Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  “You'll have to show her where her duty lies,” he said. “By the time you're travelling with her wedding party to her husband's camp, she'll have forgotten she was ever unhappy about it.”

  The servants had settled themselves by the hearth to do some mending; Hoelun sat down next to her son. “You have more to say to me.”

  Temujin nodded. “I have good news for you, Mother. I've also found a husband for you.”

  She tensed. “So I'm another beast to be bartered.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You showed more wisdom when speaking to my sister.”

  “Temulun must be wed, but she's young—I'm too old to give a man sons.”

  “Women older than you bear children, but this man has several sons already. He still finds you fair, and says he wants no other wife. I thought this match would please you, Mother—it's Munglik I want you to wed.”

  She felt nothing. There were worse men; Munglik would not be a hard husband. She had felt a fleeting longing for him in the days after Yesugei's death, but all that had died in her long ago, and Munglik was not the man the Bahadur had been.

  “I see why you want this marriage,” she said in a low voice. “Munglik wasn't the most steadfast of friends in the past, but as your stepfather, he'll gain much by being loyal to you.” Her son also knew that she was strong enough to keep Munglik bound to him. “As you said, Munglik always knew where the game was running.”

  “He loves you, Mother—he says he always has.”

  “And that's to your advantage if we're wed. He loves what I once was, but loves the thought of marrying a Khatun even more.” She bowed her head. “I must set a good example for my daughter, and show how delighted I am when he courts me.”

  “He'll be pleased, as will I.” He rose. “I must visit Temulun's birds. She may feel happier about her wedding when she hears about Chohos-chaghan's fine falcons.”

  'You'll have what you want, however we feel.”

  He left her. As Khan, he could not allow the pleas of a mother and sister to move him. He had to be ready to punish any who failed him; she should be grateful for his determination. Despite the tent's warmth, Hoelun felt cold. She got up and went to the hearth.

  58

  Gurbesu knelt, then prostrated herself. The three priests chanted their prayers, sprinkled holy water over the blue stone on her small altar, then offered her a gold cross. The Naiman Queen pressed her lips against it and prayed silently, thanking God and His Son for her husband's success. She had advised him not to lead his armies against the Kereits, but Inancha had not listened to her. He had believed that she thought he would fail, but that had never been her worry. She had known that Inancha Bilge, Tayang of the Naimans, would win and drive Toghril Khan from his throne, yet feared his victory would be fleeting.....

  Gurbesu sat back on her heels. She had summoned the shamans the day before and asked them to lift the winter storm with a spell, so that her husband could return to her more quickly; dawn had brought a clear sky. With the evil part of creation in constant struggle with the good, it was wise to have the help of as many holy men as possible. Thank you, O Lord, for giving my Tayang his victory. I pray that what I fear will never come to pass.

  She made the sign of the cross, then rose. The servants of her household got to their feet; Ta-ta-tonga, the Uighur scribe who was the Keeper of the Tayang's Seal, swayed and crossed himself. Gurbesu beckoned to another scribe; he handed a small bag of gold to the priests for their prayers.

  A voice called out beyond the entrance; one of the guards inside shouted back. Gurbesu turned as a young man entered, knelt to press his forehead against the embroidered carpet by the doorway, then got to his feet.

  “The army has been sighted, my Queen,” he said. “The Tayang's standard can be seen on the horizon.”

  “Thank you for telling me this,” she replied. “I shall wait outside my tent, and greet the Tayang there.”

  The young man bowed himself out. One of the servants went to a trunk to fetch Gurbesu's favourite fur cloak. She had ordered the main camp to move here, away from the ridge of the Altai Mountains to the valley along the Kobdo River; Inancha would be pleased she had travelled there to greet him. The servant draped the cloak over her shoulders, then held out her gloves; the gold coins adorning her head-dress tinkled as she walked forward. The Tayang would expect to see her happiness, not her lingering doubts.

  Lines of riders moved towards the camp along the snow-covered bank of the Kobdo. The men in the front ranks had reached the small group of birches beyond the tents as Gurbesu's servants took their places behind her. Gurbesu drew her cloak more tightly around herself. Inancha would see his queen standing in the cold to greet him, impatient to show her joy at his return.

  She had been given to the Tayang three years ago, in her fifteenth year, after the death of his chief wife. Inancha rarely visited his other wives now, and had set Gurbesu above them all. She had listened to him deliberate with his generals, learned what she could from his advisers, and then began to offer her advice.

  That amused Inancha. Sometimes he heeded her; more often he did not. The Tayang of the Naimans had ruled his people well for years without her counsel, and could ignore her advice most of the time.

  She loved him in spite of that. He honoured her, indulged her, and was kind to her. She might wish he listened to her more often, but if he had been the sort of man who was easily guided by others and uncertain of himself, she could not have loved him.

  A man came around the yurt towards her, then touched his hat as he bowed. “I greet you, Queen and mother,” Bai Bukha murmured. “I thought I would find you outside waiting to greet my father. I can do no less than wait with you.”

  “The Tayang will be pleased.”

  Bai Bukha stepped closer. His dark eyes gazed at her too intently. His glances made her feel naked; he would force himself on her if he could, even before his father's passing. Inancha had taken his younger son Buyrugh with him, but had left Bai Bukha behind to watch over the Naiman encampments.

  Inancha Bilge deserved more promising heirs. Instead, Buyrugh went out of his way to argue with his father even over such matters as when and where to move camp. Bai Bukha obeyed the Tayang in silence, but with sullen, resentful looks; at twenty-five, he had seen few battles, and displayed the little courage he had only in hunts.

  “My father will rejoice that you came here to greet him,” Bai Bukha said, “even though you warned him against this campaign. You see how baseless your fears were. The Tayang will always get the better of his enemies.”

  “May it always be so.” She crossed herself, then made a sign against evil. “I know you wanted him to fight.”

  “I had little to say about this venture. I merely bowed to Father's will, as I must.”

  She pressed her lips together. Bai Bukha had urged Erke Khara to appeal once again to Inancha; of that she was sure. Erke Khara had chafed during the years of his exile, seething with rage at his brother Toghril Khan for clinging to the Kereit throne and forcing him to flee for his life. Bai Bukha had known that Inancha was itching for a campaign, a chance to prove he was not yet an old man; the Tayang had listened to Erke Khara's pleas this time. Bai Bukha would have been only too pleased to have his father fall in battle, and to claim both Inancha's realm and his young wife before his brother Buyrugh returned.

  The army was a great beast snaking along the river, where hundreds of lances glittered in the grey light. The wind had died down; the snow had drifted, revealing part of the grey stone waste that bordered the grasslands. Gurbesu's teeth chattered and she willed herself to be still.

  “There was no need to ride here, Bai,” she murmured. “You might have greeted the Tayang by your own tent.”

  “He won't ride there today, and I should let him know how I took care of things while he was gone.” He leaned towards her. “How ready you are to show your devotion to him. Other young wives of old men should be as wise—an old man's more generous when he believes his wife tr
uly loves him.”

  Her cheeks grew hot. She was about to retort when a cheer went up from the approaching ranks. One rider suddenly bolted from the line and galloped hard across the snow. Gurbesu's spirits lifted as she watched him; Inancha Bilge could still ride like a young man.

  The horse skidded to a halt in a cloud of snow and the burly, fur-coated man swung his leg over the saddle. Gurbesu bowed low and then hurried to him. The Tayang caught her in his arms; she pressed her face against his coat.

  “You didn't have to brave the cold,” Inancha said.

  “I would stand in a storm to greet you.” Gurbesu peered up at the face she had come to love. Once, she had thought him ugly, with his broken nose and weather-worn cheeks as brown and lumpy as leather jars; familiarity had robbed him of his ugliness. “You'll warm me soon enough, my husband.”

  Inancha's chest heaved and he gasped for breath. The campaign, and the long ride back, had drained his strength; he should not have raced towards her in an effort to prove it had not. She clasped his hand as Bai Bukha walked towards them.

  “I greet you, Father,” the young man said, “and give thanks that you have returned to us.”

  Inancha coughed, then spat. “Give me your greetings inside.”

  The servants bowed. Gurbesu led her husband to the entrance and into the large, warm space of the ordu; Ta-ta-tonga and the others followed. Lanterns had been set near the throne and her bed, illuminating the tapestries that hung from the walls; a sheep boiled in the kettle over the hearth.

  She stood with Inancha as he warmed himself by the fire, then helped him off with his two coats and his breastplate. Even in his long woollen robe, he was still broad, dwarfing the people around him. “Ah.” The Tayang blew on his fingers, shook the melting ice from his moustaches, then tugged at his fur-lined helmet. “My other wives aren't here to greet me.”

  “I didn't summon them,” Gurbesu said. “They will, of course, be pleased to have you visit them in the days to come.” She often had to urge him to be mindful of his obligations to his other women. “There is food for you and your generals, and the Keeper of the Seal is here with three scribes to take down an account of your victory.”

  Ta-ta-tonga bowed. “We have already recorded the messages brought to us earlier,” the Uighur said. “Erke Khara is now Khan of the Kereits, and his brother Toghril deposed. We rejoiced when we heard it, Master. If it is your will, I shall—”

  Inancha waved one big hand. “My Keeper of the Seal can wait for a fuller account, and I've spent over three months with my generals - they'll ride to their own yurts and feast with their families.” He shook his large body. “Toghril’s son Nilkha, the one called the Senggum, is in hiding, but I doubt he'll do much to help his father. Toghril himself has fled west, towards Kara-Khitai.”

  “A pity you didn't capture him,” Gurbesu said, “but he'll get little help from the Black Khitans.”

  Bai Bukha lingered near them, peering at Gurbesu across the hearth. “Father!” a voice shouted from the doorway. Buyrugh entered and strode towards them; his eyes widened as he looked at Gurbesu. “I greet you, Gurbesu-eke. I have thought of nothing but returning my father safely to his most-beloved wife. I was his shield in battle, my sword his arm, and I cast many spells to protect him.”

  “Spells!” Bai Bukha shot his younger brother a poisonous look. “I suspect you kept well back in the ranks when you cast them.”

  “Not as far back as you, who go no further from your tent than a pregnant woman does to piss.”

  Bai Bukha's chest swelled. “Our father's shield, are you? You still stink of the shit you dropped when fear loosened your bowels.”

  “Silence!” Inancha roared; the servants near him backed away. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came only to greet my Queen and stepmother,” Buyrugh replied. His look was blatant, as hot as his brother's; Gurbesu longed to slap him.

  “You've greeted her. Go help the others settle the horses.” Buyrugh retreated; the big man wheeled towards his older son. “And you?”

  “I was certain,” Bai Bukha said, “that you would want a report of what's happened in your absence.”

  “I can get that from my wife and Ta-ta-tonga. I expect they had as much to do with watching over my people as you. Go to your tent. You may tell your son Guchlug that I would enjoy seeing my grandson later.”

  Bai Bukha left. Inancha walked towards his throne, then settled into it wearily; Gurbesu took off her cloak and laid it across his legs. “Buyrugh did show some courage,” he said.

  “You mean he didn't retreat.”

  “Come now, Gurbesu—it's enough that my sons fight each other. I won't have my wife speak against them.”

  She settled herself on the cushion to his left. “Bai Bukha should have gone with you, too.”

  “Bai's not much of a fighter. He knows it, and tries to show that he is, which only endangers any men he commands.” Inancha sighed. “Better to see if he can learn to govern—with Buyrugh as his general, they might be able to rule my realm.”

  “It's not something you need to consider now.” Gurbesu reached up and touched his hand. “May God grant you a long life.”

  “Heaven's given me a long one as it is.”

  She gazed up at him. Whenever he came back to her, she saw more grey in his sparse beard, more silver in the braids behind his ears. She could not bear to think of what would happen when he was gone. The Tayang's bravest sons were dead; all he had left were a hot-tempered boy of sixteen and a young man with little skill at war. But Inancha would not hear her speak harshly of his sons. Such talk only reminded him that she had not given him one.

  Ta-ta-tonga sat down at the Tayang's right. “My master,” he said, “I have recorded the orders your Queen and your son gave in your absence, under your seal. It would not take you long to look at them, or to have me read them to you if you prefer to rest your eyes.” The Keeper of the Seal was being courteous; Inancha could not read a word of the Uighur script, although he sometimes pretended he could. The skills of the Uighurs who served her husband were useful, and caravans passing through the southern lands held by that people sometimes travelled north with their Uighur guides to trade with the Naimans. Inancha envied Uighur learning, which had served other Naiman rulers before him, but also wondered at a people who preferred a settled life in oases to the freer life of the steppes.

  “Another time,” the Tayang said. “I see what I need to know—that my people are safe. Erke Khara, in gratitude for his Khanate, sent four hundred war-horses and two hundred mares back with us.”

  A servant brought them wine in gold goblets; a priest came forward to bless the drink. Inancha scattered a few drops to the spirits, then drank deeply. Five girls sitting on the cushions near Gurbesu plucked lightly at their stringed instruments as another girl brought the Tayang a platter of cut meat. Inancha stabbed at the lamb as the men inside the tent sat down on cushions around the low tables.

  “How my wife pleaded with me to turn aside from this campaign.” Inancha smiled down at her. “You see that you had nothing to worry about.”

  She had known he would not miss the chance to reproach her. “I'd keep you at my side always if I could.” She leaned towards him. “But I wasn't thinking only of myself. You have an ally on the Kereit throne, but I wonder how long he'll hold it. The Mongol tribes won't be happy to have a vassal of yours flanking their lands.”

  “The cursed Mongols!” Inancha cleared his throat. “Those evil-smelling wretches are too busy fighting among themselves to be a threat to us.”

  “They may unite if they see a greater threat.” She glanced towards Ta-ta-tonga, knowing he shared her concerns, but the Uighur was silent.

  Inancha laughed. “My dear wife—have you forgotten the story of their Khan's feast?” Gurbesu did not reply, knowing he would recite it yet again; it had become one of his favourite tales. “There they were, sitting by the Onon to feast with that dog who calls himself Genghis Khan, honouring those wh
o had recently rallied to him, and they'd barely started to drink their kumiss when the Khan's brother and one of his cousins were at each other's throats.”

  The other men chuckled, even though they all knew the story well. The Tayang gulped at his wine and wiped his mouth. “My spies say that the brother called the cousin a thief, and then two old Jurkin dowagers were screaming that a minor wife had been served before they were, and soon the whole party were going at one another with churning sticks and branches torn from the trees!” He roared; the great tent filled with laughter. “Genghis Khan was in such a rage that he took the two old bitches who started it all as hostages, and the Jurkin chiefs were forced to swear peace to get them back. A fine way to celebrate their unity!”

  “Indeed,” Gurbesu said above the laughter, “but it wasn't the first feast that ever ended in fighting, and it seems the breach was mended.” The girls near her giggled; she motioned to them to continue their playing. “I haven't heard of any ill will between the Mongol Khan and his allies in the two years since then.”

  “Give them time,” her husband said. “With Merkit and Tatar enemies flanking them, and now a Kereit Khan who's my man, they'd have plenty to worry about even if they were united, but there's only the uneasiest of peaces among them now. You shouldn't brood so over a pack of filthy Mongols.”

  “I'm only thinking,” she said, “that a cur arrogant enough to call himself Genghis Khan shouldn't be provoked.”

  “Anyone with the arrogance to choose that name will surely call down the wrath of Heaven.” Inancha beckoned to a servant, who hurried forward to pour him more wine. “I need no alliances with piss-scented dogs. They'll raid one another, and be harried by their enemies, and sooner or later the Universal Khan will be warring once more with that Jajirat boy-fucker he once called his friend.” The people near them laughed again; Inancha's spies were thorough. “Oh, they'll have their unity,” he continued, “but it'll be under Naiman banners. When the Mongols have bled themselves in more battles, and Merkits and Tatars have picked over the bones, we'll take what's left in our talons.”