The families of the nation were encamped just a few miles from Samarkand, out of reach of battle lines. Genghis did not hesitate as he reached the first lines of gers, each one with its line of white smoke rising slowly into the air. The camp was already busy. The Mongols enjoyed this part of the summer, before the heat became intense. With the river and lakes to the north, there was even enough moisture in the air to coat the grass with dew and the sun made it sparkle for the short time before it burned away.
Those who were already up and about looked to the khan and his brothers in awe as they passed, standing with their heads bowed rather than look on the great ones of the nation. Dogs barked excitedly, but Genghis ignored them all as he walked his horse through the maze. He passed his own great ger on its cart and dismounted at last at the small home of his mother.
‘Nokhoi Khor,’ he called softly, a greeting as much as a request to have his mother’s old hound held before it could rush out and attack. Genghis had never liked dogs and kept none himself. He waited for a few moments, then turned to the small group with him. Between them, they represented the ruling powers of the Mongol nation. Only Ogedai ranked with them and then only after that night.
‘Wait for me,’ Genghis said, ducking low and opening the painted wooden door to his mother’s home.
It was still dark inside. His mother had not yet thrown off the cap of felt that let light in during the day. The light from the open door let him see a huddled figure on the bed. Her old hound slept curled up by her legs and showed its teeth as he approached, a low rumbling in its throat. Genghis swallowed drily.
‘Send your dog out, mother. I need to speak to you.’
Hoelun opened her eyes blearily, still bloodshot from the airag she used to bring sleep without dreams. She closed one again almost immediately, wincing at the pain that throbbed in her head. Genghis could smell the tang of urine in the ger and the strong scent of unwashed flesh. It saddened him to see his mother’s grey hair wild and unkempt and he knew he should have roused her from grief long before this. She looked ancient and worn out as she watched him. While he had buried his sadness in the attack on the city, filling his days with plans and action, she had been left alone to grieve and the process had eaten her away.
Genghis sighed to himself. He stuck his head outside once more, blinking against the light.
‘I need you to take her dog, Kachiun. And I need food and tea and firewood for the stove. Will you fetch those, Khasar?’
He stepped back to let Kachiun remove the old hound from their mother’s bed. As Kachiun reached for it, the dog erupted, snapping. Kachiun simply cuffed it on the muzzle and dragged it off the bed, giving it a kick towards the door so that it ran outside, still barking.
‘Leave the dog alone,’ Hoelun said irritably.
As she sat up and realised two of her sons were in her ger, she ran a hand automatically over her hair and glared at them. Genghis could see she had lost weight alarmingly over the previous few months. Guilt swept him that he had not made sure someone was looking after her. Surely Chakahai and Borte had brought food and changed her clothes?
‘What is it?’ Hoelun said, wincing as her head pounded. She gave up on her hair and let her hands fall to the blankets on her lap, the yellow nails dark with dirt.
She had addressed Kachiun, but he only shrugged and looked to Genghis.
‘Get some hot salt tea inside you and we will talk,’ Genghis said flatly. In the small ger, he heard her belly rumble with gas and was not surprised when she threw back the greasy blankets and heaved herself to her feet. She did not speak as she pushed her feet into soft boots and left the ger to visit a toilet pit nearby.
Kachiun looked at his brother in shame.
‘Is it for this you called us?’ he said. ‘I did not know she was so far gone; I’m sorry.’
‘Neither did I,’ Genghis said. ‘Have I not had my hands full with a thousand things since Temulun died?’
He looked away then, aware that his words were weak.
‘We will make it right, after today,’ Genghis said.
Khasar returned just before their mother, so that she followed him into the ger. He too was subdued at the skeletal figure who took her place on the bed. He embraced her formally, but winced to himself as he laid a fire in the stove and lit tinder with a flint and steel, blowing on it until a small flame puffed in his hand.
The tea seemed to take an age to boil and it was Genghis himself who poured the first cup for his mother. She sipped at it and her eyes lost some of their blankness as the warmth spread through her old body.
‘What do you want, Temujin?’ she said at last, using his boyhood name as no one else in the camp dared to do.
‘Vengeance for my sister,’ Genghis replied, his voice almost a whisper.
Hoelun’s eyes were wide and dark in the gloom and she closed them as if he had struck her.
‘I do not want to hear this,’ Hoelun said. ‘Come back tomorrow and I will be stronger.’
Genghis was unrelenting and he took the empty tea bowl from her hands, shaking his head.
‘No, mother. Get yourself dressed, or I will send a servant to you. You will ride with your sons today, away from this camp.’
‘Get out, Temujin,’ she said, her voice stronger than it had been before. ‘Take your brothers with you. I am waiting to die, do you understand? I have played my part in your life and your nation. I was there at the beginning and it has brought me only sorrow. Just get out and leave me behind you as you have always done.’
When Genghis replied, his voice was gentle.
‘I will not, mother. Kachiun? Tell Temuge that he will have to wait for us for a while. I will wash and dress her and make her ready.’
Defeated, Hoelun slumped back on the bed. She remained limp as Genghis used a water bucket and cloth to smooth back her hair. He found a bone comb on the floor of her ger and she sat in silence as he began to draw it through the knotted grey mass, his hands taking infinite care not to hurt her further.
The sun had risen completely by the time they finished dressing Hoelun. She had not spoken again, though she had welcomed the dog when it returned to its place at her side, darting in when it saw its chance. The will to resist seemed to have deserted their mother and both Genghis and Kachiun were silent as they helped her into the saddle and placed her feet in stirrups. Hoelun sat badly, so Khasar passed her reins over the horse’s head and looped them over his saddle horn to lead her.
As he too mounted, Genghis looked around him at the family who had hidden from their enemies in a lost and distant cleft in the ground when he was just a boy. They had walked with death then and the memories were cold on his skin. He could imagine the spirit of Bekter with them and he knew the brother he had killed would approve of this day. He hoped Bekter could see it. Temulun too was missing from that small group of survivors, though she had been just a squalling baby when they had been forced to run. In her place, the shaman rode in sullen silence, watching the khan from under heavy-lidded eyes. As Genghis began to trot away from the camp, he heard hawks calling overhead. Their high voices reminded him of Temulun’s cries, when every meal was a victory and every battle was still to come.
They rode south and east through the heat of the day, drinking water from the skins Genghis had supplied with each mount. He had prepared for the journey and the saddlebags were full of dried mutton and hard cheese. In the afternoon, as the ground began to rise, Genghis stopped to break the cheese on a flat stone, using the hilt of his knife to crumble the blocks before mixing them in a skin of warm water and passing the bags under each saddle. The bitter broth would sustain them when they stopped again that evening, though he did it mainly for his mother, who was not used to hard riding.
Hoelun had woken from her stupor of the morning, though she still winced at the hot sun and had stopped once to vomit weakly before going on. Her eyes sought out Genghis as he rode ahead and she too recalled the first days of hardship, when the hand of every man was s
et against them. Five sons and one daughter had been with her then, where now only four sons remained. Had she not given enough for Genghis’ ambition and dreams? She saw the mountains rise before her as she rode, her horse picking its way carefully when even the goat trails ended. As the sun beat down, the ground rose more and more steeply and still Hoelun did not speak to any of the men with her.
Kokchu was sweating profusely and drank more than Genghis and Khasar together. He too was not used to riding broken ground, but he did not complain while Hoelun remained silent, knowing it could only shame him in the eyes of the khan. He had no idea why he had been called to attend Genghis, though as he looked up and saw the snowline of the peaks, he knew the spirits were strong in high places. The Mongols were never truly content in hot lands, where flies and sweat and strange rashes assailed them and rotted clean flesh. In the clean air of the mountains, Kokchu knew they would feel more at home. Perhaps he had been called to intercede for Genghis there.
They climbed a ridge until the sun hung low in the west, casting long shadows before them as if they walked on darkness. The going was hard, but the horses walked with sure steps, following Genghis on the spine of the ridge. It was rarely steep enough to force them to dismount. They had led the horses only twice that day and the grim silence seemed to have seeped into them all, so that their throats and dry lips would find it hard to speak again.
The dark mood did not survive reaching the snowline, at least for Temuge, Khasar and Kachiun. They had not seen snow since leaving the mountains of their home and they sucked in the cold air, enjoying the way it bit deeply into them.
Genghis did not seem to feel it, or hear the way the hoof sounds changed to the muted trudge of snow. The peak of the ridge was still ahead. He fixed his gaze on it and did not even look down to the vast lands revealed from that height.
The long, tiring day was ending as he reined in at last. The sun was half hidden on the western horizon and the golden light struggled with shadows, so that they had to squint as they dismounted. Khasar helped his mother down and passed a skin of airag to her, which she accepted gratefully. The hard spirit brought a little life back to her exhausted face, but she shivered as she stood there, looking around in bewilderment. They could see the smudge of Samarkand across the farmland and, even further, to a bright line of the lakes in the north. It seemed as if she might see all the way to home and the thought brought tears to her eyes.
Genghis drew his sword and the sibilant sound had every eye on him. He too felt the comfort of the snow. In the high places, it was easier to feel the breath of the sky father and the whispering presence of spirits. Even in such a distant land, he felt them on his skin. Though the feeling eased him, it hardly touched the hard lump of rage in his chest that had ached for many days.
‘Stand before me, Kokchu,’ he said, watching the shaman closely as he approached. Kokchu’s expression was wary and a line of sweat shone on his high scalp, but Genghis could see the gleam of something else in his eyes. The wind grew suddenly as the brothers gathered with their mother around Genghis, scattering a dusting of snow across them.
Genghis did not take his gaze off the shaman as he spoke to his brothers and Hoelun.
‘This is the man who killed Temulun, not one of the shah’s guards. He is the one.’
Kokchu might have leapt back had Khasar not been standing behind him.
‘That is a lie!’ the shaman spat. ‘You know it is.’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Genghis said. He was ready for Kokchu to attack or flee, with every nerve straining as he spoke. ‘My sister’s body wasn’t found until dark and that man came straight to me. Yet you were seen coming out of her ger long before that.’
‘More lies! My lord khan, someone is trying to destroy me. There are those who think you show me too much trust, that you favour me too openly. I have many enemies, lord, please
Temuge spoke suddenly and Kokchu turned to him in desperate hope.
‘He could be right, brother,’ Temuge said. ‘Who can say which ger they saw him at when the fires were burning in the camp?’
Kokchu fell to his knees, his clawlike hands shaking as they grabbed handfuls of snow.
‘It is true what he says, lord. I have given you everything, gers, horses, salt and blood, everything. This is all wrong.’
‘No,’ Genghis muttered. ‘It is not.’
The shaman turned up his face in terror as he saw the khan’s sword lift into the air.
‘You may not shed the blood of a shaman, lord. It is forbidden!’
He did not turn in time to see Hoelun smash her hand across his face. The blow was weak, but Kokchu cried out as he fell backwards in the snow. As he came up against Khasar’s feet, the general lashed out without thought, kicking him hard in the ribs.
Genghis stood very still and his family turned to him ques-tioningly as he let the sword fall at his side.
‘You cannot let him live, Temujin,’ Hoelun said, her eyes brighter than he had seen them that day. Some of her old vitality had returned at the sight of the shaman struggling on that cold peak and she did not seem to feel the wind any longer. Genghis handed her the sword and held her wrist when he thought she might lash out with it.
He flexed his empty hands for a moment and Kokchu cowered before him, trapped between the legs of the family he had served. His mind spun crazily as he looked for fresh words. Temuge’s foolish face was full of doubt and weakness and even the khan had put aside his sword. There was still hope.
‘I have done nothing, lord. Whoever told you made a mistake and it must not cost me my life, or my service to you. If I die here, ill luck will follow you to the end of your days. You know I speak the truth.’
Genghis reached down and took him by the shoulders in a terrible grip. For an instant, Kokchu thought he was being raised to his feet and gasped in relief. Then he felt Genghis shift his grip to a bony leg, the hard fingers cupping his knee and digging into the flesh. The shaman struggled wildly as Genghis lifted him with a grunt.
‘Please, my lord, I am innocent!’ Kokchu yelled.
Genghis lifted the shaman higher, then dropped him, falling to one knee as he did so. Kokchu struck the khan’s outstretched thigh cleanly. They all heard the spine crack and Kokchu’s mouth opened soundlessly. His legs fell limp and his hands scrabbled in the snow and the sun’s fading light. Temuge turned away then, sickened, but Kachiun and Khasar stared as if they were determined to remember every detail.
Genghis knelt at the shaman’s side, speaking softly.
‘There are wolves in these mountains,’ he said. ‘Some of my men have hunted them for skins. They will find you here tonight and at first they will only watch. As the cold makes you weak, they will come closer and begin to nuzzle your legs and hands. They’ll scatter when you call out and move, but they won’t go far and they’ll come back with more courage. When they start to tear your flesh, when the smell of blood excites them, think of me then.’
He stood and the shaman’s wild eyes followed his movement, blurred in tears. His mouth hung open, revealing brown teeth. He saw Hoelun put an arm around Genghis and squeeze his shoulder as they turned back to the horses. Kokchu could not hear the words the family exchanged. He had never known such pain and all the tricks and rituals he knew crumbled before the flame that lanced through him.
The darkness came quickly after that and he moaned as he found his legs were useless. Once, he pushed himself almost to a sitting position, but the wave of fresh agony stole his senses away. When he awoke again, the moon was up and he could hear the soft crunch of paws on the snow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As the summer ended, Genghis remained in Samarkand, though his generals roared through the region in his name. The cities of Merv, Nishapur, Balkh and Urganj fell in quick succession, the populations slaughtered or enslaved. Even the news of the shah’s death and the return of Tsubodai and Jebe did little to raise his spirits. He wanted to return home to the plains he had known as a boy, b
ut dismissed the urge as weakness. It was his task now to train Ogedai to lead, to pass on everything he had learned as khan in decades of war. He had repaid the shah’s insults a thousand times, but in the process discovered lands as vast as any he had ever known.
He found himself like a wolf let loose in a sheepfold and he could not simply take the nation home. Ogedai would rule his people, but there were other thrones. With new energy, Genghis walked the shah’s palace and city, learning everything he could about how such a place supported its people.
Temuge brought new maps to him as they were captured or drawn by prisoners. Each one revealed more and more of the land around Samarkand and the shape of the world itself. Genghis could hardly believe there were mountains to the south so vast that no man had ever climbed them, where the air was said to be thin enough to kill. He heard of strange beasts and Indian princes who would make the Shah of Khwarezm look like a local governor.
The people of Samarkand had been freed to return to their homes for the most part. In other places, Genghis allowed the young warriors to practise sword blows on bound prisoners. There was no better way to demonstrate the damage a sword could do and it helped prepare them for real battles. In Samarkand, the streets were choked with people, though they stayed out of his way as he walked with guards and maps. His curiosity was insatiable, but when he returned to the palace each night, he could feel it close on him like a tomb until he could hardly breathe. He had sent a scout into the mountains to where Kokchu had been left. The warrior had brought back a package of splintered bones and Genghis had burned them in a brazier. Even that had not brought him peace. The stone walls of the palace seemed to mock ambitions built on men and horses. When Ogedai was khan, what would it matter if his father had once taken a city or left it intact? Genghis practised each day with a sword, working himself to a sweat in the mornings against the best of his guard. It depressed him how much speed he had lost with the years. His stamina was still a match for younger men, but his right knee ached after a bout and his eyes were not as sharp over distance as they had been.
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