by Joshua Fogel
Temüjin faced the old commander and raised a wine cup to him, but To’oril Khan retained the cold visage and frigid eye of his youth, and there was no indication whatsoever in him of a decline into old age. Although he had not a single strand of hair tied up on his head, there was a certain beauty and an eeriness shining in its silvery hue.
“I would like to give my daughter Cha’ur Beki to your son Jochi in marriage,” said To’oril Khan. “This will strengthen the bonds between our two families. For if there is a serpent with fangs separating our families, there will be dissension between us.”
Temüjin agreed. Although he had no inclination to take To’oril Khan at his word, he saw no need to brush off the older man’s extended hand.
Soon after he returned to the Black Forest, To’oril Khan came back to invite Temüjin to a banquet celebrating the wedding of Cha’ur Beki and Jochi. While he continued to look upon To’oril Khan as his enemy, Temüjin thought at the time that this news was wonderful. To lure Temüjin into his camp, To’oril Khan first made the trip to the Mongol camp himself, without any guards. In so doing, To’oril Khan demonstrated his outstanding capacity to deal with a rival.
Temüjin had no desire at all to set off for the Black Forest of the Kereyids. To do so meant certain death. So he consulted with Qasar and Belgütei as to how to respond to To’oril Khan. He had to turn down the invitation, offering something that more or less resembled a valid reason.
As he reached this judgment, two servants from To’oril Khan’s settlement by the names of Badai and Kishiliq arrived and announced that the Black Forest by the Tula River was teeming with armed soldiers. When he heard this, Temüjin’s eyes suddenly became animated. So this will be the final battle with To’oril Khan, he thought. Temüjin immediately informed To’oril Khan’s messenger that he would be overjoyed to accept the invitation to this congratulatory feast.
Once he had sent the messengers off, Temüjin issued an order for his entire army to mobilize. He had them take their best weapons and dress in their best armor. On the evening following their arrival at the Black Forest for the banquet, several tens of thousands of cavalry troops pitched camp. Then several dozen groups of soldiers and horses left camp and fanned out across the grasslands.
At dawn on the day of the celebration, To’oril Khan and Temüjin, each leading several tens of thousands of troops, spread across the plains known as the Black Desert. Both armies took up commanding positions.
After conferring with Bo’orchu, Jelme, and Qasar, among others, Temüjin arrayed members of the Uru’ud and Mangghud peoples, who were renowned among the Mongols for their great bravery, into the first battle formation. From his earliest years, Temüjin had heard how extraordinary these two peoples were on the battlefield. To this day, he remembered mention of these two ethnic groups by Börtechü, that old man with the phenomenal memory, when he recounted the Mongolian ancestors from the blue wolf and pale doe down through more than twenty generations.
—Among the sons of Qabichi Ba’atur was Tudun. Tudun had seven sons. The eldest was Qachi Külüg, who could ride a horse as fast as the wind. His wife was Nomolun, and they gave birth to your famed ancestor Qaidu. Qachi Külüg’s six younger brothers bore the following names in order: Qachin, Qachi’u, Qachula, Qachi’un, Qaraldai, and Nachin Ba’atur, the youngest. Nachin Ba’atur had two sons who in the give and take of life loved the deity of battle more than even food, and they were the ancestors of the Uru’ud and Mangghud peoples, whom they did not know in their own lives—
It seemed that the blood of the god of war whom they loved more than food had been passed down unchanged to the Uru’ud and Mangghud peoples. In the battles thus far fought, their movements on the field were without peer. From an early age, they were trained in the use of the cutting ring and the spear. Their courage and gallantry were such that, when they switched battle arrays or when they adopted a circling-back strategy to attack the enemy in the rear, the black banners of the Uru’uds and the scarlet banners of the Mangghuds made their skill at advance and retreat seem perfectly exacting.
Temüjin summoned Jürchedei, a leader of the Uru’uds, a short, ruddy-faced, unprepossessing old man. Just as he accepted the order to serve in the advance troops, his eyes shone and he said in a low, hoarse voice:
“We accept your command whatever it may be. So, then, may I and my people devour the Kereyids.”
Temüjin then summoned Quyildar, a leader of the Mangghuds, and conveyed to him the same order. Shy and stammering, Quyildar replied with embarrassment:
“We shall do as the Uru’uds, grab every single K-K-Kereyid, and d-d-devour them.”
At the moment hostilities commenced, countless scarlet and black banners unfurled widely across the front. They had both cavalry and foot soldiers. Against them, To’oril Khan sent his crack cavalry of the Jirgins. The black and scarlet banners advanced, troops shouting out fiercely, though calmly. They pressed the assault, splitting the enemy cavalry into small clusters, and as the Jirgins looked on in blank amazement, knocked them off. They effectively did, just as their words indicated, gobble up the enemy one by one.
In the wake of the Jirgins, Tümen Tübe’en troops of whom To’oril Khan was extremely proud surged in like a tidal wave. The Uru’uds tried to tie them up and were put to rout, but the Mangghuds circled around from the flank and cut them off. The Tümen Tübe’en banner was “consumed” after ferocious fighting.
Then, a company with the banner of the Olan Dongqayid came out of the enemy camp in a quick attack. The Mangghuds were shattered and lost about half of their men, but the Uru’uds circled around the enemy’s rear and dispersed them. Next, To’oril Khan’s captain of 1,000 guard troops rushed in with clouds of dust to come to the aid of Olan Dongqayid. The Mangghuds defeated them, but Quyildar was stabbed by an enemy soldier and, pierced by a spear, he fell from his horse to the ground.
With an earth-shattering noise, 10,000 troops from To’oril Khan’s main encampment now advanced. Temüjin’s main force moved to the front to meet them. The scarlet and black banners of the Uru’uds and Mangghuds seemed to disappear in massive swarms of the enemy’s immense army.
From then until evening, shouts, screams, and the neighing of military horses incessantly arose from the clouds of sand that covered the plains. When the crimson sunset, even more inflamed than usual, filled half the sky, the deadly fighting that had escalated all day long came to an end.
Protected by 1,000 bodyguards, Temüjin stood on a low-lying hillock. The battlefield was covered with corpses from both sides, and the banners of exhausted and wounded soldiers were planted at the top of small hills here and there, spread out in waves.
There was Bo’orchu’s banner and Jelme’s, and far to the north were those of Qasar and Belgütei next to each other. He also saw the banners of Qachi’un, Temüge, Jochi, and Jebe. Each of these had been planted on hills, but the number of troops around them had been sharply reduced, and a silence pervaded their facial expressions.
Although Temüjin had defeated To’oril Khan and forced him to flee, he did not issue an order to pursue. He had 1,000 bodyguards, but many of them had been seriously injured. Münglig, his face reddened with blood, had put together information based on reports sent in from troops here and there on the plain. The whereabouts of Bo’orchu, Temüjin’s third son, Ögedei, and Boroghul, whom Ö’elün had raised as a foundling, remained unknown.
Each time he heard such a report from Münglig, Temüjin, his erect posture completely unaffected, ever so slightly moved the muscles of his cheeks. In fact, he moved them continually, as news of the deaths of so many Mongol warriors was being conveyed to him one after the next by Münglig.
Temüjin then issued an order to muster the entire army. Perhaps half, maybe a third of his forces were present. In the end, not a single man from the Uru’ud or Mangghud peoples appeared. It seemed as though they had been annihilated, gobbled up by the enemy.
Temüjin ordered his men to make camp there. When light
began to shine on the battlefield the following morning, only Bo’orchu returned on foot, having suffered numerous wounds to his body. When he gazed directly at Bo’orchu’s face, Temüjin’s own face was wet with tears.
“Let it be known in heaven,” he said, “that the Mongol warrior Bo’orchu has returned.” Temüjin then beat his chest. Bo’orchu explained that, while pursuing an escaping enemy soldier, he fell from his horse. After waking from a long blackout, he walked straight through the night to reach camp.
Around midday Boroghul returned to camp, leading the seriously wounded Ögedei on horseback. When he took Ögedei down from the horse and handed him over to others, Boroghul said:
“The enemy took flight to the foothills of the Ma’u Heights in the direction of Hula’an Burughad, and there disappeared.” The fearless young man had on him the blood of the Jirgins.
Temüjin did a roll call of his men. Aside from the wounded, 2,600 men remained with battlefield readiness. Leaving half of them at the field, he led the other half to take control of the settlements formerly under the now routed To’oril Khan. He linked up en route with 1,300 Uru’ud and Mangghud survivors who had earlier vanished from the fighting. The heroic Quyildar of the Mangghuds had sustained a serious wound, and soon after he met up with Temüjin, he died. Temüjin had his remains buried near the top of Mount Or Nu’u of the Qalqa River. This was a site at which, day and night, the wind howled as it slammed into the face of the rocky crags, a most appropriate spot for Quyildar’s grave.
When he learned that there were Unggirads nearby, Temüjin sent the brothers Chimbai and Chila’un to encourage and receive their surrender. Temüjin marched farther and camped east of Tüngge Stream. From there it was but a half-day’s journey to To’oril Khan’s Black Forest.
Temüjin sent a messenger to To’oril Khan:
“My father, anda, I have not forgotten my debt to you. I therefore came to the assistance of your son Senggüm when he was in the midst of a bitter fight. Despite this, you have prevaricated and plotted to kill me. My father, anda, I shall before long attack you in the Black Forest. There we shall fight the last fight.”
Temüjin did not spare much time before attacking the Black Forest of To’oril Khan. That night he ordered his entire army to charge into the forest. Although the wolves were injured, their striking power had not lost its force.
For three days and three nights, the decisive battle raged on. The deadly fight unfolded around every tree and stone. The scarlet and black banners ran day and night throughout the woods.
Late in the night of the third day, the final resistance of the Kereyids was smashed. Several hundred settlements now became prey to the Mongol wolves. The men were killed and the women were tied up. To’oril Khan’s corpse was discovered four days later far to the north of the Black Forest. He had sustained an attack by another lineage and died. The corpse of his son Senggüm also turned up, and only the whereabouts of Jamugha remained unknown.
As was appropriate upon the death of such an extraordinary commander as To’oril Khan, Temüjin ordered all Kereyid males to follow their leader. One by one the Kereyid men were executed.
Temüjin then had one company of troops pitch camp in the Black Forest, where no men were left alive, and he himself took women and valuables as he joined the triumphal return home. There was now not a single force opposed to Temüjin on the Mongolian plateau. He had disposed of the Tatars, dispatched the Tayichi’uds, destroyed Jamugha’s army, and annihilated the Kereyids, who had long taken pride in their preeminence on the plateau. Temüjin, though, was not seething with the feeling of a victor. He was rather overcome with the sensation that a long and painful internal discord had finally settled down.
On the second night of their march, Temüjin walked up the incline of the plain where the sick and wounded soldiers had camped late in the night. Several hundred tents were quietly lined up like so many graves. In every tent he looked into, his commanders and soldiers slept like the dead. Bo’orchu slept, as did Jelme and Muqali. All of them—officers and men alike—had the appearance of beggars.
When Temüjin returned to his own tent, Qasar woke and rose from his bed. Qasar, too, was wearing tattered armor and clothing.
“The army will rest this entire year,” said Temüjin. “Next year we shall cross the Altai Mountains.”
“And attack the Naimans?” asked Qasar.
“Yes, attack the Naimans,” said Temüjin. “The Mongols’ best fighters should be wearing fine attire, should live in stunning dwellings, and should have large water jugs and elegant beds. Our exceptional Mongol soldiers should have the best weaponry and should ride in the best war chariots.”
Temüjin and To’oril Khan had crossed the Altai Mountains and attacked the Naimans, but it was only a brief invasion, hardly an attack at all. During that invasion, however, Temüjin had come to see the lifestyle of a people completely different from the impoverished Mongols. They had musical instruments, elegant altars, stylish and sensible kitchens, writing that enabled them to record any and every event, temples where many people would gather, and homes that were fixed to the ground and did not move.
“With the new year we shall cross the Altai Mountains,” said Temüjin. “We shall pacify the Naimans and make use of the new weaponry they possess as our own.”
Not until this time did it first occur to Temüjin that he would have to fight against the Jin state of the Jurchen people. Since he had destroyed both the Tatars and the Tayichi’uds, the only enemy of his ancestors that remained was the Jin state, which would have to be attacked and defeated last. Temüjin revealed none of this to Qasar. Invading the Jin was still on the order of a fantasy in the minds of all Mongolian wolves, except Temüjin. And for the third time, he opened his mouth and spoke:
“We shall have to cross the Altai Mountains.”
From that year into the next, Temüjin devoted himself to pacification of the conquered peoples on the Mongolian plateau and to rebuilding. He strictly forbade the wounding or killing of others under any and all circumstances. Anyone who injured another was to be executed. Theft was similarly dealt with severely. Anyone who stole a sheep or horse was put to the sword.
At the same time, all able-bodied men living in settlements on the Mongolian plateau received military training. The army was arranged with 1,000 men to a company, with a captain in charge, and beneath each of these were the heads of groups of 100 men and groups of 10 men. Temüjin stationed troops at sites all across the Mongolian plateau, enabling him to move warriors to any desired location.
He freely moved settlements of peoples and their flocks of sheep, and to open new grazing land, he gave them great leeway in their lives. He also gradually completed the placement of necessary settlements for his militarized state.
In the early summer of 1204, the year following his defeat of To’oril Khan, Temüjin raised an army of conquest against the Naimans and, after sacrificing before the flag, set off. Earlier, the Küchü’üds of the Naimans had collaborated with To’oril Khan in their attack, but this time their adversary was the ruler of the entire Naiman people, Tayang Khan. Temüjin hoped to bring all the Naimans under his control. His troops followed the Kherlen River upstream, and when they crossed a branch of the Altai Mountains, they raided farther and farther into enemy terrain. Tayang Khan concentrated and deployed his troops along the lower reaches of the Tamir River, where he expected to meet the Naimans in battle. For Temüjin this was a battle unlike any he had fought to date. The enemy had several hundred war chariots, and archers clad in dignified uniforms and armor were placed in the area between the chariots as if embedded there.
Until the fighting actually began, the Mongol officers could not surmise how the battle would unfold. There were among the Naiman troops soldiers of different ethnicities, and they held their own new weapons, different from those of the Naimans.
There then rang out from the Naiman position the loud and magnificent sounds of drums and gongs. They reverberated across the plains a
ll the way to Temüjin’s camp, but hostilities did not begin so simply. That night numerous bonfires at random sites were lit up in the enemy camp.
The next day, the two armies faced each other, waiting for the time to strike, and on the morning of the third day Temüjin summoned his commanders and ordered them to start the attack at noon. Qasar, in charge of the front-line troops, asked:
“How shall we fight them?”
“Qasar,” replied Temüjin with a smile, “shouldn’t it be just as you put it: spread out like the plains themselves, take up positions like the sea, and fight ferociously like chisels thrust into the enemy! Is there a better way to proceed? Do you know any other way?”
And that was what Qasar proceeded to do. With shouts and calls, Mongol companies spread out dexterously like the plains and took up countless positions like the sea. A moment later, fierce fighting ensued like chisels thrust into the enemy. The battle, now advancing and now retreating, continued into the evening.
“Aha, four Mongol wolves have set off,” said Temüjin, looking down from above onto the battlefield, the words slipping from his mouth unawares. Until just then, Jebe, Jelme, Qubilai Noyan, and Sübe’etei had been waiting for the right opportunity to advance to the front lines, possibly in compliance with Qasar’s order; each led their company and rode at the head diagonally over the open field, which described a gentle slope. To be sure, these were the four wolves who had been let loose. In body and mind, they were made of iron. As necessity demanded, their mouths could become chisels and their tongues awls. In place of whips, they held cutting rings. They raced on, brushing off dewdrops, mowing down the grass, and riding on the wind.
Just as the four wolves rushed into the front lines, the enemy troops, as if this was some sort of signal, began all together to retreat.
“They’re circling around,” said Temüjin in distress. “The wolf cubs loosed early this morning seem to be circling around to suckle their mother’s milk.”