The Earth Is the Lord's

by Taylor Caldwell

Will beat felt for my yurt, and sew my garments,

  And make my boots of deerskin. Where’er I go,

  Where’er I die, there will my wife be, my comfort,

  My refuge, my hearth and my hope. Blessed is she

  Above all other women. Ah, blessed is she, my wife!

  Bortei looked at Subodai, and her breast swelled, and her breath came quicker. Temujin reached for her hand, and when she felt it, she quailed.

  Dai Sechen, however, was still uneasy. He called Temujin to him in his yurt, at the height of the festivities. He was no forthright man, but cunning and devious, and crafty, all the things that Temujin despised. After much hesitation and thoughtful humming, the old man said, wincing a little from the expression in Temujin’s eyes:

  “I have heard of all the travail that hath followed thee, and all the prodigious things done by thee and thy mother to retain thy seat on the white horseskin. I have heard how thou wast hunted, and how thy people fell away. I know thy miseries and thy dangers are not done—”

  Temujin interrupted with contempt: “Thou dost know too much, Dai Sechen, and thou dost weary me with thy recital of my woes. Thou hast something to suggest. Say it, and have done.”

  Dai Sechen’s old eyes narrowed slyly. He said, softly: “Ah.” And then he pulled his beard. He went on: “I would feel calmer in my heart about my daughter if thou wouldst appeal for protection to thy father’s anda, his sworn brother, Toghrul Khan, the chieftain of the Karait Turks. Do thou ride over to the walled cities of the Karaits, and demand of Toghrul Khan the assistance he is sworn to render thee on demand.”

  He stopped abruptly, for Temujin was regarding him with rage. The young man stood up and began to stride from one end of the yurt to the other, as though he could not contain himself. Finally he stopped before his father-in-law, and shouted at him furiously:

  “Thou hast no wisdom, Dai Sechen, if thou dost not know that one must not appeal to a friend with empty hands, if thou desirest not to be met with scorn or hesitation or excuses. Come strongly, on horseback, with treasures, and a friend will greet thee gladly and offer all manner of assistance. If I came today to Toghrul Khan, he would say to himself: ‘This is a weak and whining youth, who will take from any coffers without hope of return, and endanger me because of my assistance.’ He would not be wrong. The strong aid the strong. I must prove to my foster-father that I am worth helping, before I ask for help, or expect it.”

  Dai Sechen pondered this, his face wrinkling with disappointment and obstinacy. He thought to himself: Even now I can refuse my daughter, saying that she goeth inevitably to death or starvation, and that her husband must have a secure place for her before she leaveth her father’s tent. If he will not agree, he is, at the last, but a helpless youth, with but three youths with him, and I can easily destroy him. Neither can his people avenge him, for they are much weaker than mine.

  Temujin watched the old man, as he sat crouched cross-legged on the floor before him. His face darkened, and his lips drew together in a cruel and ferocious line. He began to speak so quietly that it was a moment or two before Dai Sechen became aware of his words:

  “Do me treachery, Dai Sechen, and thou wilt have no more tomorrows. It was said of me at my birth that I would be the ruler of all men. How canst thou defy the spirits, who have ordained this?”

  Dai Sechen lifted his eyes and studied the hard young face above his. Then, very slowly and craftily, he began to smile. “Thou dost not believe the prophecies, Temujin. But thou hast resolved to fulfil them.”

  He stood up, and took Temujin by the arm. “Mayhap I am a fool, in my dotage, but there is something of fatefulness in thee. I look upon thy face, and I see in it a strange thing, like a destiny. Look thee: I will send with my daughter not only her servants, but ten warriors and their yurts and families.” He paused, sighed. “It is said of Toghrul Khan that his people are very rich, possessed of gold and silver and many weapons, and even the fire-that-flies of the Chinese, and that their cities are invincibly walled. Thou wilt not reconsider?”

  “No,” said Temujin, quietly. “When I go to him, I shall go as an ally, not a supplicant. I shall overcome the Taijiuts with mine own hand. Trust me.”

  Dai Sechen said thoughtfully: “Thy words are vainglorious, like those of all young men, but I verily believe thou art not vainglorious.”

  Temujin smiled, grimly. “I am no longer young. Years do not age, but only knowledge. I have learned many things, but the greatest I have learned is that a man must not use reason to become powerful and invincible. He must use promises of gain to some men. But those promises of gain are for his paladins, only. For his people he must use force and terror. His will must become a divine will, for them. He must not be a man among them, but a god, with death in his hand. He must be compounded of mystery and ruthlessness and superstition; he must wear a frightful crown, and carry a merciless sword in his hand. A good king is a weak king, and his people must inevitably despise him.”

  His face was suddenly contorted, as though with a fury of contempt and black understanding.

  “Many things have I learned, but I have also learned that the soul of man is the soul of a camel, who heedeth only a whip! But I shall temper my implacability with generosity to those who serve me well, and no man shall ever say that Temujin’s word is water. For these things will my people love me, and who shall stand against us! As for myself, so long as I trust no man so shall I be unconquerable.” Dai Sechen smiled a little, and pulled his beard. Then he linked his arm with Temujin’s, and said: “Well, then, we have understood each other. Let us return to thy bride.”

  And now Bortei must retire among her half-sisters and her women, and Temujin must pursue her through the tents, as though he seized her by force from her father’s ordu. He must struggle with the women for her, as they blocked his pursuit, and she fled from yurt to yurt. It was a happy game, in which every one joined with laughter and ribald advice. Temujin’s path was also blocked with singing and drunken warriors, who tusselled with him, shouting. He threw off many of them, kicked others out of his way. His blood sang; his teeth glittered. Now his eyes were the fierce blue of a flame.

  Bortei, hearing his tumultuous approach, ran from the yurt in which she was hiding, and scampered for another, almost deserted and in a quieter spot. She had reached it, and was about to climb the platform, when a gray shadow in the gray light of dawn rose up before her. She put her hands to her mouth to smother a startled scream. And then she saw that the shadow was Jamuga.

  They stood like statues, voiceless, motionless, and looked at each other. Moments passed, and the sound of the seeking tumult came nearer. But neither the youth nor the girl spoke. Their eyes were locked together like wrestlers. Silvery fire ran along the eastern horizon, and the earth floated in a milky sea. Yet still these two did not move, but as the light brightened, they saw the hatred between them. And Bortei knew that Jamuga was warning her, and challenging her, and that she had an enemy who would know no mercy at the end.

  The hunting party burst into full view. Bortei, whose face was as pale as death, glanced at the approaching Temujin and those who followed him on a run. And then she looked at Jamuga once more. But he was gone. It was as though the earth had swallowed him up, so completely had he vanished.

  When Temujin seized her with a cry of triumph, she lay supine in his arms, smiling fixedly. But her heart was thundering like a drum, and a coldness lay along her spine.

  Chapter 19

  With a cynical compassion, Kurelen observed the triumphant return of Temujin with his bride. There was an exultant and turbulent defiance in his manner, a hasty largeness which at first seemed the boastfulness of youth. But, after a moment’s thoughtful study, Kurelen, with amazement, decided that he was wrong. I must be aging, he thought, with attempt at self-derision, for I believe in portents.

  He was pleased with the beauty of Bortei, but after the first pleasure he saw how ambitious she was, how imperious and vain and wilful. She brought a cloak o
f black sable skins to Houlun, a precious gift, but she presented it with supercilious respect, and allowed no one to doubt that she thought Temujin’s people poor and defenseless, and that she, herself, came from a richer clan and a more easy life. Her father’s pastures had been settled and fatter; he was not hunted, but rather respected, by other chieftains. She had already heard the sordid story of Temujin’s recent flight from murder at the hands of Targoutai, who had announced he was now overlord of the Gobi northern pastures. Temujin had told her, with rage and mortification. But even his explanation that he had had to flee for a little while, because he was unable to fight back and retain his people’s pastures, had not reduced the ignominy, in her opinion. A man who had to flee was, to her, a poor creature. However, she did not regret her marriage. Temujin was still a khan, though khan of a miserable handful of people, and she was a very astute girl. She believed in him, though she feared rather than loved him. She had decided from the first that he would become a kha khan, and had diligently planned out the proper steps in her own mind. She remembered, with conceit, that her father had often bewailed the fact that she was not a man, for her wit was so superior. The only thing necessary was to get him entirely under her influence, in order to guide him rightly. To do this, she had to rid herself of Jamuga, who she suspected was not ruthless nor exigent. To her dismay, she found herself confronted not only with Jamuga, but with Houlun and Kurelen also.

  She had approached Kurelen with misgiving and hatred. She had sounded him out as to his own desires for Temujin. To her sudden delight and pleasure, she discovered in him her own cynicism and realistic philosophy. But she also perceived that though her own objectives were acceptable to him, he was not serious about them. It would be good, he had said to her frankly, if Temujin became what she willed. But if he did not, and merely survived in peace and comfort, then it would still be good. After all, it was enough for a man if he lived with a minimum of pain.

  “Thou thinkest so because thou art impotent,” said the young girl, looking at him with brutal candor. Her eyes were as gray as a frozen lake, thought Kurelen, even while he smiled and raised his eyebrows with indulgent malice.

  “Well, what wouldst thou with Temujin, child?”

  The gray eyes had glinted as though lightning had touched them. “I would have him lord of all the Gobi,” she answered, not loudly, but with a sort of cold fierceness.

  “Because thou lovest him?”

  She had hesitated. And then she thought to herself that Kurelen loved candor, for it made him laugh, and if he laughed, that cleansed him of venom and she would not need to fear him.

  “Nay,” she replied, with an enchanting smile. “Because I love myself.”

  They understood each other, were wary of each other, but no longer disliked each other. If Kurelen opposed her, shrewdly concluded the girl, it would be merely to tease her. He would watch her with intense interest, and assist her when needful. For long ago she had perceived that under his derision for those who loved power was an unquenchable lust for it, himself. Only his great humor had kept him from being a conspirator; only his self-evaluation had made him refrain from envious plotting. He knew his limitations. But he was wise in that he did not seek revenge for them. He, as he often explained, preferred to eat, and he also preferred that what he ate be untainted by bitterness.

  But Houlun, recognizing one like herself, immediately hated the young wife, who threatened her own dominion. The two women had looked into each other’s eyes. Houlun had thought, with fury: I am no longer young. And Bortei had thought: Thou hast ruled too long. Thus began a struggle for Temujin which was to end only in death, and a hatred that was to be unremitting and remorseless.

  One by one, she studied those who could aid or oppose her. She was not concerned about Kasar, and gave him her sweetest smiles when she discovered his idolatry of his brother. He was brave, simple and devoted, a good henchman. She soon convinced him that she adored Temujin, also, and wished only his good, and was ambitious for him. He gave her a measure of worship and blind devotion, in return. Nothing, henceforth, would shake his allegiance to her.

  Chepe Noyon, she knew, extravagantly admired her beauty. But he was shrewd. He might be beguiled by her eyes and her lips, but only lightly, and he would cheerfully cut her throat if he discovered her in any treachery against her husband. The throat-cutting would proceed with dispatch, and without any personal animosity. She set herself to win him, and pretend to an artlessness which did not deceive but only amused him. This amused her, also. They became great friends, gay and impudent. She could count on him not to oppose her in anything that would advance Temujin’s interests, however devious and sly her methods were. He was supremely loyal, but had little personal integrity, she observed with relief. She was too clever to be amazed at paradoxes.

  She soon knew that the Shaman was a formidable force which she must not under-evaluate. She perceived he was extremely susceptible to female loveliness and flattery, but only so far as his own interests extended. He would sacrifice or risk nothing because of any feminine beguilements. At first she was concerned. But later she was heartened. She had only to show him that his own gain lay with Temujin, and then she had him completely. But then she discovered Bektor.

  She saw that Bektor was innocently the most dangerous foe with whom she would have to contend, because of Kokchu and others who hated Temujin. Without regret, she decided he must die. She had only to prepare the way. Once Bektor was dead, the Shaman would have no choice but to follow Temujin. And the murder must take place soon, she concluded. Poison, perhaps. Her own mother had taught her the most potent toxins. She would think about it in a few days, and plan the proper occasion.

  Jamuga, too, must die, or be rid of in some other way. Perhaps not death; that would cement his influence with Temujin, who would never believe in any accusation of disaffection, unless he saw it himself. He must be made to see it, and by Jamuga. That would take planning. Bortei methodically laid the idea aside, to be worked upon at leisure. For it would require great cleverness. In the meantime, she would study Jamuga, and discover the way to make him ruin himself.

  And then there was Subodai, the chivalrous, the pure and the beautiful, whose soul was like clear water in a silver cup. Her lust for him grew daily, so that it seemed to her that liquid fire instead of blood ran in her veins. If she were to seduce him, she must do it with all skill and wit, for there were too many eyes upon her. She wondered if Kurelen and the Shaman had already guessed her passion. Kurelen, she decided, would not interfere, unless she swerved from her duties to Temujin. Once he had said to her: “Among us, adultery is a crime. Among the civilized, it is an art.” However, she was not yet certain that his tolerance would extend to her, in spite of his smile of ridicule when he spoke of his own people’s simplicity. She saw that Kurelen, at the last, would ask only that she not force him to see her physical betrayal of Temujin. As for the Shaman, she must be careful not to offend his vanity. She must save her most delicate flatteries for him.

  But Subodai, himself, was the greatest obstacle in the path of his own seduction. He was a veritable white knight, selfless, brave and truthful. He would never be seduced by passion, but only by a great love. And there must be no shadow on that love. She decided that he must be made to love her secretly; she did not seriously believe that any man could resist passion at the last, provided it had been stimulated enough. But her task, she felt, would be long and arduous. She must present herself in his eyes as a pure and devoted and heroic wife, full of tenderness and all the virtues. Then he would love her. His capitulation would then be only a matter of time. He would never begin with lust; he would only end with it. Sometimes she felt a wondering contempt for him, and doubted his virility. And then her own desire would sweep it away, and she knew that nothing mattered but this desire and its fulfilment; and then there was a perverse respect in her for a man who would love a woman only because she was virtuous and devoted to her husband.

  But always, at every devi
ous turn of her labyrinthian nature, she came face to face with the stony eyes of Jamuga, Temujin’s anda, whom he loved above all others, even his wife. The obstacle that must be destroyed, before any of her desires could be fruitful.

  She had not learned, and perhaps never would learn, that Temujin, at the very last, was influenced only by himself, and did, finally, only what he had always decided to do. If others believed that they had influenced him, they had the blind gratification of their own vanity. He never bothered to disillusion them. He found deluded people advantageous, and their delusion cemented their loyalty to him. He had long ago realized that men are devoted to a leader in whom they believe they see their own leadership and desires in influence. Their own conceit is the spring of their devotion. To betray him would be to betray themselves. And only saints and madmen betray themselves.

  Kurelen, alone, suspected Temujin’s true nature, and because of this, he was careful to dilute his advice with laughter, so that his nephew might not be made uncertain by it.

  In the meantime, he, Kurelen, found life very interesting. He saw everything, and found everything full of excitement and mirth.

  Chapter 20

  Kurelen had told Temujin: “The day a man doth realize that he hath no friends is the day he is delivered from his swaddling clothes.”

  Temujin believed this, with reservations. He believed that it is given to few men to have a true friend, and then only one. He might have devoted followers like Chepe Noyon and Kasar and Subodai. But only if he is singularly blessed will he have a friend like Jamuga Sechen, his spiritual anda as well as his mere sworn brother.

  A man might have a noble mother like Houlun. He might have a beautiful and industrious and clever wife like Bortei. He might have an adviser who loved him, like Kurelen. But rarely will he have a friend, who is above mother and wife and children and priest and kin.