Those who remained behind were less cheerful and Genghis depended upon Kachiun to keep discipline while he recovered. The tactic had proved surprisingly successful, as his brother only had to glance at the khan’s great ger for the arguing men to fall silent. No one wanted to disturb Genghis while he regained his strength. The simple fact of his being alive had stolen away the growing power of the old khans in the camp. Even so, the father of the Woyela was one who had demanded to see Genghis, heedless of consequences. Kachiun had visited the man in his own ger, and after that, the Woyela khan did not speak another word to anyone. His sons would ride south with Khasar and he would be left alone with only servants to lift him upright each day.
Snow had fallen the night before, but the morning was bright and the sky an aching blue over Yenking. In vast squares on the frozen plain, warriors waited for orders, standing ready to mount while their ponies cropped the snow. Their officers were busy checking the lines and equipment, though there were few there careless enough to leave something behind, not when their lives depended on it. Many of the men laughed and joked with each other. They had moved across the face of the land all their lives, and the forced halt at Yenking was unnatural to them. There would be less-formidable cities on their journey, and each tuman traveled with catapults in a dozen carts and men trained to use them. The carts would slow them down, of course, but every man there remembered Yinchuan in the Xi Xia kingdom. They would not have to howl outside distant walls. Instead, they would break city gates and throw small kings from the heights. It was a cheerful prospect and the mood was like that of a summer feast day.
The final items that Temuge produced were tents of white, red, and black for each general to use. The warriors took heart from seeing those rolled and loaded, tied down with long ropes. As nothing else, the presence of the tents showed their intention to conquer all those who stood against them. Their strength gave them the right.
In addition to the tumans, Genghis had assembled ten groups of twenty warriors to scout new lands. At first he thought of them as raiding parties, but Temuge had persuaded him to give them cartloads of gold and looted gifts. Temuge had spoken to the officer of each group, making sure the man understood his task was to observe and learn, even to bribe. Temuge had called them diplomats, a term he had learned from Wen Chao, many years before. In that, as in so much else, Temuge had created a new thing for the tribes. He could see their value even though they themselves could not. Those men were far less cheerful than the ones who knew they would carry cities before them.
Genghis had removed the bandages on his neck, showing a thick scab over yellow and black bruising. He breathed deeply in the cold air, coughing into his hand over a wave of weakness. He was nowhere near fit, but he too wished he was riding with the others, even those who expected to talk and spy rather than raid. He shot an irritable glance at Yenking at the thought, the city squatting like a toad on the plain. No doubt the Chin emperor was on the walls at that very moment, watching this strange movement of men and horses. Genghis spat on the ground in the direction of the city. They had hidden behind soldiers at the Badger’s Mouth, and now they hid behind walls. He wondered how many more seasons they would hold out, and his mood was bitter.
“The men are ready,” Kachiun said, riding up and dismounting. “Temuge cannot think of another thing to irritate them, thank the spirits. Will you blow the horn yourself?”
Genghis looked at the polished scout horn hanging around his brother’s neck. He shook his head. “I will say goodbye to my sons first,” he said. “Bring them to me.” He gestured to a large blanket on the ground, with a bottle of black airag and four cups on the cloth.
Kachiun bowed his head and leaped back into the saddle, kicking the animal into a gallop through the squares of waiting men. It was a long way to ride to reach his nephews. Every warrior there had two other horses with him in a vast herd, and the morning was loud with their snorts and whinnying.
Genghis waited patiently until Kachiun returned with Jochi, Chagatai, and Ogedai, his brother standing aside to let the sons approach. Kachiun watched from the corner of his eye as Genghis sat cross-legged and the three boys faced him on the rough blanket. In silence, he poured each a cup of fiery spirit and they took them formally in their right hands, cupping the elbow with their left to show that they held no weapon.
Genghis could find nothing to criticize in their bearing as he looked them over. Jochi wore new armor, a little large on his frame. Chagatai still had the set he had been given. Only Ogedai wore the traditional padded deel robe, too small at ten to warrant a man’s armor, even with the amount they had captured at the Badger’s Mouth. The little boy regarded the cup of airag with some misgiving, but sipped it with the others, showing no expression.
“My little wolves,” Genghis said with a smile. “You will all be men by the time I see you again. Have you spoken to your mother?”
“We have,” Jochi replied. Genghis glanced at him and wondered at the depth of hostility in the boy’s eyes. What had he ever done to deserve it?
Returning Jochi’s dark gaze, Genghis spoke to them all.
“You will not be princes away from this camp. I have made that clear to your generals. There will be no special treatment for my sons. You will travel as any other warrior of the people, and when you are called to fight, there will be no one to save you because of who you are. Do you understand?”
His words seemed to suck the excitement out of them, their smiles fading. One by one, they nodded. Jochi drained his cup and put it down on the blanket.
“If you are raised to be officers,” Genghis continued, “it will only be because you have shown yourselves to be quick thinking, skilled, and brave beyond the men around you. No one wants to be led by a fool, even a fool who is my son.”
He paused, letting this sink in as his gaze fell on Chagatai.
“However, you are my sons and I expect to see the blood run true in each of you. The other warriors will be thinking of the next battle, or the last. You will be thinking of the nation you could lead. I expect you to find men you can trust and bind them to you. I expect you to push yourselves harder and more ruthlessly than anyone else ever could. When you are frightened, hide it. No one else will know and whatever causes it will pass. How you held yourself will be remembered.”
There was so much to tell them. It was gratifying to have even Jochi hang on every word, but who else could tell them how to rule if not their own father? This was his last duty to the boys before they became men.
“When you are tired, never speak of it, and others will think you are made of iron. Do not allow another warrior to mock you, even in jest. It is something men do to see who has the strength to stand against them. Show them you will not be cowed, and if it means you must fight, well, that is what you must do.”
“What if it is an officer who mocks us?” Jochi said softly.
Genghis looked sharply at him. “I have seen men try to deflect such things with a smile, or dipping their head, or even capering to make the others laugh all the harder. If you do that, you will never command. Take the orders you are given, but keep your dignity.” He thought for a moment.
“From this day, you are no longer children. You too, Ogedai. If you have to fight, even if it is a friend, put him down as fast and hard as you possibly can. Kill if you have to, or spare him—but beware putting any man in your debt. Of all things, that causes resentment. Any warrior who raises his fist to you must know he is gambling with his life and that he will lose. If you cannot win at first, take revenge if it is the last thing you do. You are traveling with men who respect only strength greater than theirs, men harder than themselves. Above everything else, they respect success. Remember it.”
His hard gaze swept across them and Ogedai shivered, feeling the cold of the words. Genghis did not smile to see it as he went on.
“Never allow yourself to become soft, or one day there will be a man who will take everything away from you. Listen to those who know m
ore than you and be the last in every conversation to speak, until they wait on you to show them the way. And beware of weak men who come to you because of your name. Choose those who follow you as carefully as wives. If I have only one skill that has brought me to rule our people, it is that. I can see the difference between a blustering warrior and a man like Tsubodai, or Jelme, or Khasar.”
The ghost of a sneer touched Jochi’s mouth before he looked away, and Genghis refused to allow his irritation to show.
“One more thing before you go. Be wary of spilling your seed.” Jochi flushed then and Chagatai’s mouth dropped open. Only Ogedai looked confused. Genghis went on.
“Boys who spend each night playing with their parts become weak, obsessed with the needs of their body. Keep your hands away and treat desire as any other weakness. Abstinence will make you strong. You will have wives and mistresses in time.”
As the three boys sat there in embarrassed silence, he untied his sword and scabbard. He had not planned it, but it seemed right and he wanted to do something they would remember.
“Take it, Chagatai,” he said. He slapped the scabbard into his son’s hands. Chagatai almost fumbled it in amazed pleasure. Genghis watched as the boy held the wolf’s-head hilt up to catch the sun, then slowly drew the blade his father had carried for all his young life. The eyes of the others were on the shining metal, bright with envy.
“My father, Yesugei, wore it on the day he died,” Genghis said softly. “His father had it made at a time when the Wolves were the enemy of every other tribe. It has taken lives and seen the birth of a nation. Be sure you do not dishonor it.”
Chagatai bowed where he sat, overcome. “I will not, lord,” he replied.
Genghis did not look at Jochi’s white face. “Now go. When you return to your generals, I will sound the horn. We will see each other again when you are men and we can meet as equals.”
“I look forward to that day, Father,” Jochi said suddenly.
Genghis raised his pale gaze to him, but said nothing. The boys did not speak to each other as they galloped away on the hard ground and they did not look back.
When Genghis was once again alone with Kachiun, he felt his brother’s stare.
“Why did you not give the blade to Jochi?” Kachiun asked.
“To a Tartar bastard?” Genghis snapped. “I see his father looking back at me whenever we meet.”
Kachiun shook his head, saddened that Genghis could be so blind in this one thing and see so far in all the rest.
“We are a strange family, brother,” he said. “If you leave us alone, we grow weak and soft. If you challenge us, make us hate, we grow strong enough to strike back.” Genghis looked at him questioningly and Kachiun sighed.
“If you truly wanted to weaken Jochi, you should have given him the sword,” Kachiun said. “Now he will think of you as an enemy and he will make himself iron, just as you did. Is that what you intended?”
Genghis blinked, astonished at the idea. Kachiun saw things with painful clarity and he could not find a response.
Kachiun cleared his throat. “It was interesting advice, brother,” he said, “especially the bit about spilling their seed.”
Genghis ignored him, watching the distant figures rejoin the squares of warriors.
“It didn’t seem to do Khasar any harm,” Kachiun said.
Genghis chuckled, holding out his hand for Kachiun’s horn. He rose to his feet then and blew a long deep note across the plain. Before it had died away, the tumans rumbled into movement, his people riding to conquer. He ached to be with them, but he would yet see Yenking fall.
Temuge groaned as his servant massaged the cares of the day from his shoulders. The Chin people seemed to have an idea of civilization that no one among the tribes could match. He smiled sleepily at the thought of a warrior being asked to work the muscles of his calves with oil. The man would either take it as an insult or pound them like a woolen fleece.
At first he had regretted the loss of his first servant. The man had rarely spoken and indeed knew nothing of the Mongol tongue. Yet he had introduced Temuge to a structured day, so that events seemed to flow around him without tension. Temuge had become accustomed to waking after dawn and bathing. His servant would then dress him and prepare a light breakfast. He would read the reports of his men until late morning, then begin the proper business of the day. Losing such a man to an assassin’s blade had seemed a tragedy at first.
Temuge sighed in pleasure as the new servant worked at a muscle, his thumbs digging deeply. Perhaps it was not such a loss, after all. Old Sen had known nothing of oils and massage, and though his presence had been relaxing, the new man talked whenever Temuge allowed him to speak, explaining any aspect of Chin society that caught Temuge’s attention.
“That is very good, Ma Tsin,” he murmured. “The tenderness is almost gone.”
“My master is welcome,” the spy replied. He did not enjoy rubbing the man’s back, but he had once spent almost a year as a brothel guard and he knew how the girls relaxed their customers.
“I saw the armies move away this morning, master,” he said lightly. “I have never seen so many horses and men in one place.”
Temuge grunted. “It makes my life simpler to have them far away. I have had enough of their complaints and bickering. I think my brother has as well.”
“They will bring back gold for the khan, I do not doubt it,” the spy went on. He began to pummel the heavy muscles of Temuge’s back, before finding another knot to work with stiff fingers.
“We do not need more of it,” Temuge muttered. “There are already carts of coins and only the Chin recruits seem interested.”
The spy paused for a moment. This was one aspect of the Mongol mind that confused him. Temuge was already relaxed, but he continued to work, trying to understand.
“It is true, then, that you do not seek wealth?” he asked. “I have heard it said.”
“What would we do with it? My brother has collected gold and silver because there are some who look greedily on such hoards. But what use is it? Real wealth is not found in soft metals.”
“You could buy horses with it, though, weapons, even land,” the spy persisted. Under his hands, he felt Temuge shrug.
“From whom? If a pile of coins will make another man give us his horses, we take them from him. If he has land, it is ours anyway, to ride as we please.”
The spy blinked in irritation. Temuge had no reason to lie to him, but bribery was not going to be easy if he spoke the truth. He tried again, suspecting it was hopeless.
“In Chin cities, gold can buy huge houses by a lake, delicate foods, even thousands of servants.” He struggled for more examples. For one who had been born into a society that used coins, it was difficult to explain something so obvious. “It can even buy influence and favors from powerful men, lord. Rare pieces of art, perhaps as gifts for your wives. It makes all things possible.”
“I understand,” Temuge replied irritably. “Now be silent.”
The spy almost gave up. The khan’s brother could not grasp the concept. In truth, it made him realize the artificial nature of his own world. Gold was too soft for any real use. How had it ever been seen as valuable?
“What if you wanted a man’s horse in the tribes, master? Let us say it is a horse better than all the others.”
“If you value your hands, you will not speak again,” Temuge snapped. The spy worked in silence for a time and Temuge sighed. “I would give him five horses of lesser breed, or two captured slaves, or six bows, or a sword made by a skilled man, whatever he wanted, depending on my need.” Temuge chuckled, drifting toward sleep. “If I told him I had a bag of valuable metal that would buy him another horse, he would tell me to try it on some other fool.”
Temuge sat up then. The evening sky was clear and he yawned. It had been a busy day, arranging the departure of so many.
“I think I will take a few drops of my medicine tonight, Ma Tsin, to help me sleep.”
The spy helped Temuge into a silk robe. The man’s pretensions amused him, but he could not escape the frustration he felt. The power of the small khans had been strangled when Genghis gave the order for the tumans to form. It was no loss. None of them had real influence in the camp. The spy had cut his losses and worked quickly to replace the servant killed by the assassin. Moving at such a speed brought many dangers, and he felt the strain grow daily. He still thought Temuge a vain and shallow man, but he had not found a lever that might tempt him into a betrayal, nor any better candidate. The black tent had to come down, but Genghis could not know the agony of Yenking. The spy considered the lord regent had set him a near-impossible task.
Lost in his own thoughts, the spy prepared the draught of hot airag and added a spoonful of the shaman’s black paste, scraping it out of a pot. When Temuge wasn’t looking, he sniffed at it, wondering if it was an opiate. The nobles smoked opium in the cities and seemed attached to their pipes, much as Temuge was to the drink.
“We are almost at the end of the supply, master,” he said.
Temuge sighed. “Then I will have to ask for more from the shaman.”
“I will go to him, master. You should not be troubled with small things.”
“That is true,” Temuge replied, pleased. He accepted the cup and sipped at it, closing his eyes in pleasure. “Go to him, but tell him nothing of what you do for me. Kokchu is not a pleasant man. Make sure you do not tell him anything you have seen and heard in this ger.”
“It would be easier if you could buy the paste from him with gold coins, master,” the spy said.
Temuge replied without opening his eyes. “Kokchu does not want your gold. I think he cares only for power.” He drained the cup, grimacing at the bitter dregs, but still tipping it back to catch every drop. The thought of the empty pot troubled him strangely. He would need it again in the morning.
The Khan Series 5-Book Bundle Page 79