Shouts roused them before dawn. Men struggled to their feet around Khadagan as a rider bore down on them. “We're lost!” the man shouted. “Targhutai slipped away in the night—he and his cavalry are gone!”
People streamed towards the horse pen, tearing the ropes aside as they pushed past the wagons. Horses reared, knocking men to the ground. Toghan grabbed Khadagan's arm as arrows whistled overhead. The crowd milled around them and an arm struck her quiver, spilling her arrows. She gripped her husband's sleeve tightly as they struggled to the edge of the mob. Men rode towards them, pushing them back.
“Surrender!” an enemy soldier cried. “Resist, and you will die!”
A Taychiut leaped towards the man and pulled him from the saddle. Toghan grabbed at the horse's reins. The beast shook him off; Khadagan lost her grip.
“Toghan!” she shouted. A sword slashed past her, narrowly missing her shoulder. People ran towards the river, followed by enemy horsemen; others screamed as riders surrounded them. Khadagan darted through the crowd, looking for Toghan. Women and men raced past her on foot, the enemy just behind them. “Toghan!” she cried again. Something hard struck her head; she toppled forward.
She had fallen near a hill. Khadagan scrambled up the slope towards the obo above; in the darkness, she might be able to conceal herself amid the mounds of stones. Arrows flew by her; men rode past the hill, slashing at the people around them.
In the dim grey light, she saw the enemy herding Taychiuts towards the empty pen. “Toghan!” she screamed, heedless of her own safety. He had to be somewhere below, among the captives.
Only one man could save her husband. Temujin had told her that he would help her if she ever needed him; she prayed that he remembered that old promise.
“Temujin!” she cried. “Temujin, help me! Temujin!”
Two men reined in their horses near the hill; one lifted his head. “Who calls the name of our Khan?” he shouted back.
“Khadagan, daughter of Sorkhan-shira!” She flung her arms wide. “He'll know who I am! My husband's been captured by your men—tell Temujin that the daughter of Sorkhan-shira begs for her husband's life!”
The two disappeared into the throng. She continued to call out Temujin's name until she was hoarse, then crumpled to the ground. Knots of people were being pushed inside circles of wagons and ropes; trampled bodies littered the ground. The enemy would come for her soon. Exposed as she was on this hill, it was a wonder she had not already lost her life. The spirits of the obo were protecting her. They wanted her to see what her kindness and pity had brought to these people before she died.
The sky was growing lighter. Five men rode over bodies towards the hill. Khadagan got to her feet and held up her hands, palms out. “I am Khadagan, daughter of Sorkhan-shira!” she cried. “I beg you to let my husband Toghan live!”
A man dismounted and slowly climbed the hill; another hurried after him. She waited, expecting them to pull out their swords. “Take my life,” she said, “but let Toghan live.” She bowed her head.
“Khadagan.” Hands gripped her by the shoulders; she forced herself to look up. He had grown tall, and his moustached face was dark with dirt and blood, but his pale eyes were Temujin's. “My men told me a woman here was shouting my name. I came as soon as they told me who you were.”
“Save my husband,” she murmured. “Please—I—” She leaned against him, then saw the wound in his neck, how pale he was under the coating of dirt.
“Come with me.” The man with him caught his arm as they moved down the slope. “Find the Taychiut warrior called Toghan,” he called out to the three men below, “and bring him to me alive.”
Temujin, still weak from his wound, waited by Khadagan's side throughout the day while his men gathered prisoners and loot. A man named Jelme passed the Khan's orders on to his men; generals rode to Temujin's field tent to report to him. When no word came about Toghan, Temujin sent Jelme out to search for him.
“I owe Jelme my life,” he told Khadagan as a guard laid fuel on his fire. “When that arrow caught me, he sucked the blood from my wound. He stripped off everything but his boots and crept into your camp without even a weapon, and stole kumiss for me. If he'd been caught, he planned to say that he had tried to desert us, and been robbed of all his clothes before he escaped.”
“A brave man,” she said.
“As you are brave, Khadagan. You saved my life long ago.”
“I feared you might have forgotten.” Her voice broke. “And now see what it's cost me.”
He took her hand. “I'll do what I can for you. I promise you—”
Jelme was riding back to them. The man's hard face told her little. He dismounted, walked towards them, then squatted by the fire. “Temujin, I bring unhappy news.”
“Say it,” the Khan muttered.
“Your order came too late to save this woman's husband. His body lies with others who were executed. I said that he was to be buried with all honour—”
Khadagan let out a cry. “I brought this on him!” She tore at her robe. “May I be cursed for what I've done!” Temujin grabbed her hands; she tried to pull away, then sagged against him, too stunned to weep.
“I deserve to be cursed,” Temujin said softly, “for not preventing this.”
She drew her hands from his and covered her face. Tengri had touched him long ago; he had said so when he was a prisoner in her father's tent. Twenty years ago, he had promised that she would sit at his side, and the spirits had taken everything from her so that his promise could be kept.
“I promise I'll care for you, Khadagan,” he continued. “I can't restore the husband you've lost, but ask me for anything else, and it will be yours—I swear it.”
She lifted her head. Tears streaked his face; she had not thought he could weep. “There's one thing you can do,” she said. “Show mercy to the people you've defeated here. Everything's been taken from me. Spare others my grief.”
His eyes narrowed. He would refuse; he would be thinking of the men who had yoked and beaten him, of the children, now grown, who had taunted him.
“The leaders forgot their oaths to my father,” he said. “They abandoned me, tormented me, and joined my enemies to fight against me.” He sighed. “But I made you a promise. There will be mercy, Khadagan, because it was you who asked for it.”
Temujin stayed with her throughout the evening, sharing his food with her and consoling her. That night, he slept at her side, covering her with his own blanket.
Long ago, she had sometimes dreamed that Temujin might return to her. After her marriage, she had suggested to Toghan that he join the rising young Khan, but he had refused to consider it. He owed his leaders his loyalty, even when he had doubts about their wisdom. His loyalty had been ill-paid, with Targhutai abandoning them in the night. She would ask no mercy for Targhutai Kiriltugh.
At first, when she woke, she thought she was inside her own tent, then remembered. She lay under the blanket, crying soundlessly until her grief subsided.
When she sat up, Temujin was sitting near the field tent's entrance. He moved closer to her and took her hand.
“Because of me,” he said, “you have nothing, but I'll always be your protector. If you wish, I'll make you my wife, and if not, you'll always have a place in my camp. My people will see that I don't forget those who helped me.”
He pitied her then, and could use her to show others his nobility. He could not truly desire her. Khadagan felt a twinge of sorrow and guilt; even after all that had happened, she could still hope he might.
“You are generous,” she said.
“You deserve anything I can give you. As my wife, you would be honoured, but if you can't bear to be—”
She shook her head. “I once wished for this as a girl,” she whispered. “It seems my prayers were heard. I wish they could have been answered in another way, but I would be foolish to refuse you. My husband was a good man—he would have wanted me to have another to look after me.”
“I am sorry, Khadagan.”
“It might be kinder to send me to join him.”
A voice called out his name; Temujin shouted back. Jelme entered, stooping as he came through the field tent's entrance. “Some men have come here to surrender,” he said, “and they want to speak to you. One of them says he's the father of this woman.”
Khadagan started. Temujin helped her to her feet; she followed the two men outside. Sorkhan-shira, his hands bound behind him, stood with a small group of men, her brothers at his side.
“Father!” Khadagan ran to him and threw her arms around him, resting her face against his grey beard.
“Khadagan,” he said. “I feared for you.”
“I've lost my husband and my sons. I was afraid I'd lost you, too.” She lifted her hands to cup his face. “Temujin tried to save my husband, but his order came too late.” She clung to him as she wept.
“Free that man,” Temujin commanded, “and his sons.” Khadagan stepped back as soldiers cut at their bonds. “They gave me my freedom once—now I offer them theirs.”
One guard stepped forward and gestured at a man who was still bound. “That one there shot the arrows that killed your horse and wounded you.”
Khadagan recognized Chirkoadai, The Taychiut smiled slightly as he stared at the Khan. Temujin studied the man for a moment, then beckoned to Khadagan. She followed him to the fire with her father and brothers, then sat down.
“Sorkhan-shira,” Temujin said, “I haven't forgotten what you and your children did for me. You daughter hasn't been harmed, and I'll do my best to make up for all she's lost.”
Sorkhan-shira bent forward from the waist. “We came here to offer our swords to you. I would have followed you long ago, but I'd given my oath to the Taychiut chiefs.” He sat back. “I offer you my oath now, and if Chimbai and Chilagun ever desert you, take their heads and leave their bodies for the jackals.” He struck his chest. “My promise lives here.”
“And I accept it.” Temujin glanced at the other prisoners. “And who are these men with you?”
“Chirkoadai and a few of his comrades,” Chimbai replied. “They also want to join you.”
A guard pushed Chirkoadai forward. “An arrow struck me,” Temujin said, “and another killed my horse. Now I am told they came from your bow.”
“I admitted that to your men when I rode here.” Chirkoadai's brown eyes narrowed as he grinned. “I freely admit it to you. Those arrows were mine.”
Khadagan leaned towards Temujin. “I know this man,” she murmured. “When I first saw you, he was the boy who was trying to keep others from tormenting you.”
“Indeed.” Temujin's mouth twitched. “And he nearly killed me.”
“A man must defend himself and his people,” the Taychiut said. “You could kill me, but then you'd have only a bit of bloodstained ground. If you let me live, I can lead armies for you. Well, what do you say?”
“What insolence,” Jelme muttered.
“You're honest,” Temujin said. “Somebody else would try to hide what he'd done against me, but you admit it. I won't punish a man for honesty, so I'll accept your oath.” The guard with Chirkoadai freed his wrists. “I think you also deserve a new name. From now on, you will be Jebe, the Arrow, since your weapon found its mark.”
The Taychiut rubbed at his wrists. “And I'll promise to aim my arrows at your enemies, not at you.”
The Khan motioned to Jelme. “Give these men back their weapons, and guard this lady and her family.” He stood up. “I must see to our prisoners—the wives and children of these men will be returned to them.” He looked down at Khadagan. “I promised you mercy, but the chiefs and their sons must die. I can only spare the others, who were bound to follow them.”
“I understand,” she said. It would be the end of the Taychiuts as a clan; their followers would become Temujin's people.
A man brought a horse to the Khan. Temujin mounted and rode out, his men a shield around him. On the land below the grey sky, the prisoners were no more than another herd waiting for a new master to decide their fate. The vastness of the sky and the insignificance of those below suddenly filled her with terror. To Tengri, they were all only tiny creatures scurrying for shelter on the earth.
Her father reached for her hand. Khadagan huddled by the fire with him and her brothers, to rejoice and to mourn.
70
“The Khan's ordu,” the rider nearest Khadagan announced, gesturing at the camp and at the great tent that stood in the north of Temujin's circle. They had passed several large herds on the way here. A few more victories, and Temujin's wealth might rival that of his Kereit allies.
A large yurt had been raised for her, with three smaller ones for the servants who would cook, sew, and look after the herds Temujin had allotted to her. Khadagan had expected his wives to visit her, but instead his chief wife Bortai sent a servant to her with a message. The Khatun welcomed her, grieved for what she had suffered, and would not trouble her with a visit until her sorrow was past.
Six days after her arrival, the Khan returned to his camp and invited his generals to a feast. Khadagan was summoned to the great tent with Temujin's three wives, and seated among them. The two minor wives whispered to each other, not bothering to hide their surprise that their husband had not claimed a beauty from the Taychiut spoils. Only a stern glance from Bortai silenced them.
The men talked of those who had surrendered to join Temujin. Among them had been a Bagarin and his two sons, retainers of Targhutai's who had captured the Taychiut chief. Temujin was silent as his general Borchu told the story. The three Bagarins, while on their way to submit to the Khan, had reconsidered their action, freed Targhutai, and confessed what they had done to Temujin.
“And how did they die?” the wife named Doghon asked.
Borchu Noyan laughed. “Die? Temujin rewarded them for it. They said they couldn't give up a man to whom they had sworn an oath, and the Khan praised them for doing the right thing—even made one of the young men a commander of one hundred on the spot.” He laughed again. “They told us they had to put Targhutai in a cart—the old bastard's too fat to sit a horse easily. He won't last long alone.”
The Khan was smiling, obviously content with his old enemy's fate. Targhutai would live for a while knowing he had lost everything; Temujin's victory was revenge enough.
Temujin did not come to Khadagan's tent until he had passed a night with each of his wives. “I've been merciful today,” he said to her as they ate. “My sister's wretched husband finally showed his face. He says now that he only wanted to bridle me, not to put me under the ground, and that he's prepared to submit to me.”
“And you forgave him?” she asked.
“Partly for my sister's sake, since she pleaded for him. I can also use Chohos-chaghan and his men.”
When he sent the servants away, she brought him more kumiss, then retreated to the back of the yurt, grateful for the shadows. He was at her side before she could conceal herself under the blankets. He drew her shift from her, and she climbed into the bed, hoping that he would not be too disappointed; Toghan had told her that her body was still much like a girl's. A lump rose in her throat at the thought of her dead husband.
Temujin's strong hands were gentle with her, yet there was something cruel and demanding in the way he touched her and forced her to share his pleasure. He would bind her to him, compel her to forgive and love him. She shuddered under him as tears welled from her eyes.
Bortai Khatun summoned Khadagan to her tent two days later, A light snow had fallen in the night; people moved among the yurts, settling trunks in wagons and carts. They would move camp tomorrow, nearer to their winter grounds.
Khadagan passed the guards and climbed the wooden steps in front of the great tent, wondering why the Khatun wanted to see her. To assert herself, she supposed, to make it clear that, as Temujin's first wife, she expected obedience.
Bortai Khatun and her servants were in the eastern side of the te
nt, packing clothes and pottery into trunks. Before Khadagan could utter a greeting, Bortai hurried to her and took her hands. “I welcome you, Khadagan Ujin. I'm sorry to take you from your work, but if we don't speak today, we won't get another chance soon with all that has to be done.”
Khadagan bowed her head, then reached inside her coat. “Please accept this poor gift.” She handed Bortai a long blue scarf.
“It's beautiful, and I thank you for it.” The Khatun led her to the hearth and seated her on a cushion; a servant brought them goblets of kumiss. Bortai motioned the servant away, then sat down. “I've been wanting to speak alone to the woman whose family risked their lives to help Temujin. Without you, I would never have been a bride.”
Khadagan had to smile at this; the woman still had a girl's smooth skin. “Khatun, I see what you are now. If you had even some of that beauty as a girl, your father probably could have made an army of your suitors.”
Bortai flushed. “After we were wed,” she said, “Temujin told me about the girl and the family who'd been kind to him. I was grateful he'd come to claim me instead of looking for her.” Bortai's large brown eyes grew warmer. “He'll always honour you for what you've done, as I will. My husband has many loyal comrades, but only a few knew him as a boy and cared about him when he had nothing. You're one who did.”
“He has others to love him now.”
“And yet I think you do love him, maybe more truly than some others do.”
“Yes.” Khadagan closed her eyes for a moment; she had not expected to speak of this. “In spite of everything that's happened, I still can.”
Bortai touched her sleeve. “I know what you've lost. That you can forgive my husband shows what a great spirit you have.”
“You flatter me, Honoured Lady,” Khadagan said. “Temujin did what he could for me, and it would have been foolish to cast his gifts aside. My lost husband was a good man, and I was happy as his wife, but Temujin won my heart long ago. Perhaps that makes it easier to forgive him.”
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 39