Whoever the rider was, he saw nothing. The spy heard the man clucking softly to his pony, but the sounds faded away and then he was off again like a hare. Everything depended on speed.
The city walls were black under the clouds and he depended on his memory for the right place. He counted ten watchtowers from the southern corner and ran right up to the moat. He went down on his belly to feel along the edge, smiling as he felt the roughness of the reed coracle they had tied for him. He dared not get wet and he was careful in the dark as he knelt in it, crossing the water with a few strokes. In the darkness, he did everything by feel, stepping out of the coracle and whipping the wet rope around a stone. It would not do to have the tiny boat float away.
The moat did not reach the walls that loomed over him. A wide stone walkway ran all round the city, damp and slippery with mold. On summer days, he had seen the nobles race horses along it, wagering huge sums on the first man back to the beginning. He crossed it quickly and touched the city of his birth, a brief press of a hand on the wall that meant safety and home.
Above his head, perhaps a dozen men crouched beneath the crest in silence. Though they would not speak, they were his people, and for those few moments, the tension he lived with dwindled to nothing, unnoticed except in its absence.
His hands ran quickly along the ground, searching for a pebble. Far above his head, the clouds were blown quickly across the sky. He judged the position of the moon with care. There would be a gap in the cover in only a short while and he had to be away from the walls by then. He tapped the stone on the wall, the sound loud in the night silence. He heard the slithering rope before he saw it. He began to climb its length and at the same time, they dragged it back so that he rose at great speed.
After only moments, the spy was standing on the top of Yenking’s walls. A bow team were coiling the rope, ready to drop it back. One other man stood there and the spy bowed before him.
“Speak,” the man said, gazing out over the Mongol camp.
“The khan was wounded. I could not get too close, but he still lives. The camp is full of rumors and no one knows who will take control if he dies.”
“One of his brothers,” the man replied softly, and the spy blinked, wondering how many others reported to this one.
“Perhaps, or the tribes will break apart under the old khans. This is a time to attack.”
His master hissed under his breath in irritation. “I do not want to hear your conclusions, just what you have learned. If we had an army, do you think the lord regent would be content to sit inside the walls?”
“I am sorry,” the spy replied. “They have supplies enough for years, with what they salvaged from the army’s stores at Badger’s Mouth. I have found a faction who wish to try again with more catapults against the walls, but they are only a few and none of them have influence.”
“What else? Give me something to report to the lord regent,” his master said, gripping his shoulder tightly.
“If the khan dies, they will return to their mountains. All the men say that. If he lives, they could remain here for years.”
His master swore under his breath, cursing him. The spy endured it, dropping his gaze to his feet. He had not failed, he knew. His task was to report truthfully and he had done that.
“Find me one we can reach. With gold, with fear, anything. Find me someone in this camp who can make the khan take down the black tent. While it stands, we can do nothing.”
“Yes, master,” the spy replied. The man turned away from him and he was dismissed, the rope already snaking down the wall. He climbed down almost as fast as he had gone up and moments later he was tying the coracle on the far side and running lightly across the grass to his post. Someone else would take it in and the Mongols would know nothing.
It was hard to watch the clouds at the same time as remaining aware of the land around him. The spy was good at his work, or he would never have been chosen. He ran on, and as the moon broke through and lit the plain, he was already down, hidden by scrub bushes and still outside the main camp. In the silver light, he thought of the men around the khan. Not Khasar, or Kachiun. Not any one of the generals. They wanted nothing more than to see Yenking broken, stone by stone. He considered Temuge for a moment. He at least was not a warrior. The spy knew very little about the Master of Trade. Clouds darkened the land once more and he darted to the outer ring of sentries. He resumed his place as if he had never left, taking up his bow and knife and stepping into a pair of rope sandals. He stiffened suddenly as he heard someone approach, standing straight like any other guard.
“Anything to report, Ma Tsin?” Tsubodai called from the darkness in the Chin language.
It took a huge effort to control his breath enough to reply. “Nothing, General. It is a quiet night.” The spy breathed through his nose in silence then, waiting for some sign that his absence had been discovered.
Tsubodai grunted a response and strode away to check on the next man in the line. Left alone, fresh sweat broke out on the spy’s skin. The Mongol had used the name he had given. Was he suspected? He thought not. No doubt the young general had checked with his officer before beginning his rounds. The other guards would be in awe of such a feat of memory, but the spy only smiled in the darkness. He knew armies too well to be impressed by the tricks of officers.
As he stood his watch and allowed his pounding heart to settle, he considered the reasoning behind the order. It could only be surrender. Why else could the lord regent want the black tent removed if not to offer tribute for Yenking? Yet if the khan heard, he would know they were close to breaking and rejoice that the siege was nearing its end. The spy shook his head in numb fear as he thought it through. The army had taken the city’s stores and lost them all to the enemy at the pass. Yenking had been hungry almost from the beginning, and Zhi Zhong was more desperate than anyone knew.
His pride surfaced then. He had been chosen for the task because he was as skillful as any assassin or soldier, more useful than any of them. He had time to find a man who valued gold more than his khan. There was always one. In just a few days, the spy had learned of disaffected khans whose power had been stripped from them. Perhaps one of them could be made to see the value in tribute over destruction. He considered Temuge once again, wondering why his instincts returned to the man. He nodded to himself in the dark, relishing the challenge to his skill, for the highest stakes.
When Genghis woke again on the third day, Hoelun was outside fetching food. He asked the same questions, but this time he would not lie back down. His bladder was full to the point of pain, and he swung his legs out of the blankets, placing his feet firmly before trying to stand. Chakahai and Borte helped him to the central pole of the ger, wrapping his fingers around it until they were certain he would not fall. They placed the bucket where his arc of urine would reach and stood back.
He blinked at his wives and the strangeness of seeing them together.
“Are you two going to watch?” he said. For some reason he could not understand, both women smiled. “Out,” he told them, barely holding on until they had left the ger and he could empty his bladder. He wrinkled his nose at the foul smell of the urine, far from a healthy color.
“Kachiun!” he called suddenly. “Come to me!” He heard an answering shout of joy and he grinned. No doubt the khans had been watching to see if he died. He gripped the wooden pole tightly as he considered how best to take a hold on the camp once more. There was so much to do.
The door slammed back on its hinges as Kachiun entered the ger over the protests of his brother’s wives.
“I heard him call me,” Kachiun was saying, pushing through them as gently as he could. He fell silent as he saw his brother standing at last. Genghis wore only grubby leggings and was paler and thinner than he had ever seen him.
“Will you help me dress, Kachiun?” Genghis asked. “My hands are too weak to do it on my own.”
Kachiun’s eyes brimmed with tears and Genghis blinked at him.
“You’re not weeping?” he asked in astonishment. “By the spirits, I am surrounded by women.”
Kachiun laughed, wiping his eyes before Chakahai or Borte could see.
“It is good to see you standing, brother. I’d almost given up on you.”
Genghis snorted. He was still weak and he did not let go of the pole in case he humiliated himself and fell.
“Send someone for my armor and food. My wives have half starved me with their neglect.”
Outside, they could all hear the news passing round the camp, shouted louder and louder. He was awake. He lived. It built into a roar of sound that carried even to the walls of Yenking and interrupted Zhi Zhong in council with the ministers.
The general froze in the middle of a discussion as he heard the sound and felt a cold lump settle in his stomach.
When Genghis emerged at last from his sick-tent, the tribes gathered to cheer him, beating their bows on their armor. Kachiun stayed at his shoulder in case he stumbled, but Genghis walked stiffly to the great ger on its cart, climbing the steps without a sign of weakness.
As soon as he passed inside, he almost fell as he released the grip of his will on his weakened body. Kachiun summoned the generals, leaving his brother sitting painfully straight and alone.
As they took their places, Kachiun saw Genghis was still unnaturally pale, with sweat beading his forehead despite the cold. Genghis’s neck was wrapped in fresh bandages, like a collar. Though his face was thin enough to see the shape of his skull, his eyes shone with feverish brightness as he welcomed each man.
Khasar grinned to see the hawklike expression as he took his place by Arslan and Tsubodai. Jelme came last and Genghis gestured for him to approach. He did not think his legs would hold him if he rose, but Jelme dropped to one knee in front of him and Genghis gripped him by the shoulder.
“Kachiun said you suffered with the poison you took from me,” Genghis said.
Jelme shook his head. “It was a small thing,” he said.
Genghis did not smile at that, though Khasar did. “We have shared blood, you and I,” he said. “It makes you my brother, as much as Khasar or Kachiun or Temuge.”
Jelme did not respond. The hand on his shoulder trembled and he could see how the eyes of his khan burned, sunk in the skull. Still, he lived.
“You will take a fifth of my herds, a hundred bolts of silk, and a dozen fine bows and swords. I will honor you in the tribes, Jelme, for what you have done.”
Jelme bowed his head, feeling Arslan’s proud gaze on him.
Genghis took back his hand and looked around at the men who had gathered in his name. “If I had died, which of you would have led the tribes?” Eyes turned to Kachiun and his brother nodded to him. Genghis smiled, wondering how many conversations he had missed while he slept like the dead. He had thought it might be Khasar, but there was no humiliation in his clear gaze. Kachiun had handled him well.
“We have been foolish not to plan for such a thing,” Genghis told them. “Take this as a warning. Any one of us can fall, and if we do, the Chin will sense our weakness and strike. Each of you is to name a man you trust to take your place. And another to take his. You will establish a line of command down to the lowest soldier so that every man knows he is led, no matter how many die around him. We will not be caught by this again.”
He paused to let a wave of weakness wash through him. The meeting would have to be short.
“For me, I will accept your will and name Kachiun as my successor, until my sons are grown. Khasar will follow him. If we fall, Jelme will rule the tribes and strike back in our name.”
One by one, the men he mentioned bowed their heads, accepting the new order and taking comfort from it. Genghis could not know how close they had come to chaos while he lay injured. Every one of the old khans had gathered his men around him, an older loyalty taking precedence over the tumans and their generals. In a single stroke, the assassin had sent them back to the old ties of blood.
Though his body had been hurt, Genghis had not lost his understanding of the tribes. He could have named fifty men who would have welcomed freedom from his rule if he died. No one spoke as he considered the future, knowing he had to reestablish the structures of the army that had won them the Chin cities. Anything else would see them splintered and eventually destroyed.
“Kachiun and I have discussed sending you out many times. I have been reluctant before, but we need to separate the tribes now. Some of them will have forgotten the oath they gave to me and to their generals. They must be reminded.” He looked around at the faces of his generals. Not one of them was weak, but still they needed him to lead, to give them their authority. Perhaps Kachiun would have kept them together if he had died, but he could not be sure.
“When you leave here, form the tumans on the plain, in sight of the walls. Let them see our strength and then our contempt for them when you leave. Let them fear what so many will achieve when you take other cities.” He turned to Tsubodai, seeing bright excitement in his gaze.
“You will take Jochi, Tsubodai. He respects you.” Genghis thought for a moment. “I do not want him treated like a prince. He is a prickly, arrogant boy and that must be hammered out of him. Do not fear to discipline him in my name.”
“Your will, lord,” Tsubodai replied.
“Where will you go?” Genghis asked, curious.
Tsubodai did not hesitate. He had thought of his answer many times since the battle of the Badger’s Mouth. “North, lord. Past the hunting grounds of my old tribe, the Uriankhai, and still further.”
“Very well. Kachiun?”
“I will stay here, brother. I will see this city fall,” Kachiun replied.
Genghis smiled at the grim expression on his brother’s face. “Your company is welcome. Jelme?”
“East, lord,” Jelme replied. “I have never seen the ocean and we know nothing of those lands.”
Genghis sighed at the thought. He too had been born to the sea of grass, and the idea was tempting. Yet he would see Yenking brought down first.
“Take my son Chagatai, Jelme. He is a fine boy who may yet be khan when he has his growth.” His general nodded solemnly, still overwhelmed by the honor Genghis had paid him. Only the day before, they had all been nervous, waiting to see what would happen in the tribes when the news came that Genghis had died. Hearing him give his orders restored their confidence. As the tribes whispered, Genghis was clearly beloved of the spirits. Jelme felt his pride swell and his attempt to keep the cold face was lost in a grin.
“I want you here with me, Arslan, for when the city is starved into surrender,” Genghis continued. “Perhaps then we will take a slow road home and enjoy a few years of riding the plains in peace.”
Khasar tutted under his breath. “That is a sick man talking, brother. When you are well you will want to follow me south and take the Chin cities like ripe fruit, one by one. You remember the ambassador Wen Chao? I am for Kaifeng and the south. I would like to see his face when he sees me again.”
“South it is, Khasar. My son Ogedai is barely ten years old, but he will learn more with you than staying here to stare at walls. I will keep only little Tolui. He adores the Buddhist monk you brought back with Ho Sa and Temuge.”
“I will take Ho Sa as well, then,” Khasar replied. “In fact, I could take Temuge away where he won’t cause any other problems.”
Genghis considered the idea. He was not as deaf as he pretended to the complaints about his youngest brother.
“No. He is useful enough. He stands between me and a thousand questions from fools and that is worth something.” Khasar snorted at that, making his feelings clear. Genghis continued thoughtfully, tasting new ideas as if his illness had freed his mind.
“Temuge has been wanting to send out small groups to learn of other lands. Perhaps he is right that the information they bring will be useful. Waiting for them to return will at least ease the tedium of this cursed place.” He nodded to himself. “I will choo
se the men and they too will leave when you ride. We will spring out in all directions.” He felt his energy leaving him then, as suddenly as it had come, and closed his eyes against a wave of dizziness.
“Leave me now, except for Kachiun. Form your tumans and say goodbye to your wives and mistresses. They will be safe with me, unless they are very attractive.”
He smiled weakly as they rose, pleased to see them visibly more confident than when they had arrived. When Kachiun stood alone in the great ger, Genghis let the animation fall from him, looking suddenly older.
“I must rest, Kachiun, though I do not want to return to that ger that smells of sickness. Will you post a guard on the door so that I can sleep and eat in here? I do not want to be seen.”
“I will, brother. May I send Borte in to undress and feed you? She has seen the worst already.”
Genghis shrugged, his voice weak. “You had better send both my wives. Whatever peace they have found will not last long if I favor one over the other.” Already his eyes were glazed. The effort of the single meeting had brought him to the brink of exhaustion, and his hands shook as they lay loose in his lap. Kachiun turned to leave.
“How did you make Khasar accept you to succeed me?” Genghis murmured to his back.
“I told him he could be khan,” Kachiun replied. “I think it terrified him.”
CHAPTER 29
IT TOOK ANOTHER SIX DAYS for the generals to gather their men in squares of ten thousand, ready to ride. In essence, each tuman was a raiding party on a vast scale, something they all knew well. Yet that scale required organization and Temuge and his cadre of maimed men were busy with supplies, remounts, weapons, and their lists. For once, the officers didn’t grumble at the interference. Ahead of them lay lands that no one among their people had ever seen. The wanderlust was strong in the men as they stared in the direction their generals had chosen.
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