“So you know of that.” Temujin tugged at the scarf tied around his head. “Some see omens in that dream that aren't there.”
“Are you so sure? You told me long ago of a dream where you stood on a great mountain and saw all the world. When we were children, you asked me why there shouldn't be one Khan on the earth. Your dreams are showing you what must be, and yet you refuse to see it. Do you ever see two Khans ruling in the same camp when your soul wanders with the spirits? Your feelings for your anda may blind you to the truth.”
“When a kuriltai is held to choose one of us, the Noyans will choose me.” A muscle twitched near his jaw. “I can wait until then. Jamukha's my anda—he'd give me his oath.”
“He'll never agree,” she said. “He'll never assent to seeing you raised above him. The longer you stay with him, the weaker you'll become. The Noyans will never turn to you then.”
“I thought you were wiser than that, Bortai. If I parted with him now, I'd be weaker—I'd lose half of what we rule together.”
“Are you so certain? Your men follow you willingly, while Jamukha's follow him because they fear him. You might win more men to your side if they can follow you alone. Even some of his own men might join you. Why do you think he lets you share his place when he could have claimed more honour for himself? He wants to lull you, to use you, to bind you to him until—”
“Be silent!” His face was pale; Bortai shrank back.
“You asked us what we thought,” Hoelun said. “Bortai has told you. Why come to us if you don't want to hear it?”
“And you, Khokakhchin-eke.” Temujin got up and walked towards the hearth. “What do you say?”
“It isn't my place to say anything, Bahadur. I've seen enemies join, and brothers become enemies, and it will all go on happening long after I'm gone.”
He paced around the tent. Bortai expected him to leave and go to Doghon, his Merkit woman, but he sat down near her once more.
“Tell me the rest, Temujin,” she said. “I sense there's much you haven't said.”
“I expected Jamukha to grow angry when I told him of my dream, but he said nothing. I grew bolder, and disagreed with him in front of the others, but even that didn't rouse him.” His pale eyes glistened. “Always before, I could see his thoughts, but I can't now.” He paused. “When I left his tent that night, Jamukha said something that still puzzles me. He said that if we make camp by the mountains, those who tend the horses and cattle will have food. Then he went on to say that if we make camp by a stream, the shepherds will be fed. He said no more than that, and I couldn't think of how to reply.”
Jamukha, Bortai saw, had asked him a question, although she wondered why he had asked it in that veiled way instead of outright. If they favoured the sheep in their new grazing grounds, they would have more wool for clothing and more felt for their tents; favouring the horses meant preparing for war. Temujin had counselled war against the Taychiuts, and Jamukha had disagreed; that rumour had also spread through the camp. Jamukha knew what her husband wanted, so what was the purpose in his question?
“He's challenging you.” The words left her before she could find a way to soften them. “You should have seen it yourself. You want to fight and he doesn't. If we camp by a river, the men will know Jamukha has won. If you answer that we'll camp by the mountains, he can't agree without showing his own weakness. Whatever you say, he'll use it against you.”
“No,” he whispered.
“You brought this into the open,” Bortai persisted. “Maybe you should have waited, but it's done. You knew this day would come, but told yourself Jamukha would step aside for you. His words show you that he won't. You say you know him, but he knows you, too. Once you were alone, and now you've won the devotion of many. You can't bear to think that you might be deserted again, or that anyone close to you might wish you harm. Jamukha remembers the boy you were—it's his weapon against you.”
Temujin's body was rigid, his hands fisted tight.
“I speak the truth,” she said. “You gave him no answer, so he'll ask the question again, when others can hear his words. If you say we must favour the horses, the men will see you still want war, and that will give Jamukha an excuse to move against you. His words hide a plot.”
“We swore an oath.” His voice was faint.
“He could keep his while letting others act for him. You must listen to me, Temujin.”
“And what would you have me do?”
“Don't give him an answer. Let him think you're unwilling to confront him. Then we must leave him before he can stop us, before he knows we're gone.”
“You know what this means,” Temujin said. “If I break with him, he won't forgive me, and the break will weaken us.”
“It will reveal your true strength,” she replied, “when you see who stays with him and who follows you. Anyway, you're better off alone than staying with a man you can no longer trust.”
She saw him still resisting her words. “And there's this,” she went on. “If he truly means you no harm, he'll send a message to you affirming his friendship, and you'll lose little.”
“He came to me when I had nothing. I can't forget that, whatever happens now.” He let out his breath. “But you are correct, wife. That's something I must put aside.” He bowed his head; when he looked up, his face was impassive. “I'll say nothing of this until we've broken camp. Our carts and herds will keep in the rear, and I'll ride in the lead with Jamukha, as I always do. When we stop to graze our animals, I'll tell him that I must see to you, that your time may be nearly upon you. He'll believe that—he knows some still whisper that Jochi was born too soon.”
Bortai flinched. She had hoped those tales had finally died.
“Jelme and Borchu will be told of my plans then,” her husband continued in a toneless voice, “and they will tell those we can trust to drop behind, but we'll keep in sight, so that Jamukha thinks we are still with him. When night falls, we'll turn from his trail and press on. He won't know we've abandoned him until dawn.”
Bortai took a breath. “Heaven will favour you, Temujin.”
“Heaven's favour can feel like the kang I once wore.” He got to his feet; his broad shoulders sagged with weariness. “You've given me wise counsel, Bortai. I'll go to Doghon's yurt now. It would be best not to startle the child you carry with my attentions.”
She gazed after him as he left the yurt. He would respect her advice, yet feel bitterness towards her for giving it. His Merkit woman would console him and allow him to forget the burdens he carried, as she could not.
51
The blue sky was cloudless on the day they broke camp. Temujin and Jamukha led the procession, followed by their closest comrades. Carts filled with women and children trailed them, Jajirats near the front, other clans grouped behind them. Bortai saw that her own servants took down her tent slowly before her carts were lashed to Hoelun-eke's and Doghon's. She wanted to keep back, just ahead of the riders bringing their herds.
Their progress was slow, as always. Carts creaked as they rolled across the flat plain; the cattle, horses, and sheep were kept to a walk, so that they would not lose too much of their fat. Bortai sat between Hoelun and Khokakhchin and gripped the reins of their ox; Temulun was behind them, under the covering.
It was nearly noon when Temujin rode back to them. By then, the convoy had slowed to a crawl; through the dust raised by the carts, Bortai saw the riders far ahead of them disappear over a rise. A small river glistened in the distance. The women at the head of the rows of carts were climbing down to unlash their wagons from the ones behind before crossing the stream.
Temujin halted by Bortai's cart and motioned to her to stop. “When you reach the river,” he said, “wait before you cross, until the Jajirat herds are on the other side.”
“What did Jamukha say to you?” she asked.
“He asked his question again. I said he would have my answer later.”
Jochi stirred on Hoelun's lap; Bortai reached for her
son's hand. “I had three bones brought to me this morning,” Temujin said; she could barely hear him above the lowing of the oxen. “They were burned. With only Borchu and Jelme to hear me, I asked if I must do what I now mean to do. The bones all cracked down the middle.”
He had been hoping for another omen, then, a reason to stay with Jamukha. “The spirits are with you, my husband.”
“Yes.” His voice caught on the word.
The sun was in the west by the time their animals had been watered and the last of the carts were across the stream. Borchu's Arulats had remained with them, along with the Uriangkhais and some from other clans. The rest of the convoy was a dark line moving west, trailed by the mottled mass of Jamukha's herds. When the sun set, and only clouds of dust could be seen in the west, Temujin led his people north.
Old Khokakhchin nodded in her seat; Hoelun soothed Jochi while Bortai held the reins. The night air was cold on her face. Jamukha would have stopped by now to make camp. He would believe that Bortai's time had come, that his anda would join him after the child was born.
When the half-moon was above the horizon, the men leading the way fanned out and galloped ahead. Hoelun handed Jochi to Temulun, then reached for her bowcase and quiver. The men riding with Temujin were soon out of sight.
The moon was high above them when Bortai glimpsed the specks of distant, dying fires and heard faint shouts and screams above the creaking of the carts. Temujin's men had come upon another camp. A few wagons stood in a circle, but she saw no yurts; those people had also been on the move. Men circled on horseback, laughing as they threw jugs to one another; others climbed into the wagons to loot them. A strangled cry reached her before the laughter drowned it out.
Khasar rode towards her. “Taychiuts,” he shouted to Bortai. “Most of them ran before we got here, and following them would only take us closer to Jamukha. We'll have to settle for what's left.” He galloped away.
Hoelun gripped Bortai's wrist. “Wait here, until they're done.” Bortai shook off her hand. Two small dark shapes writhed on the ground near one fire; a man was taking a captive. A group of men near them cheered and stamped their feet. She thought of how the Merkits had laughed at her cries that night below Burkhan Khaldun. The man by the fire got to his feet; Bortai recognized Temujin's tall, broad form against the light of the flames. He fumbled at his belt as a comrade caught him around the shoulders.
Bortai lashed at her ox. Men were throwing dirt over the dying fires; riders streamed from the looted camp. Temujin leaned over the dark form huddled on the ground, then walked towards his horse.
The small encampment was nearly empty when Bortai reached it. A few of Temujin's men were lashing the wagons together. A girl lay near one dead fire, her trousers around her ankles, black streaks of blood on her thighs. Belgutei trotted to Bortai's side. A small boy lay across his saddle; he dumped the child beside the cart.
“Take him,” Belgutei muttered, then gestured at the girl. “Bring her along, too—Temujin wants her.”
That explained why these men had left her alone. Hoelun climbed down and knelt over the boy. Bortai waited until Belgutei had ridden back to his comrades, then got down and went to the girl.
“Can you walk?” Bortai asked. The girl shivered, plucking at her garments as if wanting to tear them from herself. Bortai helped her adjust her clothing, then pulled her to her feet.
The Taychiut leaned against her, still trembling. “Steady,” Bortai murmured; the girl made a choked sound. “I've suffered the same. It will pass. I'll look after you.” She repressed the curses rising to her lips. “What's your name?”
“Jeren.” The girl's voice was hoarse.
Wagons rolled past Bortai's cart and the vehicles lashed to hers. She led Jeren to Doghon's cart; the Merkit woman was silent as she held out a hand to the girl.
Hoelun was waiting with the Taychiut boy. Bortai climbed awkwardly into the seat beside them, then flicked at the ox lightly with her whip. Old Khokakhchin glanced at her, but kept silent; Temulun and Jochi were still asleep under the covering.
Hoelun-eke draped an arm over the boy, then said, “What are you called?”
“Kukuchu,” he whispered. “Is that girl your sister?”
The boy shook his head. “I was asleep,” he said. “Then everybody was shouting, and I fell and hit my head. Then a man was grabbing my hair, and they threw me to each other, and one of them said he'd take my head and use it for a target if I cried.” He gulped air. “My mother —1 don't know where—”
“She'd want us to look after you,” Hoelun said. “Listen—there's another boy in one of the carts behind ours. He isn't much older than you. Our men found him in another camp, among our enemies, and I told him I'd be his mother. That's what I'm telling you now, Kukuchu. You'll be my son.”
“Why? Don't you have sons of your own?”
“I have four sons I bore myself, and a fifth—Guchu—who was found in a Merkit camp. You shall be the sixth. You see, I have no husband, so I can bear no more brothers for my sons. But I can find them elsewhere, and bring them up. A man is stronger when he has many brothers.” Hoelun took a breath. “Men have to fight, or be killed themselves. I know you understand that, Kukuchu. Your people failed to protect you, but my sons will not. Women and children can only pray that the men guarding them are stronger than their enemies.”
Bortai wondered if the child knew what Hoelun-eke meant, but then the older woman's words were probably meant for her. Letting herself feel pity would only make her forget that her own safety lay with her husband's mercilessness towards enemies. The boy dabbed at his eyes, then nestled closer to Hoelun.
They stopped when the eastern sky was grey. Wagons and herds dappled the plain; some of the men and older boys went off to clear watering holes for the animals while the women milked sheep, then made fires to boil the milk.
Temujin sat under a lone tree beyond his camping circle. Bortai had watched as men rode to him, dismounted, and bowed. He would be asking for their oaths; they would all know by now that he meant to leave Jamukha. Bortai settled on two cushions and rested her back against a wheel as her servants set curds on flat rocks to dry. She would finish the shirt for Jochi before the light grew too dim.
The sun was low in the west when people began to settle themselves for the night. Women fed their families and put children in the wagons to sleep; other people stretched out under shelters of hides and sticks. Men sat by watch-fires at the edges of the circles of wagons, keeping guard while others rode out to relieve those with the grazing herds.
Bortai, squinting to see in the dusk, made her last stitch, then bit off the thread. Temujin was coming in her direction, trailed by Borchu's kinsman Ogele Cherbi and several other men. Subotai trotted at her husband's left, trying to keep up with the men; Temujin was fond of the boy, and often allowed him to sit with the men when they talked. They stopped by the rope where their horses were tied. Subotai was the first to mount, leaping into his saddle the way the men did.
She bowed her head and smoothed the shirt over her knees. A shadow blocked the light; she looked up.
Her husband was alone. “More followed than I expected,” he said. “There are some from nearly all of the clans. I told them what I mean to do, and not one asked to return to Jamukha.”
“He's lost supporters, then.”
“He still has many.” He looked around. “Where's that girl?”
“Asleep in Doghon's cart.” Her hands tightened around the shirt. “Leave her alone, Temujin. She'll scream if you come near her.”
He shrugged. “There's some pleasure even in that.”
He said only what all men thought. Bortai would surprise him if she told him that dreams of Chilger still occasionally woke her and made her tremble. Temujin would never understand her hatred of this part of him.
She gave him some curds and ate a few herself; her women scooped the rest into small pouches. Several men rode towards them, skirting the circles of carts; Borchu was with them.
Temujin whistled, then got to his feet. “Khorchi,” he whispered. “I didn't think he'd come to me.”
The riders halted. Borchu and Khorchi dismounted and walked between the two fires beyond the wagons. “I welcome you,” Temujin called out as the men approached. “Do you bring a message from Jamukha?”
“I bring myself,” Khorchi replied.
“I am honoured. A shaman-chief with your skill is always needed.”
Khorchi bowed. “I have little enough skill,” he said, “but enough to know I had to join you. I suspected what you were planning before we stopped. A dream brought me here, waking me in the middle of the night—we left before dawn.” The Bagarin gestured with one hand. “My people followed willingly.”
“It must have been quite a dream,” Temujin said, “to take you away from Jamukha.”
“Jamukha has a brave spirit,” Khorchi said. “If this dream hadn't come to me, I would have stayed with him. The same womb gave birth to Jamukha's ancestor and to my own, but I can't turn from such an omen.”
“I would hear of this dream.” Temujin sat next to Bortai. Borchu and Khorchi settled in front of them; the other Bagarins gathered behind them to listen.
“I was standing in our camp,” the shaman began. “A great cow appeared, with horns nearly as long as a man's bow and as thick as a tent pole. She lowered her head and charged at Jamukha's yurt, and then at Jamukha himself. One of her horns broke against him, and she cried out, calling to him to bring her the horn she had lost. As she cried to him, I saw a great ox pull up the stake holding the yurt and harness himself to a cart. I followed that cart, Temujin, and the ox led me to you. He bowed low and shouted to all that the spirits had decreed you should rule, and that Etugen and Tengri agreed that all the clans will bow to you.” He was silent for a moment. “How can I deny a dream that speaks so clearly?”
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 30
