To Kublai’s embarrassment, Hulegu actually knelt and bowed his head.
‘Thank you, brother,’ he said, rising again. ‘It is a great honour.’
‘You will raze the ground south and west, using Samarkand as your base city. Baidur will not oppose my orders. Complete the work our grandfather began, Hulegu. Go further than he ever did. It is my aim that you will carve a new khanate for yourself, filled with riches.’
Mongke handed Hulegu a scroll and watched as his brother unrolled a map of the region, copied with great care and marked with the curved lines and dots of some long-dead Persian hand. Kublai stared at it in fascination, drawing closer despite himself. The library in Karakorum had many wonders he had not yet seen.
Hulegu spread the map on the table, holding it with wine cups at the edges. His eyes gleamed as he stared across the lands represented there. Mongke patted him on the back as he leaned in, pointing with his free hand.
‘The greatest city is there, brother, on the banks of the Tigris river. Genghis himself never reached so far. It is the centre of the faith they call Islam. You speak enough of the tongue, Hulegu. If you succeed, it will be the heart of your new khanate.’
‘It will be done, brother,’ Hulegu said, overwhelmed.
Mongke saw his pleasure and smiled, refilling a cup to hand to him.
‘The line of Tolui has come to rule,’ he said, glancing at Kublai. ‘We will not let it pass from us, not now. The path begun by Genghis will be cut further by our family. It must be fate, brothers. Our father gave his life for a khan, our mother held the city and the homeland together when it could all have been destroyed.’ His eyes shone with a vision of the future. ‘Everything that has gone before was to prepare our line for this moment, here. Four brothers in a room, with the world a sweet virgin waiting for us.’
Kublai watched silently as Hulegu and Arik-Boke grinned, swept up in Mongke’s grand words. He could not be comfortable standing apart from them, and on impulse he filled the spare cup with wine and drank it. His younger brothers moved aside for him to reach the jug, though Mongke frowned slightly. As Kublai sipped, he saw with a sinking feeling how Arik-Boke was practically quivering to be told his destiny, his scar a dark pink, almost red.
Mongke chose that moment to grip the arm of their youngest brother.
‘Arik, I have spoken to our mother and she has agreed this with me.’
Kublai looked up sharply at that. He did not think Sorhatani had been well enough to discuss anything.
Mongke went on, oblivious to Kublai’s suspicions.
‘She and I have agreed that you will inherit the homeland khanate, all but Karakorum itself, which will remain the khan’s property. I don’t want this pestilent place, but I’m told it has become a symbol for the people. The rest is yours, to rule in my name.’
Arik-Boke almost spilled his wine as he too knelt and dipped his head in fealty. As he came to his feet, Mongke gripped him round the back of the head and shook him affectionately.
‘Those lands were our father’s, Arik, and belonged to Genghis before that. Look after them. Make them green and thick with herds.’
‘I will, brother, I swear it,’ Arik-Boke replied. In just a few words, he had been granted unimaginable wealth. Herds and horses numbering in the millions awaited him, as well as great status in the nation. Mongke had made him a man of power in a breath.
‘I will speak more to both of you tomorrow,’ Mongke went on. ‘Come back at dawn and I will share everything I have planned.’
He turned to Kublai and the younger brothers grew still, understanding the tension that was always present between the two men. Mongke looked every inch the Mongol warrior in his prime. Kublai stood taller, his Chin robe in sharp contrast.
‘Leave us now, Hulegu, Arik,’ Mongke said softly. ‘I would have a word in private with our brother.’
Neither of the younger men looked at Kublai as they left. Both walked with a spring, thrust suddenly into their greatest ambitions. Kublai could almost envy their confidence and how easily it had been given to them.
When they were alone, Mongke carefully refilled the cups and handed one to Kublai.
‘And what am I to do with you, brother?’
‘You seem to have planned everything. Why don’t you tell me?’
‘You have barely left the city in your lifetime, Kublai. While I rode with Tsubodai in the west, you were here, playing with books and quills. When I was taking Kiev, you were learning to dress like a Chin woman and bathe twice a day.’ Mongke leaned closer to his brother and sniffed the air, frowning at the delicate scent around Kublai. ‘Perhaps a post in the city library would be suitable for a man of your … tastes.’
Kublai stiffened, aware that Mongke was deliberately taunting him. Nonetheless he felt his cheeks flush at the insults.
‘There is no shame in scholarship,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘If you are to be khan, perhaps I would be happiest here in the city.’
Mongke sipped his wine thoughtfully, though Kublai suspected he had already come to a decision, long before the meeting. His brother had no great intelligence, but he was thorough and patient. Those qualities could serve a man almost as well.
‘Yet I promised our father that I would look after the family, Kublai. I doubt he intended me to leave you with dusty scrolls and ink-stained fingers.’ Kublai refused to look down at his hands, though it was true enough. ‘He wanted warriors for sons, Kublai, not Chin scribes.’
Despite himself, Kublai was stung into a reply.
‘When we were young, brother, Genghis himself told his men to come to me when they had a problem. He told them I could see through the thickest patch of thorns. Are you asking me what I want from you?’
Mongke smiled slowly.
‘No, Kublai. I am telling you what I want. Hulegu will tear down the strongholds of Islam, Arik-Boke will keep the homeland safe. I have a hundred other irons in the fire, brother, as far away as Koryo. Every day, I am presented with the envoys and ambassadors of a dozen small nations. I am the khan elect, the heart of the nation. But you have another path to tread, the work Ogedai and Genghis left unfinished.’
Kublai’s mind leapt to the conclusion and he swallowed uncomfortably.
‘The Sung,’ Kublai muttered.
‘The Sung, Kublai. Dozens of cities, millions of peasants. It will be your life’s work. In my name, you will bring an end to what Genghis began.’
‘And how would you have me accomplish this grand dream of yours?’ Kublai asked quietly, masking his nervousness with a deep gulp of wine.
‘Genghis started the conquest of the Chin with the region of Xi Xia. My advisers have found another gate into the Sung. I would have you take an army along the south-western border, Kublai, into the Yunnan region. There is only a single city there, though they can call on an army to equal mine. Still, I think it will not be too great a task, even for an unblooded man.’ He smiled to take the sting out of his condescension. ‘I would have you become the grandson Genghis wanted, Kublai, a Mongol conqueror. I find I have the means and the will to change your life. Swear an oath to me today and I will give you the authority to lead tumans. I will make you the terror of the Sung court, a name they dare not speak aloud.’
Kublai drained his cup and shuddered, feeling gooseflesh rise along his arms. He had to voice his first suspicion, or have it nag at him ever after.
‘Are you expecting me to be killed, brother, by sending me against such an enemy? Is that your plan?’
‘Still looking for games and plots?’ Mongke replied with a laugh. ‘I think Yao Shu had you too long in his care, brother. Sometimes things are simple, as they should be. I would lose valuable cannons and my best general with you. Would I send Uriang-Khadai to his death? Put your mind at ease, brother. In a few months, I will become khan. Have you any idea what that means to me? I remember Genghis. To stand in his place is … worth more than I can explain. I don’t need to play games or construct complicated schemes. The S
ung have already raided into Chin territory, on more than one front. Unless I answer them soon with force, they will slowly take back what Genghis conquered. That is my only plan, brother. My only aim.’
Kublai saw simple truth in Mongke’s stare and he nodded. In a revelation, he realised his brother was trying to fit the role he had won for himself. A khan needed a breadth of vision, to be able to rise above the petty squabbles of family and nation. Mongke was struggling to do just that. It was impressive, and with an effort Kublai shrugged off his doubts.
‘What oath would you have?’ he said at last. Mongke was watching him closely, his own emotions well hidden.
‘Swear to me that you will put aside your Chin ways, that on campaign you will dress and act and look like a Mongol warrior, that you will train with sword and bow every morning until you are exhausted. Swear that you will not read a scholar’s book for the whole time you are on campaign, not one, and I will give you an army today. I will give you Uriang-Khadai, but the command will be your own.’ For a moment, a sneer touched his lips. ‘If that is all too much, then you may return to the libraries here and wait out the years to come, always wondering what you could have been, what you could have done with your life.’
Kublai’s thoughts whirled. Mongke was trying to be a khan. It seemed he thought a similar change could be wrought in his brother. It was almost endearing to see the big brute so earnest. Kublai thought of Yao Shu and the peaceful years he had spent in Karakorum. He had loved the silences of study, the glories of insight. Yet part of him had always dreamed of leading men in war. His grandfather’s blood ran in him as much as it did in Mongke.
‘You promised Hulegu a khanate, if he could take Baghdad,’ Kublai said after what felt like an age.
Mongke laughed aloud, the sound echoing. He had begun to worry that his scholar brother would refuse him. He felt almost drunk on his own foresight as he reached for the pile of maps and documents.
His finger rested on the vast lands of northern China and he stabbed it down.
‘There are two areas here, brother. Nan-ching and Ching-chao. They are mine to give. Choose either one, with my blessing. You will have your stake in Chin lands, your own estates. If you agree to this, you will be able to visit them. Before I promise you more, let me see you can win battles for me.’ His smile remained as he saw Kublai examine the maps minutely, fascinated. ‘Are we agreed then?’
‘Give me Yao Shu as my adviser and we are,’ Kublai said, letting the words spill out before he could think his choices to death. There were times when a decision had to be made quickly and part of him was filled with the same excitement he had seen in his younger brothers.
‘You have him,’ Mongke said immediately. ‘By the sky father, you can have all the Chin scholars left in Karakorum if you say yes to this! I will see my family rise, Kublai. The world will know our names, I swear it.’
Kublai had been looking closely at the maps. Nan-ching ran close to the Yellow river and he recalled that the plain was prone to flooding. The area was populous and Mongke would surely expect him to choose it. Ching-chao was further to the north of Yenking, on the boundary of the Mongol homeland. It had hardly any towns marked. He wished Yao Shu were there to give his opinion.
‘With your permission, I will take Ching-chao,’ he said at last.
‘The small one? It is not enough. I will give you …’ Mongke traced a line on the map as he peered at it, ‘Huai-meng as well. Estates so vast they are almost a khanate, brother. More will come if you are successful. You cannot say I have not been generous.’
‘You have given me more than I expected,’ Kublai said honestly. ‘Very well, brother. You have my oath. I will try to be the man you want.’ He held out his hand and Mongke gripped it in pride and satisfaction. Both of them were surprised at the strength of the other.
In the spring, the nation gathered on the plain of Avraga, deep in the ancestral homeland. The oldest men and women could still remember when Genghis had bound the tribes there, replacing their individual banners with just one staff of horse-tails, bleached white. The plain was vast and almost flat, so that it was possible to see for miles in any direction. A single stream ran through one part of it and Mongke made a point of drinking the water, where Genghis would have stood so many years before.
Batu had left his Russian estates to come with his honour guards, the image of his father, Jochi. He had been visibly distressed to find Sorhatani so wasted and thin, racked with a coughing illness that grew worse each day. Fevers came and went in her and there were times when Kublai believed she only hung on to life to see Mongke made khan.
From the west came Baidur, the son of Chagatai. His wealth was obvious in the gold he wore and the fine horses of a thousand guards. As khan of the homeland, Arik-Boke had arranged it all, so that they arrived over two months. One by one, the princes and generals rode in and made camp, until even that open plain was black with people and animals. Christian monks came from as far as Rome and France, and the princes of Koryo had travelled many thousands of miles to attend the man who would rule them. Until the last were in, the gathering traded and exchanged goods and horses, brokering deals that would make some rich and others poor for a generation. Airag and wine flowed freely and animals were slaughtered by the tens of thousands to feast them all.
When it was time, Mongke rode out among the host and they knelt to him and gave their oath. No one challenged him. He was the grandson of Genghis Khan and he had proven his bloodline, his right to lead. The bitter years under Guyuk were put firmly behind them. Kublai knelt with the others, thinking of the army he must take into Sung lands. He wondered if Mongke truly understood the challenge he had set. Kublai had spent most of his life in the city. He had honed his mind with the greatest philosophies of Lao Tzu, Confucius and the Buddha, but all that was behind. As Mongke became khan on a roar of acclamation, Kublai shivered, telling himself it was anticipation and not fear.
PART TWO
‘Fire is the test of gold; adversity of strong men.’
- Seneca
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Suleiman was old, but mountains and deserts had hardened his flesh, so that sinews and narrow muscles could be seen shifting against each other under his skin. In his sixtieth year, his will remained strong, simmered down to diamond hardness by the life he had led. When he spoke, his voice was gently reproving.
‘That is not what I asked, Hasan, now is it? I asked if you knew who had stolen food from the kitchens, not if you had done it yourself.’
Visibly trembling, Hasan mumbled an unintelligible answer. He knelt on the stone floor before Suleiman’s great chair. His master was dressed in heavy robes against the pre-dawn chill, while Hasan wore only a grubby linen shift. In the shadow of mount Haudegan, the room saw the sun only in the afternoons. Until then, it could have been used to keep meat from spoiling.
‘Come closer, Hasan,’ Suleiman said, chuckling.
He waited until the man shuffled on his knees to the foot of the chair and then Suleiman snapped out his arm, backhanding him across the face. Hasan tumbled, pulling in his legs and hiding his head in his hands. Blood dripped from his nose and he looked in terrified silence at the shining drops. As Suleiman watched, the young man reached out with a finger and smeared a red line on the stones. His eyes filled with tears and Suleiman laughed aloud.
‘A few stolen cakes, Hasan. Were they worth it?’
Hasan froze, unsure whether the question held a trap for him or not. He nodded slowly and Suleiman tutted to himself.
‘I wish all men lied as badly as you do, Hasan. The world would be less interesting, but so many problems would simply vanish. Is there anything in that head of yours that understands you are not to steal from me? That I always find out and punish you? Yet still you do it. Fetch me my stick, Hasan.’
The young man looked at his master in abject misery. He shook his head, but he had learned it would only be worse if he refused. With Suleiman watching in amusement, he stumbled to
his feet to cross the frozen room, feeling his bruised body protest. There were few days when he was not beaten. He did not understand why his master hurt him. He wished he had resisted the honeycakes, but the smell had driven him almost to madness. Over the years, Suleiman had broken too many of his teeth for him to eat without pain and the honeycakes were soft, dissolving on his tongue with something like ecstasy.
Suleiman patted the young man’s hand as Hasan gave him the stick. It was a walking cane with a weighted tip and a dagger blade hidden in the handle, suitable in all ways for the one who led the clan of Ismaili Assassins in Alamut. He saw Hasan was weeping and he put a thin arm around his shoulder as he stood.
‘Hush, lad. Is it the stick you fear?’ His tone was gentle.
Hasan nodded miserably.
‘I understand. You don’t want to be hit. But if I don’t, you will steal again, won’t you?’
Hasan didn’t understand and he looked blankly at the old man with his cruel, black eyes and scrawny face. Hasan was both younger and wider than Suleiman, his shoulders made powerful by endless labour in the gardens. He might even have stood taller if he straightened his back. Even so, he flinched when the old man kissed his cheek.
‘Better that you accept your punishment like a good boy. Can you do that for me? Can you be brave?’
Hasan dipped his head, tears spilling from his eyes.
‘That’s it. Dogs, boys and women, Hasan. They must all be beaten, or they are spoiled.’ Suleiman brought the stick round with a sudden snap, cracking it against Hasan’s skull. The young man yelped and fell back as Suleiman stepped closer, raining blows on him. In desperation, Hasan covered his face and Suleiman immediately hit him in the chest with his bony fist, at the point just above the stomach and below the breastbone. Hasan folded to the floor with a low groan, straining to suck in a breath.
Suleiman watched him affectionately, surprised to find he was panting slightly. Old age was a curse. He might have continued chastising the simpleton if his son had not chosen that moment to clatter up the stairs to the room. Rukn-al-Din barely glanced at Hasan as he strode in.
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