Guyuk had food and drink brought for himself, though he ignored the needs of those others present. At last, after hours, Yao Shu stepped back and she was free to speak.
As Sorhatani came forward, she saw Guyuk suppress a yawn.
‘I think that is enough for the day,’ he said. ‘You will be first tomorrow, Sorhatani.’
‘My lord,’ she said, aghast as a ripple of discontent spread through the crowded room. There were others there that he could not afford to ignore, important men who had travelled far to see him. She steeled herself to go on. ‘My lord, the day is still young. Can you at least say whether Batu has replied to his summons? Is
he coming to Karakorum, lord, to take the oath?’
Guyuk paused in the act of leaving to turn back to her.
‘That is not the business of my councillors, Sorhatani,’ he said in a reproving tone. ‘I have that in hand.’ His smile was unpleasant and Sorhatani wondered for the first time if he had sent the order to Batu at all.
‘Go on with your work,’ Guyuk called over his shoulder as he reached the doors. ‘The nation does not sleep.’
At dawn the following morning, Sorhatani was woken by her servants. She still had her suite of rooms in the palace, given to her when she aided Torogene through the crisis years that followed Ogedai’s death. Guyuk had not yet had the nerve to take those from her, though she thought it would come in time as he consolidated his power. She sat up straight in bed as her chamberlain knocked at the door, his head bowed low so that he would not catch a glimpse of his mistress. No one in the nation slept naked, but Sorhatani had fallen into the Chin habit of wearing just the lightest of silk robes to bed and there had been embarrassing scenes before her servants learned her ways.
She knew something was wrong as soon as she saw the man standing there rather than one of the young women who helped her to bathe and dress each morning.
‘What is it?’ she said sleepily.
‘Your son Kublai, mistress. He says he must speak with you. I told him to come back when you are dressed, but he would not leave.’
Sorhatani stifled a smile at the man’s poorly concealed irritation. Kublai could have that effect on people. Only the presence of her personal guards could have prevented him from storming in.
She pulled on a heavier robe, tying it around her waist as she padded out into a room lit by the soft grey of dawn. Sorhatani shivered as she saw Kublai there, dressed in dark blue silk. He looked up as she entered and glanced out of the window at the rising sun.
‘At last, mother!’ he said, though he smiled to see her tousled and still sleepy. ‘The khan is taking the tumans away from the city.’
He gestured to the window and Sorhatani followed him, staring out over the plains. Her rooms were high enough to see far and she could make out the dark masses of horsemen riding in formation. She thought of the way cloud shadows slipped across the land in summer, but her mouth tightened and her thoughts cleared suddenly.
‘Did Guyuk tell you he was taking them out?’ Kublai asked.
His mother shook her head, though it hurt to admit she had not been taken into his confidence.
‘That is … odd,’ Kublai said, his voice soft.
Sorhatani met his eyes and, with a gesture, sent her servants away to make fresh tea. Together, they watched them leave and Kublai relaxed subtly when they were alone.
‘If he is making some display of power, or even just training them, I think you would have been told,’ Kublai went on. ‘He knows half the city will be tumbling out of warm beds to watch them go. There is no way to move the army in secret. Guyuk knows that.’
‘Tell me then, what is he doing?’
‘The word is he will head west to test the new men, to bind them to him in the mountains with hard marches and endurance. The market traders have all heard the same thing, which makes me suspicious. It feels like a story someone has planted, a good one.’
Sorhatani held back her impatience as her son thought through all the possibilities before fixing on one. She knew him well enough to be sure of his judgement.
‘Batu,’ he said at last. ‘It has to be him. A quick strike to remove the one man who has not taken the oath to the khan.’
Sorhatani closed her eyes for a moment. They were still alone, but there were always ears to hear and she stepped very close to her son, dropping her voice to just a breath.
‘I could warn him,’ she whispered.
Kublai drew back from her, searching her eyes.
‘You would risk all our lives,’ he said, dropping his head to hers as if he comforted his mother. Even a secret watcher could not have been sure they spoke together as he muttered into her hair, breathing its scent.
‘Shall I do nothing and see your cousin killed?’ she replied.
‘If it is the khan’s will, what choice do you have?’
‘I cannot stand by and watch without giving him a chance to run. The yam riders can outpace the army.’
Kublai shook his head. ‘That would be dangerous. The riders would remember carrying the message. If Batu escapes, Guyuk would hunt back down the chain until he reached you. I cannot allow you to do that, mother.’
‘I can have some servant take the message to the stables in the city.’
‘Who would you trust when the khan comes in fury, looking for the source? Servants can be bought or broken until they talk.’ He paused for a time, his eyes far away. ‘It could be done, by a rider willing to use yam horses who is yet not one of them. Nothing else would have the speed to warn Batu in time. If you are sure that is what you want to do.’
‘He should have been khan, Kublai,’ she said.
He gripped her arms, almost painfully. ‘Mother, you must not say that, even to me. The palace is no longer a safe place.’
‘Exactly, Kublai. There are spies everywhere now. Just a year ago, I did not have to watch my words in case some perfumed courtier ran to his master to whisper in his ear. The khan sent Torogene away. I will not last long now, with his eye on me. Let me thwart him in this, my son. Make it happen.’
‘I will take the message,’ he said. ‘Then there will be no papers, no record.’
He had expected her to argue, but she understood there was no one else and nodded, stepping back from him. Her eyes were full of pride as she raised her voice to a normal level.
‘Very well, Kublai. Go out to the plain and watch them go. Tell me everything when you come back this evening. I want to hear it all.’ A listener would have heard nothing to alarm him, though both of them knew he would not return.
‘Mongke will be with the khan,’ he said. ‘How I envy him.’
‘He is the khan’s orlok, his most loyal follower,’ she replied. The warning did not have to be spoken. Mongke could never know they had moved to save Batu. The older brother could not be trusted with such a secret.
CHAPTER SIX
Guyuk knew he cut a fine figure on his horse, a white stallion from the khanate herd he had inherited. Despite the nightly feasts of wine and rich foods, his youth kept him slim, burning off his excesses. He had not brought the vast panoply of carts and materials his army required for a long campaign, keeping the myth of an exercise in the mountains as long as he could. Even so, each of his warriors had two or three spare mounts. Between them, Guyuk had supplies and comforts enough to make the trip a pleasure rather than a chore.
It was easy to imagine his grandfather riding the same lands, with scouts ahead and an army behind him. Guyuk had his own memories of the Great Trek into the west with Tsubodai and it was almost nostalgic to be with an army once again. It was true that they set off mid-morning rather than at dawn, as it took time for Guyuk’s head to cease pounding and his stomach to settle. He rode with bloodshot eyes, but the exertion cleared his head and he was soon hungry again. He touched his waist as he rode, dreading the first feeling of thickness there. Surely riding two thousand miles would keep him trim and strengthen the muscles in his stomach.
Guyuk’s mood grew bitter as he dragged his gaze back to the plains ahead of him. He had to be discreet, though at times he thought all his generals knew his secrets. Yet he held back from complete honesty, for all he desired it. Mongke was not far behind him in the tumans, and in that serious, unsmiling face, Guyuk saw all the others who would condemn him for his appetites. He thought again of Mongke’s mother, the smiling vixen who had twisted his father to her will. Guyuk wanted her gone, but he could hardly banish the mother of such a senior man. His mind worked as he rode, sinking into fantasies in which he would whisper his needs to some trusted warrior and Sorhatani would simply vanish. There were those who would not question the khan’s wo
rd, though it cost them their own lives. It was a heady power, but he was still wary of it. He guarded his tongue as best he could, until the strain became impossible.
Guyuk jerked from his reverie as he heard battle horns sound on his left. He looked up to see two tumans charging with lances, as they had already done a dozen times that morning. They rode hard for two or three miles, then allowed their mounts to graze as the others caught up. It was the public face of his manoeuvres and he could not complain that he found the crashing and shouting irritating. Whenever they stopped, thousands of warriors would set up targets and practise shots at full gallop, loosing and collecting thousands of shafts. They were impressive and at first he had thrilled to see such power under his command. It had begun to pall for him after the first week, though he idled time away imagining Batu strapped to a target.
Even the thought of that brought a flush to Guyuk’s cheeks. He had built a network of spies to dwarf anything his father had ever controlled. In the city, a thousand conversations were reported along a chain of men, collected at the end of each day by his spymaster, then brought to Guyuk. Even in the tumans, men who were foolish enough to criticise their khan found themselves dragged before him to answer for their foolish words. Yet there had been no criticism of Batu. He had been Tsubodai’s favourite, they said, a grandson of Genghis who had not sullied his hands with politics and deals. Guyuk seethed at the details he recalled. The common warriors had learned to guard their speech, even among friends. The information coming in had died to a trickle after the first examples had been made, but Guyuk still listened. He had ordered men bound to a post and beaten bloody. He had ordered two killed on the grounds that they spoke of insurrection and disloyalty to the khan. Guyuk had watched one man’s tongue being torn out with iron pincers before he was killed. He smiled slightly at the memory. There would be no more of that sort of talk.
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