Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  After a while, Temujin dismissed them; Jamukha was the last to leave. The two embraced by the entrance and Jamukha whispered to Temujin before releasing him.

  One of the Merkits lowered the flap. Temujin gestured at her. “Go to Khokakhchin-eke's tent,” he said, “and come here again at dawn. I wish to be alone with my wife.”

  The women scurried from the yurt. Bortai opened her garment and suckled Jochi. Temujin came towards her and looked down at the child. His eyes were cold; she was suddenly certain that he knew the boy was not his. He would not repudiate her, not after fighting a war for her, but he might choose to make another his chief wife, as his father had done when he found Hoelun-eke.

  “You've won much,” she managed to say.

  “Yes.”

  “You must have claimed a great share of what was captured.”

  “I was offered my choice of the fairest prisoners, but commanded that they be parcelled out among my followers. I told my men that I have my beautiful Bortai now, and need no other.”

  Her arms tightened around her son. “A stallion can sire many foals on many mares.”

  “So the men said, but there will be other battles, and a chance to claim my due then. I wanted to reward all those who rode with me in my first campaign. I'll win more followers when others hear how generous I am to my men.”

  She secured Jochi in the cradle and set it down. Temujin stared at the child, then said, “I'll ask this only once, and then we will never speak of it again. I must know if he's my son. Khokakhchin-eke says that he is, and perhaps it's so, but I want the truth from you.”

  She could not speak.

  “If you don't know,” he continued, “if you have no way to be sure, say so. I've acknowledged him as my son, and no one will say otherwise. What you tell me will be between us.”

  He would believe what she told him. The boy might grow as tall as Chilger, but Temujin was also tall; Jochi's dark eyes were much like her father Dei's. She wanted to tell him the baby was his, but could not say the words. The lie would always be between them.

  “I'll tell you the truth.” Bortai lifted her head. “I knew he couldn't be yours when I first realized I was with child. I wanted to believe he was, and then it was easier to know that he wasn't when I thought I'd never see you again.”

  “You shouldn't have doubted me, Bortai.”

  “Hope was too hard to bear.” She took a breath. “Khokakhchin-eke will never speak of this, and it's been only nine months since I was taken. He was born too soon, but he's so vigorous already that no one will suspect that—they can believe he was inside me before we were parted.”

  Temujin said, “They will believe it because I say it's so.” His eyes were darker in the shadows; she could not see his thoughts in his face.

  “I know you won't shame me,” Bortai said, “but I'll understand if you take a new wife and set her above me.”

  “No one will take your place, Bortai.” He turned away from the cradle. “If you hadn't urged me to abandon you, my enemies would have had my life. My people will not whisper that I fought a war for my wife, only to have her deliver a Merkit's bastard to me.”

  “You're as generous to me,” she whispered, “as you are to your men.”

  “I told you,” he said, “that I always wanted you to welcome me, that no shadow would fall between us. My enemies have suffered for what they did, and you'll forget your time among them. This boy is my first son. There will be others, but Jochi is the first, and I'll care for him no less than for his brothers.”

  “Jochi,” she said. “The Stranger.”

  “A stranger because he grew inside his mother while she was a captive, and a guest I now welcome under my tent. That's all it means.”

  He shrugged out of his coat. She rose, took off her headdress, trousers and boots, and went to the bed, covering herself quickly with the blanket. Temujin stripped to his shift, then got in next to her.

  His arms slipped around her. He would expect her to hold him, to rouse him as she had before, but she could not will herself to reach out to him. Her body tensed as Temujin entered her; she closed her eyes, enduring him, wanting to forget. Chilger lay between them, and perhaps he always would.

  He shuddered, making no sound, then withdrew and touched her face lightly. “It isn't the same,” he said.

  “No.”

  “This will pass. Things will be as they were.”

  He would have to believe that, having gone to such lengths to win her back. He stretched out at her side. She lay there, awake, listening to his deep, even breathing until Jochi began to cry for her.

  48

  Hoelun gazed at the camp from the hill. Yurts dotted the Khorkhonagh Valley; bright sparks danced in the streams that rose from hundreds of smoke-holes. The pale smoke, carried by the hot summer wind, drifted towards the wall of cliffs to the west. The air was thick with the odour of burning meat.

  Temujin's tent stood to the north of the camp, at the edge of one camping circle; Jamukha's was in the place of honour at the north of the circle nearest her son's. She could not even see the southernmost tents. All of this belonged to her son—and to Jamukha, she reminded herself.

  The two young chiefs had ridden here together, and had treated each other as equals ever since returning from their campaign. Hoelun had expected Jamukha to take precedence, to show in some way that he considered himself the greater leader. He had commanded the armies and had more followers; he had reason to claim a higher place. Temujin might believe that he and his anda could rule together, but she could not accept it.

  She glanced to her right, where Jamukha's wife Nomalan sat with Bortai. Nomalan Ujin's head was bowed; she seemed as fearful of her husband as his men were said to be. Her face was small under her square head-dress, and her body, in spite of the child she carried, was thin under her coat.

  That girl, Hoelun thought, has a weak spirit. The women whispered that Jamukha had rarely gone to his wife's bed even before learning of her pregnancy. Bortai murmured to Nomalan as she rocked Jochi's cradle. Temujin had accepted the boy as his own; Hoelun would refuse to believe otherwise.

  Men had gathered by the hill, and others were streaming from the camp on horseback. Those standing in the front leaned against their lances; those in the rear sat on their steeds, waiting to hear what their chiefs would say before the feast.

  Temulun fidgeted at Hoelun's side. “How much longer?” the little girl whispered.

  “Hush,” Hoelun replied. A kinsman of Jamukha's was leading a tan horse taken from the Merkits to the hill; Khasar followed him with a black-maned yellow mare.

  “Khachigun said that Temujin told him he could go with him on his next raid,” Temulun murmured. “I can shoot as well as he can. Why can't I go when I'm older?”

  “Don't be silly,” old Khokakhchin whispered. “You'll be betrothed by the time you're Khachigun's age—you'll be getting ready for your wedding.”

  Above the women, Temujin and Jamukha sat under the great tree. Four shamans stood behind them, rattling their bags of bones gently as they swayed. Hoelun's neck prickled; she wondered what the spirits had told the shamans before they set the time for this feast, and what her son and his anda would say to their men now.

  The two chiefs got to their feet and the mass of men crowding the land between the hill and the camp grew silent. Temujin raised his arm; Jamukha did the same.

  “The old men tell us,” Temujin shouted, “that when two men swear an anda oath, their lives become one.”

  “My anda and I have fought together,” Jamukha added. “It is time we renewed the oath we made as boys. We shall make our pledge once more, in this place before all of you.”

  The men roared their approval. “We are brothers,” Temujin said. “Nothing will part us.”

  “We are brothers,” Jamukha called out, “who will never desert each other. The same blood flows in us both.” A shaman offered Temujin a cup of kumiss. Temujin pricked his finger with a knife, let the blood drip into the
kumiss, then handed the cup to Jamukha, who did the same. Jamukha drank from the cup and gave it back to his anda; Temujin lifted it to his lips. The men below shook their weapons as they cheered.

  Hoelun shivered in spite of the heat. She could feel the spirits the shamans were summoning to the wide shadows under the great tree's branches. Temujin beckoned to his brother. Khasar moved towards him with the yellow horse, then handed Temujin a belt thick with plates of gold.

  Temujin hefted the belt. “I renew my pledge with this gift to my anda, a belt I took from the tent of Toghtoga Beki.” He slipped the belt around Jamukha's waist. “I also give him this horse, which that Merkit will never ride again. May she increase the herds of Jamukha.”

  Jamukha motioned to his kinsman; the man went to him with the tan horse and another golden belt. “I renew my bond with my anda,” the Jajirat said, “by offering him this belt from the spoils of Dayir Usun's camp.” He put the belt around Temujin. “And may this mare I took from our enemies increase the herds of my brother.”

  Sunlight glinted from hundreds of upraised lances and swords, blinding Hoelun for a moment; the roar of the men slapped against her ears. The two young men mounted their horses and circled the hill as their men shouted and stamped their feet.

  “Never shall we be parted!” Jamukha cried. “Those who follow me follow Temujin! Those who follow him are my comrades as well!”

  “We are one people!” Temujin shouted. “As my anda and I are one!”

  They dismounted, linked arms, and climbed the small hill. The shamans chanted and beat their drums. Voices swelled in a guttural song as Temujin and Jamukha danced together under the wide limbs of the great tree.

  Do you know what this means? a voice whispered inside Hoelun. Once I dreamed of dancing under this tree, as my uncle did with his men. Yesugei's spirit was speaking to her. Khutula had danced under this tree when a kuriltai proclaimed him Khan, and her son was doing the same, but with Jamukha, as if they both claimed Khutula's place. She glimpsed Daritai among the men, still and silent as those around him cheered and pounded the ground with their feet.

  Jamukha and Temujin lifted their knees as they danced. They could not both be Khan. One sun shone down from Heaven; a people could have only one Khan. Hoelun felt that spirits were dancing with the two men under the tree, that Khutula himself was there, repeating his old dance. One Khan would have to rule in time. The spirits of Temujin's ancestors would surely favour him; she would burn fat in her fire during the feast to feed those spirits. Hoelun bowed her head and prayed that her son would rule.

  Jamukha sat under the tree, gazing south at the moonlit camp. Except for the guards, the horsemen watching the herds on the plain below the Khuldaghar cliffs, and a few feasters riding towards their yurts, the rest of the people were asleep.

  Temujin stirred next to him, caught in the restless sleep of drunkenness. The grass around them was flattened by their dancing; the men had beaten patches of ground bare with their boots. The two mares they had given to each other grazed below, guarded by Jelme.

  They were united now; their feast had marked that, as had their dance. They had gone among their men to share in the feast, staying at each other's side, sitting together in the place of honour.

  His head was clearing. Beyond the great tree that sheltered them, the camp-fires of Heaven flickered. Temujin's uncle Daritai had sung of Khutula Khan as they danced, but had added a new verse to the song. “In Heaven,” he had chanted, “there is a sun and a moon.” He had honoured them both with those words. They would rule together, first among the chiefs.

  Temujin grunted, then pushed away the blanket Jamukha had laid over him. “My throat burns,” Temujin said. Jamukha handed him a jug. “When did we ride back here?”

  “Towards sunset,” Jamukha replied.

  “I must have drunk more than I thought.”

  Temujin sat up and draped an arm over his knees. Jelme turned his head towards them. Jamukha did not want to go to the yurt where his wife Nomalan would scurry after his attentions like a dog hoping for scraps.

  “Jelme awaits your command,” Jamukha muttered. Temujin had not lain with Bortai for some days, and might feel he should go to her now. Some still whispered that Jochi was not Temujin's son; they would probably die for it if they ever said such words in Temujin's presence. His anda had been thinking of Bortai in refusing his pick of the most beautiful Merkits. It was enough that he had rescued her, yet he seemed compelled to prove that she had not lost his esteem. No woman had ever been so honoured.

  The drink in him was making him sullen. He had accepted his share of the captive maidens only because his men might have wondered if he refused them. A few might turn to boys or young men while away from their wives, and others took boys after raids to instil fear and mark their triumph, but all would despise a man who preferred that to lying with a woman. He wished now that he had given his Merkit girls to his generals; he could have made it seem an act of generosity, as Temujin had.

  His anda gestured with the jug. Jamukha shook his head. “Jelme,” he said, “will sit there all night if you don't send him away.”

  Temujin got to his feet, moved down the hill on unsteady legs, then turned back to him. “I want to sleep here, under the tree where we swore our oath today.”

  Jamukha's darker mood vanished. “So do I.”

  Temujin shouted an order to Jelme. The Uriangkhai caught the reins of the mares and rode towards the camp. “You might have sent him back earlier,” Temujin said as he sat down again. “You are also his chief now. He must be longing for the woman I gave him from my share of the spoils.”

  “Many wondered why you didn't take that one for yourself.”

  “I'll win other women later, and my men were grateful for the ones I refused.”

  “Men serve a leader best when they fear him.”

  “His enemies should fear him,” Temujin responded. “His men should fear him only if they betray him, or fail in their duty. One must swoop down on such men as the falcon does upon a bird in flight, but men should also know that the faithful among them will be rewarded.”

  Temujin sipped from the jug. They would be safe enough here for the night, this close to the camp. Jamukha had seen no sign of predators, and felt that the spirits they had called here were still protecting them.

  He thought of what lay before them. More clans and tribes were likely to seek an alliance with them; those who did not would have to be subdued. The scattered Merkits were likely to regroup, and another campaign against them might be necessary. The Tatars might attack if they grew fearful of the Mongol clans. Temujin and he had spoken of all this before.

  Temujin finished the kumiss, then stretched out under the blanket, leaving half of the covering for Jamukha. “I knew you were my friend when we first met, when you rode to my defence.” Temujin's voice was slightly slurred by drink. “I never doubted that you'd aid me against my enemies, because I remembered the boy who swore his oath to me when my family was alone and friendless.”

  Jamukha lay down next to him and covered himself. They had slept this way as boys, in one bed, one covering over them both. A fierce longing filled him as he recalled those nights. Temujin had accepted his touch then, welcoming the way they could give pleasure to each other with their hands, but perhaps he saw that only as boys' play, something to be put aside when one was grown.

  He circled Temujin's waist with one arm. His anda sighed, but did not push him away. They had a sacred bond; whatever they did now, in this place where they had proclaimed their brotherhood, could only strengthen it. He would have the purer love he sought, and bind Temujin closer to him.

  He lowered his hand. Temujin was already hard against his palm; Jamukha rejoiced. His brother's fingers slipped under his trousers, his brother's strong, callused hand grasped his member firmly. Temujin had not forgotten.

  Jamukha's seed spurted from him after only a few strokes and he moaned as his hand tightened around Temujin's shaft. His anda gasped as hi
s seed came and trickled over Jamukha's hand. He needed no more now; they could share themselves in this way for a time, until the Noyans raised Jamukha to Khutula's place. They would have to turn to him, but his anda would remain at his side. Temujin would be his completely then, swearing his oath and later surrendering himself.

  He held his friend until he knew that Temujin was asleep, then slipped his hand from under his anda's clothing. Nothing could separate them, now that they had made this offering to each other. They were one.

  Part Five

  Jamukha said, “If we camp by the mountains, those who tend the horses and cattle will have food. If we camp by the river, those who herd the sheep will feed their flocks.”

  49

  Jamukha mounted his horse as two men led the Khongkhotat messenger towards the camp. He had circled the grazing cattle when his cousin Taychar caught up with him.

  “When will you give me what I want?” Taychar shouted.

  Jamukha slowed to a trot. “When my anda and I come to a decision.”

  Taychar's mouth twitched below his faint moustache. “Perhaps I should speak to Temujin and not you,” he said, “since you do nothing without his consent.”

  Jamukha lashed out with one arm and caught his cousin in the chest. Taychar gasped, but stayed in his saddle. “Be careful what you say,” Jamukha said. “Temujin does nothing without my consent, and you need me to speak for you.”

  Taychar glared at him. “Very well,” he muttered before he rode away.

  On the open land ahead, several boys were practising their archery, aiming their arrows at a lone tree. Khasar stood with the line of boys; Temujin leaned forward on his horse as Temuge stepped up and took aim. The arrow soared, then fell just short of the target.

  Jamukha reined in his horse. Borchu shouted a greeting; Jelme nodded at him. Lately, Temujin spent more time with his two close comrades. Jamukha wondered if his anda spoke to the Arulat and Uriangkhai of their disagreements.