‘Get the silver packed up, general. I will send scouts back to the camp to let them know they are on their own for a while longer. Have your men find a good place for us to stand and face these Sung. We will walk over them all.’
Bayar grinned, seeing the fire kindle in Kublai once again.
Chabi was outside her ger as Kublai came riding in. She put down the goatskins she had been cutting and sewing when she saw him. Zhenjin spotted his father at the same moment and darted to the wall of the ger, where he had placed a stool. As Kublai reined in and dismounted, his son climbed onto the felt roof and clung precariously over the door. All around them, women were gathering for news. They would not interrupt the khan’s brother, but Chabi knew they would press in with questions the moment he left.
‘Another army on the way,’ Kublai said. He was panting slightly as she handed him a skin of airag and he took a long pull at it. ‘I need to change clothes and it’s time to break camp.’
‘There’s a threat to us?’ Chabi asked, trying to remain calm. Kublai shook his head.
‘Not so far, but if the tumans have to move fast, I don’t want to leave you vulnerable. I must keep the families in range.’
Chabi looked up as a ger suddenly collapsed nearby, going from a home to spars and felt rolls in an instant. Kublai had not come in alone and she could hear shouts all over the camp as it went from peaceful stillness to rapid dismantling. Everything was designed to be moved quickly and she had servants for the task. She saw two of them coming with reins and harness over their shoulders for the ox-cart.
‘Come down, Zhenjin,’ Kublai called to his son. He knew the boy had been waiting to jump on him as he passed, but there was no time for games. Zhenjin scowled at him, but clambered down.
‘You look worried,’ Chabi said softly.
Kublai shrugged and smiled at her.
‘We have better men, but the numbers, Chabi! If the Sung lords band together, they can put an army in the field that makes mine look like a raiding group.’
‘They don’t have anyone like you,’ she said. He nodded.
‘There is that,’ he replied with a smile. ‘I am an unusual man.’
Chabi could sense his distraction as Kublai’s gaze flickered around the camp, taking in every detail.
‘You don’t have to worry about us,’ she said.
Kublai turned slowly, trying to listen to his wife at the same time as solving some other problem and failing at both.
‘Hmm?’
‘We are not defenceless, Kublai. There are, what, three hundred thousand in the camp? It’s a city, Kublai, and everyone is armed.’ She drew a long blade from her belt. ‘Including me. There must be enough maimed men to make a few tumans more. Many of them can still ride or use a bow.’
Kublai dragged his attention back to his wife. He saw she was trying to ease his mind and stifled his irritable impulse to describe the savage terror of an attack on a camp. It would do no good to make her afraid. Thousands of lives rested on his ability to protect them. Words and promises meant nothing in the face of such a burden. In the end, he just nodded and she seemed relieved.
‘There’s cold mutton and some spring onions in the pot. I’ll cut you some slices. I have flatbread you can use to wrap it and eat it as you go.’
‘And garlic,’ he said.
‘I’ll get it, while you talk to your son. He’s been waiting to jump on you for three days. A man can’t ride past the ger without him scampering up the roof to be ready.’
Kublai sighed.
‘Zhenjin! Come out here.’
The boy reappeared, still sulking. Kublai gestured at the ger.
‘Go on then, I don’t have long.’
Chabi snorted with laughter as Zhenjin’s face lit up. The boy scrambled up the felt wall and once again waited like a spider above the door.
‘I thought I could see my son,’ Kublai said. ‘Perhaps he is inside.’ He ducked to enter and Zhenjin leapt at him, his weight sending Kublai staggering backwards as Kublai roared in mock surprise. After a moment, he let the boy down to the ground.
‘That’s enough now. Help your mother and the servants. We’re moving camp.’
‘Can I come with you?’ Zhenjin asked.
‘Not this time. When you’re older, I promise.’
‘I’m older now.’
‘That’s true, but older still.’
Zhenjin began to complain in a high voice as Chabi came out with two wrapped packages of food. In the time since his arrival, hundreds of gers had come down and been loaded onto carts, as far as they could see in any direction.
‘You will beat them all, Kublai. I know it. You will show your brother he was right to send you against the Sung.’ She reached up and kissed her husband on the neck.
Kublai watched in strained silence as his tumans formed up ahead of him. The Sung would seek him out wherever he chose to stand, so he picked a grassy plain overlooked by a small hill and watched the gleaming regiments crawl across the land towards his men. Every one of his warriors knew he was there, the hand that held a sword over them. They would fight well in his sight.
The sun was shining, but his mood remained sour. He could not fathom the enemy tactics. His scouts reported more than one army heading towards his main camp, but they did not join together. Each one came in as if they were not part of a greater nation. He thanked the sky father for it, even as he cursed the numbers they could bring against him.
Kublai nodded to a boy seated on a camel near him, watching as the lad raised a long brass horn to his lips and blew a wailing note. It was answered by Bayar and Uriang-Khadai, taking four tumans each and advancing on the enemy squares. Twenty thousand men remained behind as the reserve, mounted and patient as they strained their eyes into the distance. Kublai took a stone from his pocket and rubbed his thumb along the curved lines. Yao Shu had said it would relax him.
His generals split up to ride along the flanks of the Sung force, finding the perfect distance just outside the range of crossbows. As Kublai watched, a sudden blur of shafts crossed the open air between the forces, like a cloud shadow moving across the open land.
The first arrows were followed by crushing volleys, loosed every six or eight heartbeats. The Sung foot soldiers compressed as their flanks jerked inwards. The pace slowed and they left a trail of screaming men and the dead as they marched. They could not answer the tumans and Kublai clenched his fists as he saw sword regiments try to push through the terrible thorns that came punching into their shields and armour. Uriang-Khadai drew back as they charged, but the arrow-storm didn’t falter and the rush of swordsmen collapsed. The orlok’s tumans came back into a straight firing line.
Kublai waited, his heart thumping. The last few shafts soared into the Chin and almost before the final one had landed, they were kicking their mounts into a gallop. Lances came down, but the Sung lowered their pikes and jammed the butts into the ground. The tumans hit like closing jaws, mirrored in Bayar’s men on the other flank. Kublai shook his head at the thought of men and horses running onto the vicious metal weapons, but there seemed to be no hesitation. They were close enough by then for him to see bright red slashes as horses and men were impaled.
‘Send in the reserve,’ he said clearly.
The drummer boy was staring at the battle with his mouth open and Kublai had to repeat the order before he raised his horn once again. Two more tumans began to trot and then canter towards the enemy. The lances worked well against the pikes bristling along the Sung front line, but Kublai had to struggle not to flinch in anticipation. He did not envy his men at that moment.
From the small hill, he saw the Sung regiments boxed in, still held on the flanks as their forward progress was halted by the new attack. He could not see as far as their rear, but he hoped some of them would be streaming away in terror.
He looked round at the sound of horses and his eyes widened. Some forty horsemen came galloping out of the woods at the bottom of the hill. He could see the heads
of the animals lunging as they thundered up the gentle rise.
His guards were not idle. Before Kublai could give the order, all twenty of them were racing to meet the threat, galloping down the slope with bows bending as they went. Kublai jerked around in the saddle, looking for other threats. The battle went on ahead of him, barely eight hundred paces from his position, but he was suddenly alone with the drummer boy, who had gone as white as new felt. Kublai drew his sword, furious with himself for not scouting the copse. Humiliation burned in him as he thought of his confidence that morning, picking the best spot to secure a good view. Some Sung officer had guessed where he would stand and hidden men to wait for the right moment. Kublai flushed to have been out-thought in such a way. He saw the first arrows soar, many of them caught on shields by the Sung horsemen. Even so, three of the horses fell in a spasm of kicking hooves, whinnying in pain.
The Mongol guards heaved back again, sending more of the Sung crashing down. They had left it late and barely had time to throw down the bows and draw swords before they were together, their speed combining so that men and animals crunched and fell stunned or dead. Kublai could hear high screams and fresh sweat broke out on him. He glanced at the battle still going on, but there was no signal to call reinforcements to his own position.
Barely a hundred paces along the slope, his guards were fighting like maniacs to stop the enemy getting closer. Kublai swallowed, feeling a heaviness in his limbs. It was fear, he realised. The Sung commander would have sent the best he had for such a task. They did not expect to live through it, but they would reach him.
His guards were swordsmen and archers from boyhood and they did not fall easily. Kublai stared as five of the enemy broke around his men and kicked their mounts on. Their swords were bloody and they yelled at the sight of him on his horse, with just one camel boy.
One of the guards threw his sword with vicious strength. It plunged into a Sung back, making the man cry out in agony. He fell with his arms tight in the reins, bringing the mount down with him. Kublai saw the guard cut down, suddenly defenceless. He had given his life by the act, but it would not be enough. Four Sung horsemen reached the crest and accelerated, holding their blades ready for the strike that would take his head. Kublai watched them, terror making him numb. He could not run. Some part of him knew his best chance of survival was to gallop away from them, but he would never recover from it. Cowardice was the least forgivable sin and if he ran he knew he would never command tumans again.
Some of his guards were still struggling with the enemy below, but two of them had seen the threat to him and cut their way free. Kublai saw them surging up the hill after the four enemy soldiers. He could feel every heartbeat as his mind worked clearly, assessing the chances. He shook his head, seeing his own death in the men who were coming for him. He raised his sword and the fear suddenly vanished, leaving him almost dizzy. He breathed again, aware only then that he had been holding it. It was almost a moment of joy to have the crippling terror leave him. He could move and the sound of the battle came back to him as his senses woke.
The four horsemen bore down on him and the drummer boy suddenly moved, yelling and digging in his heels. The camel lurched forward with a groaning bray of sound, directly into the path of the enemy. With a thump, the man in the lead struck the shaggy side of the animal and went flying over the boy. His horse smashed the camel to its knees and it bellowed, stretching its neck as it fell.
The men on Kublai’s left yanked their reins savagely, cursing as they missed the chance to strike. Kublai faced only one and his arm moved without thought to meet the blade he saw as a grey blur coming at his face. There was a clang as the man galloped past and Kublai felt the shock of it ripple up into his shoulder. Whoever the man was, he kept control of his snorting mount, reining in fast and turning to hack down in a wild blow. Kublai met it calmly. He was strong and his senses were all burning, giving him speed. It was not a conscious decision to counter, but his body moved from thousands of hours of training. As soon as the blades touched, he knew instinctively to slide the blade into a straight lunge. The Sung soldier jerked as the tip of Kublai’s blade sank into his throat and snagged on the cartilage. Blood sprayed and Kublai blinked through the sting.
The camel lurched to its feet with an unearthly noise, kicking out in panic and making Kublai’s horse skitter sideways. Another of the riders came in as the first slumped and slid away. Kublai felt his confidence swell as he turned a lunge to the side and reached out as Yao Shu had once taught him, half-opening his sword hand to grab the man’s sleeve and yank him off balance.
His horse moved at the wrong moment then, walking backwards as Kublai pulled. Instead of landing a punch on the exposed chin as the soldier’s head came forward, Kublai could only hang on and pull the man free of his saddle. He saw the man’s foot caught in a stirrup and as Kublai let go, the leg twisted and snapped. The soldier screamed and flailed as he hung helplessly with his head close to the ground, every movement wrenching the splintered bone.
Kublai grunted in pain as something striped his arm and he turned to see the one who had struck the camel’s shaggy side raising his sword for another blow. The man’s face was a bloody mess from hitting the ground and he staggered as he drew back. Kublai took his feet from the stirrups and kicked out, hitting the man in the jaw. As he moved, he felt a thump across his chest armour as someone strained to reach him. Kublai reeled in the saddle, swinging his sword desperately. He had a glimpse of his attacker snatched away as someone on the ground dragged him down and Kublai stared as one of his guards smashed savagely with his boots, over and over until the man’s ribs gave way.
Panting as if he had run for miles, Kublai met the eyes of the guard. The man nodded to him, not as a warrior to his officer, but as two men who had just survived a fight. Kublai blew air out slowly, looking around him. The Sung were all dead, but just four of his guards were still on their feet. Three of them stalked among the bodies down the hill, bringing their swords down in sharp blows at the slightest movement of wounded men. They were still raging and Kublai was alone with the last one standing, the man who had saved him.
The camel bellowed again in pain and Kublai saw its leg was broken, hanging as if only stretching skin kept it attached. His mind cleared and he looked around for the drummer boy who had thrown himself at the attackers. Kublai closed his eyes for a moment as he saw a sprawled figure on the ground. He dismounted, growling as his bruises made themselves known. The cut on his arm would have to be stitched. He could feel something dripping from his fingers and he raised his hand in surprise to look. There should have been more pain to produce so much bright red blood.
The boy had been knocked senseless, a large lump visible on his forehead. Kublai opened one of his eyes with a rough thumb and saw it twitch at the light. He was about to speak when he froze and remembered the battle he was meant to be commanding. His legs and back protested as he stood again. He did not try to mount, instead shading his eyes as he stared out.
The Sung had broken. Thousands of them stood in dejected silence, holding their hands up to show they had laid down their weapons. Many of them had already been bound and knelt with their head down in exhaustion. In the distance, a few were racing away from the bloody field, hunted down in twos or threes by Mongol warriors. Kublai let go of his held breath, desperately relieved. The boy groaned and Kublai went back to him as he stirred.
‘What is your name?’ Kublai asked. He should have known it, but his mind felt thick and slow.
‘Beran, my lord,’ the boy replied, his voice weak. One of his eyes was red as blood seeped into it, but he would live.
‘Your bravery saved me. I will not forget it. When you are old enough, come to me and I will give you command of a hundred men.’
The boy blinked through his pain and a smile began to spread before he turned to one side and vomited onto the grass.
Kublai helped him up and watched as Beran staggered to the camel, the boy’s swollen face dis
traught at what he saw.
‘I will find you another mount, lad. That one is finished.’
The boy winced, though he understood. For a moment, Kublai met the gaze of the guard standing near him, the man’s expression somehow out of place. He too had been battered in the fight and Kublai could hardly find words to express his thanks. He wanted to reward him, but at the same time, the man had done nothing more than his duty.
‘Come and find me tonight, in my ger,’ Kublai said. ‘I think I have a sword you’ll like. Something to remember our little fight on the hill.’
The guard grinned at him, revealing a bloody mouth and more than one missing tooth.
‘Thank you, my lord. With your permission, I’d like to take my son back to his mother. She’ll be worrying.’
Kublai nodded stiffly, his mouth slightly open in surprise as the guard tapped the staggering drummer boy on the shoulder and walked him away down the hill. He could not help wonder if the man would have fought with such berserk energy if he had not seen his son knocked down, but it did not matter. Alone, Kublai sagged against the flank of his horse. He had survived. His hands began to shake and he held them up, seeing the sword calluses that ridged each finger of his bloody right hand. They were no longer ink-stained. For the first time, Kublai felt truly comfortable in the armour that had certainly saved his life. He began to laugh as he leaned against his mount, reaching out to rub its muzzle and leaving a bright smear of blood that the animal licked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Xuan, Son of Heaven and heir to the Chin empire, looked over the glassy surface of Hangzhou lake and listened to his children laughing as they splashed one another in the sun. He could see the ripples they made in the shallows spreading out over the deeper water, where a boatman fished for trout and stared too obviously in the direction of the Chin emperor’s family. Xuan sighed to himself. It was unlikely so lowly a man was a spy for the Sung court, but you never knew. In his years of peaceful captivity, Xuan had learned to trust no one outside his wife and children. There was always someone watching and reporting his every word and action. He had thought once that he would grow used to it in time, but in fact the opposite was true. Whenever he felt eyes on him, it was like already tender skin being prodded again and again until he wanted to rail and shout at them. He had done so once and the unlucky scribe who had made him angry had been quietly removed from his post, only to be replaced by another before the day was out. There was no true privacy. Xuan had come into Sung lands to escape a Mongol army and they had never been quite sure what to do with him. He was a cousin of the Sung emperor by blood and had to be treated with respect. At the same time, the twin branches of the family had not been friends or allies for centuries, and more importantly, he had lost his lands, his wealth and power - a sure sign that bad luck stalked his house. The truth was that luck had played a very small part in the tragedies he had known. The armies of Genghis had taken Yenking, his capital city. Xuan had been betrayed by his own generals and forced to kneel to the khan. Even decades later, the memories stirred restlessly beneath the calm face he showed the world. Yenking had burned, but the wolves of Genghis had still hunted him, relentless and savage. He had spent his youth running from them, city by city, year by year. The sons and brothers of Genghis had torn his lands apart until the only safe place was across the Sung border. It had been the worst of all choices, but the only one left to him.
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