by Joshua Fogel
Temüjin and Bo’orchu rode for another three days, and on the evening of the fourth day entered a settlement of a branch of the Tayichi’uds. They found the eight horses they had been looking for tied up on the pastureland. It was preferable to round up the horses at night and then lead them back home.
Just at daybreak, they caught sight of a dozen or more mounted men coming after them.
“My friend,” said Bo’orchu, “take the horses and ride off quickly. I will stay and shoot my arrows at them.”
“How can you go to your death on my behalf?” said Temüjin. “I will fight them.” As soon as he had spoken, Temüjin turned and fired off an arrow. It pierced the chest of a man at the front of the group who was riding a white steed and trying to hurl a lasso at them. Seeing that the other pursuers had ridden up to their fallen comrade on the ground, Temüjin and Bo’orchu galloped off posthaste, and the other men made no further effort to catch them.
Temüjin made his way to the tent of Naqu Bayan, stayed one night, thanked Bo’orchu for his help, and returned home. Although thrilled at having brought the eight horses back, Temüjin was even happier about the fact that he now knew that there were men in this world who would volunteer to join him in action with no mercenary interest whatsoever—and they were young men his own age. He had never even dreamed such men might exist until then.
After returning to his tent, Temüjin tried on several occasions to say the name of the youngster. Bo’orchu, Bo’orchu—he was, of course, neither a Borjigin nor a Tayichi’ud, but a Mongol. Temüjin could not help but think that he was like this young man Bo’orchu whose veins overflowed with the blood of the blue wolf that came from the West. Bo’orchu in fact did somehow give the impression, in the fearless limbs of his body, that he resembled a wolf. Physically he was certainly neither robust nor big, actually rather slender in appearance, but his muscles were gracefully compact, and he seemed to be always waiting to join in action at the necessary moment with a sense that nothing was in vain.
That year, ten head of sheep came from Bo’orchu’s father, Naqu Bayan, on behalf of his only son. Naqu Bayan was extremely pleased that his son had made such a friend as Temüjin.
Temüjin and his brothers spent the autumn making a pasture next to their new dwelling.
The following year Temüjin turned seventeen. His mother, Ö’elün, advised him to go to the Unggirad village to see Börte, the young woman to whom he was betrothed. Ö’elün had offered this counsel several times already, but each time he had ignored it. All he could think of was that this would add another mouth to feed in their already isolated and helpless, poverty-stricken home.
On this occasion, though, now that he was seventeen, Temüjin thought of the matter slightly differently. He was beginning to think that adding one more person might actually be necessary. If increasing the numbers of those dwelling within his own tent would strengthen it, then surely the minds of the Borjigins, who were far from enjoying a happy situation at present, would be moved. And certainly they would recollect past times when they had made Yisügei their khan and gathered at his camp, and they would look forward to such an era returning. Since they had allowed him to gain such knowledge, Temüjin’s having been attacked by the Tayichi’uds and taken captive into their settlement ironically were positive experiences. Hadn’t Sorqan Shira and his three short children all demonstrated their goodwill? Undoubtedly, the sentiment expressed by Sorqan Shira’s family was an emotion shared by all Borjigins.
Now Temüjin thought he would indeed go, just as his mother was suggesting, to see Börte in her tent. And he would be happy to receive with Börte the Unggirad men and women—even if they were disabled and old or maidservants—who were surely to accompany her to her new home.
When he had made up his mind, Temüjin set off on the journey to the Unggirad village with his half-brother, Belgütei. They traveled downstream along the Kherlen River for several days. Although this was scenery Temüjin had seen once before, what unfolded before Belgütei was an altogether new plateau, forests, valleys, and grasslands. Many times when they camped in the evening, far from his usual taciturnity, Belgütei talked on and on in great wonderment. What he spoke of was always the extraordinary vastness of the world before them, the fact that no one was dwelling there, and why, he wished to know, so many nomads had been unable to build numerous settlements throughout this wide, uninhabited space.
Temüjin remained silent, listening to this unforeseen volubility of his half-brother as if it were some sort of pleasant music. It was all just as Belgütei said. Temüjin also felt the immensity of the Mongolian plain over which he had been galloping with his horse for some days. The horses, the sheep, the fertile pasturelands—all were so abundant and beyond one man’s capacity to take in hand. Grasslands on which it was easy to pitch one’s tent and banks of lakes and rivers that seemed perfectly fine as sites on which to live were also abundant. Why hadn’t people pitched their tents here? For his part Temüjin could think of only one possible reason: in the ongoing strife among peoples, each settlement had to have a few days’ distance between itself and all the others. The range over which one group moved in its nomadic migrations seemed to have been naturally determined as if by a deity in the ancient past. No single lineage was about to move beyond its prescribed range, and if one did so and invaded a neutral zone, this would invite attack by another group who accordingly felt threatened.
Had the various lineages and ethnic groups scattered across the Mongolian plateau dispensed with their mutual animosities and freely opened up new grazing lands, the lives of nomads now living there would have been vastly different. No matter where travelers ventured on this immense plateau, they would always see tents and large groups of sheep and horses. Yurts would be dotting the entire Mongolian plateau, and herds of sheep and horses moving slowly over every slope and valley like clouds drifting across the sky. It was such a fanciful vision he almost wanted to sigh out loud. Could that ever come to be? It wasn’t necessarily impossible, was it? If they were to defeat the Tayichi’uds and even finish off the Tatars, then such a proposition was by no means out of the question.
When they entered the Unggirad settlement, Dei Sechen joyously came to greet them. He had heard, but only in the form of a rumor, that Temüjin had been injured in an attack by the Tayichi’uds and presumed him to be no longer of this world. And now the young man, completely changed from four years before, suddenly appeared in front of him all grown up and powerful of build—it seemed frankly unbelievable to him.
That evening they celebrated a great banquet in Dei Sechen’s tent.
“The son of the past Mongol khan, having overcome astonishing adversity, has now grown into a mighty young man. And, as he once promised, he has come to take my daughter. I could never break a promise. I gave Börte to this virtually invulnerable young man. Thus, my daughter and those who accompany her must go to the Borjigin yurts in the west, where they will pitch several tents, for Börte will feel lonely in only one.”
Dei Sechen made this speech with his own distinctive, rhythmic intonation to the people of his yurt, but so that Temüjin would hear. The eating and drinking went on late into the night. Temüjin had still not seen Börte since arriving, as she had not appeared to take a seat at the banquet.
When the banquet came to a close, Temüjin was led to another tent different from that of Dei Sechen. When he entered, he saw by the light of a lantern Börte dressed in resplendent garb, sitting punctiliously in a Jurchen-style chair from the state of Jin. Just as the four years that had passed had changed Temüjin, so too had they utterly changed this young woman. Börte had a large-framed torso not seen among the Borjigin women. Her breasts and waist were quite fleshy, and it seemed to Temüjin as though her entire body was glowing. Indeed, there was something of a brownish brilliance to her hair and a lustrous sheen to the white skin of her face and the nape of her neck. He could not say if this was due solely to the flickering light of the lantern burning mutton tallow.
Eventually, Börte stood up from her chair. The light-blue necklace hanging over her chest made a faint sound as she moved. She stood still, not speaking a word, as she revealed her entire physical form before the man who had become her husband. With swelling, ample breasts, her figure possessed authority and pride.
Temüjin tried to approach her, but his feet would not move in the desired direction. This was his first experience with something placed before him making him hesitate. He had never feared anything and had never vacillated when drawing near anything. What made his feet stop dead in their tracks? What was this beautiful, glowing creature before him now?
Börte moved slightly at this moment, a mere step or two closer to Temüjin. At the same time, a few short words emerged from her mouth, but Temüjin’s ears could not hear them. As much as she approached, he retreated. The space between them remained unchanged from the time he had entered the tent. Then Temüjin noticed that Börte was speaking again. This time he clearly heard his named called:
“Temüjin, my father said that you were a young man who resembled a mighty wolf, and you are indeed like a young mighty wolf.”
Temüjin remained silent. The words he should have spoken did not come to his lips. Then, after a while, he hurled out unruly language, as if he were confronting a formidable enemy face to face:
“I am a Mongol. As your father said, the blood of the wolf flows in my veins. Every single Mongol has the blood of the wolf.”
“I am an Unggirad woman,” replied Börte. “No wolf’s blood flows in my body. But I can give birth to many cubs who will share the blood of the wolf. My father has instructed me to bear numerous offspring of the wolf. To suppress the Tayichi’uds, to suppress the Tatars, and, yes, even to suppress every last Unggirad as well.”
Temüjin took in these words as if they were a divine oracle. He could not imagine that the words uttered by this young woman were those of a single individual.
Temüjin felt like a kind of boldness, as the blood in his body grew warmer to the point of overflowing. He then took a tentative step toward this beautiful young woman given to him now by the Unggirad chieftain Dei Sechen, a man who had abrogated his own father-daughter bond of love.
“Börte!” Temüjin unconsciously called out her name, as he was seized with something like a profound, heartfelt love.
“Temüjin!” Although she too called his name, as if in response, her tone struck Temüjin as infinitely gentler. He then took another step, but now Börte backed away. Temüjin did not now hesitate, but lunged straight in her retreating direction and took her in his arms.
Temüjin spent three days in the Unggirad village. During that time, the feasting continued day and night. Because his own life had suddenly changed, Belgütei took on a sullen mood and ceased speaking altogether. He had nothing to say. The grandeur of the banquet, of course, from the clothing of the villagers down to the personal effects in the tents, stunned Belgütei enormously.
On the fourth day, Temüjin and Belgütei, together with Börte and thirty of her attendants, set off from the Unggirad village. Börte’s father, Dei Sechen, and her mother, Chotan, joined the group so that they could see her off midway. Unlike the trip there, the return was a bustling procession.
Among all the peoples scattered over the Mongolian plateau, the Unggirads had been most blessed by the culture of the Jurchen (Jin) state. They thus had splendid travel attire. When they passed other peoples’ settlements nearby, large groups of onlookers always came together to gaze at them.
Although it involved a bit of a detour, Dei Sechen encouraged Temüjin to go by way of these other villages. His idea was that it would be good to inform them, even if only a little, of the existence of Temüjin’s isolated yurt, and Temüjin decided to follow his father-in-law’s advice.
When Dei Sechen arrived at the shores of the Kherlen River, he turned back and left the party. Chotan had planned to return with her husband, but she couldn’t bear to leave her daughter. She therefore traveled with the group as far as Temüjin’s yurt on the shores of the azure lake by Mount Qara Jirüken. After arriving, Chotan spent about ten days with them before returning to the Unggirad settlement.
The single tent inhabited by Temüjin and his family until then would no longer be sufficient. Temüjin moved out of the tent in which his mother and siblings were living and built a new one for himself and Börte. An additional five tents were constructed for the men and women who accompanied Börte as her entourage. Although it might have been called a settlement, it was still no more than an aggregation of a small number of people. At night the light of the fires from these tents shone and illuminated the darkness in which they had been engulfed. At dawn men and women rose and emerged from their respective yurts to go to work.
When Temüjin had become comfortable with his new life, he planned with Qasar and Belgütei to meet at their own tent with Bo’orchu, who had helped him regain their eight gray horses. Temüjin thought that Bo’orchu would surely come in response to a personal invitation. There was, of course, no reason for either Qasar or Belgütei to object, and Belgütei went on the mission to Bo’orchu.
On the morning of the fifth day after Belgütei had left, Temüjin caught sight all the way from beyond the grasslands of a young man riding next to Belgütei on a chestnut horse he remembered, with a blue woolen cloak over it. Showing him proper courtesy, Temüjin ushered this nimble young man about the same age as himself into their small settlement. Bo’orchu had not consulted with his father about coming to join Temüjin, but a messenger from Naqu Bayan soon arrived as if he had been trailing him. Apparently there were special routes known to men like this messenger. If the two young men consulted and over the long term decided to cooperate, then it appeared as though Bo’orchu might do as he wished. These were the words Naqu Bayan conveyed to them. Thereafter, several dozen head of sheep were delivered to Temüjin’s settlement from Naqu Bayan’s stock.
After consulting with Qasar, Belgütei, and Bo’orchu, Temüjin moved their dwelling site to the broad, sloping side of Mount Burqan. This area included extensive grasslands and was convenient for pasturing animals. In addition, it would be easier to protect their tents from the pounding wind and rain that came virtually every year. With his own new tent, Temüjin lined up the tents of Bo’orchu and Ö’elün at the center of their settlement, and surrounded them with the others’ tents.
Temüjin then took it into his mind to welcome to his yurt Chimbai and Chila’un, the two sons of Sorqan Shira who were in the Tayichi’ud village. He would greet these two benefactors who had released him from his shackles and given him shelter in their home, for they had served him as trustworthy followers. Communicating with them was highly dangerous because they lived in the midst of a Tayichi’ud settlement. It was extremely difficult to get word to them. Qasar served as messenger, and he succeeded admirably in his task. He returned with one large-headed short youth and one squinting youngster, each riding a strong horse.
Temüjin greeted the two young men when they dismounted.
“You know your own minds well!” he said. “Surely, your father, Sorqan Shira, was opposed to your coming.”
“Father several times tilted his head to the side dubiously,” said Chimbai, “as he stirred the fermented mares’ milk in a large vat. But I spoke up: ‘A messenger has arrived. We have no alternative but to respond.’ Then Qasar
and I left together.”
Chimbai had offered neither rhyme nor reason for his action. He seemed to be the sort of youngster who, having won another man’s confidence and trust, was prepared to give his life in response. Thus, having once had his life saved by this young man, Temüjin now could welcome him into his own camp.
“Chila’un,” said Temüjin, directing his voice to Chimbai’s younger brother. Chila’un turned his unfocused eyes toward Temüjin.
“Once in the past,” he replied, “I received from you the nail of a small deer’s hoof.” Because of this nail, Chila’un had removed Temüjin’s shackles, and now he had abandoned his home for Temüjin and come here. Thereafter, whatever Temüjin said, Chila’un seemed ready to reply to without hesitation. Although Temüjin never spoke directly of such things to these two brothers, in their own minds their only choice was to throw their support firmly behind Temüjin.
With the passage of time, tradesmen from various other locales also made their way to Temüjin’s camp. Although their numbers were never large, Temüjin gradually gained a certain latitude in his life, and best of all the movements of the various peoples on the Mongolian plateau became known to him.
Temüjin learned that the most powerful man on the plateau at present was the chief of the Kereyids, To’oril Khan. Under his leadership, the Kereyid people were in constant training with the objective of battle. Temüjin had once seen a small group of youngsters in perpetual military practice among the Unggirads, the native group of his wife, Börte. Among the Kereyids, however, all 30,000 men and boys were in training as soldiers. In peacetime they tended their sheep and horses, but as soon as some issue arose, they immediately shed their farm clothes, switched into military garb, and lined up in prearranged military detachments with their weapons in hand. Temüjin admired the Unggirads’ practice of protecting pasture-land and tents, but when he heard tales of the Kereyid people, he saw clearly that the Unggirads were no match for them. Temüjin had heard of the reputation of the Kereyid chief To’oril Khan from many different sources. And now he learned that this man harbored ambitions to pacify the other peoples of the Mongolian plateau and become their sovereign.