Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  “This is how my enemies will be punished!” Jamukha shouted. “Let those who stand against me learn what their treachery will bring!” Men streamed past Jurchedei, carrying more prisoners towards the fires; the Urugud spun around and stumbled towards his horse. Jamukha despised the man for his squeamishness. Terror would keep his men obedient, and fear of his vengeance would bring more men to him.

  He strode to his horse, tied the head to his mount's tail, then leaped into the saddle. Men bellowed cheers and shook their weapons, but a few were silent as they watched him. A prisoner screamed as two men heaved him into a cauldron. Jamukha lifted his sword and rode along the hillside. The shrieks of the boiling men were a song celebrating his victory.

  57

  The hawk flew towards Temulun and alighted on the girl's wrist. She gave the bird a bit of meat, then secured the tether around her glove.

  “You trained that one quickly,” Hoelun said. Her daughter turned in her saddle and smiled; the bird fluttered its golden-brown wings.

  “She's a beauty,” Temulun said. “She's the best one I have.” She crooned to the hawk as Guchu trotted towards them. The girl had grown quite pretty, with a small nose, sharp cheekbones, and long lashes around her greenish-gold eyes. But Hoelun still had to chide her to braid her hair more neatly, and Temulun wore only the plainest and most unadorned tunics.

  She had been out with her daughter and her two adopted sons since morning, ready to enjoy a clear day without snow or a howling wind. To the east of her tents, servants were clearing away snow and feeding the sheep. Her servants and slaves had made her lazy; hands were always there to prepare her food, do her milking, shake out the blankets in her tent, even do her sewing and weaving.

  Temulun sat up and shaded her eyes with her free hand. “Temujin is back,” she said. Hoelun narrowed her eyes; her daughter's vision was sharper than her own. Three riders moved past the black mounds of yurts towards her circle; she recognized Temujin's favourite white charger and his dark sable coat. The second rider was Khasar, but she did not know the third.

  It was unusual for her son to be in the company of so few. The Khan was almost always surrounded by his men, consulting with them, hunting or playing at war-games, going with them to examine the newest bows of his bowmakers and new arrowheads freshly hardened in salt water, drinking or reciting stories with them. This was proper for a man, especially a Khan, but she sometimes wished he would occasionally visit her tent by himself or with only his women and children, as her other sons did. He left it to Bortai and his brothers to tell her of his doings, and groups of men were always in his tent when he summoned her there.

  Such thoughts should not trouble her; he was no longer a boy clinging to his mother's coat. He had not brooded long after his defeat that past autumn at Jamukha's hands, saying only, according to Bortai, that he had learned from that battle. Hoelun had been surprised when more clans, including some who had fought against her son, had asked to join Temujin for the autumn hunt, and she had wondered when he allowed them a generous share of the game. But his judgement had been sound. His new allies outnumbered the men who had fallen at Dalan-Galjut, and many had left Jamukha to join him.

  Temujin had been in Jurchedei's camp for the past few days. The Urugud chief had told a tale of horror after joining her son that winter, of captives boiled alive in cauldrons; some said that Jamukha and the cruellest of his men had drunk the human broth. Such cruelty had only driven Jurchedei and the Manggud chief Khuyhildar to Temujin's side. Jamukha had lost more than he had won at the Seventy Marshes.

  Her sons and their companion halted near her yurt. “It seems,” Hoelun said, “that the Khan wishes to visit us. Come along, all of you.”

  Temulun pouted. “It'll be dark soon. Can't we—”

  “A few moments only, child. I expect you to be back by the time I've welcomed your brothers and their comrade.”

  Temujin was riding towards her. Hoelun flicked her horse lightly with her whip and galloped across the snowy expanse. Khasar called out a greeting as she approached; the third man's face was partly hidden by the long flaps of his hat.

  “Mother,” Khasar shouted as she slowed, “look who has come here to join us. Our father's old friend has returned.”

  Temujin grinned; the man lifted his head. His moustaches had grown longer, and his face was brown and leathery, but Munglik's dark eyes were the same.

  “Munglik!” Hoelun lifted a hand, too stunned to say more. Temujin laughed and beckoned her forward. Of course he would be happy, and not just because the Khongkhotat was his father's old retainer; he had won another defector from among his anda's allies.

  “I greet you, Honoured Lady,” Munglik said. “How is it that the years have failed to mark you?”

  Hoelun smiled, then pulled the woollen scarf below her headdress closer around her face. “This scarf hides much.”

  “You are too modest, Khatun. You still ride like a girl, and the face I see hasn't changed.”

  Foolish talk, but she could not help feeling flattered. They trotted towards the camp. “Munglik came to Jurchedei's camp,” Temujin said, “and told me that he's brought his people to join us. We have much to celebrate.”

  About time, she thought. Munglik had waited long enough.

  “I wanted to come before,” Munglik said, “yet it seemed to me that my promise bound me to Jamukha, since it was Temujin who chose to leave him. But I can no longer serve such an intemperate man.”

  He meant that he would benefit more by being with a stronger chief. Whatever Jamukha's excesses, Munglik would have stayed with him if Temujin were not growing more powerful. He was, Hoelun thought, still the same, considering carefully what he would gain before he acted.

  “I'm pleased you are here,” she managed to say. His presence showed how much support Jamukha had lost. “I've thought often of your good father.”

  “Father served you well,” Munglik responded, “as I shall now. I have many regrets, Hoelun Khatun, and one is that I couldn't risk the safety of my family and clan by coming to you sooner, but I have never forgotten my bond with your husband and my affection for his sons. Only my promise to Jamukha could have brought me to do battle with your men at the Seventy Marshes, but I cannot respect a man who deals so dishonourably with prisoners. When my son Kokochu told me of a dream in which a wolf led him to Temujin's side, I remembered my promises to Yesugei, and wept, for the omen my son saw told me where my true loyalties lie.”

  “Your son?” Hoelun asked.

  “I have seven sons now.” Munglik straightened in his saddle. “All are close in age, with only a year between one brother and the next, and Kokochu is my middle son. He's only nine, but already he begins to master the shamans' lore.”

  They dismounted behind her tent. Hoelun hastened around the dwelling to the entrance as a young man led the horses away. Two servants were inside; she helped the women set out broth and pieces of game.

  Khasar entered, followed by the others; Temujin and Munglik whispered to each other. The Khongkhotat looked towards her and raised his brows. He might have been gazing at a young girl instead of the mother of a Khan; she was not used to such looks. The few strands of grey in her braids were hidden under her bocca, but surely he had noticed the lines around her eyes.

  The men settled themselves near the bed at the back of the yurt, Temujin in the centre. Hoelun brought them food, then sat down to their left. “I'm sorry to give you so little,” she said.

  “We'll dine well tonight in my tent,” Temujin said, “and when spring is past, we'll hold a great feast in honour of our old friend and the others who have joined us.”

  “See that the Jurkin chiefs have a place of honour at any celebration,” Khasar muttered. “Taichu and Seche murmur that you forget some of those who made you Khan.”

  “Then I must see that they sit with me.” Temujin frowned. “Our Jurkin kinsmen are sometimes too proud.” He finished his broth and leaned back against the bed. “Mother will want to hear about a
ll that's passed while you were parted from us.”

  Munglik bowed his head. “The Khatun will hear of that tonight. Now, I'd rather listen to what your beautiful mother has to say about herself.”

  “You're speaking to a grandmother,” Hoelun said, “who has barely enough fingers to count her grandchildren.” Munglik's compliments were a bit too warm. “All my sons have wives now, and Temujin alone has given me two grandsons by Bortai and a granddaughter by his wife Doghon.”

  “And there will be another before long,” Munglik said. “The Khan tells me that Bortai Khatun will give birth again this spring. You have been blessed.”

  “Blessed also by two sons whom I've adopted, Guchu and Kukuchu, and Temulun has grown into a young woman.” She frowned; her daughter should have been here by now. Temulun would be dawdling on the ride back, or lingering in the small yurt where they kept their saddles and her birds.

  “If she's as lovely as her mother,” Munglik said, “then she must outshine all the young beauties.”

  This praise was making her uneasy. “I hope your wife is well.”

  “Alas, she passed away in the late autumn. My heart aches for her, as do those of my seven sons.”

  Having seven sons in as many years had surely done his wife no good. “I am sorry to hear it, Munglik,” she said. “I trust you'll find a new wife before long.”

  “I pray it will be so.” He and Temujin exchanged glances. “A man grows lonely in an empty bed.”

  “I'm sorry to tell you also that old Khokakhchin-eke is gone,” she said, anxious to change the subject. “But she lived to see my son proclaimed as Khan.”

  “Khasar.” Temujin sat up on his cushion. “Bortai will know I'm back. Take Munglik to her tent, and tell her to boil a lamb for us. I have much to say to Mother alone.”

  “Bortai Khatun showed as a child that she would make a good wife.” Munglik stood up, turned to Hoelun, and bowed. “If I were to count out all the days of my greatest happiness,” he continued, “this day would be among them. Many Mongol clans speak of the fairness and generosity of Genghis Khan, so I knew he would deal with me honourably, but never expected such a warm welcome.”

  “It's a poor enough welcome for an old friend,” Temujin said. “We'll join you soon.” He rose; the two men embraced.

  Khasar led Munglik outside; one of the servants picked up the bowls and platter. Hoelun looked at her son as he sat down again. She had him to herself for once, and he seemed in an easy mood, with a friend restored to him.

  “Munglik,” she murmured, “has a talent for speeches.”

  “He also has a talent for knowing where the game is running. Jamukha won't be happy to know he's here.”

  Temulun came through the doorway, followed by Guchu and Kukuchu. “Temujin!” She hung up her bow and quiver on the women's side of the entrance, then hurried to him. “You must see my hawk.”

  Temujin propped an elbow against a cushion. “I saw your hawk some time ago.”

  “You should see her now.” Temulun shrugged out of her coat and threw it towards a trunk; the sash around her small waist made the slight swelling of her hips and breasts more evident. “You never visit my birds any more—I'll bet they're better hunters than yours.” She sat down at Temujin's left as he nodded at his two foster brothers; the boys settled at his right, their eyes wide with awe and admiration.

  “I saw Khasar outside,” Temulun went on. “Who's that man with him?”

  “Our old friend Munglik. The Khongkhotats are joining us.”

  “Good—you'll have more warriors.”

  “We'll feast tonight,” Temujin said. “To have such an old comrade return to us is cause for celebration.”

  “Good.” His sister flashed her white teeth. “I'm hungry enough to eat half a sheep by myself.” She shook back her braids. “All the clans will join you, and then you won't have to fight—you'll have more time to hunt with me.”

  Temujin laughed. “There would still be the Merkits and those accursed Tatars to crush, and the Naiman Khan won't care to have me grow too strong. I'll have more battles to fight.”

  “You took long enough to ride back,” Hoelun said to her daughter.

  Temulun made a face, then plucked at her brother's sleeve. “I want to show you my hawk.”

  He shook off her hand. “I have something to say to you and Mother first.” He paused; his eyes had the distant look that had become so familiar. “You'll be fourteen soon, Temulun.”

  “You actually remember!” She made another face. “The mighty Khan has so much to think of now that I thought he might have forgotten something so unimportant.”

  “Old enough,” he said, “to think of giving up your child's clothes for the robe and head-dress of a woman. I have good news for you, sister. I've found a husband for you. You'll be betrothed soon, and married before autumn.”

  Temulun stiffened. “Why are you telling me this? Why isn't my suitor here with you?”

  “He'll ride here soon, and offer many gifts for you, the most important of which will be a firm renewal of his oath to me. You'll have the honour of being his chief wife, and I trust you will serve him faithfully.”

  Temulun bit her lip. “Who?” she whispered.

  “Chohos-chaghan, chief of the Khorolas.”

  The girl flinched. “Never!” She jumped to her feet and spun around to face him. “You can't give me to him! He's ugly, and when he laughs, he sounds like a wild ass braying! I won't—”

  Temujin said, “He's been hinting that he wants you for some time, and it's a good match. You must be wed soon anyway—you're not a child any more. How long do you think you can go on racing horses with the boys, joining them for archery practice, going off to hunt with them? What do you think they would do to you if you weren't the Khan's sister? It's a wonder I can still offer Chohos-chaghan an untouched bride.”

  Temulun let out a scream. “I'll never marry him!”

  Kukuchu and Guchu snickered; Hoelun shot them a warning glance. “You will,” Temujin said softly, “if I have to beat you and throw you into his bed myself.”

  The girl stamped her feet. “I won't!”

  Temujin leaped up. His hand caught her in the face; she fell. Hoelun went to her quickly and dropped to her knees, shielding her daughter with her arms.

  “You'll do as I say,” the Khan muttered. “I need Chohos-chaghan, and I'm not as certain of him as I need to be. If he feels affronted, he may think of renewing his ties with my anda, and I can't risk that. Having you as his wife will keep him close to me.”

  Temulun wiped the blood from her mouth, then buried her face against Hoelun's chest. “Stop it,” Hoelun said to the sobbing girl. “It's a good match. The man may not be handsome, but he seems amiable. A man is often what his wife makes of him.”

  “You are my sister,” Temujin said. “Did you think being sister to the Khan meant only that you could play with your birds and do whatever you liked? You have the chance to serve me, to be my voice in Chohos-chaghan's tent. I expected more of you, Temulun.”

  “Your brother's right.” In spite of her words, Hoelun sympathized with her daughter. “You won't please your husband if you wail and cry and make him think you despise him. You must look for what's best in him.”

  Temulun pulled away from her, then clasped her brother's legs. “Please,” she sobbed, “give me to anyone else, Borchu or Jelme, or Subotai when he's older. I'd rather be a minor wife to one of them than Chohos-chaghan's chief wife. My camp would be closer to yours then—I wouldn't have to go so far away.”

  “I have their loyalty without offering you,” Temujin replied. “I must secure that of the Khorolas.” He pulled her to her feet. “You misjudge Chohos-chaghan. He knows how you are, with your hunting and hawks, and yet seeks you as a wife. You'll still have your pleasures if you please him. I am Khan and the head of our clan—you must obey me.” His voice rose. “If you do anything to offend the man who will be your husband, you'll lose my protection. God alone knows what will
happen to you then.”

  Temulun's face whitened at the threat. Hoelun got up and forced herself between them. “Stop it,” she said. “I won't hear such bitter words in my yurt.” She drew her daughter to her. “You used to talk of how you wanted to carry your brother's tugh into battle, but you can serve him better by marrying this man. You'll have time to know your betrothed better before you're wed—use it to earn his love and respect, so that he'll listen to you later.”

  Temulun's head drooped. “I have no choice, do I? It doesn't matter how I feel. I'll have to smile and pretend to be happy.”

  “Yes,” Temujin said, “for yourself and for me. Consider what I could lose if he should drift away from me, and what you might suffer. I know you'll obey me, Temulun.” His hand gripped her shoulder; the girl recoiled. “Now go to your hawks, and compose yourself—I won't have Munglik see such an unhappy face. I'll visit your birds when I've finished speaking to Mother.”

  Temulun's tears would freeze on her face outside; Hoelun wiped them away with her sleeve. Her daughter picked up her coat and walked towards the doorway. Guchu and Kukuchu gaped at Temujin, clearly thrilled by the confrontation. “You'll say nothing of this, you two,” Hoelun said firmly, “or I'll take a stick to your backs. Now go and fetch me some fuel.”

  The two boys scurried through the doorway after Temulun. Temujin sighed. “Temulun has my blood,” he said as he sat down. “Not many would dare to speak to me in that way. I was thinking of her happiness, you know. Chohos-chaghan likes her spirit.”

  “Don't say your soft words to me, Temujin. That wouldn't matter if the marriage didn't benefit you. Maybe I was too free with her, but she was brave when we had to fend for ourselves, and I couldn't see the harm in letting her be a carefree child a while longer.”