“You have done well,” Yesugei said. “My sons couldn't have become men without your courage, Hoelun. The spirits favour only the strong. God sweeps away the weak.”
She woke. Her husband's spirit was watching over their son. Yesugei would have been pleased to hear the men swearing their oaths, and Altan's speech had been more eloquent than she expected. If we ever disobey you in war, Khutula's son had said, take away all that we have and strike our heads from us. If we disobey you in peacetime, take away our wives, our children, and our herds, and abandon us in the Gobi.
Temujin had taken command quickly, appointing his closest comrades to different posts. Altan and the Jurkin chiefs must have been dismayed at this sign that Temujin meant to be more than just a war chief and leader of the hunt.
Her son might have been a Khan all his life instead of for only a month. She had watched him ride off to an Arulat camp that morning, his men a wall around him, to claim his tribute as Khan. His demands would not be great; her son knew how to be generous. She thought of how he had danced with the men under his pavilion after they had carried him to his throne, and the old ones said he danced as fiercely as Khutula himself.
You should have been a Khan, Yesugei. Her husband was still near, his spirit hovering over her bed.
She heard voices at the doorway, and then Temulun was standing at the foot of her bed. “Mother,” the girl whispered. “One of Bortai's servants is here, and asks that you come to her tent at once.”
Hoelun got up quickly and dressed. A boy led a horse to her as she went outside. She mounted and rode the short distance to Bortai's circle, where servants sat outside the yurt. A slave emerged, carrying Chagadai outside in his cradle, and Jochi clung to the hand of one woman. A shaman sat near two fires; behind him, a spear was embedded in the ground.
“Don't go inside,” the shaman said. Hoelun dismounted, walked between the fires, and hastened into the tent.
Bortai knelt by Khokakhchin's bed, her face streaked with tears. Hoelun went to her and dropped to the carpet. The left side of old Khokakhchin's face was stiff; she blinked with one eye as Hoelun took her hand.
“You shouldn't be here, Khatun.” The old woman's words were so slurred that Hoelun barely understood them. “I tell the young Khatun to leave me—instead, she summons you.” Her throat rasped as she struggled for breath. “I'll be gone before sunrise.”
“I can't let you die alone,” Bortai whispered.
“What foolishness.” The old servant sighed. “This tent will have to be purified. You should put me outside the camp. What trouble for an old woman.”
“I don't care.” Bortai wiped at her eyes. “I will get a shaman to lift the ban—I'll pay whatever he asks.”
“The wealth of the world couldn't lift that ban.” Khokakhchin gasped; Hoelun smelled death. “I lived to see you become a Khatun, child. I lived to see Temujin a Khan. I am ready to leave you now.”
“My husband came to me tonight in a dream,” Hoelun said. “Now I think he was coming for you, Khokakhchin-eke. You served us well. I swear you won't be forgotten.”
“Leave me,” Khokakhchin gasped. “It's the last thing I ask of you.”
Hoelun took Bortai's arm; the younger woman pulled back. “Come,” Hoelun said firmly. “What will Temujin think if he returns and finds you impure, forced to put up your tent outside the camp? You'd be under a ban for months.”
Bortai collapsed against her, sobbing. “I promise you this, Khokakhchin-eke,” Hoelun said. “You'll be buried with great honour. A Khan will say the prayers over your grave, dear friend.” She would never find so faithful a servant again. She glanced back at the old woman one last time, then went with her son's wife from the yurt.
55
The men rode at a walk, keeping the horses together. Jamukha covered his mouth and nose with the end of his scarf; even at this slow pace, the horses were kicking up dirt. Ahead of him, near the ridge bordering the steppe, more horses grazed on the dry yellow grass.
He had been out with the horses since midsummer. Two promising stallions had been separated from those to be gelded; the work had kept him from dwelling on his anda's arrogance, which had only grown since he had been raised on the felt. Temujin had acted so correctly in sending him envoys with word of his election as Khan; even after a year, the thought of that could still enrage him. Temujin would have known the news would be a spear in his side. Now Temujin rode to the camps of his followers to display his generosity, to show how little he would ask from them, but he did not need their tribute. All of them had knelt to him and offered him their swords.
Temujin had used him only to take what he wanted. Jamukha had misjudged him, had been too certain that their old ties would keep his anda tethered a while longer, that Temujin, as he often did, would hesitate before acting.
The regrets he had kept at bay tormented him again. He thought of the bloodied testicles he had cut from one horse during the gelding. That would be a suitable punishment for an enemy, to cut his manhood from him and hold it in front of his eyes before he died.
The man in the lead dropped back; Jamukha rode up to take his place. He shook the scarf from his face, breathing more easily with the dust behind him, then glanced to one side. Ogin moved closer to him; the boy smiled as he caught Jamukha's eye.
Ogin was beginning to irritate him, with his sly glances and hints for favours; he seemed to think a few joinings should earn him a reward. It had been enjoyable to go hunting with the boy, to take his pleasure with Ogin away from the encampment, but that particular fire had gone out, and he had no desire to rekindle it.
A plume of dust surrounding a tiny dark shape appeared in the distance; a man rode towards him across the parched plain. Jamukha narrowed his eyes, recognizing the rider, and wondered what Khuyhildar was doing here.
The Manggud chief slowed, passed the distant herd of horses, then continued towards Jamukha at a trot, slowing down as he came closer. The long scar on the left side of Khuyhildar's face was a white line against his brown skin; the Manggud was scowling.
“I greet you.” Khuyhildar raised an arm. His horse turned and trotted at Jamukha's side. “My news is grave, friend—I sorrow at having to bring it. Many of the chiefs have gathered in your camp, and sent me to carry this news to you. Forgive me for saying this, but perhaps you should have come back sooner—you might have—”
“I left Taychar in charge. I saw no reason—”
Khuyhildar made a sign with his hand. “Maybe you should have chosen someone else. The other Noyans and I are ready to aid you in whatever revenge you seek, now that others have struck at your heart.”
The Manggud was trying his patience. Too often lately, his men hesitated before telling him what he had to know. Jamukha had heard rumours that they sometimes drew lots to choose the one to bring him bad tidings. Keeping his men properly fearful of him had its drawbacks.
Jamukha turned towards Ogin, who had ridden closer to him. “Get back to your place, boy.” He tightened his legs around his mount; his horse quickened its pace. Khuyhildar kept near him until they were further ahead of the others. “Speak now.”
Khuyhildar said, “Your cousin has fallen, slain by an arrow.”
Jamukha tensed and pulled at his reins. “How did this happen?”
“Your cousin and four comrades rode out just after the new moon. You know how he was. He'd grown impatient for a raid—so one of his friends said. They went towards the Kerulen, to the Donkeyback Steppe, and came to the camp of the Jalair chief Jochi Darmala. It was a simple matter for your kinsman to steal his horses, since Jochi Darmala's camp has only a few yurts.”
The other man fell silent. Jamukha glared at him. “Go on,” he said hoarsely.
“Your cousin and his comrades made camp by a spring. He must have thought he had little to fear, with so few in that Jalair camp to pursue him. He was on guard while the others slept. They awoke to see what looked like a riderless horse approaching the herd, and then Jochi Darmala suddenly swun
g himself up astride the horse, and before they could warn your cousin, the Jalair's arrow found his back, and the horses scattered.” Khuyhildar cleared his throat. “Your men found their steeds wandering the plains later, but Jochi Darmala escaped with his own. Now your cousin lies in a wagon while his wife weeps for the husband she's lost so soon.”
Jamukha sensed the words the other man was holding back. You should have restrained Taychar, you shouldn't have left him in your place, you should have known he might try something like this.
The rage would come later. He felt only numbness and shock and a hollowness inside his chest. “My kinsman will be avenged.”
“We can take the Jalairs with a small force,” Khuyhildar muttered.
“They're sworn to Temujin. If we strike only at their camps, Temujin would marshal his armies against us. Why strike at an arm when we can aim at the head?”
Khuyhildar's ugly face paled. “You have the right. But can you bring yourself to make war against your anda?”
“He's left me no choice.” So it had come to this; he felt that he had known it would. Temujin had brought this about by leaving him, by allowing himself to be raised to a throne. Taychar, he realized, had given him an excuse to act; perhaps his death would not be in vain. “You told me you would aid me in my revenge, Khuyhildar.”
“As I shall.” The Manggud struck his chest. “My promise lives here. I swore to follow you, Jamukha.”
“We must bury my cousin, who was as dear to me as a brother, and then I'll raise my tugh, put on my armour, and sound my drum. We'll strike at Temujin's camp.”
56
Jamukha's army mustered on the plain, its ranks swelled by the clans sworn to him. Shamans read the bones and made sacrifices before the thousands of warriors rode out, each with his string of war-horses. By the time they reached the slopes of the Alagud and Turghagud Mountains, the wings of light cavalry on the right and left had fanned out to move through the passes in smaller groups, and the scouts were far ahead of the main force. Jamukha, riding in the centre with the heavy cavalry, ordered the men carrying white flags to signal to the rest of the force to separate. The scouts had told him that Temujin was camped by the Senggur again. Jamukha's forces would converge on the camp and surround it.
They banked their fires at night to conceal them and slept on their horses. Two days after they left the mountains behind, a man rode to Jamukha with a message from his scouts. An army had been sighted; Temujin's scouts were already harrying theirs. Jamukha knew then that his anda had been warned, but his force still outnumbered what could be seen of Temujin's.
The enemy was moving towards Dalan-Galjut, the Seventy Marshes. Jamukha's generals assembled under his tugh. Temujin's forces, it seemed, were now converging.
Jamukha gave his orders. They would draw together and meet the enemy at Dalan-Galjut. When the battle began, the right wing would leave the trees bordering the Seventy Marshes and drive Temujin's army to the left. Temujin's scouts had not yet encountered much of Jamukha's right wing, and might underestimate its strength. The generals left to take up their positions; men with white flags and lanterns passed along Jamukha's orders with signals. He still had the advantage. The warning to Temujin had come too late for him to do more than prepare a defence.
They reached Dalan-Galjut at dawn, six days after leaving the mountains. Reeds and bushes dotted the marshy land; the ground glistened with autumnal frost. The earth was hard enough for the horses to find footing. In the distance, Jamukha saw the rows of the enemy's heavy cavalry, lances raised, their lacquered leather breastplates blackened with pitch. Temujin's nine-tailed tugh fluttered behind them.
Jamukha raised his arm, then dropped it. His drummer, perched on a camel, beat on the naccara; the thunder of another war-drum answered his. Jamukha's front line of heavy cavalry burst across the swamp; he let out a cry and rode after them with the second line. The light cavalry in the rear fired through the spaces between the advancing men and their arrows whistled past him.
A roar rose above the pounding of hooves and the throbbing of naccaras. Horses and riders swarmed around him. Jamukha unhorsed one rider with the hook of his lance and thrust his sword through the soldier's open mouth. A sword grazed his helmet; he slashed at a chest encased in leather armour and saw blood. A horse in front of him pitched forward, unseating one of the enemy; Jamukha's sword sliced his arm from his shoulder. His ears pounded as he fought; he would punish them all for Taychar's death, for deserting him for Temujin.
Horses slid in the blood. Arrows shrieked past him, darkening the sky, and fell on Temujin's forces. Enemy warriors tumbled from their horses as Temujin's light cavalry fired back. Above the tumult, Jamukha suddenly heard the roar of war-cries to his right; the right wing of his light cavalry had left the trees to begin its sweep.
He fought on, moving to the battle's rhythm, until he realized the other force was falling back. Men thrown from their horses were fighting on foot, cutting at the legs of enemy horses with their swords. Jamukha hooked another rider from his mount and stabbed at his neck. Temujin was getting the worst of it; his soldiers were retreating. Warriors from Jamukha's right wing moved in front of him, pushing Temujin's forces to the left; fleeing soldiers turned in their saddles to fire arrows at their pursuers.
The air was warmer, the sun higher. Jamukha shouted to the commander nearest him. A signal flag lifted; his men were driving the enemy back, trapping them between Jamukha's left wing and his right. Horsemen streamed forward; victory would be his.
Jamukha's bowmen pursued the enemy, then withdrew when a signal was passed to them. Fresher warriors took their place; Jamukha would allow Temujin a retreat, but did not intend to give him a chance to regroup.
His men carried their dead comrades from Dalan-Galjut, left the enemy bodies for the birds and jackals, and camped on a hillside far from the marsh. Jamukha slept dreamlessly near one fire, and awoke at dawn when a rider came to him. Temujin's army had disbanded, many of them riding towards the Onon. The Khan had lost many men.
Clusters of men sat by fires on the hillside; small tents had been pitched. Several men knelt over wounded comrades to suck the blood from their wounds; others were skinning dead horses. The older boys who had followed the army at a distance moved among them, tethering the horses and carrying the large kettles they had brought with them to the fires.
Jurchedei was climbing the hill. Jamukha got to his feet to greet the Urugud chief.
“We have a victory,” Jurchedei said. The weary soldiers with the Urugud managed a throaty cheer. “The archers who have come back say the enemy has scattered.”
“Genghis Khan.” Jamukha spat, took off his studded leather helmet, and wiped his face. “We'll see how well his men serve their Khan now that he's led them to defeat. Some of his allies must be regretting the oaths they swore.”
“You've shown him your strength,” Jurchedei said. “Offer him a chance to surrender. Those who followed him could serve you.”
Jamukha said, “There can be no peace between us.”
“He's your anda,” the Urugud said. “Remind him of his oath. Your cousin is avenged. Take advantage of Temujin's weakness now.”
“He'll have lost more supporters the next time we meet. I won't throw away a triumph later by showing him mercy now.” He had won this battle; he would win the next, and leave Temujin with nothing. “How many prisoners did we take?”
“Not many. A lot of them died fighting, or forced us to kill them when they were taken. We have about eighty from the Chinos clan - their chief is one of them.”
The cursed Chinos had been among the first to leave him for Temujin. “I want to see them,” Jamukha said.
A boy brought them fresh horses. They mounted and rode down the slope until they came to the roped enclosure that held the prisoners. The captives sat together, hands bound; a number of soldiers had gathered there to mock them. Their armour and weapons had been taken from them. The fresh blood spotting their shirts and trousers showed
that many of them were wounded.
One man looked up as Jamukha and Jurchedei dismounted; Jamukha gazed into the red-rimmed eyes of Chaghagan Uwa, the Chinos chief.
“We meet again, Chaghagan Uwa,” Jamukha said. “The last time I was under your tent, you talked of our friendship, then forgot it to follow that accursed Kiyat in the night. I would hear your last words now.”
“I didn't forget our friendship.” The shorter man swayed, then lifted his head. “I left because it was clear that you couldn't lead us together, and Temujin saw that before you did. I never wanted to meet you in battle, but I swore an oath to my Khan, and was bound to defend him.” Blood oozed from a wound on the side of his bald head; the looped braids behind his ears were covered with mud. “You brought this war about—you sent your armies against us for the sake of a horse thief.”
Jamukha struck him; Chaghagan Uwa staggered, but did not fall. “You gain nothing by insulting the dead.”
“I have nothing to gain anyway. You would have done better to bridle your cousin. Instead, you let him lead you into war. I obeyed my Khan, as I should. I ask only that I and these men be given an honourable death.”
Jamukha glanced at Jurchedei. “Ask him for his oath,” the Urugud whispered. “He was a friend. Keep them as hostages until you can—”
Shouts drowned out the rest of his words. “Give them the sword!” a man cried behind them. Jamukha raised his head. Above, on the hill, a boy was stoking the fire under a cauldron.
“An honourable death?” Jamukha said softly. “Oh no. Your death won't be honourable, and that of your men won't be easy. You deserve to die like animals for abandoning us, to become less than the beasts we cook in our pots. We kill our sheep before they're boiled, but your men will suffer that fate alive.”
The Chinos chief opened his mouth; Jamukha drew his sword and swung. Chaghagan Uwa's head fell beyond the enclosure as blood spilled from his toppling body over the other prisoners. Men swarmed forward, dragging captives out. Jamukha picked up the head by one braid. Jurchedei backed away, his arms hanging at his sides.
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 32
