“I hope the sister pleases you more as a wife,” Khudukha Beki said, “than the brother does as a Khan.”
Chohos-chaghan grunted. Jamukha studied the chief of the Khorolas, wondering how much he could trust the man. Chohos-chaghan had left him before, and might desert him again.
This alliance, he knew, would be shaky. The Dorben chief had arrived with word that his people were now at peace with the Tatars, who would welcome any forays against their old enemy Temujin. Most of the Onggirats would support Jamukha but, as usual, would let others do the fighting. Khudukha Beki and his Oirats feared that Temujin might threaten their northern forests, while the Merkits and Taychiuts had many reasons to hate the Mongol Khan. Yet only a common enemy could have brought them together; they had many reasons to be suspicious of one another.
“There's no safety for any of us,” Aguchu Bahadur said, “until Genghis Khan joins his ancestors.” The Taychiut gnawed at his meat. “We must show that we're united in our purpose.” He glanced at Jamukha. “We should hold a kuriltai, and choose our own Khan.”
Jamukha had hoped for this. “Surely,” he said, “you mean only a Khan who would lead when necessary and leave you to settle your own affairs at other times.”
“That's the only sort I want,” Chohos-chaghan said. “It isn't the way Temujin would have it. No man leads a mingghan or a tuman in his army now until he's served in his personal guard, and the Khan has assured himself he'll obey without question.”
“A Khan,” Buyrugh muttered. “I suppose we must have one to lead us in this war, but which of us should it be?”
Aguchu sipped from his jug, then said, “The man who summoned us here. Who could be more suitable? He was the first to see that we had to join forces.”
Jamukha looked around at the other chiefs; none of them was protesting these words. “If it is your choice,” he said quietly, “and the will of Heaven that the kuriltai chooses me, then of course I would accept.”
He wondered how long such a bond with these men would endure. A victory would unite them for a while, but once Temujin was defeated, each of them would be thinking of what he could gain. It did not matter; by the time the bonds frayed, he meant to be powerful enough to punish any disloyalty. He would see that they all honoured the oaths they swore to him.
67
Her body burned; her throat was parched. Bortai barely heard the chanting of the shamans. The baby had been hardly more than a bloody mass, coming from her womb too soon before the fever took her.
A hand slipped under her head; a cup rested against her lips as a bitter liquid trickled down her throat. She glimpsed the dark eyes of Teb-Tenggeri, then fell asleep to the sound of the shamans' drums.
She woke to silence. They had left her alone to die; the shamans would be outside, warning others away. Bortai opened her eyes and gazed into the faces of her sons.
“Mother,” Ogedei whispered.
“You shouldn't be here,” she said hoarsely.
“Don't you see?” Chagadai put his hand on her forehead. “The evil spirit's left you. Teb-Tenggeri came out earlier to tell us the fever was gone, that you were sleeping.”
She slept again, and woke to the familiar sound of the servants' chatter. They brought her food and mare's milk and insisted that she rest. For three days, she was too weak to leave the tent without one of them to support her. Jochi came to tell her that the Khan had been up on Burkhan Khaldun for several days, leaving the mountain only a day ago.
Bortai waited for Temujin to come to her, but another day passed without his presence. By then, she had learned what all their camp knew. Her husband's enemies had gathered for a kuriltai; they had raised Jamukha on the felt and proclaimed him Gur-Khan, the Khan of All the People.
It was a sign. The death of the daughter she had borne a year ago, the loss of this child, the murmuring of the shamaness at her bedside telling her that there would be no more children, the loss of her husband's favour, and now the rallying of his enemies—they were all signs. The spirits, she thought, dealt with their people in much the way the Kin did, favouring one leader for a time before turning against him.
Temujin might need her now. Bortai put aside her pride and summoned one of the guards.
“Tell the Khan,” she said, “that the yearning doe awaits the return of her stag. Tell him that it would give his Khatun great pleasure if he would deign to visit her tent.” She sent the man away, knowing that Temujin might not come.
Only Bortai's sons and her servants ate with her that evening. She went to her bed sorry that she had sent her message. Her husband had more urgent concerns; he would be with his generals, discussing the threat that now faced them.
She was still awake when she heard voices outside. The great tent's wooden floor creaked as a servant hurried to the doorway. Bortai sat up and saw the Khan walking across the carpets towards her.
“I am happy you're well,” he said, averting his eyes.
“And I'm pleased that you came to me, husband.”
Temujin put a finger to his lips and glanced at the western side of the tent, where a hanging curtain hid their sleeping sons. He stripped quickly to his shift, then climbed in next to her.
“I went to the great mountain,” he said at last. “I prayed for you there.” He pulled the blanket over himself. “I went up alone because I didn't want my men to see me weeping for you.”
“You wouldn't have lost so much,” she whispered. “I can give you no more children, and you don't want my advice. I'm useless to you now.”
“No, Bortai. I told myself that a wife who would have shamed me in front of my men, and urged them to disobey me, deserved to be punished.” He slipped his arm around her waist. “Then, when I thought I might lose you, I raged at myself for not forgiving you long ago.”
She covered his hand with hers. That admission must have cost him much.
“You're my luck, Bortai,” he said. “If I lose you, I'll know that the spirits have deserted me.” He was silent for a long time, then touched her cheek. “You're crying.”
“There's a speck in my eye.”
He wiped away her tears. “I must fight soon,” he said. “I'm only waiting to see how I can do so with any hope of winning.”
She drew his hand to her breast. “You were right to aid Toghril when you did, and I was wrong to protest it.” He would expect her to admit that now. “You'll need the Kereits to defeat your enemies. Strike quickly, Temujin. If they're defeated, they'll scatter, and a hard enough blow could set them to fighting among themselves.”
“So my men say, but I wonder—”
A sentry outside called out. Temujin sat up as Jurchedei entered the tent, hurried towards the bed, then bowed.
“Forgive me for waking you,” the Urugud chief said, “but a man sworn to the Khorolas has come here, and begs to speak to you. He's outside with Khasar, who brought him to us. Your enemies mean to surprise you.”
Temujin was out of bed in an instant; he reached for his coat. “Send him inside.” Jurchedei shouted the order and a man came through the doorway, followed by Khasar. Bortai covered herself with the blanket; Temujin sat down at her side.
The stranger bowed. “I am Khoridai,” he said, “and I come in peace.”
Temujin frowned. “Your chief didn't have peace in mind when he went back to my anda.”
“Chohos-chaghan may already regret his oath to Jamukha.” Khoridai reached under his coat and pulled out a silk scarf. “This scarf was one of your recent gifts to your sister. She sent me to tell you to flee.”
Temujin's mouth twisted. “It seems her marriage wasn't so useless after all.” He looked around at the others. “But I wonder how much Temulun could hide from her husband. This warning serves him. If I'm taken, he loses nothing. If I escape, he can claim he honoured his oath to me by acting as my spy.”
“The Gur-Khan is marshalling his forces against you.” Khoridai held out his hands. “He's to the east of you, in the Argun River valley where he was elected
Khan. I had to hide from some of his men on the way here—they were travelling to him with a great yurt to raise for his victory feast. His army will advance in only a few days - you still have time to escape.”
“He's moving fast,” Khasar said. “You have to get away.”
Temujin held up a hand. “I won't be a hare running from hunters. We'll give them the fight they want. Jurchedei, send envoys to the Ong-Khan telling him to lead his armies to me at once—Jamukha may strike at the Kereits next.” The Urugud turned and hastened towards the doorway. “Khoridai, sit down, I want to hear everything you know about Jamukha's plans.”
68
A scout rode to Jamukha's field tent to tell him that Genghis Khan's forces were on the move. Jamukha knew then that his anda had been warned. Yet he could still win. He had beaten Temujin in battle before, and had a greater force this time. A victory would erase the past.
Jamukha followed his light cavalry along the Argun River. Scouts reported that Kereits led by Nilkha, Jakha Gambu, and Bilge Beki were moving towards the plain around Lake Kolen; men under Daritai and Altan were also approaching that region. His own battle plan was clear. His light cavalry would fan out around the plain in a half-circle; he and his centre force would take up their positions near the mountains to the west of the steppe. When his men fell back to lure the enemy on, he would be fighting on higher ground as the two wings of archers closed around the enemy. The Kereits were likely to run when they realized the battle was lost. He would allow them a retreat before he crushed Temujin.
The later summer air was clear, the army undisturbed by Tengri's whims. As they skirted the marshes near the lake, clouds of ducks and cranes rose towards the sky, making the sound of a great wind. Left and right wings fanned out over the dusty yellow plain as the centre moved towards the mountain foothills. Flags and lanterns passed signals; Temujin's army would meet them at dawn.
Camp-fires flickered on the plain below Jamukha as his men prepared for the coming battle. He slept, his head resting against his saddle, and saw another plain. Sparks rose from the fires and became stars before winking out. A wind shrieked across the land, and in the sound of the gale, he heard the cries of dying men.
Jamukha woke. The sky was still dark, the night stars obscured by clouds. His dream was an omen; the spirits had told him what to do, and he had men who could summon them. He ordered the men around him to send for Buyrugh and Khudukha Beki.
The eastern sky was red; darkening clouds quickly doused the fire of the rising sun. In the distance, barely visible in the darkness, Temujin's nine-tailed standard was a tiny banner amid a thicket of lances. The air was growing sharply colder as the wind rose.
Jamukha did not fear the storm, which would become one of his weapons. His tools were not only swords, bows, and lances, but also the fortress of foothills, the wall of mountains behind him, and the threatening sky. There was beauty in battle, in taking many enemy lives while losing as few of his men as possible.
He waited near a small spring, watching flags dip as signals were passed. Khudukha Beki and Buyrugh rode towards him through the ranks of mounted men. “A storm gathers,” Jamukha said as the two dismounted.
“Yes,” Khudukha muttered. “We should order our men to hold their positions and wait until it passes. That is why you summoned us, isn't it?”
“A dream came to me,” Jamukha said. “Koko Mongke Tengri is offering to aid us—that's what the spirits told me. You call yourselves shamans - I am asking you to turn this storm against Temujin,” He held up his hand as the wind howled, then subsided. “It's moving towards the enemy, preparing to sweep them away.”
“A wind can change,” Buyrugh said. “Take my advice—draw more of the men back towards the mountains, where there's more shelter, and wait—”
“Retreat seems to be your only strategy,” Jamukha said. “Can a few clouds frighten one who has the power to cast spells? They say that Temujin has a powerful shaman in his service—maybe I should have captured him to do my bidding.”
The Oirat shaman-chief glowered at him; the Naiman's eyes were hard. “I have dreamed,” Jamukha went on. “Tengri has promised a storm. Raise it and turn it to our advantage. Disobey me, and you'll be punished for claiming powers you do not have.”
“I'll trust in my spells,” Khudukha said, “not in your dreams.” The Oirat and Buyrugh removed white stones from their pouches, set them on the ground, then knelt by the spring.
The two men chanted over the stones; the wind answered with a wail. Naccaras throbbed; the enemy was a dark wave flowing across the plain. Clouds billowed over the mountains as the wind rose. Buyrugh and Khudukha lifted their stones, spilled water over them, and called out to the spirits.
The rain came suddenly, in sheets of water as cold as ice. Jamukha could no longer see the plain; he stumbled towards his horse and mounted. The wind pushed at his back, driving him and his cavalry down the slope. The storm would drive Temujin's forces back; his own men would see that Tengri fought with them.
The wind shifted abruptly; pellets of ice stung his face. He was trapped behind curtains of ice, barely able to hear the shouts of the shadows around him through the wail of the storm. Other shadows fled towards him; Jamukha forced his horse on. His own men surged around him, panicked by the storm, blocking his way.
“Stop!” he shouted. Riders fled past him towards the mountain slopes. Unable to push forward, he turned back, riding past men and horses coated in ice. His horse climbed higher until a wall of rock blocked his way; the ice continued to fall. Ahead of him, a knot of horsemen suddenly dropped from view. Jamukha pulled at his reins, and his horse staggered at the edge of a precipice; sleet and hail pelted the bodies lying in the chasm below.
“Go back!” he cried to those behind him. “Ride for the river!” He lashed his way through the riders around him. Some turned to head back down the path, but others pressed on; the rattling of hail against stone muffled their cries. “To the river! Retreat!”
Jamukha kept moving, knowing that if he stopped for a moment, he and the horse would freeze where they stood. Let them all die, he prayed. Take them all—the enemy I fought, and those who failed me.
A cold, steady rain followed Jamukha and what was left of his army towards the Argun. His allies would be retreating to their own camps in the hope of protecting them; he would have no chance of regrouping against the enemy.
His dream had mocked him. He seemed to hear the voice of Tengri in the steady beat of the rain against his helmet: I warned you, Jamukha, and you failed to heed My warning, you failed to bow to My will.
They rode on, not stopping to rest, lest any pursuers catch up with them. By morning, the rain gave way to mist. Through the fog, Jamukha glimpsed the small dark mounds of a distant camp.
“Dorbens,” a man near him muttered.
Jamukha looked back at the files of soldiers behind him. He still had the best of his men, the ones he could trust to obey him. “We won no booty from our enemies,” he said. “We'll take what we need from this camp.”
“They're allies,” another man said.
“My allies scattered as birds do when they're startled by a hare,” Jamukha said. “I owe them nothing. Pass the order—we're raiding this camp.”
He took out his sword as he led them forward. He saw God's will; the spirits had cast him aside. Only blood could wash away his despair.
69
The surviving Taychiut warriors fled towards their camps along the Onon, their enemies in close pursuit. There, by the river, Targhutai's son Aguchu rallied the men. They fought for a day, holding back the enemy until night fell. Their women and children, unable to escape as the battle raged around them, made camp next to the exhausted army.
She had brought this upon them. Khadagan moved past knots of men huddled around fires, searching for her husband. She had pitied a captive boy, and all of these people had paid for her pity. If she had known what would come of it, she would never have pleaded with her father to protect Temuji
n.
Other women crept through the camp, calling out names. A woman wailed as she dropped to her knees by an injured man. Khadagan asked one group of men if they had seen her sons or husband, and learned more of the day's battle.
Many were dead on both sides. Several men had seen Genghis Khan's horse struck by an arrow and the Khan bleeding heavily from his neck before he retired from the fray. The warrior Chirkoadai had shot the arrows; so the men said. If the Khan was dying, his men might decide to withdraw. The soldiers fed on this hope as a starving man would gulp an onion dug from the ground.
The secret Khadagan had kept from everyone, even her husband, ate away at her. How could she hope for mercy from Temujin? He might have forgotten the girl who had guarded him while his Taychiut captors searched for him.
The camp grew quieter. The other women had either found their men or given up the search. Khadagan kept looking until a man directed her to another camp-fire. She found her husband near a makeshift pen for horses, his head against his saddle, his face drawn and sallow in the fire's light.
“Toghan.” She sank down next to him and slipped her bowcase from her belt.
He gripped her arms. “I hoped you had escaped.”
“We couldn't escape. The ones who tried didn't get far.” She leaned back against the saddle. “Our sons—are they here?”
His sad dark eyes told her the answer before he spoke. “They were both with Uwa Sechen,” he said. “He told me they were lost in the storm.” Tears trickled down his sagging jowls. “It came so suddenly—the wind lashed us with ice. I saw men and horses freeze where they stood.”
I deserve this, she thought; I'm being punished for what I've done. She wanted to ask Toghan if he knew anything about her father and brothers, but the weariness in his face kept her silent. He rested his head on her shoulder, and soon slept, but Khadagan was afraid to sleep. The ghosts of her sons would haunt her dreams.
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 38
