The Earth Is the Lord's

by Taylor Caldwell

  He seized the child from the arms of the woman and gazed at him with humorous delight. The baby stopped his shouting; his voice died to a whimper. He was as blind and unconscious as a new-born kitten, but Temujin was certain that he looked directly at him, and with recognition.

  “What shall we call my son?” he cried.

  The serving-women exchanged furtive and knowing glances, but were silent. Bortei smiled languidly. And then Houlun’s voice came strongly and harshly from behind her son, and every one was startled and taken aback, for no one had heard or seen her enter.

  “Call him Juchi!” she exclaimed.

  Juchi! The Shadowed! They stared at her. She stood near the flap of the yurt, seemingly unusually tall and passionate, her face white with scorn, her eyes blazing. Bortei made a muffled sound of distress, and turned her head aside. The serving-women cowered before their mistress. But Temujin looked steadfastly at his mother over the squirming body of the child. His eyes were as green as grass in the lamplight.

  “Yes, it is Juchi,” he said in a quiet voice.

  He laid the child on the bed. Bortei’s arm flung itself protectingly about the child. Houlun, breathing rapidly and audibly, smiled maliciously as with some curious excitement, and stepped aside. Temujin laid his lips against his wife’s damp forehead, to which tendrils of dark moist hair clung childishly.

  “Do thou nurture my son in all diligence, my wife,” he said.

  And then, without a glance at his mother, he left the yurt.

  The serving-women, embarrassed and afraid, began their clucking ministrations again. Houlun stood alone. She had pressed her hands against her breast as if to quiet some mortal pain. Her eyes were dark, and all the blaze had left her face, so that it was as cold and colorless as death.

  She waited until the women had done, then approached Bortei’s couch. The two women looked long and unshakingly at each other. Bortei smiled faintly. She had conquered. In her smile there was something triumphant and mean. But Houlun, whose lips were white and pinched, did not smile. She lifted the child in her arms, and gazed at it piercingly, with a sort of fierce sorrow.

  “My grandson is a beautiful boy,” she said.

  And in Houlun’s bitter but proud surrender, Bortei could find no further triumph.

  The first sight that met Temujin’s eyes as he left his wife’s yurt was the arrival of the noisy messengers and the three hundred stallions. Warriors and women and children and herdsmen and shepherds came pouring excitedly out of their yurts to exclaim and wonder and shout with exultation. For it was a wonderful gift. The messenger proudly delivered the silver casket full of its treasures, and Temujin bellowed when he saw the contents. He commanded that Jamuga be sent to him, and went to his yurt, unrolling the sheet of parchment which contained Toghrul’s message.

  The sun was now a ball of flaming red on the eastern horizon. The campfires were lighted. The herds were being driven together in preparation for pasture. It was very cold, for winter had come, and now they must be underway for the new pastures. The sky was already wan and high and chill. No longer were there geese travelling in a long line before the endless wind. The pools were heavily webbed with gray ice, and the river was silent. Over the rounded black tops of the city of the tents the smoke hung low and thick, like a cloud.

  Jamuga came at once, reserved and quiet. He found Temujin eating noisily and vigorously, and was invited to join him. While a servant filled bowls with hot millet and milk, and covered a silver platter with steaming mutton, Temujin gave the parchment to his anda and impatiently waited to have it read to him.

  Jamuga read in silence. When he had done he looked at Temujin with a strange expression. “I have been told that thou hast a son,” he said.

  Temujin was taken aback. He had forgotten, momentarily, though the knowledge of his paternity had hung like a rich warm curtain at the back of his exultant thoughts. “Yes, yes,” he said, hastily. His smile was a little sheepish. To cover his embarrassment, he pointed at the parchment with a hand that clutched a huge fragment of mutton. “Read the letter,” he commanded.

  “Let me offer my felicitations,” said Jamuga.

  Temujin stared. “Eh?” he said. For a moment he wondered what delightful news the letter contained, that made Jamuga give vent to this sentiment. His face shone with egotism. And then it occurred to him that Jamuga meant the birth of the child. He colored. Then he laughed outright.

  “It is a fine fellow,” he said. He laughed again. And Jamuga, who had dreaded this morning for Temujin, began to laugh, also. They laughed together as at some vast joke, as only friends who understand each other can laugh.

  “I have called him Juchi, the Shadowed,” said Temujin. He grinned broadly. For a moment Jamuga became suddenly serious. And he thought to himself that he really did not understand Temujin at all, and the thought saddened him heavily again.

  “But read the letter!” exclaimed Temujin. “I shall expire with curiosity.”

  Jamuga began to read in his low toneless voice:

  “Greetings to my beloved son, Temujin.

  “Thou hast accomplished great things, and the heart of thy foster father beats with pride and joy. Never has it expected less of thee, but it is good for an old man’s heart if he be justified in his faith in his children.

  “The gifts I am sending thee are poor in comparison with the things thou hast done. The new caravan routes shall be opened immediately, and I know that these shall have thy protection also.”

  Temujin, chewing prodigiously, nodded. He said in a muffled tone: “The old buttocks! When a man no longer findeth a comfort in a woman’s warm belly he doth satisfy his lust with gold. Let him have it!”

  Jamuga’s smooth brow wrinkled at this, but he went on evenly:

  “In every city, in every bazaar, in every merchant’s shop, in every palace and counting-house, the fame of Temujin doth rise like incense.”

  “Ha!” snorted Temujin. He spat out a morsel with a noise of contempt. “What a fame is this! To be sung of in the reedy voice of a castrated trader!” He had seized another chunk of mutton, and he waved it in Jamuga’s fastidious face. “Dost thou know what I think? I think I shall have to boot these merchants about some fine day for the good of my soul!”

  Jamuga sighed. “Dost thou wish to hear the rest or not?”

  Temujin shrugged. “Oh, go on.” He stuffed his mouth full, and looked at Jamuga with bulging eyes.

  Jamuga’s thin nostrils drew themselves in distastefully. He stared fixedly at the parchment, and proceeded:

  “Even in the marts of Cathay have I heard praise of the dauntless Temujin, the friend of the merchant, the protector of the peaceful trader.” Jamuga looked at his anda coldly. “Temujin, I must ask thee not to make such disgusting noises. Doubtless thou dost mean to convey an honest contempt. But my stomach is squeamish this morning.”

  Temujin chuckled. “I ask thy pardon. I shall listen to the rest in decorous silence. But who could help breaking wind at such hypocrisy?”

  “I do not think Toghrul is hypocritical,” said Jamuga in an icy voice. “He is truly grateful. After all,” he added bitterly, “thou hast killed many men to make the caravans safe for the good traders.” He rattled the parchment. His hands had begun to tremble, but his voice was still even when he continued:

  “Thou hast given me great opportunity for rejoicing. And I have still another reason. Before the next full moon my daughter Azara will be wedded to the Caliph of Bokhara. I, therefore, for the sake of the joy which thou wilt give mine old eyes, invite thee to the wedding. Then shall my cup indeed be full.”

  Jamuga paused. He waited for some comment from Temujin. When it did not come, he glanced up in surprise. Temujin had paused in the very act of chewing. His face was bulging and expressionless. But he had turned ghastly. His eyes, fixed and brilliant, were the color of blue stone.

  Finally he turned aside his head and spat out the food his mouth contained. He kept his head averted. He had fallen into an om
inous silence. Jamuga saw his profile, ravenous like that of a bird of prey’s. He saw the under lip caught in glistening teeth. His jaw jutted harshly, and the muscles about it were strained.

  Jamuga was alarmed. He cried out: “Temujin! What ailest thee?” He put out his hand to his anda.

  Temujin slowly turned his face to him. He smiled. He was still excessively pale, and his eyes gleamed and flashed. But he said placidly enough:

  “We shall go to this famous wedding. But is there nothing more?”

  Jamuga, disturbed, still stared at him, then reluctantly returned to the letter. “There is nothing else, except effusive assurances of his love and gratitude and his longing to see thee again.”

  Temujin filled his cup with wine and drank deeply. He again filled it, and drank. Then he stood up. “Yes, verily, we must go to this famous wedding.”

  Chapter 13

  He made all his preparations the next day, after the riotous feast of rejoicing over the birth of his son. He had drunk mightily, and had had to be carried to his yurt. But the next day he showed no signs of his dissipation either on his face or in his manner.

  He consulted all his noyon, and his nokud. But every one knew, by now, that this was pure courtesy. He made all his decisions himself.

  With him he would take Chepe Noyon and Kasar. He would leave Jamuga as khan in his place, ably assisted by Subodai. He would also take a few of his nokud, and a detachment of picked warriors. All at once he seemed in an enormous hurry. His voice became quick and strong and impatient. Sometimes he appeared to sink into profound and oppressive thought, from which he emerged with renewed irritation.

  Kurelen said: “But is it not strange that thou dost leave Jamuga Sechen in thy place? Thou knowest his incompetence in the matter of organization and the understanding of men.”

  Temujin shrugged. “It is the least I can do for him,” he answered.

  Kurelen raised a brow at this extraordinary remark, but made no comment.

  “Besides,” added Temujin, “Subodai is here, and most of the nokud. Jamuga’s part will be merely the place of honor. I have given orders that he is not to be taken too seriously, though treated with the most elaborate respect and reverence, as my representative. Subodai is subtle; the nokud are intelligent. Jamuga will never guess but that he hath supreme authority.”

  Kurelen smiled. Temujin, with his customary generosity, had given away all the coins in the silver basket. He had kept only the cloth of silver for Bortei. Kurelen had had a large share of the gift. Also, his pick of the white stallions. Kurelen brooded happily on all this. He had almost forgotten what he was talking about to his nephew, and heard him say, with surprise:

  “Too, there is no one less vulnerable to the suggestions of a priest than Jamuga.”

  Then Temujin went to Kokchu, who had taken on flesh the last few months, and had become exceedingly fat.

  Kokchu now had half a dozen younger Shamans to assist him in the mysteries of religion, and he had convinced them of his utter sanctity and omnipotence. His yurt was as big as Temujin’s, and far more elaborately and richly decorated and filled. His women were quite as pretty and desirable, his robes woven of silk and embroidered wool, his chest crowded with treasures. He received Temujin with great ceremony and respect.

  But Temujin spoke, as always, without preamble:

  “Priest, stick to thy gods, and let better men manage worldly affairs. Dost thou understand?”

  Kokchu affected at first to be bewildered, and then, seeing that Temujin only grinned at him, affected to be deeply wounded.

  “Thou dost not trust me, lord,” he said, in a low grieved voice.

  Temujin laughed. “The day a king trusteth a priest that day must he look under his bed for an assassin.” He tapped Kokchu on his fat chest. “Remember, no tricks.”

  There was a grim excitement about him, and soon it had infected the entire city of the yurts. The normal uproar became a long roar of confusion, in which every living thing attempted to be heard over all the others. Yet discipline was never relaxed. The nokud came separately, heard their brief orders, saluted, retired before the entrance of another. Subodai came and listened gravely, his beautiful face intent, his eyes fixed on his lord’s stern lips. There was to be a high full moon tonight, and so Temujin intended to leave shortly after twilight.

  Jamuga was the last to come. He seemed disturbed. He said: “Temujin, we should have left many days ago for our winter pastures. Now, we must wait thy return, no matter how long it be. This will work hardship on our people.”

  “I think not. They have plentiful supplies. The herds may not remain so fat. But that will soon be altered when I return. Besides, three caravans are to pass this way from Samarkand, and I have promised to protect them. But see that thou dost collect the reward before extending the protection.”

  Jamuga said nothing. But his perturbation seemed to grow. Temujin observed him with a quizzical smile. Finally Jamuga said with a burst of bitterness:

  “Art thou not afraid to trust me?”

  Temujin stared, then burst into laughter. He thrust Jamuga roughly in the belly with his clenched fist. “Cease thy childishness, Jamuga!”

  The other man flushed painfully. Temujin looked at him, his whole face sparkling with savage mirth. He seemed about to say something more, but evidently thought better of it. So he merely laid his arm for a moment on his anda’s shoulder and remarked that he still had considerable to do.

  Jamuga left the yurt and pondered to himself the reason for Temujin’s acceptance of Toghrul Khan’s invitation. At this time of the year, and so soon after a precarious victory, it was a dangerous matter. Too, he was puzzled by the strange violence he had easily detected under Temujin’s easy laughter and careful orders. His eyes, sharpened by love, had seen that violence, seething, throwing up gleams into Temujin’s eyes, like the light that was thrown upward by troubled waves. Others might be deceived into believing that nothing disturbed the young khan, but not Jamuga. There was a wildness and madness beneath the surface of his competent manner.

  Jamuga retired to his yurt, sat down, and pondered. He knitted his thin light brows, and returned to the past, when Temujin had been the guest of Toghrul Khan. Carefully, he went over each day. He remembered the night of the feast, and the appearance of Azara, with her soft black eyes and golden hair. Suddenly, his heart quickened. It was true that Temujin was susceptible to women beyond the susceptibility of other men, and he had openly and shamelessly betrayed his desire for the daughter of Prester John. His companions had joked about it, later. But there was nothing to wonder at in this memory, Jamuga decided.

  But stay: perhaps there was. All at once he remembered yesterday, and the reading of the letter. He remembered Temujin’s sudden pallor and the malignancy of his eyes, when he had listened to Toghrul Khan’s invitation to the marriage of his daughter. “We must certainly attend this famous wedding!”

  With a cry of alarm, Jamuga flung up his head. This whole foolish expedition had something to do with the beauty of a once-seen woman. What mad folly was Temujin contemplating? What suicidal plotting? What did he intend to do? Jamuga had long suspected the envy, the malevolence and hatred, of Toghrul Khan, and the foul hypocrisy. He had been afraid, all during that visit, that Temujin was in some monstrous danger. Some prescience had made him hear evil intonations beneath Toghrul’s sweet and paternal voice. And now Temujin was risking the existence of his people, their safety and security, his own life and the lives of his friends, for some incredibly foolish plan of his own. What could he do? Jamuga knew him well enough to know that nothing would stop him once he had started, no advice, no pleading, no calling to reason. Did he contemplate seizing the daughter of the mighty Toghrul Khan right from under her father’s nose, in his own palace, among the thousands of his retainers? No, this was beyond even Temujin! But was it?

  Jamuga hurriedly got to his feet and ran out, seeking Temujin. The blue and saffron twilight had fallen. The earth was swept in shades of umbe
r, rose and yellow. In the distance, towards the east, there was a cloud of dust. Temujin was already gone. Jamuga stared at the cloud of dust, his throat drying, his heart beating with sickening pressure. Then he turned and went to the yurt of Kurelen.

  Kurelen, he observed with distaste, was eating again, sopping up rich dark gravy from a bowl with a wedge of bread, and sucking noisily and with enjoyment as he did so. The faithful Chassa, a stout middle-aged woman now, with a big bosom and graying hair and a round placid face, was watching Kurelen’s feasting with the indulgent smile of a mother. At intervals, she refilled the bowl with gravy and morsels of good mutton, and also refilled his silver goblet with excellent wine. She kept making solicitous noises, urging him to eat more, when he lagged in repletion. She frowned at the wan Jamuga when he entered, indicating by her manner that, now he had interrupted, her child would no longer stuff himself, to his sad lack of nourishment.

  Seeing Jamuga, Kurelen invited him to join him. Jamuga refused shortly. He glanced sternly at Chassa, who stubbornly refused to see his glance, and again refilled Kurelen’s bowl. Kurelen smiled, patted her cheek.

  “I have enough, Chassa. And now, do thou leave us for a moment. But not for long.”

  After Chassa, with a scowl, had retired, Jamuga still refused to sit down and join the feasting. He stood beside Kurelen, and looked down at him with feverish eyes. Kurelen, for his part, looked up at the thin slight body of the young man, and also studied his pale and rigid countenance.

  “What ailest thee, Jamuga? What misery is burning thy bowels now?”

  He chuckled a little. He was increasingly amused by Jamuga. He was an old man now, more emaciated than ever, more bent and twisted. His straight black hair had turned a dull gray. His features were sunken. But his black eyes were as vivid and malicious as in his youth.