Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  Her hands tightened on her reins. She told herself that she was only happy they could wait in his camp for a time, that she would not have to go to the Mongol Khan so soon.

  Nayaga's camp was ten small yurts sitting on a small rise. Some of his men were grazing the horses; others sat outside the yurts, cleaning their swords and knives. Nayaga left the Merkit warriors with a few of his men, led Dayir Usun and Khulan to one of the tents, then went off to speak to his soldiers.

  The tent held several saddles; quivers and bowcases hung from the wall. A few hides covered the ground and a fire burned in a small hearth set on raised earth.

  “That captain seems a good sort,” Dayir muttered as he settled himself at the back of the tent. “We took more of a risk than I knew riding here, but then we didn't have much choice.”

  Khulan stretched her hands towards the fire. Nayaga was not as tall as he looked on his horse; she had to lift her head only a little to gaze up at him. She removed the cloth from her face, then slipped off the scarf covering her head. Under her coat, she still wore a child's short robe, but Dayir had insisted she cover her head, as a married woman would.

  A voice called out to them; Nayaga came through the open entrance. Khulan turned towards him. His eyes widened, his hand froze on his bowcase, and she gazed back, unable to look away. Her face grew hot; colour rose to Nayaga's cheeks.

  A pain as sharp as a thorn pierced her heart. Some of the girls she knew had talked about this feeling, the burning that felt like a fever, the pain that seemed much like an arrow striking. Nayaga had to be feeling it, too; she saw it in his flushed face and glowing eyes.

  He quickly hung up his weapons. “Most of my men are out searching,” he said, “but they should be back by nightfall.” He went to Dayir Usun and sat down at his right. “I've sent two men south to Genghis Khan's camp, to let him know you're riding to him. When it's safe to do so, I'll take you there myself. You and your daughter may stay in this tent with your men—my soldiers and I will share the others.”

  Khulan seated herself at her father's left. Nayaga glanced at her; she lowered her eyes. “I regret I have only this poor field tent to offer you,” the young man continued.

  “We've been sheltering under the trees,” Dayir replied. “This tent will suit us well enough.”

  Nayaga reached for a bottle hanging from the wooden frame behind him. “And I have only a little kumiss to offer.”

  Dayir Usun nodded. “That will also be most welcome.” Nayaga sprinkled a blessing, then handed him the bottle. “I've fought against Temujin for many years, but it's said he can forgive old enemies.”

  “It's true,” Nayaga said. “I fought against the Khan myself only three years ago.”

  Dayir grunted. “Indeed.”

  “I'm a Bagarin,” Nayaga said, “and my kinsfolk were sworn to the Taychiut chiefs. My father Shirgugetu was a servant of Targhutai Kiriltugh. I served in the rearguard when we rode with Jamukha Gur-Khan against Genghis Khan.”

  Dayir Usun cleared his throat. “I lost a son in that campaign.”

  “Many lost sons when Tengri turned the storm against us. We were chased back to our camp, and there Targhutai fled and abandoned many to the enemy. It was then that I regretted the oaths we had sworn to him. We hid in the woods with him and his guard for several days, and then my father told my brother Alagh and me that it was time to think of ourselves.”

  Dayir passed the jug to Khulan. “So you gave yourselves up.”

  “Father said we should take Targhutai prisoner and bring him to Genghis Khan. He was sure we would get a great reward for him. So we seized him one night, bound him, and threw him into a wagon. When the other men tried to stop us, Father sat on Targhutai, held a knife to his throat, and said he'd make a grave pillow of him if the men came any closer.”

  Khulan held out the jug; Nayaga's fingers brushed hers lightly as he took it. “Targhutai begged his men not to try to rescue him,” he went on. “He said that he'd known Temujin as a boy, that whatever he had done, he'd spared Temujin's life then, and that the Khan might forgive him because of that. When his men saw that Father meant to kill him, they let us go. Perhaps they had come to despise him as much as we did, after seeing him beg for his life.”

  “And what reward did Temujin give you?” Dayir Usun asked. “I must assume he didn't show much kindness to Targhutai, since I've heard nothing of the Taychiut since that battle.”

  “I'm coming to that,” Nayaga said. “I had doubts about this plan of my father's, and it came to me as we rode that the Khan might not be so pleased by our deed. Whatever Targhutai was, we had sworn to serve him. I asked Father how the Khan could ever trust men who had betrayed their own chief. He and Alagh argued with me, but in the end, they saw the wisdom of my words. So we cut Targhutai's bonds, gave him a horse, and told him he was free to go. He didn't give himself up, so it seems he didn't have so much faith in Genghis Khan's mercy. We rode on and surrendered ourselves.”

  “Since you're alive,” Dayir Usun said, “I suppose you didn't tell Temujin what you did.”

  Nayaga shook his head. “We had to tell him. What if men from Targhutai's guard were captured, or gave themselves up, and told the Khan we were riding there with our chief? Our only hope was to tell the truth. So Father told the Khan we were bringing Targhutai to him, but came to see that betraying our leader was unworthy, and that we had freed him.”

  Dayir let out his breath. “And your head's still on your shoulders?”

  “He praised us, saying he had no use for men who would be false to their chief. Then, when Father admitted it was my advice he and Alagh had followed, the Khan singled me out for more praise. I was only sixteen, but he gave me a hundred men to command and said he expected great things from a young man who was so wise, so you see I did the right thing.” Nayaga sipped from the bottle, then wiped his mouth. “Had we delivered Targhutai to him, I think he would have killed us and spared our chief's life.”

  Dayir Usun rubbed his chin. “That's quite a tale.”

  “It tells you what kind of man the Khan is. I've never been sorry that I gave him my oath. For traitors, he has no mercy, but he can honour honest men, and those who were once his enemies but are willing to offer him their swords.”

  “This eases me,” Dayir Usun said. “Perhaps he'll forgive this old Merkit, and accept my daughter as his wife. She's not unpleasant to look at, and she's a good, strong girl. She's had her share of suitors, but they never offered me what she was worth, although I think a few of them were prepared to raise their price. Just as well, seeing what's happened to us.”

  Nayaga's throat moved as he swallowed. “I think the Khan will be pleased with your daughter,” he said hoarsely. “I promise you I'll keep her safe until we can ride to him.” He stood up. “I'll leave you now—perhaps you wish to rest.” He left the tent quickly.

  When her father and his men were asleep, Khulan went outside. Some of the Mongols were on watch outside the yurts; at the edge of the camp, Nayaga and two other men squatted by a fire. He had come to their tent that evening, and his words had been for Dayir, but she had felt him watching her.

  She went around the tent and crept down to a place behind a small shrub to relieve herself, then climbed the gently sloping ground to where the horses were tethered. She could not sleep, and did not want to go back to the yurt.

  Khulan sat down, rested her arms against her knees, then felt that someone was watching her. She turned; a shadowy form came towards her.

  “Why do you sit here, Lady?” She recognized Nayaga's voice.

  “I can't sleep,” she replied.

  “Forgive me for saying this, but perhaps you should cover your face, as well as your head, when you leave your tent. The night cloaks you now, but you might veil yourself in daytime.”

  The darkness hid his face; she thought of the warmth she had seen in his eyes before. “Is my face so displeasing to you?” she asked.

  “I swore to keep you safe. I don't want any of my me
n tempted to behave dishonourably with you. A man can often forget himself at the sight of beauty.”

  He did think she was beautiful then. Her arms tightened around her legs. She should not be out here with him; her father might wake and wonder where she was. “Do you have a wife, Nayaga?”

  He moved closer to her and sat down. If she stretched out her arm, she could touch him. “I captured a woman when we fought the Tatars,” he said. “She was among the most beautiful of our captives, and her beauty touched my heart, but we had sworn to offer the loveliest women to the Khan. So I brought her to him, but he put her hand in mine and told me to take her as my wife. He's the most generous of men—if one of his warriors had no coat, the Khan would give him his own. He's won much for himself, but gives as much to others.”

  Nayaga already had a beautiful wife; that fact pained her. Yet the Khan had given her to him; that gave her hope. “You must be missing her,” she said.

  “She's with child now, and that's brought her some happiness. There was little for her earlier—she was often sorrowing over those she lost, her father and young brothers, and the man to whom she'd been wed. The Khan couldn't forgive those who brought death to his father, and we'd been ordered to kill every male prisoner except for the youngest boys.”

  “I know what he did to the Tatars,” Khulan said. “You call him generous and noble, but he showed only cruelty to them.”

  “They were his deadliest enemies. I didn't want to follow his order, but had to obey—if he had allowed them to live, they would have been a spear in his side. There could be no peace with them.”

  “There can be no peace,” she said, “as long as men fight.”

  “Maybe the wars will end,” he said, “when all the Khan's enemies have surrendered. We'd be one ulus then, and there'd be no need for fighting.” He laughed softly. “That's a foolish thought. There will always be wars, and what would men be if they didn't fight? Only weak souls tending their herds, easy prey for any enemy who rode against them. How could we exist with nothing to win? Men would have no reason to live in such a world, thinking of nothing but filling their bellies and siring sons as useless as themselves.”

  “Perhaps they would find something else to do,” she said.

  “There's nothing else. It's a man's work to make war, and to be ready for it when it comes.” He paused. “You're a strange one, Khulan.” She tensed at the sound of her name from his lips. “A woman's work is to tend to her husband and children, to look after his tents and herds so that he's free to fight. Without women to tend to such matters, we wouldn't be able to fight, and if we didn't fight, we'd be useless to you.”

  “My father's fought all my life,” she said, “and it only brought us death and defeat. Now he must surrender to your Khan. Better if he had surrendered years ago.”

  “Without fighting at all? You want the impossible, Khulan. A man can respect an enemy who's fought bravely. One who bows to him out of cowardice can only be despised.” He sighed. “And yet there's some truth to your words. I fight because I must, but I can't take the joy in war that others do. Whatever pleasure I have in my spoils, I can be grateful when the battle is over.”

  He was silent for a long time, then said, “Once, I wondered why the Khan gave me my command. He can see into men's hearts and know what they are—I thought he must see this weakness in me. But then I heard him tell another man, one of our fiercest fighters, a man who could endure hunger, thirst, and cold without feeling them and survive any hardship, why he wouldn't make a good commander.”

  “And why was that?” Khulan asked.

  “He said a man who couldn't feel what his soldiers felt, who was untouched by their weaknesses and pains, wouldn't see to the needs of his men. I can hope that my weakness makes me a better commander of those under me.”

  She said, “I don't see it as weakness for a man not to welcome war.”

  “You are strange, Khulan. You draw words from me I've never spoken aloud.” He stood up. “And I shouldn't be saying them to you. Go back to the tent and dream of the husband who awaits you.” He strode away before she could reply.

  88

  Khulan left the tent at dawn. Nayaga stood with a few of his men near the line of tethered horses. As he caught sight of her, a smile flashed across his face.

  She walked towards him. As he had suggested, she had covered her face and hair. Nayaga bowed to her; Khulan gestured at the horses. “To sit in this camp,” she said, “makes me restless. I'd like to go riding.”

  “I would have thought you'd had enough of riding for a while. Does your father—”

  “He's asleep. He won't mind—he'll be grateful you didn't wake him.”

  Nayaga glanced at his men. “Very well, but I can't let you ride alone.”

  When the horses were saddled, she and Nayaga rode out together; seven men followed, keeping several lengths behind. The wind was sharp, lifting dirt from the plain. Khulan moved into a gallop; Nayaga kept pace with her. A small patch of pines stood on the northern side of a small hill to the southeast; she turned towards them, then slowed to a trot. Nayaga's men fanned out over the grass behind them.

  “I'm sorry to have to keep you here,” Nayaga shouted above the wind, “but it's only for your safety. I know how impatient you and your father must be to come to the end of your journey.”

  “I made this journey,” she replied, “because I must obey my father. It was his wish to offer me to your Khan—it was never mine.”

  “You shouldn't say such things, Khulan. Any woman would be honoured to be among his wives.”

  She picked up her pace. They rode without speaking until they came to the trees. Nayaga circled the grove, then halted. Khulan dismounted and led her horse towards the pines.

  “Don't go into the grove,” he said. “We should keep within sight of my men.”

  She tied her reins around a gnarled root, then sat down. “Never fear, Nayaga. If we were quite alone, I'm sure you'd never behave dishonourably towards me.” She could not hold back her words. “You love your Khan too much for that. Clearly your only desire is to be rid of me as soon as possible.” She wanted to hurt him then, to lash him with her words. “A man who would offer a captive he wanted for himself to his Khan can surely be trusted.”

  His face paled. He got down from his horse and sat a few paces from her. “Your people will have peace,” he said, “when Dayir Usun offers his oath. My men and I will no longer have to hunt them down. Only last night, you were telling me how you longed for peace.”

  “Yes, and your Khan will be grateful you protected me—maybe he'll even reward you for that.”

  His mouth twisted. “It'll be reward enough to know I've done my duty.”

  Khulan did not speak for a few moments. “Perhaps you can tell me a little of his other wives,” she said at last.

  He turned towards her. “His chief wife is Bortai Khatun,” he said, “who's lovely still, and wise. But of course you know of her—she was a captive of your people. Never remind the Khan of that.”

  “He's had his revenge,” she said. “Father's had cause to regret that Merkits ever found her.”

  “His wife Khadagan is also said to be wise,” he continued, “but she has little beauty. Yet he respects and loves her, because she helped him escape from his enemies when he was a boy. He doesn't forget such deeds—it's why so many willingly serve him. Then there are two Tatar sisters, Yisui Khatun and Yisugen Khatun, whom he took after our campaign against their people. He loves them both greatly, which is why they've both been honoured with the title of Khatun.”

  “And I'm sure they must love him,” Khulan said, “for protecting them from the ravages of his troops.”

  “He also took a wife from among the Kereits, a niece of their former Khan, but when a dream came to him, commanding him to give her up, he presented her to Jurchedei, one of his bravest generals, and told him always to honour her.”

  “And that, I suppose, shows his generosity of spirit.”

 
; “When we defeated the Naimans this past spring,” he went on, “their Khatun Gurbesu also became his wife. She came to the battlefield to see the Naimans fight—it's said she's as brave as a man. And his most recent wife is Tugai, who was the wife of Toghtoga's son Khudu. When Toghtoga Beki and his sons fled from us, their wives and herds fell into our hands. The Khan took Tugai for himself and gave Khudu's new bride Doregene to his son Ogedei.”

  “A messenger told my father about Toghtoga's losses.”

  “And there are other women, of course, concubines among his slaves or captives to enjoy for a night or two before they're given to others.”

  “I'll be lost among so many,” she said.

  Nayaga shook his head. “You won't be lost, Khulan. You would shine among a thousand wives.”

  “Maybe another dream will come to him and tell him I can't be his. Perhaps—”

  “Khulan!” His hands tightened into fists. “I said I'd never been sorry I swore my oath to him, but I regret it now. I—” He got to his feet. “We must ride back.”

  “Nayaga—”

  “Now, Khulan, before I forget myself.” He swung himself into his saddle. Her chest constricted; she could hardly breathe. She mounted her horse and followed him.

  Nayaga left the camp later that day, riding out with a few men to hunt. By evening, he had not returned. Perhaps, Khulan thought, he would stay away until it was safe to take her to his Khan. He would not be tempted to forget his duty then.

  Khulan kept near the yurt, leaving it only to collect more fuel for the fire. Dayir Usun was content to sit outside with his men and the Mongols, mending harnesses and honing weapons. It was too late for him to change his mind and give her to Nayaga instead, even if the young man were foolhardy enough to try to claim her. All these men knew that she was a gift for the Khan; only he could decide what to do with her. Dayir would think she was mad for preferring a captain of one hundred to a Khan.

  That night, when the camp was quiet and Dayir Usun and his men were contentedly snoring, Khulan thought she heard Nayaga speaking to someone outside. Perhaps a long time would pass before they could leave for the Khan's camp. This region might remain unsettled; the Khan might forget about a young woman he had never seen. It was hopeless to wish for that, to have so little concern for the rest of her people.