by Joshua Fogel
At the moment, Jelme would have been satisfied with any reward at all. He wanted to ask for some time off. Although he was of unparalleled strength on the battlefield, his real forte was in handling all the many details of which others were unaware. From early that very morning, Jelme had been concerned with how properly to return all the personal effects borrowed from many peoples for the festivities. In addition, he had to offer an appropriate return gift for all the presents received from these peoples, but no one was using their brain to effect this, and he was becoming somewhat angry about it.
“Jelme,” said Chinggis, and Jelme then jumped up shouting:
“Be careful of fires! Be careful of fires!” Just at that moment, he remembered that he had forgotten to make preparations for the cooks’ handling of their fires.
Next, the seventy-year-old Sorqan Shira stepped forward. When Chinggis had been taken captive by Targhutai, chief of the Tayichi’uds, and attempted to escape, this old man came to his rescue, allowing him to spend a night in his home. At that time, Sorqan Shira was half-naked, churning fermented mare’s milk, but the smell of the mare’s milk was altogether different from that which had for the past few days permeated the banquet. Chinggis recalled the odor from Sorqan Shira’s home, and said while sniffing:
“Sorqan Shira, father of Chimbai and Chila’un, what sort of reward are you hoping for?”
“If I were to be so bold as to speak frankly,” the old man responded, “I’d like to settle down by the Selengge River on Merkid land, not pay rent, and freely use it for pasturage. And if I were to be favored even more, then please, great khan, you do what you think is best. I would be glad to take whatever you deem should come my way.”
“Well then, old man,” said Chinggis, “you shall make your camp at the Selengge River of the Merkids and you shall be free to make it pastureland. You shall be exempt from rent and taxes to graze your herds as you see fit. Like Jelme, you shall not be punished even should you commit nine offenses.”
Chinggis still felt, though, as if he had not given Sorqan Shira quite enough, as he recalled that during his escape when he had hid himself at the water’s edge, Sorqan Shira had purposefully ignored him so as not to attract others’ attention.
“If in the course of battle, you have acquired valuables from the enemy, Sorqan Shira, you may keep all that you have acquired for yourself.”
“Great khan,” said Sorqan Shira, “I hope that I shall live to join the army in battle once again.”
“If you do, I shall accord you special privileges. During the grand hunt at night, you shall be able to keep for yourself all the animals that you kill.”
But Chinggis still felt as though Sorqan Shira had not gotten his due.
“Sorqan Shira, with arrows strapped to you, may you live every evening as a banquet. And, so, my friend Sorqan Shira—”
Sorqan Shira then interrupted Chinggis and said:
“Great khan, this is already too much. What more could I hope for? If there is anything I might wish for, it would be to have the armies of the great khan cross the Great Wall and enter the state of Jin.”
Indicating that there was nothing further that he wished, Sorqan Shira crossed his arms before him and hurriedly withdrew from Chinggis’s presence. Sorqan Shira’s words led Chinggis to think that having put Muqali, the man who was to lead the attacking army against the Jin, in charge of 10,000 households might have been insufficient reward. Chinggis again called for Muqali and said:
“I am giving you the title of prince of the realm. Hereafter, people are to refer to you as Muqali, Prince of the Realm.”
Muqali’s complexion blanched before such a major reward, and he replied that, upon serious reflection about the propriety of his accepting such an honor, he would respond as to whether he could assume this appellation or not.
In this fashion, Chinggis gave out to Chimbai, Chila’un, Jebe, and other meritorious commanders what they were due. Jebe and Sübe’etei, those two intrepid Mongol wolves, became chiefs of 1,000 households. The announcement of rewards continued well into the night, and it was unclear when it would conclude. On another day, he planned to award positions and powers to his younger brothers, his children, and his wives and concubines.
Although the banquet came to an end that day, from the following day announcements continued on a daily basis of the posts that the officers and men of the entire army were to assume. Orders were conveyed with great austerity to the places where all the commanders were arrayed, and Chinggis Khan himself articulated what each of their responsibilities was to be, down to the minutest of details.
The first announcement was that of bodyguards assigned to the tent of Chinggis himself. These watchmen were in principle to be made up of the children of chiefs of 10,000, 1,000, and 100 households. In addition, a path was opened whereby those among the sons of common folk who were especially attractive or talented could join this force.
“Sons of the chiefs of 1,000 households shall come to serve with 10 attendants and one younger brother. Sons of the chiefs of 100 households shall come to serve with five attendants and one younger brother. Sons of chiefs of 10 households shall come to serve with three attendants and one younger brother. Each of these attendants must be selected from distinguished families.”
Chinggis began to work first on organizing the guard at his camp, which was to be responsible to him personally. This personal guard was to comprise bodyguards and archers. Two unknown young men were appointed chiefs of the bodyguards and of the archers. Their names had not yet risen among Chinggis’s troops. At every opportunity, in wartime or peacetime, Chinggis had been keeping a close watch over the actions of these two young men. Then, when he divided his personal guard of 10,000 into 10 units, he appointed a chief bodyguard of each group of 1,000. The majority of these men were the sons of meritorious officers.
Chinggis went on to describe the duties of the bodyguards and the archers on night watch:
—If anyone passes the camp front or back after sundown, they are to be taken in and questioned the next day. With the changing of the guard, the night guards must turn in their identification tallies.
—The night guards shall sleep around the circumference of the camp, and if anyone should enter at night, their heads are to be cut off immediately.
—No one shall sit in a seat above the night guards. No one shall ask the number of night guards. If someone should walk among the night guards, arrest him and tie him up.
—No night guard may leave the camp.
—Any incidents arising among the night guards shall be judged in consultation with Shigi Qutula.
Shigi Qutula was a Tatar orphan raised by Chinggis’s mother, Ö’elün. By his own strange fate, he had grown into a young man with a serenity of mind that, no matter what transpired, remained unruffled. In a position most fitting to him, Chinggis installed this Tatar foundling with a perennially pallid face who was not much liked by others. A fair amount of time went into Chinggis’s announcements on the organization and duties of the personal guard.
To his commanders who heard him, Chinggis Khan that day seemed a thoroughly different man from the Chinggis who, in the chaotic atmosphere at the time of the banquet, had been anxious to reward his men. The expression on his face, the tone of his voice, and the look in his eye were all those of an altogether changed person. Aside from a tiny group of his officers, no one had any idea when Chinggis had thought all of this up. With each passing day, the organization of military and civil administrations of a new Mongolian state was announced by Chinggis Khan himself. He and his top commanders had to stand for lengthy periods of time in the searing summer sun, and his face became deeply sunburned.
One day Qulan said to Chinggis, who had come to her tent:
“Great khan, shouldn’t you soon offer rewards to relatives who share my blood? Even if it’s just a simple stone, until they actually receive it, they can’t properly think of it as their own.”
“You needn’t be concerned,�
�� he replied, smiling, “for soon we shall be dividing up rewards to blood relatives. Every princess will be able to take what she desires. What is it that you would like?”
“I wish for nothing that I do not already have,” Qulan replied. “Are not the states of the Uyghurs, the Jin, and others in your mind now, great khan? I would like to see all those magnificent dreams come true together with you, great khan. When shall you cross the Altai Mountains for the fourth time?”
Chinggis silently stared into Qulan’s face. The pale doe showed off a lithe figure as she stood next to him.
Soon after the founding of the Mongolian state, the most troublesome issue for Chinggis became that of Münglig and his seven sons. Fifteen or sixteen years older than Chinggis, Münglig was now already an old man of some sixty years of age.
He had given Münglig and his sons positions of considerable trust. He had placed Münglig in a post enabling him to sit on the highest council of elders, and his sons had taken up various and sundry positions of importance. Chinggis had invested such trust in them solely out of obligation to Münglig’s father, Charaqa. Chinggis could never forget that, shortly after his father, Yisügei, had died some thirty years earlier, his household had fallen to the depths of misery, and when all the other families separated themselves from him, only one man, old Charaqa, came and gave his life for them. At the time of Charaqa’s death, the young Chinggis was profoundly moved by the singular fidelity of this older man, and throughout the following thirty years the emotions from that time lived on in his heart. In lieu of repaying Charaqa himself, Chinggis was rewarding his son Münglig and Charaqa’s seven grandsons.
As for Münglig himself, Chinggis simply did not trust the man. Unlike Charaqa, he had abandoned Chinggis and his entire family and then had the audacity to return with his seven sons once Chinggis had become a grown man. But Chinggis overlooked all such matters when it came to Münglig and his sons. Whenever he contemplated them, Chinggis forced himself to replace the lot of them in his mind with the faithful Charaqa.
The most difficult thing about Münglig for Chinggis to endure was how intimate he had become with Chinggis’s mother. When their relationship began was unclear, but Münglig had returned to his service at Chinggis’s camp thirteen years ago, and probably it had started sometime soon thereafter. Ö’elün was now in her mid-sixties; thirteen years before, she would have been only fifty or so. For many years she had devoted herself to the painstaking work of raising her own five children, and it was certainly imaginable—and indeed permissible—for her to wish to spend her last years living as a woman again.
Chinggis, however, was unhappy to see Münglig at the tent of his mother. This may have been permissible for her, but not for Münglig. For this reason, he had for many years kept his distance from his mother’s tent.
With Chinggis having adopted this attitude, the relationship between Ö’elün and Münglig was semi-officially recognized, and thus Münglig exercised a certain amount of latent influence. And not only Münglig but his seven sons as well; they hid behind their father’s position, and they gradually began to commit more and more actions of an intolerable nature. Particularly egregious was his eldest son, the shaman priest Teb Tenggeri. This diviner had selected the name Chinggis Khan for Temüjin, and this too helped make Teb Tenggeri more arrogant. Chinggis allowed Teb Tenggeri to freely attend all council meetings as a spokesman for the divine, but the middle-aged soothsayer with his balding pate, dauntless and hawklike eyes, and dark skin manipulated his father’s singular position and his own special privilege as an oracle who could control matters of both religion and politics. He worked diligently and oftentimes with unseemly behavior to extend the influence of his own relatives.
Just as Chinggis did not trust Münglig, he did not trust Teb Tenggeri. However, because Teb Tenggeri’s predictions were uncannily precise, even if he despised the man, he could not expel the oracle whom he represented out of hand.
Toward the end of the summer in the year that Chinggis acceded to the position of khan, an incident came to pass. Teb Tenggeri was waiting upon Chinggis, seeking a private audience.
“I convey to you words from the deity of long life,” he said by way of introduction, in a highly dignified manner. These were to be words that Chinggis could not ignore. His younger brother Qasar, claimed Teb Tenggeri, was plotting to depose Chinggis and become king. Chinggis could simply not believe this.
“Even if these are words of a deity,” he said sternly to this unearthly diviner, “what sort of explanation is there for them? Upon what basis can you make such a claim? Go and ask the deity?”
Teb Tenggeri replied, with a ghastly smile coming over his face:
“The deity says to the great khan to go to Qasar’s tent. The great khan will see something dreadful there.”
Upon hearing this, Chinggis and several of his attendants left their tent and walked the roughly 200 yards to Qasar’s tent. Twilight was just enveloping the neighborhood. There appeared to be some sort of celebration under way at Qasar’s tent, and a banquet begun that day was winding down.
Chinggis stood in a corner of the open space before Qasar’s tent. The people crowding the area were standing and causing a commotion. Many people smelling of alcohol were coming out of the tent and vomiting. At this moment, Chinggis noticed among the people there Qulan, accompanied by several maidservants, emerging from the tent. Although it would not have been unusual for Qasar to invite Qulan to a celebration, in the next instant Chinggis saw Qasar appear at the entrance to his tent, coming after her and trying to take her hand. Qasar was plainly drunk. Qulan tried twice to brush aside his hand, and surrounded by her maidservants, she walked through the crowd over to the opposite corner from where Chinggis was standing.
Chinggis was overcome with rage at Qasar. As Teb Tenggeri had said, he saw something dreadful. And, as Teb Tenggeri said, Qasar seemed clearly to be harboring treasonous intentions.
When he returned to his tent, Chinggis immediately sent troops to seize Qasar. A few minutes later, Chinggis proceeded to Qasar’s tent. Qasar had been stripped of his girdle and sword and stood shackled before his bed. Furious with him, Chinggis could not bring himself to speak. Why was Qasar, who had been at his side since they were children and with whom he had shared every trial, now revolting against him? Chinggis stood silently, unable to decide what to do with his younger brother. Should he banish Qasar, execute him, or lock him in jail?
Just then, the curtain at the entrance to his tent flapped open roughly, and he saw his mother, Ö’elün, enter. She had recently begun to show a rapid physical deterioration, and her gait was precarious, as if she were suffering spasms. Ö’elün’s appearance was for Chinggis a completely unexpected event. Someone, it seemed, had reported the pressing news to her.
Ö’elün walked right over to Qasar, untied the rope binding him, and returned his hat and girdle to him. When she finished, unable to suppress her rage, she sat down on the spot cross-legged. With a scowl on her face, she stared fixedly at Chinggis and said:
“Chinggis Khan, do you want me to expose my withered, drooping breasts to you? Do you want me to again take out these same two breasts from which you drank and Qasar suckled? You murdered your younger brother Begter. Are you now once again about to kill Qasar? Like a dog chewing its afterbirth, a panther rushing into a cliff, a lion unable to stifle its rage, a serpent swallowing animals alive, a large falcon dashing at its own shadow, a churaqa fish swallowing silently, a camel biting at the heel of its colt, a wolf injuring its head and mouth, a mandarin duck eating its young because it cannot keep up with them, a jackal attacking if one moves his sleeping spot, a tiger not hesitating to capture its quarry, and a wolverine rushing off recklessly, are you about to murder Qasar who has for so long served at your side?”
Unthinking, Chinggis took two or three steps back. Old Ö’elün was fuming with anger. His mother’s wrath was greater even than when he had killed Begter, and the words that rushed out of her mouth, as if sh
e were possessed, were more truculent than at that earlier time. Somewhat bewildered, Chinggis stared into his mother’s face. Her visage was like that of a giant serpent that would swallow him, standing before her, alive. She had wailed at the time of the killing of Begter, but now not a single tear was to be seen. Chinggis took another two or three steps back.
“Qasar is free to go,” he asserted. “Qasar shall remain at my side for many years to come.”
Turing his back on his mother and younger brother, Chinggis left the tent. He walked along with a sense of helplessness under the high nocturnal sky inlaid with stars. Getting to the bottom of whether Qasar had harbored rebellious ambitions aside, it was a fact that he had tried to grab Qulan’s hand, and that action alone could not be allowed. However, Chinggis had allowed it. For Ö’elün, who had borne all manner of difficulty in raising them, only for his irreplaceable elderly mother, Chinggis would excuse Qasar’s action.
This was not the reason, though, that Chinggis now felt helpless. It was because his mother’s eyes were those of the doe that seeks to protect her young from predators. For the first time, Chinggis felt that he and Qasar both equally had Ö’elün as their mother, but he also had to recognize that there was something other than Qasar between them. While Qasar was legitimately the son born of Ö’elün and Yisügei, Chinggis was a child born as a result of Ö’elün’s being kidnapped by a Merkid marauder. Of this there was no doubt. Just as Ö’elün despised the Merkid invader who had caused his birth, perhaps she also despised him. It seemed clear to Chinggis that day that she was trying to shield both the secret of his birth and the person of Qasar.
In any event, for his mother’s sake Chinggis abandoned the idea of punishing Qasar. But, inasmuch as he was not going to discipline Qasar, he would now have to exact punishment from Teb Tenggeri, who had jumped to the conclusion, via oracular revelation, that Qasar was a traitor. Chinggis slept not a wink that night because of his mother and the oracle. With the approach of dawn, he made up his mind for his mother’s sake to kill this mouthpiece for the divine.