The Earth Is the Lord's

by Caldwell, Taylor;

  “Thou fool!” exclaimed Temujin, but even then he could smile at his anda.

  He pulled on his reins, and his horse reared on his hind legs, swung about. Temujin balanced his lance in his hand, and Jamuga fitted an arrow to his bow. They stood against the blue sky, ready and unmoved.

  The Taijiut, surprised at this unexpected stand, reined in their horses and slowed their speed. But Targoutai, who wished only to kill Temujin, came on, thinking his men still at his heels. Temujin narrowed his eyes, lifted his lance, measured the narrowing distance between himself and his old enemy. Targoutai came on like an avenging shadow, racing over the green grass. And then Temujin lifted his lance, pointed it, and let it fly forward with all the power of his young strength behind it. A second later it buried its head in Targoutai’s thigh, and another second later, Jamuga’s arrow had hurled itself into the neck of Targoutai’s horse.

  The horse, with a scream of agony, reared upwards, and Targoutai, with a shriek of pain, grasped futilely at the reins, fell backwards, and rolled off the horse, crashing heavily on the ground. The horse lost his balance and fell also, his shoulder striking Targoutai in the belly. The horsemen, coming up at an accelerated pace, swerved, but two of them stumbled over the fallen man and his horse, and were flung headlong. The air was filled with the cries of men and horses.

  “Come!” said Temujin, and again he and Jamuga fled. The fear of death spurred them on, and they struck at their horses viciously. They galloped at a furious speed, leaning forward and standing in their stirrups, not caring about direction but only hoping to outrun their enemies. And their horses, imbued with their own terror, forgot their weariness and raced onwards, bellies almost level with the grass.

  Temujin glanced back over his shoulder. What he saw made him laugh with exultation. For the Taijiut had fallen far behind. Only three were following now, and without much enthusiasm, swinging their lariats half-heartedly, and pursuing the two young men with hoarse threats. Only a short time later Temujin had lost his pursuers. He and Jamuga were running now over the lower level of the valley towards the incandescent white peak, the mountain Burkan.

  Temujin fixed his eyes steadily on the peak. There lay comparative safety for a time at least. The horses were panting; their hides were covered with foam. But still they spurred them on, anxiously scanning the sky, hoping for the swift twilight of the steppes.

  It came, a purple curtain dropping over the earth. Now the white peak had turned to a glowing rose against the amethyst sky. The wind mounted to a deep and thundering sound like the voice of a tremendous drum. Over the mountain appeared the tremulous face of the moon, brightening momentarily. They were alone on the earth, slackening their pace. The horses panted heavily. To rest them for a while, the young men dismounted, and led them by the bridles.

  The ground was no longer grassy, but broken by boulders and low stones. And then the earth dipped and rose in steep hollows. In the shelter of a shelf of mingled earth and stone, the two young men stopped for the night, not daring to build a fire though the air had become as cold as ice. They wrapped themselves in their cloaks, huddled together under their blankets. And instantly, they were asleep from exhaustion, even Jamuga whose mind was always a battlefield for distressful thoughts. Above them towered the mountain Burkan, like a gigantic protection, black and silver against the milky heavens.

  The dawn came, all pearl and blue and gold. Temujin said: “The mountain hath saved my life. Unto the end of my days I shall make sacrifice here, and command my children to the least one to do it also, in my name.”

  He folded his arms on his breast, and bowed deeply, three times, before the mountain, which the morning had turned to white flame. And then he bowed to the sun, and called upon the eternal Blue Sky to guard him forevermore.

  A little later, having drunk of a cold mountain stream and swallowed a handful of dried millet, they circled about and cautiously began the journey homeward, avoiding as much as possible any open stretches of land during the day, and riding across them only at night.

  It took them several days to reach the little river Tungel again, and the Mongol camp. And there, to their great joy, they discovered that Belgutei and the others had been found, and had returned.

  Kurelen was out of danger, now, and listened with eager attention to Temujin’s account of his flight from the Taijiut, and that night the Shaman, after a short hint from Temujin, made sacrifice to the Blue Sky because of the young khan’s escape.

  Two nights later Chepe Noyon arrived, triumphant, and followed by a large and formidable detachment of Karait warriors, sent to aid Temujin, by Toghrul Khan.

  Chapter 7

  Kurelen, watching the exhaustless activity of Temujin, as he exhorted his own warriors and the Karait upon their conduct of the proposed raid on the Merkit, and oversaw every detail of the complicated plan, marvelled. He knew that this was to be something more than an avenging raid, and dimly, he began to perceive what it was. For Temujin was giving orders that only those among the Merkit who resisted were to be killed. Captives were to be seized, and the whole ordu of the Merkit, if possible, was to be taken intact. He was particularly insistent that the women of the Merkit be spared, and all the young children, and the warriors, especially, were merely to be disarmed and subdued. He added, with some irony, that the Shaman was not to be harmed, nor the old fathers of families.

  He did not mention his young wife, Bortei, and somewhat curious, Kurelen summoned his nephew to his yurt. It was most extraordinary, he said, that Temujin apparently sought no bloodthirsty revenge for the rape of his bride and the murder and captivity of so many of his people. Perhaps, he suggested, with a malicious look, Temujin’s heart had become soft; or again, perhaps he was indifferent to Bortei, who might think him a poor creature for not avenging her humiliation.

  Then Temujin said the thing which was to be repeated for countless ages:

  “Men are more than revenge, and unity more than personal desire.”

  Kurelen bit a fingernail meditatively, and smiled a little.

  “It is nothing to thee that thy wife, then, hath been raped by a Merkit, and mayhap become the mother of his child?”

  Temujin’s dark face paled, but he replied quietly:

  “I have said that there are things greater than a woman, and more portentous than one man’s heart.”

  “Brave words,” remarked Kurelen, with cynical reflectiveness. “It would seem thou hast no human passions, and instead, art the coldest of realists.”

  “What I have to do hath no place in it for human passions, which are insignificant.”

  “What dost thou desire?” asked Kurelen, curiously.

  Temujin smiled briefly. “The world,” he answered, and went away.

  Alone, Kurelen burst into laughter. “The world!” he exclaimed. “Young fool! And yet, I do believe he will have it!”

  He went to the door of his yurt, leaning on the shoulder of Chassa. He peered out. Temujin was mounted on his white stallion with Kasar, Jamuga, Chepe Noyon, Belgutei, and Subodai about him. Behind him, on fresh horses, sat the remnant of his warriors, and behind them, the dark-faced inscrutable warriors of the Karait, who watched Temujin with wary curiosity and interest. He had already convinced them of his courage, intelligence and resolution, and these, combined with the commands of Toghrul Khan, had persuaded them to follow and obey him to the end.

  Temujin sat there on his horse, the red sunlight of evening like an aura of flame about him. His stallion kept throwing up his white-maned head, and pawing the ground and wheeling. But Temujin’s voice, as he gave his final commands, was quiet and penetrating. Even the dogs, as though understanding something momentous was afoot, merely sniffed at the heels of the horde. And above them the evening sky blazed in august conflagration, and from this Temujin’s vivid hair caught a fiery reflection.

  Then he lifted his lance, wheeled, and plunged away. With hoarse shouts and exultant cries the horde followed, riding in close formation. The ground trembled under
their going. They rode into the sunset, blackly silhouetted against it, raising crimson clouds of dust behind them.

  Kurelen dropped the flap of his yurt, and turned away with a strange smile. He laid his hand against Chassa’s cheek.

  “Dost thou know, Chassa, that thou hast seen the beginning of the convulsion of the earth?” And then: “Laugh at me, Chassa, for a foolish old cripple, who doth babble insanities. And yet, even while thou dost laugh, know thou that I have spoken the truth.”

  The moon rose, flooding earth and heaven with silver light. Now Temujin and his horde rode as silently as possible, only the jingling of their harness to be heard, and the soft pounding of the horses’ hoofs. No one spoke. They moved drifting, under the moon, straight and wary and ready, their lances in their hands, their shadows gliding with them. They wound through narrow passes between looming and overhanging cliffs, descended into craters, rose on terraces. When the moon was at its highest they rounded the flank of a smooth hill, and saw below them the campfires and luminous smoke of the Merkit camp.

  Temujin reined in his horse, and carefully studied the situation of the camp, which was very large, consisting of over five thousand souls. The black yurts crowded together in a vast circle, the fires in the center. They could hear the disturbed lowing of herds, and could hear faint sounds of laughter and music. And now the dogs, scenting their presence, began to howl.

  “Come!” said Temujin. He lifted his lance, and shouted menacingly, and the horde took up the shouts. The horses shrilled, threw up their heads. And then, like a vengeance, the horde rode down to the camp in a surge of noise and shouts and clattering hoofs.

  The Merkit had not expected this, certainly not that Temujin would come, greatly reinforced. They were caught unprepared. They had scarcely time to glance up and to perceive this mighty battalion of fierce warriors, when it had broken like a wave into the camp. The warriors ran to their yurts to seize their weapons, but the enemy blocked them, striking at them with whips, pinioning them with lariats, riding them down with their horses. Those who resisted were run through, and these were many, for the dour Merkit were valorous fighters, and did not surrender easily. The screaming of horses, the shrieking of women and children, the shouts and calls of men, the barking of dogs and the plunging of the herds, filled the moonlit night with confusion and uproar.

  Temujin, fighting off defenders, kicking at them from his stallion, slashing at them with his sword, fought a way through the disordered throngs. He rode through the village of the yurts, calling desperately for his wife. And now he was no longer an avenging warrior, but a husband searching for his bride.

  “Bortei!” he called. “Bortei, my beloved, it is I, Temujin!”

  Some one reached up and seized his reins, swung from them. He lifted his fist to strike this creature down, when he saw it was Bortei, herself. With a cry of joy he reached forth his arm, seized her about the waist, and swung her up before him. She wound her arms about his neck, leaned against his bosom, and wept.

  “My husband! My husband! Thou hast come at last!”

  Her hair covered his face; her weight was sweet and precious against him. He could, even in those moments of wild confusion and death and struggle, fasten his mouth down upon hers, hold her tightly in his arms, and comfort her.

  “Didst thou doubt I would come, beloved?”

  In the meantime his warriors had rapidly subdued the Merkit. They were driving them before them with whips, men and women and children, raiding the yurts and dragging forth the terrified occupants. And then when all had been herded into an open place, the horde mounted about them, Temujin rode up with Bortei and addressed them.

  His voice was mild and firm:

  “Look ye, Merkit, I have not come solely for vengeance, though he who hath taken my wife shall die, and that as terribly as possible.

  “But I have come to ye as a friend and as a conqueror. Henceforth ye shall be my vassals and my people, and I, your lord. Hasten, then, and yoke your oxen to your yurts, and follow me.”

  He looked down at the white and contorted faces, and smiled. Silence answered him. He saw only strange and obstinate looks and tears. But he was satisfied.

  At dawn he rode back to his own ordu, the thousands of captives and his warriors behind him, and behind them, the fat herds and the many horses. Behind him trundled the hundreds of yurts, filled with weeping women and children. But the warriors of the Merkit rode dourly and darkly, looking about them with fierce glances.

  That night the man who had raped Bortei was slowly and methodically burned to death, with appropriate ceremonies.

  Chapter 8

  Temujin, victorious, had acquired his first vassals. But if he felt exultation, this was not evident in his calm and inscrutable bearing, his strong quiet voice, his controlled movements. The banner of the nine yaktails stood outside his yurt, triumphantly. But no one knew what he thought.

  He well knew the uses of terror. So he called the Shaman to him.

  Kokchu came at once, subservient and subtle. When he looked at Temujin his eyes were full of malicious respect. But his voice was humble when he bowed before the young lord, who lolled indolently on his couch with his young wife beside him. Temujin played with her long dark locks as he stared at the Shaman.

  “Kokchu, today I shall have a great feast celebrating my first victory. And after that feast thou shalt talk to my people. Thou shalt tell them of a vision thou didst have last night.”

  The Shaman bowed low again. “And what was that vision, lord?” he asked softly, only the faintest note of irony in his tones.

  Temujin smiled. “That I was born to be lord of the Gobi, and that he who followeth me followeth me to glory and victory and much riches. And that he who faileth me shall die horribly and without mercy, and that the spirits of the Blue Sky shall eternally damn him.”

  Kokchu smiled in answer. “But I have already told the people this.”

  “Tell them again! Terror must be their familiar. Terror of me, my glance, my voice, my hand. Invoke the spirits.”

  Kokchu’s subtle eyes glinted. “Better still, I shall have the lord of the spirits descend to earth and tell them, himself.”

  He glanced at Bortei, who was smiling, and bowed in her direction. When he had gone, Temujin burst into laughter.

  “Verily, the man who hath the priests on his side is a man whom none dare resist!”

  He kissed Bortei passionately, and she returned his kisses. But between them there was a wedge of darkness. A moon had waxed full, and had waned, and had gone, and Bortei knew she was with child. And Temujin knew. But neither could know if this child was Temujin’s. It was not a matter of extreme moment to him, Temujin persuaded himself. For the Mongols loved and valued children as evidences of tribal power, and children were, with the herds, the first prizes of warfare. Men, as Temujin often said, were more valuable than chests of gold. Still, when he held Bortei in his arms, and knew that another man had held her like this in the black hot intimacy of the night, his heart rose like a searing flame and burned all his flesh. But in the day the matter became one of insignificance. He loved Bortei. She amused and thrilled him, and he was delighted with her shrewd wit and intelligence, and the beauty of her young body. He was more influenced by her than he knew, for his susceptibility to women was enormous.

  And Bortei, who was extremely wise, held down her disappointed bitterness and knew she must wait. She hoped, before her seizure by the Merkit, that a child would cement her hold upon Temujin, and he would henceforth be more easily guided. But now this child would come under a cloud. She knew she must wait for another child, incontestably Temujin’s. In the meantime, she must prepare the way she meant him to go very delicately and subtly, and without too much pressure.

  Her lust for Subodai had increased, rather than decreased. She had won his respect and admiration with her devotion to Temujin. Often, when he came into Temujin’s yurt, and found her with her husband, he would look at her gently with his beautiful tranquil eyes,
and often he would be amused at her wit, and laugh with innocent heartiness.

  She had need of much consolation and courage, for Houlun, who had not forgiven Temujin the murder of Bektor, and his subsequent insulting remark to her, did all she could to discipline the young wife harshly and make her life hard. Here was a younger woman who must bow before her, and give her honor and respect, and she exercised her privilege with unremitting sternness and coldness. It was as though she was avenging herself for all her humiliations and despairs and griefs. It was not until it was definitely established that Bortei was to bear a child that Houlun laid aside her actual whip, and refrained from striking the girl as was her custom when she displeased her.

  Beneath the glittering surface of Temujin’s triumph all sorts of small dark passions writhed, unseen. But because he was not of the order of ordinary men, he stood on that glittering surface and refused to care what lay beneath. He had laid out the road he must travel, and pettinesses must not interfere.

  The feast he had ordered was a hearty and tumultuous one. The Merkit were reconciled to their new lord, for the law of the Gobi was the law of the survival and triumph of the fittest, a natural edict before which all men sensibly bowed. They were confident that Temujin would provide security and pastures for them. These were all they desired. If a stronger lord took them, then they would serve him with equal loyalty and simple devotion. The Karait warriors which Toghrul Khan had sent Temujin remained with him, and Toghrul dispatched their wives and children and yurts to join them. And with them he also sent a silver coffer filled with shining golden coins, and a kibitka loaded with swords and lances and shields and scimitars. And a day or two later he sent Temujin another gift: twenty of the finest brood mares and their foals, and a fat herd of sheep.

  Temujin smiled grimly on receiving these gifts. He smiled with even more grim satisfaction when a caravan passed near him, and a messenger came to him with messages of praise and offers of support from the merchants who had dispatched the caravan. And then the messenger gave Temujin another coffer, a larger one, filled with silver coins, and precious stones. Then Temujin, to show his gratitude, sent one hundred of his picked warriors to guard the caravan across the most dangerous stretches of the Gobi. Commanding them was Chepe Noyon, the artful and clever, the best of all strategists, who could be relied upon to convoy the rich caravan within sight of its destination. Subsequently, Chepe Noyon, for a long time, and with an increased horde of warriors, was assigned these tasks. And never did a caravan pass through without a rich gift for Temujin, and letters of gratitude and offers of unlimited support. Sometimes the gifts were slaves, skilled in the making of saddles and bridles, carpenters and smiths and sword-makers and weavers.