Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  “We've fought enough,” Jamukha said.

  Toghril sat outside his small field tent, warming his hands by a fire, his general Gurin Bahadur at his side. The light flickered over Toghril's wrinkled face, and Jamukha saw a man weary of war. Such looks usually came to a man only when he was also weary of living, but the Ong-Khan, he knew, still clung to his life.

  “We have one battle left,” Gurin said, “before we go home.”

  “I think not.” Jamukha rested an arm on one knee. “Do you believe Temujin will fight with us tomorrow? His ambition is limitless—he dreams of ruling Kereits as well as Mongols.”

  “How can you say that?” Gurin Bahadur asked. “Didn't he restore my Khan's throne to him?”

  “Do you think he did that purely out of friendship? He didn't want an ally of the Naimans to rule. He let us suffer the brunt of this battle. Now he has a way to be rid of us.”

  Gurin hawked and spat. “You speak lies about a good man. If his men took fewer blows than ours, that may mean only that they're better fighters.”

  “I speak the truth about one who abandoned me, his anda and sworn brother. He tired of me because he thought I stood in his way. I'm the sparrow who dwells in the north, whose song you hear even in winter, while Temujin is a wild goose who flies south when it feels winter's breath.”

  “The song I hear now,” Gurin said, “sounds more like that of a jackal than a sparrow.”

  Jamukha would let that insult pass; Toghril was not protesting his words. “Why do you think he asked you to join him on this campaign? He hoped you would lose more men, perhaps even that you, Toghril-echige, might fall yourself. I know what he'll do now. In secret, he will send a message to the Naiman general offering peace, and we'll be the price. He'll wait until we sleep, sneak away, and leave us to the Naimans.”

  Toghril shook his heavy body. “It can't be so.”

  “It is,” Jamukha replied. “Didn't he abandon me in the night, after calling me brother? Do you think he won't do the same to you, and steal what you have for himself?”

  Toghril rubbed at his thin grey beard. “I can't believe it, and yet—when I think of it now, Temujin has always gained by helping me. When my son Nilkha speaks against him, I refuse to listen, but now I wonder if Temujin wants me to be angry with my son, to divide us, to—”

  “Don't listen to him,” Gurin muttered.

  “Ignore me,” Jamukha said, “and you'll see what comes of it. Temujin means to rid himself of both of us. I won't stay here and become part of a Naiman's spoils. My men will light their fires to mislead Temujin, and then leave this place. I advise you to do the same.”

  Toghril leaned towards the fire. “But—”

  “Leave,” Jamukha said. “Let Temujin fall to the Naimans. Light your fires and slip away.”

  “You may be right,” Toghril said, “and yet to leave the son of my anda—”

  The old man was an archer who could not bring himself to loose his arrow. “I am going,” Jamukha said.

  Toghril said, “Then so must I.”

  “You can't do this,” Gurin said.

  “Will you disobey your Khan?” Jamukha asked.

  The Bahadur sighed. “That I cannot do. I've said what I think, and the Ong-Khan refuses to listen. Now I must obey, whatever my doubts. Give me your orders, my Khan.”

  64

  Bortai had hoped that she would see her husband again before autumn. Now the air was sharp and cold, the sky slate grey, and he had not returned. Temuge Odchigin, left behind to watch over the main camp, ordered them to move south along the Kerulen, then rode out with several scouts.

  Temuge returned when the trees had shed their leaves, and told Bortai what he had learned in a camp by the Orkhon. The Khan, preparing to face a Naiman force near a Khangai mountain pass, had been abandoned by the Kereits and Jamukha's men. Temujin had escaped by fleeing north in a wide loop around the mountains, and was returning home unharmed.

  Bortai seethed. She had expected to greet the returning army with joy, but could think only of how close Temujin had been to death, how false and weak Toghril had shown himself to be. She endured the feast celebrating the victory in silence. When Temujin came to her bed, his ardour rekindled by his long absence, she felt little of the pleasure she should have had. For some time, his visits to her had seemed only a duty and habit; now that he welcomed her as he had during the early months of their marriage, she felt little joy. His treacherous comrades had robbed her of that, too.

  She waited for Temujin to speak of how he would avenge himself, but he parcelled out Naiman captives and booty while saying nothing about the war. Whenever she was about to ask him how he would punish the Ong-Khan and Jamukha, a colder look in his eyes warned her to be still.

  A few days after his return, Bortai and Temujin rode out to hunt with their hawks, but did not return to the camp. Their servants set up a tent for them at the foot of a mountain; their guards left them to themselves, as though Bortai were still a new bride. Yet even when Temujin held her, cupping her face gently in his hands, her suppressed rage made her tremble. He was using her to escape the need for a decision, pretending that the refuge he had created inside this little dwelling could not be touched by anything beyond.

  On the morning after they had stopped by the mountain, a messenger arrived from Temujin's camp. A Kereit envoy had come to the camp with Borchu, and begged an audience with the Khan. Bortai listened in disbelief as Temujin said that he would meet with the Kereit.

  Temujin received the envoy inside the tent; Borchu left to wait outside with the other men. The Kereit held his hands out as he rattled off a formal greeting, then settled himself on a cushion at Temujin's right.

  “I welcome you, Gurin Bahadur,” Temujin said. Bortai sprinkled an offering, then handed the man a jug.

  Gurin Bahadur downed the kumiss quickly. “You've given me a warmer welcome than I deserve.”

  “You fought bravely against the Naimans,” Temujin murmured. “I didn't think you were a man who would run from another battle.”

  “It wasn't my wish to do so,” Gurin replied, “but I had to obey my Khan. Jamukha filled his ears with slander, saying that you were treating with the Naiman general and would leave us at his mercy.”

  Temujin lifted his brows.

  “I was relieved to hear that you escaped,” the Kereit continued. “I told the Ong-Khan that you'd never trade our lives for such a truce, but he heard only the baying of that Jajirat.” He paused. “Toghril Khan has had cause to regret his actions. The Naimans fell upon us three days after we abandoned you. Now many of our men are dead or captives, and the enemy is raiding the camps of the Ong-Khan's son. We've paid heavily for what we did.”

  “I grieve to hear it,” Temujin said; Bortai rejoiced. “And my anda—how did he fare?”

  “He separated from us and took a different route, so escaped unscathed.” Gurin shook his head violently. “I'm sorry for that also. Jamukha's a jackal who whines, then offers his hindquarters to his fellows. He's—”

  “He is my anda,” Temujin said. “You mustn't speak of him in this way to me. The Ong-Khan's easily swayed, and my anda knows he fears betrayal. Jamukha knew what he had to say to bring the Ong-Khan to act, and maybe he only intended to lead the Naimans away from us. But if he had said that to Toghril instead, the Ong-Khan might not have been willing to take the risk.”

  How could he say this now? Bortai was about to speak but Temujin made a sharp motion with one hand to silence her.

  Gurin rubbed at his jowls. “You have a great heart if you can believe that. Men speak truly when the talk of your nobility.”

  “And Toghril,” Temujin whispered, “must be sorry now that he thought of betraying me instead of aiding me. As for Jamukha, whatever he intended, he'll now see that the spirits still guard me.”

  “Your words give me hope,” the Kereit said, “that you'll listen to what the Ong-Khan told me to ask, but you would have every right to reject his request. Toghril begs you to
help him now. Yesugei's son, he says, has always been loyal, and he curses himself for ever doubting you. He's a willow that bends with the wind, while you are a pine that stands tall under the Eternal Blue Sky. If you turn from him, he says, it's no more than he deserves.”

  Bortai could no longer control herself. “He deserves to lose everything for what he did,” she said, “to die for—”

  “Be silent, wife.” Temujin leaned towards Gurin. “The Khatun is sometimes too zealous. Leave us now, and wait with my men. I must think about this.”

  Gurin rose and bowed. “I'm grateful you would even consider my Khan's plea.” He bent low once more. “Whatever you decide, Toghril Ong-Khan needs me near him. I must leave you by dawn tomorrow.”

  “You'll have my answer before then.”

  The Bahadur bowed himself out. Bortai moved closer to her husband. “What is there to think about?” she asked. “Toghril deserves no help. Send that Kereit back with his braids cut off, and tell him he's lucky to keep his head.”

  “How fierce you are, Bortai.” He smiled. “Have you forgotten that Toghril helped me to rescue you?”

  “That doesn't matter now. All this time, I said nothing, because I was sure you'd see what you have to do.”

  “I've been waiting.”

  “And now you can watch Toghril suffer without lifting a hand. What are you going to do?”

  He said, “I'm going to aid the Ong-Khan.”

  “I don't believe it! How can you—”

  “Silence, Bortai. Test my patience, and my men will see how a man forces a stubborn woman to obey him.”

  “You killed the Jurkin chiefs for less,” she muttered.

  “They were of no further use to me. Toghril still is.” His fingers closed around her wrist, hurting her. “What good will it do to allow Naimans to encroach on Kereit lands? I'd be risking our safety for the joy of revenge, and that I will not do.” He spoke so softly that she could barely hear him, but his whispers frightened her more than shouts. “Jamukha accused me of seeking a peace with the Naimans. It wouldn't surprise me if he were considering that himself, with some Kereit lands and herds to be his reward. I must show the Naimans that we're not so easily divided.”

  Everything in her rebelled at his words. “That creature who calls himself Ong-Khan betrayed you once—he'll do it again.”

  “I swore an oath to him, Bortai. It's in my interest to show him that I'm loyal, that I can forgive. I suspected he would turn to me again, and Heaven has forced this on him. If I follow Tengri's will, I cannot fail.”

  He was speaking of his own will, not Tengri's; perhaps he could no longer tell the difference. “I can't allow this,” she said. “He and your anda will only see it as weakness, whatever you say. I'll speak to your men—they may listen to me. The Kereits meant them to be taken, and they'll want revenge as much as I do. Maybe one of them can convince you. They'll know I have only your true interests at heart.”

  “You are threatening to speak against my decision openly.”

  “I am.”

  He let go of her arm and slapped her, knocking her against the bed. “Toghril rode with me to save you,” he said. “Don't make me regret that he did. When I held you again, did I shame you by rejecting the child you carried? My rage was great enough for me to pray the child would die, yet I put that aside for both your sake and mine.”

  Her eyes stung. He had never spoken of that in all the years since, but it had lain in his mind, a weapon he could wield when he needed it. Be grateful, he was saying, that I loved you. Be grateful that I could use you.

  “I've given advice before,” she murmured, “and you benefited from it. Am I now to be silent and let you do as you wish?”

  “You may tell me what you think, but I'll decide what is to be done. When I do, my wife will not speak against me, or others will see her punished for it. You won't whisper to others that Toghril's faithless, or that I nurse any grudge against my anda. It's important to me that both of them believe I have forgiven them.”

  She could not stand against his will, and doubted that anyone could. He gazed at her coldly, the fire of the past days absent from his eyes. His warmth had been only a way to bend her to his purpose.

  She said, “You must do as you see fit. I won't speak against you.”

  “I'm pleased to hear it.” He stood up. “I think Borchu should lead a force against the Naimans on Toghril's behalf, and Mukhali and Chilahun could go with him—it's time I tested their valour. Perhaps my foster brother Boroghul can go as well. I must speak to Borchu, then give Gurin my reply. The servants will take you back to our camp.”

  “Temujin—”

  He ducked through the entrance and was gone.

  65

  Boroghul returned to Hoelun's tent after the first snowstorm of the season, full of war stories. Shigi Khutukhu listened to his foster brother avidly. The Tatar boy had not cried for his mother since his earliest days in her camp, and Boroghul had forgotten his former Jurkin masters. Memories fled from the young as quickly as swans flew south to escape the winter; only the old had to carry their burden.

  “Our brother the Khan,” Boroghul was saying, “had given Borchu his favourite horse before we rode out, the grey-eared one, a rider has only to touch his mane and he flies like the wind. The Naimans were all around us, pushing to take the Senggum as hostage. A warrior bore down on Nilkha and wounded his horse in the leg. Nilkha went flying over the horse's head and hit the ground on his backside—I was sure they'd have him then.”

  “Did the Senggum get killed?” Shigi Khutukhu asked.

  Munglik laughed. “If Toghril's son were dead,” he said, “don't you think we would have heard that by now?”

  “Borchu galloped to Nilkha,” Boroghul continued, “and gave him Temujin's grey-eared horse. The Senggum sat on the great steed with all the grace of a supply pack.” He chuckled. “He's a poor horseman, and the horse refused to move until Borchu leaped towards him and touched his mane. Off he went, neighing his war-cries so fiercely that the Naimans scattered before him. Now Nilkha is called a hero, but Temujin's horse showed more courage.”

  “You're a hero, too,” Shigi Khutukhu murmured. “The four heroes, the arrows of the Khan—that's what the men call you and Borchu and the others.”

  Boroghul flushed with pride; for a moment, he seemed younger than his sixteen years. “I took my share of heads,” he said, “and my comrade Mukhali showed he can lead men, but it was Borchu who won the battle. Toghril Ong-Khan gave him gold cups and a sable robe, and do you know what Borchu said? He thanked the Ong-Khan, and then said that he prayed Genghis Khan would forgive him for delaying his return to accept the gifts. That's the kind of man he is, thinking of Temujin instead of his spoils—as if Temujin would begrudge him anything.”

  Hoelun sniffed. “Little enough payment for what all of you did. Toghril should have given half his herds as a reward.”

  Munglik smiled at her indulgently. “Come now, wife—whatever Toghril may be, we're safer with the enemy gone from his lands. We'll have some peace now.”

  Hoelun pursed her lips. “For a time,” she said.

  Part Six

  Bortai said, “By the shores of the lake, there are many wild geese and swans. The master may take those birds he chooses.”

  66

  Buyrugh was the last to arrive. “Peace,” the Naiman murmured as he entered Jamukha's tent. “My men will wait outside with the others.” Buyrugh spoke slowly, in the lilting accents of his people. He set down his weapons on the western side of the entrance.

  “I welcome you,” Jamukha said; the Naiman sat down with the other chiefs. Two servants set food and jugs near the men; Jamukha offered Buyrugh a bit of meat from his knife. Even this enemy was willing to join him now.

  “I'll speak plainly,” Jamukha continued. “We've all had our differences in the past, but I say again what my envoys told you. A pack of jackals preys upon our herds. To fight among ourselves will only leave more carcasses for them. It i
s time to rid ourselves of the scavengers.”

  “I came here reluctantly,” Buyrugh said. “Three years ago, I suffered at your hands.”

  “It was Genghis Khan who chose to fight you.”

  “You rode with him.”

  “I also left him for your general to take,” Jamukha said. “If he'd struck at Temujin then, we wouldn't have had to gather here.”

  Buyrugh scowled. “I mean to make up for that mistake. I cannot guard myself from my brother Bai Bukha with Mongols and Kereits at my back. I'll ride with you, and cast my spells on your behalf.”

  Targhutai Kiriltugh sneered. “Your spells haven't helped you much up to now.”

  Buyrugh glared at the Taychiut. Jamukha held up a hand. “It won't serve us to argue among ourselves.”

  Khudu leaned forward. “Targhutai should have taken care of Genghis Khan long ago,” the Merkit said. “He could have killed the fledgeling in the nest, and my people have suffered for his failure. Now my father Toghtoga is forced to camp amid the cliffs of Baikal, and—”

  Jamukha shot a glance at the Merkit. “I beg you not to speak of old grudges here. Temujin is the enemy of all of us. We must put the past aside to have any hope of defeating him.” He paused. “I swore an anda oath with him, and lived to regret it. I lent him my sword and my men, and he betrayed me. I have as much to reproach myself with as any of you.”

  “And I bound myself to him with marriage to his sister,” Chohos-chaghan muttered. “I thought I was choosing only a leader to follow in war.” He grimaced, showing his yellow teeth, then rubbed at his lopsided face. “A war Khan, a Khan for the hunt—I thought that's what we would have, but my wife's brother wants more than that.”