By Spring 1222, when the Taoist monk Qiu Chuji arrived to visit Chinggis Khan, the Mongol leader was getting old, and his sons were jockeying for primacy. Chinggis appointed no heir; the question of his succession was to remain open, creating the conditions for a fierce competition after his death in 1227. And the alienation of Jochi would only increase, laying the foundations for the autonomy of his descendents—the Horde—in the decades to come.
2
Into the West
Jochi’s missteps during the Central Asian campaign had cost him his place as Chinggis Khan’s heir apparent, but that hardly meant Jochi was disinherited. He had lost his claim to the throne, yet he was still granted peoples and lands of his own, and lands into which his ulus had an exclusive right to expand. At the same time, he would have to share with his brothers some of the revenues of his territories, and they would have to share their revenues with him. This was a new system, the brainchild of Chinggis Khan, who was both a warrior and lawgiver. But if the law was new, it was not, strictly speaking, novel. The balance of power that Chinggis inscribed in his inheritance scheme reflected the deeply important role of sharing in Mongol political economy, a role that predates the khan’s law.
Ostentatious generosity was an old governing practice among steppe peoples. Leaders dispensed their wealth, showing themselves to be a kind of father to the people, an unparalleled provider. Thus, during postwar quriltai, Chinggis publicly redistributed war booty, cattle, and captives. Sharing was an activity not only of the leader. Mongols of all social classes redistributed wealth throughout the course of their lives; sons and daughters did not wait for their parents to die to receive their share of the family fortune.
The three central institutions of redistribution were herd sharing, wedding gifts, and payouts after collective undertakings such as raids and seasonal mare milking. Herd sharing, which I discuss in more detail in the next chapter, saw lower-ranked Mongols lending their animals to more high-ranked ones, yet poorer herders could also milk animals belonging to the wealthy. During the milking season, herders brought fermented milk to the khan, who in turn distributed it to the people during the drinking festival. As we saw in the last chapter, war spoils were distributed from the top downward via the tümen system. As for wedding gifts, when their children married, wealthy herders shared their livestock and dependent people with the couple. A daughter brought to her marriage a significant inju, dowry, while a son received a share of his family’s livestock. Distribution to sons was fairly equal, although the eldest and youngest were often favored. Once married, a couple lived in separate ger, felt tents, and if they had enough livestock and wealth might leave the family camp. The eldest son moved the farthest from his parents and often formed a separate camp. Only the youngest son, called ochigin, the hearth keeper, lived with his parents until they died. Then he inherited their remaining livestock.1
As these practices indicate, the sharing system had some egalitarian features; collective herds and downward redistribution of war booty brought a degree of material comfort to commoners. But sharing also reinforced hierarchy, as inheritance norms ensured the concentration and perpetuation of family wealth. These norms were flexible; a ruler or community could decide to elevate a junior figure over a senior one, thereby ensuring greater wealth or power to the junior even though, by tradition, seniority mattered among the steppe nomads. The hierarchy was therefore malleable, and with it the political system. Chinggis Khan took advantage of this flexibility when he demoted Jochi from his chief heir to a kind of first among equals, whose priority did not include succession to the great khanship.
Chinggis treated his chief wife’s four sons as a wealthy herder would, but he had more than livestock to share. He had huge territories, thousands of human beings, and his own ruling position. By the 1220s the empire was colossal, including the former dominions of the Qara Khitai and the Khwarezmian Empire. In the course of twenty years, Chinggis Khan had integrated the Felt-Walled Tents, including the stubborn Tayichi’ut, Tatar, Kereit, Naiman, and Merkit, and gained control of entire Mongolia. In 1207–1208 Jochi had brought under Mongol rule the Oyirad, Kirghiz, Buriat, Tümet, and the other small but enduring peoples of the Siberian forest. Between 1207 and 1212, the Onggut, Uighur, Qarluq, and Manchurian Khitan, all sedentary neighbors of the Mongols, had submitted of their own will. At roughly the same time, Chinggis Khan had successfully attacked western, northern, and eastern China, bringing to temporary allegiance the Tangut in 1211 and the Jin in 1215–1216. Korea had fallen in 1219. By the time he was ready to parcel out his wealth, Chinggis Khan dominated one-third of Eurasia.
Chinggis distributed the steppe among his sons. Chagatay received western Turkestan, Ögödei Jungharia and later central Mongolia, Tolui eastern Mongolia, and Jochi western Mongolia and the Siberian forests and later the western (Qipchaq) steppe. No member of Chinggis’s family was expected to live in the more densely populated areas like northern China, Khorasan, and Khwarezm, where the lifestyle was more urbanized and largely sedentary. But high-ranking Mongols of the golden lineage did not need to live in these places in order to benefit from the wealth their residents produced. The imperial kin were assigned portions of the urbanized territories and received shares of the tax revenue generated there. The Mongol assignees operated a bit like absentee landlords, appointing secretaries and accountants—who might be natives of the territories—to represent their interests on the ground. The appointees took the census, verified accounts, and controlled payment delivery. Thus, in addition to Chinggis Khan’s central secretariat, smaller local administrations developed to manage the assets of the Mongol beneficiaries.2
The favor bestowed on Jochi demonstrates that Chinggis considered him his eldest, even though Jochi was most likely not Chinggis’s son by blood. Jochi was probably Börte’s son by a Merkit chieftain, but Chinggis raised Jochi as his own. The official historiography of the Mongol Empire—revised after 1251 under the aegis of the descendants of Tolui, who competed with the Jochids for power—portrays Jochi as a bastard. Nevertheless, Jochi received one of the best territories, located farthest away from his native lands: “as far in that [northwest] direction as the hoof of Tartar horse had penetrated.” This distance marked Jochi as the eldest, just as the eldest son of a typical herder would settle farthest from his parents. The allotment included the Syr-Daria Valley and the Volga-Ural region, the heart of the Qipchaq steppe through which the Volga River ran and irrigated the best pastures in northwestern Asia. Jochi also received the Irtysh basin and parts of Khwarezm and was guaranteed control over places and people yet to be conquered. Finally, Jochi was granted ancestral nuntug—a homeland to retire to and in which to bury his next of kin. Jochi’s nuntug was in Merkit and Naiman territories in the region of the Irtysh River between southern Siberia and the Altai Mountains.3
Chinggis also apportioned his warriors. He gave each of his sons 4,000 Mongols—a significant number considering that his army counted probably no more than 150,000 Mongols, as distinct from conquered peoples. These inherited warriors enjoyed special status; they could not be transferred to other members of the imperial kin. In addition, these forces were commanded by men of real ability. Chinggis made it clear that he chose these commanders because they were wise and more experienced in warfare than his sons were. At least formally, the commanders were serving their masters—the four sons—of their own free will. These commanders became the nuclei of four new keshig, one for each of Chinggis’s sons.4
The mounted archers at Jochi’s service were organized in minggan, contingents of a thousand, headed by elite warriors of varied origins. His commanders were Mongols from the Tayichi’ut, Hushin, Kinggut, and Je’üriyet. The diversity of the troops was deliberate; old oboq divisions had to be broken. There was only one ruling family: Chinggis Khan’s immediate kin and its golden lineage. There was only one ulus: the Mongols. Chinggis’s policy was to turn people away from their origin and family and toward the ulus. His chief method was to create enti
rely new social units bound by military hierarchy. He was replacing blood kin with martial kin.
The core of Jochi’s horde comprised a keshig of 4,000 seasoned Mongol warriors and their families. The rest of his horde was made of numerous servants, slaves, and foreign recruits. Forced conscription in conquered lands and the taking of thousands of war captives would soon multiply the original numbers by ten.5
Mongol archer on a horse, ink and gold on paper (early fifteenth century). Although the depiction is romanticized, the drawing captures distinctive features of Mongol warriors: the owl-feathered headdress, composite bow, pearl earrings, and ornamented harness. (bpk Bildagentur / Berlin Staatsbibliothek / Photo: Ellwardt / Art Resource, NY)
Our Land They Have Taken Away Today and Yours Will Be Taken Tomorrow
While the yeke Mongghol ulus, the Mongol Empire, quickly digested the large dominions of the Khwarezmian Empire, Sübötei, Chinggis’ foremost commander, asked to be the one who would be sent back to the west—to the Qipchaq steppe. Chinese and Mongol sources report that Sübötei wanted to finish off the Qipchaqs once and for all. He could count on the support of Jebe and the men of the Westward, an elite unit and the most experienced of the Mongol armies. The Westward’s plan was to force their way through the Caucasus Mountains and into the Qipchaq steppe. Jochi and the mass army would then link up with the Westward at the Volga River. Their combined forces, 50,000 warriors or more, would subjugate the peoples of the Volga-Ural before turning back east.
The 1221–1223 campaign of the Westward, from Iran to Russia through the Caucasus and back to Mongolia.
In winter 1220–1221, the cold was intense and thick snow covered the grasslands. The Westward suffered in northwestern Iran. To endure the long winter, Jebe and Sübötei quickly moved their men to southern Azerbaijan. Along the way, they passed the city of Tabriz, where the ruler, Uzbek Ibn Pahlawan, helped the Mongols, providing them with horses, clothing, and cash. Tabriz, one of the future financial centers of the Mongol Empire, was left untouched, and the Westward carried on. They hoped to reach the Kura River and winter in the Mughan plain, between the lesser and the greater Caucasus ranges. A huge field of mud in the summer, Mughan promised green grass and mild temperatures during the cold season. The Westward crossed the Kura and settled in for winter. They had entered the Kingdom of Georgia.6
At that time, King George Lasha, the Georgian leader, was in full preparation for a crusade. Distracted by these ambitions, and confident in the capacity of his forces, he underestimated the urgency of the Mongol threat. Arguably that confidence was well-earned: since the foundational rule of Queen Tamar, George Lasha’s mother, the Georgians had been the dominant power in the Caucasus, and they did have a powerful military. The contemporary Armenian historian Kirakos noted the great esteem in which Georgians held their cavalrymen, a robust army that excelled at shock combat. But Kirakos also reported that the Georgian peasants, rather like their king, did not appreciate the gravity of the situation. Indeed, they did not even recognize that their lands were being invaded. Instead, the Georgian people welcomed the Mongols. The Georgians believed the Mongols were Christians who “had with them a portable tent-church, as well as a miracle-working cross,” which multiplied food supplies endlessly. We do not know how the Georgians came to believe as they did; possibly some Mongol warriors wore what appeared to be Christian crosses or carried standards depicting symbols that resembled crosses. Yet the Mongols had no interest in parleying with the Georgians; quite the opposite: the Mongols assaulted the fortified cities of Ganja and Tiflis and “put [the inhabitants] to the sword, one and all.”7
King George eventually responded by partnering with his Muslim neighbors in Khilāt, Tabriz, and al-Jazīra. Together they decided to fight the invaders in spring. But the Westward did not wait for the seasons to change, as the Georgians had expected. Instead the Mongols allied with Kurds, Turkmen, and other locals who came to demolish the Georgians. By January 1221 Sübötei and Jebe had firm control over the Kingdom of Georgia. The Georgians no longer posed a threat, so the Mongols allowed the Georgian kingdom to survive in a diminished form. The Mongols’ objective was to take what they needed from the area, especially horses, and they saw no advantage in killing more inhabitants and tearing down buildings.8
The next challenge facing the Mongols would be one of the most difficult of the campaign: the crossing of the Greater Caucasus. The Westward’s commanders recognized that they would need dependable guides, appropriate equipment, more horses, and gifts with which to mollify the locals and thereby stave off conflicts that were not worth fighting. After all, the Mongols had a powerful enemy to take on—the Qipchaqs—and did not need trouble along the way to the battlefield. Instead of heading into the Greater Caucasus at once, the Mongols withdrew and regrouped. They turned back to Azerbaijan and sought the richest towns, where they demanded cloth, food, and cash and destroyed places where people refused or were not able to give them what they wanted. The Mongols would use these articles to fund their crossing of the Greater Caucasus. In winter 1221–1222, the Mongols were back in the Mughan plain, ready to resume their mission.
The Greater Caucasus are the highest peaks of Eastern Europe. Only one passage would allow a large army to cross from Mughan, but that route was protected by fortifications: Alexander’s Gates, the legendary defenses built by Alexander the Great to keep his territory safe from the northern barbarians. The route followed the west coast of the Caspian Sea along a rocky strip of land until it passed Shirvan, the southern gate, and Derbent, the northern gate. To attack the gates from the south was nearly impossible. The Shirvan shah, the local ruler, was weak compared with the Georgians, but he controlled the gates, and whoever controlled the gates controlled the pass through the Greater Caucasus.9
Jebe and Sübötei probably understood that pressing their heavily armored men—reportedly up to 20,000 of them—and thousands of horses and camels into the pass would amount to suicide. Instead the Westward went looking for the Shirvan shah in Shamakhi, the local capital, which sat in the mountains. As earlier in Central Asia, the Westward left their carts and siege engines behind. Throughout the campaigns in the Caucasus, the Mongols kept a safe camp in Mughan with their baggage and surplus horses. A Georgian source reported that when the Mongols entered the mountains, they had only bows and horses with them—no armor, provisions, or swords. Their horses were unshod—remarkable, as they were traversing rocky terrain.10
In fortified Shamakhi, the Mongols used ladders to climb the walls and quell inhabitants’ fierce resistance. Given their lean provisioning, the Mongols must have built the ladders en route. The Westward also “gathered together some [dead] camels, cattle, sheep and other animals and the corpses of some local victims and of others, threw them on top of one another until they made a sort of hill, which they climbed and so dominated the town.” Some of the Mongols got stuck in the rotting bodies, and the hill of corpses and carcasses sank. However, the Mongols repeated their assaults until at last “the inhabitants lost heart, overcome by fatigue, tiredness and exhaustion.” Much literature on Mongol combat describes easy battles with overmatched opponents, but this was decidedly a hard-fought victory. No sooner had the Mongols taken the city than they learned that the Shirvan shah had already left Shamakhi for Derbent.11
Illustration of a Mongol iron helmet with half mask, eye slits, and nose guard (Horde, thirteenth or early fourteenth century). Helmets of this style were common among the military elite and were used in West Asia by Qipchaqs and Russians as well.
What came next was trickery. Jebe and Sübötei made known that they were ready to negotiate, and the Shirvan shah fell into their trap, sending a group of ten notables from Derbent. The Mongols killed one of the envoys in front of the others to scare them into submission. The Mongols then pressured the envoys to turn over their best horsemen, who would navigate the Westward through the narrow passes to avoid Derbent. The Mongols must have learned that the fortress could be bypassed through the mountain
s. It took the troops at least two weeks to cut their way through the snow, “chiseling stone,” and “filling up abysses” with anything they found, before they finally appeared behind the Derbent fortress wall from the north. This was a huge tactical advantage, for the inhabitants expected them to attack from the south. We still do not know how the Westward made it around the fortress, even with the help of local guides. Unprepared for the assault from the north, the locals quickly surrendered and offered the Mongols food and safe passage. At this point, Jebe and Sübötei probably called back their men, baggage, and horses from Mughan. The full complement could now safely penetrate the Greater Caucasus.12
On the north side of the range, the Alan, Lakz, and other Caucasian peoples were waiting. They had heard of the Mongols and knew what the Mongols had done to the Georgian kingdom. To fight back, they had gathered a contingent of Qipchaqs, who were excellent mounted archers. After testing the Qipchaqs on the battlefield and finding that they did not break, the Westward decided to negotiate directly with the Qipchaqs, cutting out the Caucasians and making a separate peace. Jebe and Sübötei’s spokesmen explained to the Qipchaqs, “We and you are of one [stock]. These Alān are not the same as you that you should aid them, nor is their religion the same as yours. We will promise you that we will not trouble you and we will bring you whatever money and clothing you want, if you leave us to deal with them.” The Qipchaqs agreed and departed. But they would not get much chance to enjoy their gifts. When the Westward turned against the Alan and the Lakz, they moved into the steppes between the Caspian Sea, the Don River, and the Black Sea, where many Qipchaqs resided. The Qipchaqs in the area had disbanded into many small camps and did not expect the sudden and intense Mongol attack. According to Ibn al-Athīr, Jebe and Sübötei “seized back many times more than they had provided.”13
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