The strange choking emotion that was afflicting Jamuga rose to a mad point. Everything turned black before him for a moment. Hatred seized him by the throat, but like his rage it was an obscure hatred.
When he spoke, his voice was faint and choked:
“Thou hast forgotten that I am khan, until our lord doth return. I tell thee now, and shall tell the others, that I am to be the final voice until that time. If thou dost make such momentous decisions in the future without my permission, thou shalt suffer the same fate.”
The whispering throngs outside were struck with dumb amazement. As for Agoti, he stared at Jamuga as a man might stare at a madman. But he was not unintelligent. He recovered quickly. He said in a voice of calm dignity:
“Am I to understand that thou, Jamuga Sechen, art abrogating the laws laid down for us by the great lord, Temujin?”
A moment’s reflection might have saved Jamuga from committing his greatest folly. But he did not reflect. His heart was beating with a sensation like mortal anguish. For the first time in his life, he desired to kill. His fingers gripped the hilt of the saber until they turned white. Even the stolid Agoti was startled by his face, and retreated a step, uneasily, after his bold words.
Then Jamuga said: “Thou art so to understand.”
This was repeated outside, and struck the listeners mute with horror and excitement and glee, for they all despised him.
Agoti smiled ironically, and to conceal that smile, he bowed again.
Jamuga went on, in his choked failing voice: “The law of yesterday is not of today, or tomorrow. What hath, this man done?”
Agoti spoke in a voice of mock respect: “Lord, he hath committed treason.”
“Treason!” A pale shadow, inscrutable and dim, passed over Jamuga’s face.
“Yes, lord. He was overheard to say many times these last days that our great khan hath deserted us incontinently for some trivial reason, delaying our departure to our winter pastures, leaving us open to attack in his folly.” Agoti spoke slowly, as though relishing each word. He fixed his bland eyes upon Jamuga’s. “He also said, as though this were not bad enough, that the people should elect a new khan, who will give them orders to take us away from this place of danger at once.”
Jamuga listened. He moistened his dry and withered lips. He did not look away from Agoti. His eyes were the fixed glazed eyes of a blind man. Then, very slowly, he dropped his head forward, and seemed to sink into profound thought.
When he spoke his voice was like that of a man who speaks in his sleep:
“Is it treason, then, to deny a free man bold and open expression of his opinions?” He looked up sharply, and again his face was brilliant. “Nay, it is not! This man is no slave; he hath not been purchased and chained. It is an evil thing if he cannot speak as his mind doth dictate. Free him at once.”
The sardonic and heavy-lipped Agoti turned the color of old wax. He drew a sharp loud breath, and held it. He regarded Jamuga incredulously. He was unable to speak, and sweat burst out over his skin as he made the attempt. Outside, the people suddenly murmured to themselves, and their voices rose like a wind.
Seeing Agoti standing before him, rooted, his nostrils distended, Jamuga became wildly enraged. His voice became high and hysterical like a woman’s when he exclaimed:
“Art thou an imbecile? Art thou deaf? Thou hast heard me! Release Chutagi immediately, or thou shalt suffer dire consequences!”
Agoti was no longer satirical nor ironic nor amused. He was shaken to the heart. He could not orient himself. Dumfounded, he could still not move. I have not heard aright, he seemed to be saying over and over, to himself, repudiating his own ears.
Jamuga glared about him. Drops of cold dew stood out all over his pale face. His eye fell on a yak whip close to his hand, and he seized it. He swung it in the air; he brought it full across Agoti’s face; it hissed like a snake in its passage, and when it had fallen, a scarlet welt rose where it had struck.
“Now, go!” said Jamuga, hoarsely, panting. And send Chutagi to me.”
Agoti had not winced nor fallen back when the whip had struck him. He had received it full, unflinching. He stood before Jamuga, and his stature seemed to increase. He was clothed in grave dignity, and looked at the other man with pride and courage.
“Thou art the khan,” he said, quietly. Then instantly he was no longer a nokud, but a man, and his eyes blazed murderously. He bent his head in salute, wheeled, and left the yurt.
Alone in the yurt, Jamuga’s panting breath filled the ominous silence. His darting eye fell on the whip in his hand. He uttered a faint exclamation, and flung it from him with loathing. But in an instant later, he drew his lips together, and clenched his narrow hands. His breath grew more quiet; the violet pulse in his temples abated. He heard nothing from the people outside, and assumed they had gone. He did not know that they were completely shocked and stunned at what they had heard.
The flap of the yurt opened, and Agoti came in, accompanied by Chutagi. Chutagi moved like a man in a fantastic dream. He looked at Jamuga as one hypnotized. He kept blinking his eyes and wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. He was a tall man, bronzed and lean, with strong squat legs; his height was in his torso. His expression was bold and somewhat insolent, his eyes protruding with a nellicose look. Jamuga studied him in silence. Here was a man of courage and strength, who spoke his mind in the face of death, and could not be awed even by such a one as Temujin, before whom the people trembled.
Here is one, at least, who doth not adore Temujin, thought Jamuga, and even in his disordered state he was conscious of a strange acrid thrill of satisfaction. He motioned to Agoti brusquely. “Go,” he said.
Agoti hesitated. The whip had torn across his lower lip, which was swollen and bleeding, and his chin, which was broken and discolored. Then he saluted, and withdrew.
Jamuga and Chutagi regarded each other in silence. Chutagi was not afraid. He held his shoulders arrogantly. Then Jamuga was conscious of disappointment. Here was no intelligent rebel, speaking as he wished with dignity and understanding. He was only an urchin in soul, perpetually discontented, a malcontent seeking only to stir up trouble. Jamuga saw this, however, only dimly; his disappointment rose from the fact that Chutagi wore no look of gratitude and joy, respect and reverence. He regarded Jamuga with the boldness of complete impudence, and, seeing this lack of veneration, Jamuga’s anger obscurely rose again. He had expected Chutagi to kneel before him, acknowledging both his power and his mercy.
Jamuga said curtly: “I have heard that thou hast expressed disrespect for our khan, Temujin. I deplore thy foolishness and lack of discretion. We are in no position, at this time, to have our people divided, no matter what thine opinion. Nevertheless, thou hast spoken boldly, like a free man. Bold speech is never a reason for death. Go; thou art free, but mind thy silly tongue in the future.”
Chutagi stared. But his expression did not change. It merely grew a trifle bolder and more impudent. Then, incredible to Jamuga, this look was gone, and was replaced by one of uncertainty and bewilderment.
“I am free, my lord? Free to go, after my treason?”
Jamuga’s thin fury rose like the thrust of a blade once more.
“Thou fool! Hast thou heard nothing I have said?”
Chutagi was silent. He was no longer courageous and defiant. He seemed thoughtful; he brooded. Then his features wrinkled, and Jamuga, disbelieving, saw that he was about to burst into tears.
“But, lord, I urged the people to rebellion. I am guilty of treachery and disobedience. I must die. I have violated the first law of my people; I deserve punishment.”
It was Jamuga, now, who stared, as at a madman. He choked. He dared not speak for some time, lest he burst out into wild vituperation, and strike the other man down. His arms lifted, waved incoherently. Then he cried:
“Thou idiot! Get out of my sight!”
Complete bewilderment had Chutagi; he was entirely disorganized. He was like one who sees
the ground open before him, who sees the aspect of the world change into something nightmarish and appalling, wherein he is a complete and terrified stranger, and all safe and established things have vanished. Then he stumbled backwards, blinking his eyes. He almost fell out of the yurt.
Jamuga groaned over and over: “Oh, these animals! These animals!”
He buried his face in his hands; he felt mortally sick. He retched, drily.
The listening people outside gazed at each other. Each man’s face was a replica of Chutagi’s, baffled, frightened, wrinkling at the contemplation of a world that was no longer firm and secure and orderly. Then one by one they drifted away, returned to their yurts. Soon the whole city of the tents was silent and breathless, as though it mourned. The campfires died down; the women gathered together and whispered. Many caught their children to them, as if to protect them.
Jamuga, recovering a little, said to himself: It is Temujin’s fault. He hath taken the manhood from his people, and hath made them fools and beasts.
Chapter 25
Jamuga lay on his couch, but could not sleep. The whole city seemed sunken into sleep. But this was an illusion. Never had a night found it so awake. It blew with rumors. Temujin had been killed; Jamuga had been appointed khan in his place. Temujin was alive, and returning immediately; upon his return, he would personally dispatch his anda. Tomorrow Jamuga would give the order to leave for the winter pastures; tomorrow he would do nothing. Perhaps he might commit suicide, when he finally reached sanity. But every one knew that something terrible and momentous had happened. And never had the city been so restless, so frightened, so rebellious.
Jamuga, sensitive and subtle, felt these winds of rumor and terror. But he was horribly bewildered and disgusted. The more he tried to understand, the more nebulous did things become. What had he done? Merely freed a man unjustly and absurdly sentenced to death for no valid reason! He had defied a barbaric law laid down by Temujin. At times a knife-blade of exultation made him smile in the darkness; he had successfully defied that law. He had employed reason instead of imbecility. Surely Temujin would acknowledge that.
At the thought of Temujin, Jamuga felt a contraction of his heart. But the contraction was not fear. Rather, it was compounded of uneasiness, anger, scorn, and sadness, and something else which he refused to examine.
He saw the faint bright shadow of a torch. Some one was plucking at the flap of his yurt. He got up and opened it. Kurelen stood there, wrapped in his black cloak. The old cripple smiled at him reassuringly, handed the torch to a warrior who guarded the yurt outside, and entered.
“I thought mayhap thou wert sleeping. Forgive me, if this is so,” said Kurelen. His words were gentle, and his smile paternal. But his sharp eyes studied Jamuga’s colorless narrow face with close attention.
“I was not asleep,” replied Jamuga, bitterly. He was resentful. He had some idea why Kurelen had come. The old man sat down on Jamuga’s tumbled couch. He fitted his fingers together, and again smiled at Jamuga. “Ah,” he said, thoughtfully. Apparently, he was in no hurry to begin. And Jamuga, obstinately refusing to go on the defensive, waited in embittered silence.
Kurelen continued to scrutinize the young man. He kept smiling to himself; once he curved his twisted dark hand over his mouth to hide his smiles. At last he said:
“I commend thy compassion and thy sentiments. But not thy discretion, Jamuga.”
Jamuga regarded him with proud offense and weary disdain.
“My discretion! Are men logs of wood, or lumps of dried dung, to be thrown into a fire at the capricious will of a stupid petty lord?”
Kurelen shrugged. “I am not prepared to argue about the intrinsic value of any human being. I do not know whether any of us have any value. Certainly not, in the light of eternity.” He lifted his hand. “Please, Jamuga, let me speak.
“I do not know this Chutagi, nor do I care to know. I have heard he spoke foolishly. But not more foolishly than thou didst act. However, it seemeth we have laws against this kind of foolishness of his. Now, I am not prepared to argue about the validity of these laws. The fact is, there are such laws. By abrogating them, thou didst commit a grave folly. The people know this. Thou hast sinned against them. They know not where they can turn. Thou hast terrified them—”
“But why?” Jamuga’s voice rose hotly. He stood up, as though burned. He began to pace up and down with disordered steps; a flush rose over his face. “Why should they be terrified? Because I was merciful, and just, and reasonable?”
Kurelen shrugged again, spread out his hands.
“Because thou hast violated a law, and when a khan doth violate a law he soweth confusion among his people. He hath taken security from them, and given them anarchy.” And then he knew it was useless, that Jamuga could not understand, would never understand.
Jamuga was regarding him with venomous scorn. “And I thought thou wast a just and reasonable man, sometimes compassionate!” he exclaimed.
“Nevertheless,” said Kurelen, mildly, “I do not advocate the sudden and violent abrogation of law, without preliminary preparation and education of the people. They are children. They must be taught slowly. They are incapable of long reasoning, but simple facts, constantly reiterated, can sometimes penetrate to their primitive minds and be received with security and satisfaction.”
“I do not understand!” cried Jamuga, violently.
“I see thou dost not. And, Jamuga, I fear thou wilt never understand. Thou wilt never understand other men. Thou dost judge them by thyself. That is fatal.”
Jamuga was silent. Tears of impotence and despair rose to his eyes.
Kurelen leaned towards him and put his hand on his arm.
“Thou hast courage, but thou art a dreamer, Jamuga Sechen. This is no world for dreams. We must accept facts.”
“What shall I do?” asked Jamuga, despairingly.
“Tomorrow, direct Agoti to take Chutagi into custody again. Tell the people that thou hast finally decided to wait the return of Temujin for decision, saying the matter is too grave for thy responsibility. Jamuga,” he urged, “thou hast no right to do this to our people. thou must restore their security immediately. Otherwise, dire things will come about.”
Jamuga flung off his hand hotly. “Thou talkest like a fool, Kurelen! I shall not do this thing! I shall not debase myself so, before—”
“Before Temujin?” asked Kurelen, slyly.
Jamuga’s face turned crimson with mortification and fury.
“Before the people! I shall not retract. I offer no apology. I have done what I considered right.” He glared at Kurelen wildly. “Dost thou not understand? This Chutagi is a man, not a beast! He cannot be disposed of like an animal awaiting slaughter.”
Kurelen raised his brows. “I say again, that I am not prepared to discuss the value of human beings. I know that something portentous will result from this. I know that I am giving you sound advice.”
“Thou art advising me to crawl back on my footsteps, and destroy a fellow human being!”
Kurelen stood up. “It is hopeless, then. Thou wilt never understand.” He paused. He gazed at Jamuga for a long moment. A curious change came over his sunken and withered features. A flicker as of regret and sadness touched his eyes. He put his hand for a moment on Jamuga’s shoulder.
“Jamuga, the first thing a wise king must learn is never to destroy authority, never to cast doubt in the minds of a people about the sacrosanct quality of law. If he doeth these things, he, himself, will be destroyed by the destruction he hath created. Authority and law maketh a world of men; their abolition doth return the world to darkness.”
Jamuga made a gesture of wounded contempt.
“Must laws be immutable? Must an heir to a throne retain the laws of those who hath died? May not he make others, more suited to present circumstances? We cannot live under the shadow of the hand of the dead, always!”
Kurelen smiled inscrutably.
“But Temujin is not yet dead, Ja
muga.”
He put on his cloak.
“Nevertheless, Jamuga, I again commend thy compassion, though I do not agree with thee.” He added: “I am an old man, now.”
He went out, leaving Jamuga alone with his angry misery.
But he was not alone very long. Again, some one moved aside the flap of his yurt, and this time Subodai, grave and beautiful, and gently smiling, begged permission to enter. His manner soothed Jamuga, though he suspected why Subodai had come, for it was respectful and calm.
“Permit me to speak, lord,” he said.
Jamuga nodded curtly, bracing himself. He was jealous of Subodai, but no one could really hate this handsome and gentle youth with the shining and straightforward eyes.
Subodai hesitated for only an instant. All his nature was full of clarity; there was no deviousness, no servility nor fear in him.
“Forgive me, lord, if I speak straightly, out of my apprehension. If thou dost desire to punish me for my candor, I still cannot refrain from speaking. This is a sad thing thou hast done.”
Now he showed his anxiety fully. Jamuga waited, biting his lip, and frowning.
“Thou hast taught the people to despise obedience, Jamuga Sechen.”
Jamuga groaned in exasperation. “Obedience! Obedience to savage laws! Are the people not capable of recognizing an evil law?”
Subodai compressed his lips for a moment. “I cannot argue with thee about this, my lord. I only know that obedience must be enforced. I ask no questions; the people must realize they must ask no questions. Discipline and obedience and loyalty are the foundations of any tribe, of any nation. That is all my concern.”
Feeling exhausted, Jamuga sat down. He fixed his tired eyes on Subodai’s intelligent face. But all at once he knew that that very intelligence was his enemy. He saw that an intelligent man could deliberately will himself to disregard reason, and that this disregarding was exceedingly dangerous, more so than in a stupid man. Impotence rolled over him like dark waves.
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