The Earth Is the Lord's

by Taylor Caldwell

  Cloths of white silk exquisitely embroidered were spread over low tables. And at these low tables, seated on silken cushions stuffed with down, sat Temujin and Toghrul Khan and Azara, and Temujin’s friends.

  Behind them, black and looming, stood the mighty mountains, silent under the blazing stars and the riding moon. The pines gave off their pungent scents. The air was as fresh and pure as water. The revelry and song and laughter became deafening. Toghrul Khan’s generals and chiefs sat near him, drinking and shouting, and, at intervals, glancing with furtive contempt and hidden laughter, at Temujin and his poor and shabby followers. For these generals and chiefs, like the khan, were arrayed in silken robes, and glittered with gems. They were literate men, acquainted with the cities, leaders of armies and regiments. They had caught the enmity of Toghrul Khan, and though he had not spoken, they knew that this was a death feast. When they spoke to Temujin and his friends, their voices were filled with mocking respect and elaborate irony.

  But Temujin, who had the nose of an animal accustomed to danger, knew everything. He was quite calm. He pretended to be impressed by all he saw. But Toghrul Khan, after a little while, knew that the young chieftain was not impressed, and that he had already smelled the menace in the air. So he set himself out, with excessive affection and amiability, to allay Temujin’s suspicions.

  He said, in a tone of paternal sympathy: “Thy father’s, kinsman, Targoutai, is thine enemy now, I have heard, and hath taken unfair advantage of thy state. I offer thee any assistance thou mayest desire.”

  Temujin smiled with a hard tightening of his lips. “I thank thee, my father, for thy kindness. But I shall fight Targoutai myself. I have brave heroes at my sides, youthful paladins who would give their lives for me. As for myself, I know in my heart that no man shall conquer me or destroy me.” And he looked fully into Toghrul’s eyes with a bland and open expression, like a child’s, and his own eyes were boyishly blue and simple.

  Toghrul looked into those eyes, and he thought: This is a panther from the deserts!—He smiled gently, and laid his withered hand sympathetically on Temujin’s for a moment. He was astounded that his heart had begun to beat painfully.

  Temujin gazed boldly at Azara, who had been listening intently. But when he caught her eyes like this she flushed, and bent her head. Clad in robes of glistening gold, with her wonderful hair braided with pearls, she was a dream of beauty. When he saw her blushes, Temujin smiled to himself, like a conqueror.

  There was a sudden clash of cymbals, which sent shivering echoes to the stars. And then out upon a cleared place among the tables there danced almost a score of beautiful slave women dressed in harem trousers of blue and scarlet and snowy silk, their feet in jewelled sandals. But their warm and rounded breasts were uncovered, and glistened in the crowding light of the many lamps. Their black hair flowed loosely about their young shoulders, and was crowned with golden circlets glittering with gems. About their upper arms were clasped jewelled circles of broad gold. Their red lips revealed shining teeth, as white as milk. Their eyes were large and soft and dark, like the eyes of does. They danced in an aura of intoxicating perfumes, like a fragrant hot wind.

  They danced simply and dreamily at first, to the gentle strains of flutes and the soft persistent muttering of drums. They might have been innocent maidens, moving in the motion of innocent dreams of love, instead of houris accustomed to licentious pleasures and shameful joys. Their arms and breasts and shoulders shimmered like silk; their jewels blazed restlessly; their feet, moving through the intricate mazes of the dance, twinkled like stars. They smiled as a sleeper smiles, sunken in blissful visions. They seemed unaware of the hundreds of lecherous eyes fixed upon them, and the hungry smiles like the grimaces of starved animals. The music dreamed, its dreams, as though unconscious of those who danced to its strains.

  And then, the music quickened, the drums lifted their hoarse voices. The dancers uttered a light provocative cry, as though the visions they saw became unendurably rapturous. They flung up their arms; their breasts began to pant. Quicker and quicker screamed the pipes and the flutes; faster and deeper and more impelling thundered the drums. The naked torsos began to gleam with sweat, and the odor of it mingled with the heated perfumes until the scent was overpowering. Eyes flashed wildly; the red lips were wet and drawn back from the white teeth. The women seemed caught by the flutes and the drums irresistibly, as though they were being involuntarily whirled up to a shameful surrender and orgasm. Now the warriors began to shout, to sway on their haunches, to clap their hands. Sweat rolled down their swarthy faces. They reached out hands like talons towards the women, who were panting audibly and moaning softly, their flexible wet bodies swaying like serpents. Their eyes flashed like lightning upon the warriors, full of bestial laughter and invitation: their breasts seemed to swell. Now all the air was pierced and torn by the unbearable sweetness and ecstasy of the flutes, and the drums leaped in maddening thunder. The women swung their buttocks with a wanton movement, looking over their shoulders as they laughed deeply, and shaking their bosoms. Many of the warriors leapt to their feet and snatched at them, trying to grasp hair or arm, but with shrieks of mirth the women would dodge or bend and then dance away. It was a wild and dissolute scene; the flutes and the drums and the fragrances overwhelmed the senses.

  Then there was another clash of cymbals, and like a wind the dancers were gone, their laughter trailing behind them. The warriors looked at each other’s crimson faces with foolish smiles, then sat down again and began to drink as though to drown out the memory of what they had seen.

  But Temujin looked only at Azara, who had covered her face with her veil.

  Toghrul Khan said to Temujin: “Even the caliphs of Bokhara and Samarkand have no fairer women than these. Didst thou notice that each was an exact replica of the others? Even I cannot distinguish between them. The slave markets of all the cities were winnowed to match. Every lip and eye is a duplicate, and even their hair is the same color and texture. I have been offered a fortune for them.”

  And Temujin, looking only at Azara, said in a loud firm voice: “I have seen nothing more beautiful.”

  His voice pierced into the confusion of the girl’s senses. She lifted her head and turned her face to him. She blushed, then smiled, shyly and sweetly, understanding him. And then again, she bent her head and drew her veil more closely. All her gestures were covered with confusion and modesty. Her hands trembled: the veil stirred with her breath.

  Toghrul Khan saw all this, and his smooth face wrinkled into nutlike lines as he smiled malignantly. He motioned to a slave, who refilled Temujin’s cup. The young man had never ceased to drink, but he never became intoxicated. His glance was as steadfast as ever; his gestures calm and controlled.

  The drinking and the feasting went on, accompanied by the distant and provocative music and voices. The floating silken banners caught firelight and lamplight, and shimmered in the wind. The fires rose higher, so that the trunks and branches of the circling pine forests were bathed in rosy light.

  Toghrul Khan thought: He hath much to say to me. Why, then, doth he not say it? For what is he waiting? And he studied the young Temujin furtively, admiringly moved, in spite of himself, by his control and his bearing. But even this admiration heightened his hatred.

  A slave bent and whispered in the old khan’s ear, and Toghrul nodded. He turned to Temujin and said: “There is a messenger bringing me news of import. I must leave thee for a moment.” Temujin stood up and courteously assisted him to rise. As Toghrul felt the strong and resistless grip upon his arm, his heart raged and he felt his age and impotence. When he walked away to speak to the messenger, his feet stumbled, and he thought with fury: I am an old man!

  Temujin slipped deftly onto the cushion vacated by his host. He leaned towards Azara. His nostrils distended, and he inhaled the fragrance of her body, which seemed to have a sweet and virginal smell. He saw that she trembled at his nearness, and his pulses rose strongly. He whispered: “Whe
n I look at thee mine eyes are dazzled, and I am filled with bewilderment. Who can compare with thee, O beautiful maiden?”

  Overcome with his emotion, he seized her arm; his hot breath fanned her silken veil. He muttered wildly: “Look at me, Azara!”

  Her head was still bent, and then, as though impelled, she lifted it and turned her face to his. Over her veil her eyes, filled with mist, looked at his, and as they did so, they dilated and shone. He saw the rosy shadow of her lips through her veil; he saw how her breast lifted. He drew her closer, and his urgent body leaned against hers.

  “I love thee, Azara!” he murmured in her ear, his mouth against it.

  She shivered violently. She gazed, fascinated, at his blazing emerald-colored eyes, at his brown throat. She seemed overcome with terror. But her eyes implored him to continue, as though he were uttering words of incomparable delight.

  “Naught shall come between us, Azara!” he muttered through teeth clenched on his passion. “I shall come again, some day, and claim thee.”

  At this, she suddenly paled until her face was as white as her veil. Her trembling ceased. Her eyes lost their mist and shone brightly, as though with extreme fear. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, and now she shivered again, as if stricken with a mortal chill. Startled, Temujin released her arm. She leaned towards him, and for the first time he heard her voice, whispering and hurried:

  “When my father offereth thee a cup of wine on a silver salver, standing beside his, and asketh thee to drink a toast to your mutual pact of help, thou must take it, but on no account must thou drink it!”

  He gasped at her, his lips opening. And then, as his eyes fixed themselves sharply on hers, which were filling with tears, he smiled darkly, and his eyelids narrowed. And then the girl, pressing the veil thickly over her face, rose before he could stop her, and had gone like a doe fleeing from the hunter.

  Temujin lifted his wine cup thoughtfully, and slowly sipped his wine. He glanced at his companions at the other table. They were watching him alertly. He inclined his head, reassuring them, for they had seen the girl’s emotion and her flight. Chepe Noyon, grinning mischieviously, nudged Subodai, believing Azara had fled before the urgency of Temujin’s advances.

  Toghrul Khan returned, and seeing Azara’s empty place, he asked: “Where is my daughter?”

  Temujin said tranquilly: “She asked me to beg thy pardon for her, but she was weary, and hath retired to her couch.”

  “Ah,” said the old Khan, thoughtfully, his yellow skin wrinkling. He sat down. Temujin seemed absorbed in the delicious taste of his spiced wine. Toghrul thought with malicious satisfaction: Azara hath fled from his importunities, and now he doth pretend to an artless unconcern!

  Pleased, his voice was richer than ever as he leaned towards Temujin and said: “But thou hast much to say to me, my son, and when will be a better time?”

  Temujin put down his cup and inclined his head courteously: “Yes, my father, I have much to say to thee, and if it will not weary thee I shall say it to thee now.”

  His face became stern, his lips as grave as stone. He said quietly:

  “First, I must call thy attention to many things.

  “Thou art rich and powerful, in thy cities with their walls and fortresses. But even thou art insecure, because of the dark insecurity and struggles and conflicts and lawlessness of the thousands of nomad tribes ranging the barrens and the mountains. Only three out of five of thy caravans reach their destined places. Each little chieftain is the head of his own little nation, attracting followers from one tribe or another to him, when his repute for robbery and rich raids hath become prodigious enough. Robbery and murder are, in these circumstances, inevitable, and the traders of the cities suffer in consequence. When hunger forces, tribes assault the smaller towns under thy jurisdiction, and are laid waste. This cannot be changed under the system of these days, under a patriarchal society roaming independently and ferociously over High Asia.”

  Toghrul Khan had begun to listen with a half smile and a heart full of crafty ridicule. But now, despite his hatred and the plan he had laid, he was overcome with amazement at the astuteness and clarity of tone of this illiterate barbarian. His smile faded; his eyes narrowed. He looked into Temujin’s face, and said quietly:

  “Go on.” He was suddenly enormously excited.

  Temujin smiled. His eyes were the color of hard jade.

  “We nomads have a rude military society. But because we are separated from each other by feuds and envies and lusts, we war against each other, destroying each other. We despoil and ruin each other. In the old days, my father told me, we were craftsmen of no mean repute, making bronze and iron, and pottery, and our carpenters and smiths made our own weapons. But now we must secure our weapons from Khorasan and Cathay, for we have no time for adequate production.”

  Toghrul said, whispering: “Go on.”

  Temujin sipped his wine. He said calmly: “I seem to wander, but thou knowest I do not wander. Bear with me a little.

  “It is said that ye rich townsmen help us no longer. Ye pick out no strong man who can weld the tribes together. As a consequence, out of your own cupidity and smallness of mind and lack of understanding, there is no leader, and our tribes are filled with liars, murderers, robbers, thieves and raiders. Each chieftain must do as he does, if he is to survive, and ye suffer because of his necessity.”

  Toghrul Khan’s head and face had become like a death’s head. His skull shone wetly in the lamplight. His features grimaced like an ape’s.

  Temujin calmly filled his cup, raised it to his lips. He drank deeply and slowly. He removed the cup from his mouth, wiped the latter, and smacked loudly. “I have not before tasted such nectar,” he said, with a boyish smile at his foster father.

  Toghrul Khan seized his arm in fingers like pincers. They sank through the hard flesh almost to the bone, and Temujin was surprised at their febrile strength. The old man’s eyes blazed like dying coals, redly.

  “Go on!” he muttered through his teeth.

  Temujin raised his eyebrows artlessly. “Methinks I have drunk enough,” he said.

  “Not enough!” cried the old khan fiercely. “Go on!”

  Again, Temujin filled his cup, and drank without hurry, while Toghrul Khan’s eyes blazed upon him. The generals and officers at the other tables, attracted by their khan’s face, leaned forward, trying to catch a word. But the music, and the shouts and laughter defeated them.

  Temujin put down the cup, and again wiped his lips. He turned to Toghrul Khan, and his eyes glittered in spite of his light smile.

  “No security, no safety, no guarantees, no law, no order,” he said softly. “And ye townsmen bite your fingers in impotent wrath because of the loss of your caravans. You Urgurs and Karaits and Moslem merchants, losing your vast rich caravans on the north roads from Cathay, from Samarkand or Bokhara, from the routes south of the Altai mountains! You townsmen sitting fatly in your gardens, and lamenting your losses! And why?” His voice rose on a harsh note of contempt, and he flung away the gripping fingers on his arm. “Because ye have no minds with which to think, but only lust for profits. Because ye cannot know that among all the tribes that roam the barrens, hungrily, there is a passionate desire for unity, for a leader who will guarantee them sufficient food and security and comfort. We do as we do, in our terrible necessity. And ye merchants pay through the nose, because ye will not call a leader to your aid, who will unite all the nomad tribes and control them, and give them security from your own pockets.”

  Toghrul held his withered lip between his teeth, and he spoke mumblingly: “Go on!” His eyes sparkled beneath their wrinkling lids.

  Temujin shrugged. “I have told thee. There must be an end to the ceaseless quarrelling and turbulence and anarchy among our starving beggared nomads. There must be safety from them on the caravan routes. But only a single strong man, a leader, supported by your wealth, supplied with limitless arms and horses, can unite these tribes, and guarantee
your caravans. I have already told thee.” He reached up his hand and helped himself to the pastries held out to him by a servant. He stuffed the whole delicacy into his mouth and began to crunch on it, making sounds of appreciation. He seemed to have dismissed everything else from his mind.

  Toghrul Khan sunk into himself on his thick cushion. He was as still as an image. But his eyes were terribly alive. He wet his lips. He moved his head as though he were choking. He could hear the brittle hammering of his own pulses. Then he put his hand on Temujin’s arm, and smiled with revolting sweetness.

  “Thy conversation is most fascinating, my son. Go on. Thou dost delight mine ears, for thou art full of astuteness and wisdom.”

  Temujin raised his brows. He affected to be touched with modesty and vanity. He spoke again.

  “Mine uncle, Kurelen, hath told me that the goodness of the world resides in its poets and its philosophers and wise men. But who is concerned with goodness? Thou, thyself, knowest that the world belongeth to the merchants, to the shopkeeper, to the manufacturer of arms, and stuffs.” And now he grinned malevolently, and his eyes shone with sardonic contempt. “I honor you merchants, for who am I but a beggarly nomad, not knowing what day I shall feast and what day I shall starve? Nothing matters, after all, but the profits of the merchant, and a world of men is well sacrificed for these profits. Thou knowest all this. But thou hast not known, heretofore, that only a single strong man can protect thee from the lusts and hungers of countless insecure men.”

  He wiped his sticky hands on the white embroidered napkin. He said so quietly that at first Toghrul did not hear the ferocity under his words, and the hatred: