The Earth Is the Lord's

by Taylor Caldwell

  Nothing could be gentler nor more intimate than Taliph’s sympathy, as he listened to Jamuga, who was telling him of the peace and sweetness of his life, and the pleasant ways of his people. But Yesi saw how the Turk’s black eyes gleamed and shifted with sardonic amusement, for all his attentive smiles and bent head. Sometimes, for a fleeting moment, he gazed at Jamuga with the incredulous grin of one who regards a madman.

  But when Jamuga had finished, Taliph sat in silence for some time. He seemed to be deep in thought. An expression of grave regret appeared on his face.

  “Jamuga Sechen,” he said at last, in a sad voice, “many have had thy dream, and the dream hath been shattered in blood and darkness. As thine must be shattered.”

  “What dost thou mean?” asked Jamuga, in alarm.

  Taliph sighed. He looked at Jamuga with apparent surprise. “Dost thou not know? A war such as the Gobi hath never seen before is about to break out. At least, so I have heard. It is rumored that the people east of Lake Baikul are fearful of Temujin’s rising power and new confederacy of the Gobi, and that they will attack him imminently, or that his own lust and ambition will force him to strike the first blow. At any rate, there will be a terrible conflict. Then Temujin will demand of all his tarkhans that they join him in the struggle, and give not only their own services but those of all their men.”

  He shrugged regretfully. “In the universal horror and strife, thy dream of peace and contentment in this valley will die. For clan will be against clan, and brother against brother, and people against people. The barrens and the steppes will resound with battle. Multitudes will perish, and terror will ride over the Gobi. Perhaps Temujin will conquer. But of what use is conquest, when men are dead? And if he should conquer, it will but whet his desire for new struggles, new victims, new power.”

  Jamuga sat like a statue, pale and motionless, and listened. He knew that Taliph spoke the truth, and he knew, too, that he had been expecting this in his soul. It had been the ominous storm on the horizon of his quiet and shining life. Now it was imminent. He paled even more. A look of death stood in his eyes.

  He thought of the thousands of his contented and happy people, living in peace and fellowship. He thought of their wives and children. He thought of the fields of com newly planted, and the herds, and the green pastures. And then he was seized with a dreadful internal convulsion, in which his heart was squeezed in iron hands. Sweat burst out over his white face.

  He cried convulsively: “No matter what the call, I shall not sacrifice my people! I have no quarrel with any man! I shall help no one, no, not even Temujin, to destroy and ravish, to seize and lay waste! He hath a mad vision, and my people shall not die for it!”

  He sprang to his feet. He flung out his arms wildly, and his distended eyes burned.

  “Always, he hath had this madness, this craving for limitless power! He is filled with hatred and lust. He doth need victims to satisfy them. Never hath he loved nor served, nor wished peace and goodness. There is a fire in his heart, which shall inflame the world and fill it with death.

  “He is all that is evil and deadly, a pestilence of the soul and a famine of the spirit. He hateth every man and every living thing. His happiness is to crush the helpless, to steal their herds and their treasures, to hear the weeping of their women. Terror is his sword, and madness is his horse!”

  He began to weep, with terrifying dry sobs, and Yesi, in the background, put her hands to her mouth to stifle her own cries.

  “Why hath God sent this monster to afflict the earth? Why is he not stricken down and stamped out?”

  Taliph listened to all this, and was highly gratified at the result of his words. But he made his face somber, and averted his head.

  “I know not,” he said, sadly.

  Jamuga stood in trembling silence, glaring about him as though in terror of unseen enemies. Then he began to speak again, in the low shaking voice of a man unendurably stricken to the soul:

  “I have lived only for peace and happiness, for love and contentment. My people want nothing but the bread they eat, and the wives and children in their yurts. What have they done to be so afflicted?”

  He paused, then resumed with a wild passion:

  “They shall not die for this madman! They shall not help him seize and ruin and murder! I shall take them far from this place—!”

  Then the artful Taliph said, insinuatingly:

  “But ofttimes men must fight for peace and for safety. Would ye hesitate to join those who would rescue the people from Temujin’s sword?”

  Jamuga was stricken dumb. He panted. But his febrile eyes fixed themselves on Taliph’s face.

  Taliph continued softly: “Are there no battles worth the fighting?”

  Jamuga’s lips shook; he was like a man afflicted with the palsy.

  Taliph said: “He must be halted. It is now or never. The history of tyrants is the history of the pusillanimous who will not oppose them.”

  Jamuga spoke in a low and fainting voice:

  “I shall take my people away. But if we are attacked, then we shall fight.”

  “Alone? Why not join those who will challenge Temujin? That is your safety. What can you do alone against him?”

  “I said, we shall flee. We shall fight only when attacked.” Taliph pursed his lips with contempt. “A useless and sacrificial gesture! He will destroy you all in an hour.”

  Then Jamuga’s fury, settling on a new thought, burst forth:

  “It is ye who have brought this down upon the peoples of Asia! Ye have encouraged him, assisted him, aided him, for your own gains! Ye have allowed him to ravage and pillage and shared the loot with him, so long as ye received your share and he protected your caravans and your treasures! When he seized and subjugated weaker peoples, ye shrugged your shoulders and did not oppose him, believing that the more he annihilated and absorbed, the safer you would be.

  “‘He is our friend, the guardian of our interests’, ye said. And now, with your aid, he hath grown powerful. The dog who guarded your gates is threatening your own house. I see it all now! He hath flung his shadow of hatred and conquest into your cities; he doth stand at your walls!

  “Ye are the guilty! It is you who have opened the cage and sent forth the monster!”

  Taliph, alarmed at the face and words of Jamuga, involuntarily rose to his feet. He looked steadily into Jamuga’s wild and glittering eyes. He compressed his lips. Then he spoke brutally and quietly:

  “And if thou art right, what then? Shall we allow him to continue, even though, in our folly, we aided him? It is too late for reproaches. The hour of decision is at hand. The beast we set free is bent on the destruction of the world. Even though the imbecility was ours, the struggle must now be yours, also.” Jamuga dropped his head on his breast. He groaned aloud.

  “But my poor people are guiltless!”

  Taliph laid his hand on his shoulder with a sad and commiserating gesture.

  “But the guiltless have their guiltlessness to console them. It is too late for reproaches. We are guilty of folly. Thou must now aid us to undo this folly, to restore and protect the peace of the world. We must wash out our greed and shortsightedness and complacency in our own blood. And we ask the blood of the guiltless in the universal sacrifice.”

  He added somberly: “If we do not fight, we shall all be overwhelmed, guilty and innocent alike. It is we who have created the menace; thou dost see how frank I am. But the menace doth threaten thee now, as well as ourselves. Thine is the choice: thou wilt join us in opposing and subjugating him, or thou wilt join him, and aid in the end of the world.”

  He went on: “A foolish man doth free a tiger. The tiger goes forth, devouring. He will devour the wise as well as the foolish, now that he is free. Is it wisdom for the wise to say: ‘This tiger is none of ours; we did not release him’? The fact remains that the tiger is at large, and will enter your own city as well as ours. Your wisdom will not soften his ferocity.”

  Jamuga did not sp
eak. Then Taliph said, after a silence:

  ‘‘Help us to destroy the tiger.”

  Jamuga’s features withered in the flame of his anguish. But he looked at Taliph straightly.

  “I will help thee to destroy him,” he said.

  Taliph smiled. He extended his hand. “Thou art a brave as well as a wise man.”

  Jamuga looked at the hand. He shuddered. He struck it aside.

  “Thy hand is as guilty as his! I want none of it.”

  All at once he seemed to be overwhelmed with a terrible and mysterious sorrow, which Taliph could not understand.

  Chapter 13

  Nomad by nature and ancestry himself, Toghrul Khan, or Wang Khan, as he was now known, was well aware of the strange and uncanny way in which the most hidden rumors passed like the wind over the barrens and the desert.

  He knew that it would not be very long before Temujin became conscious of his treachery. So now his emissaries and spies worked feverishly. And it was only a short time until Toghrul Khan knew that Temujin understood everything, and was aware that the peoples to the east of Lake Baikul were ready to strike in concert with the Karait Turks, and the rest of the unconquered peoples of the Gobi.

  Toghrul Khan waited, gloating but tense. Would Temujin strike first, seeking a sweeping offensive which would demoralize peoples not yet conditioned to wholesale war? Or would he hold back, watching for the first move of his enemies?

  Then one day Toghrul Khan received a letter from his foster son. It was brought by three warriors, dark-faced sturdy men with the fierce eyes of falcons.

  “On a day when thine own-brother pursued thee, with intent to kill thee, O my foster father, mine own father aided thee and gave thee shelter, and protected thee. And did thou not become his anda, and did thou not sleep under the same blanket with him, swearing eternal friendship for him and his children?

  “Did thou not swear to me by the holy Black River that thou wouldst never hear evil of me, thy foster son, but that we would meet at all times and settle all misunderstandings between us?

  “Am I not one of the wheels of thy kibitka? And doth not only the man of folly quarrel with that which doth move his house, and carry it from danger?

  “It is said that thou dost suspect me of enormous ambition. It is true that I have boasted before thee, but I thought thou didst listen indulgently, as a father doth listen to the words of a favorite son, knowing that youth is prone to brag overmuch. But have I ever given thee reason to suspect that I lust after thy power, and would seize the heritage from thy sons? Have I not come at thy word, with all my warriors, asking only to serve thee?

  “Have I not made safe thy roads and thy caravans, and filled thy coffers with riches? And have I asked more than thy love and help, and a mere handful of coins?

  “And now I have heard thou art inflamed against me, that thou art raising up the people against me, that thou wouldst cast me down and trample me underfoot. Why is thy rage rising like a fire against me; why is thy heart darkened and poisoned against thy son?

  “I am filled with sorrow. I sit in my yurt, given up to grief.

  “I have only one hope: that thou wilt send me a message that all that I have heard, of spies and plots, of treachery and hatred, are lies, and that thy love for me is unshaken and full of trust.”

  Toghrul Khan could hardly believe his eyes. He squealed and chuckled with joy and gloating.

  He continued to read:

  “With thy help I have become strong and most powerful in the Gobi. My warriors stand like giants on the barrens and the steppes. Their hoofbeats are like thunder, and the earth is darkened with their passage, so many are they. Where they ride, the multitudes bow before them, acknowledging their resistless might. They are loyal and fearless, and full of ferocity, and would die for me.

  “They live but to serve me, these many thousands of mighty men. And I live but to serve thee, to maintain the order which is necessary for thy welfare.”

  Wang Khan shrilled like an exultant monkey. “The dog is trembling in his own offal! He cowers before me, with a servile whining! Never have I read so cowardly and slavish a letter! This is more than I dared hope. We have him in the hollow of our hands!”

  One of his sons, Sen-Kung, cried out in fury: “How dare this pig call thee, my father, ‘father’! It is an insult which can be washed away only in his own blood!”

  But Taliph reread the letter. When he had done, he rolled and unrolled it in his hands, narrowing his eyes.

  “Do not exult prematurely, my father. I read many things in this letter which thou hast not apparently read. For instance, I read a threat. A most ominous threat. This is not the letter of a coward, but a most dangerous and merciless enemy.”

  Wang Khan gaped at him, incredulous, his mouth falling open. His other sons muttered disparaging and scornful remarks.

  “Threats!” cried the old man. “Thou art mad, Taliph.”

  Taliph shook his head and smiled thinly. “Nay, I only read what is meant to be read. He hath recounted to thee the might, the number, and the ferocity of his warriors. In other words he doth say: ‘I am powerful. I have the best fighters in Asia, ready to die for me. I have built up an army of fighters which none can resist. Strike at me, and I shall strike back, and thou shalt fall, not I!’”

  “Give me that letter!” exclaimed Wang Khan, and snatched it from the other’s hand. He reread it, his face wrinkling and grimacing like that of an ape’s.

  “He doth also say,” remarked Taliph, calmly, “that thou must hasten to reassure him of thy goodwill and affection, lest he lose patience and teach thee a lesson. In other words, he doth demand thy peaceful gestures, and a cessation of plots and treachery against him. A most ominous letter! I like it not.”

  Wang Khan flung the letter from him upon the floor. He trampled on it with the acid venom of the old. He spat at it. Then he raised his fist and shook it in the air.

  “He dares to threaten me, me, Toghrul Khan, Wang Khan! I shall show the dog! We must strike immediately! Each day that we do not strike is a day of added danger!”

  His aged face was suddenly contorted with his old fear. It shrank beneath his bald skull, so that he resembled a death’s-head. Now he gave himself up to his ancient dread, his own sick superstitions and nightmares. He wrung his hands; he glanced from side to side like a weasel threatened by wolves. Then his buried eyes lightened malignantly.

  “Where are his messengers? Seize them. Cut off their heads. Then send their heads to Temujin! That will be my answer to his lovenote!”

  He began to laugh, with a dry crackling sound, mad and evil.

  Taliph looked at his father with a grave face.

  “Thou dost realize this is a declaration of open and relentless war?”

  The old man nodded fiercely. He grinned.

  “I do! Allah, have I not waited for this day!”

  His sons left him, to give orders.

  He sat, huddled on his pillows, his hand sunken between his bony shoulders. He alternately chuckled, then shivered. His eyes roved wildly, from side to side. He was the personification of ageless wickedness, contemplating all evil and all violence.

  Then he was still, staring rigidly before him, slowly blinking with eyelids of stone.

  “I have a house, behind the Wall,” he muttered.

  Chapter 14

  Yesi, in her extreme terror, spoke to her husband.

  “That man, that Turk, is evil,” she said. “He doth speak words of reason and understanding and nobility. Nevertheless, he hath them not in his heart. He desires thy help because he is afraid, and not because the welfare of men is dear to him.” Jamuga, who had been white and distraught for many days, was forced to admit the wisdom of his wife’s words. He looked into her clear blue eyes, so innocent, so full of anguish for him, and he felt a pang of almost unendurable love for her.

  “Thou dost speak the truth, beloved,” he answered gently. “Nevertheless, though he hath no goodness in his soul, yet his words are tru
e. The tiger is at large; we must cage or destroy him.”

  Yesi said quietly: “This tiger is thine anda.”

  A look of torment flashed over Jamuga’s thin face. “I know!” he cried. He wrung his hands. “I know! But he is also a tiger.”

  “He hath been good to thee, my lord.”

  “I know! But nevertheless, he is a monster.” He took his wife by the hand, imploringly. “Yesi, my sweet, wouldst thou have me join him in his crusade against the world?”

  She suddenly pressed herself against him in the extremity of her fear. “Nay, my lord! I must confess I think only of thee: if Temujin doth hear of this, he will kill thee at once.”

  He put his arms about her tenderly. His expression was both sorrowful and dark. “I know this. I have only two choices: to join the ravager, or to help stop him. Thou knowest which I must choose. Everything else must be forgotten.” He sighed. “Would I that I had never known thee, and that thou hadst not borne my children! Now, I must be haunted by fears of thy fate, if I am overcome.”

  She saw his suffering, and now had only one desire, to ease it. She smiled at him with passionate love. “Surely, thou shalt not be overcome! God is in His heaven, still, and surely He will not allow goodness and sweetness and peace to pass away from the earth. Thou shalt conquer, my dearest one; thou shalt overcome the evil.”

  He nodded his head. “I must have faith in this.”

  He took his horse and rode away to an open space near the river. And as he rode, he was conscious again of the old painful loneliness and bitter longing. For years he had, riding like this, imagined Temujin beside him, and speaking, as they had always ridden and spoken in their youth, understanding each through the medium of a word, and sometimes by only a touch or a glance. These years of solitary riding had not been empty, for now he could speak in his mind to his anda, and all the old misunderstanding had vanished, and only the love and friendship remained. He would return, satisfied and at peace, like one who has conversed with a beloved brother, and knew he would see him tomorrow again.