The Blue Wolf

by Joshua Fogel

  The next day when he saw Teb Tenggeri, who came to his tent, Chinggis immediately had his guards seize him and turn him over to three strongmen who had earlier received orders to this effect. The strongmen took Teb Tenggeri outside the tent, walked him a short distance, and then quickly broke his back. As soon as they saw that he was dead, they discarded him among the weeds.

  An hour later, Chinggis went to the site to see Teb Tenggeri’s corpse. His father and brothers, each accompanied by their minions, had gathered together to take charge of Teb Tenggeri’s remains. Münglig came before Chinggis and said:

  “I have been the great khan’s comrade from the earliest days of our Mongolian people, but you have now murdered my eldest son.”

  There was a certain echo of haughtiness in his words, conscious as he was of being Ö’elün’s partner.

  “Münglig,” roared Chinggis, his voice trembling. “Teb Tenggeri met his end without heaven’s mercy as a sacrifice to the tyrannical behavior of you and your family. Would you all like to join Teb Tenggeri and line up your corpses together?”

  In abject fear, Münglig and his sons left Teb Tenggeri where he lay and withdrew. On this occasion as well, Chinggis for his mother’s sake desisted from taking Münglig’s life.

  Teb Tenggeri’s body remained on the ground as if he were an immortal spirit, consistent with his shamanistic beliefs. Although people were frightened by the strangeness of this incident, Chinggis didn’t take it to heart. On behalf of his mother, he had saved two people he had been eager to kill. That Teb Tenggeri’s corpse should end up on the ground struck Chinggis as perfectly fine.

  Thereafter Chinggis treated Qasar as if nothing had happened. For his part, Qasar resumed his valued position as Chinggis’s right-hand man. The same circumstances prevailed in the case of Münglig. He continued as before, living with Ö’elün, and without any censure whatsoever he retained his privilege of attending meetings of the highest council of elders. With the death of Teb Tenggeri, though, the influence of Münglig and his family members was sharply curtailed, and their high-handed behavior ceased.

  The following year, 1207, shortly after the founding of his state, Chinggis Khan set to work thoroughly mopping up surrounding areas in which there were people who had yet to acknowledge his authority.

  First, he sent Qubilai Noyan to attack the Qarluqs in the early spring. Although Qubilai was the commander in charge of all military matters, he had specially requested of Chinggis to lead an army on this mission. The chief of the Qarluqs surrendered without a fight, and returning with Qubilai to camp, had an audience with Chinggis. The khan treated him warmly and promised to give him a daughter, a Mongol princess, in marriage when she reached her majority. A girl born to his concubine Yisüi was still only three years of age, making it a bit early to offer her in marriage yet.

  Next, there were reports of unrest among the Naimans, and Jebe was sent on an expedition to crush it in the early summer. In half a year’s time, Jebe had wiped them out, and he returned triumphantly in late autumn.

  Soon after Jebe’s return to camp, ambassadors from the Uyghurs, who lived in areas peripheral to Mongolian terrain, arrived and swore fealty to Chinggis. As tribute, they offered gold, silver, small and large pearls, silks, brocades, and damask—all highly valued items. Chinggis rewarded the Uyghur chief and promised him Princess Al Altun. She was the daughter of Yisügen and was only a few years old.

  In 1208, Chinggis sent his eldest son, Jochi, as commander of an army against the forested region to the north. It was the first military action outside the borders of the state since its founding. If Chinggis were to be prepared for trouble with the Jin to his southeast, where they shared a border now, and if he were to engage the Uyghurs to the southwest in battle, he had first to eliminate any threat from the north. There was no powerful force in the north. A number of backward tribes were scattered in the area around Lake Baikal, and the north was severely cold wasteland where no one could live, Siberian terrain the Mongols had been unable to penetrate.

  Jochi was twenty-one years of age. Born to his mother, Börte, for the purpose of enduring all the hardships of the Mongolian people, he had received rigorous training. When rumors of an expedition into Siberia began to spread, Börte asked Chinggis if this task might be given to Jochi for his first leadership role in battle.

  “That land is interminable,” said Chinggis. “After crossing Lake Baikal, I don’t know how far one can go.”

  “Jochi’s feet are stronger than the hoofs of a mountain goat,” said Börte, raising her head.

  “The next battle on Siberian terrain,” said Chinggis, “will not be against other men. More likely it will be against nature.”

  “Since he was a baby, Jochi has been raised as a friend of the wind and snow,” replied Börte. “He was not raised inside a tent.”

  “But in the next battle, ninety out of a hundred men may not return,” said Chinggis, and with a stern look in her eyes, Börte responded:

  “Was not Jochi born to face head on such an austere fate?”

  For a moment, Chinggis continued staring at Börte, and eventually he said in a low voice:

  “So be it, we’ll send Jochi!”

  Chinggis had been thinking that the leader of this battle in Siberia would have to be someone who had at least reached middle age and who could temper severity with leniency, and Jelme would be the perfect choice. Given Börte’s earnest desire, though, Chinggis now made up his mind to give twenty-one-year-old Jochi, his eldest son, the task. Chinggis sensed in Börte’s eyes a sharp look of defiance. She was challenging the father who had never fully believed that Jochi was his own son.

  This was the first time Jochi was to be commander of an army. Leading several tens of thousands of wolves, he departed from the great Mongol encampment in early May, a time when the snow was melting in the north. They headed north along a tributary of the Selengge River.

  Late that year, Jochi returned victorious. His achievements on the battlefield had been extraordinary. With Quduqa Beki of the Oirats, who first came to surrender before him, as his guide, Jochi went on to conquer in succession the Oirat, Buriat, Barghu, Urasud, Qabqanas, Qangqas, and Tuvan peoples. He then defeated the Kyrgyz, who were the most powerful people in this area, subdued the People of the Forest in the northwest region, and returned with a number of the Kyrgyz leaders. They presented to Chinggis Khan great quantities of large white arctic falcons, white geldings, and black sables. Quduqa Beki of the Oirats came with them.

  As sovereign of the Mongolian people, Chinggis issued the following edict according high praise for Jochi’s triumphs:

  —Jochi went on an expedition to the barren terrain of the northwest, enduring a long and rocky path. Not harming the local inhabitants nor wounding the geldings, you have conquered the fortunate People of the Forest. As for the people and the land that you conquered, it is altogether fitting that these shall now be yours.

  Chinggis had now to recognize something extraordinary that he had failed to notice heretofore about Jochi with the overly slender, rather delicate frame. Chinggis was now fully satisfied that Jochi bore the blood of the Mongolian people and had superbly proven himself a descendant of the blue wolf.

  The day his decree hailing Jochi’s accomplishments was announced, Chinggis received in audience the chiefs of the peoples living on the Mongolian periphery who had now become his subordinates. He was in extremely good humor. He proclaimed that day that Quduqa Beki, the first to perform meritorious service among them as reported to the throne by Jochi, would receive Princess Checheyiken, born to one of the khan’s concubines. It was then noted that there was far too great an age difference between the forty-year-old Quduqa Beki and the five-year-old Checheyiken, and Chinggis immediately halted this reward midstream and decided that Checheyiken would instead go to Quduqa Beki’s thirteen-year-old son, Inalchi.

  “Quduqa Beki,” proclaimed Chinggis, “tomorrow, be standing on the hillock north of the encampment. At that time, you ma
y take from all of the flocks of sheep as far as the eye can see.”

  “Inalchi is my second son,” replied Quduqa Beki. “My eldest son, Törölchi, I left back in our settlement.”

  When he heard this, Chinggis said:

  “In that case, I shall give Holuiqan, daughter of Jochi, to your eldest son Törölchi.”

  When Quduqa Beki of the Oirats withdrew, next to appear was none other than the chief of the Önggüds who had participated in the fighting with them.

  “Leader of the Önggüds,” intoned Chinggis, “I shall give to you Princess Alaqai Beki.”

  Alaqai Beki had only recently been born to a concubine. Even if they were his own daughters or granddaughters, Chinggis did not have much respect for females. He saw no need whatsoever to keep the infant girl under his own care.

  On the occasion of his giving this terrain to Jochi, Chinggis announced that he was also bestowing territory on his close relatives, to whom he had not as yet given anything. To Ö’elün and his youngest brother Temüge, he gave 10,000 people each. In Mongol society, family headship was inherited by the youngest son, meaning that Temüge was to acquire a greater portion than any of his siblings. Ö’elün remained silent, possibly displeased. Although he understood that his mother might have been dissatisfied, Chinggis had no plans to give the woman any more than this.

  To his eldest son, Jochi, Chinggis gave 9,000 people; to his next son, Cha’adai, 8,000; to his third son, Ögedei, 5,000; and to his youngest son, Tolui, the same number of 5,000. To his younger brothers, Qasar and Belgütei, he gave 4,000 and 1,500, respectively. Although the rewards to close relatives were rather small, those to Qasar and Belgütei were especially so. As far as Chinggis was concerned, there was no need whatsoever to hurriedly hand over spoils to his family members. He perhaps should have given greater rewards to Qasar and Belgütei. That was all to transpire at a later date. For now, he had simply taken control over the Mongolian plateau as his own domain.

  There was, in fact, one further reason for this distribution: a certain distance was beginning to develop between Chinggis and his younger brothers, Qasar and Belgütei. Qasar probably had a different father than Chinggis, and Belgütei clearly had a different mother. All three had endured many difficult years before the Mongols reached their present situation, and all had stood together as one in body and mind against every hardship and suffering.

  Until now, Chinggis had thought that his two brothers had a valued and necessary place difficult to fill with anyone else. Now that the Mongols had risen to such prominence with their great state, Chinggis no longer felt that Qasar and Belgütei possessed any such importance. It was different in the cases of Bo’orchu and Jelme. While Qasar lacked the talent to rule over men, his capacity as a distinguished commander on the battlefield could not be denied. Belgütei, though, in the fighting against the Naimans had posted a string of defeats due to imprudence. He not only was incapable of leading his own troops but also lacked certain elements needed in a leader of men.

  Chinggis had not forgotten to reward these two men, but in so doing there was a time and method to be selected. He had dreamed that he would give to Qasar the villages off in the unknown west and to Belgütei the unknown grasslands to the north, and then make them each rulers over their respective domains. Chinggis was not in the least moved in this instance by his mother’s dissatisfaction. Ö’elün had thought that she no longer served any need. She would always be with him and with the Mongol people.

  As the end of the year approached, Ö’elün suddenly became ill and after three days passed away. She was sixty-six. The funeral was a grand affair. Her corpse was carried on the shoulders of the four foundlings, all of different ethnicities, whom she had raised and who all had grown into splendid adults serving important functions—Kököchü, Küchü, Shigi Qutuqu, and Boroghul—and she was laid to rest at a site with a beautiful view of the slope of Mount Burqan.

  When his mother’s body was placed in the grave, Chinggis for the first time wailed. His cries immediately spread to the surrounding peoples. Lamentations were heard from Chinggis’s brothers too, of course, as well as from Börte, Bo’orchu, Jelme, Chimbai, and Chila’un. The two million people of the twenty-one Mongol divisions all spent the next month in mourning.

  The greatest thing that Chinggis took from the death of his mother was the thought that the one person who knew the secret of his birth had departed this world. With the passing of the woman who had given birth to him, raised him, and shared all their great hardships, Chinggis suffered as the child with whom she had shared blood; apart from this, though, the person who at least possessed the knowledge to judge whether he was Merkid or Mongol was now gone, and he felt a deep loneliness, as if suddenly abandoned naked on the face of the earth. He hadn’t been able to ferret anything out of Ö’elün, and he had no desire to do so; what was troubling him was the simple fact that the person who held the decisive information was no more.

  With the death of his mother, Chinggis felt a certain sense of expansive freedom that he never would have predicted. It was the absence of a person who kept watch on what he was thinking. Chinggis had dreamed until now that he was the legitimate descendant of the blue wolf and the pale doe, but if he tried to believe this, he felt that Ö’elün was somehow always impeding his thoughts. While mourning his mother, Chinggis realized for the first time that he was now free to dream and to believe that he himself was the legitimate heir of the blue wolf—and he was able to enhance this point as self-knowledge.

  The great state of Jin was now brought into close-up before Chinggis Khan: as an enemy to be butchered and as spoils to be greedily devoured.

  A new year’s banquet was not held in Chinggis’s camp while the mourning continued, and in its stead he summoned on a daily basis his subordinates with many and sundry expressions on their faces. He placed the same issue before each of these trusted men and sought their response. Rarely one to express his own views verbally, Chinggis wanted to hear theirs. The proposition he laid before them was how the Mongols, soon after forming their state, could be put on the path to prosperity.

  Over a period of about ten days, Chinggis was able to listen to the opinions of several dozen men and women. He learned the views of important officers such as Bo’orchu, Muqali, and Jelme; the thoughts of the elders of the various lineages; the points of view of youngsters training day and night for battle; and even the ideas of the women who tended the sheep. And in so doing, Chinggis learned that all strata of men and women who formed the Mongolian state, now only shortly after its founding, hoped for a more prosperous life that they might enjoy even more than the one into which they had been born. This aspiration coincided with Chinggis’s own thinking. What the great majority of people reported to their great khan as the means to attain this hoped-for life was an invasion of the neighboring land—that, and a fair distribution of the spoils and tribute acquired through such an invasion.

  Among those whom Chinggis queried for their views, two who held positions significantly different from his own were his commander Jebe and his beloved concubine Qulan. An audacious young man who once had taken a shot at Chinggis, Jebe seemed to come up with something, as effortlessly as one would pick up a pebble, of which none of the other Mongols had thought:

  “The Mongolian people must abandon their sheep. As long as we keep the sheep, good fortune will never be ours.” Jebe’s words were filled with an almost unimaginable audacity.

  “Better land on which to live than the Mongolian plateau,” said Qulan, “without a doubt lies elsewhere. Can we not all leave this place with its ferociously hot summers and equally frigid winters and go there together? Great khan, pitching our tents at the foothills of mountains more beautiful than Mount Burqan and building cities along rivers clearer than the Onon are your affairs.” What Qulan said was not the sort of thing any Mongol had ever mouthed before.

  Chinggis understood that, although these two had expressed it differently, they were thinking exactly the same thi
ng. Both were indicating that there was nothing on the ancestral soil of the Mongolian people that boded well for future prosperity. Chinggis would discuss what each had said on another occasion, but when they had finished speaking, he said the same thing to both:

  “The Mongols may soon be doing this.”

  The only place rich in resources on which the two million Mongols might live, having abandoned their flocks of sheep, was the land of the state of Jin. If they were looking for beautiful mountains and clear streams, the only conceivable place was the Jin.

  At the end of the first month of the year, Chinggis addressed the Mongol council of elders and expressed the words of Jebe and Qulan, albeit in altogether different language:

  “The mission bequeathed by the heaven of the Mongol people is linked to our age-old enemy, the Jin. Our ancestor Hambaghai Khan was captured by the Tatars, transported to the Jin, and nailed to a wooden donkey. While he was still alive, his skin was peeled off. Both Qabul Khan and Qutula Khan were murdered in plots. We must never forget the bloodstained humiliations experienced throughout Mongol history. I expect that we shall commence our battle against the Jin this spring, and we must eliminate any state that hinders the path of the Mongol armies on their way against the Jin.”

  The state that stood in the way of the Mongol armies was the Xixia. Before he launched a decisive battle against the Jin, then, they would have to attack the Xixia. Two years earlier, the Xixia had brought tribute, and they now enjoyed peaceful ties with the Mongols, but Chinggis had never been satisfied with the arrangement. Whether or not he was justified, at some point he would have to take weapons in hand and subjugate, then destroy the Xixia. Those who were anxious about the Mongol posture vis-à-vis the state of Jin would all have to be eliminated.

  A small incident took place before the arrival of spring. Qorchi, the elderly, lewd prognosticator who was given control over 10,000 households of people living in the delta of the Erdish River, was apprehended by the people in one of the settlements he ruled. Using the “special privilege” Chinggis had bestowed upon him, Qorchi had gone out hunting for beautiful girls among the local villagers, causing them considerable misery.