As one, the lords began to shout indignantly at the slur on their courage and strength. To be lectured in such a way by a failed emperor was too much, insufferable. Cooler heads considered once again that he had the ear of the emperor, his cousin by blood. The noise died down to just a few, who eventually subsided back to their seats with angry expressions. Xuan continued as if there had been no interruption.
‘There must be no more personal actions by individual lords. Those have failed to end the threat - a threat which has now grown. Nothing less than the complete mobilisation of Sung forces is necessary.’ Two Sung lords rose from their seats in silence, indicating to the emperor’s chancellor that they wished to speak. ‘This is the moment to strike,’ Xuan went on. ‘The Mongol khan is with his armies. If he can be stopped, there will be a period of time when both Chin and Mongol lands can be conquered.’ Four more stood to speak. ‘It will no longer be a mere defensive war, my lords. If you gather your armies under a single leader, we have a chance to unite Chin and Sung once again.’
He paused. A dozen Sung lords had risen, their eyes moving from him to the emperor’s chancellor, whose task it was to impose some order to debates. Until Xuan sat down, he could not be formally interrupted, though the rule was often ignored. For once, they waited, aware of the importance of the debate to come. Xuan frowned, knowing the men who would speak were not those likely to add to a clear resolution.
‘This war can no longer be fought as individuals. Appoint a leader who will command complete authority. Send half a million men against Kublai and as many against the Mongol khan. Surround their small armies and crush them. In that way, you will be spared the sight of Hangzhou in flames. I have seen Yenking burn, my lords. That is enough.’
He sat down under the silent pressure of so many eyes, wondering if he had reached anyone in the room.
The voice of the emperor’s chancellor rang out.
‘The chamber recognises Lord Sung Win.’
Xuan hid his grimace at the name and waited. He had a right to reply before the end.
‘My lords, I have just two questions for the esteemed speaker,’ Lord Sung Win said. ‘Do you have the emperor’s direct order to unite the armies? And is it your intention that the command of the Sung should fall to your hands?’
A roar of derision went up from the rest of the men in the room and Xuan frowned more deeply. He recalled the watery eyes of his cousin at their brief meeting. The emperor was a weak man and Xuan could still feel the clutch of his hand on his sleeve. He had asked for a letter of authority, an imperial mandate, but the man had waved his hand in dismissal. Authority lay in what the lords would accept and Xuan had known then that his cousin feared to give such an order. Why else would he have summoned an old enemy to his private rooms? If the emperor ordered it and they refused, his weakness would be exposed and the empire would fall apart into armed factions. Civil war would accomplish everything the Mongols could not.
All this flashed through Xuan’s mind as he stood stiffly once more.
‘I have the emperor’s confidence that you will listen, Lord Sung Win. I have his faith that you will not allow the Sung to be destroyed for petty politics, that loyal Sung lords will recognise the true threat. And I am not the one to lead you against the Mongols, my lord. Whoever does so must command complete confidence from this chamber. If you will take the responsibility, my lord, I will support you.’
Lord Sung Win blinked as he rose again, clearly wondering if Xuan had just ruined his chance to do exactly that. The Chin emperor was a thorn in the side of the lords there and his support was worthless.
‘I had hoped to see the emperor’s personal seal,’ Lord Sung Win said, his eyes bright with dislike. ‘Instead, I hear vague words with no substance, no opportunity to verify their accuracy.’
The chamber grew hushed and Lord Sung Win realised he had gone too far in almost accusing Xuan of lying. He recalled Xuan’s lack of status and grew calm once again. There would be no demand for reparation or punishment from such a fallen power.
Sung Win’s hesitation cost him with the imperial chancellor, who knew better than most what had gone on the night before between his master and the Chin cousin.
‘The chamber recognises Lord Jin An,’ he bellowed.
Sung Win closed his mouth with a snap and took his seat with bad grace as a younger lord nodded to the chancellor.
‘Does anyone here deny the existence of the khan’s army and its smaller brother in the south and west?’ Lord Jin An said, his voice clear and confident. ‘Will they refuse to accept the threat to us all, until those armies are battering at Hangzhou gates? Let us move to a vote at once. I put my name forward to lead one of the two armies we must send.’
For a moment, Xuan lost his frown and looked up, but the young lord’s voice was lost in the uproar. Even the number of armies was in dispute and Xuan felt his heart sink as he realised they could not be shaken from their apathy. In moments, Lord Jin An was angrily vowing that he would take his own men against Kublai, that he would act alone if no one else had the good sense to see the need. Xuan rubbed his eyes as the lack of sleep caught up with him. He had seen it four times before, when young lords set out to battle the tumans. Their martial fervour had not been enough. Accusations and threats were thrown back and forth across the chamber, as each of the lords shouted over their neighbours. There would be no resolution that day, if at all, and all the time the Mongol armies grew closer. Xuan shook his head at the insanity of it. He could try to reach the emperor once again, but the man was surrounded by thousands of courtiers who would consider such a request and whether they should even pass it on. Xuan had seen too much of Sung bureaucracy in his years as a captive and he did not have much hope.
When the meeting broke up at noon, Xuan approached the young lord, still talking furiously to two others. They fell silent at his presence and Lord Jin An turned to him, bowing instinctively to his rank.
‘I had hoped for a better outcome,’ Xuan said.
Lord Jin An nodded ruefully.
‘I have forty thousand, Son of Heaven, and the promise of support from a cousin.’ He sighed. ‘I have good reports this Kublai has been seen around Shaoyang. I should not even be here in this chamber, arguing with cowards. My place is there, against the weaker of the two armies. Forty thousand would be lost against the khan’s army in the north.’ His mouth twisted in irritation and he swept his arm across to indicate the last of the departing lords. ‘Perhaps when these fools see him riding through Hangzhou’s streets, they will see the need to work together.’
Xuan smiled at the younger man’s indignant expression.
‘Perhaps not even then,’ he said. ‘I wish I had a strong army to send with you, Lord Jin An. Yet my eight thousand are yours to command, if you will have us.’
Lord Jin An waved his hand, as if at a trifle. In truth, Xuan’s force would make little difference and both men knew it. In their prime, they would have been valuable, but after years of poor food and worse conditions, a few months had barely begun to restore them. Nonetheless, the young lord was gracious.
‘I will leave on the first of the month,’ he said. ‘It would be an honour to be accompanied by such men. I hope you will be available to advise me.’
Xuan’s smile widened in genuine pleasure. It had been a long time since he had been treated graciously by any Sung lord.
‘Whatever service I can provide is yours, Lord Jin An. Perhaps by the time we leave, you will have found other lords who might share your views.’
Lord Jin An looked back at the empty chamber.
‘Perhaps,’ he murmured, looking doubtful.
Orlok Seriankh paced as he addressed his assembled officers. Twenty-eight tuman generals stood before him. At their backs, two hundred and eighty minghaan officers stood in ranks.
‘I have sent scouts north to join the yam lines,’ Seriankh said. His voice was hoarse from giving a thousand orders, keeping the army from falling into chaos as a thousand voice
s argued over what to do. Mongke Khan lay dead, wrapped in cloth inside a lone ger. The rest of the army had packed up and were ready to move in any direction as soon as Seriankh gave the order.
‘Lord Hulegu will be informed of the khan’s death in a month, two at most. He will return. The khan’s brother, Arik-Boke, will get the news faster still, in Karakorum. There will be another quiriltai, a gathering, and the next khan will be chosen. I have a dozen men riding south to find Kublai and pass on the news. He too will come home. Our time here is at an end until there is a new great khan.’
His most senior general, Salsanan, stepped forward and the orlok turned to acknowledge him.
‘Orlok Seriankh, I will volunteer to lead a force to Kublai, to support his withdrawal. He will not thank us for abandoning him in the field.’ The man paused and then continued. ‘He may be the next khan.’
‘Guard your mouth, general,’ Seriankh snapped. ‘It is not your place to guess and spread rumours.’ He hesitated, thinking it through. Mongke had many sons, but the succession of khans had never been smooth since the death of Genghis.
‘To support his withdrawal, very well. We have lost a khan, but Lord Kublai has lost a brother. Take eight tumans and bring him safely out of Sung territory. I will take the khan home.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
With ancient oaks overhead, Kublai sat out in the open air. He bore the pain in silence as Chabi washed a cut on his right hand with a skin of airag, taking pulls from it himself to keep him warm. They had both known men who walked away from battles with just a gash, then died in feverish delirium days or weeks later. Humming to herself, Chabi sniffed at his hand and wrinkled her nose. Kublai hissed through his teeth as she squeezed the livid edges, making a thin stream of pus dribble down to his fingers.
‘I do have shamans for this, you know,’ he said affectionately.
She snorted. ‘They’re busy and you wouldn’t bother them with it until your arm was green.’
She gave his skin another sharp pinch, making him jerk. The flow of pus grew red and she nodded, satisfied, resting one hand on the curve of her belly as new life grew within. Kublai reached out and patted the bulge affectionately as she rewrapped the cut with a clean strip of cloth.
The families and followers had moved deeper into the forest while he had been fighting the Sung, obscuring all signs that might be found by enemies looking for them. Kublai had been forced to send hundreds of his men into the green depths.
Just to reach the area, he had fought his way back past two Sung armies and seen his stocks of arrows and lances dwindle once again, though he salvaged as many as he could. Without healers and rest, some of his wounded men had died each day.
He looked overhead, oddly uncomfortable as the thick branches reduced the forest floor to gloom. At least they were hidden. The families and camp followers had been kept safe by the dense forest, but he couldn’t shake the fear that they could also hide an enemy creeping up. Even for a man of Karakorum, the forest felt stifling compared to the open plains.
He looked closer at his wife as she stood, seeing dark smudges under her eyes. She looked thin and he cursed himself for not having made better preparations. He should have known the families would be forced to butcher the flocks while they waited for him to return. The vast herds usually replenished themselves each spring, but the one thing the forest did not have was good grazing. The ground was covered in rotting leaves and what little greenery there was had been stripped down to bare earth in the first month. The families had eaten deer and rabbits, even wolves when they found them, but it had not been long before the forest was trapped out for fifty miles. The herds of sheep and goats had shrunk to the point where everyone was on a meal a day and not much meat in that.
When Kublai had ridden in at last, the sight of his people had not been inspiring. They had rallied around as the tumans came in and he made a point of praising them for their survival, even as he seethed at how badly they had done without him. It was possible to count the ribs on the precious oxen and he wondered how many would have the strength to pull carts when the time came to move. His son and pregnant wife had been given barely enough meat to survive and Kublai wanted to lash out in rage at the rest of them. He would have done if they hadn’t been just as thin and pale as Chabi.
‘We have to move the camp,’ Chabi said softly. ‘I don’t want to think what would have happened if you’d stayed out much longer.’
‘I can’t take you out. They just keep coming,’ he said. ‘You’ve never seen anything like it, Chabi. There isn’t any end to them.’
Her mouth firmed as he spoke.
‘Even so, we can’t stay here. There isn’t a rabbit for twenty miles and when the last of the flocks are gone, we’ll starve. Some of the men were saying they’d strike out on their own if you didn’t come back soon.’
‘Who?’ he demanded.
Chabi shook her head. ‘Men with families of their own. Can you blame them? We knew we were in trouble, Kublai.’
‘I’ll drive herds back from the Sung hills and villages. I’ll get new animals to pull the carts.’
He swore under his breath, knowing it wouldn’t work. Even if he could drive a herd towards the forest, the marks of their passing would be there for any Sung scout to read. He had already endangered the position by bringing his tumans back to the camp. To do it again would leave a wide road through the forest. He pushed his fingers into the corners of his eyes, easing away some of the tiredness. The camp supported the warriors with everything from arrow shafts to shelter and hot food, but he had reached an impossible position.
‘I can send out the tumans to gather food and draft beasts to be butchered, or replace the weakest of our stock …’ He swore under his breath. ‘I can’t be thinking of this, Chabi! I have made tracks into the Sung, but I need to keep going, or everything I’ve done will have been wasted.’
‘Is it so terrible to rest up for the winter? You’ll be here when the child is born, Kublai. Send out your men to bring back anything that lives, raid the local towns and you’ll be ready to go out again in the spring.’
Kublai groaned at the thought. Part of him ached at the idea of simply stopping to rest. He had never felt so tired.
‘I’ve cleared a route as far as Shaoyang and beyond, Chabi. If I can keep moving, I’ll be able to reach their capital by spring or summer. If I stop now, I’ll see another dozen armies coming out against me, fresh and strong.’
‘And you will lose the camp if you go on,’ she snapped. ‘You will lose the fletchers, the tanners and saddlers, the hardworking wives and men who keep you in the field. Will the tumans still fight well while their families starve behind them?’
‘You will not starve,’ Kublai said.
‘Saying it does not make it so. It was getting ugly before your scouts found us, husband. Some of the men were talking about taking the last food stocks for themselves and letting the weakest ones die from hunger.’
Kublai grew still, his eyes hard.
‘This time you will tell me their names, Chabi. I’ll hang them from the branches.’
‘That is a distraction! It doesn’t matter now. Find a way to solve the problem, husband. I know the pressure on you, or I think I do. I know you will work it out.’
He walked a few paces away from her, staring into the green undergrowth all around.
‘This land is rich, Chabi,’ he said after a time. ‘I can take a month to raid new flocks. We can drive them back here, but then I’m sending half the camp home to Karakorum.’ He held up a hand to forestall her as she opened her mouth. ‘These aren’t the battles Genghis knew, where he could take the entire nation and raid with tumans from the centre. The Sung are like ants in their numbers, army after army. I need to think like a raider, with the bare minimum of supplies. The women and children can go home, with enough warriors to keep them safe. You and Zhenjin will leave with them. There. You asked for a decision and that’s it. I can take a month, I think.’
&
nbsp; ‘You can, but I am not going. I won’t lose another child on a hard journey home, Kublai. I’m staying with the camp until the birth.’
He saw the resolution in her face and sighed.
‘I’m too tired to argue with you, woman.’
‘Good,’ she said.
Kublai begrudged every day lost as his tumans scoured the land for herds for a hundred miles and more. In the winter, it took longer than he hoped and he saw the full moon twice before he brought the families out of the forest. The dark months were colder than the previous year. Ice crackled in the boughs of the forest, beautiful and dead at the same time. There was always wood for the stoves and the gers were surrounded by firewood piled higher than a man’s head.
The ground was still frozen when they began to pack up and leave the forest depths. Behind them, they left the usual marks, from black circles of ground under dismantled gers, to the graves of those who had died. Most were wounded men the shamans could not save, but there were many smaller graves as well, of children who had not lived through their first year. There were no mountains to lay them out for sky burial, where the carrion birds would feast. Cremation fires were too likely to spread or be seen by an enemy, so the frozen ground was broken just deep enough to cover them.
Kublai gathered the camp on an open plain. Hundreds of oxen had been yoked and they were better fed than when he had come upon them. Grain from Sung towns had been brought back with the herds and the massive animals were glossy with care, their muzzles wet and pink. He had ordered two hundred thousand of his people home, mostly the wives and children. Ten thousand men would go with them, those who had been wounded, or maimed in some old war. They could still fight if they had to.
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