The Earth Is the Lord's

by Taylor Caldwell

  Temujin, with a wild cry, struck at his horse savagely, and the animal leaped forward as if about to rise in the air. Still striking at his horse, the young man galloped towards the village, his companions following, crying aloud in their distress and apprehension. Behind them raced the howling dogs, nipping at the heels of the horses.

  In a cloud of hot dust Temujin plunged into the center of the village, flung himself from his stallion, rushed towards the yurts where lived his mother, his uncle and his wife. Not a soul met him; the doors of all the other yurts stood open, idly flapping in the smoldering wind. But as he approached the yurts of his family, he heard a faint and dismal wailing and sobbing. He sprang up upon the platform of Houlun’s yurt, thrust himself through the flap.

  Kurelen lay unconscious upon his, couch with a face like a mask of death. Near him crouched Houlun, grimly silent, with a face no less pale. She was laving his face and misformed chest with steadfast hands; all her attention was fixed upon him, as though her life lay there, ebbing away. On the floor about her crouched Chassa, two old serving-women, and three or four younger women with their children in their arms. From them came a constant moaning, as they rocked from side to side on their buttocks. On the other side of Kurelen’s couch stood the Shaman, his face dark and fixed, his arms folded upon his chest. Only he looked up as Temujin entered, and then his eyes gleamed a little with a malignant light.

  “It is time thou didst return,” he said in an ominous voice. “But it will do thee no good now.”

  Temujin paled; his nostrils flared out. He went to his mother and put his hand on her shoulder. But she did not look up at him. Her heart was in her eyes, as she bathed and tended the unconscious Kurelen. She was conscious of nothing else. Her son shook her, at first gently, then violently. Still receiving no response from the tranced woman, he turned savagely to the Shaman, who was smiling evilly.

  “What has happened? Where is my wife? Where are my people?”

  His companions, who had now arrived, stood outside on the platform and tried to see within.

  Again, Kokchu smiled with the malice of hatred.

  “When thou wert away, the second day, the Merkit came, the barbarians of the white frozen world. Our warriors tried to defend the ordu; all but six were killed, and these six fled, to save their lives. Among them was Belgutei. The Merkit seized many of the women and the children.” He paused, and his fixed eyes became malevolent as they studied Temujin: “They entered the yurt of thy wife, Bortei, and they seized her. Kurelen attempted to defend her. One of the Merkit thrust him through the shoulder with his lance, and left him for dead.” He shrugged. “I pleaded with them to spare Bortei, but they shouted at me with contemptuous laughter, saying they were clansmen of thy mother, Houlun, who was stolen from her husband. And now, they said, they would give her as a slave to a kinsman of thy mother’s first husband, as a recompense and a revenge. They also took our herds, and the mother of Belgutei.”

  While he had been speaking, Temujin had turned even paler than before, until it seemed that all his blood had left his body. He stood without movement, though Chepe Noyon, Subodai and Jamuga cried aloud in grief and despair, and ran from the platform of this yurt to seek unavailingly among the other yurts for their mothers and sisters. Still, though moment after moment passed in the hot gloom of the yurt, filled with the wailing of the wretched women and children, Temujin did not move. His head was bent; his face was whiter than snow. And the Shaman watched him, darkly smiling with his wicked triumph, delighted, even in this predicament of his people, that Temujin should be so stricken.

  What art thou thinking of, thou vainglorious dreamer? he thought viciously. Art thou not beaten down, thou boaster, thou kha khan, thou emperor of all men? Happy am I that thou art reduced to this, a hunted starveling on the face of the desert! Thou hast failed, for none of the men of Toghrul Khan are with thee, and thou hast no one but these miserable women and thy hungry beggars who call themselves thy heroes! Where wilt thou go now, thou wild dog? Every man’s hand is against thee, and before the night begins, thy body will be an offering to the vultures.

  Then, slowly, as though hearing these virulent thoughts, Temujin lifted his head and fixed his terrible eyes upon the Shaman. And involuntarily Kokchu recoiled, wetting his lips with a vague terror, as though he were confronted with a frightful beast suddenly sprung up before him. But Temujin’s voice was very quiet when he spoke:

  “But thou, Kokchu, art still alive.”

  The Shaman trembled. He opened his lips, but it was a moment or two before he could reply, and then only faintly:

  “I am not a warrior. I am only a priest.”

  Temujin’s lips writhed, and he said:

  “Ah, yes. It is true that when good men die the priest liveth.”

  Kokchu recoiled still another step, and again he wet his lips. But he could not speak again.

  Kurelen, lying so motionless on his couch, moved his head and groaned dimly. Temujin bent over him, and laid his hand on his uncle’s forehead. The hot sweat on it startled him. And now Houlun, as though aware for the first time of her son, looked at him with hollow eyes filled with anguish. She uttered a choked cry, and burst into tears. She leaned her head against his hip, and abandoned herself to her grief, her long black hair falling over her face.

  Temujin fastened his compelling attention on his uncle’s shrunken eyelids. “Kurelen,” he called in a loud, urgent voice. “Kurelen! It is I, Temujin, come to avenge thee!”

  Kurelen stirred again, as though deep in the fastnesses of his dying body he heard Temujin, and was striving to come up through the depths to him. Kasar knelt beside his mother, drew her head to his chest, and silently and awkwardly attempted to console her. Her cries and sobs were heartbreaking. But Temujin looked only at his uncle, and his will impelled him, forced him to come to the surface of the black sea which was drowning him.

  The shrunken eyelids flickered; the cracked lips quivered. And then, almost imperceptibly, the eyelids opened, and the glazed eyes fixed themselves upon Temujin. And then Kurelen smiled, attempted to lift his hand. The other arm and shoulder were covered with cloths, which were stained with dried blood.

  Temujin put his ear to his uncle’s mouth, for it was evident that the cripple was trying to speak to him. He felt the dry flutter of Kurelen’s lips, and heard his leaflike whisper:

  “Ha, so thou hast returned! And now, I shall live.”

  Temujin smiled at him through his white lips.

  “Most certainly thou shalt live, mine uncle. More than ever, I need thee now. But sleep, and recover.” He laid his hand on Kurelen’s forehead, drew it down gently, and pressed closed the eyes. A faint tinge of color had come into Kurelen’s waxlike features. He drew a deep breath, turned his head, and slept. Then Temujin turned to his mother, knelt down, and took her into his arms.

  “Weep not, my mother, for Kurelen shall not die. I promise thee that. And I promise that I shall avenge thy grief and thy suffering.”

  She wept on his shoulder, then relaxed, and kneeling there, slept in his arms, overcome with profound exhaustion. After a little while he gave her over to the serving-women, who laid her gently on the floor beside her brother; and fanned her with their sleeves.

  In the meantime, weeping sternly, the others had returned. Temujin went out into the blinding sun, and, standing on the platform, looked down at them as they stood below. They saw his face, graven like stone, and his eyes, the color of blazing emeralds.

  “My companions,” he said, quietly, “great misfortune hath come to all of us. But we must waste no time in bewailing. We must be avenged. I must recover my wife, my bride, and you, your mothers and sisters. We dare not stop for grief, nor be overcome with despair, lest we, too, be lost. Chepe Noyon, do thou return at once to Toghrul Khan and demand his help of me, without delay. Subodai, Kasar, and Jamuga will remain with me.”

  Chepe Noyon, turning quite white, touched his forehead with his hand. He went to his mother’s deserted yurt, and
filled his sacks with kumiss and millet, supplies for himself and his exhausted horse. Then, the others heard him leaving the village on a gallop, and saw his figure rising over the rim of the valley. A moment later it had disappeared around the flank of the red cliff. Yet, for some time afterwards, they could hear the sharp echo of his going as he raced over the cracked earth.

  Temujin let his mother sleep for a while, and then he awakened her, and commanded that she and the other women prepare what little food remained, as he and his companions were hungry. He knew that activity was the anodyne of de spair. Soon two or three campfires were burning. In the meantime, Kasar and Jamuga and Subodai had gone hunting, and brought back a few foxes and martens and rabbits. Their herds had been stolen by the Merkit, and there was no other food but what they could kill in the desert and the hills. It was a small and dejected, but somewhat cheered little gathering which sat about the fires that night, eating the sparse food and drinking what remained of the kumiss and wine. Temujin had embued them with some of his fierce resolution and courage. After they had eaten, he commanded Kasar and Subodai to make music, and Kasar sang in his strong boyish voice, and Subodai made beautiful lilting sounds with his flute. Beyond the fires the flaps of the deserted yurts blew in the desert wind, and the stars rose, huge and cold. In his yurt, Kurelen, awake and less fevered now, listened and smiled, and held his sister’s hand. But the Shaman, frightened, hid in his yurt and kept to himself.

  Jamuga was grief-stricken, not only because his stepfather had been murdered by the Merkit and his mother, young brothers and his little sister had been stolen, but also because his chest of treasures had been carried off by the raiders. They were as dear to him as those of his flesh were dear, and as he sat by the fire he could scarcely eat, famished though he was. He remembered each ivory statuette, each inlaid dagger, each enamelled cup and plate, each pointed manuscript, and it seemed to him that his heart was full of wounds. He thought: When beauty and sweetness are gone, what remains on the earth? And he wiped away his tears with the hem of his sleeve.

  That night Temujin lay in his bed alone, Bortei’s place empty beside him. He stared at the black walls of his yurt, and his mouth was still and tight. But he told himself that he must sleep, for tomorrow there was much to do.

  He sternly closed his eyes, and so intense was his will that in a short time he was sleeping peacefully, his sword in his hand.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning Temujin told his friends that they must hunt through the desert and the mountains for the half dozen warriors and Belgutei who had escaped the Merkit. He and Jamuga would go together through the most dangerous country where the Taijiut ranged, and Subodai and Kasar would go to the north and west, respectively. But first they all hunted for food for the women and children, and when this was supplied, enough for several days, they left on their search for their warriors.

  Temujin and Jamuga rode side by side for a long time, only stopping to replenish themselves, and to search each foot of the menacing country. But only the silence of the barrens greeted them, in spite of their ringing shouts when they entered a place of caves and hollow cliffs and sunken valleys. Only the blinding sun and the searing wind met them everywhere, except for the hoarse calling of a few desert birds, and the scurrying of frightened lizards over the hard earth. They avoided oases and streams by day, fearing the Taijiut, and seeking water only at night, and in silence.

  By the third day, Jamuga was possessed by stark fear, for it seemed to him that it was not Temujin who rode so silently and inexorably beside him, but an implacable stonelike fury, exhaustless. Temujin spoke less and less, and rode on rapidly when Jamuga was certain that he, himself, would fall from his horse prostrated. His profile, lifted against the burning blue sky, was the profile of a bird of prey, sharp and bronzed and haggard, which could never be turned back, but would go on, pursuing until avenged. Each hour found him leaner, and darker of skin, and grimmer of lip. The two young men no longer conversed with each other, saving their strength for their periodic shouts and calls. And then, as they penetrated deeper and deeper into the Taijiut country, they used their eyes more than their voices, and searched for signs in the gravelly earth. Once, in the violet twilight, they saw the distant orange fires of a camp of the Taijiut, and they drifted far away in a circle, like shadows.

  At last Jamuga said: “It is not possible, Temujin, that they have come so far away, into this dangerous country. Let us turn back.”

  Temujin did not answer for a long time, and then he said: “It is true. Tonight, if we have not found them, we shall turn back. Yet, I have a premonition that they are not far away from us today.”

  They had come onto a vast steppe, and standing knee-deep in the green grass, Temujin looked about him and said: “These are the pastures of my people. I shall seize these places for them.”

  “They were once ours,” replied Jamuga, sadly. “The Taijiut do not need all these pastures. Why do men seize more than they need? Surely, there is enough space in all the world for all men.”

  Very slowly, Temujin turned his face to him, and the dark contempt on it struck Jamuga like a blow. But Temujin did not speak, but only swung himself up on his horse again, and loped away. I do not understand him any longer, thought Jamuga with deep dejection. But, did I ever understand him, in truth?

  Yet, later, when he caught up with Temujin, nothing could have been gentler than the young khan’s smile. They rode side by side in a warm silence, Temujin leaning towards his anda, and resting his hand lightly on his shoulder. To Jamuga, this was peace and happiness, and he thought to himself that he would be content to ride like this into eternity, with Temujin’s hand on his shoulder and the sun in their faces. Surely, surely, he thought, with a sort of passion, there could be nothing sweeter than friendship and trust and love, and men who had them not were men who walked in blindness armed only with hatred, dangerous men whom other men must kill in order to save the world.

  They camped that night in a high pine forest, sleeping under one blanket. At least, Temujin slept, but Jamuga did not. Sleep was never a familiar of his, for his thoughts were always too sad and melancholy. But he could marvel at the stern will of Temujin, who could slumber at the very threshold of enemies, and who never allowed himself the miserable luxury of anxiety and despair. He lay on his back, his quiet harsh face upturned to the moon, and Jamuga remembered the colossal and fateful profile which Kurelen had pointed out to him, saying that it was the profile of Temujin. It was true. This sleeping man’s face was the face of the sleeping giant, portentous and full of power of doom. And again, Jamuga’s heart sank into a pit of sadness, and he knew that he had been riding in an illusion, and that he did not know Temujin at all.

  He leaned on his elbow, and stared at his anda. And as he did so, his mind became confused, and it seemed to him that all the brightness of the moon had come to a focus in Temujin’s sleeping face, and that beyond it there was nothing but nebulous unreality. He was appalled and fascinated and terrified; he kept shaking his head, as though to rid it of its mounting confusion. And the moon burned brighter with its argent light, and gave a look of wild ferocity to Temujin even while he slept, a fatal look. A lock of his red hair blew softly across his brow. But it did not alter his expression; it might have been a butterfly fluttering over stone.

  The next morning Jamuga said: “We must turn back. They are not here in this country.”

  Temujin agreed. But there was a curious light in his eye, and Jamuga knew that he was thinking of something else. His eye had the stillness of a gray lake over which his thoughts hovered like clouds, but could not be discerned. At last he said:

  “These are wonderful pastures, unknown to us. But I shall have them for my people.”

  They stood on a vast green plain filled with quiet radiance. For scores of miles they could see nothing but this immense green flatness, which was like a sea rippling gently in the wind. To the north there was a single white peak, incandescent in the sun, blazing like crys
tal. The air was as pure as mountain water, and as clear, and the wind was laden in the fresh scents of earth and grass.

  When Jamuga did not answer, Temujin turned to him with a smile:

  “Thou dost think I am boastful. Thou dost not believe me.”

  Jamuga regarded him for a moment in pale silence, then he said bitterly: “I do believe thee!”

  And then, overcome with his sad and distracted thoughts, he rode ahead, followed by Temujin’s light and indulgent laughter.

  At noon, Temujin said: “Thou art right. We must turn back now.”

  They swung their horses about, and rode away from the great white peak, which had seemed to approach no nearer to them. They left the steppe towards evening, and rose over a swelling terrace. And then stricken with fear, they stood for a moment, immobile. For advancing towards them was a detachment of horsemen, the Taijiut.

  At length Jamuga uttered a low cry. “The Taijiut! They have seen us! Let us flee!”

  But the horsemen had already seen them. They were led by Targoutai, Temujin’s old enemy, and instantly he recognized the young man by his fiery red hair and the straight tall way he sat his horse. He gave vent to a shrill and triumphant shout, and, followed by his men, he galloped towards Temujin, brandishing his lance.

  “Come,” said Temujin in a low voice, and they turned their horses about and rushed away with the fleetness of shadows. They heard singing sounds, and saw arrows flying past them. The horsemen were gaining on them, filling the sunlit air with hoarse shouts, for their horses were fresh and Temujin’s and Jamuga’s were already tired. Temujin reined in his horse. He looked at Jamuga fiercely.

  “Go on, Jamuga, and I will try to halt them for a moment, to give thee time.”

  Jamuga looked into his eyes, and replied steadfastly: “Nay. I will stand with thee, and if thou diest, then I shall die by thy side.”