She felt a quiver deep inside her that grew into a throbbing; her body arched suddenly. She moved under him as a spasm of pleasure swept over her, and saw his fierce, triumphant smile.
39
Toghril was drunk. Khasar glanced to his left; the Kereit Khan lolled in his wooden throne, still stroking the sable coat Temujin had brought to him. The Khan's ruddy face gleamed with sweat as his fingers clutched greedily at the fur.
Belgutei, sitting at Khasar's right, lifted a cup and drank. Temujin sat next to Toghril Khan, in the place of honour. Toghril had sent slaves to fetch his guests' horses, yet seemed reluctant to let his visitors depart.
Khasar's belly ached with food; the Kereits had been feasting them for two days. He and his brothers had planned to leave at dawn, but Toghril had urged them to share a last drink with him, and now the large tent was crowded with the generals, soldiers, and traders the Khan had summoned.
The Khan rose; the sable coat fell to his feet. Temujin stood up, leaned down to pick up the coat, and draped it over the throne. Toghril embraced him as Khasar and Belgutei rose from their bench.
“I am pleased,” Toghril said in his resonant voice; the feasters fell silent. “You've brought me the finest of gifts, you who are the son of my anda. I do not speak only of this coat, as fine as it is, but also of the pledge you've given to me.”
“You honour me,” Temujin said, “by accepting it, and for saying that you'll always be a father to me. I swear to you again that nothing will come between us.”
“My promise lives here.” Toghril struck his chest with a fist. “I'll gather those of your people who have scattered and return them to you. All will know that the son of Yesugei is my son.” He had made this pledge before, offering sacrifices to seal the oath, but had repeated it often, as if to remind himself and everyone present that he had made it. Winning the Kereit Khan to his side had been easier for Temujin than Khasar had expected. Toghril had welcomed them warmly, and had shared his memories of Yesugei, who had restored Toghril's Khanate to him.
Khasar glanced around the large tent. Toghril had reason to be grateful to Yesugei. The Khan had served them kumiss in cups of gold and given them garments made with the hair of his camels. His herds were so numerous that he might mount a different steed every day and still not have ridden all his horses by year's end. His warriors numbered in the thousands; his ten wives, sitting at his left, were adorned in silk-lined coats and head-dresses gleaming with gold and shining stones. Caravans from east and west stopped in his camp to trade and offer tribute for safe passage through his lands.
Perhaps the sight of his anda's son had reminded the Khan of the source of his good fortune. Toghril would never have won back his throne without Yesugei's help.
People lifted cups, saluting the Khan and his new ally. Only Toghril's son Nilkha, the Senggum, who was seated near his father, seemed unmoved by the gathering's high spirits. The young man's eyes were hard as he stared at Temujin; the Senggum had avoided the Khan's guests during their stay.
Toghril's bulky body swayed. Temujin caught the Khan in his arms, then released him. “I would remain with you,” Temujin said, “but my men await my return.” He bowed as Khasar and Belgutei backed towards the doorway. “I shall serve you faithfully, my father.”
“Go in peace, my son,” Toghril said. Nilkha's eyes narrowed. Temujin retreated, still bowing to the Khan; Toghril sank back on his throne and fingered his grey moustaches. One of his Christian priests made signs and chanted a blessing as another swung a golden vessel from a chain.
A wide ladder of steps rested against the large wheeled platform that held the yurt. Khasar took a deep breath of cool air, relieved to be away from the oppressive heat inside, then descended quickly. Two boys were waiting with their four horses, all of them burdened with the sacks that held Toghril's gifts.
They mounted. The Kereit camp sprawled to the south along the Tula River, its circles of yurts and carts stretching as far as Khasar's sharp eyes could see. Dark masses of cattle grazed in the open land bordering the forest to the west. Envy clawed at Khasar; all this belonged to Toghril, who had done nothing for his anda's sons before. But the Khan was now their protector, and his power would serve Temujin's ends. He looked back at the Khan's ordu as they rode away; the great tent's limed yellow panels were golden in the noonday light.
The brothers rode east along the Tula, then turned north. Beyond the barren patches where the Kereit herds had grazed, white flowers bloomed amid the grass of the plain. A distant dark ridge marked the mountains to the north. Temujin seemed deep in thought. He did not speak until the camp was far behind them and they had stopped to water their horses.
“What do my brothers think,” Temujin said, “of our father's anda?”
Belgutei swatted at a fly. “He was quick to accept you as a vassal,” he murmured. “Hoelun-eke will be glad that the coat your wife's mother gave her was of some use. She must have been sorry to part with it.”
Khasar glanced at his half-brother. Belgutei rarely answered Temujin's questions directly, but instead circled them the way hunters surrounded game, then closed in on an answer Temujin might welcome.
“I'll give Mother one of the Khan's gold cups,” Temujin said, “and promise her another coat.” He dismounted, then looked up at Khasar. “And your thoughts?”
“Toghril Khan wouldn't be grateful just for a coat,” Khasar replied, “even one as fine as that. I suspect his old bond with Father wasn't much on his mind before our arrival. He lost his Khanate before, and must sit uneasily on his throne now, with an exiled brother who could still threaten him.” One of Toghril's brothers had taken refuge among the powerful Naiman tribes in the west; the Naiman ruler might take up his cause and move against the Kereit Khan if Toghril seemed vulnerable. “As long as you serve his ends, he'll be your friend. It's good his men mentioned the wisdom of this alliance, but it makes me wonder what he would have decided if no one had spoken for you. I don't think his son Nilkha wanted this bond.”
Temujin nodded; he had clearly been thinking the same thing. “He needs me to throw against his enemies,” he said, “and I need his support. We both have what we want, which makes for the best of alliances.” He rested his hand on Khasar's saddle. “I'm anxious to be home, as you must be, but I want you to postpone your return for a few more days.”
Khasar leaned forward. “What do you wish me to do?”
“Ride to Jamukha's camp. I'd do so myself, but I grow impatient for my wife.”
Khasar grinned. “I understand, but why do you want me to go there?”
“Jamukha is also Toghril-echige's vassal, and when he learns of my oath to him, he may wonder about my intentions.”
“Why would he worry about that?” Belgutei asked. “You're his anda—he has no reason to doubt you.”
“Indeed he doesn't.” Temujin's mouth twisted. “It would be wise to remind him of that. Toghril's support will bring more men to me, and I don't want Jamukha to think that this makes me his rival. If Toghril Khan thinks either of us may grow too strong, he's capable of using us against each other. My anda must be reassured that I'll never forsake our bond.”
“Surely he knows that,” Belgutei said. “Do you doubt him?”
Temujin scowled. “I have no doubts,” he said very softly. “Jamukha was our comrade when we had no friends—do you think I can ever forget that? But he's used to seeing me as someone less powerful than he is, and that will soon change. He must be told that this won't alter things between us.”
“I'll go,” Khasar said, although he did not welcome the journey. Temujin might not have doubts, but he did.
“Give him one of the Khan's golden cups,” Temujin said, “and tell him that he lives in my heart.”
Khasar found a small Jajirat encampment along the Onon. The men there told him that Jamukha Bahadur's main camp was just below the Khorkhonagh Valley, and sent a rider ahead to tell the Jajirat chief that Khasar was on his way to see him.
Khasar
slept in the small camp that night and rode on in the morning. Jamukha was waiting for him outside his camping circle with a few men. He embraced Khasar warmly, then quickly led him between the fires to his tent. After dismissing his men, the Jajirat ushered him inside.
A young woman standing by the hearth bowed; an older woman with her knelt. “My wife, Nomalan,” Jamukha said.
Khasar bowed to the women. “I rejoice for you. I didn't know you had taken a bride.”
“We were married in early spring.” Jamukha waved one arm. “Leave us.” The young woman hurried towards the entrance, her head down; the servant followed her. “A man must have a wife,” Jamukha continued, “but it's a pity such creatures can't be kept with the brood mares much of the time.”
Khasar grunted, trying to imagine his brother saying that about Bortai. Jamukha led him to the bed and seated him in front of it, then handed him a jug.
“I'll summon those closest to me later,” Jamukha said as he sat down, “but now you must tell me of my anda.”
Khasar told him about the journey to the Kereit camp. The young man smiled and nodded, seemingly pleased at the news. His handsome face brightened as Khasar gave him the golden cup and then recited the oaths his brother and Toghril had sworn.
“I am happy to hear this,” Jamukha said. “Men will flock to join your brother now, and other chiefs will see him as their equal.”
“I thought—forgive me if I'm wrong—that you once hoped Temujin would follow you.”
Jamukha laughed. “That he would ride at my side. Do you think I could ever consider my anda less than myself? I thought only of lending my strength to his.” He shifted on his cushion. “I'm pleased you told me this, Khasar. I sorrow only that my anda didn't ride here himself to tell me. I've missed him greatly.”
“As he's missed you. His friend Borchu, Nakhu Bayan's son, dwells in our camp now, and has sworn never to leave Temujin's side, but even he can't take your place in my brother's heart, beloved though he is.”
Jamukha's dark eyes flickered. “I recall him with some fondness. Perhaps he and your brother are even closer than they were.”
The slightly colder tone in Jamukha's voice made Khasar uneasy. “They are fast friends. Of course it isn't the same as an anda bond. Temujin will never forget that you were his friend when he had no other.” He swallowed some kumiss. “He longed to come here, but he has duties in our camp and a new wife who awaits him. You can understand why he's impatient to be with her, after waiting so long to claim her.”
“His wife?” Jamukha said softly.
“Bortai, the Onggirat girl he was betrothed to as a child. She's as beautiful as he said she would be. During his first days with her, he didn't leave his tent until the sun was two hands' breadth above the horizon, and he often carries her inside before the sun sets, the two of them laughing—”
“Men often act foolish when they're first wed.” Jamukha's face was taut, his eyes slits. “It passes.”
Khasar cleared his throat, thinking that Jamukha should have been pleased to hear of his anda's happiness. “She's only a woman,” he said, “but when you see her beauty, you'll understand why he loves her—and she's a good wife to him.”
“A woman's a good wife if she does her work and bears strong sons—the rest matters little.” Jamukha got up and went to the doorway. “I'll summon my men.”
40
Temujin said, “I'll race you to the trees.”
Bortai glanced back at Borchu and Jelme. “You wouldn't want me to beat you in front of your comrades.”
Temujin lifted his brows. “We'll see if you do.” Jelme rode towards them, followed by Borchu with a hawk riding on his wrist; dead hares and cranes hung from each young man's saddle. Temujin handed his falcon to Jelme. “I've challenged my wife to a race,” he said. “She thinks she'll win this time.”
Borchu chuckled. “Maybe she will.”
Bortai struck her horse lightly with her whip. The mount bolted, moving into a gallop; Temujin raced after her and closed the gap quickly. She leaned forward, tightening her legs around the animal. A rodent darted through the high brown grass, narrowly evading the gelding's hooves.
The grove of trees stood just above the river. Bortai's steed inched ahead of Temujin's. She bore down on a small patch of marsh, thought of swerving to her right to avoid it, then changed her mind. Rising in her stirrups, she jumped her horse over the marshy ground; the ducks feeding in the reeds quacked loudly and scattered.
She neared the trees and drew on her reins. The grey gelding slowed as she passed the first tree, then skidded to a halt. Temujin reined in his horse and trotted to her side. The horses were slick with sweat; Bortai rubbed hers along its neck.
“You won, but not by much,” her husband said.
“I still won.” The horse danced under her. She circled the small grove at a walk, letting the gelding cool; Temujin kept near her. Beyond the trees, north of their camp, more horses grazed, guarded by men.
She thought of how small the camp had been when she arrived nearly three months ago; but the Kereit Khan had kept his vow, and news of Temujin's new alliance had travelled quickly. The camp had grown since their move to the Kerulen River, filling with members of Borchu's Arulat clan and sons of warriors who had ridden with Temujin's father; Temujin welcomed them all. He refused to claim a portion of their belongings as tribute; he had even given a coat to one man whose garment was in tatters, and arrows to another so that he could hunt. Word of his generosity had brought more followers. The land west of the camp had been grazed nearly bare by the increased herds of horses, cattle, and sheep; the camp would have to be moved again soon.
Bortai kept near the trees; it was cooler in the shade, away from the hot summer sun. Temujin leaped from his horse, pulled her from her saddle, and wrestled her to the ground.
“Stop,” she said, giggling. “What will Jelme and Borchu think?”
“Only that I can't wait for night.”
She struggled. He knelt over her, his knees on either side of her, pressing against her hips. She wondered if the trees hid them from view, and suddenly did not care. Her hands slipped around his neck, under the knotted cloth of his head-band; he lowered his head and rubbed his cheek against hers. She closed her eyes, thinking of how he had moved inside her last night while she sat astride him, riding him.
“Bortai,” he whispered. Her arms tightened around him. He removed her hands from himself and sat up, his mouth curving into a smile. He had the small victory he wanted, of knowing that she would welcome him at any time, even out here, within sight of the horseherders and his two friends.
She sat up slowly and adjusted the scarf that covered her braided hair. “We should show more dignity, Temujin. Your men will wonder.”
“They'll know I love my wife.” He tilted his head. “But maybe I should be more of a man. When we ride back, I must look very stern, and order you to clean and skin the game. Then I'll shout for my supper and threaten to beat you if you're not quick about it.”
Bortai wrinkled her nose, then frowned. “I should have been beating wool today instead of hunting with you. Your mother will think I'm a foolish, lazy girl.”
“She'll never think that. She can hardly praise you enough.”
That was, she supposed, her victory. She had worried that his mother, who had endured so much, might never warm to her, that she would see any woman as less than herself. When Hoelun-eke had taken her aside a month ago, she had expected a scolding. Temujin's mother had studied her for a long moment before saying, “My son has a great love for you. I didn't believe you could be what he said you were. Even after you came here, and I saw what a good woman your mother is, I had my doubts about you, and feared your beauty might have blinded my son to your faults. Now I'm sorry that you have no unmarried sisters for my other sons.”
With those words, the last traces of Bortai's longing for her father's camp were banished. She could speak easily to Hoelun now, and they often agreed in their judgements
. Hoelun-eke sensed which men might serve her son best, and who might lead him astray with bad advice. She knew which women were wise, and how to speak carefully to those who might be jealous or envious.
Bortai remembered what Hoelun had told her yesterday, when they had been weaving cloth with old Khokakhchin. “Men come here,” Hoelun had said, “to follow a chieftain who has the protection of the Kereit Khan. They also think Temujin will help them win much for themselves. But it won't be their oaths to him that hold them, or even the victories he might bring them. He must have their loyalty, their obedience, and their love, so that they will never think of abandoning him even if thousands are marshalled against him. It means he must have our loyalty and love, too, especially yours.”
“He'll always have that,” Bortai said.
“You're a woman to trust.” Hoelun's words had made her swell with pride. “Another wife might have wailed at him, and said, 'Where is my servant? Why don't I have more hides and carpets? Why don't you claim a larger share of game, and give me what I should have?' And my son would have listened, and his men would soon be saying that he was no better than any other chief.”
“We will win more in time.”
“You're a good wife, Bortai, but there's more to that than being steadfast and obedient. You must also see your husband clearly, with a falcon's eyes, and know when he might be mistaken. You may have to say things to him no one else would dare to mention, things even I might fear to say. He was alone for so long, with no one but me and his brothers and sister. He has learned to trust others, but his joy at having comrades at last may blind him to their faults. You must be able to see what they are and warn him if necessary.” Bortai had been surprised that Temujin's mother saw any flaws in him.
She leaned against her husband, her cheek against his coat. Borchu and Jelme trotted towards them. Borchu was quick to smile, to laugh, and to follow Temujin on risky forays without question, while Jelme's dark eyes were always cautious and watchful. She had no worries about those two; their devotion was evident. Borchu had bound himself to Temujin; with one command, he would have given everything he owned to his friend. Jelme, an Uriangkhai, had come out of the northern forests with his father, a blacksmith named Jarchiudai, who had long ago promised Yesugei that his son would serve the Bahadur's; he was always near, often anticipating Temujin's wishes before they were spoken.
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 23