“Temujin,” she whispered, and wanted to run to him, but whirled and ran towards the yurt.
She entered and set down her bucket, nearly spilling the milk. Shotan looked up from the hearth. “Child, what is it?”
“Temujin,” Bortai said.
Her mother got up, hurried to the doorway, and went outside. Bortai tugged at her coat, smoothed down her hair, then went to the back of the yurt and sat down, clutching at her clothing with trembling hands.
“I saw them,” Shotan said as she came back inside. “Your father seems overjoyed.” She frowned. “What's wrong with you, girl? You've prayed for nothing else, and now you look as frightened as a lamb.”
Bortai could not explain. What if Temujin had changed? What would he think when he saw her? Maybe she would not seem so beautiful to him now. What sort of man had he become? He had to be coming here to claim her. She would have to go with him and honour the old promise.
“I can't bear it,” Bortai said.
Shotan came to her side and sat down. “Stop your foolishness, Bortai. Your father will bring him here, then settle with the young man before you're wed. It's what you wanted, isn't it?”
She was no longer sure. I won't look at him, she thought. I won't look up until I've heard his voice, and when I see his eyes, I'll know.
Shotan went to the hearth and poured the milk into a kettle. Bortai waited, her face growing hot, until she heard Dei's voice. “—feared your enemies had made an end of you,” her father was saying. “I never expected to see you again. Set the bird on that perch there.” Bortai heard them enter; she continued to stare at the felt floor. “Shotan, get drink for our guests, and rejoice with us. Temujin has returned with his brother Belgutei. Our daughter's shown herself wiser than I am. I thought her betrothed lost, but her faithfulness to him has been rewarded.”
“How you've grown,” Shotan said. Bortai refused to look up.
“Temujin is chief in his own camp now,” Anchar said.
“A very small camp,” another said then. That had to be Temujin; his voice was deeper, but still had his forthright tone. “Only a few men have joined me, but others will follow them.” That also sounded like Temujin. “I wish I had more to offer a wife, but I promise you I'll win more than I have now.”
Anchar chuckled. “You've lasted this long, even with all your hardships. I think you can provide for my sister.”
Bortai lifted her head. He held his hat in one hand, to shake off the dust; a tuft of hair hung over his broad forehead, while the top of his head had been shaved and his braids were coiled behind his ears. Inside the dwelling, he seemed even taller. His pale eyes glittered in his handsome face, reminding her of the falcon's eyes she had seen in her dream so long ago. This man was a stranger, studying her coldly, perhaps disappointed in what he saw.
“Bortai,” he said. His eyes grew warmer; his brown face reddened a little. “I promised I would return for you, and you kept your promise to me. I believed you would, but now that I see you, I wonder that no man claimed you.”
“Many have tried,” Anchar said. “My sister's beauty has some fame.”
“I swear that she'll never regret her bond with me,” Temujin said. “That is, if your father wishes to honour his pledge.”
Dei Sechen waved an arm. “Is there any doubt of that? The girl's been in my tent long enough, and I can think of no man who's more worthy of her.” He smiled. “Of course, we must see what kind of bargain we can reach.”
Bortai bowed her head. The years of waiting were past. She would no longer endure the mockery of her cousins and friends and the pleas of her parents. She would have her husband, and not allow herself any regrets.
38
Bortai waited inside a yurt with her uncles' wives and her female cousins. The days before the wedding had seemed endless; now she felt that they had passed too quickly. Temujin and his brother Belgutei, as was proper, had remained outside the camp during the preparations. A day had passed in talk with Dei and one of Bortai's uncles before Temujin offered his gifts.
Her father had acquired silks and pots for Shotan taken from a caravan, and the hawk for himself, along with promises of many horses and other animals from Temujin's herds later on, when the young man had more to give him. Many would have called it a bad bargain, but Dei clearly believed Temujin would win enough to honour the pledge. To hear her father talk now, it was hard for Bortai to remember that he had once despaired of ever seeing Yesugei's son again.
A shaman had pondered the birth-dates of the bride and groom, the positions of the stars, and other omens before setting the date of the wedding. A week had passed while Bortai and her mother made a new sheepskin coat for Temujin and embroidered her own wedding coat. The camp smelled of roast lamb; the women had feasted with her last night and would feast again today. Bortai had been too busy to think of what lay ahead, and now her wedding day was upon her.
Outside, among the Onggirats, Temujin's dark-eyed brother would be chanting his wishes for the couple's happiness. Dei would reply in a similar vein, enlivening his speech with as many poetically phrased sentiments as possible. Her father was proud of his ability at such speeches, which was why, in defiance of custom, he was making this one himself instead of leaving it to one of his brothers. She had heard Dei at other weddings, and knew that he would shift metre unexpectedly, heightening his own words while making it difficult for Belgutei to frame an equally eloquent reply.
The women chattered, impatient for the groom to fetch his bride. Bortai's bark bocca felt heavy on her head; she clutched at the beads around her neck. Temujin had to be searching the camp for her by now. Did other brides feel this way, longing to run from their own celebrations? Perhaps their smiles and blushes only masked their fears.
“Bortai!” He was calling to her. The women quickly huddled around her, giggling. “I wish to claim my bride! Is she here?” He came inside, pushed his way through the group, and grabbed her by the arms. Bortai shrank back, knowing she should struggle, but then pushed against Temujin's chest and felt his grip tighten. “I have found the one I came here to find!”
His strong arms swept her up. The women rushed after them as he carried her outside. Bortai sagged against him, suddenly too faint to make even a token struggle. He lifted her to his horse, then mounted behind her; they trotted towards the river. Her aunts and cousins shouted as they followed, calling on the spirits to protect the bride and groom.
Most of the camp was waiting by the river. Lambs roasted in pits; men passed jugs to one another. Dei and Shotan stood on a small rise apart from the crowd.
“Bortai,” Temujin whispered, “are you happy?”
She forced herself to nod. He dismounted by the rise, helped her down and led her forward. They bowed to her parents, then knelt as Shotan draped a cloak over Bortai's shoulders. Bortai barely heard the words of Dei's blessing as he presented the sheepskin coat and a quiver of arrows to Temujin; she hardly tasted the kumiss in the cup offered to her. I am his wife, she thought, and her spirit seemed to rise from her, fleeing from the cheers of the gathering.
The Onggirats feasted and drank, accompanied by the deep-throated songs of the men, the throbbing of fiddles, and the wails of pipes as the sun rode towards the western sky. People came to Bortai, bowed, and murmured good wishes and farewells.
At last Temujin rose and led her to his horse. Shotan climbed into the ox-drawn cart that held Bortai's belongings, along with the wicker frame and felt panels of a tent. She would ride with Bortai to Temujin's camp, and seemed as happy as a bride herself. Temujin helped Bortai on to his horse; she adjusted her long robe and coat as he mounted behind her. Pellets of dung rained around her, thrown by well-wishers.
They rode slowly west along the river-bank. Dei trotted near Shotan with a few of his men; Bortai heard her father and brother laugh as they joked with Belgutei. Temujin's horse trotted ahead of the rest of the party, then slowed. He was silent, his chest pressing against her back as he handled the horse's reins.<
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“It's good that you came when you did,” Bortai said at last. “Happy as Father was to see you, he would have given me to someone else before long.”
“I couldn't wait any more. Your father would have heard of me before long and wondered why I hadn't come for you.” He paused. “I rejoice that you were given to me with such ceremony, but it would have pleased me just as much to ride here, offer my gifts, reach a bargain, and leave with you as soon as he gave his consent.”
She twisted around. His skin was coppery in the evening light, his eyes shadowed by the flaps of his hat. He was aglow with hope for the years ahead, and she knew suddenly that she would never see him in quite this way again.
“But I wouldn't have had you miss your wedding feast,” he continued. “Women set store by such things.”
“I wouldn't have minded missing it,” she said. “I waited for so long that I only wanted it to be over.” Perhaps she should not have said that; he might misunderstand. She turned away.
“I knew you would wait,” he said. “Anchar told me how you refused even to consider other suitors, ones with more to offer, and how you suffered for it, and I cursed myself for not being able to claim you before. Then, when I saw how beautiful you'd become, I worried that you might not think me worthy. I thought you might wed me only because you'd look foolish after waiting for so long if you didn't.”
She swallowed. “I thought you might not want me, that you came only because of an old promise.”
“How could you think that?” His arms tightened around her. “You've shown your loyalty by waiting—that's enough to make me know I chose well. But to see your beauty—” He sighed. “I'll win more than I have now for you—I promise you that.”
She should have welcomed his words, and was moved by his admission of his own fears, yet sensed a colder tone in his soft voice. She thought of how he had looked at her in her father's yurt, as if judging her, before allowing himself a warmer gaze.
She could not fail her husband, nor would he allow her to do so; that much was clear. His fingers gripped her wrist for a moment, tight as talons; she closed her eyes.
The party stopped for the night. Bortai remained in the cart with her mother; Temujin would not come to her until they reached his camp.
Shotan slept deeply. Bortai lay next to her, restless, thinking of what her mother had told her before the wedding. There had been little for Shotan to say; Bortai had seen the stallions led to the mares and had heard her parents in their bed. Shotan claimed that the pain passed after the first joining and that one could learn to take pleasure in it, but Bortai knew that some women never did.
Dei left them on the second day. Bortai stared after her father from the cart until he and his men were only black specks riding towards the sun. Anchar and two of his comrades continued on with them while Belgutei rode ahead to tell Temujin's people that their chief was returning with his bride.
Belgutei met them two days later at the fork where the Kerulen River flowed into the Senggur. Another brother was with him, a sharp-eyed boy named Khasar. Anchar and his men shared some kumiss with the brothers, then came to the cart to say their farewells.
“You have a fine husband, sister,” Anchar said. “There aren't many who could start with nothing and become chiefs at sixteen.” He laughed. “Temujin won my last antelope bone this morning.”
“I'll miss you,” Bortai murmured.
Her brother leaned towards her in his saddle, touched her cheek, then galloped away with his companions.
The party rode north along the Senggur. The valley was growing green; tiny white buds poked through the grass.
Bortai's husband turned in his saddle to grin at her, his teeth white against the brown skin of his face, his eyes filled with the light she had first seen in them.
The sun was rising when Bortai first saw her husband's camp. The yurts and wagons were grouped in circles near the river, where a few cattle were drinking, and a small flock of sheep grazed. Khasar had ridden ahead to announce their arrival, and people had gathered outside the tents to greet their chief.
Shotan's eyes narrowed as they neared the modest encampment. “He has brothers,” she said softly to Bortai, “and he's won followers. He should be able to provide more for you in time.”
Temujin led them to the northernmost circle; people called out to him as he passed their tents. Three women stood outside one yurt. The oldest had a wrinkled, leathery face; another gazed up at Bortai with dark eyes, then quickly lowered her head. The third was a small woman, a little shorter than Bortai, her perfect face marred only by tiny lines around her large golden eyes. She held herself as proudly as a Khatun, and Bortai knew that she had to be Temujin's mother.
Shotan and Bortai climbed down from their cart; Temujin led them forward to make their bows. His mother's name was Hoelun. Bortai glanced at her shyly as Hoelun Ujin and Shotan exchanged formal greetings.
“May my daughter be a worthy wife to your son,” Shotan said.
“A beautiful girl,” Temujin's mother replied. “I see why my son didn't forget her.” She lifted her head and gazed at Temujin; Bortai saw the fierce light in her eyes. This woman had kept her brood alive when they were abandoned by all.
I must never come between them, Bortai thought; I can never fail either of them.
“Welcome, daughter,” Hoelun Ujin said. She smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes.
Temujin's followers feasted until dark, sitting out in the open spaces between the yurts. Bortai had blessed Hoelun-eke's household spirits with drops of kumiss, and Shotan had presented the sable coat she had brought as a gift for Temujin's mother. The women of the camp had helped Bortai raise her yurt, doing the work slowly, murmuring blessings for the bride as each panel was tied to the frame. Hoelun-eke's old servant Khokakhchin had blessed the hearth and lit the fire.
The others were still feasting when Temujin stood up, helped Bortai to her feet, and bowed to her mother and his own. The two women had spoken easily to each other during the feast. Whatever Temujin's mother thought of Bortai, she clearly had a liking for Shotan.
A few men called out advice to Temujin as he led Bortai towards her yurt. At another fire, Belgutei was reciting some of the verses he had sung to Dei; she thought of her old camp with a pang of homesickness.
A soft light glowed from the entrance to her dwelling. Bortai followed her husband inside, knelt by the doorway, and anointed it with a small bit of fat. Temujin murmured a blessing, then went to the hearth, warming himself by the fire as Bortai rolled down the flap.
“My mother feared for me,” he said, “when I went to claim you. I told her you would wait, and now she sees I was right. She'll grow to love you.”
She moved slowly towards the bed at the back of the yurt. Her ongghon, a carved image of a cow's udder, hung over the bed from a horn set into the wicker frame. She lifted off her head-dress, then removed her coat as Temujin began to undress; she hastily looked away. It would be over soon; she would know if her mother had told her the truth.
When she was clothed only in her shift, she pulled back the blanket and sat down on the bed. “No,” Temujin said, “the shift, too.”
“I'll be cold.”
“No, you won't. I want to see you.”
She pulled off the shift and stretched out. He came towards her, still wearing his shift; she could not see his eyes in the shadows.
“Bortai.” He was suddenly upon her, pushing her legs apart with his knees, and she felt his breath on her ear. “Bortai.” He fumbled at her roughly, something firm and hard pressed against her thigh, then abruptly he thrust inside her and she gritted her teeth at the pain. His fingers dug into her hips as the weight of him drove the breath from her lungs. He gasped as he moved inside her, groaned, and shuddered as he sighed.
He rolled off her and lay at her side. She reached for the blanket, glimpsed the traces of blood on her inner thighs, then covered herself. So that was all there was to it. She had not felt too much pain,
but wondered how any woman could welcome this act. Maybe Temujin was also disappointed. She would have to please him even if she felt no joy herself, and take her pleasure in thoughts of the children she would give him. She squeezed her eyes shut; she had hoped for too much while waiting for him.
“Bortai,” he said at last. “I didn't think it would rush from me so quickly.” She opened her eyes as his arm encircled her waist; his nose touched hers lightly. “I thought there would be more pleasure for you.”
“There wasn't time for me to feel anything.”
“Others tell me that a man must seize his woman, that otherwise she'll think he's a weakling and mock him in secret, and when I saw you, I couldn't hold myself back. But I—” His throat moved as he swallowed. “I wanted it to be more.”
She touched his cheek. “If I please you,” she said, “that's what matters. It'll be easier for me next time.”
“That isn't enough. I want you to love me and welcome this. I want you to long for me, I want to know I can give you joy. I can't have a wife who shrinks from me and does only what she feels she must.”
“Some men don't mind that.”
“I'm not like other men. I'll bring you to love me.” He made it sound like a battle; perhaps it was. “Are you sorry you waited for me?”
“No. I could never regret that.” She meant it this time; her fears were gone.
He took her hand and pressed her fingers around his member as it swelled and grew hard against her palm; then he touched her awkwardly, smoothing the flat hairs between her legs and probing her cleft. She shivered, and knew at last that she would welcome him. He entered her more gently this time, resting his weight against his arms. She burned as she felt herself tighten around him; he gripped her by the hair, forcing her to look at him. His pupils were enlarged in the dim light, making his eyes darker.
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 22
