She went outside, trailed by two of the women, and descended the steps. The lines of guards around the great tent and her wagons stood at attention; rows of lighted torches made the space around them as bright as day. Others had gathered outside their yurts. A cheer went up, flowing towards her like a wave.
“The Khan! The Khan!” Others took up the cheer. “Temujin! Temujin!” Some knelt; others lifted their arms. Dogs howled above the cries.
A group of men walked towards her from the row of tethered horses outside her circle. She saw him then, in the midst of the men. She had expected him to be with Borchu or Subotai, but the men with him were young, hardly more than boys. Bortai gritted her teeth. He would have laughed while gathering the young men for a swift ride to Karakorum, acting as if he were still a boy himself.
Temujin passed a few men who were holding torches. The braids under his hat were greyer, the skin around his eyes more wrinkled. Her anger faded. He still moved gracefully in his bowlegged gait, but his body was heavier, his back not quite as straight. As he looked at her, a smile flashed across his face; for a moment, she saw the boy he had been.
He halted a few paces from her. Bortai bowed from the waist; the cheering died.
“I greet you and welcome you, my Khan and husband,” she said. “To have the eagle fly to us so unexpectedly gives us great joy.”
“It isn't so unexpected,” he said. “Didn't I say that I'd be among you soon?” The young men around him grinned and chuckled.” It's true that my cherished Khatun was told I would arrive somewhat later, but my impatience increased the nearer I came to her ordu. Riding here as I have has also shown me that my people haven't grown lax in their duties. The herdsmen I passed were on guard, and the sentries challenged me. They would have hastened here to alert you had I not forbidden it. Now I see that the guards here have kept their breastplates polished and their weapons honed, and stand before me as proudly as they did when I left. My wife has rushed from her bed to greet me, and my people have broken their sleep to welcome me. Had I come when I was expected, I would have deprived myself of such pleasures.”
The young men laughed. Bortai smiled in spite of herself, remembering other times when he had hurried back to her.
“I rejoice to see you, husband and Khan,” she said. “I am only sorry that I could not greet you with the feast you deserve.”
“There will be time for feasting.” He came to her and took her hands. “When we feast, I'll sit on my throne and observe the formalities. Tonight, I'm only a husband who seeks the welcome of the wife he's greatly missed, if she will deign to let me enter her tent.”
She shook her head at him. “Of course you may enter.”
Temujin turned to his companions. “Those of you who have families here may ride to them now. The night guard will see to food and shelter for the others.” He released Bortai's hands and climbed the steps; she followed him into the tent.
They were alone, except for the slaves. The Khan went to the bed and sat down; jugs of kumiss and wine, along with white porcelain goblets, stood on a table near him. A woman went to him and set down a plate of dried meat.
“I beg your forgiveness for this meagre hospitality,” Bortai said. “If you wish to forgo sleep a while longer, I'll have a lamb killed for you.”
“This is enough,” he said. “Sit with me, wife, and tell these others to return to their beds.”
She murmured to the women; they retired to the eastern side of the tent. Bortai settled herself on a cushion by the bed. “What a reunion,” she muttered. “You might have arrived in a more dignified manner. When I first heard the shouts, I almost thought an enemy was upon us.”
“Now you sound more like the Bortai I remember.” He sprinkled a blessing, drank, then handed her a goblet. “You mustn't chide me for responding to your message.”
“And you replied by saying you'd return at your pleasure. After waiting all winter and much of the spring, another few days wouldn't have mattered.”
“The more I thought about it, the more I disliked the prospect of greeting you with the harness of protocol restraining me.”
“You act like a boy.” She looked up at him; his hand rested on her shoulder for a moment.
“I have missed you, Bortai.” In the shadows of the tent, he looked younger. She could still imagine him as he had been, and perhaps that was how he saw her.
“You look well,” she said. “I see that Khulan's cared for you properly. I look forward to seeing her again—I hope she's more talkative than she was. I'm told her son and his Uighur bride have already given you another grandson, and—”
“Let's not speak of Khulan.” His pale eyes stared at the hearth; that flame had apparently died. There was sorrow in his voice, and a deep weariness she had not heard in him before. He could not be so troubled over a woman, even Khulan. The war must have marked him; the deaths of comrades would have left their scars.
His eyes focused on her. “What a message you sent,” he continued. “One might think that my realm was threatened on all sides.”
“I didn't say that it was threatened, only that it might be.” She poured more kumiss. “Well. I suppose you know that the Lady Yao-li Shih is travelling to meet you with a petition.”
“So I've been told.”
“I've sent word that she's to be sheltered in our camp along the Tula, since we'll be moving there soon. I think she's going to ask you to send the Liao Wang's oldest son to rule the Khitans. She's led her people well since losing her husband, and deserves your respect, especially after taking the trouble to travel to you herself. I'm told young Ye-lu Hsieh-she showed valour in your service.”
“He's a good lad,” Temujin said. “I'd hoped to keep him at my side a while longer.”
“He will be of more use to you in his father's land, and the Lady Yao can advise him. You could send your brother Belgutei with him as commander of his troops.”
“You've obviously thought about what I should do.”
“Alakha's served you well also, and I see no reason to deprive the Ongghuts of her guidance. I suggest you wed her to young Po-yao-ho, and allow them to rule there together. I've been told he also fought bravely in the west, and marriage to one of your daughters will both honour him and make those lands even more secure for us. Alakha's loved by the Ongghuts, and Temuge has informed me that she's accepted Po-yao-ho's Christian faith, which should please that young man.”
“Bortai, I'm hardly inside your tent before you're telling me what to do.”
She sniffed. “These matters must be settled, and it's time the heirs to those lands took their thrones. If they have even a portion of the wisdom your daughter and the Lady Yao have shown, they'll be good rulers.” She sipped her kumiss. “I'm only advising you, Temujin. You must decide what to do.”
“You've done well, Bortai. I couldn't have left my homelands in the care of anyone wiser.” She warmed at his praise. “I've missed my old grazing grounds,” he went on. “Maybe I'll hear the spirits once more when I ride to Burkhan Khaldun.”
He had been away too long; how could he doubt that they would speak to him? She gazed at his gnarled hands. The sage from Khitai had not brought him youth and long life, but she had not expected that he would. All the magic in the world could not save men from death; his spirit would find youth only in the next world.
She was truly an old woman if she could think such thoughts. A young person gained no solace from contemplating the final rest that awaited them all.
She said, “The spirits told me the truth in my dream.”
“Your dream?”
“The one I had before I met you, when a gyrfalcon brought me the moon and sun.”
“Ah—the dream you shared with your father.”
“You have brought me the sun and moon, Temujin.” The ghosts of her parents seemed near, as they always did whenever she thought of her early life.
“I must sleep, Bortai. Long rides tire me more than they used to.” He took off his coat and hat;
she pulled off his boots. More wars surely lay ahead, but his sons and generals could wage them while he directed them from the homeland. As he drew her to him, she prayed that he would know some peace at last.
Part Eight
Subotai said, “The waters are dried up, the most beautiful gem is shattered. Yesterday, O my Khan, you soared over your people like a falcon. Today, you have fallen from the sky ...”
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The camp along the Tula was the largest Checheg had ever seen; she would be lost amid so many camping circles. She had ridden past herds of horses and cattle for days; near the camp, the flocks of sheep looked like great clouds that had come to rest on the yellow grassland.
Beyond the eastern edge of the camp, sentries waited by two fires. The encampment rippled in the heat; the mountains bordering the valley on the north were a brown and black wall dotted with green. One of the men riding with Checheg and the other girls galloped ahead to greet the sentries.
Chosen, Checheg thought, chosen for the Khan. Every year, her Onggirat people sent such a tribute to Genghis Khan, as did all the tribes and clans of the ulus. Nine Onggirat girls had been selected this year, and she was among them when the Khan's soldiers came to claim the tribute. Her father was both chief and shaman in their small camp; a dream had told him that his daughter would be the woman of a great man. No man was greater than Genghis Khan.
Artai reined in her horse near Checheg's. “The Khan has so many women already,” the other girl murmured. “He only accepts us because it would be insulting to refuse us.”
“But he decreed that the most beautiful girls be given to him,” Checheg whispered back.
“He could hardly take back that decree now. People might wonder if he's still able to join with a woman if he did.”
Checheg shook her head at Artai; the soldiers might hear her. Better to be the Great Khan's woman, even among so many others, than to be the wife of a young soldier or chief.
Yet the sight of the camp dampened her spirits a little. There would be so many girls here, Merkits, Kereits, and Naimans, girls from Khitai, girls from northern forests, western lands, and the oases to the south. The Khan was not even in this camp now, having gone north to the mountain of Burkhan Khaldun. He was, rumour had it, still grieving for his old comrade Jebe Noyan, who had recently died. Others spoke of a campaign against Hsi-Hsia. The Khan had been camped by the Tula only since the beginning of summer, but some said he might ride with his army against the Tanguts. It might be some time before the Khan favoured her.
Checheg drew herself up. The spirits had spoken to her father; they would show her the way to the Khan's side.
After the girls and their escorts had passed between the fires, they were guided to a circle of tents at the northern end of the camp. In the evening light, Checheg could see a row of great tents, each of them surrounded by smaller tents and hundreds of wagons. The small yurts were black, the large tents golden in the dusky light. A tugh of nine yak-tails, the Khan's standard, fluttered in front of the largest tent.
An old woman greeted them, told them her name was Kerulu, then led them to one of the yurts. Small wooden beds with felt cushions stood on the tent's eastern side; the girls set down their packs near them. Kerulu peered at each girl closely while asking her name. When they had finished a meal of curds and kumiss, and gone outside to relieve themselves, the old woman sent them to their beds.
Checheg slept deeply, tired from the journey. When she awoke, old Kerulu was sitting by the hearth. Her wrinkled face sagged with weariness; Checheg suspected that she had been watching over the girls during the night.
“Take off your shifts,” Kerulu said as two other women entered the yurt. The girls giggled and blushed as the women checked their teeth, sniffed at their breath, prodded them, and poked fingers between their legs to confirm that they were maidens. “Your breath is sour,” the old woman said to one girl. “This one here tosses in her sleep, and the one next to her is a bit too tall, while this little one doesn't seem as strong as the others.” She scowled at the girl standing next to Checheg. “And you, dear child, have a very faint snore.”
The women murmured among themselves as the girls pulled on their clothes. When they were dressed, the five Kerulu had singled out were told to pick up their packs; the other two women led them outside.
“Where are they going?” Artai asked.
“They'll be taken to other camps,” Kerulu replied, “and be given to men the Great Khan esteems. Lovely as they are, only the most perfect girls are kept here. You are fortunate, young ones. Many girls await the Khan's summons in other camps while they tend the flocks and herds of minor wives. Many are never sent to one of the Khatuns to serve in her household. You will have the honour of living in the ordu of Bortai Khatun, and you have just passed your first test.”
Checheg supposed that the second test might be how they conducted themselves during the morning meal. She was careful to sit in a respectful posture, one knee raised, the other folded under her, and sipped her broth, trying not to seem either too gluttonous or too dainty of appetite.
They had rinsed out their cups when a guard called out beyond the door; Khadagan Ujin, one of the Khan's minor wives, wished to enter. Checheg longed to go outside and urinate, but said nothing; a weak bladder would surely be a mark against her.
Khadagan Ujin's plumed head-dress was so tall that she had to stoop to pass through the entrance. The girls knelt as Kerulu bowed. The Ujin carried a walking-stick, and the body under her pleated cotton robe was slender for an old woman, but her narrow face could never have been beautiful.
“I greet you, Ujin,” Kerulu said. “Five of the Onggirat maidens were found lacking, but these four are all they should be. Their bodies are well formed, their teeth strong, their braids thick, their breath sweet when they wake, and they won't disturb the Great Khan's sleep with any restlessness.”
Khadagan Ujin turned towards them. “Honour is yours, young maidens,” she said. “You will perform what tasks you are given, and Kerulu-eke will dwell with you. If you're fortunate, you may soon be summoned to wait upon Bortai Khatun in her tent. If you're very fortunate, you may catch the eye of the Khan, and please him enough for him to give you to one of his sons or Noyans. And if you have the greatest luck any woman can have, the Khan may take you to his bed.”
The Ujin frowned. “I'm sure that you're virtuous girls,” she continued, “but this must be said. Don't dream of enticing some young man who catches your fancy. The Khan is very jealous of his possessions.”
Checheg could not restrain a sigh. Khadagan glanced at her. “Is there something you wish to say?”
“Only this, Honoured Lady,” Checheg replied. “I don't know how a girl who's been given to the greatest of all men could ever dream of love with a lesser one.”
“Don't raise your hopes too high, child.” The Ujin's small eyes were gentle. “You're the most favoured of maidens, but the Khan has many flocks. Those whom the Khan favours are often only the bedfellows of a night, and others kept their maidenheads for some time before their master honoured them with his love.”
Checheg refused to be discouraged. Bortai Khatun was an Onggirat. Perhaps the Khan was fated to fall in love with another Onggirat maiden. The spirits had spoken to her father; she would surely be singled out.
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Bortai glanced at her husband. He was still sitting in front of the bed, as he had been since the departure of his guests. The Khan had said little during the evening meal, and had ignored the Onggirat girls she had summoned there to wait on them.
He was angry; she saw that in his eyes. Perhaps that was better than being in the grip of the darker spirit that had haunted him since Jebe's death. Jebe had gone suddenly, collapsing outside the tent of one of his wives. The man Temujin had called his Arrow had flown far to the west, only to fall to earth here.
Bortai had not believed a man could mourn so deeply; even Subotai, who had grown close to Jebe during their long ride west, had not gri
eved as much. “You don't understand,” Temujin had said to her after returning from Burkhan Khaldun. “Jebe is no more.” The agony in his voice had frightened her; Bortai had feared he might give up his own spirit.
Now he stewed in a silent rage, gulping kumiss and staring at the hearth. There would be war, but she had expected that. The Tangut King had promised Temujin a hostage and a truce, but no hostage had arrived and none would be sent. The Khan's envoy had returned from Hsi-Hsia with that message, and Temujin had also learned that the Tanguts were treating with the King of Gold, trying to secure the aid of the Kin armies. Before he could finally crush the Kin, he would have to strike at the Tanguts, and quickly.
He had sworn to avenge himself on Hsi-Hsia, and the time of vengeance had arrived. The spirits had brought this about, so that her husband would be forced to keep his promise.
“There must be a war kuriltai,” he said at last, “and before the great hunt.”
“Of course,” Bortai said. “I suppose you always knew this war would come.”
“I knew. I couldn't have trusted the Tanguts again even if their King had kept his promise. They'll pay.”
“Your generals are invincible,” she said. “They'll bring you the head of the Tangut King.”
He turned to her as she sat down next to him. “I mean to take it myself. I've decided to lead my men against Hsi-Hsia. Chagadai will stay with you, and you will advise him.”
Bortai stiffened. “Temujin, I beg you not to go.”
His eyes narrowed. “And have my enemies call me a coward?”
“No man can call you that. You've shown your courage. Your generals and your sons can fight for you now.”
“I never expected to hear such advice from you, Bortai. Would you have me behave like a feeble old man?”
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 71